I was living in Topanga Canyon in a trailer as the caretaker of an other-wise
undeveloped seven-acre tract.  The property is fairly high up on one side of
the canyon and commands a 360-degree view of the mountains and ocean...truly an
inspiring place, all the more so because I had free roam of the place and
didn't have to worry about bullshit like wearing clothes.  I could open the
door of my tree-shrouded trailer in the morning and walk naked out into the
beauty and drink it in to my heart's content; I could wander around in the
middle of the night under the dark sky and countless brilliant stars and
dream...and, of course, anybody else there with me could too.

For me, one of the additional advantages of living there is the fact that
Topanga Canyon Blvd.  is one of the few major throughfares across the Santa
Monica Mountains.  Thousands of motorists use it daily to get to and from work
...and, especially in the summertime, hundreds of puppies hitchhike it to get
to the beach from the Valley.  In addition, Pacific Coast Highway through
Malibu has got to be one of the five best hitchhiking/cruising routes in L.A.
County.  Surfer Cruiser's Paradise!

EXCEPT FOR TODAY, GODDAMMIT! Here it was, late August, with the temperature
hovering around 85 at nine in the evening on Friday night, and I had been out
on the road smoking dope and cruising since I got off work at 5:30-NOT A
FUCKING THING, not even one of the Topanga creekrats (street people).  I was
pissed and disgusted and tired stoned and VERY horny.  Fuck it, I thought:
horny and frustrated, I decided to go home and get even more stoned and jack
off over a porno mag.

On my way up the canyon I decided to stop in at the ice cream parlor in the
shopping center.  The place had a couple of pinball machines and I had a couple
of quarters; I figured I could at least vent some of my pent-up frustration by
humping one of the games.  And the place was also a hangout for canyon kids,
too; with luck I might get a sight of a hot-looking nearly-naked young
dude...an eyeful to help along the later handful, indeed

Sure enough, Howie and Steve were at the ice cream parlor--and, sure enough,
both of them were wearing only cutoff shorts and sneakers.  GodDAMN what a
sight!

Howie was 16, about 5'8" tall, lean and tight as a rail, with ghostly brown
puppy moustache and dark brown eyes and beautiful long dark brown eyelashes and
magnificent long dark brown hair.  He was, generally, a pretty quiet and
laid-back dude and, except for the fact that his hair reached almost to the
floor--no shit! --he seemed pretty "straight," pretty much into the
Establishment mold.

Steve, on the other hand, was your prototypical fuckoff surfer jock-17, 5'5"
tall, longish California-blond hair, gray eyes, almost white puppy moustache,
and magnificent, perfectly-developed layers of muscle that looked like
something out of an impasto-style painting: that kid wasn't a human being, he
was a hyper-surrealistic living sculpture of an idealized perfect young man.
He spent a lot of his time surfing and a lot more hanging around the shopping
center doing virtuoso turns on his skateboard and smoking dope with some of the
other kids and the creekrats; I don't think he went to school or worked or
really did anything except fuck around and enjoy himself.  He was usually
surrounded by a small gaggle of canyon teenage girls and apparently had his
pick of them.

Both of those dudes had asses and crotches that seemed ready to burst out of
their cutoffs and just looking at either of them gave me an instant hardon; the
two of them together, nearly naked, came close to driving me out of my hippie
faggot mind! I had tried to make their acquaintance in the past, but I p

================
CANYON -- PART 2
================

I figured I'd best pack it in before I raped both of them right there, so I
made some noises along those lines, offering to give the two of them a lift to
Howie's first.  That was okay by Howie but Steve cut him off: "Do you have any
more dope?" Howie didn't; I allowed as to how I did but as to how it was at
home, not with me, and--hope against hope!--invited them up to my place to get
REALLY whacked.  Steve was all for it; Howie agreed--reluctantly I thought,
maybe it was just Howie.  (Could HE see Steve's basket too?) If I'd been on my
toes I could've suggested there and then that I drop Howie off and let Steve
stay at my place ... fortunately, I wasn't on my toes, or anything else.

I was trembling so hard with pent-up anticipation and horniness and the need to
keep all of that down that I could scarcely hold onto the wheel on the way home
and missed shifting gears twice---I never miss a shift, NEVER.  I could see
Steve grinning at me in the rear-view mirror...maybe that was why....

