Spurs and Diamonds
by Jeff King

Saturday, 11:00 p.m. - In an apartment on New York's upper west side a man stood before a mirror, taking careful check of himself, the image reflected in the full length of the glass pleased him and he smiled. Turning profile he looked himself carefully over - his tapered muscular body snugly filled out the patterned western style shirt and the snug, well worn leather jeans. He stepped up to the mirror and his hand brushed his short thick auburn hair and smoothed his thick moustache. He ran his hand across his square jaw and gave a contented sigh. "Marlboro Man" he was often called in the bars along Christopher Street. It was an image he cultivated to the utmost detail, but at thirty-seven he was far more handsome than the fantasy man who gazed toughly and seductively down from the billboards all over the city.

On the bureau behind him was a bronze statue of a horse reared up on its hind legs with a clock embedded in its flanks. The clock buzzed and the man pulled himself away from the mirror to snap it off. From the top drawer he pulled out a blue bandana and tied it about his neck, then took a red one and stuffed into his back pocket. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on his heavy cowboy boots. From beneath the bed he produced a set of shiny spurs and snapped them firmly onto each boot. The small spur wheels spun and jangled. The man stood up again and moved back to the mirror. He took a deep breath and his hard pectorals strained against the material. He undid another snap, exposing thick coass hair branching across his chest. A Stetson dangled from one horn of a set of mounted bull horns on the wall near the mirror. He grabbed the hat and fixed it onto his head, angling it slightly to cast a shadow across half his face. He took a pack of Marlboros from a back pocket and lit one, smoking slowly as he shifted his stance. He caressed his crotch slightly until an ample bulge appeared.

Checking the clock again the man saw that it was nearly eleven-twenty and he moved into the adjoining living room. From the desk he picked up a small piece of note-paper; it read - "Saturday night, my place, midnight," and was signed "Bric." The man folded the paper over and tossed it back onto the desk. A smile tugged at his mouth as he took his jean jacket from the back of a chair and left the apartment for the trip to the Village and West 12th Street.

11:23 p.m.: In an apartment on Hudson Street, the glass shower stall slid open and the rangy muscular man stepped out onto the bathmat. Billows of steam hung in the room, clouding over the fifteen or so mirrors of various size that covered the wall across from the stall. The man stretched his heavy arms out from his side, arched his back and stretched. He relaxed and stepped over to wipe mist from some of the mirrors. He paused to admire his physique. The placement of the mirrors afforded him disconnected views of the face, powerful shoulders and smooth pecs, rippled abdomen, wide cock and hard full thighs. His body gleamed with beads of water streaming down it. Very slowly in the bathroom he turned and struck poses in the misty air as if before an invisible camera. This way he was model, cameraman and spectator all at the same time. His straight flaxen hair was swept back, giving full emphasis to his square-jawed handsome face. His eyes were slightly slanted, giving him an almost oriental look. His expression was brooding, thoughtful, sexily sinister to some but provocative to others. Over the past few years his face and powerful body had appeared in more than one erotic film. He had been paid handsomely to do exactly what he was doing for himself now - to pose, to bring himself to full erection without touching his cock.

Tonight he had another performance, but he did not yet know who his audience was to be, and wondered idly if it might be the hungry eyes of cameras or those of a human. It made little difference. He stopped his posing and grabbed the towel, working it roughly over his chest. It was getting late and he had to be on West 12th by midnight.

11:45 on Christopher Street the man made a stark image walking in his full leather gear. He was turning more than one head and got more than one verbal compliment. He was short, solidly-built with a blond-brown chin strap beard. His motorcycle hat was pulled back to expose tight curly blond hair. Mirrored sun-glasses covered his eyes. His heavy jacket was open and his sculpted chest was covered with nothing other than a thick mat of curly hair, much darker than that on his face and head. A studded belt was strapped about his waist and leather jeans were tailored to his legs. A thick long cock was proudly displayed down his right thigh. Heavy strapped black boots completed the uniform.

On the right shoulder of his jacket tiny silver studs made the letters "FFA." Just a brief glance at the man and even the most naive of spectators could guess that he had nothing to do with the Future Farmers of America. From his back left pocket trailed a severely red bandana while a set of keys clanked at his belt.

He checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. He turned off Christopher and walked rapidly toward West 12th. He felt good tonight and when he felt good his hands itched for action.

12:30 a.m.: On West 12th Street, Ty Martin entered the lobby and waited as the doorman rang up to Bric's apartment to announce him. Ty hooked his thumbs into the waist of his jeans and rested back on his heels. The doorman, a pudgy man of indeterminable age, was taking full appraisal of Ty - head to toe, shoulder to shoulder and chest to crotch. Ty was slender, with hair so blond it appeared platinum in sharp contrast to his tanned features and sharp blue eyes. He wore a faded jean jacket, black t-shirt which defined his fine-toned swimmer's body, tight jeans, a red bandana out of his right back pocket and a set of keys snapped to the middle back loop. On his t-shirt was a large yellow "H." Small nipple rings were outlined through the soft cotton.

The doorman replaced the house phone and tapped the elevator call button. "You can go up now, Mr ... ummmm?"

The elevator doors opened and Ty stepped briskly inside "Just Mister will do."

The doorman nodded thoughtfully and then, eyeing Ty's t-shirt asked, "Is the H for heaven?"

Ty pushed the button for the top floor and just as the doors were about to close, he looked directly at the doorman, grabbed his crotch vigorously and said, "No, it's for Hung!"

The doors slammed shut and the car jerked as it began the ascent to the thirty-second floor. Ty leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest watching the lighted numbers tick on and off as the car rose. On a usual Saturday night he would be cruising from bar to bar with friends and would more than likely end up at the Mineshaft till morning. He had done that last weekend and it had taken him three days to recover from a four hour session in the sling! Tonight he had promised Bric to forego any other plans and come to his apartment. Bric had been vague when he called Ty last Wednesday, telling him only that he had to see him on Saturday night, but after twelve-thirty. As a free-lance artist, Bric didn't keep regular hours and Ty thought nothing about the request. Besides, Bric was one of the humpiest men Ty knew and if coming over tonight meant the chance to fuck with him he didn't care what time it was. Although they had met two years ago, their separate schedules, to say nothing of involvements with various lovers, they had never got down to the brass tacks of sex when alone. Also, he didn't want to spoil the relationship by forcing anything. Bric had helped him out of a few difficulties and he admired him for that and was grateful to him. But, still, if the chance offered itself ....

The elevator lurched to a halt. Ty stepped out and crossed the carpeted hallway to the single door on the floor. As he was about to knock, Bric opened it smiling warmly.

"Right on time," Bric said and motioned Ty into the small foyer. Ty followed him into the living room.

Bric was shorter than Ty and well-built. He had black wavy hair and a full beard. His shirt was open to the waist, showing a hairy, well defined chest. He wore jeans, (fitted, Ty noticed to fit his domed ass), and no shoes.

In the living room Bric moved to the sofa, and sat on the edge by the glass coffee table and resumed rolling joints. "Glad you made it," he said softly.

Ty dropped his jacket over a chair and leaned back against one arm, resting a leg up on a cushion.

Music was playing at a reasonable volume and filled the room from hidden speakers in every room in the eight-roomed apartment. The two comer walls of the living room were smoked glass from floor to ceiling and offered a spacious view of the West Village and Lower Manhattan. Ty was absorbed in watching cars stream down Eighth Avenue when Bric offered him a drink.

Ty nodded and Bric disappeared into the kitchen to mix the bourbon and water.

Through the dining room Ty could see the open door to Bric's bedroom. The bed was against one wall and had a pale pinspot of light directed onto it. In the bedroom he could also see a closed door. Not knowing the layout of the place, one could assume it led to a closet, but Ty knew better. It entered Bric's "gameroom." Ty sighed. He had been shown the room but had never yet been able to try it out.

Bric returned with two glasses and handed one to Ty. Bric raised his glass, nodded a smile and they both drank. He sat back down on the sofa and lit a joint.

Indicating the dozen or more joints on the table, Ty asked, "Expecting an army in here tonight?"

