I had cruised the men's room of this mall before. It was a pretty safe place to go just before the mall locked up for the night. Mostly all who were left in the huge shopping space were custodians, janitors, repairmen, and a few stragglers of shoppers. There were also some those young shop assistants just getting off work after a hard eight hours of pleasing the public, and now just looking to please themselves, maybe with a quick hookup, or at very least a quite solitary wank in the washroom.

It was that someone in that last group of mens' room visitors I hoped to find — a horny young hottie with a big dick and a big load.

But that's not what I got! Instead, I got the shit kicked out of me!

I reached the mall, walking, just before nine, closing time, and once inside made my way to the one of the public washrooms I knew to be a safe bet for hookups and also safe from getting caught out by the security guards. The washroom was at the end of a long, echoing tiled hall, and footsteps resounded around the interior of the washroom.

When I entered, there was one little fat man just shaking off his dick and zipping up. He glanced at me expectantly. I'm sure he was hoping I would proposition him, but I just glared at him, and he scurried out without even washing his hands.

I slipped the bottoms of my track pants and hoodie down to expose my cock and ass. Usually of these outings I dressed commando, best for quickie action, but tonight I was wearing briefs under the sweat pants. Ignoring the inconvenience I leaned against the wall opposite the urinals, my ass bared and inviting for any man who entered the washrooms.

I had waited a few minutes before I heard footsteps approaching down the outer hall. When I calculated the man was right outside the door to the washroom, I glanced over my shoulder. The heavy wood door had frosted-glass panels on either side of it. Through the panel closest to the main hall of the mall I could clearly see the form of a well-built hunk poised outside the door, as if he were trying to make up his mind about what he might find inside. I couldn't make out his face, but I could see the man was muscular and wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt and jeans.

He seemed to make up his mind about something, and disappeared from view momentarily as he moved to the door itself and pushed it open. I pretended I didn't notice him enter. I heard him pause again, then stride toward me.

"Hey," he said,"you looking for something or someone? You advertising, maybe?"

It sounded as if he were interested.

"Not really advertising," I grinned, turning toward him. "I'm not selling anything. More like giving something away."

The young man who confronted me was just my type. He was about my own age, in his early thirties, about my own weight and height, and very-well toned, again like myself. I took pride in keeping myself in shape, watching my diet and exercising regularly, in the gym, road-running, and with weights at home. It looked like my acquaintance here probably did much the same routine.

"What you giving away?" he asked, smiling knowingly.

I nodded down toward my stiffening cock.

"Mmmm," he murmured. "I have something for you, too!"

"What's that?" I asked, thinking I knew what was coming. But I was very, very wrong!

"This!" he cried, and before I knew what was happening his fist smashed into the side of my face. "Knuckle sandwich, faggot!"

As I stumbled back against the wall, hampered by my sweat pants sagging toward the floor, trying to steady myself with one hand and pull up my pants with the other, my assailant cried out, "C'mon, guys," and two more muscular young men burst through the door, rushed up to us and began raining blows on me.

They punched and shoved, and I went reeling across the room and up against the urinals. I slipped on the wet tiles and went down.

Then the kicking started. By now my head was already reeling from multiple blows, but I still felt the boots sinking into my ribs and stomach. I also vaguely heard the voice of my original attacher:

"Hey, guys, that's enough. We just want to teach him a lesson, not kill him. Stop! Stop now!"

"Fuck off, pansy," one of the others growled, and the kicks kept coming. But I didn't care any more. The room went black and I passed out.

I don't know how long it was before my mind cleared a little and I tried to open my eyes. I seemed to be hurting everywhere. I wasn't sure where I was at first. I just knew I was lying on a hard, cold, wet tiled floor and there was someone bending over me.

"Are you OK?" a concerned voice asked. "Shall I call an ambulance?"

My head cleared a little more and I began to recall what had happened. I recognized the voice of the man, who was now saying, "Can you stand? Can I help you up?" I knew it was the voice of the young man who had approached me – the young man who had been first to punch me in the face.

"Leave me alone," I muttered. "Don't hit me any more," I begged.

"No, no," the voice assured me as I closed my eyes once more, partly succumbing to the pain and the darkness of my mind. "It's OK," I heard him say. "The others have gone. I made them stop. I made them leave. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to go this far."

At that point, I didn't give a shit what he had intended. All I understood was that I was in massive pain, and he had caused it.

"The mall will be locking up," he said. "I'll get you out of here," he told me, and he tried to lift me to my feet. A great surge of pain overcame me and I blacked out again.

