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Tomato Can

Landon Dixon

There was a knock on the door. Lloyd groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, smacked the greasy pillow with a left hook. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his legs heavy like after a fifteen-rounder.

The knock sounded again.

“Yeah! Come in!” Lloyd yelled into the pillow.

A bellboy in a tight, wine-colored, shiny-from-wear uniform pushed the door open with a creak and walked the heaving floorboards into the room. “Your …” The kid stopped, looking at Lloyd laid out on the sagging single bed.

Lloyd was naked, the dirty sheet and cover pushed down to the foot of the bed. He was clutching the pillow, lying on his stomach, his legs bent and back curved, bare buttocks mounding up high and plush.

The bellboy licked his lips and set the jug of moonshine down on a wobbly wooden table, the only stick of furniture in the dilapidated hotel room other than an equally rickety chair and the bed. “Your, uh, ‘hair of the dog,’ Mr. Lloyd.” The bellboy rubbed his damp hands on his lean thighs, staring at Lloyd’s white, naked body, those lushly humped buttocks.

Lloyd let go of the pillow and rolled over onto his back. He smacked crusted lips and blinked bloodshot eyes, running his hands down over his broad chest. His body was slightly gone to flab, a little too soft and round in certain areas, but still fairly trim and muscular; his chest banding and stomach tightening in ribbed contours as he stretched out his well-formed arms and legs. His cock was large and languid in a nest of blond pubes, warming up like the rest of him at the sight of the jug of cheap contraband whiskey and the young man in his room.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked, working some saliva into his mouth, then licking his red lips.

“Joey,” the bellboy responded, his nervous brown eyes glued to Lloyd’s cock flopped over the man’s left thigh.

“You know who I am?”

“Uh, you’re Mr. Lloyd. Room 313.”

Lloyd let out a phlegmy chuckle. “That’s who I am now—a bum in a crummy hotel. But I used to be ‘Pretty Boy’ Lloyd, middleweight contender.”

Joey grinned. “Yeah, sure. My dad and I went to your fight in ’49—when you KO’d Thunder Thompson in the 5th round.”

He looked over Lloyd’s body, noticing now the scar tissue on the man’s heavy eyebrows, the cauliflowering of his left ear, the flattened bridge of Lloyd’s nose, the displaced knuckles on the big hands.

“Yeah, sure. I know who you are. What happened?”

Lloyd chuckled again, deep in the barrel of his chest. He knew he could barely get by with the moniker Pretty Boy these days—too much partying when he should’ve been training taking as much toll on his body and his twelve-year career as the fifty-two fights he’d amassed. Now, his once striking golden boy features were more spread out, softer, riper; like the tomato can at thirty he’d become. Not a contender anymore, but an “opponent.”

He looked Joey over and liked what he saw: a slender, slick-haired kid with a wet mouth and doe eyes; a kid who was after his own tastes, he could tell from plenty of experience. “I’m just waiting for the right fight to come along, Joey. Training here at the hotel.”

He reached down to his groin and lifted his semi-erect cock, stroked it. “Want to go a few rounds with Pretty Boy, kid?” He didn’t have enough money to even pay for the moonshine, let alone the room at the end of the week. He was flat broke, a broken down pug. But he could still get by on some of his once latent physical prowess.

Joey’s lips writhed, his eyes on Lloyd’s cock. The tool was swelling in the fighter’s pumping hand, thick and heavy and powerful. Joey turned and locked the door, then walked towards the bed, his fingers shaking as he popped the brass buttons on his monkey suit. Lloyd’s cock towered up in his swirling hand, flooding the fighter’s groin and body with a warmth that smoothed the rough edges of the ugly room and the ugly day to come.

Joey was naked by the time he reached the side of the bed where Lloyd lay on his back stroking his cock. His boyish body was pale and hairless, smooth, nipples pink and puffy, cock standing tall and slender as he was. Lloyd reached out with his left hand and gripped Joey’s cock, pulled him closer. Joey buckled and groaned, his taut buttocks clenching in back.

“How about giving my cock a workout, kid?” Lloyd husked, pumping the pair of pricks. “And then I’ll give your cute little asshole a good hard sparring session. We’ll split the jug afterwards.”

Joey moaned, his body bowing with the strong, gripping tug of Lloyd’s hand on his throbbing cock. Lloyd gave a hard jerk, yanking Joey right over the side of the bed and on top of the fighter. Their cocks pressed together, pulsating against one another. Lloyd scooped up Joey’s buttocks and kneaded the hot, humped flesh, swarming his hungry tongue all around Joey’s moist, open mouth. Joey grabbed onto Lloyd’s close-cropped blond hair, pumping his surging cock against Lloyd’s hard cock.

