All-American Jockboy Throne

All-American Jockboy Throne

By William Monroe

Marix Tex-Mex on N. Flores Street just off Santa Monica Blvd. in West Hollywood is one of my favorite Los Angeles restaurants. The place isn't fancy, but its margaritas and fajitas are legendary. When Marix is crowded, as it usually is, local LGBTQ West Hollywood residents, models, actors, even Academy Award winners, and tourists all stand in line waiting for their names to be called for a table. I eat there at least twice a week, and I always arrive late so friends have done the waiting and are seated before I arrive. That way, I can leave my car with the valet parking attendant and walk right in. Okay, say I think I'm special; I don't mind. I just think I plan well.

That's where I first noticed him, after dinner as I waited for my car outside Marix: about thirty feet up on the opposite side of the street from the ramp leading to the restaurant's door. Although it was night and the only light came from nearby stores, I could tell he looked about 18 or 19 and was cute in an All-American-boy sort of way, which was unusual in West Hollywood. I remember thinking that his short dark brown hair, jeans, sneakers, and polo shirt made him look like a high school jock. That's all I thought about him before the Valet delivered my car and I was on my way.

Several nights later, when I pulled up to the valet stand and hopped out of my car, I'm not sure if I looked, because he certainly left an impression, so I might have looked to see if he was there again, or if my eyes accidentally caught sight of him standing in about the same spot across the street. I remember thinking how strange it was to find the same kid standing in the same unusual spot on two nights, several days apart. Thoughts of the hot-looking young guy across the street stayed with me as I entered the restaurant and went straight to the table where five of my closest friends were already seated and having a lively, margarita-fueled conversation.

"Hey, Bill! About time you got here!" Beamed my close friend and mentor, Don Embinder. Now retired, Don found Blueboy magazine in 1976, America's first national gay publication. As avid card players, we both belonged to the Beverly Hills Bel-Air Poker Club and played every Wednesday. On my way home from a Club card night, I ran into bad-boy Tommy, who had terrorized the condo complex where my Boy and partner Ron and I rented for a year when we first arrived in Los Angeles, hustling on a Santa Monica Blvd. corner. Two years had passed since we moved into our house, and Tommy didn't recognize me. I took him home and wrote about that night in "Correcting Tommy," available at the Nifty Archive and Literotica.

When I slid onto the table's only remaining empty seat next to Don, and poured myself a margarita from the pitcher conveniently waiting on the table before me, my friend leaned close and asked, "When you pulled up did you happen to notice a good-looking kid, late teens, standing on the opposite side of Flores about thirty feet or so up toward the hills?"

That was about the last thing I expected to hear come out of Donald Embinder's mouth. No, that was the last thing I expected Don to say. If I had been eating, he would have had food all over him.

I am not one to be easily surprised or startled, or at least to let on that I have been; I recovered quickly. "Donald, how do you even know about that kid? What do you know about him? I noticed him last week. He seems to always be there."

Don Embinder and I became instant friends when we met at a party, not so much because our professional and social circles overlapped as because we quickly discovered we shared a twisted sense of humor. We were similar in other ways too.

"I arrived early and saw that hottie standing over there in the shadows alone. I had to wander over and find out what he was up to. I've made quite a bundle over the past fifty years making sure I meet boys like that when they pop up in front of me." Don explained, with a chuckle and twinkle in his eyes. The twinkle indicated to me, who knew him well, that he was holding something important back.

"And? Come on, Donald, I know there's more," I pushed, giving him a look meant to let my friend know I was not amused.

"Oh, well, yes, you're right, there is. His name's Danny, and yes, he is definitely there for a reason," Don admitted. "And he's from Encino."

"The Valley? He comes all the way here from the far end of the Valley?" I asked incredulously. Encino, in the San Fernando Valley, was about eighteen to twenty miles from West Hollywood, on the opposite side of the Santa Monica Mountains. Drive time varied widely with the time of day and traffic, but a half-hour or more was not unusual. "Did he say why, and why he stands there, on Flores Street, not on Santa Monica Boulevard?"

"Yes, and you're going to love this," Don acknowledged, grinning.

"Well, why?" I demanded.

