The Stalker  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Art by Michael Kirwan  

 Story by Cain Berlinger 

originally published in Honcho Magazine - December, 1993 issue

 


Guess what I picked up today?
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Jerry glanced up at the clock hanging in the atrium of the department store, comparing it with his watch. As usual, he was right on time, pushing by the crowd of hustling noon-day shoppers. His lover of six years Mike celebrated his fortieth birthday today and Jerry had only an hour of his time to shop for something nice. He and Mike had been having trouble lately. Just this morning, Mike told him, "You're passionless; you have no soul." Even worse, he claimed Jerry had no time or emotion anymore to invest in a relationship.

Sure, he'd been preoccupied lately with his new promotion to management at work, and all the responsibilities that came with the increase in pay. His work load had increased along with the demands on his time. Only lately had he learned exactly how to balance his time and control his emotions when they threatened to interfere with his work at the office. He didn't love Mike any less; it was just that there was precious little time to tend to all of his needs. Jerry's own sex drive had cooled somewhat, but he didn't think it as serious as Mike had indicated.

This most unpleasant argument had sent Jerry rushing out to work a half hour early. Luckily his secretary had reminded him that today was his "friend's" birthday. Jerry hated to skip out on his noon meetings, but he had to get Mike something special to show him that this demand on his time was only temporary.

He walked up the escalator hoping that he would find something soon enough to get back to the office in reasonable time. The layout of this men's department was like any other except for the quality of its merchandise and service. Everything was constantly being arranged by the conscientious staff that hovered about, waiting to rush to the aid of an uncertain shopper.

Jerry headed toward a display of sweaters, all neatly stacked by size, price and design. Mike loved sweaters and owned a few dozen or more.

As he fingered the soft mohair of a particularly colorful sweater he looked up momentarily and then did a double take. Two aisles over, browsing through the sweatshirts, was a true knock-out. The man couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-five years old. Long dark curls fell lazily across his forehead, setting off smoldering dark eyes that seemed to sparkle under the harsh lighting. Thick dark eyebrows came close together over a sculpted roman nose with nostrils that flared slightly. He sighed deeply over a sweatshirt that had somehow met with his disapproval. Casting the item aside, he turned his attention to another garment. He raised the sweatshirt to his nose and as he sniffed the fabric, he closed his eyes, as though the fresh, clean smell was intoxicating.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring right at Jerry and a smile formed over his lips, flashing the most devastating pearly white teeth. His dusky complexion flushed a deep red as though embarrassed at being caught staring. He casually discarded the sweatshirt and walked over to another shelf His dark curls bounced over the turned up collar of his motorcycle jacket, which buckled at his narrow, tapered waist. His jeans squeezed around his round muscular buttocks. In profile Jerry could see that the man had an incredible-sized bulge outlining the length and girth of an impressive cock.

Jerry's work in advertising had made him used to seeing beautiful men, model types, but there was something about this man's raw sexiness that absolutely captivated him. He couldn't take his eyes off him. Even his cock had started to get hard. The young man continued his diligent search of sweatshirts while Jerry grabbed the first expensive sweater at hand and rushed to the checkout counter. Hastily glancing at his watch, he realized that he had wasted too much time already.

The sales clerk was polite and efficient as he ran Jerry's credit card through the machine and passed the receipt to Jerry for his signature. But Jerry's eyes followed the man's movements as he went from shelf to shelf, checking prices, feeling materials. As the clerk punched in numbers and bagged the sweater, time seemed to have switched to slow motion. The man continued to glance casually in Jerry's direction, his eyes now full of mischief and his lips parted slightly, tongue moistening his lips. He absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair, momentarily relaxing his intense gaze. Casually rumpled, his hair fell almost immediately back into place. Jerry glanced away from the seductive smile, refusing to give in to temptation.

Snatching up his carelessly chosen purchase, Jerry walked to the escalator, wiping a handkerchief over his sweating brow. He turned to look at the top of the escalator and saw him standing there.

Once outside the store Jerry breathed deep of the clean fresh air. He still had time to make a scheduled meeting and maybe even grab a sandwich. At the street corner, he jumped back as cars sped by him. Suddenly he felt a hot flash of heat spread through his face. Standing across the street was the young man. The cool breeze shifted the curls around his face and his hands disappeared into his jeans pockets just over his bulging meat.

Jerry couldn't understand how the young man had managed to get ahead of him.

He decided to follow the young Adonis, maybe even meet him. He followed behind the young man, oblivious to the fact that he was passing his place of employ. Stopping near the corner, Jerry stood a few feet behind the man, admiring the thrust of curve of his ass, the way the muscles shifted when he walked. The man walked briskly toward the subway entrance and disappeared down the stairs.