They wildly kissed and frenched for a minute or so, the heat building and building, like the semen in both sets of balls, their cocks thumping together. Then Lloyd pulled his tongue out of Joey’s mouth and his hands off of Joey’s buttocks. He gripped the young man by the bony shoulders and shoved him down to his beating cock where Joey’s mouth could do the most damage.

Joey nestled in between Lloyd’s spread legs, nuzzled the man’s pubic hair. Then he looked up at the twitching slab of meat and gripped it, pumped it with his own hand. Lloyd bucked and grabbed onto Joey’s hair. Joey shot out his pink tongue and licked up the middle of Lloyd’s hairy sac and swabbed all around the man’s tightened balls, grasping his cock.

“Yeah! That’s working the bag, kid!” Lloyd grunted, riding Joey’s bobbing head with his hands, his balls getting basted in a wet warmth that shimmered through his tensed body in waves.

Joey licked up to Lloyd’s cock, dragged his tongue all along the underside of the hard prick, leaving Lloyd’s balls wet and his pubes matted. He slurped the rigid pipe, painting the meat with his tongue. Lloyd arched and twisted on the creaky bed, then hollered when Joey finally pulled his stiff cock down and poured soft lips over the swollen tip.

“Yeah! Suck it, kid!” Lloyd shouted, like a trainer barking out instructions to a prospect in the gym ring. It was too much of this kind of sexercise that had set Pretty Boy’s promising career on the skids. His brain had been willing, but his body had been dissipated.

Joey lifted his head higher in Lloyd’s hands, sunk his mouth down lower, swallowing half of the man’s wide shaft. Then he bobbed his head, pulling with his mouth, sucking Lloyd’s cock quick and tight and hot and wet. Lloyd thrust his hips up, plunging his cock deeper into Joey’s mouth. He pumped in rhythm, driving his cock back and forth in the young man’s face at pace with Joey sucking his dong.

“Fuck, kid! I’m gonna cum!”

Joey sucked even harder and faster, his face burning bright, lips blossomed around shaft, teeth scraping, breath billowing out of his nose. He squeezed Lloyd’s balls with his left hand, pumping the part of the man’s shaft that wasn’t in his mouth with his right hand, vacuuming Lloyd’s cock airtight. He thumped his own leaking prick into the bed, his butt cheeks bouncing and clenching.

“Here it—”

There was a loud knock on the door.

Joey twisted his head in Lloyd’s hands, his teeth biting into the man’s shaft, his buttocks clutching. Lloyd locked Joey’s head tight on his cock, the muscles popping all along his arms and on his chest. He urgently pumped into Joey’s mouth.

Another loud rap on the door. “You in there, Lloyd!? It’s DeSalvo! I got a fight for ya!”

Lloyd spasmed and shouted, shooting his cock into Joey’s throat. He jerked repeatedly, violently, semen spurting out of his face-buried prick with a blistering intensity. Joey gulped and bobbed and bounced, his own pressing cock erupting against the sheet, spouting out his own dirty joy.

“You hear me, Lloyd!? I got a fight for ya!”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Pretty Boy gasped, bucking and blasting out the last of his lust into Joey’s mouth. He flopped back on the bed, utterly exhausted and bent way out of shape.

His opponent was Amos Washington—“The Natural”—a tall, powerfully-built young man with a smooth style and a thunderous, crowd-pleasing left hook. He was shy and polite, with dark good looks and an articulate way of speaking, a fearsome work ethic. He was an up-and-comer with a perfect 15-0 record and a telegenic personality perfectly suited for the Friday Night Fights that were now being broadcast by the network into American homes. Pretty Boy Lloyd was a pale, pudgy contrast, an over-the-hill fighter with a decent record and little chance of improving it, an opponent that would look good on The Natural’s record.

The press conference where they signed the contract was brief but well-attended. Lloyd wasn’t asked a single question. As he shook hands with the clean-cut, smiling Washington, he tried to rattle the young fighter, gripping the man’s hand hard and jerking on it, sticking his pug-shaping mug into Washington’s handsome face. But it was Lloyd who was rattled, when Washington’s winning white smile blazed wider and his dark hand gripped harder, shoving Lloyd back with a strength that surprised the older fighter.

