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The Handjob - WMASG - 12-30-2025
- 1 -
Bruce and Gary weren’t exclusive partners, nor did they live together, but it was tacitly assumed that someday they would do both. There was no question of adopting and raising a family; neither had any wish to become a papa. They could take their time, grow together, wait for their little disagreements to iron themselves out, as no doubt they would, and let their love to deepen into permanence. No reason to jump into things. A relationship is a precarious phenomenon, and making it official does not insure against it disintegrating, as Bruce knew all too well, whose parents had married young and gone through multiple divorces and remarriages, and who had more mommies and daddies than Gary had aunts, uncles and cousins. They kept their one-night stands to themselves and were never tempted to repeat them with the same guy, and there were only a couple whom they still remembered more or less clearly a month later.
How they met sounds more romantic than it in fact was – at a Valentine’s Day party hosted by a mutual friend, a straight man who didn’t have a clue that either of them was gay, and had invited a couple of women with the idea that maybe Bruce or Gary would hook up with one of them. Instead they went to Gary’s, got naked, got off, and spent the night together. After that they knew.
* * *
They went on a European vacation the second summer after they met, the first time abroad for both of them. They flew into Amsterdam, where they checked out the gay scene they’d heard so much about, and spent a whole day in the Thermos baths as a couple, but strictly as a couple. They hit the museums and the Anne Frank house too, then took the train to Köln, where they’d booked passage for the romantic cruise up the Rhine, got off in Mainz, and found a hotel. From there they meant to go to Paris, then work their way south as far as Rome before flying back to the States.
They talked it over and agreed that it would be a waste to spend six weeks in Europe and not find out separately what European men were like, so the next morning each set out in a different direction, Gary to Heidelberg and Bruce to Koblenz. They planned on meeting back the hotel the next afternoon and comparing notes on how and with whom they spent the night, something they hadn’t done before.
Gary didn’t know where to cruise in Heidelberg, so he strolled along the Neckar, keeping his eye peeled for promising material. It couldn’t have been hard to read his mind, because as he walked past one good-looking man, the guy spoke up and said, “Morgen.”
Gary knew only a handful of words in German, and having no ear for accents he missed the absence of a rolled ‘r’. “Morgen,” he answered in a dreadful American accent, and held out his hand to shake in a dreadfully inappropriate cultural gesture.
“You’re kidding!” the man said. “I saw right away that you’re American – it’s obvious, as obvious as... but I guess I shouldn’t say anything about that yet. It’s too soon, isn’t it?” And he winked at him. “What a coincidence we should have the same name!”
“Oh, you were introducing yourself. I thought...”
The man laughed. “That I was saying good morning? No, my name’s Morgan.”
“Yes, I finally caught on. Gary.” And they shook hands.
“Shall we go for a beer, have a little chat, and get to know each other?”
* * *
The Bierstube had a large terrace overlooking the river. They clinked their steins together and brought them to their lips to drink. Morgan had placed his legs on either side of one of Gary’s under the table. As they took their first sip he closed his knees tightly around his thigh. It startled Gary, and he spilled his beer down his shirt and over his lap. Not a drop remained in the glass.
“Oh, shit! Just look at me! I can’t go around like this – I’ll stink like a brewery!”
“So go to your hotel, change into something else, and come back. I’ll wait.”
“My hotel is a good forty-five minutes away by train, and they don’t exactly run every five minutes.”
Where?”
“In Mainz. I came here for the day.”
“I see.”
“And I was hoping to find a date for tonight.”
“I’ll be your date, and it’s a two-block walk to where I’m staying. We can go there and I’ll toss your duds in the wash. There’s a launderette on the corner. That way you’ll be presentable tonight. I like my dates to be presentable.”
They walked to his hotel and headed for the stairs. The woman at the desk saw them and made a fuss in a spate of German Gary didn’t understand.
“What’s she so upset about?”
“No guests allowed, which is stupid since they call the place a Gasthaus. Just a second. I’ll take care of it.”
He said something to her in German, and she calmed down and let them go upstairs.
“I explained you were a friend from out of town who’d arranged to meet me here, told her what happened to your clothes, and said that you’d just wait in my room why I took them to the laundromat.”
“Won’t she check up on us?”
“Not a chance. My room’s at the end of the corridor on the right.”