Jerry stopped at the subway entrance, momentarily resisting the insanity that had gotten a hold of him, before rushing down the stairs. He fumbled inside his pockets for change and hurried to stand behind the line of commuters. The young man was a few people ahead of him, and he turned and smiled, then winked at Jerry, before going through the turnstiles and running deeper into the underground.

Jerry pushed aside angry commuters and tossed his money through the cage. "I'm in a hurry, keep the change!" he shouted to the bored cashier and the angry people as he pushed his way ahead of line. Once on the platform he looked around in several directions afraid that he may have lost the curly haired youth. As the train roared into the station, he saw a head of curls ahead of him in the crowd, just a little further down the platform. He walked into the car and just as the doors closed. Standing at the door that separated the cars, he peered anxiously through the thick glass until he saw the man seated with his long legs spread out before him, his hand resting casually over his swollen cock, kneading it discreetly with his fingers.

Jerry leaned back against the car door as the train picked up speed through the dark tunnel. The rumbling noise shook through his body. Every few minutes he would look through the window to catch sight of the man. Minutes passed, stations roared by, passengers got on and off: When the train reached West Fourth, the young man got up and stood in front of the doors as the train slowed to a stop. Jerry followed him up the stairs and out onto the busy street.

One of the men leaning against a storefront called out to the young man.

"Hey, Taylor! What you up to?" The man acknowledged the salutation but didn't stop. His dream man had a name. Jerry repeated the name in his head, until it rolled comfortably into his consciousness.

Christopher Street bustled with lust and activity as men of all shapes and sized cruised the handsome young man walking determinedly toward the docks dotted with decrepit and abandoned warehouses. Afternoon streets thinned out and only the sound of the man's boots broke the casual silence.

The lot surrounding the warehouse was junk-filled and abandoned. Taylor stood in front of the ramshackle chain link fence. Turning only once to smile at Jerry, he climbed through the gate and sprinted into the warehouse. Jerry stood at the gate, debating the wisdom of following this gorgeous man. He looked at his watch with dismay as he realized that his afternoon was gradually slipping away.

He looked up at the warehouse, seeing Taylor for the first time with his jacket open, as he stood barechested in the second story window.

He yanked off his T-shirt and let it fall from the second floor window. Tracing over his muscular, lightly haired chest with his hand, he drew invisible circles on his stomach. Jerry saw the shirt drop to the dusty ground and ran to pick it up. Raising the shirt to his nose, he sniffed the musky underarm. With no more hesitation, he stuffed the shirt into his bag and followed Taylor into the warehouse.

Inside the dirty warehouse, he ran from one abandoned cubicle to the next. In the distance, he heard the clatter of Taylor's boots on the bare floor above. Unfastening his tie, he opened his shirt and continued his search. He yanked off his trench coat and tossed it into the rubble along with Mike's sweater. He retrieved the T-shirt from the bag and, like a blood hound, sniffed it again before taking off in pursuit of his elusive tormentor.

The second floor was a warren of walls and partitions, illuminated only by one narrow window at the end of the corridor. And there stood Taylor. He had removed his jeans, and stood silhouetted in the window, gripping his cock between his grasping fists. The pink, bulbous head strained forward, blushing purple. Taylor spit onto the head of his cock as he stroked it back and forth. The leather jacket hung open revealing tight curls spreading over his chest and trailing down his taut belly to a hairy forest around his cock. His thigh muscles tightened as he leaned against the broken, plastered wall.

Jerry walked briskly toward Taylor until his breath could only be measured in sharp gasps. As Jerry drew closer to his prey, Taylor ducked out of sight.

"Damn you! I hate this!" Jerry screamed out as Taylor vanished from view, the steady pacing of his boots fading into the distance. Sweat dripped down Jerry's arms and dotted his forehead as his hair clung to his sweaty brow. As he turned the final corner, a hand swung out from behind a door, sending Jerry sprawling across the floor. Taylor stood over him, his face a cool mask of evil passion. Jerry held his hand to his bruised cheek as he studied the impressive figure that stood over him. A mixture of fear and desire flowed through him like lead: slow, hot and deliberate.

Taylor's booted foot rested on Jerry's leg, then moved toward his crotch, over Jerry's cock and balls, pressing with increasing force. The heel of Taylor's boot traveled up Jerry's belly and rested over his nipples. The toe of the boot stopped inched away from Jerry's face as he clutched it in his hand. Without instruction necessary, he grabbed hold of the boot and pressed his mouth against its toe. His tongue darted lizard-like over the instep, twisting the heel around, until gradually the slick wetness of his tongue made the leather glisten, his cock raging excitedly beneath the thin fabric of his dress trousers.