My trailer was tucked under some trees at the end of a long, winding driveway
with nothing else around but nature.  I was shaking so hard when I finally got
us there and got out of the car that I had trouble walking for a moment.  The
two of them were kinda unsteady too; I surmised they'd already had a fair
amount to smoke.  The three of us staggered to the trailer door; I unlocked it
and climbed in, and they followed.  I immediately collapsed into my favorite
armchair and they followed suit onto the front-room couch.  Steve still had a
hardon, although he had apparently slipped it back into his shorts; Howie,
although he seemed oblivious to this, seemed to have more than the usual bulge
in his pants too.  I got some rock on the stereo and somehow managed to open
the stash box and roll a couple of joints; we smoked another one without
talking.  Steve kept looking at me and, stoned as he was, seemed unable to sit
still.  Damn, I thought, this dude is really hot to trot! But what's his game?
And how the fuck can we do anything with Howie around, anyway?

I had a hard-on something fierce and had to piss to boot; I was about to excuse
myself to go to the john when Steve asked if I had anything to drink.  I said,
"Yeah, sure--in the fridge," beckoning him over and opening the fridge door for
him.

As he walked toward me he winked at me and grinned; when he reached the fridge
he staggered against me and whispered--or croaked; it was hard to tell--"It's
cool, dude." He still hard a hardon; when I opened the refrigerator door, thus
blocking Howie's view of us, he grabbed my hand and put it onto his cock while
giving mine a squeeze with his other hand.  I slipped his cock out of the leg
of his cutoffs again and played with it, skinning it back almost to the edge of
his prickhead and then letting it slide back forward.  He trembled and moaned a
bit and I had to brace him briefly to keep him from falling over.

We bent over to look in the fridge, both of us making audible conversation for
Howie's benefit about what there was to drink and at the same time carrying on
a whispered discussion for ourselves; all the while he kept playing with my
dick while I Fondled his magnificent little ass.  I managed to get my hand
under his shorts and my middle finger down the crack of his cheeks, but he
whispered, "Wait." I whispered back, "For what? Howie's over there--what can we
do?" Steve humped his ass against my finger and said, "Don't worry about him,
he ain't uptight.  He knows I hustle dudes.  I never done this around him, but
just get him loaded enough and he'll probably play along.  And the word's out
you're a fag; he knows that."

"I don't have any money," I said.  "I'm gettin' what I want," he said.

Aloud, I directed Steve to the beer, asked him to open one for each of us, and
staggered toward the john, glowing like a lightning bug.  It took me a long
time to piss: my dick was so hard and I was so horny that I had to wait a while
for it to go down enough to leak.

When I got back to the front room I was greeted by one of the most beautiful
sights I've ever seen: both Steve AND Howie had taken their cutoffs and shoes
off and were sprawled out naked on the couch with their cocks sticking straight
up into the air, looking at each other.  Steve's uncut meat was throbbing
gently; his dusky brown pubic hairs were matted down with what looked like a
combination of funk and pussyscum and I could see a bit of precum on the head
of his dick.  Howie's cut dick was longer and thinner than Steve's and he still
had his early puppy pubic hairs--long and coarse, looking as though they'd been
forced out of his pubes by some sort of inner explosion.  Steve had a brush of
hair between his pecs and a lot of hair on his legs and ass and under his arms,
most of it bleached almost white by sun and surf; Howie had only a small brush
of dark brown hair leading from his pubes toward but not reaching his
bellybutton and a somewhat larger patch under each arm.  Howie had tossed his
beautiful long hair underneath him; it surrounded his hot little body like
excelsior.  Each boy would occasionally reach down and squeeze his cock.  A
magnificent sight to be sure...and then I noticed Howie's eyes, locked onto
Steve's with a steady gaze.

His expression was something to behold: a Madonna-like smile that conveyed both
love and lust with an intensity that cannot be believed.  I have NEVER, before
or since, witnessed such a thing.  I stood there for a minute or so, stunned,
drinking it in; even now, writing this, I've a hardon and I'm leaking precum
and having trouble typing.

It was Steve who finally noticed me watching them; with a move of his head he
beckoned me over.  When he did, Howie broke eye contact with him--and gave ME
that same look of exalted lust! GodDAMN!! I peeled my clothes off instantly and
sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them.

Strangely, it was Howie who spoke first.

"Steve says you wanta suck his cock.  Can I watch? I never done nothin' like
this before."

Steve said, "Sure, dude, it's cool--like I told you, he'll suck yours too." He
glanced at me again, as if to say, "See?"

Howie shivered a bit and gave me The Look again.  "Yeah?" His cock throbbed a
couple of times and a couple of drops of precum spurted out of it onto his
belly.  He didn't move to touch it with his hand, only laid there, trembling.

