Birthday Tales


Derian popped a Bugle into his mouth and leaned against the kitchen counter.

His friends had all gone home. His family had gone upstairs. For the first time that day (except for the times he occupied the smallest room in the house, recycling the many bottles of Lone Star he drank today), Derian was by himself for the first time at age twenty-nine.

He looked for the matching Tupperware lid and closed the bowl filled with Bugles, Doritos and pretzels. All the guys kidded him -- even the guys older than he -- that twenty-nine would be his last year of fun, his last year of sex appeal, his last year of mobility, for Christ's sake.

Shee-it. Derian bumped his hip hard against the counter, as if it was that dorky Prongs blocking Mo's path to the net. I don't think so, boys.

Then, he felt vibration in his pocket. He frowned. He wasn't in the habit of carrying sex toys, was he?

And then, he remembered: he'd set his cell phone to vibrate during the party. Not that anyone needed to call him on it today. All of his Texas pals had been present.

It's Mo, calling to say he forgot something, thought Derian as he flipped open the phone. The blond skull is like a sieve. Present company excepted, of course.


"Hey, Der."

"Jamie!" Derian grinned in relief. Thank goodness it's not the Womb Raider. "What's up?"

"I think the birthday boy missed a gift."

"Really?" Derian thought back to the dining room table which had been sagging with gifts earlier. "What could I possibly have missed?"

"Come to your garden shed and find out."


"You're really gonna like this, Der. I promise."

* * *

Derian walked down the stepping-stone path which meandered through the garden he had nurtured with his own hands. The sweet smells of blossoms wafted through the early-June air, giving Derian delight of the nostrils.

What's Jamie keeping in the shed? he thought. It can't be an SUV. It better not be a stripper. It should be new underpants. Didn't get those today.

Derian grinned as he pushed open the door of the shed. Knowing Jamie, he has something whimsical up his sleeve.

Normally, the shed was a place to store garden tools, nothing more. But it was a metropolis of glowing candles. Candles of every height, shape, and scent sat on shelves and chairs and on the floor, surrounding a young man wearing a black satin robe.

"Happy birthday, Derian."

The young man sloughed off the robe, and it pooled around his ankles like liquid pitch.

"I know exactly what you need..."

The young man turned around, his skin golden peach in the candlelight, his brown hair fluffed around his porcelain-doll face, his eyes as wide as Oreos, each filled with Derian's reflection...

He was totally naked...except for a thick layer of fluffy white frosting that completely coated his erect penis and the taut scrotum underneath...

"I know that there's a long line of folks who want to go down on the Captain..."


"...but no one ever stops to think that maybe, just maybe, the Captain may want to go down on someone himself..."

"Ohhh, Jamie."

"And the Captain deserves an especially sweet treat..."

"Jamie. Jamie. Jamie."

Derian could do nothing now but stand still and feel the sweat pour down his body. Jamie hopped onto the table and opened his legs wide.

"Come on, Der. It's all yours."

Derian fell to his knees in front of Jamie, his face now inches from Jamie's sweetly coated manhood. His mouth hung open, his tongue experiencing an unexpected rush of hunger.

His lips brushed against the place where Jamie's penis and scrotum met. Fluffy white frosting caressed the sensitive skin.

"Ummm..." Derian licked right up Jamie's shaft...and discovered that the fluffy white frosting contained another secret, a layer of thicker dark chocolate frosting.

"Jamie, you're too clever by half," he said proudly. "You're gonna make me work for this."

"Well, I didn't know if fluffy white or chocolate was your favorite."

"I like them both, especially when they hide sweet Jamie meat."

Derian's excited tongue made quick work of the lighter, airier white layer, then went to work on the chocolate like a male dog cleaning his private parts.

Jamie moaned softly. Even under the thick frosting layer, he could feel the pressure and movement of Derian's tongue.