Removing his foot from Jerry's stiffening tool, he bent down and grasped Jerry's face between his hands. Taylor's eyes bore into Jerry's, and when they kissed, it was hot and tempestuous, Taylor's tongue darting hungrily over Jerry's compliant mouth. His tongue was hot and demanding as he mingled his passion with violent lust, and saliva spilled from their mouths.

Taylor's hand grasped Jerry's chin firmly, squeezing his mouth open, while his hand fumbled with the belt and button that held Jerry's trousers up. His mouth continued to wrest all resistance from Jerry.

After Taylor had gotten Jerry's shirt off and his trousers around his knees, he lay across Jerry's prone figure, his thick, blood-swollen cock grinding into the soft flesh. Taylor's hair-covered belly rubbed against Jerry's sensitive cock head, almost bringing his desire to immediate fruition.

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, Taylor sat back and pressed, Jerry's stiff dick against his round, supple ass. Reaching back, he spit onto Jerry's captive cock head, easing it into his asshole, stretching the tight pink ring until Jerry shivered with electricity. His swollen crown slipped beyond the ridge as the moist and darkened heat of his butt chute slid down his shaft.

Jerry squinted as burning sweat stung his eyes. Wiping his eyes, he focused on the handsome young man leaning backward, riding away on his cock with piston-like movements. Taylor's own cock stood straight out, dripping with pre-cum, as his muscular thighs straddled Jerry's hips, giving them a full delicious appearance. Jerry reached around to the young stud's chest and grasped hold of the firm, erect nipples, pressing them tightly between his fingers. The feel of Taylor's ass cheeks as they pumped against Jerry's thighs nearly brought him off. His hairy ass brushed against sensitive flesh. Taylor's asshole tightened and grasped and yanked and forced Jerry's aching cock far into his hungry bowels. He moaned low and sighed a satisfying breath of release.

Taylor rocked up an down on the full-bodied cock with a faster and more determined pace, stroking his cock from tip to sack. Taylor lifted his ass up until only Jerry's fat mushroom-head rested inside him, then plunged back down onto it. The pain made Jerry cry out, his cock as raw as a slab of beef. Taylor leapt forward, and Jerry's cock made a distinctive wet pop as it made its rough departure out of Taylor's sloppy butt. The young man quickly crawled over Jerry until he sat straddling his chest. His muscled, sweaty thighs rested on either side of Jerry's head and his swollen cock rested fully on his lips, before he shoved it into that hungry mouth.

He grasped the sides of Jerry's head, grabbing handfuls of hair, before repeating his pistoning motions into the proffered throat. Gasping for breath, Jerry refused to relinquish his hold on that meaty weapon, even as it relentlessly pounded the back of his mouth. He passively submitted to this savage face-fucking, his mouth and throat mere receptacles for Taylor's desire. Just when Taylor could no longer control himself, he shuddered and struggled to hold back, even as Jerry fought to suck that precious spooge out of him. At last, the thick, creamy liquid spilled into his throat. He barely tasted it as Taylor shot his wad past Jerry's mouth and directly down his throat. Jerry convulsed under the onslaught, and his cock pulsed and his balls ached as he shot load after load onto his belly. The hot spillage left puddles of cum dripping down his cock and saturating his pubic hairs.

Taylor's fingers played in the thick puddles of spunk making little circles. Raising his fingers to his lips, he tasted the milky, salty spill of his stalker. He smiled a little as the tip of his tongue lapped the thick syrup from him fingers. "It's late," Taylor said in a soft deep voice that trembled deep in his throat. He stood abruptly and walked out of the room.

"Wait!" Jerry struggled to his feet, nearly tripping over his trousers. He hurried to follow Taylor, but the man had disappeared. Sadly, he fastened himself up and went to look for his coat and retrieve Mike's sweater. When he found his trench coat, crumpled on the warehouse floor, he saw a scrap of paper lying on top: It was a telephone number with just the name "Taylor," scrawled in a child's blocky handwriting.

Mike pulled the sweater out of the bag and smiled impassively at the gift.

"It's very nice, Jerry. Thank you," he said. "And what else did you get me?" Mike dug deeper into the bag and pulled out a musky T-shirt. He examined it carefully, momentarily sniffing the masculine aroma. Jerry sat back in his easy chair and swirled a vodka martini in his hands. He looked up as Mike stood in the doorway twirling the shirt in his hands.

"Got something to tell me?" Mike said, tossing the shirt angrily into Jerry's lap. He stormed out of the room as Jerry brought the shirt to his face. Taylor. What a great name. He dug into his pocket, and felt for the tiny slip of paper: He already had the number memorized.
 


THE     END

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Any images, writings or other content on this website may be copied for personal viewing only.
They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
used on another website or blog; posted to any internet or computer newsgroup, forum or media sharing site;
nor used for any other purpose without the express written permission of the artist or KirwanArts.com.