Bric smiled slyly. "Know what day this is?"

Ty thought for a moment. "No."

Bric inhaled the smoke deeply and handed the joint to Ty who did the same. "Well, Ty buddy - I know exactly what day it is today. It's your birthday.

Ty exhaled slowly. He'd honestly forgotten all about it. Birthdays were never big events for him and he never bothered celebrating them.

"Not only that," Bric went on , "it's your thirtieth birthday"

"That's right, but what difference does that make?"
"Because it's the big one, the one you're supposed to remember. I've got a little surprise for you."

Before he could say anything, Ty took the joint away and handed him a freshly lighted one.

Bric took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. His nipples were large, sensual and mentally Ty licked them over from one pec to the other. The thought of actually doing it caused his cock to strain against his jeans. Bric noticed this and again smiled slyly.

They said very little as they smoked more grass and snorted six lines of cocaine. By this time Ty's erection was pushing up even harder than ever. Bric, who had consumed as much as had Ty, seemed relaxed and Ty ran his hand over the man's thigh.

"All right, Bric," Ty said in a low, steady voice. "What's this surprise you've got in store for me?"

When they had finished their drinks, Bric stood and motioned Ty to follow him as he headed for the bedroom. As he walked behind his hunky friend, Ty's prick was clearly outlined half way down his thigh.

But, Bric did not go to the bed. He turned and opened the door to the gameroom and entered. He turned to Ty and winked. A smile breathed across Ty's mouth.

The room was large with heavy wall-to-wall carpeting. The walls were covered solidly with mirror. Track lighting bathed the room in soft pools of shadow. In the middle of the room was a large bed resting on a low wooden platform, with a spot of amber bathing its center. Beside the bed were laid out several dildos of varying lengths and thicknesses, two bottles of amyl, another opened bottle of cocaine and a threepound can of Crisco.

Bric grabbed a bottle of amyl, twisted off the cap and inhaled it through his mouth. He held it up for Ty to do the same. Ty's head reeled and his thoughts scattered and caught themselves up in the now pulsating music. Bric recapped the bottle and dropped it by the bed. He undid Ty's belt and pulled down the zipper. Then he pulled Ty's shirt off. He returned to the jeans, tugged them down pulled off his work boots and heavy wool socks. Ty kicked the pants aside. Bric stood, allowing Ty's stiff cock to brush against the hair of his stomach. Other than removing his clothes, Bric refrained from touching Ty.

In a deep even tone Bric said, "Lie on the bed." Ty did, fully expecting Bric to climb in beside him. But Bric walked to the door. "Stay here," he said, "I'll be back in a while."

The door closed and Ty was left completely alone.

He took another hit of the poppers and straightened his lean smooth body against the cool sheets. The music came up a little and he imagined that Bric was in the other room adjusting the sound, probably putting another tape on so that they wouldn't be interrupted. Ty took a deep breath and gazed at his reflection in the mirrored walls. He gripped his cock and stroked up the shaft to run a thumb over the wide head. A drop of sticky moisture seeped from the slit and Ty smoothed it over his cock, fingers sliding over the thick veins.

Then the door opened. Ty looked up expecting to see his friend re-enter. It wasn't Bric. Ty rested up on his elbows and looked harder, knitting his brow in confusion. A moment of panic swept through him at the stranger's presence. The man was in the shadows and Ty could hardly see him, but as the dark figure walked towards the bed, Ty could hear a faint jangling sound beneath the music. Looking at the stranger's boots Ty saw that the man wore spurs. Eyes drifting up the man's body, Ty realised that the man's semi-cowboy outfit
was complete with Stetson.

The cowboy stopped at the wend of the bed, arms at his side and stared down at Ty.

"You're one bronco who's going to get a ride he won't forget."

Panic evaporated, but not the confusion but Ty decided it would all come together later. He lay back with his hands behind his head. He was ready - he never passed up a good ride and this humpy cowboy looked like he knew just what to do once he was in the saddle.

The cowboy untied the bandana about his neck and let it drop, gripped the snaps of his shirt and, with both hands, yanked it all the way open. Pierced through each erect nipple of the man's chest were tiny spurs which glinted and sparkled in the fight as he moved to take off his jeans and boots. Instinctively, Ty fingered his own nipple rings and tugged on them gently.