Morgan sat leaning back in the one armchair and watched Gary with a dreamy gaze as he undressed. Gary felt his eyes on him and the half-smile on his face.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“You guessed it. I have cheap thoughts. Only not that cheap. I remember as a kid bending down to pick up a coin in the street and sing-songing ‘I found a penny!’ Nowadays by the time a toddler’s old enough to know not to put it in his mouth, he’s already figured out that pennies aren’t money, they’re ballast, and that their value is as imaginary as the point nine in gas prices. If you want to know what I’m thinking, I won’t take cash, nor credit either. I won’t even tell you what I’m thinking. You’ll have to come and stand here and let me show you.”
“Stand facing which way?”
“Facing me. Straight out.”
“You mean my cock? How do know I’ll be hard?”
“Do you think I’m blind? Unless you spend ten minutes taking off those boxers it won’t have time to go down.”
“I didn’t realize...”
“Like hell you didn’t. Hurry up and kick ’em off. How do you expect me to go down if it goes down?”
Finding himself so thoroughly and ostentatiously leered at – assessed, one might almost say, like human merchandise at the Amazons’ slave market – for the first time in his life Gary felt embarrassed about getting naked in front of a man he was about to have sex with. “What about you?”
“Me? I’m hard as a rock.” But he showed no sign of letting him see it. “Come on, man, we don’t have forever. If she doesn’t see me leaving with an armful of your clothes soon, Cerberus will come up to check on us. Besides, that coyness of yours isn’t terribly convincing with that raging hard-on standing up to contradict it. Take it off already!”
He slipped his boxers over his hips and down to the floor.
“That’s better. Nice. Lovely. Just look at him! He’s blushing!” He beckoned to him with a finger. “Inspection time.”
Gary obeyed. Standing between his knees and looking down at him, he could see a cylindrical bulge that seemed to run halfway down Morgan’s thigh. His eyes widened.
“Yes, I’m a big boy too, as you’ll see for yourself once I’ve had a chance to get to know this strapping young fellow. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Morgan extended his right hand, wrapped it around Gary’s penis, and gave it a hearty shake. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Gary said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to yours?”
“Later. This’ll have to be a quickie, thanks to your ridiculous modesty.”
He scrutinized it carefully, fondled it a bit more, slipped it into his mouth and ran his tongue around it. “Yummy. It’s been a while since I’ve tasted prime American dick.”
“Is it that different from the German variety.”
“Not really, except for the trimming, and that’s a generalization. True in your case, though. Sorry to skip the preliminaries, but Cerberus, you know. We’ll have more time later, and I’ll do it properly.”
He went at it with such gusto that Gary came quickly. Morgan watched it squirt against the wall, then gathered up all his clothes, including socks and underwear, and said, “I’ll be back in five. We’ll have a good hour before I have to go back and pop them in the dryer.”
“That long?”
“European washing machines are very thorough. Take a quick shower if you feel like it, then stretch out on the bed and wait for me. And wipe your jizz off the wall while you’re at it.”
Gary took a shower and lay down on the bed as Morgan had told him, but kept the towel tied around his waist.
“Turning modest on me again, I see,” Morgan said when he got back.
“In case Cerberus came up.”
“Like hell.”
He sat on the bed next to Gary and undid the towel. Half sat up and reached out to kiss the man, but he pushed him back and said, “Not so fast! Relax! I know how to relax you. I’ll get my lotion. It’s good stuff. You’ll love it.”
The lotion was rich and creamy, and left no residue on Gary’s skin. It smelled of lavender, almond blossoms, and other aromatics he couldn’t identify. Morgan rubbed it into his shoulders, massaging firmly, then over his chest, stomach, lower belly, and soon his hands were on Gary’s cock, running up and down the shaft with a feathery touch, stroking, squeezing. He pressed down gently on his balls with his left hand, stretching them downwards, and at the same time pushed his right up the shaft of his cock, applying the same pressure. When he got to the tip, he cupped his hand over the head and twirled his palm around it, while the fingers of his left reached underneath his scrotum and tickled his perineum. Gary moaned.
“Shhh! Cerberus!”
He drew two fingers down the length of his shaft, pressing firmly on either side of the duct, as the fingers of his left passed back over his scrotum to meet his right, drumming lightly on his testicles as if performing a piano trill. Gary moaned again.
