Book: Trolls



Michael Stamp


Trolls

Trolls

Marcus took the stairs slowly, putting his grocery bags down while he stopped to rest on the second-floor landing. The fifth-floor climb to his apartment got worse every day. If he'd had any sense he would have changed apartments years ago after Don died, gotten something on the first floor, or at least found a building with an elevator. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to leave the place they had shared. There were too many wonderful memories. And now it was too late. His building was rent-controlled, and if he gave up his apartment he'd never be able to afford another one.

He'd only walked a block from the small Asian grocery store, but his emphysema made him feel twenty years older. That's what three packs a day for thirty-four years could do to you. How many years had Don bugged him to quit, telling him he should take better care of himself? Funny how things had turned out. Here he was, still plugging along, and Don was dead. The tightness in his chest had subsided after the short rest. Marcus picked up the bags and started up the stairs again.

"Need some help with those, Mr. Tyler?"

Marcus looked up to see Kelly, the boytoy from 5C, standing on the third-floor staircase. Marcus smiled. He might be too old to attract boytoys, but he wasn't too old to enjoy the view. Kelly was bare-chested and wearing cutoffs so short Marcus thought he saw the tip of the kid's cock peek out from the frayed denim of his left pant leg. He couldn't help staring at the sturdy legs covered with reddish down, a sharp contrast to the broad chest, which was completely hairless. Of course he might have had chest hair. The kids today got rid of hair in places they didn't want it.

Kelly didn't wait for Marcus to answer. He took the bags and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Marcus craned his neck so he could get a good look at Kelly's bubble butt as he ran. Moments later Kelly was back downstairs, patting Marcus on the arm. "I left the bags outside your door, Mr. Tyler," he said.

"Thanks, Kelly." Marcus looked the twenty-something up and down appreciatively. "You're looking good tonight, boy. Got a hot date?"

"Sure do," Kelly replied. "I'm going to The Roundup."

"Well have a good time," Marcus told him. "And play safe."

"Always, Mr. Tyler," Kelly answered with a big smile, showing off perfect, straight, white teeth. Then he was down the stairs and out the front door.

Marcus shook his head as he watched him go. Getting old sure sucked.

He put a frozen entree into the microwave. Marcus couldn't remember the last time he had actually cooked. He used to love it, but there wasn't much enjoyment in cooking for one, and even less in sitting down to a nice dinner by yourself.

When he still had Don to cook for, he'd spend hours in the kitchen trying out all kinds of new recipes. Don would eat whatever Marcus put in front of him and pretend to like it. His lover had always been a basic, meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, although the meat he liked best you couldn't buy at the neighborhood grocery store.

He swallowed his last bite and finished the second of two beers he allowed himself each night. A smile crossed his lips as he recalled Kelly standing on the stairs tonight, looking like a proud, young stallion. He envisioned the young stud at The Roundup, moving through the horde of other hard young bodies, their sweaty chests rubbing against each other in a male mating dance. Marcus stood up to clear the table and was surprised to find his pants bunched at his crotch. Jesus, he had a boner! That sure didn't happen much anymore. He took out his hard-on and stroked it. He was a respectable six inches, certainly no stud, but he'd always been enough for Don.

Don himself had owned eight inches, but for reasons Marcus could never fathom, his lover had always loved getting fucked more than fucking. Once in a while Marcus would ask to have Don's rod up his ass, and Don would oblige, but he never seemed to enjoy himself as much as when Marcus was inside him.

Too bad they didn't have Senior Night at The Roundup. Maybe he should go down there anyway, Marcus thought. He could picture the faces of the young men when they saw him, potbellied and bald, with desperation written all over him. He probably couldn't even pay one of them to have sex with him. They'd take off so fast it would be as if someone had yelled "Fire!"

What was it Don used to call old men like him when they were young? Gnomes? No-trolls, that was it. Trolls. When he and Don were Kelly's age, Marcus couldn't imagine himself ever turning into one of those ugly old men, yet it happened to everyone. But if you were lucky, you had someone to grow old with, someone who wouldn't be disgusted by your sagging tits and shrunken ass. He thought he'd have Don, but Don had been gone for almost twenty years, a victim of the plague that had somehow managed to pass Marcus by.

Marcus sighed. You can't live in the past, he told himself. He went into the living room, opened the cabinet under the television, and looked through his porn collection, settling on Crotch Rocket starring Johnny King. Maybe he couldn't go to The Roundup tonight, but he was going to be there in spirit.

He slid the cassette into the VCR and sat down, holding his cock in one hand and the remote control in the other. He fast-forwarded through the credits and pushed play just as Johnny King came on screen. The movie had always been one of his favorites. It was amateurish and technically poor, but he and Don both loved it. Maybe because it held such fond memories.