"Mmmmmmm..." Derian hummed. "Jam-mmmm-mmmm-ie is sooooo yum-mmmm-mmmm-y. Yuh-hummmm-hummmm-y."

"Oh, Der-i-an..."
"And look..." Derian now broke through the chocolate layer. "I found your balls. Jamie's scrrrrrrrrotum has rrrrrrrridges like Rrrrrrrruffles."

"Der!" Jamie arched his back, pushing his hips into Derian's face even while the Captain drove his senses wild.

Derian's tongue snaked up Jamie's shaft, uncovering the chocolate layer to reveal the rosy hardness of the most intimate and sensitive area of his young teammate's body.

"Oh, God, Jamie, you're so fucking hard," groaned Derian. "So young. So full of come..."

Derian was on fire below the waist. With one desperate hand, he pushed down his shorts, then his brief, releasing his own raging erection from its taut cotton restraint.

His tongue now reached the crown of Jamie's hardness. He gripped the base of the shaft with one hand and went down, pumping his mouth up and down in a mimicry of intercourse.

"Give it to me, Jamie. Give it to the Captain. Give it all up."

"Ahhhhhhh!" Jamie shrieked and thrust his hips upwards toward Derian's mouth. His head swelled suddenly, then erupted with not-so-sweet-but-good-just-the-same cream.

Derian's mouth closed down upon Jamie. No way was he going to miss a single drop of the evidence of Jamie's ecstasy.

Jamie collapsed onto the table, like a marionette whose strings had been cut by scissors. His smooth chest heaved as his legs came to rest on Derian's shoulders.

Derian, having drained Jamie's penis fully, released it to his belly and gazed at his teammate with fire-filled eyes.

"That was the best present I've gotten today, Jamie," he growled.

"You don't need money to give a great gift...only love."

"Now I've got something for you, Oreo Eyes."

Derian stood up, revealing to Jamie just how much his gift had affected the Captain.

"Oh, my..."

"Get ready, Jamie...this birthday candle is gonna set you on fire."

And it did exactly that.

* * *


Jamie's index finger lifted a small mound of chocolate frosting from the oblong piece of cardboard it was on and brought it to his plump, rosy mouth.

Yum, yum. That was the last bit of a two-by-three-foot chocolate sheet cake. All the rest was now digesting in the bellies of the Stars.

Birthdays are wonderful days, mused Jamie as he folded the cardboard so it would fit into the garbage bag already stuffed with paper plates, plastic cups and wrapping paper. His, of course, was no exception.

Jamie was tickled even pinker than usual over today's booty. New Game Boy cartridges, including one called "Naked Stars Running Through The Forest". A red leather catcher's mitt. Scented soaps for the twelve months of the year. A brand-new copy of Dr. Seuss's "The Sneetches" (oh, how he loved those star-bellied birds!). A book of gift certificates to Dairy Queen.

And bestest of all, new flannel jammies with yellow stars all over them. And a flap over the bottom that unbuttoned!

This gift, wrapped in golden paper, did not have a tag saying who it was from. Jamie made a silent thank-you prayer to the mysterious giver. He eagerly anticipated the fluffy soft flannel rubbing against his fluffy soft skin. Who cared if it was July -- he was going to put them on tonight!

Jamie tied up the garbage bag and opened his back door...finding two friends on the stoop.

"Mo. Brett." Jamie smiled. "Did you guys forget something?"

"Yup. The Birthday King."

"The Birthday King?" Jamie's eyelashes fluttered.

"That means Y-O-U, my man."

Mo took the garbage bag away from Jamie.

"Let me take care of this," he said. "In the meantime, put on those nice new jammies of yours."

Mo went to the garbage can, and Jamie picked up his jammies and turned to go to the bathroom.

"Hold on, little James," said Brett. "Stay right here."

"But..." Jamie blushed. "I can't undress in front of you."

"You do it in the dressing room."

"This isn't the dressing room, Brett! At the very least, please turn around!"

"Okay, okay. I'll respect your Jamie-ish sensibilities."