"Danny boy drives in from Encino several nights a week and hangs out across the street hoping that eventually you'll be curious enough to get your ass over there and do what I did the first time I saw him. He's there night after night hoping to meet you, handsome."

Although my mind was still digesting Don's words, I was already totally blown away.

"What?! You're bullshitting me..." I declared, convinced that Embinder, known for making up this sort of thing to watch one of his friends embarrass himself, was lying.

I tried to say more, but Donald was laughing so hard that he wouldn't have heard anything I said. Then, when he pulled himself together, he said, "Buddy, sometimes you can be so dense. I didn't get the whole story; you can do that, but it seems that, for some reason that I can't understand, because you are such an asshole, the kid is infatuated with you."

"He doesn't even know me! We've never met..." I blurted out.

"Then thank your fairy godmother. I don't know what to tell you, except that's what he told me. I suggest that you go talk to him and figure it all out yourself," Don advised, laughing again.

I could go through the rest of our conversation, but I think you have an idea. Long story short, after dinner, instead of having the valet attendant bring my car right away, I crossed the street and walked the fifty or so feet to where the boy I now knew as Danny stood under a tree. I have to hand it to the kid; he didn't move or turn away, and his eyes, which I thought were fixed on me the first time I saw him and again earlier that evening, stayed on me as I approached and looked directly into his as I extended my hand.

"Hi, I'm Bill," I said. "My friend Don said you want to meet me. I understand you're Danny."

"Yes, Sir, I'm Danny, and yes, someone we both know told me you come here a lot, so I've been hanging out here hoping to meet you," the boy, who up close was even more stunningly All-American-looking than I had imagined, explained.

"Oh, really? Who told you I come here a lot?" I asked, surprised and very curious that this incredibly hot, apparently well-brought-up kid and I had a mutual acquaintance who knew my habits.

"Tommy, a guy a little older than me who works at Dream Rods. My mom bought her car there. I've been there a couple of times with her. That's where he and I met," the sexy young stud standing before me, with what under his clothing was clearly an athlete's body and who had an almost picture-perfect teenage boy next door face explained, shattering my already blown mind. Danny had somehow hooked up and become friendly with bad-boy Tommy at the high-end specialty auto dealership I co-owned in Burbank. I was a little amused, but I wasn't happy that Tommy was freely giving out information on how and where people could find me.

"Did Tommy tell you anything about me?" I asked.

"A little, but I've heard stuff on the street." Then, completely off-topic, Danny announced, "I'm not really gay. I mean, I do gay stuff, but I graduated in June and no one at school ever suspected."

"Hey, relax, Danny," I urged, concerned and really feeling for the boy who was obviously working himself up. I reached out, placed my right hand on his left shoulder, and squeezed it firmly, but not aggressively. "I think I understand, and it's cool."

The small, weak smile he gave me was accompanied by a slight lessening of the tension in his shoulder, just a little, but noticeable.

"I like girls, pussy, eating pussy especially," he said, proudly, but a bit sheepishly, looking for a moment as if he was talking to one of his friend's dads. "But I'm always in charge with girls..."

Ha! That didn't sound as proud or self-satisfied. "Yeah, I know how that can be. Doing all the work can be a drag after a while," I laughed, then added, "Hey, you must have driven here from Encino. Where are you parked?"

"In there," Danny said, motioning over his shoulder to the tiny five-shop strip mall on the corner of Santa Monica and N. Flores where I took my dry cleaning. "It's one of the reasons I always stand here, so I can see if they're having my car towed," he added, laughing.

"Have to ask, Danny, sorry, how old are you?" I asked, shooting him a friendly grin.

"Oh, yeah, that's cool. I'll be 19 in seven months."

I loved this kid! Pure dude. Not 18 or even almost 18-and-a-half; I'll be 19 in seven months!

"How about coming up to my place? We can talk there a lot better," I suggested.

"Yeah, cool, great, really!" He laughed. "That's the other reason I've been standing here."

"Oh?"

"I didn't expect your friend to come over first, but I knew you saw me the other night. I figured if I kept coming back, you'd eventually come over and ask me to come home with you," Danny explained, looking me in the eyes again with just a hint of humor in his voice.

Fuck, I thought, the more this kid talks, the more I like everything about him.