"Sure dude," I said, "and it looks like I'd better take care of you first;
you're pretty far along."

Howie smiled sheepishly and said, "Yeah, I guess I"--and, with a sudden sharp
gasp, he shot a stream of jizz that hit him in the face.  (Fleeting glimpse of
The Look, with his cum dripping from his moustache...I can still get off on
that....) He let out another cry and another spurt that went over his left
shoulder and I moved for him fast, afraid that he'd shoot the whole wad before
I could get there and that I'd miss the taste of his fresh puppyload.  I got my
mouth on his pud and a thumb and forefinger around the base of it and my other
hand under his ass before he could shoot again and began to gently milk him up
and down while caressing his tight little buns with my other hand--and he kept
cuming...and cuming...and cuming...all the while gasping and moaning and
writhing and tossing that beautiful little bod around in total ecstasy, while I
held on to him as best I could and drank him down.

He had cum that tasted like none other: almost like butter cake frosting, sweet
and unbelievably rich and plentiful.  It may have taken him a couple of minutes
to stop shooting; I don't know for sure and don't give a shit.  When he finally
finished I took my fingers away from the base of his cock and swallowed it all
the way down and just held on for an exquisite time, while he lay there,
panting and moaning softly while I held his still hard cock in my mouth and
gently fondled one of his buns with one hand and, with the other, sneaking my
fingers in and out of his ass crack and playing with his asshole and the base
of his cock and balls.

===============
CANYON -- PART3
===============

I was so stoned and carried away with this puppy's orgasmic joy that the world
seemed to swim around me; but in addition to that there was a certain
unsteadiness and shaking that I couldn't figure out---wait a minute, I COULD
figure it out: Steve was jacking off with long, slow, earnest strokes and,
apparently, about ready to pop his nut too--gasping and panting and beginning
to make little animalistic grunts and whimpers.  Howie looked over at his buddy
and his expression of contentment and utter fulfillment changed to one of
wonder and--what, joy?--lust?--as I moved for Steve's dick, grabbed the shaft
of it with one hand and, without breaking his rhythm, substituted my mouth for
his hand.  His pud was already slippery with precum juice and I had only to
skin him down and swallow his beautiful meat before he shot his nut too.  I
milked him gently up and down as I had with Howie, but I could not resist those
beautiful muscular pecs: I put one hand on each tit and gently massaged his
hard little nipples as he gradually came down from his orgasm.

I woke up an eternity later (an hour or so, according to the clock) with
Steve's half-hard dick still in my mouth and my head on his belly.  Somehow I
had managed to get onto the couch before I nodded off--damned if I can remember
how.  Howie had fallen asleep with his head on my side; one of his hands held
gently onto my dick.  Both of them were asleep.  I had to piss again and
wondered how I could get up without waking somebody up.

Getting off Steve was easy; all I had to do was gently raise my head off him.
But Howie was another matter--by now I had a full piss-hard and he held onto it
with almost a death-grip.  I noticed that his dick was getting hard, too, and
as I noticed that he lifted his head from my side and again gave me The Look.
I took his head in my hands, brushing his beautiful long hair aside, and kissed
him, first tentatively on the lips and then, as his mouth opened wide, fully
and enthusiastically, with my tongue down his throat.  My dick was as hard as
it ever gets, but it hurt, too; I really had to piss.  I gently disengaged
Howie's mouth from mine, smiled sheepishly and said quietly, "Hey, dude...I
gotta get up; I gotta piss somethin' fierce and I don't wanta get the couch
wet." Without taking his hand off my cock, Howie made as to get up from the
couch.  His hardon led; I followed.  He led me to the bathroom by the dick,
positioned it over the john, and waited.  I said, "You'll have to wait pretty
long--I don't think I can piss while you're holding me; it fuels too good." He
dropped my dick but snuggled up to me and put his arm around my waist; I put
mine around his shoulder and tried to relax (he sure as hell couldn't: I could
feel his heart racing and he was almost panting with excitement) ... finally
managed to relax ... finally began to piss.

As I began to piss Howie let out a little gasp and a moan; after a few seconds
he put his free hand on my cock and began to stroke it gently.  Somehow I
managed to keep pissing.  His hand wandered to the head of my dick--and
straight into my piss! As it touched him he let out another moan.  I said, "You
like that, huh?" He said nothing but dropped to his knees, keeping his hand in
the stream.  "What the hell?" I thought to myself, and turned slowly toward him
... he kept his hand in my piss as the stream slowly left the edge of the bowl
and arched over his thigh into his lap, resting at the base of his hardon--at
which point he let out another moan ... I slowly directed it up and down his
body and he moaned again ( ... his hair was bunched up behind him and was
beginning to get wet ... ) I moved it upward into his face and his mouth
eagerly opened; without hesitation he drank the last few seconds of the
flow....

