Chapter 7: The Pretty Boy
2002-12-15

Ok, guys. I have to say this. Diaryland gets me tail. I figured it was about time to let you in on a little of it. Last week I got the following email:

Brian,

You sound totally hot. My fiancé just bought me a surprise trip to your neck of the woods and I'll be there in a day or two. Maybe we can hook up?

Me–I'm 5'9" 165 blond hair, green eyes, smooth ripped abs, tight ass, 7 and 1/2 cut, 4% body fat, once and future model. See attached picture and get back to me. I want the whole park experience and you sound like the guy to give it to me.

He was a pretty boy, but I said I'd hookup with him anyway. I told him where to meet me, told him I'd be there during the first parade of the day and if he missed me, it wasn't happening. I don't wait around or reschedule tricks.

He was right on time. He tried to tell me this bullshit story about how he ditched his girl in the park, but I really wasn't interested. I grabbed his hand and pulled him into one of the nearby backstage tunnels. We ducked into a broom closet. I pressed him up against the door kissed him roughly. As a test, I bit him 'til he protested. He only stopped me after I tasted blood.

He'd asked for the whole experience, and I'd asked around a bit for ideas. I grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Take your pants off. Then get down on your belly."

He obeyed. I took my clothes off and gave him a bit of a show. I decided it was time to set up the ground rules. "Rule number one," I announced. "You do not speak unless I give you permission. Rule number two. If you want permission to speak you must use my name. Rule number three. When I look like this, my name is Brian." I reached behind some cleaning supplies and produced my character's head. I put it on. "When I look like this, my name is *o***."

He tried to get up saying, "this is getting a little weird."

I put my foot in the small of his back and pressed him into the cement. "You do not have permission to speak."

My character has enormous feet and wears gigantic shoes. I put a pair of them on and ordered him to lick *o***'s shoes. It took him a moment or two, but pretty soon he was really into it. I started to beat off a little while I watched the pretty boy lick my feet.

He quickly overcame any initial reluctance and got really, really into the game. "Please sir," he begged. "May I suck *o***'s cock. Would *o*** like his balls tugged while I eat his ass? Won't *o*** fuck me?

I have to tell you, it was totally liberating behind that mask. I came close to cumming more than once, and everytime I sent him back to the shoes. He really seemed to like the shoes. I fucked him for a while ordering him not to cum, telling him I still had a surprise for him.

I produced a pair of *o*** hands. Like many cartoon characters, mine has only four fingers and each is a fat, round, puffy sausage attached to a substantial palm. I ordered him down on all fours and stuffed my jockey shorts into his mouth, telling him to bite down on them instead of screaming. I told him if he screamed, I wouldn't let him cum.

I covered the *o*** hand in hand lotion and massaged it into the stiff fabric. I knew it wouldn't help much, but I figured he'd appreciate anything I let him have. I bunched the three fingers up and pressed them against his ass. "Ever been fisted?"

He grunted "no sir" around my briefs.

"Ready to give it a shot?"

He pressed his ass back into my fist. I took him at his word and in a second the longest of *o***'s fingers was inside him. I told him to relax and pressed my hand a little further up his ass. It took a number of stops and starts, but quicker than I expected *o***'s whole hand was inside him. His face was red and the veins on his forehead and neck were practically breaking through, but he did not scream. I rolled him over on his back and came on his tight belly while my hand was still up his ass. I told him he could cum now if he wanted to and within seconds he'd shot a healthy load.

We dressed quickly and he asked to see me again. I told him he wasn't really my type and sent him off to be with his wife. The glove was streaked with blood and shit. I pitched it and told them I'd lost it. The cost of a replacement came out of my salary.

Don't forget, now. If you're planning a visit, email me at brianatdiz@yahoo.com. I'll show you a good time. Promise.

Oh, and Merry Christmas.