Canada--Tuesday in the Park

Lake Ontario—August, 2012

 

I have been coming to this sleepy town in Canada for many years.  It took me the first 10 years to track down the cruising area.  I’d found a park in the downtown instantly.  I had eyed guys going into the men’s room and been cruised while sitting on a park bench, but I swore my old Damron Guide Book was wrong—this couldn’t be the real cruising ground.  It was just a too crowded and too family oriented an area.  About seven years ago, on an impulse, I took a side road before I got downtown.  I don’t know why.  It led to a conservation area.  Dog walkers and fags.  Many times they were one and the same.  I was in a cocksucker’s paradise. 

I park.  I read.  I look at the view.  Lake Ontario is choppy today.  But the sky is very blue.  It’s so clear that I can see Toronto across the water—90 miles away.  It’s a quiet morning.  A straight couple is my only company as they walk their three dogs.  They soon get in their black Land Rover and leave. 

I walk to the cliff edge.  There is major erosion here.  One of the huge trees has toppled onto the beach below since I was here last year.  I hear a car on the gravel.  A lone man.  He parks next to my car and gets out.  He’s sixty-ish, in shorts and a rather loud shirt.  He sees me.  His hand brushes his crotch, quite by accident of course, as he tucks his shirt into shorts.  I stick my hands in the pockets of my pants and amble towards the woods.

He follows.  I stop and look at the view.  He stops to tie his shoe.  I move towards a hidden path to get us out of the main park.  He stops and checks the parking lot for other cars.  I step over the remains of the rusty fence.  He stops to admire the view.  And touches himself.  He notes where I am going.  I head down the path, high weeds surrounding me.  I make it to a huge old maple tree.  And wait. 

He takes his time.  But he’s ready.  When he rounds the bend, he is holding a very hard cock under his shorts.  I grasp mine through the fabric of my pants—outlining the length and girth of it.  He takes his out.  Uncut with a fiery red head.  He peels it back.  He looks at me.  Almost pleading.  I’ve made him be bold.  I walk down the slight slope towards him, crunching through the brittle leaves.

“You want that sucked?”

He nods.  I sink down on my haunches.  I take his cock out of his hand, letting the head retract under all that skin.  My tongue snakes out.  I touch the wrinkled end.  A single drop of precum.  I lick it away.   I suck him into my mouth.  My tongue works under the foreskin.  My hand goes up to help peel it all pack.  He sighs as it’s exposed in my mouth and my tongue laps gently at it.

I suck harder. 

He goes as far as to fuck my face a little.

The squirrels are making noise in the brush around us.  It makes him nervous.

“Show me yours.”

I get up and undo my belt and zipper.

He touches me tentatively. 

The contact makes his cock jump.

He strokes me, but makes no move to suck me.

I sink to my knees.  I want his cum. 

I suck some more.

“I can’t get off here.”  He pats my head.  “I’m too nervous.”  He gets his cock back in his pants.  “There’s a car.”  I hear it coming down the gravel.  I look in that direction—it’s impossible to see it from where we are hidden.

When I turn back to him, he’s gone.  I watch him step over the rusty fence.  I wait a bit, rearrange the package, and amble back to my book.