Below is just a small sample - the PG-rated opener to my story "Sex in a Sardine Can". Nearly all the male "objects of desire" in my fiction existed in real life - this story taken from the days when I lived in Los Angeles and took the bus downtown every day ... my #26 bus, so jam-packed every morning, in particular with some amazing Mexican men.
Here is my ode to just one of them - just a sample, but it gives you can idea. Hope it rouses the senses!
"Sex in a Sardine Can"
His eyes seemed almost Asian - though double-lidded, they sloped upward at the outside corners – but the honey color of his skin and the way the lashes on those phenomenal brown eyes pointed straight downward, with no curl to them at all, spoke of pure Mexico.
He was not even an inch shorter than me – about 5'8" or so – but a good ten years younger. A college student, maybe, the backpack he wore over his shoulder adding to the student image. Certainly legal, anyway, though probably not old enough to drink legally.
And he was so hot. Damn, I couldn't take my eyes off him from the moment he stepped aboard the bus. He was thin but not too thin, well-built, with maybe a thirty-inch waist that, with that chest, made him v-shaped. His hair was not cut to the usual style of other young men his age, but instead clipped short and parted on the left in a conservative style that fairly screamed barber shop over salon; the few locks of thick, wavy bangs that almost fell into his drowsy, coffee-colored eyes were the only indication that a wild child dwelled within his altar boy appearance.
It was a cold morning for Los Angeles – though April, El Nino had not lost its death grip on us yet; mi angel mexicano wore a light Raiders windbreaker half-zipped over a navy blue sweater – under which you could see the collar of a crisp white t-shirt making a loving contrast with the dark skin of his throat.
Jeans maybe two sizes too big for him gave no indication as to the shape of his legs or ass, but my imagination had taken over by now and I pictured them as smooth and honey-brown and hairless as his hands and wrists, and from between my own legs my dick began a tentative hello. Black Nikes, the tiniest black Nikes I have ever seen, shuffled along the grungy middle aisle of the bus as he made his way toward me. I found myself staring at those impossibly-little feet, hypnotized by their forward motion.
Yeah, I have a major-league foot fetish. But unlike most guys who are into another guy's feet, I don't like them big – I like 'em small. And the feet I was ogling at now were maybe as big as a size seven.
Maybe.
I was standing about halfway back on the crowded 26 bus heading downtown. He passed me by, and as he d
id those innocent brown eyes shyly grazed my baby blues as he barely opened his wide, juicy-looking pink-brown lips and muttered a heavily-accented "Escuse me." I turned to face the window, letting him pass, smiling at him like a fool as I did so. He returned the smile for a flash of a second, then seemed to catch himself doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing – and the smile faded. His gaze broke from mine and he moved on toward the back of the bus, our bodies barely touching.
Unfortunately, though brief, that touch and the smile from that gorgeous boyish face and those dark Hispanic eyes lasted just long enough that now my dick was at full attention, straining my tightie-whities and the trousers of my suit until it pressed its entire eight inches up against my flat belly. It was also, unfortunately, pressing up against the arm of the elderly gentleman in the seat in front of where I stood. The old guy looked at my crotch, then up at me with such love and arousal that I turned and fled to the back of the bus as well.
The eye candy on the 26 bus every morning when I go to work is quite impressive. By the time we get half the distance of 7th Street, heading toward downtown, the bus is crowded with Mexican men, a real smorgasbord for the eyes. Though white myself, I must admit I find Hispanic/Latino – especially Mexican – men to be the hottest creatures God ever chose with which to bless this earth. The ones on the 26 bus are no exception – particularly if you like them young, like them dark, and like them really Mexican . . .
A.k.a. – macho.
The old man took a smiling glance back as I pushed my way to the rear of the bus. My hard-on brushed several hands and legs and shoulders of my fellow passengers; you know I was just waiting for some guy to punch me in the face, or some female to shout, "Policia!" I backed up without meeting anyone's gaze, mindful of my erection, until I had squeezed past all the bodies I could. That was when I bumped into an immovable object behind me, nearly stepping onto its foot. I turned to apologize to the person behind me . . .
And it was him. My Barrio Boy with the shining Asian/Mexican eyes and the round face of a child atop the body of a young, hard man. My mouth went cracker-dry, boner standing straight up again, and I mumbled a "Permiso" – excuse me.
Slowly looking up into my eyes, he smiled. His long, perfectly-straight black lashes blinked up innocently at me.
And in one nanosecond, I was in love.
I couldn't take it, suddenly couldn't take looking at him and not having him, right there on the bus, so I turned away to face front, hoping he'd get off soon, as about five billion more people boarded the bus up front.
Ever taken a city bus in Los Angeles? They're old and broken down, and little things like legal limits of passengers on them are completely disregarded. So when I faced forward and the crush of more people oozed through to the back of the bus, turning it into one big sardine can on wheels, I should have foreseen that I would be pushed even further backward -- and into the beautiful golden boy with the Disney-esque eyes.
What I didn't expect to find, however, was a half-grown erection pressing intimately into my left butt cheek. I gasped, then turned my head slightly to the right, pretending to stretch as I took a look . . .
