Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, And the child that is born on the Sabbath day Is bonny and blithe and good and gay. You would think I’d save my energies for the up-coming weekend… the opening of the Labyrinth at Rumors. But my trip to Pittsburgh and Liberty Avenue “got the juices flowing,” so-to-speak… and my level of sexual energy (and probably my testosterone) were at the peak. It became almost a game… a contest with myself… to see how many guys I could tempt into making the first move… to fuck a new guy every night… and to leave ‘em wanting more. Monday’s-boy was a guy I met in the shower at the gym. The face of an angel, but the body of a devil…looking much better without the baggy soccer shorts he’d been wearing in the dressing room when I arrived. Just a few additional soapy strokes of my cock caught his attention. I caught him staring at it. He was embarrassed, at first, but he moved to an adjacent shower head to get a better look and to strike-up a conversation. We went back to his dorm room…a rare single room with a balcony… to smoke some grass and to fuck into the wee hours. He said he occasionally met guys in the gym, but that he’d never had a night like this one. I walked back to my small apartment at 2 am, still invigorated from the rambunctious sex-play. ………………… I met Tuesday’s-boy in the gym also. He was walking through the hall with one strap of his tanktop draping over his shoulder revealing the most perfectly formed pec. He rubbed the bare shoulder with a chalky hand…a gymnast, I guessed. He looked upset. The blond hair, dampened and darkened, clung to his forehead like crude bangs. “Shit!” he said as he passed me. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you OK?” “I just popped my shoulder,” he said. “Hurts like Hell and I need a trainer…but none are around. Think you can shove this back into alignment?” “Just tell me what to do,” I said. He explain how to press on his shoulder from behind while pulling on the crest of his trapezius with the other. Every time I touched him to practice, he winced. “Will this hurt?” I asked…already knowing the answer. “It’ll hurt for a split second…very badly…but not as much as the cumulative pain of waiting for someone else to do it,” he said. “Go ahead…my teammates do it all the time. It’s just one of my many weak spots.” I rehearsed the move a few times in my imagination and then gave him a quick jerk. He reacted with a reflex shudder, and when I turned him around his face was ashen and his eyes glazed. “I’m OK,” he whispered, then bit his lower lip. I talked to him for a few more minutes about how he had dislocated it…and how it was happening more and more frequently. “How can I repay you?” he said, glancing down after the word “repay,” so that I might not read the real meaning of his question. But I had seen the look in his eye as we had begun the conversation… the eyes like stroking fingers caressing my body… the unconscious tongue-swipes on open lips… the body language of desire. “When you’re feeling better,” I said. “When the pain is gone.” “Nothing takes my mind off the pain better than a…” He didn’t need to say the words; I knew what he wanted. The smile that developed before our eyes met again said more than words. “Where?” I asked, placing my hand on his muscular forearm. “The gymnastics arena is too big…too many doors,” he said, thinking on his feet. “But,…I have a key to the gymnastics equipment room. I’m the team captain…and the coach is out-of-town, so…” “Lead the way,” I said with a return-grin. “Maybe you can show me a little floor exercise routine…maybe a little Thomas Flair…but definitely a perfect landing.” We both laughed because the images were athletic and sexual at the same time. He was quite a bit smaller than I, with the gorgeous, lean musculature of a champion. Broad shoulders with accentuated deltoids, pecs like slabs of beef, abs that showed the striations of individual muscle fibers, and the trim, square ass that showed that he could do things with those legs that no mortal had ever imagined. “We can leave the light on…or turn it off,” he said as he opened the door to the equipment room. The small, square, wire-mesh-imbedded window would provide sufficient light to find the appropriate anatomical parts. I could have done it in the dark. “I’ll be careful with the shoulder,” I said, pulling him close. “Don’t treat me like I’ll break,” he countered. “You can’t do anything worse to my body than I’ve done to it myself…a hundred times.” I laughed. “And I only get one try. Unlike the Vault.” “We’ll see about that,” he said with a faint smile. I knew this would be the only time we would be together…despite his beauty…despite his grace…despite his agility…despite his intensity of desire. He stood relaxed, waiting for me to make a move. I reached to his shoulder and slipped the remaining strap over the muscular hump. The tight lycra bunched across his pecs. I reached into his shorts then, one hand on each side, and grasped the shirt tail, stripping it upward as he raised his arms above his head in the most elegant way. His torso was hairless…pits, chest and