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The joys of fauna sex --- Mein schwules Auge 13

Inhouse author Michael Ampersant has a new story in the German gay yearbook Mein schwules Auge, which is out today. "New story" --- well, it isn't that new, it's the first, unprintable chapter of his classic GREEN EYES. Here's a teaser; the illustrations are by Piotr Urbaniak. (This is a historic moment in the history of erotic literature, folks, John Lee and Alex Iglesias meeting up for the first time)

(This is how it starts:)

His eyes match the palmetto trees. Cum on, they say—or perhaps not. I’m shy and easily discouraged. But I manage to hold on to his gaze.

Green Eyes turns his head and saunters toward the dunes. I’m still standing there. He turns his head again, sketches a smile, and resumes his walk. I follow. The sand gives way to earthbound ivy. He steps gingerly on the leaves, I stay in cruising distance behind.

I sense an erection, the ivy stops bothering me. It's about his butts now that are swiveling slightly as he traipses across the accumbent evergreen. It’s also about his surfer’s back which is lithe, tapered and sleekly muscled. His shoulders roll gently with his stride.

Past the first palmetto he turns around, then slouches meaningfully against the stem. I close on in. A flex motion of his shoulder blades and he has righted himself. We’re in fucking distance. Action.



  
(And this is how it ends:)


"I'll help you," Green Eyes replies. He inserts his tongue squarely into my mouth and jerks my dick. I touch his body, feel him up with my fingertips, his pecs, the washboard tummy, the surfer's back, his devilish dick down there, almost out of reach but still hard, I’m searching for the sense of direction. And there it is. My crotch explodes. History repeats itself. (‘Right,’ I think, ‘Gibbon, Decline and Fall.’)  Semen everywhere. One glob of jizz has landed on a large ivy leaf which hangs its head under the weight. Whose jizz is it, we wonder—the stuff is seeping off the leaf, drip by drip, the leaf dipping on its steel with each drip, rolling, slowly raising its head again. 

"No sweat," Green Eyes says. He gets up, grabs his pants. “Later,” he adds.
“What’s your name,” I ask, but he’s gone. The blond guy is still stroking his softening dick as if this is an exercise in after-play. "What are you doing tonight?" he asks.


 

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