They had seen it for the first time at the MalePlex. It was over thirty years, but Marcus could still remember sitting in the last row of the balcony, with Don kneeling between his legs, deep-throating Marcus's cock. Watching the flickering television screen, he could almost feel Don's breath on his skin, feel Don's black curls between his fingers as he held his lover's head against his crotch. When he closed his eyes he could almost hear the thump thump of Don's hand hitting the bottom of Marcus's seat as he jerked himself off while he pleasured Marcus.

Even now he could still picture the dreamy look on Don's face. He loved sucking cock, especially Marcus's. They'd come together that night, Don's body jerking so violently he'd fallen back against the seat in front of him. Marcus had ended up shooting all over Don's chest while Don's come had sprayed the empty seats around him.

As black-haired Johnny King started going down on a blond Adonis, Marcus spit in his hand and began to stroke himself. He smiled as he remembered doing this with Don. They'd sit together on the couch, reciting the insipid dialogue along with the video while they worked their cocks. They'd always tried to hold off as long as they could so they could come with the porn star, but they'd never lasted. Don would always end up with his head in Marcus's lap, swallowing his lover's cock, then before long Marcus would be on top of Don, sliding that cock into Don's waiting hole. Marcus looked down at his cock, resting limply in his wet hand. Shit! He'd come without realizing it. And he hadn't needed Johnny King. Just the memory of Don.

"Johnny King always did do his best acting with a mouthful of cock, didn't he, Marcus?"

Marcus turned in the direction of the voice. "He sure did-" he began. He sat frozen, then turned slowly to see the figure sitting beside him on the sofa. "Don?" he asked, barely able to generate enough saliva to speak.

"That's right, Marcus, it's me, in the flesh… so to speak."

Marcus stared at him, unbelieving. It was Don, all right; there was no denying it. His black curls were as unruly as ever, his smile just as welcoming. But his body was young and strong, the way it had been before the disease had eaten away everything that he was and made him almost unrecognizable.

It was impossible, yet there he sat, broad-shoulders, incredibly pumped-up pecs, his thick eight-incher standing at attention. Marcus had so many questions, yet the first one out of his mouth was, "Why are you naked?"

Don grinned. "You don't need clothes where I came from."

"Where did you come from?"

"You know the answer to that, Marcus."

Marcus did know, but was afraid to say it out loud.

"I've really missed you," Don told him.

"I've missed you, too. There hasn't been anyone since you."

Don looked skeptical. "A hot man like you alone all these years? I don't believe it."

"I was never a stud, Don, even though you always made me feel like one, but at least I was young. Look at me. Now I'm old and ugly."

"Not to me." Don slid over and put his arms around Marcus, kissing him deeply while his hands worked quickly to get Marcus out of his clothes.

Marcus felt the old stirrings immediately. He returned the kiss, clinging to his lover like a drowning man. It had been so long. He lay back, reveling in each sensation as Don's long, talented fingers explored every inch of him. His body had always come alive at Don's touch, but this time he felt different. He couldn't be drunk, not on two beers, but he felt that way. And in his drunken state each part of his body Don touched seemed to physically change.

When Don stroked his shoulders, Marcus felt them broaden.

After Don's hands passed over his chest, Marcus felt his nipples grow hard and his sagging tits tighten into muscular pecs. Don licked Marcus's belly, and suddenly the rounded flesh became flat and hard.

Don's mouth slid down Marcus's body, covering it with kisses. He stopped to rest between his legs, sliding his hands under Marcus and cupping his ass, using the hold to pull Marcus toward him, guiding his lover's cock into his waiting mouth. Don squeezed his ass cheeks and Marcus could feel his shrunken ass bunch up firm and high. Marcus lost himself in the feel of Don's wet warmth surrounding his hard flesh. His cock was lengthening as Don's talented mouth sucked him deeper and deeper into his throat. Don's nose was buried in his graying bush, but still his cock grew. He'd been ready to pop the moment Don touched him, but he forced himself to hold back, wanting the moment to last.

"Let go, Marcus," Don told him, his voice vibrating through Marcus's skin. And to help him, Don slid a finger deep inside Marcus's hole and massaged his prostate.

Marcus gave a strangled cry and gripped Don's hair as he came, shooting again and again. Never in his life had an orgasm lasted so long. Don kept Marcus in his mouth, swallowing it all, refusing to let even a drop escape his throat. When Don finally released his cock, Marcus felt his long, thick pole slap his thigh. His body felt so totally different he could almost believe it had actually changed, but he knew that wasn't possible.

"You make me feel young again, Don," he murmured, ruffling Don's dark hair.

"You are young again, Marcus. Go look at yourself." Going along with the joke, Marcus got up and went into the bedroom. When he saw his reflection in the wall mirror he stopped, stunned at his transformation. He looked thirty, but he'd never looked as good the first time around as he did now. The broad shoulders, the flat stomach, the powerful chest, and bubble butt he thought he had imagined belonged to him. They were actually real.

