He has a knife down there.”Clint didn’t hesitate; trod steadily down the stairs.As we waited for the cavalry, Clint said, “I would have killed him.”I shook my head, “I’d do it myself. He raped me. Hurt me bad. But no.”Clint had his arm around me. I was wearing one of Folsom’s London Fog raincoats, tan; he wouldn’t be needing it. The sleeves hung down way past my hands, the hem touched my feet. Clint had buttoned every single button and I had the belt clinched as tight as it would go.Clint had carried Folsom up the stairs and he was now lying naked on his hallway runner, a Persian at one time. A blood-carpet now. Clint had cuffed him — wrists in back — and then he wound some duct tape around his head and over his eyes. Clint had left the towel rod in, not knowing what would happen if he pulled it out. And not caring much either.Maybe someday I would appreciate the irony — Clint utilized the same tape for a makeshift bandage that Folsom had used to bind me to that skinny iron bed. But. It was my Smoker friend from the hallway. I began to get really turned on by watching the guy who was being sucked off. He looked as if he was really enjoying it. And judging from the movements of the head in his lap, his cock was a very long one, as the sucker was often pulling back far and then pushing his head down deep into the guy’s crotch to take his full length. My own cock was now out of my jeans and I was playing with the precum in my foreskin. Suddenly I was aware of a presence beside me. A man had come to sit by me; he was tousle-haired, a leather jacket open, his cock fully hard and he was playing with it. He spoke to me in Spanish: I replied in English:‘Hey’‘Let me suck your cock’ he said.He was soon down on me. His stubble grazed my shaft and as he slid his lips down to the base I felt an amazing surge of sexual energy between us. I reached down between his legs and took his thick cock in my hands. It was quite thick, very veiny and deep in thick dark curls. He lifted.
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