I don't know how he had managed it, but when I resurfaced, I was no longer in the men's room of the mall, but sprawled out on the back seat of a moving car. I must have muttered something as I came to my senses for a moment, because the man driving turned his head long enough to glance at me. It was the young guy who had attacked me.

"It's OK," he assured me. "You'll be OK," he told me. "I'm taking you to my place. I'll patch you up a bit before I take you home to your place."

I didn't really give a damn. I just wanted to sleep some more. I closed my eyes again and descended into the darkness.

Later I remember flashes of someone pulling me out of a car; of someone helping my up some stairs; of someone lowering me onto a bed. Then darkness again.

When I awoke, there was daylight streaming through an open window. I was in a bed, still wearing my grey hoodie, but when I groped around under the sheets, my sweat pants were gone, and so were my undies. In spite of the pain in my jaw, my cheek, my ribs and my side, I had a bit of a morning woody. It actually felt wet, and I worried that I had had a wet dream in a stranger's bed.

"Ah, you're awake at last!" came the now-familiar voice of my attacker — and saviour, I gathered.

"I've patched you up the best I could while you were asleep," he said.

I turned toward the voice. He was sitting on a kitchen chair at the bedside. As pissed off and hurting as I was, I still couldn't help admiring this hottie. He was dark complexioned, like a good tan, with short cropped hair and dark, dark eyes, and a large mouth with very kissable lips. Too bad the evening had turned out the way it did.

"Take these!" he said, offering me two white pills and a glass of water.

"What are they?" I asked, suspicious.

"Painkillers. Great ones. My hockey coach gets them somehow. Better than Tylenol 3 and faster. It looks like you need them."

I sure did. I put a hand to my face. There was a bandage around my head, and an adhesive patch over the bridge of my nose and down onto my cheek. There were sore, swollen spots all over. My ribs hurt the most. If they weren't broken, they were at best cracked, which is even more painful, as I knew from experience. This was not the first time I had lost a fight. There was another bandage on my right knuckles and a rather useless sling supposedly supporting my left wrist.

"Thanks a lot," I said, sarcastically. "Do you always beat guys up before you bring them home and patch them up?"

"No!" he protested. "We'd been drinking in a bar in the mall. It was meant as a bit of a lark. We were just going to hassle some gays, put a bit of a scare into them, but it got out of hand. I didn't really want to do it, but my buddies pushed me into it. I didn't want them to think I was gay."

"Well, are you?" I asked, still sarcastically.

To my surprise, the young man reddened, and said, tentatively, "I … I'm not sure … I didn't think I was … But after this morning … " He trailed off and reddened even more under his deep tan.

"After this morning?" I queried. "What happened this morning?" He looked even more embarrassed than before.

"Well, while you were passed out hellip; when I took your pants off … I saw you had a woody and …"

It dawned on me! That's why my cock felt wet. This guy had sucked my dick while I was passed out!

The thought excited me. My dick got even harder.

"Well, did you enjoy it?" I asked.

He almost whispered "Yes."

"Did I cum?" I asked.

"No," he stammered. "I didn't suck it for long. I was afraid I'd wake you."

"Well, if you enjoyed it, you may as well finish the job so I can enjoy it too." I threw off the covers. The pain was excruciating, but my lust was even stronger. I managed to wriggle out of the hoodie part of my sweat suit and kneeled on the bed naked, my cock sticking straight out toward him.

"What's your name?" I demanded.

"Peter," he replied, with a little hesitation.

"Well, Peter, let's see you finish the job you started. Suck my cock till I cum!"

Peter wriggled out of the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he had been wearing, and was a naked like myself. He was also sporting a definite woody. He clambered onto the bed with me. He reached tentatively toward my cock, examining it closely. He seemed intrigued with my foreskin, as if he'd never seen one up close before. He probably hadn't!

He pulled my foreskin back over the knob then forward again to cover the tip once more, then back again, and drew it tight down my shaft, exposing the bare rod. Finished exploring, he leaned forward and took my knob in his mouth.

He might have been new to sucking cock, but he was a fast learner. He slowly fed my rock-hard rod into his mouth and down his throat. There was not even the gagging one expects from a novice. As he pumped on with me with his mouth I began to feel better and better. Was it his delicious cock-sucking, or was it just the painkillers kicking in? A bit of both, I decided, because my ribs and my face were no longer screaming out in hurt, just a dull throb remaining of the former pain.

Peter picked up the pace, obviously trying to get me to cum. He was bobbing furiously and drooling saliva down his chin. I wondered if he had ever tasted cum, even his own.

"I'm going to shoot my wad soon," I waned him. "Do you want me to cum in your mouth?" I asked. He nodded, and gurgled something I took for assent, for he grasped my shaft and masturbated me as he rammed it in and out of his mouth and throat.