So was his cock. And it didn't only equal Don's. It surpassed it. Marcus hefted it in his hand. The fucking thing had to be at least ten inches, and so thick he could barely get his thumb and forefinger around its girth. "I don't understand," he said in bewilderment. "How could this happen?" he asked.

"It was always in you, Marcus," Don said from the doorway. "It was what I saw whenever I looked at you."

Marcus couldn't stop staring at himself. Needing to confirm his eyes weren't deceiving him, he pinched his nipples. He ran his hands down the hard flatness that was now his stomach, still expecting it all to disappear the moment he touched it. His eyes kept coming back to his cock, the most incredible change of all. And even more unbelievable than its size was the fact that it was hard again. After all Don had taken from him only moments ago, his erection was again straining against his belly. He glanced at his bed, then at Don. "I want to fuck you," he said.

Don laughed. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Can I?" Marcus asked.

"You never asked permission before."

Marcus said, "No, I mean-will I be able to fuck you, the way you are now?"

Don grinned sheepishly. "Sure. You didn't think I'd come all this way without making sure you could fuck my ass when I got here."

"Then come to bed."

His voice had barely formed the words and Don was there with him, the two of them jockeying for position like wrestlers. Marcus pinned Don down under him, then flipped him over onto his stomach. Don surrendered without a fight, resting his head on his arms and raising his ass high in the air.

Marcus licked his lips at the sight of the perfectly rounded buttocks yielding before him. He pulled apart the cheeks and buried his face in Don's ass, inhaling deeply. The smell of Don's ass had always been an aphrodisiac for him. His tongue sought the small pink hole, bathing it in spit. He worked his tongue inside the ring and heard Don moan. Hadn't it been just as long for Don as it had for him?

Marcus pulled back, pleased to see Don's pucker had increased in size from a dime to quarter. He dove back in, laving the tunnel, spurred on by the sounds of pleasure coming from his lover. He would have been happy to just keep rimming Don's hole, to continue savoring the taste of the man he loved, but Don was squirming and shifting his ass, impatient for the main course.

"Your tongue feels a foot long," he moaned, "but you know what I want you to put up there. Fuck me, Marcus! Fuck me now!

Marcus placed the tip of his cock at the opening of his lover's magnificent body. Finally, after all these years, he felt worthy of entering it. He grasped Don's hips and slid his cock into the spit-lubed hole.

Don's body shuddered at the contact. "It feels like a two-by-four," he whimpered.

Marcus thrust tentatively at first, but then overcome with desire, he rammed himself inside Don's ass and began to fuck more furiously. Again and again he pulled out a little, only to plunge his cock in deeper with the next thrust. Don quickly found his rhythm, and they began to move as one.

Soon Marcus felt the familiar tightness in his chest that came from any kind of exertion. He was frightened, but he didn't stop. He would pay any price for this chance to be with Don again. He increased his speed, fucking more like machine than man, slamming his groin against Don's ass with such force his lover was now lying flat on his stomach. The pain in his chest was spreading, and his heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst. Each beat echoed in his ears. He felt light-headed, but still he continued.

He was so close. Another minute, he begged. Please let me come in Don just one more time-

Marcus cried out, and all at once the pain in his chest was gone. His hips bucked wildly as his cock pumped wave after wave of come into the man who lay beneath him. Even in the throes of orgasm, he was aware of Don's hips moving against the mattress. When his body was finally spent, Marcus let his full weight come down to rest on Don's back.

Only when he felt Don moving under him did Marcus muster the energy to lift himself off the other man. He rolled off his lover's body and lay back beside him. When Don turned over, he could see the evidence of Don's own orgasm glistening on his sweat-coated skin.

Marcus raised himself up on one elbow. "I wish this night could last forever."

"It can," Don told him. "If you come with me."

Marcus dipped his head and lapped lazily at a glob of come on Don's belly. "Come with you?" he asked.

"It's why I came back, Marcus. To get you. You're ready to go, aren't you? There's nothing here to keep you, is there?"

Marcus glanced around. The place had ceased to be a home the moment Don wasn't there to share it. "No, nothing," he said. "My home will always be wherever you are."

"Then let's go."

When they reached the doorway, Marcus glanced back to where the figure lay unmoving on the bed. He was going to ask Don if the old man would be coming with them, then thought better of it. Even without asking, Marcus knew the place where Don was taking him was no different than The Roundup. No trolls allowed.


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Michael Stamp's earliest writing influences were Gordon Merrick and John Preston, so it's not surprising that all Michael's erotica, including his S/M tales, have a decidedly romantic bent. His stories appear in the anthologies Best Gay Erotica 2001, Casting Couch Confessions, Sex Toy Tales, Strange Bedfellows, and Best S/M Erotica.


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"Trolls," by Michael Stamp, © 2000 by Michael Stamp, first appeared in In Touch for Men, October 2000 (In Touch, 2000). Reprinted by permission of the author.


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