I waited until Danny got into his car and pulled around onto Flores St. before I had the valet attendant get my vehicle. I pulled over in front of Danny, then got out and gave him basic directions to my place, explaining that if we got separated, I'd meet him at the Canyon Country Store halfway up Laurel Canyon Blvd. toward Mulholland Drive. Everyone who'd ever been in Laurel Canyon or seen a movie shot there knew the landmark store, so he immediately knew where I meant. I needn't have worried; Danny stayed about thirty feet behind me all the way to my house.

During the drive up into the hills, I called Ron and confirmed he planned to spend the night at his girlfriend's place, as I expected. As usual, Ron tried to get as much information as he could from me about whom I was spending the evening with. Fifteen minutes later, Danny's car was parked on the street in front of my house, and we were in my den. Because it gets cold in the hills at night in late summer, I built a fire. While doing so, I casually tried to get more information from Danny about the mysterious, gorgeous, not-yet-out young jock fortune that had dropped into my lap.

I had already decided Danny was a precocious and unusually direct kid. Still, his opening bit of information caught me off guard. He started by saying he lived with his parents, who were away on a 10-day cruise. He added that he was an only child, didn't have a dog to feed or walk, and had nothing to do until he started a new job in three days.

After thinking that over for a few seconds, I said, "That answers my question about what time you have to be home tonight."

We got the basic stuff out of the way quickly. He asked me some questions, and I asked him some. I learned that my suspicion that he was a jock was correct; he was a Winger on his high school soccer team and would enter UCLA in the fall on a scholarship to play for the school's soccer team. Looks, clearly brains considering how he had planned us meeting, and athletic skill; quite a package, I thought, and I hadn't yet seen his package.

Danny was upfront about why he searched me out: he'd heard on the street from boys who didn't know me, but had heard what other boys who didn't know me said I'm about. Most of it was wrong--heavy BDSM, whips and chains, and leather drag bores me--but he got enough right that I knew we had something to work with. Then he met Tommy, who, it seems, he became more of a friend to than he had let on earlier, or Tommy had ever mentioned. Tommy, talking out of school, corrected a lot of Danny's misimpressions. I almost laughed again as Danny talked. The image of the two hot, young--so similar in that Tommy was still essentially straight like Danny when I began to train him--semi-straight bottom boys sharing info about me as one brought the other up to speed was endearing in its own way.

When we got down to the nitty-gritty, I started quizzing Danny about his experience with guys. He had some, mostly with boys his age, but he had been with a couple of men who, from what he told me, had wasted their time with him. Danny knew that, which is why he sought me out; he wanted to learn it all, and by all, he meant the edgy stuff. Danny again reiterated his love for eating pussy and then, looking anything but embarrassed or bashful, looked right into my eyes, which I decided by then was a habit of his I liked, and said, "I want to eat your ass. I've never done that, and I know eating your ass is going to be better than eating any pussy."

I have to tell you, that was the first time I had ever even come close to having an 18-year-old-going-to-be-19 in seven months not really gay boy tell me what the game plan for the night was going to be, but I approved of it wholeheartedly.

Danny was not to be wasted on the floor in my den. We moved to my bedroom, where the wall opposite the foot of the king-size bed was one continuous closet running the length of the wall, with six hinged, mirrored-clad doors. I wanted Danny and me both to be able to watch and enjoy everything that would play out on the bed and the thickly padded carpet around it.

I turned on only the overhead lights recessed into the ceiling, and dimmed them a little, but not too much. We had discussed his fantasies and desires and what I'm about. We both knew what sensory exploration lay ahead, and neither of us wanted to miss any of it. Piling pillows against the padded suede headboard, I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed. Still fully dressed, Danny stood at the foot of the bed, facing me, his back to the mirrored wall.

"Strip for me, Danny. Do it just like you would if you were in the locker room getting ready for a soccer game, not like some sexy girl. As you remove your clothes, fold and place each piece on the floor at the foot of the bed," I directed my now grinning young sub who had been very direct with me during our conversation about how he had fantasized about me treating him.