“Shhh! Cerberus!”
His two hands climbed up the shaft of his penis, thumb over thumb, and he rubbed them rapidly back and forth right below the glans. Gary was now moaning steadily.
“You want Cerberus to barge in and interrupt us? Stifle that moaning!” He took a pillow, placed it over his face, and repeat the cock massage, starting with the scrotum stretch. From then on Gary saw nothing, he only felt. He reach down to Morgan’s thigh, ran his hand over it till he felt his cock, and squeezed it through the denim while he abandoned himself utterly to Morgan’s fondling, stroking, pleasuring.
Half asleep, Gary ejaculated almost before he felt it coming.
“Another big load. Lie still. I’ll get a warm rag and wash you off.”
He felt the warm, moist cloth on his belly and genitals, and the touch of a tongue on his nipple. His drifting consciousness heard something about a dryer as he dozed off.
He awoke to the sensation of Morgan sucking on his cock. His mouth slowly descended to the bottom of his shaft, and the tongue and cheeks pressed in on the penis lodged in his throat. Gary reached down and stroked Morgan’s hair. Was that a finger in his ass?
He writhed as Morgan drew one testicle, then the other, into his mouth. Gary felt the finger in his ass moving in tiny circles over the base of his spine. Then the tongue licked up his shaft the cap, the mouth descended around it once more, two or three times up and down, and he came. Even with the prostate massage, this orgasm was neither as intense nor long lasting as what the handjob had given him. As the mouth pulled slowly off him, he could feel Morgan swallowing his semen.
“Now I’m going to run and get your clothes – the should be dry by now – so we can get out before Cerberus has a fit.”
* * *
He took Gary on a walk to show him the sights, then they had dinner in a restaurant he liked and went to a basement gay bar for drinks afterward. The pheromones hung thick in the air, and Gary was beginning to feel horny again when Morgan looked at his watch and said, “Your last train is at a quarter to twelve. I can’t invite you to stay with me for the night, much as I’d like to. They don’t allow it. You remember Cerberus? The night watchman’s worse.”
It was much too late to risk trying to pick someone else up, and midnight was no time to start looking for a hotel. He’d just have to go back to Mainz and sleep alone, unless the same kind of thing had happened to Bruce, which he thought very unlikely. Damn! He’d have given his eye-teeth for another handjob like that, and he was dying to reciprocate! Pity he hadn’t got Morgan out of his pants. He’d have loved to get a look at that big cock of his, but all he’d had was the teasing look of its outline down the leg of his jeans and a squeeze or two.
* * *
Bruce got back from Koblenz at about eleven and was surprised to find Gary already there and the bed slept in. “No luck?”
“Plenty of luck, and right away too, but he couldn’t make a night of it.”
“Married?”
“A tourist. American, like us, with Cerberus sitting desk at his hotel.”
Bruce was disappointed his friend had ended up with an American. “I guess we’ll just have to do it again, maybe in Paris. Yours was cut, I suppose.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Whataya mean, you couldn’t tell? Mine wasn’t.”
“And?” They’d been together over a year and a half, so he didn’t to ask if he meant his date or his dick.
“Just like in the magazines. You know, a penis, only a little fancier. Feels like a penis, tastes like a penis, shoots like a penis. Not much to tell about, really.” He did have much to tell, though, and tell it he did, only not just then. Instead he went on: “What’d you get to do with yours?”
“With what? My penis or my American?”
“Both. What did you get to do with his and what did he get to do with yours?”
“His? I didn’t do shit with his except feel it through is jeans. But the thing was a monster, and rock hard. It went halfway down his thigh.”
“You call that luck?”
“He sucked me off... twice. And he gave me a handjob like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Doesn’t sound like much. You’ll have to show me sometime.” He dropped the American and went on to tell all about his fuck fest with the German lad who’d picked him up.
* * *
They spent most of the next day on the train to Paris, and got there too exhausted to do anything but find a hotel, but not too exhausted to have sex. They both came twice, so Bruce was surprised when he woke up the next morning sticking to the wet stain Gary had left on the sheets.
“Wow! You were storing a lot up! Are you sure you got off in Heidelberg? I bet you were just pulling my leg. Not fair. I was upfront with you.”
“I dreamed about the handjob that American gave me.”
