MH-417 Mr. Suck
Mr. Suck
Manhard
MH-417
Art Smith
$1.95
Mr. Suck
Manhard
MH-417
Art Smith
$1.95
FOREWORD
Young Rich, hot out of the Marine Corps and eager for something better than the furtive sort of sex life he’d known in the service, was looking forward without much enthusiasm—and with even less as time went on—to the first week or so which he had committed to spending with his father at some remote mountain hotel Dad had recently bought. After all, they had never been particularly close and hadn’t even seen each other for six years. A week with a worn-out old man was definitely not Rich’s idea of a good way to celebrate the end of nearly four years of sexual near-starvation!
Nor was his enthusiasm spurred when he woke up the morning after his discharge, in bed with a Marine Corps acquaintance who was entirely equal to the occasion in more ways than one. After a round or two of comparing the efficiency of their twin ten-inchers, Rich would have been quite content to spend weeks or months—maybe even years—right here on Don’s waterbed. Especially after Don pointed out the proximity of a park tearoom where Rich could while away the morning hours waiting for his father to good advantage.
Now here was a man after Rich’s own heart—a wild and woolly lover without a selfish or jealous bone in his body!
In due time, Rich decides to investigate the tearoom, finding that his Marine buddy had not exaggerated. First there’s a rugged rancher to service and then a fantastic young telephone lineman who, after Rich once demonstrates his oral skills, persuades his partner to go along with Rich’s suggestion that they go up to the apartment—where, naturally, a wild, no-holds-barred three-way ensues.
The three rugged studs have barely got their clothes on again when the doorbell rings. Opening the door to let the two linemen out, Rich at first thinks there has been some mistake. The ruggedly handsome, virile, powerfully built man standing there can’t be his father—not the stooped, gray old man worn out by the long years of Mother’s illness, as Rich remembered him. But, of course, it is his father; rejuvenated, his vigor restored, years shorn from his appearance. And that knowing smile on his face!
In less time than it took to drive to the Long Branch Lodge, Rich’s spirits were soaring higher than the High Sierras in which the lodge is situated. Nor did it take long for the two men to determine that their relationship was going to be something more than the usual father-son kind of thing. Naked, on Dad’s bed, it was only with the barest hesitancy that the two horny men did what came naturally for both of them, incestuous or not.
And how many guys are lucky enough to alight in a place like the Long Branch Lodge? A highway construction crew in temporary residence—twenty-five virile and hot young studs with nothing better to do than while away their evenings devising games such as ’Peckerpool’ or maybe loitering in the showers; a never-ending stream of logging truckers patronizing the 24-hour coffee shop, with its gloryhole-equipped mens room—to say nothing of the ’trick’ room in the back; all-in-all, there was as much trucker and hard-hat hardcore as any hot-blooded, hung young stud could want. And there was the powerful, pugnacious Uncle Steve, too!
It soon developed that Rich’s only problem was not too little sex, as he had feared, but maybe too much. How would Dad react to his lover-son’s very plural relationships—to that “Baker’s Dozen” in the mens room at lunch, for instance? Or to those special services Rich was prone to provide when he found a guest in a room he was making up?
Well, Rich could be nothing other than himself and the chips would just have to fall where they may—which is just what they did that weekend when Don came up from Sacramento and Dad’s old buddy, Roger, arrived from San Francisco, and that wild Saturday night orgy got under way!
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