THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #38: COCKSMOKE

[If you’ve known me long enough, you know that I practically worship GUNSMOKE, the western TV show that ran from 1955 to 1975. This story is proof that no subject is too sacred for me to write about. This was the final pornographic story that I sold. I tried my hand a few more times at it, considering how I’d made $200 dollars for my smut, but I gave up after a while. My heart just wasn’t into it. This was published in Indulge for Men #85. I must have learned quite a bit from Bobby Yandell, because this time they ran it without any major edits. I was proud of that. Also, in this issue there was a picture of a dude sucking his own dick. It was the first time I’d actually seen anything like that, so naturally I photocopied it and hid them in my friends’ apartments whenever I got the chance. Nothing makes me smile quite like seeing a guy who considers himself very masculine, to the point where they are slightly homophobic, finding this picture in one of his drawers or hidden in a coffee table book.]

I stepped off the boardwalk and started across the muddy street, headed for Miss Pussycat’s saloon. A tumbleweed rolled past, and I stepped up to the batwing doors. On his way out was old Doc Mal, one of the meanest bastards I’ve ever known. We used to have something going. I wouldn’t exactly say we were going out with each other, but we used to do things together.

I’d gone in for a check-up, and he told me to strip down naked so he could examine me. He watched, biting his lower lip, as I removed my trousers and slid them down to my ankles. His eyes settled on my thick, long cock. I could tell he wanted to touch it, and I really wanted him to. I’d never had a relationship with an older man before, and he had been about forty at the time. He’s sixty now, but I still think often about what he said back then.

“That’s a mighty fine specimen right there,” he said, voice crackling. “Never seen one so . . . so . . .”

My cock knew when it was being talked about. It started to plump up, and soon it was reaching out for Doc Mal’s touch. I took his hand and wrapped it around my member.

He looked into my eyes and smiled. “Feels so . . . firm.” He squeezed my cock, and I groaned, growing harder against his palm. He moved his hand back and forth, stretching my skin taut, causing my dick to spasm pleasurably every once in a while.

“Faster,” I whispered, and his hand went quicker. I moved closer to him, brushing my glans against his leg, and I reached to his crotch and began to knead his flesh through his pants. I didn’t even need to mold his cock into a hard-on; he was ready to go.

I freed him from his pants and clutched at his dick. It wasn’t as thick as mine, but it was nice and long. It gave me a lot of room to move.

He groaned and said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Is this your first time?” I asked him.

“With a man, yes. I just, I mean, your cock is just so perfect, and I want it so bad.” His body suddenly stiffened, and my had was warm and sticky with his come. I looked down to see him still spurting away, his satisfaction running down my flesh and onto the floor.

When he caught his breath, he said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I just had to.”

“It’s all right,” I told him. “It’s your first time.”

Doc Mal went to his knees and said, “I want to make you feel good.” He popped me into his mouth and started moving his lips so hard I could feel the back of his teeth on my glans. His mustache brushed against my flesh, and I groaned. “Don’t stop, Doc,” I whispered. “Good Lord, don’t stop.”

His hand gently squeezed my scrotum, and I drew my breath in sharply. I saw him smile around my shaft, and he fondled my balls with professional expertise. It made me feel like a lightweight.

It wasn’t long before I convulsed in his mouth. He didn’t stop moving his lips as he took every inch and sucked out every drop within me.

From that moment on, Doc Mal and I had a very sexual relationship. We weren’t actually going out with each other—no one would allow a U.S. Marshal to know what cock tastes like, and who would go to a doctor with extensive knowledge of anal probing?—but whenever we had the urge, we got together. That is, until recently. Ol’ Doc Mal’s been getting old, and he quickly became embarrassed. We haven’t been with each other in a long time.

As I stepped up to the batwing doors, Doc Mal greeted me. “If it isn’t Mort Dalton, U.S. Marshal. Goin’ in to see Miss Pussycat?”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling my hat off, arming a sheen of sweat away from my forehead. “It’s pretty hot out there. I’m in the mood for a beer.”

“The Johnsons are expecting, so I’m off to give them a visit. You should talk to Miss Pussycat. She’s very interested in you, you know.”

“Doc, you know I could never. Besides, I’ve known her for twenty years. I think I’d know her feelings toward me.” I leaned in close to him and whispered, “Besides, you’re the one that interests me.”

“Mort, you can’t wait around on me,” Doc Mal said. “I’m an old man now. You’ve still got some good years left in ya. Find some young thing. Or maybe give Miss Pussycat a try. You never know.”

I grinned. “Not a chance. See ya’ later, Doc.”

He grunted. “Damn youngsters.”

I watched his short form hobble away a bit drunkenly, then I turned to walk into the saloon. Miss Pussycat stood by the bar, talking to the bartender. She owned the saloon, and like Doc Mal had said, she’d wanted me for many years. Sure, I’d been tempted a couple of times, just to see what it would be like, but honestly, I’m more into people like Doc Mal. Still, maybe the old buzzard was right. Maybe it was time to move on.

“Hi, Mort,” Miss Pussycat said as she walked toward me, swaying her hips and showing some cleavage.