Brett turned his back on Jamie, then took out a pocket-sized mirror and held it over his shoulder.

Jamie literally threw off his T-shirt, shorts, and undies. He stepped into his star jammies and pulled it over his lovely body, over the well-honed thighs, the tapered waist and the perfect pectorals.

Mo came back -- unfortunately for him, just as Jamie was buttoning up -- and held up a paper king's crown on which the word BURGER was crossed out and the word BIRTHDAY was Sharpied in.

"I think this belongs to you, Jamie," he said.

He gently placed the crown atop Jamie's dark silken head.

"Wow." Jamie gazed at his refection in the glass-doored cabinets of the kitchen, his irises seeming to grow to the size of Oreos. "I'm the Birthday King!"

"You sure are. But you know what every king needs?" Mo asked rhetorically. "A throne."

"A throne?" Jamie beamed. "Oh, I'd like a nice, soft throne, something cushie for my tushie!"

Mo and Brett snickered.

"I think that what we have for you is sufficiently...ahem...cushie for you. But first we need to take a little drive."

"Goody!" Jamie clapped his hands.

Jamie wrote a quick note to his wife -- "I'm the Birthday King, and Mo and Brett are taking me to my throne!" -- and then Mo and Brett made a "chair" for him with their arms so the feet of his jammies would not touch dirty ground.

They carried him to the back seat of Mo's car. Mo tied a silk scarf around Jamie's head so he couldn't see where they were going.

"Is my throne in a super-secret, super-special place?" he asked.

"Super-duper secret and special," replied Brett. He winked at Mo.

* * *

When he heard Mo's engine turn off, Jamie's flannel-covered butt wiggled in the leather seat. He was even closer to his throne than ever!

The door opened, and someone tugged on his sleeve.

"C'mon, James. Your throne awaits."

Jamie felt two pairs of strong arms scoop him up and lift him into the air. He enjoyed the aromas of sweet summer air.

"Here comes the King, time for us to sing..."

And then the air got even sweeter, with a symphony of various flowered scents. In the back of his mind, Jamie knew he had smelt this before, but he was too excited about his throne to be introspective...

A door creaked open.

"Almost there, Jamie."

Mo and Brett set Jamie down on what felt like a concrete floor. Jamie felt them move slightly away from him...and then...

Two hands unbuttoned the flap on the back of his jammies and let them fall. A gentle breeze tickled Jamie's naked bottom.


And them, something moist and bulbous poked Jamie right in the center of his butt.

"Oh!" he gasped, but two big, powerful hands grasped him by the hips and pushed him down, until his butt was filled with long, hot hardness.

Then, the cloth covering his eyes fell away, and he saw Mo and Brett standing in front of him, wearing jack-o'-lantern grins.

"Happy birthday, Jamie."

Jamie turned his head as far as it could go...and looked into turquoise eyes.

"Welcome to your throne."

Jamie couldn't help but squirm at the highly unfamiliar sensation he was sitting on. But the Captain grasped Jamie's torso with his thick, veiny arms and held him down tightly.

"You're a newly crowned King, and the throne doesn't feel quite comfortable, yet, huh?"


"Don't worry. This is the throne you were born to sit on."

And then, Derian turned to Mo and Brett, and the sexy face became stern.

"Thank you for bringing the Birthday King," he said. "But right now, there are two bar stools in downtown Dallas labeled 'Mo' and 'Brett'. I think you should go and keep them company."

"Oh, no. I have grander plans. After all, I am the God of Ass.*" Mo turned around and showed Derian why. "I'm going to parade this baby in front of all the girls who would fight each other to eat what comes out of it."

Brett gave Mo's butt a firm stare, then licked his chops like a dog in a Gravy Train commercial.

"Our work here is done, Mo. Besides, I'm thirsty. And if we wait much longer, I'm going to develop an Eddie-level thirst. You don't want to see that, man."