“This is it,” DeSalvo told Lloyd later at the gym. “You gotta train serious for this one, Pretty Boy. There’s big TV money at stake now. The ratings were gangbusters in ’57 and they’re still gettin’ better. You can maybe sock away a nice retirement egg with a few good fights. What d’ya say?”

Lloyd nodded his blond head, sticking his swollen hands into the sixteen ounce training gloves and chewing on his rubber mouthpiece, mulling over his strategy for the fight. He was going to train hard this time; he needed the money bad and more of it. But he knew he needed more than that—he needed an edge. The Natural was just too young and strong and quick, had too many tools that made up for his lack of experience.

DeSalvo scrambled out of the ring and Lloyd spun around, taking a left hook square to his headgear from the young black fighter they’d brought in as a sparring partner. Lloyd staggered back against the ropes, dazed. Yeah, he was going to need an edge, all right.

The Natural’s camp was ten miles outside of the city on a farm. He was putting in the long, hard hours of training—roadwork and sparring and skipping rope, push-ups and sit-ups, throwing in some clean-living wood-chopping and brush-clearing to go along with the regular rigorous workout routines. Lloyd showed up at the camp just after nine one night, parking out on the highway and then traipsing through the trees that formed a windbreak on one side of the white clapboard house and barn.

Washington was still in the makeshift ring in back of the barn doing some shadowboxing in the deepening evening shadows. Lloyd watched the young fighter from behind a tree trunk. It was a warm spring night. Washington was wearing only a pair of white shorts, his muscles gleaming in the moonlight as he jabbed and danced and hooked and crossed.

Lloyd gripped the bark of the tree, mesmerized. The Natural was a natural. He moved with a powerful fluidity that would put the Pretty Boy to shame, fast. Lloyd’s reflexes were still pretty good and he still packed a wallop, but not to this kid’s extent.

He moved out from behind the tree and walked up to the ring. He had to do something to disrupt Washington. Only he didn’t know what. Yet.

“Working hard, huh?” he greeted The Natural.

Washington stopped popping the left and looked down at Lloyd. “Hey! Mr. Lloyd! What are you doing all the way out here?”

Lloyd grabbed onto a rope, swung up onto the ring apron, and slipped through the ropes and into the ring with his opponent. “Just thought I’d get some fresh air.”

The Natural looked huge in the small, tight, white shorts, his legs long and lithe, thighs corded with muscle, torso flaring up out of the trunks into a broad chest humped with more muscles, arms long and powerful. Lloyd felt his always-suspect legs weaken, and not just with fear.

“Mind if I do a little shadowboxing myself?”

Washington grinned and pointed a gloved hand at the discarded set of boxing gloves lying in a corner of the ring. Lloyd smiled back, then stripped off his shirt and picked up the muffs. He popped his mitts into them and started jabbing the air like Washington.

They spun and weaved around the ring, shooting out combinations, grunting and snorting. Inevitably, they drew closer and closer to one another inside of the ring. Washington’s speed was astonishing, his gloves slicing dangerously through the air. Lloyd bumped into him, good-naturedly pushing him up against the ropes and landing a soft, quick combo to The Natural’s shoulders.

His gloves bounced off the hard muscles. Washington good-naturedly cuffed him on the side of the head with a punch Lloyd never saw coming. Pretty Boy staggered to the side, The Natural’s God-given strength shocking him all over again.

He backed off, feinted a left to the midriff, brought the left up in a jab to the face. Testing Washington’s commitment to his handsome exterior. Some fighters were just plain afraid of getting their features rearranged and would do anything to avoid a punch. Pretty Boy knew all about that himself.

But The Natural just rolled his head to the side and grinned, cuffed Lloyd with a left hook that sent the seasoned veteran stumbling the other way. Lloyd quickly regrouped, jabbed at Washington’s face and then banged a right hand in underneath, against Washington’s kidney. Some body-beautifuls couldn’t take it to the torso—the kidneys, ribs, and stomach. Washington, though, merely took a step back and then shot out a right that slammed into Lloyd’s short ribs and gushed breath out of his mouth.

Lloyd fell up against Washington and grabbed on, gasping for air. In his groping mind, he realized that the only thing that was going to stop The Natural from taking him apart in the ring was a gun with a full load in every chamber. He clung to the slick, muscled fighter, reeling in more ways than one.

But as he pressed his bare chest into Washington’s bare chest, held his arms tight around the man’s torso, he suddenly felt something weaken inside his opponent. It was like the other fighter had gone soft, with their hot, damp skin kissing together, their chests heaving against one another, their nipples rubbing.

