The Only Thing He Wants

Near Home—July, 2012

I’ve gone back a couple of months to one of the few times I could play this summer.  I’d escaped to the nearest Adult Bookstore.  I was sitting in the half light, watching the movie on the giant television behind the cracked plexi-glass.  It’s smeared with someone’s cum from months and months ago.  I have no idea now, whether I was watching a straight or gay vid—for once he walked in, I had eyes for nothing else.

He wants only thing from me. 

And I want to give it him.

I am sitting on the end seat of the back row on the aisle--the cocksucker’s chair. 

But that’s not what he wants.

I see him the moment he walks in and lounges against the wall, right beside me.  He hasn’t seen me yet.  I use the moment to really look at him:  35, 5’10-ish, chocolate colored skin, his hair cropped close to his head.  His A-shirt hugs his nicely defined chest.  Black jeans and running shoes.  The jeans may as well be sprayed on; his ass fills them so well.

When his eyes become accustomed to the darkness, I see him look at the half dozen men in the theatre.  Then he spots me.  He smiles—a dazzling smile.  He leans over and whispers in my ear.

“I was hoping you’d be here.  C’mon.”

We don’t go into the back corner behind everyone.  He leads me down to a nook right by the screen.  We are in front of all the men there, but they can’t see us with the glare of the television.  I wouldn’t care, but I know from previous meetings, he likes to be slightly discreet.  He pulls his pants and undershorts down in one movement.  His large cock flops out.  He leans near my ear and whispers his command.

“Eat my ass.”

It’s all he wants.  He must not get it from anyone else.  His cheeks are so full I have to pull them apart to get to his hole.  I pull—and my tongue hits home.  He’s turned, leaning against the wall, his ass thrust into my face.  He stifles a moan.  I lick around the hole.  He’s all but hairless there.  Soon he’s reaching back with one hand to help me spread himself wider.

My tongue is now going up his crack to his tail bone.  Then down to his perineum.  For a split second, I include his heavy, hairy balls.  Then it’s right back to where I’m supposed to be, spitting on and reaming out his ass.  

He is jerking his cock like mad.  (One time I pulled it out of his hand, and bent it back to suck it for a moment from behind.  He’s so big I could barely oval my mouth around the dripping head.  He wrenched it away from me, and I dutifully went back to his butt—poking his precum up his hole.)  Tonight I know better than to try. 

When his leg cramps up, we stop.  He turns around and pulls me to my feet. 

“You make me feel so good.”  He hefts my cock.  I’ve been stroking like crazy myself.  “Sometime I’m gonna let you fuck me.”  I look at him.  “But not here.”  I wonder if he means it—or if he just says it to be that carrot he thinks he needs to dangle in front of me.  Does he really not know how much I love to eat ass?  How can my joy in doing it not show? 

I turn him back to the wall.  “Give it to me,” I say.\

He bends and thrusts.  I sink to my knees and find his hole.  I’m using just one hand—pulling his left cheek out—so I can stroke my wet cock.  I’m deep in his hole.  My tongue stretches a little farther into him.  His fist flies over his cock.  He grunts and splatters his entire load on the cinder block wall.  He moans, audibly now, for the whole room to hear.

I am on the edge of shooting, but the moment passes.

He turns.  I’m still on my knees.  He allows me one lick to taste his jism on that huge black cock—then he crams it into his underwear.

“Later, man.”

I stand up—a little unsteadily.  I lean against the wall where he’s just been.  I savor the taste of his ass on my tongue and the smell of him on my beard.  I adjust my clothes and go back to my seat.  All eyes follow me—wondering exactly what we’ve done up there. 

I sit.  I stroke.  But I know I’ll find nothing better there tonight…