As he began to undress, the grin vanished from Danny's handsome jockboy face almost as if, heeding my words, he had transported himself back to his school locker room. First, he stood on his left foot, then his right, and the muscular boy I judged to be about 5 ft. 10 in. tall and roughly 170 pounds removed his sneakers. Then, looking into my eyes again, as Danny seemed to enjoy doing, he reached up, gripped the shoulders of his polo shirt, pulled it straight up off his torso, folded it, bent down, and placed it on the floor. During our talk earlier, Danny told me that, as part of his conditioning as a winger for his school's soccer team, he did repeated 20-30 minute exercise blocks focusing on 1-on-1 dribbling and repeated sprints.

All that extreme athletic training, apparent in his upper body, with its round, mounded delts, wide lats, and his smooth, well-defined pecs, came into striking view when Danny opened and dropped his jeans, exposing his legs, beautifully sculpted young columns of muscle topped by black boxer briefs so tight they looked as if they had been spray-painted on. As Danny bent over, looked up into my eyes again, and held his jeans waistband, preparing to step out of them, I made a decision.

"Fold your jeans and place them with your shirt, then stand up, but don't remove your boxers," I directed. "Place your hands behind your back high up above your butt, and clasp your wrists."

Standing at the foot of the bed naked except for his skin-tight, black stretch cotton boxer briefs that were straining to conceal what appeared to be about a six-and-a-half to seven-inch, hard as steel, cut dick, 5 ft. 10 in., 170-pound, blue-eyed, with short on the sides and curly-topped dark brown hair and his hands obediently clasped behind his back, All-American boy, high school soon-to-be college athlete, Danny was the vision of a desirable young submissive male in heat.

"Keep your hands where they are, turn around and face the mirrors," I directed, and Danny immediately complied.

"That's quite a boner you've got going in your shorts." I watched Danny's eyes drop from trying to look at me over his right shoulder through the mirrors, to look down at his black cotton-covered hard-on. "I know it's hard for me. Go on, slut, keep your eyes on your dick through the mirror and make it dance in those tight shorts for me."

Using the word, Danny had told me earlier he masturbated night after night while fantasizing me calling him as I made him do things 18-year-old All-American high school soon-to-be college athlete boys from the suburbs never do, caused the semi-naked young jockboy facing the mirrors at the foot of my bed, making his hard, still hidden penis dance for me involuntarily gasp out a shuddering sigh.

"That's right, spread your feet and arch your back. Thrust out your chest so those hard little nipples at the tips of your pecs show up like high beams. Show me what you really are beneath that young stud jock you present to everyone else," I demanded, and Danny's back arched, thrusting his smooth, cut, chiseled pecs forward.

"Good boy... see, you really can be a good boy. Now, maintain that position and hook your thumbs under the rear waistband of your boxer briefs. Do it now," I ordered.

Danny unclasped his hands, and his thumbs slipped beneath his shorts' waistband. Standing on slightly bent knees, leaning forward just a bit with his handsome face and perfectly developed chest thrust out toward the mirrors, which naturally pushed his well-muscled and tightly black stretch cotton-covered ass back toward me with his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his shorts, Danny was almost too enticing a vision to tamper with.

"Slowly now, slut, very slowly, show me your pretty ass," I told my new boy. "Be sure to do this right, slut, this will decide if I keep you."

"Oh, fuck, yes, Sir..." a soft, barely spoken moan more than a spoken sentence, really, as Danny's eyes locked on mine through the mirror and his thumbs began to slowly, very, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, move the waistband of his boxer briefs down off his hips and over the top curves of his marvelous butt cheeks. None of him moved except his hands, as ever so slowly; Danny exposed more and more of the smooth, unblemished flesh of his muscular young ass. When Danny lowered the boxers down his legs, he folded them like his other clothes and, at my direction, crawled up onto the bed.

Still dressed, I took welcomed naked Danny into my arms and allowed the stern, dominant Master and trainer persona he had let me know he sought from me to drop for a moment. I would resume it soon enough. I liked this kid and felt a connection with him that I wanted him to know existed. Soon enough, I was standing beside the bed, and Danny was undressing me. Then we went to my home gym and the large shower off it for Danny's first shave. I say shave, although I never actually use razors, just high-quality depilatory creams like Nair for Men or Crew Body Cream, which usually do the job perfectly within 5 to 15 minutes. Since the creams remove hair just below the skin, it takes much longer for it to grow back.