Mo yanked his car keys out of his jeans.

"Let's skedaddle on out then. Enjoy that throne, Jamie."

Mo and Brett left Derian's garden shed and shut the door. Derian grinned, and thrust his hips upward.

"Oh, Derian." Jamie wriggled, yet he opened his legs wider.

"Yeah. Those Oreo eyes are wide tonight." Derian fondled Jamie's cheeks -- the lower kind. "And there's some sweet Double Stuf down here. Put together, that makes you one fine cookie."

Jamie didn't know how he should feel. It did hurt -- a little bit. But that was only because this was the first time. All the little nerve endings down there were simply getting used to something long and hard pushing in and in and in...

"You know, I was the one who got you these star jammies."


"Uh, huh. For two reasons."

Derian held on to Jamie's waist, keeping him balanced on his erection.

"I like the idea of soft..." He stroked the star-spangled flannel. "...on soft." His fingers reached between the snap buttons and tickled Jamie's belly. Jamie giggled.

"But what really got me was the bottom means easy access. 'Cause when the Captain wants it, he's going to get it."

"I don't doubt it for a minute, Der."

Derian unbuttoned the front of Jamie's jammies, all the way down to the crotch.

"Jamie's got all of his king accessories," he noted. "A crown...a throne...and a long, hard scepter."
He wrapped one large hand around the "scepter". Jamie trembled.
"Oh, Derian..." He started moving now, bouncing his cheeks against Derian's pelvis.

"Ride 'em, Birthday King." Derian chuckled low and deep, his chest and hips reverberating. "What's inside you right now, Jamie?"

"Your wiener."

Derian grimaced, as if someone had just dropped a rotten egg in his shed.

"Jamie, my boy. Remember what I said during your first shower at training camp?"


"You were hunched up in the corner. I asked you what was up, and you said you were intimidated by all the strange wieners. I said that this isn't a supermarket. There are no wieners in an NHL dressing room. Only cocks."

Derian's mouth pressed against Jamie's tender ear.

"Once again, Jamie...what's inside you right now?"


"That's right. And what is my cock inside?"

Jamie's face flushed to the color of a stop sign.

"I want you to use a word with no more than four letters. Preferably, three."


"Very good, Birthday King. Now...what is inside what?"

"Your ass."

"Yes, Jamie. Deep inside. And it feels good, doesn't it?"

"It feels very good."

"It feels damn fucking good on my end."

Derian went to work, kissing and licking and biting the naked flesh on Jamie's neck and shoulders. His left hand explored the unfamiliar territory of Jamie's torso, circling a nipple, flicking at a navel, fondling a pair of hot, heavy testes, while his right hand slowly, rhythmically, firmly stroked Jamie's male hardness.

At the same time, he continued to thrust between the no-longer-virgin cheeks. Jamie felt length and thickness coming out in a biologically correct direction, then pushing back in the "wrong", sexually enticing direction. Coming out, pushing in. Coming further out, pushing deeper in.

Jamie could barely stand it, getting pounded with ecstasy front and back. His crown slipped off of his head and dropped silently to the floor.

Jamie opened his mouth and screamed. Pale ribbons of ejaculate jetted from his throbbing erection, splashing down on the concrete floor of the shed.

Derian clenched his arching body in those big, ham-leg arms, his own penis pushing its hardest and deepest yet inside Jamie's passage. Engorged erection met impossibly tight rectum, and the only possible result was a big, gushy come that made Derian roar like the animal with similar golden hair.

When their bodies slowly ebbed into that delightful post-climax relaxation, Derian spun Jamie around and planted a fat, juicy birthday kiss on his lips.

"Oh, Derian..." Jamie wrapped his arms around his Captain. "Thank you so much. This was the best birthday ever!"

"You've got a hickey the size of a carnation right there." Derian licked the spot where he had marked his territory.

"Really?" Jamie's eyes went Oreo again. "Oh, no, how am I going to explain this to my wife?"