Lloyd thrilled with excitement and energy.

He lifted his head off Washington’s chiseled shoulder and looked The Natural in the eye. The young man’s dark eyes were hooded, his thick lips parted, face slack. Lloyd clenched him tighter, squishing their hard nipples together. He thrust his lower body in closer, and their cocks touched—heavy and heated and swelling. Washington softly moaned in Lloyd’s face, his eyelids fluttering all on their own.

Lloyd exulted, rubbing his chest into Washington’s chest, his cock into Washington’s cock, the pair moving across the moonlit ring in a sensuous, sweaty slow-dance. Pretty Boy had found The Natural’s weakness, and he shared it. The clean-cut All-American was hopelessly infatuated with men. Lloyd bobbed his head closer and kissed Washington square on the lips.

The young man seemed to melt in his arms, his cock jumping against Lloyd’s pressing cock. Lloyd kissed him again and let it linger this time, soft and wet and sensual, rubbing his cock up against Washington’s cock, tripping their nipples together.

The Natural went true to his nature, almost swooning in Pretty Boy’s arms, awkwardly kissing Lloyd back. Then Lloyd sensed Washington’s cock spasming against his own cock and felt the man jerk in his arms and groan into his mouth. And he felt the sudden wetness against his groin—the spreading cum stain from Washington’s helplessly spurting cock.

Lloyd sealed his lips to Washington’s gasping mouth and held the man tight in the clench, rocking with the shuddering joy gushing out of his opponent’s shooting cock. It looked like the wily veteran could teach the young, inexperienced pugilist something after all—

In the sexual arena.

“Now, ya know I don’t like ta pry,” DeSalvo said the next day at the gym.

Lloyd grinned and nodded, pounding on the heavy bag. Like hell the greasy guy didn’t like to pry. Like every good trainer, he was part mother hen.

“But I want ya to cut out all the … bed work, if ya know what I mean. Sex kills the legs. So for once in your boxing life—Lloyd, I’m beggin’ ya—knock it off with the … dames, huh? We got three weeks to go to the match.” DeSalvo’s liquid-brown eyes went puppy dog pleading. “Don’t leave your game in the hotel room this time, huh, Pretty Boy? Let’s just concentrate on the fight, OK?”

Lloyd hammered a right into the big bag DeSalvo was clutching, knocking his trainer backwards. He followed it up with a lightning quick, thunder heavy series of lefts and rights. “OK, you got it, boss,” he told the rattled old man.

And this time, for once in his fight life, Pretty Boy actually meant it.

But that didn’t stop Lloyd from meeting up with Washington in his crummy hotel room after both men had put in their training for the day. The Natural shut the warped door and darted his eyes around the threadbare room. “I-I really shouldn’t be here,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “My trainer thinks I’m sleeping in my bunk back on the farm.”

Lloyd took the young man’s trembling hand and placed it on his groin, then planted his own hand on Washington’s groin. The Natural’s fine features went fluid, his eyes glazing over and his mouth dropping open. He really was green when it came to guy love. But he was eager to learn.

Lloyd didn’t waste any time. He kissed Washington, ran his tongue around the man’s quivering lips. Then he pulled back, pulled Washington’s T-shirt out of his pants and up over his head. The fighter’s bare chest gleamed darkly in the dim light. Lloyd lowered his head and touched his pink tongue to one licorice nipple and then the other. Washington gasped and shivered.

Lloyd placed his hands on the man’s chest and dug his fingers in, kneading the fibrous muscles. He took a hard nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, bounced his head over and sucked on the other nipple. Washington gulped and shuddered. Lloyd could feel the throbbing need of the man through the thick nipple in his mouth. He dragged his tongue down Washington’s ridged stomach to the guy’s belt buckle, going down to his knees.

Looking up at the gaping man, Lloyd unfastened the belt, unbuttoned the pants, stuck his hand inside and pulled out the long, hard, pulsating, ebony pole that truly and fully revealed Washington’s passion for his fellow man. Lloyd wrapped his pale, skilled fingers around the wrist-thick shaft and shunted his warm palm up and down the forearm-long length of Washington’s unabashed manhood.

“Oh, yes! Please!” The Natural groaned, a tear of semen sprouting up and glistening in the yawning slit on his hood.

Lloyd licked up the salty drop of sperm, then three others, pumping his hand up and down the pulsing black snake. He barely had time to suck the domed hood into his mouth and tug on it with his lips before Washington grabbed onto his head and groaned in sexual agony, shooting semen into Lloyd’s mouth.

