Saturday, February 9, 2013

Bookstores in New York

Various Bookstores in Upstate New York—January, 2013

 My job took me unexpectedly to a new part of the country for January.  I had 4 weeks of work in upstate New York.  I always like to be new meat in an area so I was looking forward to some great sex.  Even better, my work schedule gave me plenty of free time.
I drove home from Chicago on New Year’s Day, dropped Brad off, re-packed the car and drove until I could no longer see the road thanks to the lake effect snow.  I crawled into Jamestown as soon as I crossed the state line into New York, huddled down for the night, and continued a slow, slippery trek east in the morning.  When I finally arrived, I checked into the housing provided by the company and learned that I would have a house mate, a fellow employee.  The walls there were paper thin and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be tricking at the house—I really didn’t need him to hear me growling “Take my piss, boy” and then work with me the next day.

I didn’t need to worry, it seems.  There were very few people online in the area.  Ever.  Almost all who were online were men cheating on their wives/boyfriends and looking for five minutes of sex.  I rarely do that kind of play. Even if they wanted a little more, the cheaters couldn’t host.  I found a few men of my ilk—and they were almost universally 90 or so miles away (or 140 in NYC). 
There were however three bookstores within thirty miles or so of me.  They were all owned by the same chain.  The management was great.  They left patrons alone.  They didn’t care how many people were in a booth, even if you got too busy to keep feeding the video.  All three were equipped with “buddy windows” so you could see guys on either side of you—if you chose.  You threw a toggle switch to the right or left and a window shade behind a grimy glass wall went up.  The person on the other side would have to raise his, too.  They were an excellent calling card—I just had to wave my cock in the window and unlock my door if I wanted service.

Here are some of my favorite moments from the bookstores of the weeks I was in town that were not about me getting my cock sucked—since no one I met was really great at it.

 I am walking around the square of arcade booths.  Three or four are lit: occupied.  All have their doors cracked.  My balls are heavy.  They need to be drained.  The first door holds nothing of interest to me.  The guy in the next booth shakes his head as I knead my hardening cock through the fabric of my pants.  I go around the corner.  I poke my head into the corner booth.  The man is totally stripped naked.  He is maybe 40 or 45.  Shaved head, muscular chest and a long, thick cock with a generous foreskin.  He is skinning it back as he watches straight porn.  His hot body is covered in tattoos:  Sleeves on both arms.  A heart ripped open with a dagger on his chest.  A Celtic design twists around his collar bone.
He glances at me.  And jerks his head for me to come in.  He spreads his legs.  “Suck it.”

It’s not what I thought I wanted, but now I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.
I work it into my mouth.  Just.  It’s really hard not to scrape him with my teeth, he’s so thick.  But I must be doing something he likes—he sighs, puts his hand on the back of my head and pushes me farther down his thick cock.

I suck for a long time.  He is grunting and precuming.  Finally I work a finger up his ass.  It’s like magic.  He shoots a huge load in my mouth. 
He gets dressed and lets me have the booth as he’s cranked a lot of money into it. I am sitting there, slightly dazed.  A young black man walks in.  He looks at me, whips out his cock and points to the floor in front of him.  I take him easily, after the monster I’ve just had.  And he gives me his cum in no time.

I never get off that day.

I rarely fuck in a bookstore.  In my experience, guys don’t often come ‘prepped’ for that type of play. 

I am sitting in a booth, idly kneading myself through my pants.  I hear the shade roll up on my right side, so I raise mine as well.  Instead of the usual face peering through the smudged glass, a hairy ass is smashed against the window.  He reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart.  His pink hole winks at me.  And my cock responds.  He pulls away from the window and looks at what I have to offer. I unzip and show him my hardening cock.  He grins and disappears from the window to unlock his door.  I cram my cock back in my pants and go next door.

 He’s younger than me, decently put together, and stripped below the waist except for very white running shoes.  A wedding band glints on his left hand.  As soon as I’m in the door, he puts a foot up on the bench and presents his ass to me.  I kneel, unbuckling my pants.  My tongue finds his hole.  He’s lubed, but not annoyingly.  I eat.  He sighs, low and long.  I’m guessing most guys don’t eat his hole out.  I get my cock free of clothing, spit on it, and pray this guy has thought ahead.  I stand and insert.  He grunts a “Jesus,” then a contented sigh and a “Fuck me hard” under his breath.

 I do.  It’s been awhile since I’ve had ass.  I fuck.  I make noise as my hips slap his ass.  I pull out.  He’s prepared, thank God.  I slap his hole with my cock, and push back in.  I really am enjoying a nice fuck.  He’s tight and silky.

 “Are you about done back there,” he suddenly asks.  “I need to meet the wife.”  I will myself to cum.  But it’s gone.  I give him two last thrusts, the last pushing him hard enough that he has to grab the wall.  I zip up and take off.

Today I want to suck cock.  I look.  Of course, the only man there is my semi regular cocksucker who immediately wants me to whip it out.  Not today, pal, sorry.

I lounge against the wall, intently studying the cases of the 60 movies they have playing in the arcade.  I hear the sound of boots coming down the corridor.  I glimpse the man—a great blue collar fantasy.  He wears work boots that have been in some sort of automotive shop.  A coverall, oily and greasy, is over a flannel shirt and denims.  He ducks into a booth at the far end of the corridor and closes the door.  The lock rattles noisily.  I watch a moment.  The cock sucker rounds the corner and tries the door.  It’s not locked.  The guy had just rattled it, so as not to be so obvious.  I sigh.  I would love to have done this guy.  The cocksucker emerges, his services obviously not needed.  The light comes on, showing Mr. Mechanic is watching porn.  I wait a moment.  I give him time to start jerking.  I amble down the corridor, my boots just as loud in the stillness.  The door is still ajar.  I push it open and look in.  He is standing, jerking to a young girl taking a big dick up her ass.  He glances at me, then focuses back on the screen.  But he doesn’t ask me to leave.
“Need help with that?” 

He sizes me up.  “Lock the door.”
I do.  Then kneel in front of him.  The aroma is amazing:  his throbbing cock smells musky and sweet at the same time.  And the smell of oil and gasoline rising from his boots makes my cock throb.  I pull it out and begin jerking as I take him in my mouth. 

His cock is drooling the moment it hits my tongue.  This isn’t going to take long. I swirl my tongue over his cock head.  He grunts.  He fucks into my mouth a little.  His eyes are still on the girl—not allowing himself to look at who is actually doing him.  I take his six inches to the hilt easily.  And again.  He pulls it out of my mouth.  I know he’s going to blow.
I grab it right at the base, mutter a “No” and get it back into my mouth just as he explodes.  He shakes.  I won’t let go of his cock.  I clean it so well he needs no tissue before he puts it away.  He’s all sheepish now, and mumbles something about getting back to work.

I watch him leave, leaning against the wall.  His gasoline scent lingers a long time.  I slowly jack my cock as I inhale deeply, still tasting his jizz at the back of my throat.


  1. LOVE bookstore sex! Sounds like you had some hot guys while you were in New York state.

    1. They were fun....and some more to come (as it were.....)