"The same way I'm going to explain the smell of Jamie-juice in the garden shed...very carefully."

"Maybe I'll say it was a giant mosquito."

"With one hell of a stinger." Derian ground his hips into Jamie's bottom. The caress of moist penis against tender, well-used buttocks made Jamie shiver...and harden.

"Oh, God." Jamie rubbed himself harder against Derian.

"Hey...I think you know me well enough to call me Derian."

*Thanks to Mike's Chick for that idea.

* * *

Derian's Explanation

There are two kind of asses in this world: asses that you fuck, and asses that you don't.

Jamie has the kind of ass that you fuck. Only the poor kid didn't know it until I sat him down and literally showed it to him on his birthday.

I knew it from the first time I saw it, in the shower room during his first training camp with us. It didn't look like an average male ass. It was so plump, so round, so fucking out there. It projected like a spotlight at a movie premiere. It was screaming, "Look at me. Touch me. Fuck me!"

If you could see Jamie's ass, you would know that a man doesn't have to be queer to get hard for those Minnesota mounds. I wanted to make that ass happy -- very happy.

But I didn't go up to him and ask, "Hey, Jamie, can I fuck your ass?" You don't ask about fucking ass the way you ask about the weather, no, no, no. Women have left their handprints on my cheek (the face kind) after I made the barest hint of desiring a little backdoor fun. And the average man would do much worse. Think behavior that courts would measure in degrees here.

And Jamie is the type of person who calls an ass a "tushie". (As in cushie tushie...easy there, Big D!) People who call the ass a tushie are people who cannot imagine that sometimes, a big hard cock might like to play in there. And really, even I didn't have the cojones to enlighten him. (Just look at his face. That's the kind of face that still believes in Santa!)

So I decided that my desire for Jamie's ass was like my desire to visit Mars: nice to think about, but not fucking likely to happen in this lifetime. But while I really could take or leave visiting Mars (especially after seeing those Pathfinder pictures -- more rocks there than inside Mo's head), my desire for Jamie's ass grew each year, each season, each day.

Any time I saw something that was round, I would instantly think of Jamie's ass. The grapefruit display at the grocery store. Beach balls. The full moon. Pamela Anderson's you-know-whats. It got so bad, I was pitching a tent every time I saw Jigglypuff pop up in my kids' Pokémon videos.

The line of conscience that stopped me from asking Jamie for his ass got thinner and thinner and thinner. And then it broke when I saw the flannel star jammies at Neiman-Marcus.

It wasn't just the feet that did me in. It was the buttoned flap in the seat. My big head knew that was so the wearer could sit down for a shit without taking off the whole thing. My little head knew that it was just the start of foreplay.

So I bought the jammies, wrapped them in golden paper, and set them aside for Jamie's birthday. Which was five months away when I bought them.

And then it came to me in a dream...Jamie as the Birthday King. Sitting on his throne. Which consisted of me and my other stick.

I enlisted the help of Mo and Brett. I asked them to bring Jamie in his jammies to my garden shed on the night of his birthday, but I didn't say why. Their faces lit up like slot machines when I pushed Jamie's ass down on my cock. But I told them to scram. This was a very special, very private moment between me, Jamie, and his ass.

How did it feel after years of waiting? was like pushing my cock into heaven and letting all the little angels dance all over it. Like doing it with an eighteen-year-old Asian virgin. Yeah.

And how did Jamie like it? He was a bit surprised at first. But when my cock schooled him in the art of fun in the buns, the boy was bouncing up and down like a three-year-old on a coin-operated metal horsie. And having just as much fun.

By the time he spilled his Jamie-juice all over my garden shed floor, he now knew exactly what kind of ass he had. And he wanted me to take care of that business from now on.

Happy to be of service, Jamie.

* * *

I know what y'all are thinking now: What about your ass, Derian? Is it the kind that you fuck, or that you don't?

Let me put it this way: Don't even think about it, man...