The cowboy was hung like the proverbial horse. He climbed into the bed and straddled Ty's chest. From the floor he took the other bottle of amyl and inhaled deeply.

Ty took a hit of the amyl and settled back. The cowboy took Ty's tit rings in each hand, pressing them between thumbs and index fingers, turning them gently from side to side. Ty groaned loudly with pleasure and moved his ass about. The man flopped his cock into Ty's mouth, pulled it out and rubbed it wetly over Ty's cheeks and eyes. Ty opened his mouth to receive it and the cowboy drove it in up to the hilt, grinding his pubic hair against Ty's lips.

That's a stud cock in your mouth," the man said. "Suck it real good '

Ty sucked furiously, wetting the shaft completely until his jaws ached. The man pressed the bottle under his nose. Ty thrashed about beneath him.

Sweat ran down the cowboy's chest, through the matting of hair, over his stomach and Ty tasted the saltiness of the sweat. He sucked harder. Then, the cowboy pulled back, manoeuvering himself between Ty's legs. He pulled Ty's feet onto his shoulders as he slid a hand between the legs separating the cheeks. With his free hand he grabbed the can of Crisco from the floor, flipped off the lid and scooped out a generous amount before he slapped it between Ty's cheeks. He inserted one finger and then another, working the hole wider, making it beg to get fucked. He thrust forward, driving his prick into Ty's ass. He threw himself forward and pinned Ty's arms to the bed, riding him like a pro. He flicked his tongue about the nipple rings, biting and pulling at them. Ty groaned loudly. He rotated his hips and slapped them hard against the uptamed hungry ass. He sucked in his breath and ploughed frantically, but just as he came the cowboy whipped off his Stetson, threw his head back and gave out a loud, deep yell.

The cowboy withdrew his cock slowly and sat back on his haunches. Both men were drenched with sweat and looked at each other contentedly. Without a word, the cowboy leaned reached over to Ty's chest and removed each nipple ring, laying them on the floor. When Ty protested the man motioned him to silence. The man removed the spurs from his own nipples and fitted them through Ty's nipples. Ty looked at him questioningly.

"Happy Birthday stud," was all the man said before he stood, gathered up his clothes and left the room.

Ty fingered the spurs and laughed. So, this was Bric's surprise, he thought. He hadn't come yet and he relaxed back and waited for Bric to come in and complete the evening.

As he was mulling over Bric's unusual way of gift giving
the door opened again and another man entered, closing the door softly behind him.

Ty could not say anything. He had seen some beautifully developed bodies before, but this man was near perfection. With shadows and light falling all about him, the man was an awesome spectacle. Ty leaned up to see him better. That face, he told himself, he knew that face. It was more than vaguely familiar, but right now, he couldn't place where he had seen it.

The man paused a short distance from the bed, keeping his naked body in half shadow for maximum effect and struck a pose. He was oiled from head to toe and glistened. His body, hard with bulging muscles was like leather and Ty longed to touch it. Around his neck the man wore a silver bullet-shaped poppers inhaler on a chain. He uncapped this and took a long hit of the poppers as Ty took a bottle from the floor and took an even longer hit. The music welled up. Ty slid to sit on the edge of the platform, eyes level with the man's cock.

Raising his arms and turning sideways, the man began to move through a choreographed set of poses that showed his definition to fullest advantage, and as he watched and stroked his cock, Ty strained to remember where he had seen the face the swept back hair, hard set jaw, slightly slanted eyes, pouty mouth. The man turned full around and rippled his back muscles and flexed his buttocks. Ty was impressed by the control the man displayed over every single movement. When he faced him again the man's cock was erect and Ty realised who he was. Mark Brand. At least, that was the name listed at the top of the credits in half a dozen male porno movies Ty had seen him in. It was the man's cock that had jarred Ty's memory. he'd not seen a cock with just that certain left curvature before - long, fat and curved erotically. On any other man it might have been an oddity, but on Mark Brand it was beautiful.

