Thursday, November 29, 2012

Moments (of Sex) In the Woods

Nashville—October/November, 2012

I have always loved this huge park in the Nashville area.  It happens to be very close to where I stay.  I read, listen to NPR, do my homework and once wrote a blog post while getting back to nature.  And it’s cruisy.  Well, kind of.  Last year, it was jumping when I arrived and then went very dead.  This year, with less rangers around, it was cruisier.  But the weather worked against me.  It was cold.  But a dedicated sex hound will always find something…


I am as far away from the main road as I can get.  I am standing in the mostly denuded woods down by the river.  The water level is low from the drought.  Through the trees, I can just make out a dark car parking across from mine.  A middle aged man steps out.  Baggy jeans and windbreaker with running shoes—the alibi for his wife back home.  He looks around.  No one else is here.  He heads in my direction.  I hear him on the leaves, cracking twigs as he picks his way into the underbrush.  He sees my blue jacket—I can hear him stop and stare.  I stand facing away from him, making a pretense of checking how much creek bed has been revealed.  He moves a little nearer to me.  I turn and do the nod thing—one nature lover to another acknowledging the other’s presence. I turn back to the water.  He moves slightly away from me.   But I can still hear his zipper.  And then the sound of piss landing on the fallen tree trunk.
But funny, he never zips up.  I turn and walk towards him, looking like I’m headed to the path to get to my car.  He turns at just the right moment, and shows me a fat, fat cock with a generous overhang of foreskin, even when hard. 

I smile. 
He looks worried.  He says just one word:  “Please?”

I move towards him and fall to my knees…

I am sitting in my car at the top of a hill near the remains of a dilapidated picnic shelter, ignoring the work I should be doing and listen to “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me.”  A Mercedes comes up the hill.  The driver is surprisingly young for the car.  I can make out longish blond hair, and sharp good looks behind the wheel.  He takes one look at me, turns the car laboriously around, and heads right back down the hill.
I listen to the radio, closing my eyes.

Sounds of tires on the gravel.  I open my lids just enough to see the Mercedes return.  Once again, he looks at me, turns around and goes back down the hill.
I close my eyes tightly.

He returns.  This time he parks right behind me.  I wait for him to walk into the woods.  I am not going to make the first move.  Not today.  It’s cold.  But nothing.
I look in the rearview mirror.  He seems to be reading.  I wait.  Then a little longer.

Finally, I grab an old magazine, saved for just such a trip.  I get out of my Focus, walking to the trash can with it, having to pass his car on the way.  He’s kept his shirt on, but the rest of him is naked.  Hard and dripping.  Flogging his meat to an ancient copy of Torso.  His head is turned away from me, but he must know I’m right there.
My cock struggles to stand up, losing the battle with the denim, but making an obscene bulge.  He turns.  His eyes are right on my meat.  They glance up at my face.  Then back down at the packed denim.  The window glides down.

“Hey,” he says.

“You, too.”

“Show it to me.”  It takes no time for me to open my fly and let my full size flop out.  “Come here.”
I move to the open window.  His mouth swallows every inch…


I am in the rest room.  It’s a two urinal, one seat affair.  Still open on this cold first day of November.  It’s getting dark now at 5pm.  It’s 4:45pm now.  The sun is all but gone, and with it the dog walkers and the lone runner. 
I truly have to piss---the tea I was drinking as I read, has gone straight through me.  I am just unbuttoning my fly as I hear a car on gravel.  On the road or this lot?

 I wait. 
The lot.  Engine cuts.  Car door shuts.  Footsteps on gravel, on the sidewalk.  A dark shape turns the corner.  My piss starts--splashing noisily as I aim it directly down the drain.  I can see a tall, broad shouldered man move into the urinal to my right. He unzips, but there’s no piss.  I finish up, but don’t move.

We both stand.  No sound at all.  Neither wanting to make the first move.  Then I hear it.  His hand moving over his cock.  It must be slick, since I can hear it distinctly.  At the same time we both step back from our urinal and turn towards each other.
“I hope to hell you are a cock sucker.”

I nod. 
It’s dark enough now I can’t really see his cock.

I kneel.  The aroma from his open fly is heady.  I move in.  His penis is thin and long.  I get it into my mouth---and he explodes.  My throat is coated with a hot, sweet load.  He grabs the cinder block partition and mutters his thanks in the last of the autumn light.

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