Within a couple of minutes I felt the familiar contractions begin in my lower abdomen as my body got ready to eject a load of man-juice. Then the creamy liquid was surging up through my fleshy volcano to erupt powerfully into Peter's waiting mouth. I don't think he was expecting quite so much, for he had trouble swallowing it all and some dribbled out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

"How did you like it, cocksucker?" I asked, as he sat up and looked up at me.

"Great," he told me. "I always wondered what cum would taste like."

"Did you ever taste your own?" I asked.

"No,' he admitted,"I've wanted to, but as soon as I jerked off, I didn't want to any more."

"Have you ever sucked a guy off before?" I asked.

"No," he confessed, "but I've always wanted to."

"Has a guy ever sucked you off?" I asked.

"No," he informed me. "But I've wondered what it would be like."

"Well, you're about to find out. Get up on the bed with me." He had been kneeling beside it until now.

Peter did what I told him. He lay on his back, his prick sticking right up. He must have been very, very horny, because it was extremely hard. It was also e very thick, swollen with expectation. I pushed him back onto the pillows and bent to his very inviting meat. I enjoyed sucking cock just as much as I enjoyed being sucked.

I opened my mouth wide to accommodate his cock's girth. I had sucked plenty of cocks in my day, but not many as thick as this one.

All thoughts of the fact that this man had, just a few hours before, viciously assaulted me were now gone. All I could think about was sex, hot sex, with this hottie. I wanted him to like me, to come back for more man-sex with me. I wanted to suck him off, to fuck him, to have him fuck me.

I drove my mouth down upon his thick shaft, almost choking at first, till I relaxed my throat.

"Oh, my God!" he cried. "That's so fucking good!"

Peter didn't know yet just how good it could get. I ran my tongue over the underside of his knob, still very sensitive to the administrations of an educated tongue, even though he was circumcised and it had lost some of its sensitivity.

"Ohhh!" he cried.

I began to bob on his stiff cock, using my own saliva as a lubricant, keeping my teeth well out of the way. Now my throat had relaxed, and I was able to take all of his dick in, right to the hilt. As I fondled his balls and rubbed the base of the shaft of his cock, I felt his nuts begin to retract as his body prepared to blast his semen forth.

Far too soon his cock began to pump his juices into my mouth and down my throat. I was more experienced than Peter, and didn't let a drop of the salty-sweet liquid escape my mouth. I swallowed every drop and squeezed his shaft with my hand to milk whatever remained.

Spent, he flopped back upon the pillows. I lay alongside him. He turned his head and just looked at me for the longest time.

At last he said, "Thanks. That was fantastic," then he sank into silence for a while. He lay there, looking into my eyes. After a while he asked, "What's your name? I told you mine, but I don't know yours."

"Robin," I told him, "but most guys call me just Rob."

"I like Robin better," he assured me, then very unexpectedly bent his head to mine and kissed me gently on the lips. Was this the same guy who had called me faggot while he planted his fist in my face just hours before? He withdrew, embarrassed and lay there silent for a while longer. He reached out with his hand and fondled my flaccid cock, playing with the foreskin. It didn't stay flaccid for long. As Peter gently stroked my cock it began to swell again. I returned the favour by fondling his cock and balls. We lay there, mutually masturbating in silence.

"What's it feel like?" he asked eventually.

"What's what feel like?" I replied.

"You know … having a cock up your ass … being fucked by a guy." The thought of fucking ass was making me quite hard once more.

"It hurst as bit at first, especially the first time," I told him, remembering back to my teens when an older man had shown me the ropes, sinking his huge cock into my virgin ass as gently as he could to avoid hurting me as much as possible. It was that first fuck that proved to me I was gay. In spite of the pain, I loved being fucked, even that first time. And when the same man, my own uncle, had let me fuck him in return, I was a confirmed manhole fucker and fuckee.

"I want to try it," Peter said. "Will you fuck me?"

"Do you have any lube?"

"What sort of lube?" he asked.

"Anything a little bit oily," I told him. "Suntan oil, maybe."

"I've got olive oil," he suggested. "Or Becel."

"Becel sounds like it might work," I agreed.

He rose and left the room, coming back a couple of minutes later with a couple of those individual-serving paper tubs of margarine which you get in restaurants. He handed them to me. They had not been in the fridge.

"I stole these from Timmy's" he told me. "Do you want a condom?"

"Not unless you do," I said. "I was clean at my recent blood test."

"I'll trust you," Peter agreed. "What do I do?" he asked.

"Well," I suggested, "we can start out missionary style until you get used to it and then go from there."