I always trim a boy's hair before applying the cream. I took my time trimming Danny's pubic hair. Being as athletic as he was, he easily spread his legs and ass so I could easily access behind his balls, along his taint, in his butt crack, and around his tight asshole before I gently applied the depilatory cream. We were in the shower when I did that, him squatting with his arms slightly spread and his hands against the wall, me behind him, reaching under his spread ass cheeks, rolling his balls in my hands as I coated his sack with cream, spreading the cream on his taint and his ass crack and over and around his pouting little asshole. I knew in one sense athlete Danny was totally humiliated and on a different level, slut Danny was in heaven. His handsome face was almost invisible as his head hung in shame, nearly hidden between his thickly muscled upper arms. As the fingers of my left hand spread the slippery cream over his testicles, rolling them in their sack, I told him to lift his head.

"Lift your face, slut. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Your cock knows that. Look down at it. Your dick's still as hard as it's been since I brought you home with me." I teased the young jockboy whose pubic hair I was stripping away as I had his clothing. "Besides, after I've gotten rid of this unsightly hair and we've showered, you're going to be lying right here on this shower floor, finally getting to do what you've been beating off night after night just imagining doing. Why don't you tell me again what that is? In fact, reach down and stroke your cock for me while you look over your right shoulder into my eyes and tell me."

It was as if I had shoved a poker up the boy's ass. Danny's face whipped around to look at me over his shoulder as his right hand dropped from the wall down between his thighs and his fist began to pound his hard cock.

"I'm gonna eat your ass, Sir! You're gonna sit on my face right here on the floor, and I'm going to shove my tongue all the way up your ass!" Danny almost yelled as he looked into my eyes and jacked his dick.

"Fuck, yeah, you are, slut." I grinned back. "And I am. I am going to sit on your handsome face and make you my All-American Jockboy Throne. But before that happens, I have a few other plans for you. Now, spin around and get down on my cock."

And spin is pretty much what Danny did. One second, the 18, going on 19-year-old athlete was kneeling facing the shower wall, and then he was on his hands and knees between my spread ones, bobbing on my eight-inch dick with his eyes turned up, still looking into mine. One thing I could say for Danny was that what little experience he had with guys had sure taught him how to suck cock. For an 18-year-old suburban, still-deep-in-the-closet jockboy, Danny's mouth was talented, and he knew all about the importance of eye contact. Danny kept his eyes glued to mine while his lips and tongue twirled and his face pumped up and down my shaft. Every six or seven bobs of his head, his long tongue would snake out and slurp up the leaking drool and precum off his lips and the area below his lower lip, always as his eyes watched for my reaction to him being so slutty. The more time I spent with my All-American Jockboy, the more I understood what motivated his inner slut.

Eventually, I turned Danny around and guided him onto his back as he continued to masturbate. I have to admit, with Danny lying face up on the floor before me, his strong legs thrown back with his knees on either side of his pecs, with his arms wrapped around them, his right fist still stroking his hard cock, looking up into my eyes as he always seemed to be, it was hard not to take him right then. His perfect ass was rolled up, offered up, with the muscles surrounding his hip bones pressed against the insides of my thighs and his tailbone resting against my balls. His hairless balls and his hard, nearly seven-inch-long cock with its big perfect head pointed down against his rigid abs in his fist being stroked toward his handsome face.

At my direction, Danny swung his legs higher, spread them wider, pulled his knees over his head, and wrapped his arms tighter around them. He obeyed immediately. Even though he was obeying and performing unquestioningly, I warned him that his ass was perfectly positioned for disciplining if he closed his mouth without my permission.

In his naked, ass-up position, with the smooth undersides of his muscular thighs framing his well-defined pecs and his thick, cut cock now pointing down at his handsome face with his perfect kissable lips, I almost fucked him then. Instead, I smiled as I began to gently pet and tickle Danny's asshole with an index finger while he continued to stroke his now leaking dick down over his handsome face. That's when I told him to open his mouth wide and keep it open.

For the next little while, I smiled down at my new sub as he lay on his back between my feet on the shower floor with his strong legs thrown back, his kneecaps beside his ears, stroking his hard, leaking cock straight down at his wide-open mouth, looking up into my eyes and making the lewdest and enticing sounds as his leaking pre collected on his tongue. Now and then, I would reach down with my index finger to scoop some precum up off Danny's tongue and spread it on his asshole's soft, sensitive folds, and then finger fuck him with it. I let Danny swallow his pre while he was being fingered. As he did, I always smiled and assured Danny he was a Very Good Boy. That always made Danny beat his meat even faster and harder, which caused his cock to leak more, which fed Danny more pre while I fingered his asshole.

