Law vs. Kong

Law vs. Kong

He invited me to his condo across the street.

"I am Mr. Goldstein," he said.

"I am Sean," I said.

The pockets in my makeshift bathing suit were filled with beach sand. Each dragged my pants down plenty past my pale hip line. I hated Mr. Goldstein for living in such an oppressive device. One that infects the natural Florida coast by New York skyline disease.

"What do you do?" he said. "You look like a surfer who lost his board."

"I am an artist. I paint in acrylics and starve often."

"Artistic types are usually into males, females, and beasts."

I laughed. But not with a strong laugh.

"What do you do?"

"I practice Law."

"So, you're into being an asshole and endlessly wasting take-out food?"

"I'm into healing. Each Monday morning, I grow more miserable and hornier after each lousy printed word absorbed through my 14 karat reading glasses."

"Nobody knows I am gay but you. I am a walking closet."

"You know you could be a stripper. I know club people in Atlanta."

"I am tired. I love women but I love shaking my own smooth fem ass to a vanity mirror."

"You never had cock?"

"No. Never. I don't do sex much. At 25 years of age, I just paint for cheap, drink merlot in my studio box, and listen to records on my back porch of bromeliads and marijuana. But your cock, thirty years my senior, is a golden goose."

"I am not that old, honey. I have strong coffee and a cool King Kong pin ball machine that faces the ocean upstairs."

"You're the lead. But I am not committing to anything. I have butterflies in the belly and curiosity reining terror against my virginity."

My sea-soaked cargo shorts peppered sand crystals across the rugged elevator floor, and the hallway carpet that carried zig zag designs, all the way to the pin ball machine in the bowels of his living room that hid in the eastern floating sunrays.

"You're as smooth as a seal. Do you get waxed?" he said.

"I use elbow grease and regular shaving cream and razors, then dance nude in mirrors, and hope an old professional Grandpa will yank me out of my closet and into his grand arcade."

Mr. Goldstein became disinterested and cold when he scaled the scattered open law books. Each book further stabbed away his earlier stoic posture. He started to crumble right before taking a breathtaking side-step from another occupational nervous breakdown. He tore down his purple bathing suit in front of me and Kong. His long uncut cock boinged. He pulled back on the plunger, opened his hand, and tapped the red buttons on each side. In a soprano yelp he said, "You ever play pin ball, baby?"

"Yah, years ago."

"If you want to play, there is one condition."

"What?"

"You must play in your birthday suit. This is a nude arcade."

"My cargo pants are bloated with sand and salt water. Let me think about it."

"Drop them. I will put them in the laundry!"

I dropped the afternoon's burden of saltwater and wet sand from my waist. The shorts crashed onto the carpet in a muddled mess. I was free. Naked in Mr. Goldstein's law office condo.

"Fuck, it's your turn."

I walked in front of the cold cashbox door as he stepped back. My cock turned to marble then pressed against the old metal. I turned a bit red. I lost his bald head and bulging brown eyes. My ass wobbled until I pulled back the plunger. The silver sphere pistoled across the jungle playfield. On the backglass, the mighty Kong with his mouth painted wide, roared out little speakers, and his eyes turned to fireballs.

Mr. Goldstein's thick gorilla forearms overlapped mine as he pressed my fingers softly into the flipper buttons. The tip of his cock kissed both of my ass cheeks as the neon scoreboard numbers spun larger. I felt his weight and fog of Creed Boutique come close. I palmed the playfield glass. The ball vanished between the erected flippers. "Let's see if I can top my highest score. I am currently at 35,840 points"

He whispered incomprehensible stanzas as I felt cool pinching between my naked ass cheeks. His bloated vodka belly slept on my lower back as new pressure from his pelvic flesh rattled my booty.

"Oh my Mr. Goldstien. Your entire cock is in. I wasn't sure until...oh my, sir."

"Is your tight pussy going to help daddy beat Kong?"

I licked the game's glass and smeared my palm's sweat into circled balls. The sound of him pounding my open bottom so deep was sweet music. The clapping and moaning he unleashed into the unseen kept me hyper focused on his swelling and stabbing cock. I watched a silver blur, and the plastic bulbs light up as Kind Kong roared in a soprano. The game's wooden cabinet shook.

I slammed my own chin down and pushed my ass to the clouds to absorb his mind flooding my booty and thighs with the furthest thing of statutes and case law.

"I broke the hottest tight pussy in town and beat my highest score with 36,393 points."

"Can you take a picture? I want to see your large white lawyer ass jiggle behind me while my cock slapped the coin slot."

"Let us put in some Beatles and have wine. We can go again in a bit; I will film it."

I always wanted to be straight. The roar of Kong aligned with my private insanity of wanting a hard cock instead of a cheerleader. I always thought if America accepted gayness like football, I could cash in on my neurosis for explosive flamboyance gone public and would be a charismatic millionaire; and to Mr. Goldstein; an important client.

"Mr. Goldstein. May I stay bent over and nude and suck your cock to the Beatles?"