Monday, March 3, 2014

Cruising the Arcades

Upstate New York—January, 201

The next day, I moved into my housing for the month of January.  I had the same big room I’d had the year before—plenty of room for my sling.  That thought was short lived, for I learned I would be living with not one but two fellow employees.  While we had separate rooms, I knew that the walls were paper thin.  I was to be the man in charge at work—I was not prepared to deal with having them hear me bark out orders to some sub or seeing a constant parade of men come into my room or my keeping them awake (or worse, uncomfortable) by having the sling chains rattle all night.  I would wait and meet them before I decided about hosting.  The person who let me in didn’t know what day the house mates would arrive—it could be tonight or tomorrow when we all started work.
I got online.  A number of men were counting the days until my arrival.  Once I let them know hosting was complicated, two of the men evaporated.  It was to become a recurring theme.  No one in the area could host.  It seemed all my potential tricks were married either to men or women and could not risk hosting.  

So what was a horned guy to do?  Head for the bookstore, of course.  Here are three moments of my first three days.

In the largest town:
The arcade is the biggest in the area.  There are maybe 20 booths.  They all have the rolling window shade buddy windows on either side.   I go in to a booth next door to one which is occupied.  I raise the shade to my left.  I stroke.  Soon the shade of the occupied booth goes up, too.  The man squints through the plexi-glass.  He is stroking a decent sized, uncut dick.  He’s maybe 40 and is wearing easy access sweatpants.  He gestures to his cock—offering it to my mouth.  I nod and go over the moment my movie runs out.  His door is unlocked.  I get down to work.

“Do you mind…?”
I grunt an affirmative sounding answer—thinking he’s asking if its ok for him to cum in my mouth.

I hear a metallic whir.  I pull off him.  He has a pocket video camera and he’s filming me blowing him.  It must be his trigger—for he erupts in my mouth immediately.  I swallow, clean his cock and pull off.
“Stroke for the camera.”

I stand up.  I stroke.  He zooms in.  He stands.  He put his still hard cock against mine.  I make him look tiny.
“Stroke them together.”

I do just that.  I wish I could cum for his camera.  I will myself to try.  He’s packs and leaves before I get off…

The next day, in my town:

I am getting terrific head.  He’s a hot looking man, my age and fresh from the gym.  This arcade is smaller—only 10 booths.  I think I may get off.  There is a clatter outside the door.  They are mopping our side of the arcade.  My sucker panics.  He does himself up and orders me out of the booth in a harsh whisper.  I walk around to the other side.
A door is cracked open.  I look in.  A man who reminds of the farmers I occasionally meet at my small rest area gestures me to come in.  He offers a sizable cock.  He must really need head.  He explodes easily. 

I hang around.  A greying daddy, though he’s likely younger than me, is standing in the corner.  He’s tall, with muscles under the flannel from hard work.  We talk.  He tells me he has been plowing the never-ending snow.  I ask what he’s looking for…
“I noticed you.  It’s hard to hide it in those pants.” 

I nod. 
He continues, “Will you show me your ass?” 

I just look at him.  Really?   
“I just want to stroke it.” 

I shrug.  We go into the closest booth.  My cock is hard, but he does nothing more than comment that he knows a guy who’d love that.  He concentrates on my butt.  His thick, rough hands glide over my hairy cheeks.  He pulls out the tiniest cock I have ever seen.  He plays with himself as his other hand invades my ass crack, but never my hole.  He doesn’t shoot, but he seems very contented when he zips up.  “I’ll find that guy for you.”
I wait for him in the same corner.  The snow plower finds me.  He tells me the sucker who likes big cock is on the other end.  “Booth 6.”

I go in.  He’s an older man.  I show him my cock.  I like head from experienced men—but this is not one of them.  He’s all teeth.  I am only able to keep it hard because his shade is up and a hot muscle daddy is watching us. 
He notices my glance.  “He’s a watcher he never touches anyone.”

I finally have to tell the sucker to stop.  I’m afraid he’ll draw blood.  I step out.  The muscle daddy unlocks his door.  I go in.  He swallows me down and I blow a load down his throat.  Just a watcher, huh?


The next day—in my town:
I push open an occupied booth.  A young man in his 20's turns.  He’s standing up, jacking, and stark naked but for boots.  Jackpot!

“You fuck?”  he asks.
I nod.

“Good,” he says, “but it has to be bareback.”
He is tall, almost as tall as I and just as thin.  He has tattoos on both shoulders, above his heart, a tramp stamp and one on the back of his neck.  His nose is pierced.  He has a PA that weighs down a long and slender dick.  I suck him briefly, but he wants none of that.

“Fuck me.  Breed this boy.”
I get up and pull out my cock.  It’s raging at the thought of finally getting some ass.  He’s not seen it up to now.  He gulps, but doesn’t change his mind.  He bends over the seat, presenting his ass to me.  I kneel again and rim him deeply.  He’s ready.  I think he may have already had a dick up there.  Maybe a load.  The moment that thought hits me, I’m ready to fuck.  I stand up and push into him.  He grunts as loudly as the boys in the movie he was watching.  He grabs his own dick and beats it fast and hard.  I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him shoot before me.  I pick up the pace.  I don’t normally like pump and dumps, but this feels so right.  His ass clenches around me.  I shoot into him—telling him exactly what I’m doing.

“Fuck, yes.  Breed this boy.”
I hold in place as he shoots a load all over the seat.  The contractions of his ass as he cums are amazing to feel on my sensitive cock.  I pull out ever so slowly.  It’s his turn to kneel.  He cleans my cock of every drop of cum.  It’s the last thing I expected from him and it makes me a little dizzy.  I grin, and find a dollop of cum on my right ball that I make him clean off.

I pull myself together.  He’s still naked.  And, perhaps, stoned—just staring at my cock until I put it away.
“Thanks,” I tell him.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he asks. 
I just smile and leave him alone in the arcade.


  1. Replies
    1. Thanks. I'm glad you liked it. I would have gone crazy if the arcades were not available.

  2. Every now and then I have a trick that makes me think: goddamn, who the fuck are you and how are you that fucking amazing at... well, fucking... So I think I know exactly what that kid was thinking... Or maybe you're right and he's just stoned. Ha!

    1. I'd like to think you are right. The look was sort of sexy, sort of, silly, certainly flattering, so maybe....Naw--he was stoned...