Good God Almighty, it was him. And his child-like eyes were boring into my startled baby blues as if the devil of sex himself had suddenly possessed his soul.
His eyes seemed almost Asian - though double-lidded, they sloped upward at the outside corners – but the honey color of his skin and the way the lashes on those phenomenal brown eyes pointed straight downward, with no curl to them at all, spoke of pure Mexico.
He was not even an inch shorter than me – about 5'8" or so – but a good ten years younger. A college student, maybe, the backpack he wore over his shoulder adding to the student image. Certainly legal, anyway, though probably not old enough to drink legally.
And he was so hot. Damn, I couldn't take my eyes off him from the moment he stepped aboard the bus. He was thin but not too thin, well-built, with maybe a thirty-inch waist that, with that chest, made him v-shaped. His hair was not cut to the usual style of other young men his age, but instead clipped short and parted on the left in a conservative style that fairly screamed barber shop over salon; the few locks of thick, wavy bangs that almost fell into his drowsy, coffee-colored eyes were the only indication that a wild child dwelled within his altar boy appearance.
It was a cold morning for Los Angeles – though April, El Nino had not lost its death grip on us yet; mi angel mexicano wore a light Raiders windbreaker half-zipped over a navy blue sweater – under which you could see the collar of a crisp white t-shirt making a loving contrast with the dark skin of his throat.
Jeans maybe two sizes too big for him gave no indication as to the shape of his legs or ass, but my imagination had taken over by now and I pictured them as smooth and honey-brown and hairless as his hands and wrists, and from between my own legs my dick began a tentative hello. Black Nikes, the tiniest black Nikes I have ever seen, shuffled along the grungy middle aisle of the bus as he made his way toward me. I found myself staring at those impossibly-little feet, hypnotized by their forward motion.
Yeah, I have a major-league foot fetish. But unlike most guys who are into another guy's feet, I don't like them big – I like 'em small. And the feet I was ogling at now were maybe as big as a size seven.
Maybe.
I was standing about halfway back on the crowded 26 bus heading downtown. He passed me by, and as he d
id those innocent brown eyes shyly grazed my baby blues as he barely opened his wide, juicy-looking pink-brown lips and muttered a heavily-accented "Escuse me." I turned to face the window, letting him pass, smiling at him like a fool as I did so. He returned the smile for a flash of a second, then seemed to catch himself doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing – and the smile faded. His gaze broke from mine and he moved on toward the back of the bus, our bodies barely touching.Unfortunately, though brief, that touch and the smile from that gorgeous boyish face and those dark Hispanic eyes lasted just long enough that now my dick was at full attention, straining my tightie-whities and the trousers of my suit until it pressed its entire eight inches up against my flat belly. It was also, unfortunately, pressing up against the arm of the elderly gentleman in the seat in front of where I stood. The old guy looked at my crotch, then up at me with such love and arousal that I turned and fled to the back of the bus as well.
The eye candy on the 26 bus every morning when I go to work is quite impressive. By the time we get half the distance of 7th Street, heading toward downtown, the bus is crowded with Mexican men, a real smorgasbord for the eyes. Though white myself, I must admit I find Hispanic/Latino – especially Mexican – men to be the hottest creatures God ever chose with which to bless this earth. The ones on the 26 bus are no exception – particularly if you like them young, like them dark, and like them really Mexican . . .
A.k.a. – macho.
The old man took a smiling glance back as I pushed my way to the rear of the bus. My hard-on brushed several hands and legs and shoulders of my fellow passengers; you know I was just waiting for some guy to punch me in the face, or some female to shout, "Policia!" I backed up without meeting anyone's gaze, mindful of my erection, until I had squeezed past all the bodies I could. That was when I bumped into an immovable object behind me, nearly stepping onto its foot. I turned to apologize to the person behind me . . .
And it was him. My Barrio Boy with the shining Asian/Mexican eyes and the round face of a child atop the body of a young, hard man. My mouth went cracker-dry, boner standing straight up again, and I mumbled a "Permiso" – excuse me.
Slowly looking up into my eyes, he smiled. His long, perfectly-straight black lashes blinked up innocently at me.
And in one nanosecond, I was in love.
I couldn't take it, suddenly couldn't take looking at him and not having him, right there on the bus, so I turned away to face front, hoping he'd get off soon, as about five billion more people boarded the bus up front.
Ever taken a city bus in Los Angeles? They're old and broken down, and little things like legal limits of passengers on them are completely disregarded. So when I faced forward and the crush of more people oozed through to the back of the bus, turning it into one big sardine can on wheels, I should have foreseen that I would be pushed even further backward -- and into the beautiful golden boy with the Disney-esque eyes.
What I didn't expect to find, however, was a half-grown erection pressing intimately into my left butt cheek. I gasped, then turned my head slightly to the right, pretending to stretch as I took a look . . .
Good God Almighty, it was him. And his child-like eyes were boring into my startled baby blues as if the devil of sex himself had suddenly possessed his soul.
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