Monday, June 20, 2011
The Guardian Angel of South Beach by Neil Plakcy is about Leo, a computer programmer who believes that if he can build his body up, he’ll find the man of his dreams.
The Guardian Angel of South Beach
Loose-ID (August 24, 2010)
The two men walked out of the shower as I stood in front of a locker at the gym getting dressed. Both were naked, with white towels slung around their necks, their hair wet, droplets glistening on their toned bodies.
Ray, the blond, was the kind of man I liked -- at least six-four, broad shouldered, and muscular, with a flat stomach and an uncircumcised dick that looked like a fire hose. “I’m telling you, man, you’ve got to see this dude,” he said in a low voice.
The redhead, Lincoln, wasn’t quite so well endowed, either with muscles or genitalia. He was pale and slim, with a thatch of auburn hair running down his chest and into his groin. “I don’t know. It sounds kind of sketchy,” he said.
I’d seen both of them working out at my gym -- a place on South Beach that had been redone with snazzy graphics, lots of mirrors, and a slew of new machines. Ray was a power lifter, while Lincoln stuck to spinning and aerobics. Both were about my age, late twenties, and I’d heard Ray talk before about being a bouncer at one of the fancy clubs. Lincoln was a photographer’s assistant and sometime model.
Both of them were out of my league. I’m not bad looking; I’ve been told for years that I have a handsome face. But my body never carried through on the promise of my high cheekbones, dark eyes, and prominent chin. I strained to hear the two guys, who’d begun to get dressed just a few lockers away from me. “Just give it a try,” Ray said. “His name is Pedro, and he works out of an apartment over the bodega on Fourteenth Street.”
I knew the little Cuban grocery he meant; it was on my way home from the gym, and I often stopped there for fresh fruit for smoothies. “These pills he gives you,” Ray continued. “They make you bigger. Everywhere.”
His gaze went down to his crotch as he pulled on minuscule bikini briefs, and mine followed. His equipment was awesome, and if I could have, I’d have dropped to my knees and taken him in my mouth right there in the locker room. But I’m the scrawny kind of guy that those buffed dudes never give a second look to.
It was tough living on South Beach, where every guy was more handsome, hunkier, and sexier than the next. I didn’t have the time for hours in the gym, and I ate too much fast food to keep my weight down. I had skinny arms and legs, a paunchy stomach, and a dick on the small side of average. Every other man around me was model handsome, leaving me in the second, sometimes even third, tier when it came to man candy.
Sure, I got laid now and then -- late on a Saturday night, when standards dropped faster than the ball on New Year’s Eve. But I couldn’t attract the kind of men I wanted -- men like Ray, a hunk of prime beef with thighs like tree trunks, washboard abs, and a dick of death.
I’d turned twenty-eight a few weeks before and felt ready for a change. I liked my job as a software engineer for a firm in downtown Miami. But my social life was in the doldrums. I just couldn’t compete with the younger, better-built guys who crowded the clubs.
On my way home from the gym, I passed by the bodega. I gathered up some bananas, strawberries, and mangoes, and a pineapple. The woman behind the counter stuffed them all in a cheap plastic bag, and I handed her the money. As I was walking out, though, I saw the staircase that led to the second floor.
“Pedro,” Ray had said. He must have been peddling some kind of illegal steroids to beef up Ray so much. But every steroid I’d heard of lessened your sexual desire. I’d never heard of one that made your dick bigger. Then again, there were all these strange South American herbs, pills coming out of Brazil, Colombian potions, and Venezuelan tonics. What did I have to lose?
I climbed the stairs. The door at the top was open, and when I looked inside, I saw a small, wizened man in a stained white guayabera. The hair on his head was sparse, and his nose was too big for his face. “Sí?” he asked.
My Spanish is rudimentary, at best. I can ask for a cerveza and an enchilada, and that’s about it. I started to ask, then simply flexed my pitiful biceps. “Ah, sí,” the man said. He looked me up and down, then waved his hand, indicating that I should close the door behind me. I did. Then he pantomimed taking off my shirt.
We were in some kind of sitting room, a ratty couch along one wall, a small TV, a couple of chairs, some big pillows laid out on the floor. The walls were papered with cutouts from fitness magazines, beefy guys flexing and posing. There was salsa music playing low in the background, and I smelled garlic. I wondered what kind of operation Pedro was running.
