The Good Old Days

I was 17 that summer. I was helping a friend mow lawns. I was thin, long body, typical blonde blue eyed young man. I mowed the lawn of this man and he invited me in for something to drink. I was wearing cutoff jeans, sox and sneakers, he was in Bermuda shorts and a plaid shirt. A good looking man, in shape and looked like he had money. Standing there he looked me over, told me I was a good looking young man, if I was interested I could model for him.

He was an artist, a cartoonist who specialized in gay porn cartoons. He showed me selection, and gave me one to take home. The blonde pool boy with the old man with a huge cock up his ass. The cartoon focused on the young man's puckered asshole, and that veiny hard cock half way in. The look on the boy's face, pure extassy, and the old man's face, wolf eyes, open nostrils, pure desire. That comic touched a deep nerve in me, I dreamt of the old man fucking me in the boat house. I still have that comic drawing.

I modeled for him, various poses, lots of cock modeling, he used my face and body, my cock, my ass and asshole in cartoons to which he added other young men, or best of all mean cops, lecherous bankers, always with huge cocks tearing up my throat or my asshole. I loved posing for him. As a reward I got to suck his cock, too big to fit in my hand, to swallow his loads, to bend over and have him unload in my ass.

Men like him don't exist anymore, times like those don't exist anymore. All I have are sketches, some hand drawn cartoons to remember my last year in high school.