Friday, March 24, 2017

"You Want This?"

Louisville—February, 2017

The day I took my last pill for my brush with syphilis, I had to leave for my usual business trip to Memphis.  This year I did not want to go anywhere near the airports and, as I had the time, I drove.  I did it in two days, overnighting in Louisville.  I couldn’t tell if I was horny or not.  You’d think after 10 days of not playing, I’d be raring to go, but that wasn’t quite the case.  One moment I wanted to breed—fucking flood some hot hole with all my built up seed.  In the next, I wasn’t sure I wanted to at all—I was still feeling slightly, well, dirty.  Even with the news I’d never been infected.

I checked in at a motel that had seen better days, but the room was clean.   I got out the computer to check the hook up sites.  Except the internet, for which I’d paid extra, was so grindingly slow I couldn’t open BBRT.  Well, that left the bookstore.  At the very thought, I realized it was the right choice.  I could do as much or as little as I wanted.  I ate a leisurely dinner, read a little and decided to see who might be there on a week night.

I haven’t been here in several years. There are three areas:  an arcade and a pair of theatres.  As usual, I ask the surly attendant for the combo of the straight and gay theatres—not being a fan of cramming two people into a booth meant for one.  I go into the straight theatre first.  It’s much bigger than my usual one near home.  It has real theatre seating, five or six rows of it.  It could easily hold 40 men.  Tonight, it holds one.  In the front row.  I sit in the back, in the seat that sticks out at the end of a row—making it easy for a man to kneel in front of me without crowding.

I stroke to fairly tepid porn.  I think the man has his dick out, too.  I can’t tell much about him, until he turns around and stares at me.  He’s actually hot.  Shaved head, thick shoulders, nice face.  I am on the edge of joining him in the front row when the door buzzes open.  A trucker comes in and sits in the row in front of me.  He’s been in the cab all day—maybe several days— and reeks.  I get up, put my dick away and head to the gay side.

The seating only has four rows over here, but it’s a wider room.  It could hold 40 or 50 men, too.  Tonight it has no one.  I sit on the far side of the back row—away from the door, not quite sure why I do.  The movie is better—even with condoms—Euro boys fucking outside in some Bavarian forest.
The door opens.  It’s the man from the front row.  He stands by the door.  He looks around.  Either he doesn’t see me or doesn’t care.  He leaves, never to be seen again.

I think about going back next door.  But decide to stay here.  The door opens.  A fairly tall, slender man of my age steps in.  He’s dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt on this unseasonable warm day in February.  He stands in the light of the door a moment.  It shines on his rather handsome face.  A ball cap is on the back of his head.  He waits a moment, then moves to the back row.  Or so I thought.  He goes into a dark area behind a low wall behind the seating.  I’d forgotten that area was even there.  He leans on the wall—which is right at chest height—and watches the movie.

I wait a moment.  I decide to join him.  I go in.  And lean.  He turns.  Sizes me up.  Looks back at the movie. 

We wait.  And watch.  Mostly the movie and occasionally each other.

I step back and kneel in the darkness.  I pull out my cock.  I can’t be clearer.  I want to suck this man off.

He ignores me.  For about 30 seconds.  Then he steps away from the wall.  Into the back corner.  Totally hidden.  I hear his fly unzip.  His voice is soft.  “You want this?”

I don’t answer.  I just crawl on my knees to him.  I am greeted by a good seven inches of slender, cut cock. Dripping. I take it into my mouth.

“You’re hungry.  Damn!”

He slides down my throat so easily. His cock is slender enough I can use all my tongue technique and still deep throat him on every stroke.

He pulls out of me.  “You’re gonna make me shoot.”

“Go ahead.  I want to swallow your load.”

He slaps my face with his wet cock.  Lightly.  Then runs the drooling cock head over my goatee.  “Not yet.”  And he shoves it back into my mouth.

A few moments of face fucking.  .  This time when he pulls out, he pulls me up by the armpits.  He looks at the hunger in my face.  I want him to kiss me—but that’s too gay for him.  He notices my cock for the first time.  “Damn.”  He hefts it.  “Now that’s a cock even I’d suck.”

He goes down on his knees.  He is not good.  He’s telling the truth that he doesn’t suck dick regularly.  I pull away.  Acting more like I might cum—not that I’m avoiding his incisors. 

He stands back up.  “Take my dick.”

I go back to my knees.  Even more determined to get him off. 

He stops me again.  “Come back to my motel.  We’ll fuck around.” 

It’s late and frankly, that’s not what I want.  I like the sleaziness right here.  I make a noncommittal sound and start licking his balls.

The door opens.  A man I can’t see walks in.  He sits in the back row, right in front of where my man is now leaning, moaning, as I tongue his hairy sack. 

“You should let him suck your dick,” he tells the new arrival.

I hear a grunt from around the wall.  My man, dick still out and swinging, pulls me up and takes me to the new man.  “Let me see you suck him.”

I still don’t get a good look at this new guy.  I can only see the short, fat, hard as a rock dick he has out.  I squirm in-between this new man’s splayed legs.  The first guy stands to the side, masturbating, as he watches me go to work.

My mouth is stretched wide.  His cock feels even fatter after the first slender dick.  The guy I’m sucking now is groaning and running fingers over the buzzed hair on my head.  “Oh, take it, man,” he grunts out.  “Can I cum in your mouth?” 

I don’t have time to answer.  He unleashes a torrent of semen.  The first shot I don’t even get to taste.  But I do the rest.  I savor it.  And swallow.  I milk every drop out.

The man pulls out of my mouth.  He gets up, barely able to move with me in front of him.  But he does.  He mumbles a “thank you” as he zips up (as I’ve made sure there is no need to mop up.)  He thanks my first guy, too.  And he leaves.

I look at the first man.  He shakes his head.  “I want to get off in my bed.”  I hear him leave and go next door.  I’m still on my knees.  Jerking.   Thinking about what just happened.  My tongue finds some jizz clinging to my mustache.  

It’s just what I need to make me spew all over the floor.


  1. Sometimes you're just in the mood for sleaze. I think there have been very very few times I've left a public place with someone who wanted to get me in a bed, where I've had a better time than if I'd stayed at the sleaze palace. That said, it's too bad no one else got to enjoy your 14 day load, though I'll be that release felt amazing. Some of my best orgasms were experienced alone, but then again, I'm a very accomplished masturbator.

    Paul, PS

    1. I agree. The change of venue can really get in the way of the connection that's happened/happening. A couple times--it's worked, more often--it hasn't. I've mostly stopped making that trip if I've started playing in public.

      I was fine with my release. (And yes, no one can touch you as well your self.) I don't think I was quite mentally ready to let someone take my seed with all that had happened.

      I got over that by the next day---as you soon will see.