I maintained eye contact. “Hello, Miss Pussycat.”

“Care for a drink?”

“I’d love one,” I said.

As we walked toward the bar, someone yelled, “Goddam tinhorn!”

I whirled around just in time to see someone at a poker table jump up, pushing his chair back and to the floor. His hand darted down toward his gun, yanking it from his holster.

The tinhorn was quicker. In fact, he seemed rather calm about the whole situation. His hand leisurely reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a derringer, which he then fired into the cowboy’s face, dropping him like a sack of bricks.

I was there as quickly as I could, my hand hovering near my own gun. “Hold it.”

He turned toward me, and in that moment, I felt something stir within me. He was a handsome young man with a pencil-line mustache, thick dark hair, and eyes to kill for. His black jacket and frilly white shirt were the perfect complement to his effeminate appearance. “Marshal,” he said calmly. “You saw it. I killed him in self-defense.”

I nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m not arresting you. I want you out of Dodd City by sunset.”

“I committed no crime,” the tinhorn said.

“No, you didn’t. But tinhorns are trouble. I don’t like trouble in my town.”

He sighed and started collecting his money. “Very well, Marshal. I’ll be gone by sunset.”

I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong. That night, I was out making my rounds on my own. Usually my deputy, Chet Grote, would join me, but he was down with a cold, so I was on my own. I was heading back to my office when I noticed the light on inside. I thought maybe Chet was feeling better and wanted to help out; maybe he wanted a little something else, too.

Chet had been my deputy for five years. We met in Miss Pussycat’s bar, and I took an instant liking to him. Maybe he wasn’t the bitter old cuss Doc Mal was, but he had a lot of spark and vigor to him. Of course, in those days, I was with Doc Mal, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still have my thoughts.

And though it pains me to admit it, I did cheat on Doc Mal. I didn’t mean to, it was just one of those things that happened. Chet and I had been drinking quite a bit. We were off duty at the time (I had a third deputy back then), and we decided to enjoy ourselves for a change. We both sat in Chet’s room at the Dodd House, passing a bottle of Miss Pussycat’s best whisky between us. The night had grown late, and the bottle was empty.

“Well,” I said, “I’d best get back to my bunk at the jail. If I can make it, that is.”

I stood, and for a moment I felt fine, but when I took my first step, the world seemed to tilt sideways. It took me a second to realize I was falling, but Chet was there, and he caught me like a pro.

“You’d better stay here the night,” Chet told me as he helped me to his bed. I flopped down on the mattress and watched as Chet wrestled my boots from my feet. Next, he helped me out of my shirt and pulled the covers out from under me. He unbuckled my belt, and that was when I couldn’t help it any more. I gave in to the stirrings in my pants and let my hard-on take shape.

“Mister Dalton!” Chet gasped. “Why you’ve got yourself a mighty fine tent there.”

I grinned. “All the better to fuck you with, my dear.” I caressed the bulge at the front of my pants and felt it leap against my palm. I knew I shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t help it. I was drunk and Doc Mal was the farthest thing from my mind.

“Can I give it a touch, Mister Dalton?” Chet asked, and he said it with such a touch of innocence that I had to laugh.

“Sure thing, Chet.”

Tentatively, he eased his hand against the throbbing bulge and rubbed a couple of times, smiling at each pulse my cock gave.

“You can take it out, if you want to,” I said.

Chet nodded as he unbuttoned my pants and brought the zipper down slowly. Pushing the flaps of cloth aside, he gasped when he saw my cock extend until it was pushing at my navel. He wrapped his hands around my shaft and gave it a couple of strokes before gently kissing the tip. I drew my breath in.

“Lick it, Chet. Lick it.”

He ran his tongue up and down the length of my dick, as if he were a child with a lollypop. Finally, he took my glans into his mouth and took at least half of me into himself. He moved his head up and down slowly, and I watched as saliva glistened on my flesh, dripping like honey down into the nest of my pubic hair.

Chet began rubbing himself between the legs, and through my drunken haze, I could see he already had his cock out. Like Doc Mal’s, it was very long and skinny. He held it in his fist and rapidly masturbated, making his dick look like a strange jack in the box when he pulled back, come glistening on the tip of his cock.

I lifted my ass up and pushed my trousers down, giving my member more room to move. “Take off your pants,” I whispered, and he complied without missing a stroke. “Now I want you to sit on my chest.”

Carefully, dropping my cock from his mouth, he situated himself so his ass was pressed against my chin. He shifted himself and lifted up, dragging his cock up my chest to my face. Chet went back to sucking my cock, and I took his into my own mouth, feeling his spongy glans slip down my tongue to the back of my throat. I ran my hands across his smooth buttocks and gently eased my middle finger into his tight asshole up to the second joint. I felt him stiffen against my body and moan around my shaft. His cock pulsed against the inside of my cheek, and I pushed my finger in as far as it would go.

Chet yelped, and I felt his hot come fill my mouth. As he orgasmed, I felt his lips constrict around my shaft, and he shivered. When I could feel he was done convulsing, I swallowed with his dick still in my mouth. He moaned, and as he softened, I pulled away from him.

“Get off of me,” I said, “and bend over.”