Ty stroked his own tool with leisured strokes. Mark was looking, not at him, but at his own reflection in the mirrors, pleased with what he saw.

Ty pushed himself up and stood before Mark. For years this man had been a masturbation fantasy and the reality of him, waiting for Ty to touch him, was overwhelming. Ty placed his hands on the man's hips and bent forward to lick his nipples, tracing down the sternum, across the stomach and into the forest of hair. He lapped his tongue up the cock and bit lightly at the head. Ty hunkered down and looked up at the man as he sucked, tracing the flat of his palms over the smooth oiled skin. Ty scooted around and licked at the small of his back. Mark clamped his ass together into rock-hard domes as Ty grazed his teeth over them and licked harder. Mark put his hands up and clasped his hands behind his head. Ty worked his way back to the cock but did not take it into his mouth. He sat back on the edge of the bed. He'd seen enough of this man's films to know Mark Brand's "specialty" and he wanted to experience it first hand. Ty waited and watched as Mark walked about the room, tightening and rippling his muscles with each step, stopping to display himself beneath a spot of light. He began to breath harder, clamping and unclamping his ass muscles to make his cock bob. He groaned and came. The load shot straight out, white and thick, splashing in pools on the carpet. Ty moved quickly to stand before the man as another load came pumping out. Ty let it splash onto his face and chest, and then on his hands and knees, sucked Mark Brand's cock until he came yet another time. Finally, Mark's cock went limp on Ty's mouth. Ty pulled reluctantly back and returned to the bed. In the mirror
ror he watched Mark turn and leave the room.

Ty's balls ached for want of release. He couldn't wait any longer, smeared Crisco on his cock and began stroking. He closed his eyes and thought about the cowboy and Mark Brand; his hand became a blur in his crotch.

"Cut it out"! The command was barked by a deep masculine voice.

Startled, Ty stopped and opened his eyes. Standing at the foot of the bed was a short blond man wearing silvered sunglasses and full leather gear. The man removed his glasses and tucked them into a pocket. In one hand he carried a small round can encased with leather with the word CRISCO spelled out in silver studs. In his other hand was a series of six rubber balls connected by a length of leather thong. The man stared at Ty intently as he dropped the can and the balls onto the bed. Then he removed his clothes.

From his discarded jacket the man took a pack of cigarettes, lit one and passed the pack to Ty who did the same. The man stroked his hard cock.

"Any limits"?

Ty thought a moment and then ringed his thumb and index finger about one arm, just above the elbow. The man smiled lustily at the silent reply and climbed onto the bed between Ty's legs. He finished his cigarette with ease, completely in control of the situation. Ty stubbed out his cigarette in an ash tray.

The music increased in volume and Ty noticed for the first time that Bric, somewhere in the outer room, had put on a tape of slow, exotic, pulsating jazz: perfect for long, slow easy sessions. Ty handed the man one of the bottles of poppers and sniffed from his own. Immediately his ass began to tingle. He looked the man over, pleased with the thick curly chest hair and the hard tapered body and then he noticed, nestled about the man's cock, a leather cockring studded with what appeared to be small pieces of skillfully cut glass, smooth-edged and bright.

The man pulled all of the dildos onto the bed and opened his can of Crisco. He greased the butt plug, making a great display of showing Ty exactly what he was doing. Ty eased further down and rested his feet up on the man's thighs, giving his ass full exposure. The man smoothed an amount of the grease between Ty's cheeks and then inserted the plug, easing it deftly to the hilt.

"Just getting you prepared," the man said and then reached down to take some of the cocaine into his hand, working it between his fingers. He pulled out the butt plug and replaced it with his fingers, rubbing the coke round the rim of Ty's ass, applied more Crisco and reinserted the plug, very slowly.

The music was building to a driving beat and the man went with the sound as he greased up one of the foot-long dildos from latex head down the three inch diameter shaft to the molded balls. Removing the plug he worked it into Ty, inch by inch, pushing as the mouth of his ass opened wider and wider still and the artificial balls touched against the flesh. Now Ty kept the bottle of amyl uncapped and against his nostrils. Floating sensations riveted through his body and the shadows of the room descended about him. He groaned aloud and watched the man work the dildo in and out of him with one hand while he greased up another longer and wider one. Ty inhaled the amyl through his nose and mouth.

