After splitting with Tracy, Patton found a rental deal with five people he managed at the Rip’s Billiard Room & Bar in Pasadena. This rental was a mansion at the top of the hills in East Los Angeles. Two female bartenders, a waitress, a chef, and his best bouncer – shared the main house.

Patton rented the basement servant’s quarters. It was a large, basic apartment with everything he would need. Full kitchen, full bath, and a separate bedroom – a bedroom with closet that smelled of mildew. Damned thing seeped every time it rained.

“Good thing I’m in L.A. If I lived in Seattle, I’d have to buy a fucking canoe,” he told his best friend, Charlie.

Patton was a beautiful specimen. Twenty-five and striking. Soft blue eyes framed by high cheekbones, a square jaw, and a thick head of hair that was black as night. Six foot tall, one seventy – he projected innocence and strength all at once.

Tracy tried like hell to keep him, but he was already too far gone. Gay fantasy and desire wore away at any chance of them staying together. By the time she felt the strain on the relationship, there was more gay-sand in the bottom of the hourglass than straight-sand on top...and the sand was still falling. No chance for reversal. He had talked of needing some time away. Time to sort things out. She never knew the real reason.

With his enormous sex drive, he always knew, given the chance, he’d pleasure a man. Up until now, it had been strictly women. He never sucked a cock, but he sure wondered what it might be like. Cocks looked so fucking juicy. Unbelievably so.

Of course, he had one himself, and when Tracy was at work, he’d often throw his legs up over his head and cum into his own mouth. On other occasions, Patton would shove a fat pink cock-replica-vibrator into his asshole. He’d bought it for Tracy at a sex shop a few years back, knowing it would spend time inside of both of them.

Cleaning that fucker to the point where it didn’t still reek of his shit-hole proved to be problematic. She’d know of his secret at the first hint of his musky colon. Sometimes, there’d be his scent up and down the giant pink cock. On these occasions, Patton would scrub it intently, before putting it back in the box.

Patton also sat on empty beer bottles in the kitchen and gave himself enemas in the bathtub while she worked. He loved putting a video camera under the glass table in the living room, and then shooting his hot load all over the glass. At times, Patton even pushed his cock into his own asshole. This was not only enjoyable, but very empowering. With all of these things, he released much more sperm while Tracy was away, than he ever did with her present. Now, he wanted to release his seed in the presence of other men.

His first night off, living at the new place, presented an opportunity to go out and experience a man. To touch a man in a way he’d never done. He was flush with excitement. He found his cock filling with blood and pushing against the zipper as he walked to his truck.

West Hollywood was Patton’s destination. Being from L.A., he knew that’s where much of the gay population was concentrated. He started his truck and headed for the 10 Freeway. Making his way to West Hollywood, Patton drove around some until he noticed a rainbow flag under a dim yellow cone-light. Above the flag, he saw “Buck” in large sheet metal letters. He took a left at the next corner and parked.

His heart was racing. For a moment, it called all of the blood back from his cock. “What is this going to be like?” He thought of how he could be a slut in the company of another man. Patton had dreamed of this very thing. He could finally find himself the object of male desire. His cock started to grow again. Before it was fully erect, Patton exited his vehicle. Adjusting his bulge, he felt the precum all over his underwear. It drenched the flank of his fuckstick. His was soaked.

Patton pulled on the door of the bar, and stepped inside. No one noticed. The place was mostly full – full of men. Seemed to be men of all sizes and shapes. Some were obviously together, and some were alone – like himself. Club music was playing, but not too loud. Patton walked over to the bar and sat down at an open stool.

The bartender was an overweight middle-aged man with a beard, wearing a straw cowboy-ish hat with the sides pinned up and the brim sloped down in the front and back. He was wearing a black t-shirt with white letters which read: “Drink. Swallow.”

“What’ll it be, sweetheart?” the bartender asked with the warmest smile.

Being called sweetheart by another man, at least this soon, was unexpected. Patton refocused.

“Double-scotch neat,” he said.

As Patton shifted to find his wallet, he locked eyes with a young man sitting against the wall, down from the elbow of the bar. If Patton saw this man anywhere else, he’d have to say this gent was a surfer. And he just may have been a surfer – perhaps a gay surfer. The young man looked to be in his early twenties - with long blonde hair and a smooth tanned face. Patton couldn’t help but linger in his gaze.

How is he alone? Probably waiting for someone, Patton told himself.

Within ten minutes, the scotch was gone. Patton was beginning to relax. This felt right. Just then, the bear-bartender returned.

“Another?”

“Please,” Patton responded, “...and send the guy over by the wall a shot of Sambuca.”

After the bear delivered the drinks, the surfer raised his glass of Sambuca to Patton in acknowledgment, and threw it back. Patton sat through two more double-scotches, with nothing more from the surfer. No one else seemed interested in him. Discouraged, and thinking this immersion into his gay life might be more difficult than he’d imagined, Patton got up and left.

As he exited the bar, he tucked his hands into his jacket pocket, and walked around the corner to his parked truck. He hadn’t felt his bladder stretching in the bar, but in the cool of the night, he felt it now. He had to piss.

This late at night, no one was out. Houses all around, Patton pulled his cock from his soft cotton briefs and started pissing next to his truck. Something about his own piss always turned him on. Warm. Salty. A joyful sensation of release when the bladder was full. His pisshole opened wide, allowing for a deluge of fluid.

Suddenly, he found the surfer pissing beside him. Patton was pissing through the zipper-hole of his jeans, but the surfer had let his own pants drop on top of his shoes. His entire package and ass were exposed. Some urine was splashing up on both, but neither cared. Before Patton’s bladder was empty, he was pissing through a rock-hard cock. As it throbbed to his heartbeat, his piss flow followed – up and down.

After relieving himself, the surfer looked straight ahead and started jerking off. At what seemed to be almost eight inches, with a giant bulbous head, the surfer’s fat cock was almost identical to Patton’s. Watching gay porn when Tracy was out, Patton had noticed he was more attracted to dicks that resembled his own. This surfer’s hard cock was almost a perfect match. The surfer started to breathe heavily, his hand stroking up and down the veiny shaft. He was young and beautiful – enjoying his own cock.

Patton’s own pulsing fuckstick had the last dribbles of piss running down its underside and dripping off his balls. It was time to meet his destiny.

He crouched down and kneeled in front of the surfer. The masturbating man moved his hands to his side, allowing Patton to have full access to his amazing tool. Mouth watering, Patton pushed his lips over the giant head of the cock and down to the base – at least as close as he could get. His tongue pushed hard on the underside of the cock as he came back.

Patton’s excited mouth thrust back down, and he noticed a mix of piss and precum hitting his taste buds. As he came back again, allowing the surfer’s cock to almost leave his mouth, he cupped the man’s balls. Down the length of the cock he went again. As he came back this time, he reached for the surfer’s asshole. The surfer spread his legs some, and moaned as Patton’s finger made entry.

With Patton’s mouth moving in and out over this stranger’s tool - and with his finger deep in the man’s love-pouch - the surfer started to feel the warm rush of orgasm approaching. Patton, sensing this also, grabbed the base of the man’s saliva-drenched rod and thrust his throat down onto it one final time. At once, hot jets of jism joined his three double-scotches.