belly, just the way I liked it....so that every muscle would show when he did his routine. Even in the dim light his body looked like chiseled, flesh- colored, statuary marble. His body was my toy, to enjoy as I wished. “I think I have what you want...in here,” he said putting his thumbs in his skimpy shorts. I took a handful of the thin fabric in my fist and pulled. “Yeah...” I said. “If you’re talking about that slim ass.” As I pulled, the fabric ripped into three large pieces dangling from the waistband like plates of armor, suddenly useless. He dropped to his knees. “Let me suck you first,” he said. “I know what to do.” He reached up my inner thigh and gripped my semi-hard cock sequestered in the fabric of my exercise shorts. “I knew you didn’t wear a supporter,” he said. “Or any underwear. I’ve learned to judge the bounce- and-the-bulge. Those of us who spend our time in the gym are experts at this.” He pulled my hard cock out of my shorts, pressing the gathered rayon onto my hip. “There,” he said with a smile. “I’ve got what I want.” He leaned forward, gathering cock and balls into his mouth as my cock sprang to attention. I gathered the blond hair into my fist. The curls splayed out of my fingers like yellow cake frosting squeezed in a tight fist. His hungry mouth gulped on the column that would soon violate that sacred temple. He looked up at that moment, ready to swallow my whole member, but realizing that it would not be enough. He smiled, knowingly. “You want the Olympic version of my routine,” he said as my cock slipped into his lips. “You can score a ten...maybe,” I said, tightening my grip on his hair. “But there are no medals for this.” “I can wear this medal in my heart...forever,” he said, diving onto my shaft again. “That’s not where you’ll wear it,” I said, beginning the in-and out thrusts that showed him I meant business. I let him pleasure me with his mouth until the urge was too great. He knew he was preparing me to more. And, in the end, the gymnastic equipment provided the perfect position for fucking....because I bent him over it, at the last minute, and gave him the most sensuous pommel horse routine he had every accomplished....the Splayed Penetration... the Ass- grinding Pirouette, The Y-Spasm, the “Fuck-Me” Flail, the Back-arching Shot-to-the- Heavens, the sensuous “I-am-Yours”-finale. The impact of my thrusts lifted him onto his toes as his belly crept over the saddle of “the horse.” Was it my imagination, or did his toes point in just the perfect position to define his gastrocnemius? As the “routine” came to an end, I filled him with my cum as if he were a jelly-doughnut. “You didn’t use a condom,” he said when it was over. I know,” I said, feeling guilty. “I know that I’m not positive...so sometimes I forget. It’s not PC, I know...” He said “That’s OK, but next time...” His voice trailed off as he sank into that deep relaxation that only hot sex can trigger. “I wanted to feel you inside me... I wanted to feel you fill me. I could have used Tylenol...but you’re a hundred-times better.” He was covered with a thin film of sweat, and draped over the horse like a wet towel. “I feel like I could do my routine now...with a perfect score of ten. You’re incredible.” He reached out with limp arms to gather my neck and shoulders into his grasp. “How about doing the whole team?” he teased, pulling me down onto him. “They’re all closet gay-boys who do all this exercise just to appeal to guys like you. Even the married ones....” he said, pulling me down onto him as if he wanted to start again. As I gathered my clothes, I looked back to see his perfection still draped over the horse like a Michaelangelo sculpture. Or like Saint Sebastian bristling with arrows. The look of satisfaction on his perfect face said it all. ............................................ What is it they say about Wednesday’s child? “Full of woe”? Well, he was full of something, but the woe probably came the next morning when his stretched ass finally regained some sensation. Wednesday’s-boy was someone I met walking across campus that evening. I had been studying late and needed some exercise to take my mind off fucking. But when we passed on the dark sidewalk, our eyes met,… and I knew there was a spark of interest. I waited until he had taken several more steps which would put him under a street- light…and then I turned. Yes, he had turned, too. I took a few steps backwards, never removing my eyes from him, until I, too, was in the circle of an overhead lamp. And then I stopped and turned away to lean against the pole to light a cigarette. I heard his footsteps approach without turning. “Don’t I know you?” he said. “I’ve seen you before.” “Do you want to know me?” I asked. “Maybe I was in one of your classes…or maybe we’ve nodded at the gym. I’m there quite a bit.” “Yeah…it looks it,” he said, taking in my chiseled torso accentuated by the overhead light. He brushed his hand subconsciously over his own chest, giving the nipple a flick through the thin tee-shirt with his thumb. “You got a place to go?” “Right here,” I said. We were standing near the clump of rhododendrons in