Washington jerked around like a puppet on a string, while Lloyd played the young man’s spouting pipe with his pumping hand and sucking mouth. He swallowed just as fast as Washington spurted, drinking in The Natural’s strength straight from the hose.

They weren’t done for that night, though, not by a long shot. Washington had a capacity for recovery—and for sperm. Lloyd led him over to the bed. He stripped off his clothes and crawled onto the bed on all-fours.

“I-I can put my … thing in your ass?” Washington asked.

He was fresh-faced and hard-hung.

“You’d better,” Lloyd responded, grinning.

But when the young man jumped onto the bed and tried to plow his reconstituted dong into Lloyd’s dry asshole, the veteran had to show him the ropes about lube.

Once properly greased, Lloyd pressed his face into the bed, reached back with one hand, and spread his plump cheeks, then reached back with his other hand and planted Washington’s purple mushroomed hood into his parted pink pucker. Washington moaned when cock skin met ass skin. Then he howled when Lloyd pulled cock forward and pushed ass back, plunging a third of Washington’s dong through his ring and into his chute. The Natural excitedly drove the rest home, slamming his prick all the way into Pretty Boy’s anus.

“Oh, God! Yes! Yes!” Washington cried, his entire cock squeezed hot and tight in Lloyd’s ass.

Lloyd had to push back, bounce his butt cheeks off Washington’s trembling thighs, to get the man fucking—to experience the true pleasure of penetrating another man’s ass. Washington gripped Lloyd’s waist and exuberantly pounded into Lloyd’s hole, his huge, churning cock searing Lloyd’s anus.

It took a ton of willpower Pretty Boy didn’t even know he possessed to stop himself from grabbing onto his own flopping hard cock and jacking out his own steaming joy. But he resisted the urge, rocking back and forth to The Natural’s raucous banging. The young man shouted, jerked, spasmed off Lloyd’s rippling butt cheeks. And Lloyd felt another huge, hot load spout inside of him, tasting it with his bowels this time.

Washington came with a thunderous disregard for the consequences, letting loose for possibly the first time in his life. He poured his essence into Lloyd’s anus and then collapsed over top of his opponent, spent and exulted. This was surely a hundred times more satisfying than even knocking out another fighter in the ring.

Pretty Boy kept after his man. The Natural needed no encouragement. He eagerly arrived at Lloyd’s hotel room every night leading up to the fight, expending a ton of energy and an almost equal amount of semen fucking his opponent in every conceivable position, getting his cock and balls sucked and drained mouth and ass by Lloyd. Until Washington finally left late in the night for that long ride back to the farm, exhausted from the frantic sexual workout, with hardly any energy left for the following day’s training session.

Lloyd, on the other underhand, only expended enough energy to get Washington cumming. He kept his own vital juices bottled up inside. So that the following day in the gym, he tore into the heavy bag and his sparring partners with an animal ferocity borne of sexual frustration and physical fight hunger.

His strategy was simple, and as dirty as it comes: Let The Natural do the heavy lifting in the bedroom, blowing out his balls and his legs and his stamina with all of the sexual activity, dissipating his strength—just as Lloyd himself had done so many times in the past during his stunted fight career. Lloyd guided the enthusiastic youngster’s man-lust, unleashed it, but he held back on his own coming-out party until fight night.

The temperature was over a hundred degrees in the outdoor ring, the humidity eighty percent. The Natural came out strong in the first few rounds, letting Lloyd have it with everything he had. But Pretty Boy held on, rubbed, rode out the storm, wily veteran that he was. And by the fifth round, Washington was already huffing and puffing, his mouth hanging open and his gloves down, his legs lead weights that refused to carry him away from Lloyd’s sharp, accurate punches.

Lloyd caught Washington up against the ropes in the tenth and pummeled him viciously, forcing the referee to step in and stop the fight. The Natural was out on his feet. He was fast asleep by the time they got him back to the dressing room.

DeSalvo jerked up his fighter’s arm with glee. “We’ll get more big money TV fights now for sure!” he yelped over the roar of the crowd. “You was sensational!”

Pretty Boy Lloyd grinned, hardly a mark on him, his hard-on almost bursting his protective cup loose. “I could go another ten rounds—in or out of the ring!” he boasted back. “But I’m going to go check on Washington! See if I can console him!”

“Yeah, you go give that bum some tender lovin’ care!” DeSalvo jibed.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself!”