“What are you gonna do, Mister Dalton?”

“I’m going to fuck you in that tight ass of yours,” I said, “and then I’m going to come all over your back.”

Without giving him time to reply, I pressed my cock against his asshole. He groaned, and I slowly pushed myself into Chet. His ring piece was tight around my shaft, which was a nice change from Doc Mal’s, which in his old age had become rather stretched. I moved in and out of Chet’s asshole, and each time, it tightened around me with youthful vigor.

“Faster, Mister Dalton! Faster!”

I really gave it to him. I felt the friction start to burn, so I took time out to spit in my hand  and rub it around on my cock before pushing into him once more. With the aid of my natural lubrication, it wasn’t long before I felt my balls start to tingle. I yanked myself out of Chet and jerked off as furiously as I could, blowing my wade all over Chet’s ass and back.

We then passed out in each other’s arms. When we woke up the next morning, I realized what I’d done. I explained to Chet about Doc Mal and me, and though Chet wasn’t happy, he understood that we could never have sex again.

I was thinking about that night as I walked up to the jail, hoping it was Chet in there, waiting for me. We could do all those things again, now that Doc Mal wanted me to move on. I was hard just thinking about it.

When I opened the door, I saw the tinhorn sitting at my desk, the chair back and his feet up.

“Tinhorn, what did I tell you?” I roared. “I told you to get the fuck out of Dodd!”

“Or you’ll do what, Marshal?” he asked, smiling. “I saw the way you were looking at me in that saloon.” I saw his hand was massaging his crotch.

“You’re really asking for it,” I told him.

He stood and walked to me, pressing his crotch to mine. “Then give it to me, Marshal,” he whispered. Through our pants, I could feel his cock pulsing, begging to be released from the prison of his clothing.

I whipped him around and bent him over my desk. He moaned. “That’s it, Marshal. You teach me a lesson.”

“I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget,” I muttered as I reached around him and unbuttoned his pants. His dick leaped out into my hand, and I squeezed.

He groaned. “Punish me.”

I yanked down his pants and spread his buttocks apart. I probed his asshole with my middle finger. I could feel it tighten around me. “That’s right, Marshal. Put it in right there.”

I pushed my finger in farther, and he squealed. “You like that, don’t you?” I asked.

“More, Marshal. More!”

I pulled myself from my pants and ran my throbbing glans across his tight buttocks. With my cockhead gently touching his asshole, I began to masturbate slowly, rubbing my glans around on his flesh.

“Don’t tease me,” he begged. “Please, put it inside me.”

“You want it?” I asked.

“Yes, please.”

“You got it.” I spit in my hand, slicked down my member, and jammed my cock home, and he yelped. At first, I thought I’d hurt him, but he turned his head and looked at me.

“Harder,” he said. “Harder, big guy.”

I pulled back and thrust deeply into him again. His body tensed against mine, and he begged for more. I gave him more and more and more until he stiffened suddenly. I peered around him and saw he’d come on my desk, his gleaming satisfaction running down the worn wood like molasses.

He turned around, come shining on his dickhead and legs, and he looked down at my cock. “My Lord, I actually had that glorious thing inside me?” I nodded as he took it into his hands. “It’s so big.,” he whispered as my flesh glided against his.

I sat down in my chair, as he got down on his knees. He ran his tongue along my shaft, spending a long time at my glans while he kept my skin taut with one hand. He squeezed my balls gently with the other.

“Kiss it,” I said.

He pressed his lips to the tip of my cock, and I pulsed in his hand. He smiled and kissed it again and again, moving down lower until he was kissing my balls. He wrapped his lips around my sack and ran his tongue around it while it was in his mouth. A groan escaped me.

He moved his mouth back up to my glans and took me between his lips down to my pubic hair. It was almost as if he had no gag reflex, he took so much of me into his mouth.

His supple lips moved up and down my shaft, shining it with his spit, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. While he sucked on my dick, he fit his hand around the base of it and started matching his mouth with strokes. I felt myself puff up even larger.

He took me out of his mouth. “You’re gonna come. I can feel it.”

“More,” I whispered.

He smiled and pressed his lips against my glans. He furiously masturbated me, quicker and harder than ever before until I came like a cannon being fired. I watched as ropey strands of my come decorated his cheeks and ran down his chin.

And his hand still moved up and down my shaft, not letting my orgasm end. Pleasure flooded my body and made me shake with lunacy. His hands were so good they almost drove me insane. Literally. I squirmed with pleasure and I couldn’t stop coming.

At least not until his hand stopped moving. “Was that good?” he asked.

“It was great.”

He smiled. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He pulled up his pants and buttoned them.

“You’re leaving Dodd City?” I asked.

“I have to,” he said. “I’d like to stay. Hell, I’d like to keep you around a damn long time. A cock like that is too beautiful to waste on a shitty little town like Dodd, but I’ve got to go.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said.

“I know.” He pressed his lips, still gleaming with my come, to mine, and our tongues wrestled for a while.

And then, he was gone. I haven’t seen the tinhorn since—hell, I never even caught his name—but I have great memories of him. Memories that could last me a lifetime.