“A virtuoso, huh? What was his name?”
But Gary had forgotten already, in spite of the unusual way he’d learned it.
- 2 -
There’s a lot to see and do in Paris, and they stayed almost two weeks. They saw and they did, but they did more in the bars of the Marais than they saw in the museums.
They did the usual touristy stuff their first day there – Notre-Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Elysées, the Louvre. By evening their legs ached (the Louvre is as much a hike as it is a museum), and all they wanted to do was get a bite to eat and crash. They took things easier the second day, and were up to checking out the bar scene after dinner. The first one they stumbled on had a back room where the customers could, and did, walk around naked from the waist down, and didn’t just look at the goodies. There were bowls with condoms and little packets of lube on all the tables, which a waiter, recognizable by his uniform – a thong, came around to refill every hour or so. In other words, an orgy. They didn’t play together, but enjoyed watching each other fucking and getting fucked by good-looking Frenchmen. They went back to their hotel satiated, their balls wrung out, curled up in bed together, and called it a night. They woke up in a cold puddle of Gary’s ejaculate, the last thing they expected after indulging for several hours in the back room festivities.
“If you make this a habit we’re gonna have to start sleeping in separate beds,” Bruce said. “Do you remember what you dreamed of this time? It better’ve been me.”
Gary blushed.
“Not that fucking handjob again!”
“It really was a superlative handjob.”
“I suppose his blowjobs were out of this world too.”
“No. They were good, but you’re a much better cocksucker.”
“But not as good as his handjob, huh?”
“You can’t compare blowjobs and handjobs. They’re completely different.”
“Like hell you can’t. You are. I had no idea you were that into handjobs.”
“I’m not.”
“You sure as hell are into this one.”
“Are you jealous or something?”
“No. Well, yes. I know we’re in an open relationship, but I don’t like it when you get hung up on some guy you were with.”
“I’m not hung up on the guy. I don’t even remember his name.”
“You must remember something about him.”
“He was bossy.”
“You mean dominant?”
“That too. Bossy dominant, not someone I’d want to have more than a one-night stand with. The only reason I’d want to see him again would be to get a look at his dick.”
“And get another handjob. OK, maybe you’re not hung up on him, but you’re hung up on the handjob he gave you.”
“Honestly, I don’t think about it.”
“No, you dream about it, and come all over me.”
“I thought you liked having me come all over you.”
“When I’m awake.”
* * *
They made the rounds of the bars that night and went home with a drop-dead gorgeous French stud who knew about as many words of English as the three of them together had balls in their nut sacks. They shot so many loads that their host changed the sheets before the weary threesome climbed into bed together and went to sleep, but the next morning the fresh sheets were wet and sticky, and it was clear who was responsible.
“Where did that come from?” the Frenchman asked, as if they didn’t know.
“Me,” Gary sheepishly admitted.
“After all the fucking and sucking we did last night? Wow! Do you do that every night?”
“I’m starting to wonder,” Bruce said, guessing he didn’t mean the fucking and sucking. “He has these dreams. The maids in our hotel must love us.”
It seemed that nocturnal emissions had become a habit with Gary. He didn’t have one every night, but almost. Bruce didn’t hold to his threat of separate beds. Instead he kept a damp towel on the night table for morning clean-ups. After a while they detected a pattern. Gary only had a wet dream (his “handjob dream” Bruce called it) when he’d had sex within six hours of to sleep. Bruce also noticed that when he had them Gary didn’t sleep as peacefully he usual. He moaned quietly and talked in his sleep. Unfortunately, he didn’t say anything useful, just a lot of “Oh yeah!” and “Do me baby!” and “That feels so good!”
Bruce tried to see what would happen if he beat him off when he got like that, but it only woke him up. Gary would smile, let him finish, and said thank you when he came, but after he fell asleep he’d come again.
“The only way we’re gonna put a stop to this is if I learn how to give as good a handjob as what’s his name,” Bruce said.
“I don’t know his name, but you have your work cut out for you.”
“Did he do it dry hand, or did he spit on it, or have some kind of oil...?”
“He used lotion.”
“What kind?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Did it come in a bottle or a jar or a spray can or...?”
“A bottle, I think.”
“What did it look like? Do you think you could recognize it?”
Gary shook his head.
“Did it have a particular odor?”
