Saturday, September 9, 2017

The Man Between Us

Near Home—August, 2017

I had a three hour window of time to get off. 

It is 45 minutes to the bookstore, so there was half of it already used just in travel there and back.  I couldn’t waste time once I was there.  Thinking of it like that, I almost turned the car around and came home.  But I didn’t.  The load building in my balls was too great.

It started the moment I woke up.  I was achingly erect.  My cock looked huge—even to me.  I showered quickly, before any of the men who filled my house were up and about.  That helped for a moment.  But as I checked my email and the blog, it came right back.  Jacob had posted a picture on his blog of how he’d spent the night which involved cock cages and dildos.  I also answered a private query about how I made my devil’s dicks.  My email was full of summer sales from the porn companies wanting me to spend on the gorgeous men they pictured in their ads.  I was soon as tumescent as I was before the shower.

It continued through the day:  a man at work who I never think of in a sexual way wore tight pants that hugged a wonderfully round ass; the man filling his SUV across the pump from me at the gas station, was the embodiment of Trade; while grocery shopping I ran into two men (who were obviously a young couple) having a heated debate about how much produce they should buy.  I wanted to wield my plump zucchini on both of them right there.

So I took off that night.  I knew I was likely leaving too much to luck.  At the very least, I reasoned, I could jerk off more easily there than I could at my crowded house.  When I arrived, I noted the parking lot was half full—a good sign…


I walk into the straight theatre.  The most garish, least passable, cross dresser I have ever seen is filling the couch.  No one else is in the room.  I walk right out.  I go to the gay side.  No one is there.  They all must be in the gloryhole-less arcade.  I sit.  The porn is decent.  And at this point, I need to stroke my cock.

I do.  For a good ten minutes before the door opens.  It’s the distinguished older Black man. I’m hoping he is in one of his rare moods to let me service him—or vice versa.  We nod to each other, but he just wants to jerk.

So we do.  In tandem.  Occasionally looking at the other’s big cock, but mostly at the screen.

The door opens.  A young man enters.  He is thin and dressed for a college classroom.  His face is pretty, not handsome.  His long dreadlocks bounce and sway as they frame that pretty face.  He stops dead when he sees two daddies jerking.  I wait for him to turn around and leave.

But no, he balances himself against the wall for a moment and then sits in the open chair between us.  I can smell the alcohol he’s had to work up his courage to come here.

We all look at the screen.  And the sidelong glances begin.  I check out his growing erection in his skinny jeans.  The Young Man glances at first one than the other of us.

Silence.

“Open your pants and let that thing out.”  It’s the Older Man speaking.  The YM stares at him—but in the next breath he opens his jeans. His briefs are hooked under his tight balls, letting a long thin cock dangle free.  The YM hefts his dick and it hardens up without getting any bigger.

“You want to suck this don’t you?”  The OM is speaking softly, insistently.  He waves his appetizingly thick cock at the YM as he says it.  The drunk YM man nods.  He gets to his feet and kneels between the knees of the OM.  I am dripping as I watch the OM use the YM’s mouth.  The OM rises, never letting the boy off his dick.  He grabs the dreads and ever so slowly face fucks the younger man.  The sucker has stopped stroking and is paying full attention to his elder.

Than another surprise.  “I want to watch you suck this man’s cock.”  He points at me.  The boy looks up at him.  Surprise?  Pleasure?  Disbelief?  He’s turned so I can only see his back.  The OM gives him a curt nod and the boy crawls between my legs.  He sucks me.  Not all that well, truthfully.  He doesn’t know to cover his teeth.  Or he’s too drunk to remember to cover his teeth.  But the scene is hot enough that I put up with it.  The OM comes over and stands behind him, watching him suck my bigger dick.

Too soon, the OM touches the boy on the shoulder and helps him off the floor.  He whispers in the YM’s ear.  The YM man nods.  He does up his pants.  And leaves. 

I can’t believe it.  I look at the other man, but his attention is back on the screen.

The door opens again.  The YM is there.  He comes in and stands between us.  He pushes his pants down to his shoes.  He waddles over to me with one of those awful one use bulbs of lube.  He finally manages to get the tip twisted off and he slathers the lube on my dick.   Is he really going to sit on me?  My cock jumps in his hand.

OM is standing—watching.

YM drops the lube and wrestles with the other thing in his fist.  A foil condom packet.  And not even a Magnum.  He tries to roll it down my cock.  It doesn’t fit.  I finally take it from him, stretch it over the head and he watches me intently as I roll it down my cock. 

I haven’t had a regular sized condom on in ages.  Maybe years.  It is so fucking tight I want to scream.  The boy finds the lube packet, picks some grit off it and squeezes out the rest into his hand.  He fingers it into his hot ass—getting the tight curls of hair in his crack good and wet.

And he sits on me.  Slowly.  Painfully, to tell the truth.  I am hurting with the tight condom and this tighter sheath of his ass.  But we finally manage. We have a moment of the YM riding me.  A moment of his bending to take the OM in his mouth at the same time.  I fuck into him, desperate to feel something other than constriction.

The OM sits down next to me, not in his original chair—I can only assume he thinks he’s going to be ridden next.

And at that moment the YM falls off me.  I grab for him, but too late.  He hits the floor.  I don’t think he hurts anything but his pride.  We help him up but he’s done. He tries to get his pants up without much success.  I rip off the condom and throw it to the floor.  My time is at an end.  I do myself up to head home—as a look of incredible gastric distress crosses the YM’s face.

The OM grabs the wastebasket just in time.  I shut the door and leave.


Blue balled.

8 comments:

  1. Ugggggg! I feel the waves of intense frustration as if I had actually been there myself.

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  2. More proof that youth is wasted on the young.

    Jake

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    1. Very true.

      And sad. I can't imagine needing to liquor up in order to give in to my sexual feelings!

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    2. i feel bad for you - that is truly a terrible encounter - but can't help smiling a bit because i think we've all been there. i did a lot of drunk sex in my 20s, before finally realizing i like sober sex much more - you can really feel it more...i'm so sorry about the condom... i've been so horned up sometimes i disregard my "raw or nothing" rule and usually regret it...

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    3. I'm happy to report I missed the drunken sex phase--though I was certainly around it.

      And as bad as it was, I certainly smile at it, too.

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  3. I've also totally had similar experiences...they can't all be great. I agree about the condom - it's never worth it. #rawislaw

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    Replies
    1. I always said I"d report the good and the bad and the...odd. So there it is...thanks for speaking up.

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