"Missionary style? What's that?" he asked.

"You lie face down and I fuck your ass," I told him, laughing.

"That's missionary style?" he commented as he lay himself face down on the bed.

"Well, Mormon missionaries, maybe," I told him , laughing at the thought.

I spread his legs and knelt between them. Opening one of the little butter pats, I smeared the almost-liquid oil on my cock first. I wondered how buttered cock would taste. My fingers were still very greasy os I probed Peter's rosebud with my finger. As I touched it, he tensed, squeezing his anus tighter, blocking my finger.

"Relax," I told him. "If you tense up, it will hurt. If you relax it will go in easy." I saw the sunburst of his butthole spread as he untensed the muscle. It winked at me invitingly, and I eased my oily finger slowly into him. The further I penetrated, the more relaxed he became and the more his sphincter opened. I twisted my finger around inside him spreading the Becel evenly.

I withdrew the single finger and inserted two, stretching him a bit more.

"Does that hurt?" I asked.

"No," he admitted, so I twisted them around inside him, widening him more, then replaced two fingers with three, and finally four fingers. Four fingers is about as thick as my cock, so I figured he was ready for it.

"Spread your butt-cheeks with your hands," I ordered him, and when he did so I leaned forward, guiding the head of my rock-hard cock to his virgin hole. He flinched a bit as he felt my knob touch his secret place, but then relaxed again, waiting for the invasion. I pressed gently forward and felt his muscle open slightly under the pressure, then more as I persisted with the steady force. I lowered myself onto his muscled back, feeling his warmth against my chest and pressed my hips down on his buttocks, forcing my penis further into him.

He gasped as my whole knob suddenly slipped inside of him, and grimaced slightly, but then relaxed again as I continued with my intrusion of his insides. My knob was held up for a moment by the inner, tighter set of muscles, then suddenly, I was through, and my whole cock disappeared into him with a rush.

He gave a gasp of pain, but he never asked me to stop, or take it out, so I just lay still for a minute or to, until I asked him, "OK?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Just go slow for a bit," and that's what I did. I pressed forward to my fullest reach, then slowly withdrew until just my knob was inside him, then pressed forward again entering him again very slowly. After a few strokes like this, Peter began to move his buttocks to meet my cock, and we soon set up a rhythm, and increased speed.

But soon he told me, "I want to watch you while you fuck me. Is It possible to do it face to face?"

I took my cock out of his ass. "Turn over," I told him. I stood at the side of the bed, and dragged him round so his ass was at the edge of the bed, then lifted his legs up over my shoulders as I leaned into him once more, guiding my cock back to his eager hole.

It was a bit more awkward for him this way, and he grimaced in real pain when my cock first drove into him, going further in than ever before.

But Peter soon grew accustomed to it, and soon was smiling broadly as I pounded the shit out of his tight ass. (Just figuratively, of course!) He certainly enjoyed being fucked – a man after my own heart!

It took a few more minutes because I had so recently cum, but I managed to grant his wishes and my cum soon flowed into his bowels. I pulled out of him as my dick was softening and flopped on the bed beside him.

"That was great," he informed me. "You want me to do you now?" Looking over at his crotch, I saw that he had recovered his strength and now had another woody.

"Well, we shouldn't let this go to waste," I told him, grasping his stiffy. "And I love to be fucked, too."

We went at this turn-about enthusiastically, doggy-style, at the edge of the bed. Even battered and bruised as I was, thanks to the painkillers, it was a great fuck. For a newbie, he was a fast leaner, and very innovative. It took him a long time to cum, and when he did, he poured a huge load into my hole.

Later, when we had both got rid of our assloads of cum, and I had dressed in some casual clothes of Peter's because my own were to bloody and filthy, he suggested we go for breakfast.

"There's an IHOP just down the street," he told me. "And afterwards maybe we can come back here and you can teach me more stuff." He grinned wickedly.

I agreed, but told him he had to pay, because I don't take my wallet with me when I go cruising. "Yes, I'll pay," Peter agreed. He started to lead the way out of the house.

"Just a minute! I have something for you." I told him.

As he swung round to see what it was, I let f him have it, full in the face, with my fist. "Knuckle sandwich, faggot!" I didn't hit him nearly as hard as he had first hit me, but enough to snap his head back and make him reel a little. It probably hurt me as much as it did Peter, because that was my injured hand.

As he recovered, he smiled ruefully: "I deserved that!" he said.

"Yes, you did," I confirmed, "now let's go to breakfast and get back here as soon as we can! I think I'm going to enjoy turning you gay."

"And I'm going to enjoy it, too, as long as you're my instructor!"

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