Ty felt the dildo come out and just as he was waiting for the deluxe model to go into service he felt the man's fingers playing with his ass, working slowly inside, There was slight pressure as the knuckles of the expert hand passed and then the hand itself was swallowed to the wrist. Ty clawed the sheets with his hands but pushed his ass back further onto the arm. The hand moved in circular motions as it closed into a fist, going a little deeper with each turn. Ty grabbed his ankles and yanked back. The man's hairy, muscular arm continued to disappear, still turning gently.

"Now…" Ty hissed through clenched teeth until he felt the curve of the elbow go into him.

The music picked up tempo and for half an hour the man worked on Ty's ass, turning him over on his hands and knees, making him stand and squat onto the glistening arm, bending over the edge of the bed, and never pulling out below the elbow. At the end of the half hour he eased his arm out so slowly Ty wasn't sure he wouldn't plunge in again. But the man eased all the way out and held up his slick clean arm like a trophy. He turned Ty on his back and inserted the rubber balls, all six of them, and then popped them out, pulling each one with more force than the last, slapped more Crisco onto his hand and fist fucked Ty for another half hour, always following the beat of the unceasing music.

Sweaty and tired, the man slid his fist out and rested. His curly hair was matted to his forehead. He regulated his breathing. Ty smiled languidly, limp yet ready for more.

The man reached down to his own crotch and began stroking. In a moment he came, jetting a stream of cum across Ty's stomach. He removed his cockring and held it up to the light.

"Diamonds," he breathed as he turned the strap so that the stones glimmered. He strapped it firmly around the base of Ty's cock. "From Bric," he added and leaned over to lick the cum from Ty's stomach. He leaned up when he finished and said, "Happy Birthday." He recapped his can of Crisco, took his clothes and left the room.

Ty felt himself becoming suddenly heavy with sleep. He examined the studded cockring and the gold spurs through his nipples. Leave it to Bric, he thought contentedly

The jazz faded into soft blues and Ty faded into pleasant, satisfied lassitude. He took a breath and looked about the room. It was a complete mess, but as his eyes passed over the pile of dildos, the now empty amyl bottles and the Crisco, he thought this was one birthday he would never forget. Then he wondered about Bric. Was his friend coming to join him, or was there yet another surprise in store for him?

As he was trying to figure this out, Bric did come into the room. Naked and grinning as he crossed and slid in beside Ty and took him into an embrace, kissed him hard and then licked down his chest, down the hard stomach and swallowed the lengthening cock into his mouth. Ty pulled Bric into a sixty-nine and sucked his cock in return. As he held Bric's ass and bobbed his head up and down on the wide hard prick he kept thinking that he had just been royally fucked by three of the most beautiful men he had ever seen but this, now, with Bric was more exciting than any of the others, even the fantasy of Mark Brand. Ty ran his hands all over Bric, exploring every inch of him. Bric thrust atop him in a "push-up" position and pumped his cock hard. They came together with load moans, mouths gripping cocks.

Bric moved to sit next to Ty.

"I'd turn thirty every week if it could be like this," Ty said. Bric smiled warmly and rested down beside Ty. Sleep began to overtake both of them.

Bric's voice was thick with sleepiness as he asked, "What are you doing next Saturday night?"

"Nothing planned," Ty answered.
"A friend of mine is coming down from Boston. Next saturday is HIS birthday and I'm putting together something for him. Can you make it?"

"Sure."
Bric yawned. "You still got that construction hat"? Ty said that he did

"Wear it when you come. I'll get a linesman's utility belt for you. You won't mind being a hardhat for a while will you"?

Ty shook his herd. "I'll be Joan of Arc and sit on a lighted stake if you wanted."

Bric grunted a laugh. "That's a thought," he said idly but before he fell asleep he added, "It's set then. Be here next Saturday night - midnight."

The music dissolved and the lights snapped off automatically. Bric rested his arm across Ty's chest and the two men fell asleep.