front of the Carnegie Building… where John had sucked me the first time just a little over a year ago. “Here? Under the street light?” I have him one push in the center of his chest that pushed him into the darkness. “No, Dickhead,… in the bushes.” I pulled aside a branch and brushed past him into the interior of the clump… just feet from the sidewalk, but ever so secluded. He followed, almost stunned. “Get outa those shorts.” In the darkness, he gave me a puzzled look, as if this was not what he’d intended. But his hands moved to his belt buckle and the shorts were at his ankles in one second. He stepped out of them as I pushed him backward a step, then opened my jeans. “Against the wall,” I said. “Do it.” He looked afraid momentarily…as if he had intended a handshake, and was now being expected to deliver a blow-job… or he had intended a blow-job, but now was expected to… my intent was sinking into his consciousness. He turned to the brick foundation of the building as I pulled off my loafers, tee-shirt, and jeans, retrieving that condom I carried at all times for “emergencies.” This would be a quick one…just enough to satisfy my urge for danger and his urge for sexual contact. I pushed his tee-shirt up his back as I approached. My chin tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck as my hand pressed the other shoulder against the rough brick. With the other hand, I stripped the condom onto my already-hard shaft. He felt its size against his hip and he tried to turn his head to say something, but before he could, I growled “I’m gonna fuck your boy ass right here where you’ll remember it every time you walk by. Roll that ass toward me.” He did it… pressing his chest against the sharp brick and digging his fingernails into the mortar-joints. I slipped the tip into the hotness of his crack without even a guiding hand. Its upward curve found the target without a second try. His shape guided me right to the spot. The sphincter spasmed against my tip as if trying to suck me. Some guys were just anatomically meant to be fucked. He moaned as I pressed into him, tight an unprepared for this. With my weight against his back, and digging into the dirt with my toes, I felt his gasp for a breath. If he shouted or even talked loudly, we might be discovered. I move my hand from his shoulder to his face to cover his mouth and to prevent an outcry. He tensed on my cock, more in fear than arousal, but I began the in and out motion which would bring us both to a climax. “Keep quiet,” I whispered in his ear, “or the campus police will have both our asses.” He nodded…and I removed my hand. “God! You’re so big,” he said. “It gets bigger,” I hissed. “Just wait.” He moaned softly, now in-control of the pain and beginning to enjoy the ride. We sidestepped three feet to the left, dragging his hard cock against the Running Bond of Carnegie. “Put your foot on the pipe,” I instructed… “Open you up.” The large pipe came through the foundation at a height of about 2 feet, then dove into the dirt. With his foot atop the pipe, his hips rolled wider giving me just the added depth for full-stroke fucking. And, standing on one foot, he needed my help to maintain his balance. He felt the difference immediately as my cock-tip made the curve and surged into new territory. He was frantic now… alternately clutching the wall for support, then pushing himself away for comfort…rolling his pelvis downward to lift his ass, then driving back onto my shaft for more stimulation… groaning with pain, then moaning with pleasure. We came simultaneously. Without touching himself, he shot his cumload over the brick then smeared it into a gleaming sheen with his belly. His ass tightened with each expulsion, heightening my explosive power. We trembled together in the aftermath like boulders shaken together by an earthquake. He was still clutching the wall for support as I retrieved my clothing and got dressed. I left him there, shirt draped over his shoulders and legs still trembling. I remember wondering whether he would recognize me the next time our paths crossed. He’d certainly remember this night. …………………… Have you ever become suddenly aware that someone is watching you? The intensity of his gaze gave me a burning sensation on the back of my neck. It was like a sixth sense... like taste, smell, or touch... I’ll call it Lust... the physical awareness that someone is getting sexual pleasure from observing you. I was in the Weiss grocery store doing my usual ritual...tracing the aisles from right to left...produce, seafood, meat, canned goods, dairy, frozen foods, bread...always the same order, always the same route. He followed me at a distance, making sure that there was another shopper or another cart between us. Tall, dark longish hair and dark eyes, chiseled features with a rugged handsomeness, large hands, a fit body... he was dropping items randomly into his cart without even looking at the shelves. His eyes were constantly on me...except for the moments when I looked his way. I decided to test him, so I suddenly wheeled my cart past him and back four aisles to the produce section again. It took a few moments... but there he was again... following me. I strolled slowly past the green, leafy vegetables... then made a quick right turn which brought me directly past his cart. I paused and leaned toward him, pointing at one particular cucumber in the ordered array. “This one,” I said. “Extra-long and thick...just right.” He smiled. “Is that how it is?” he said, glancing down at the bulge in the left pant-leg of my jeans. “Ripe and juicy?” I nodded my assent. “Skip the frozen food. You’re not going straight home from the store,” I said. It was then that I noticed the wedding ring on his left hand. “I was just looking,” he said quietly so that other shoppers wouldn’t hear. “You’re very nice.” “Look, but don’t touch? Is that it?” I reached for the cucumber and put it in his cart. “Here. Use this then,” I said turning away. “No, wait!” he said, returning the cucumber to its place in the ordered rows. “Let’s talk.” “Not here,” I said. “The corn has ears.” He laughed at my stupid joke. “In the parking lot…Atherton Street exit. I’ll be in a black Saturn.” He turned. I watched him walk away. Narrow hips in the low-slung jeans, a fine ass, thin, muscular legs. I imagined them over my shoulders. He was waiting for me at the exit when I finished putting my groceries in the car. “Follow me,” he said, bending down to bring his face close to my window. “I know a place.” The black Saturn roared off, south out of State College and I followed in hot-pursuit. He obviously knew where he was going, but I was struggling to remember each twist and turn so that I could find my way back to State College. We seemed to be making a wide circle to the south…through Greenwood Furnace State Park…then Turkey Hill Road…and finally a sharp turn onto a road that almost didn’t look like a road at all. The entrance was almost obscured by overhanging trees. The gravel road quickly turned into two mud ruts as it curved up and up again through dense forest. His brake lights signaled that he was slowing to a stop. I pulled up behind him and shut off the engine. He was out of his car by the time I opened my door. We met face-to-face in the silent forest. “The road goes to my father-in-law’s summer cabin,” he said. “I don’t have a key… but no one will come up here. They’re in Florida until June.” He leaned against the rear fender of the Saturn. “Even the fucking bears would get lost out here,” I said, stepping forward so that my thigh brushed his. “But I don’t care where we are…as long as you’re gonna give me what I want.” “It’s what I want, too,” he said, looking away. “I don’t do this often… but…” “You’re married.” I interrupted. “I saw the ring.” “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I fooled around with guys when I was in high school and college… but I always considered myself to be bi-. Girlfriends for trophies… maintaining the hetero-image. And then the condom failed…and she got pregnant…and the rest is history. I’m trapped in a sad marriage …with a little daughter… and sometimes I just ache for the touch of another guy.” I put my hand on his shoulder. I knew the ache…but at least I had the freedom to satisfy the urge when I felt it. “Even when I fuck her,” he said, looking up with sad eyes, “…I’m wondering how it feels to be stuffed full of cock and to be pounded into submission. The fantasy makes me fuck her harder, of course... and it's probably the only thing I do right in this fucking marriage." He swatted a mosquito. It had taken a few minutes for them to find us, but now we were both surrounded by a buzzing cloud of blood-hungry insects. The conversation was interrupted while we moved into the back seat of his car and slapped the remaining mosquitoes that clung to us. “So much for being alone,” I said with a grin. “They’re everywhere this time of year.” The closeness of a Saturn’s back seat provided immediate intimacy for two large guys. I could smell his after-shave mixed with the sweat of arousal. The mood changed as our eyes met; dark sensuality descended like a curtain. We were oblivious of our surroundings. I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. He fumbled with the buttons on my shirt until he had it open to the navel. His mouth settled onto the overhang of my pec, sucking my nipple as his hand slipped up my inner thigh to cup my basket in his fist. “Extra-long and thick...just right,” he said softly. I pulled the back of his tee shirt out of the tight waistband of his jeans. His back felt hot to my touch. The indentation of his spinal column between thick ridges of muscle guided my hand, upward at first, then downward into the tightness of his jeans. He quickly struggled to release his belt, making room for my hand to descend farther. His ass-crack was hot and moist… the tight cleavage between muscle-mounds. He rolled closer to me, driving my hand deeper. “Let me see it,” he begged. “And then I want to suck you. I haven’t tasted cock for six months.” “Get it out,” I said. “I like my hand right where it is.” He smiled as my fingers pressed deeper into him. He unbuckled my belt, still nuzzling my chest, then opened the buttons of my fly. My cock spilled-out