When I knew Danny was fully in subspace and we were both ready to go where he wanted me to take him, I stood and shuffle-guided Danny a few inches back toward the shower wall so I would be able to lean forward against it, then while maintaining Danny's position I lowered my ass down onto his handsome upturned face covering his wide-open mouth with the spread crack of my ass. Leaning forward over Danny's body with my palms against the wall, I settled my asshole down onto the tip of Danny's up-thrusting tongue and got comfortable rocking and grinding my asshole down upon my throne. For the next thirty minutes or so, I kept most of my weight on my knees and hands to avoid putting pressure on Danny's head and neck. Any discomfort that may have entailed was offset by having Danny's cock, balls, taint, and asshole before my face as if served up on a platter to be played with and enjoyed while my 18, going on 19-year-old All-American Jockboy Throne sank deep into his fantasy of licking, kissing, tongue-fucking, and doing all he could to eat and tongue thrust his way up into my ass.

Since Danny's mouth was busy, he and I both milked his profusely leaking cock. I knocked his hand away from the puddle of leaked pre on his belly, because I wanted all his pre to use as lube for his asshole, which I kept sliding my pre-coated fingers up into to ensure it was super slick when he got tired of eating my ass and came up for air. When that happened, I intended to fuck Danny's brains out using his own jockboy pre as the lube.

I didn't know it until later, when we moved into the gym, but it was close to forty-five minutes before Danny boy came up for air, which really amazed me. I've eaten an asshole or two, but never for anywhere near going on three-quarters of an hour. I didn't wait for him to say we were just taking a breather before round two. Up until then, I had made the night about Danny, learning about him, especially his fantasy, what made him seek me out, and letting him live it. Now it was my turn.

Before Danny could look over his shoulder, look into my eyes, and growl, "Daddy...," I grabbed that sexy young stud and threw him over my shoulders. I put Danny down in the gym and tossed him a towel. He knew what to do with it without me telling him. As soon as we were damp and dry, I bent Danny over the leather-topped massage table and, reaching between his already spreading legs, milked out some of his fresh pre onto my right index finger and the fuck finger next to it. Sure enough, when I looked up, damn if Danny wasn't looking over his shoulder, his eyes locked on mine, a smile on his face.

That was where I fucked him the first time; bent over the massage table in my home gym, with his asshole and my cock lubed with his precum.

With Danny looking back over his shoulder at me, I held him down with a hand on his back just below his neck while I fingered his already loosened asshole, reaching repeatedly between his thighs to swipe his leaking pre off the tip of his hard cock with my fingers and slide them up into him. Each time he approached the edge, I'd back him off until I was ready to thrust my cock deep up into him. When I did, I took my time fucking his still tight butt. Riding his muscular young ass with long, steady, deep thrusts, finding and then gliding the length of my cock over the hard little button that made Danny shove his ass back on my dick.

As Danny's moans and grunts got louder, my hand slid up from his back along the back of his neck to the buzz cut back of his head and into the mass of curls on top of his head. His long gasp-like sigh as my fingers weaved through his hair made me smile as the backward swing of my pelvis slid my long thick cock from my slutty young All-American Jockboy Throne's tight hot clutching butthole. Then I thrust in again, and back up Danny's tight hungry asshole went my big dick pounding into his cum pump, making my handsome young jockboy grunt and moan.

Then, before either of us was really aware, it was upon us. Danny strained to swivel his head all the way around over his right shoulder as my hand fled his hair and held his head instead. I was exploding deep inside him, bathing his prostate as it vibrated against my thrusting, pounding, rocking cock as he gushed over and over. When we both finally stopped cumming, we held each other tightly as our seemingly endless orgasms shuddered through us.

That was the first night. Danny got to live his fantasy. The following morning, while Danny was showering, I called Tommy, who was working at Dream Rods that day. I told him to come by the house that evening after dinner; around 9 p. m. would be a good time, I said. No, nothing was wrong, I assured him.

***

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