“It might have. I don’t remember.”
“Well, concentrate on the smell the next time you have that stupid dream of yours.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
“I’ll remind you tonight.”
“I’m gonna have another tonight?”
“I want you to fuck me tonight, so my guess is you will.”
And he did.
* * *
“It smelled like some kind of flowers,” Gary said.
“What kind of flowers?”
“Flowers flowers. What do I know about how different flowers smell? All I know is that it wasn’t roses or lilac.”
“OK. Today we go to all the sex shops and sniff.”
No way on earth can one human being visit all the sex shops in Paris in a single day. They hit about a dozen of them, and picked up the smallest bottles they could find of three different products.
“I don’t think it’ll do much good,” Gary said. “I don’t think it was in the bottle. It was all in the wrist, and the thumbs too.”
“Look, do you want a handjob or don’t you?”
“You’re the one who wants to give me a handjob.”
“Eventually. But we start with you giving me one to give me some idea of what what’s his face did.”
“I don’t remember his face.”
“No, nor his name either. You just remember his handjob.”
“Vaguely. All I know for sure is he took it slow and didn’t rush it. He didn’t just go whomp whomp whomp whomp whomp.”
“Vaguely may not be good enough. He brought you off, at least?”
“Oh, yeah. He brought me off all right.”
“I kinda figured. OK, now let’s go back to the hotel and you’ll give it your best.”
They spent their last afternoon in Paris jacking each other off. That is, Gary spent fifteen minutes getting Bruce off, and Bruce wore out his arm trying to get him to come, gave up, and polished him off with a blowjob.
“I guess my handjobs don’t measure up, do they?”
“Look, Bruce, you’re my boyfriend. I don’t need anyone else on the side, least of all Mr. Handjob. Maybe it has nothing to do with him. Maybe there’s something about his bed, and it will stop once we’re in a different hotel.”
“Fat chance. It’s hard to believe you can’t remember his name.”
“I remember it meant something; it was also a word.”
“Cliff? Rock? Dick?...”
“Dick I would remember. I was hoping to get a look at it. Better yet, a mouthful.”
“Curt? Rob? Doug?”
“None of those. As I was saying, you’re the only one I want. We can drop the open part of our relationship if you’re gonna get all bent out of shape about it.”
* * *
After making sure they’d left nothing at the hotel besides Gary’s seed on their sheets, they went to the Gare de Lyon and took a train south to visit the top tourist spots in Provence – Aix, Avignon, Arles – before going on to Nice and Monte Carlo and from there into Italy. They did no cruising after Paris, but had the tacit understanding that they’d probably sample a couple of Italians before they went home.
Coming the night before still made Gary relive his Heidelberg experience as a wet dream. Bruce continued to give him handjobs on a regular basis. Gary would lie naked on the bed with his legs apart and his eyes closed, trying to reconstruct what Mr. Handjob had done, and give Bruce directions while he caressed, pulled, squeezed and twisted his genitals. Bruce made some progress and succeeding in bring him off that way most of the time, but only as a matter of principle. He found it boring. So did Gary, but he wasn’t about to tell Bruce that. Although they had the good sense not to restrict their lovemaking to beating off and took to doing it sixty-nine with Bruce’s cock in his lover’s mouth, it put a cramp in their relationship. Nothing worth breaking up over, but it was definitely annoying.
* * *
One night in their pensione in Florence, with less than a week of vacation to go, they were lying on the bed sixty-nine, trying for the they no longer knew how-manyeth time to reduplicate the now legendary handjob. Gary suddenly remembered and screamed “Morgan!” as his body arched in a spasmodic jerk and he came all over Bruce’s face.
“What did you say?”
“Morgan. That was his name – Morgan.”
“The guy who gave you the handjob?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said his name meant something.”
“It does, in German.”
“Well, let’s hope you’re cured and can get through tonight without making our sheets all sticky. Will you reach me a Kleenex, please? I don’t dare open my eyes. You’ve inundated me.” He wiped the goo from his face. “Morgan, huh? How did you remember? Was it my technique? Have I got the knack yet? Was I as good as you crank it up to be?”
“Closer, you’re getting there. But not yet.”
“That was supposed to be a joke. Get it? ‘Cranked up’?”
They found out in the morning that the cure had been as ineffective as Bruce’s joke had been lame.