Wednesday, June 24, 2015

A Bookstore Smorgasbord

Near Home—March, 2015

I had one last trip to the bookstore on the last Saturday night of March.

We can’t take our eyes off each other.  Fuck, the movie.  We are watching each other stroke.  He’s younger than I am, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket over a white t-shirt.  The denims are unzipped and his short, thick cock is hard as he jerks it just for me.   And it’s wet.  I can see it glisten as his hand moves over it.  His eyes are riveted on my crotch. 

I have my camos open and my jock is pushed to the side for my long dick to stick up tall and proud.  I jerk leisurely—half the pace of the man across from me.  There are others here in the straight theatre, but we only have eyes for each other.

The door opens.  A man in a black hoodie enters, the hood obscuring most of his face.   The man, who I was already envisioning down on his knees in front of me, takes one look at the hooded man, pulls his pants shut and bolts for the door.  His partner?  His boss?   The hooded man sits next to me.  The hood goes back.  He’s very handsome.  Rather long blond hair, mid 30’s to early 40’s.  He makes a show of unzipping his work pants and shoving his hand into the contents below.

“Oh, yeah,” he says a little too loudly for the room, while looking at my dick.  He sinks to the floor in front of me.  I wonder if he’s on something.  He reaches up and takes my dick in his hand.  And squeezes.  Hard.  I pry his hand off my cock.  He back hands my erection—watching it bounce.  It’s too hard.  My cock is not pleased. 


“Let me suck it…” He adjusts himself and sinks down on my cock.  His mouth is good.  Almost good enough to forgive him the rough treatment of my dick.

And I do.  Until he bites me.  On purpose and hard.

I stand and shove him away.  He hasn’t a clue what he’s done.  He comes toward me.

“Don’t touch me.”  I grab my water bottle, pull my pants around what is left of my erection and leave the room.

I try to find the man with the great eye contact.  He’s nowhere.  Gone.

I settle in the gay cinema, where I’m the only occupant.

I don’t even try to jerk for a bit, letting my dick recover.  I move towards the screen and in the white light from the screen, check my penis.  The skin is not broken.  I sit back down.  My cock eventually plumps as I watch the screen where a muscle daddy is getting fucked by two different men.  The door opens.  A very large Black man comes into the room.  He sits near me and watches me stroke.

“Can I suck you?”

I hesitate for a moment, but then take my hand away from my dick.  “Carefully,” I tell him.

He settles his bulk down in front of my spread legs.  His leans forward and takes me to the root in one gulp.  His mouth is velvet.   He is the perfect remedy for the drunk or high jerk in the other room. My cocksucker is going for the gold.  I slow him down.  I have barely been in the building for half an hour.

I finally stop him.  I promise I will let him have more of it later.


Back in the straight theatre, a young Cross Dresser in full regalia is on the couch and sucking the man in front of her.  I watch, as the suckee reaches down and feels under the frilly, red skirt for the CD’s hole.  He sits next to her.  Before long, she rides him until he shoots.  I stroke as I watch.  She gets off him—and only then do I see the condom.  A very full one.

I watch her suck off another eager man.

Then she approaches me.  “I’d love to suck that.”

I nod.

She hands me a condom.

“For a blow job?” I ask.  I shake my head and go back to the gay side.

Once there I suck off an older man—with no condom—and swallow his load as he claws at the wall in pleasure.


I let the Black man suck me for a long time.  I am no longer in danger of getting off---even with his expert skills.  He finally stops when it’s clear he isn’t getting my load.  At least not yet.

I stroke.  There are a few men scattered around the gay theatre now, but no one seems interested.
The door opens.  A cute young man enters.  Blond and toned—William Higgins could have made him a porn star in 1980—with a sizable bulge in his khakis.  He sits next to me, watching my every stroke.  I see him squeeze the front of his pants.

“Make I suck you?”

I nod. 

He is down on his knees, making himself at home between my legs.  He licks my balls first.  I groan.  My balls never get enough attention, over shadowed as they are by the dick.  His mouth and tongue cover every inch of my hairy nut sack.  Then he begins inching up the cock.  He pauses every inch or so, pulling off it and looking at the shaft.   He sighs with pleasure and goes back to licking.  Up another inch.  Pause.  Moan.  Lick.

I am squirming—he has yet to open his mouth and take the head and shaft into his throat.  I want it.  Now.

And he knows it.

He goes back to my balls.

“Suck it,” I all but beg.

It’s what he’s been waiting for me to say.  He is down on my cock instantly.  I am firmly encased in his throat.  His lips are in my overgrown pubes.  He pulls up slowly—then impales himself on me again.  And again.

It’s the right suction.  The right tongue action. 

I am actually going to blow in his mouth.

I do.  I hold his head in place and shoot down his throat.  He tongues me until I can’t stand any more. 
He stands up.  His average cock is amazingly red and angry looking.  He strokes it once—turning slightly so as not to hit me with his jizz.

“Don’t waste it.” 

I’m out of the chair and on my knees.  He shoots the first shot all over my beard.  The rest is in my mouth.  I milk him—for as long as he did me—and until he squirms from between my lips.  He pulls me up—and initiates the kiss.  We stick cummy tongues into the other’s mouth.

He pulls out of the kiss.  “I love Daddy dick,” he whispers.


Normally, I would leave.  But I don’t.  Maybe it is the arrival of the straight couple right around that time.  I can hear her through the room divide. I pull myself together and go to watch.  The room is alive with jerkers.  They are watching the action on the couch.  A short, plumpish middle aged woman is giving a blow job.  The man she is sucking is the young guy I’d fingered and blown on a recent visit, while he talked of his girlfriend.  The woman’s boyfriend isn’t even watching the action, but is busy on his cell phone.  Soon the BJ progresses to a covered fuck. 

I stop watching them and concentrate on the man next to me.  I guess him at early 60’s, once extremely fit, though softer now.  He reminds me a gym teacher I always wanted and never had.  His cock has little length, but it has an incredibly fat head on it.  I open my pants.  My cock is standing back up.  I really, really want to suck this man off.

The man glances at my movement and catches a glimpse of my dick.  Suddenly, he doesn’t know where to look—the fuck on his left or me on his right.  He looks like he’s at a tennis match as he goes back and forth between the two.

The young man cums in the rubber inside the woman.  There are no other takers for her.  They all just want to watch.  She goes out with the BF.  The crowd disperses.

Except for the man next to me.  He gets up and moves to the wall behind the door—where everyone goes when they want a little privacy for a blowjob.  I move to him, not bothering to cover my swinging erection.  His pants are down, his bare ass pressed against the wall as he jerks.

I lean in close to his ear and whisper “You want me to suck it?”

“No!”  He’s very loud in the deserted room.  Then, softer:  “Just let me feel you.”

I let his left hand grope and slide along my erection as he beats himself off.  I pull out of his hand and  slap my cock on his naked hip and thigh.  He turns slightly.  I whack his furry ass, leaving a slug trail of ooze.

That does it.

He shoots.  My left hand reaches down and catches over half his load without touching him.

“Oh, my God…” he whispers, spent and leaning against the cold cinderblock.

I show him the load in my hand.

He can’t take his eyes off me as I lick my webbed fingers clean…

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