But I figured what the hell, he probably needed to see the muscles I was starting with. I pulled my shirt off, embarrassed to have so little to show for all my work in the gym. But the old guy didn’t say anything, just appraised my chest and nodded. Then he motioned for me to unzip.
When I hesitated, he waved his hand again, like he didn’t have all day. Old guy sitting up there by himself, and it was like I was taking up his time. I frowned, but I opened my shorts and let them fall to the floor. “El miembro viril,” he said, pointing.
I’ve lived in Miami long enough to know what that meant. He wanted to see my dick.
I remembered Ray, how he’d said whatever this little man did had made his dick bigger. I skinned my briefs down, then stepped out of them and my shorts. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed. My dick was half-hard, dangling to the right, and the man looked me up and down.
Then he motioned that I should dress again, and he turned to his table. While I pulled my clothes back on, he busied himself with a batch of pills. He used an old-fashioned mortar and pestle to grind some things together and then poured it all out onto a piece of paper. He decanted the contents of the paper into a series of little capsules and sealed them together with some kind of liquid that melted the edges.
When he was all done, there were fourteen capsules there. “Cuánto?” I asked, pulling out my wallet.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “No dinero.”
He stood up and unzipped his pants. My mouth dropped open when I saw the trouser snake he’d been hiding. It was every bit as large as Ray’s, though it seemed larger because the man himself was so small.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I wasn’t some stupid slut who’d fuck a guy just for some magic pills. I started to back away, but as I watched, the dick in front of me stiffened and jutted away from the old man’s groin. His loins may have been saggy and wrinkled, the pubic hairs going gray, but that dick was a work of art.
Against my will, I went down on my knees -- just to get a better look at it. Pedro’s dick was pinkish purple, with a circumcised mushroom head and darker purple veins. A tiny thread of precum dripped out of the piss slit. I looked up at the old man’s face, and he smiled.
My mouth was salivating, and my dick was as stiff as a rod in my shorts. There was no way I was getting up and walking away. I licked my lips and opened my mouth.
I didn’t think I could get the whole length of it down my throat without choking myself. I began by licking my way around the head, then sucking the dick in, inch by inch. I hoped by the time I reached the old man’s age, my dick would still be as firm as his -- it resisted all the pressure I placed on it as I sealed my lips and began moving up and down.
The old man’s crotch smelled like chlorine, as if he’d just come from a swimming session. I reached around and grabbed his skinny butt and went farther and farther down on his dick. I’ve never been into old guys, but Pedro was something else. I was making myself crazy trying to get him all the way down my throat, pushing my face into his pubes.
Then he pulled out of my mouth. A thin strand of spit or precum dangled from the tip of his dick as he motioned for me to turn around.
“Oh no,” I said. “You’re too big. Mucho grande.”
He smiled, then reached over to the table for a condom. As he ripped the cover off, I felt my ass muscles contract, and I knew I was done for.
For the second time, I pulled down my shorts and my briefs. Pedro pushed his pants off and lay down on the cushions on the floor. His dick -- covered with a lurid green rubber -- stood straight up from his pale white thighs. “Venga, venga,” he said, motioning to me.
I positioned myself over him and started to slide down over him. My ass was already relaxed from the dick sucking and the anticipation, and the tip of his dick slid right in. There was some pain as he breached my anal ring, but the pull of gravity drew me down. I guess my thighs weren’t as strong as I thought.
Pedro was inside me, my butt resting on his thighs, and I felt so much pressure and pleasure that I could barely breathe. I began moving up and down on his pole, feeling him slide against the walls of my ass, and it was like an out-of-body experience. I’d never been fucked so well.
He had amazing stamina too. I rocked back and forth on his dick for at least fifteen or twenty minutes, until he spasmed beneath me and I felt his hot cum shoot up into the condom’s reservoir tip. I came then too, without ever touching my dick, shooting a load right onto his yellowing guayabera. I wondered if that color came from all the cum that had been shot on him.
I stood up, and his dick plopped out of me with a squishy noise. He had a beatific smile on his face. He motioned toward the table, where the capsules sat, and said, “Cerra la puerta, por favor.”
I could barely stand after that assault on my ass, but I managed to struggle into my shorts. I stuffed my briefs into my pocket, then closed the door on my way out the way the old man had asked. I couldn’t wait to get home and try the pills. Would they give me a dick as big as his? Would they beef up my body like Ray’s?
And how soon could I come back for more of Pedro’s amazing dick?
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