I forget whether I brought it up first or he did (and it doesn't matter anyway
as far as I'm concerned): we ended up laying together on my bed, smoking
another joint and holding each other.  I had toweled him off but he still
smelled of a wonderful combination of his own sweet odor and my funk.  We lay
there in a haze; the joint was soon forgotten as we shared each other's
presence.  I began to run my fingernails gently up and down his back; he gasped
a little and held me tighter ... my fingers wandered down to the curve of his
butt and I made a quick, teasing pass at his ass crack ... his body shook at my
touch and he moaned again and he began to hump my hand; after a couple of
strokes he reached down, grabbed my dick (which was fully hard) and stuck it in
between his legs, clamped down on it and continued humping.

"Turn over," I said.  He began to almost before I finished speaking; I didn't
have to ask him to spread his legs--just stuck my cock between them and he
clamped down and began to hump immediately and with vigor, all the while
squealing and moaning softly.  I held onto him as tightly as I could, my nose
buried in the midst of the most extraordinary combination of sweet and sour,
and just lay there in ecstasy.  It wasn't long before I was getting very close
to shooting my rocks--he seemed to sense this and suddenly stopped, laying
there vibrating with passion but otherwise still.

I backed away from him and said, "Get up on your knees," and when he did so (we
had to fight his hair for a minute ... sometimes in the heat of passion one can
run across a situation that threatens to break the whole flow because among
other things it's hard to quit laughing!) I moved around to his butt, got
behind him on my knees, and began stroking my fingernails gently up and down
his back again.  He moved with the strokes....

The sight of his buns in front of me mesmerized me; I was hypnotized by their
slim perfection.  My hands began to stroke further down on his back; as they
moved his moves answered me less and less; as I got to the small of his back he
spread his legs a little.  I very gently stroked the inside of his thighs and
cheeks, gradually teasing around the base of his balls and making little passes
at his asshole.  Each time I touched the pucker of his hole he gasped and
moaned and it clamped down tight ... he'd rock forward and back a time or two
and then his hole seemed to open wide; it looked like I could get my little
finger into it without touching the edge! This drove me out of my mind; I was
so excited I could barely keep track of what I was doing.  Finally I couldn't
handle any more at all: without warning, I spread his cheeks wide with both
hands and did my best to stick my tongue all the way up his ass.

He almost screamed with pleasure--it was enough that I felt around in front of
his cock to see if he'd shot--he hadn't.  His ass crack squeezed tightly and I
had to stop until he relaxed; I decided to take a less gonzo approach and began
to gently lick around the perimeter of his asshole, all the while stroking the
inside of one thigh gently with the fingers of one hand.  After a short while I
was able to lick around his hole without difficulty, and he encouraged me:
after a few moments of this he reached around and spread his buns wider than I
had and gave himself to me.... For the first time in my life I was able to find
the mineral oil without breaking the flow....

My dick slid all the way up his ass the first time ... and he screamed and did
come....

.       ... darkness and warmth

.                                  and content ...

.            ... shaking bed ...
 

.                       ... more warmth behind me ...
 

.       ... and a stereofucking morning ...
 
 
 

The next few hours are a bit of a blur.  I do know I fucked him precisely three
times--he'll brag about this on occasion ("Hey, this old fart can really
hump!"---little smartass!) and cite that number specifically--but there are
only random flashes of the rest of that night--and, for that matter, most of
the next day....

I found later that the two had been fucking each other for about six months
(although the balance was about 80/20 Steve fucking Howie), and that it was
Steve's spur-of-the-moment desire to get high (and equally-sudden desire to get
his rocks off) that started what has turned out to be a four-year affair.  The
boys still live in the canyon and Steve still hangs out at the shopping center
... and Howie is in college--aim to be a professional oboeist; it turns out
most of his family are symphony orchestra musicians and he has quite a knack
for it; plays well enough now to join some other student friends; nice to be
able to hear live music free.  I see a lot more of Howie; Steve has gone off
into his own trip with little girlies and seems less interested in guys of
late--either Howie or me ... I think he still hustles, but I'm not sure.
Whatever, it's been something like four or five months since we had a three-way
....

But there's scarcely a weekend Howie's not with me.
 

Interesting Links:

COPYRIGHT © 1998, 1999, 2000 All-Erotica.com, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED