Sexy video: Francisco Lachowski losing his pants; third and last installment of “Track Meat” …

Hi, friends and readers:

My boyfriend’s the most beautiful guy in the world. But Brazilian fashion model, Francisco Lachowski, is probably second. This video shows Francisco losing his pants. Too bad he didn’t lose those D & G briefs at the same time.

Not to imply Lachowski’s a shy boy. He clearly loves his gay fans, and he showers them with amazing photos of himself, scantily clad, or wearing nothing at all. I’ve often wondered what Francisco’s like to meet. He looks friendly and unaffected, but who knows?

Here’s a nice Lachowski nude photo, in black and white. Isn’t he beautiful? Wouldn’t you like to pounce on those lovely Brazilian buns?

Okay, because I had to hit the road early this morning, I didn’t have time to post the third and final installment of my free fiction offering, Track Meat. As promised, I’m posting it this evening, for your reading pleasure. I hope you’ve enjoyed the story so far.  As always, this installment comes with a caveat: This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between gay males. If this sort of material offends you, or if you are under the age of eighteen, don’t read Track Meat. 

* * * *

Copyright Martin Delacroix, 2010

# # #

Next night my doorbell rings.

Paul stands on my doorstep, a twelve-pack of beer under his arm. He wears a faded FSU T-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of running shoes. I smell soap and shampoo. Glow from the porch light reflects in his hair. He hasn’t shaved and stubble dusts his chin and cheeks, the underside of his jaw too. It looks sexy.

A half hour later, we sit on my living room sofa, four empty beer bottles on the coffee table before us.

I know a little about Paul now. He’s a Florida State junior, studying finance. He grew up in Boca Raton. His dad’s an estate-planning lawyer, his mom’s an assistant principal. He ran cross country in high school, placed third in Districts his senior year. He has two younger brothers and an older sister. His family doesn’t know he’s gay.

Paul’s sexual experience with men is limited. He’s met a few guys through the Internet, done quickies in public restrooms and parks, but has never entered a gay bar.

“I think I’d feel uncomfortable if I did,” he told me.

When he asked how old I was I said, “Thirty-four.”

He said, “I’ve never felt attracted to guys my age; I prefer men older than me.”

I told him about Stephen, my ex-partner of seven years, who left me two years ago because he said he loved someone else, a guy who drove a Jaguar and owned a Vail vacation home.

“That must have been rough,” Paul said, shaking his head.

I explained how I’m an aide to our state’s governor. “I work long hours, especially when the Legislature’s in session. And I have to be discreet in my private life. Understand?”

Paul bobbed his chin.

Now, Paul’s knee nudges mine. He reaches for my hand, taking it in his and resting both our hands on his thigh. I can feel his leg muscle twitch against the back of my wrist.

He looks at me and says, “Can I kiss you?”

I nod, thinking, Hell yeah. You can do whatever you want.

Our mouths mash together and our tongues rub like they did last night in the truck. Paul’s stubble grinds against my chin, making a funny sound: scritch-scritch. Already my cock’s stiff as a peg. Paul’s breath steams my upper lip. It’s been a year since I’ve had sex and my last experience wasn’t too fulfilling; I can’t even recall the guy’s name. But this feels very nice, getting intimate with Paul.

I run my fingers through his hair and toy with an ear while our lips smack. I think back to the day when I saw him bare-chested and the memory makes my pulse race. Reaching for the hem of Paul’s T-shirt, I pull my lips from his and gaze into his eyes.

“Can I take it off?”

He nods and I pull the shirt over his head and arms. His tiny nipples and dark armpits come into view; they make my mouth water. His torso is slender, but defined. I can count every rib. I toss his tee aside and tease the line of hair descending from his navel while we kiss anew. Popping the button at his waist, I lower his zipper. He wears charcoal-colored briefs.

“My turn,” he says, yanking my shirt off and throwing it halfway across the room. He sucks my nipple. I shiver and goose bumps spring forth on my arms. I run my fingers through his hair again; it’s so thick and wavy. It shines in the glow from a table lamp. He opens my jeans and tells me to lift up, then he slides them to my knees. I’m not wearing underwear and my cock springs forth, pointing at the ceiling, as firm as a green banana.

Paul whistles.

I say, “What?”

“It’s big.”

He takes it in his warm mouth and a tingle runs up my spine. He works it with his tongue and lips, head bobbing, making slurping sounds. When he cups my balls in his hand I groan. Despite his limited experience, he knows what he’s doing. After he goes at it five minutes or so I ask him to stop.

He looks up, his eyebrows arched.

I say, “Let me suck you.”

I peel his jeans down his legs. His cock bulges in his briefs, a dark spot appearing where precome leaks from the head. I tease the spot with a fingertip while I suck Paul’s neck, just below his ear, giving him a hickey he’ll sport a few days. When I’m done I slip my fingers inside the waistband of his briefs.

“Time to get naked,” I say.

He lifts up and I slide the briefs south. He kicks them aside and joins his hands behind his neck while I seize his rigid cock in my fingers. It’s a beauty. The shaft is smooth, as white as cream cheese. The violet head leaks more precome. I dip a fingertip in the sticky liquid and bring it to my tongue. It tastes…citrusy.

“Suck my cock for me, Chip.”

Forming a circle around the base of his cock with my thumb and index finger, I swallow half of it, caressing Paul with my tongue and lips. I bob my head, making smacking sounds while Paul shifts his hips on the sofa, groaning.

“Shit, that feels good.”

Despite his recent shower, Paul’s crotch smells gamey. The scent makes my pulse race. I bury the tip of my nose in his pubic hair and draw a deep breath, the head of his cock poking the back of my throat. How nice it feels, having his entire cock inside me. Already I find myself wondering: is Paul a top or a bottom?

As if he’s read my mind, Paul answers my question.

“Chip?”

“H-m-m-m?”

“I want you to fuck me. Will you do that?”

I answer by patting his smooth, firm thigh, then I suck him afresh. His cock’s as rigid as PVC pipe. I tickle his nuts in their tight sac, then the sensitive area behind them, while Paul plays with head of my cock, teasing it, then stroking the shaft. Waves of pleasure spread through my body when he does this.

Such a beautiful young man …

Tearing my mouth from his cock, I rise and hold my hand out toward Paul.

“Let’s go to my bedroom.”

Moments later I lie atop Paul. My hips are pressed against his while my tongue explores the inside of his mouth. My heart’s pounding like it wants to burst from my chest. Our cocks are mashed together, a pair of leaking cucumbers. I raise Paul’s arms, placing his hands above his head on the pillow. I nuzzle his dark armpits, then lick them while Paul squirms on the sheet. I suck one nipple, then the other. They harden from my attentions.

“It feels so good, Chip.”

From the nightstand I produce a condom and a bottle of lube. How long’s it been since I used such things?  Since Stephen left me for The Jaguar Man, I think.

Eyeing the lube and condom, Paul whispers, “I need to tell you something.” He looks away and says, “I’ve never, you know…”

“What?”

“…been fucked.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Returning his gaze to me, he bobs his chin.

I raise his legs and he holds them aloft, locking his arms at the backs of his knees. I lower my face to his ass crack and sniff. It smells gamey too. I lick his pucker, then spear it with my tongue and a shudder runs through Paul.

Lubricating a finger, I slip it inside him. He squirms on the sheet while his pucker flexes. I look into his face. Sweat beads on his upper lip and his cheeks are flushed.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods, then I work my finger in and out while he plays with his cock, spreading a drop of pre-come around the violet surface of his glans. I add a second finger and Paul winces, but does not ask me to withdraw. I work the fingers, stretching him, the lube smacking in the otherwise silent room. A rivulet of sweat slides down Paul’s temple.

Gradually, Paul loosens up down below.

I say, “Ready for my cock?”

He nods, then watches me open the condom. I roll it down my cock. When I grease myself I use plenty of lube. My cock glistens like a shiny banana. I’m on my knees on the mattress and I scoot toward Paul. I drape his legs over my shoulders and the fuzz on his calves tickles my skin. Bringing the head of my cock to Paul’s pucker, I ease inside him, just an inch or so. His pucker’s tight; it flexes while Paul’s lips pull back. He sucks air through his teeth.

“Christ, you’re big.”

“Take deep breaths; it’ll help you relax.”

His chest rises and falls. He’s sweating all over now and glow from the nightstand lamp reflects off his skin. I drive my hips forward, groaning when I do so. His pucker feels delicious, so tight and velvety.

I rock my hips, plunging fully into Paul and poking his prostate. I bring my mouth to his and our tongues duel while I fuck him. Sweat drips off the tip of my nose, onto Paul’s stubbly cheek. The headboard drums the wall behind it while the bedsprings squeak. We’ve established a rhythm. Each time I thrust, Paul grunts. My balls swing and my hips slap Paul’s buttocks.

My chest is a furnace. My lungs pump and my pulse races. I swear I can hear my own heart beat. A warm glow steals through my limbs and my crotch tingles. Paul’s gut feels heavenly, so warm and lusty.

He shoots first.

It only takes a few pumps of his fist and his come flies, striking his chest, his neck and the pillow behind his head. Paul cries out as this happens, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“Oh, Jesus, Chip. Oh-h-h, shit.”

Paul’s load glistens like a handful of scattered opals.   

Deep inside Paul, my cock throbs. A crackling noise fills my head and my vision blurs. I shout like a crazy man while my seed floods the condom and I gasp for air. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen in my lungs. I bring my damp forehead to Paul’s sweaty shoulder and rest it there, listening to him breath.

I keep my cock inside Paul a while. I don’t want to leave him ‘cause I feel so good. We don’t say anything for a bit. We stay still, our skins stuck together, pulses slowing. Then …

“Chip?”

“Yes?”

“That was wonderful.”

I kiss his bicep and tell him, “It sure was.”

His voice cracks when he says, “It won’t be the last time, will it?”

Turning my head, I look into Paul’s dark eyes. I sense his loneliness, his vulnerability. He’s so young.

I say, “Of course not.”

# # #

It’s springtime in Tallahassee now. The dogwoods and azaleas put on a show. Everywhere are explosions of pink, violet, white and red blossoms. The air is fragrant with their scents.

Paul and I run on a trail through a forest of slash pines and live oaks. We crush fallen needles and leaves beneath the soles of our shoes. I follow Paul down the narrow path. His T-shirt sticks to the small of his back. His hair bounces as he cruises along, dappled sunlight reflecting in his shaggy locks. I watch his buttocks move inside his shorts and I think of an hour ago when Paul straddled me in bed. He lowered himself onto my cock, a grin on his face. Then, while I pumped my hips he jerked himself off.

When I came inside him, his load spewed onto my chest and neck, a series of spurts, warm and oozy.

He’s beautiful, was all I could think.

My runner is beautiful.

* * * *

Okay, readers, that’s the entire story. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you did, or even if you didn’t. And be sure to tell me why. Have a nice Tuesday night, all.

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