Wednesday, September 11, 2013


Rural Rest Area Near Home—July, 2013

When I started having gay sex, I just wanted to suck cock.  But even the night I lost my virginity with a man; the guy took one look at my big, hard cock and sat on it.  I mean, the thirty years with my partner were pretty much all about mutual oral sex.  Of course we tried everything in that length of time together, but oral sex was to what we always returned.  Now, there are still days that sucking is really the only kind of sex I want to have.  I have learned that sometimes it’s best to keep my cock in my pants as I suck.  No temptations.
There is an “unimproved” rest area off the beaten track near my home.  It is favored by truck drivers and farmers with only an occasional family.  Last year it was a good place for relief with my busy summer.  For some reason, I barely went to it this year.  The one time there I met up with Bill.  (He has made a brief appearance in these pages here.

I have said before, I love to fuck ass that I perceive as my age or younger.  I love to suck the cock of a man who is older than me.  As I age, it’s getting harder to find men to even vaguely be a “daddy,” but Bill is perfect at 66 or 67.  His years of growing up working a farm show in his sinewy arms.  He’s stayed trim.  He has a goatee and a fringe of white hair.  His face is weathered from the sun and from the cigarettes that he has now given up.  Usually in jeans and a plaid shirt, in the heat of July, he was in an A-shirt that showed off his arms and the top tufts of the hair on his chest.  And there’s his cock.  Thick and meaty.  It hooks down sharply.  If I am on my knees in front of him, it goes right down my throat at the perfect angle.

I am sitting in my car, with half an ear on the classical programing on NPR, reading a play by Enda Walsh.  It’s warm, but not nearly as hot as some Julys in Michigan.  The rest area is hopping.  It is mid-week—the guys have found an excuse to get out of the house.  The problem is that there are so many people here, you can’t do anything.  Some stroll to the pit toilet, then go back to their vehicle and drive off—lingering at the intersection, hoping someone will follow them to some lonesome place.  I have seen no one that inspires me to want to do that.

I go to the water pump.   I fill my water bottle.  I hear a larger vehicle arrive.  It’s Bill.  I sit back in my car and wait for him to make the obligatory pit stop.  When he comes out, he heads for the pump—which means he has to pass my car.
“Hello there, stranger.”  His voice is deep and gruff.  It’s been almost a year since we’ve seen each other.

“How are you?”
“I need you.”  He hefted the waistband of his jeans, pulling the fabric taut around his obviously hard cock.  “But not here.”

“Where do you think?”
“The lake.  Follow me.”  He gets back in his pickup.  I follow him to a manmade lake—one that had been a byproduct of making the highway.  He backs into on overgrown parking space.  I pull in and get out of my car.  You can hear kids in the water a long ways away, but there is no one near us.  Bill is eager.  He has his jeans open by the time I jump into the cab.  “I’ll keep watch.” 

I get to work.  It’s cramped in the front seat of the truck, but from the look of things, I won’t be here long.  I lick around the head and swallow the whole shaft down.  I have to twist slightly to get the hook to lodge as I like it.  I come up for air and go down two or three times.  This time he holds me in place and fucks into my ovaled mouth.  I think he’s going to shoot, but he holds off.
“Let me see yours.”

I undo my pants.  I am hard from servicing him.  He gives me a few preliminary licks.  Then he takes me until he gags.  The angle is bad, so Bill only gets about half my cock.
I lean back over, adjust to the best angle, and let him fuck into my mouth. 

This time he shoots. 
Hooked in place.

Spewing his seed directly into my gut.
“Damn.  You are the only guy I let do that.”

I come up and look at him.
“Well, there’s one other” he amends.  “I wouldn’t let most of those guys touch me.” 

I thank him. 
“I didn’t do anything with another guy until we met a couple of years ago.”

“Did you ever want to—growing up?”
“I thought about it.  But it was too much hassle.  I got married by nineteen.”  He thinks a moment.  “I wasted a lot of time…”

We both let that sentence hang in the air.
A car is coming down the gravel path to where we are—we can hear it though not see it yet.  We both are zipped up and pulled together by the time the junker pulls past us on the way to the fishing spot.

I saw Bill again in August, almost immediately after the playroom was set back up.  He looked at all the apparatus—the sling, the fuck bench, the rimseat—but said nothing.  We played on the bed.  It was nice to be naked with him, but it was over for him just as fast.  He hooked his cock down my throat and I got another gut full.

“Did I tell you I’m getting my dick fixed?”
“No,” I sounded surprised, even to my ears.

“That curve.  The doc says he can straighten it.  I fell off a bike as a kid and the seat hit me—causing all that scar tissue. That’s what makes it hook.”

“He says he can take it all out and it’ll be straight after all these years.”
I smiled encouragingly.  He seemed so pleased. 

He must have hated it all these years—the very thing that I loved the most about sucking him…

No comments:

Post a Comment