Using His Hand

Near Home—July, 2013

 

Once again I used the bookstore as the easiest way to get off during my busy summer…

 There is no one there.  Well, there is one doddering old man who relentlessly shuffles back and forth between the two theatres.  There were cars in the parking lot, but the men must be in the arcade.  They certainly aren’t here.

Fortunately the porn is good.  I sit in the straight theatre and watch large muscle men have anal sex with petite women.  There is lots of ass to mouth for the women.  And one of the men, used in over half of the scenes, cannot keep his handsome face out of each woman’s ass.  I am particularly aroused when the finale has two men—one white and one black—taking turns on a tiny Hispanic woman.

The door opens.  I don’t bother trying to hide my erection.  I just continue stroking.  I glance over.  The man is in the farthest corner behind the door.  The usual spot guys go to when they want to be sucked in a semi-private space.  I look at him again.  No big deal.  He’s a pretty typical man in later middle age, wearing shorts and a baggy shirt.  But he’s not standing there to be trade.

He’s standing there to get dressed.

The baggy shirt comes off over his head.  A frilly blouse is beneath it.  He drops the Bermuda shorts to the floor. His pink panties are thong cut.  A skirt is rolled up around his waist.  He rolls it down.  It hits just above the knee.  His shoes are sandals that are rather gender neutral.  From his bust he removes a blond wig, cut in a short page boy style.  I look at him get it in place, covering his thinning hair.  He rolls the two outer garments together, than carefully parades to the chairs directly across from me.  He sits demurely.  He crosses his legs at the ankle and feigns great concentration on the movie.

Soon the looks begin.  He sneaks glances at my swollen meat.  He never lets them linger very long.  When I catch him, I smile but he won’t return it.  I just keep stroking and go back to the movie.

The door buzzes.  It’s the old man.  He looks at me.  He looks at the man (who would fool no one in his drag.)  The old man mutters under his breath and shuffles out the door.

I stroke.  His hand kneads a bulge under his skirt.

The door buzzes.  It’s a hot looking guy in his mid-40’s.  He has short, dark hair and is wearing a dingy T-shirt, cargo pants and sandals.  He sits on the couch which is between where the two of us sit, plastered against one wall or the other.  He looks at me.  He looks at the man.  He looks back at me and unzips.

I can’t see his cock, but he’s stroking from the moment he’s pulled it out.  The guy in drag looks over.  His hand disappears up his skirt.

I look back at the screen.  I watch the two men on the screen reverse who’s in her ass and who’s in her mouth.  I sense movement across from me and look over at the other two.  The guy in drag is on the floor giving the hot guy head.  Damn.  That was amazingly fast.  I wonder if they know each other.

There is a grunt.  I can’t tell who made it—but someone just came.  It’s the guy in drag.  He gets up carefully and goes back to his dressing spot.  His load is shiny and white on the dark tile, reflecting the light from the television screen.  He reverses the process and reverts to his everyday appearance.  He leaves.  The guy on the couch slides closer to me.  I go over and stand in front of him.  I’m glad he moved down so I’m not standing in the other guy’s load.  His handsome face is immediately pressed to my pelvic bone.  He has me all the way down his throat. 

Eventually he comes up for air, flopping back into the couch.  I kneel.  I pull the cargo pants down so I can get at his cock.  Jesus.  Maybe they did know each other.  He’s wearing women’s underwear as well, his in light blue.  I pull his cock around the silky material, and take his small dick into my mouth.  My finger snakes under him and finds his ass.  He likes the attention to his cock, but the sigh as my finger plays around his hole tell me what I need to know.  I pull him toward me, and raise his legs in the air.  The blue strip of thong material is no match for my tongue—it can’t protect his hole.  I am pushing into it, rimming him deep.

I can’t hold him that way for too long.  He flips over, so he’s on all fours.  I get lost in his lightly haired ass.

I stand.  My cock slaps his ass.

“I can’t,” he moans.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He swings around into a seated position.  “I’ve been fucked too many times today.”

I nod and sit next to him.  I guess the real reason is he wants a condom.

“Would you jerk off on my ass?”  He’s already squirming around, assuming I’m going to say yes.  He’s back to kneeling on the couch, his head cradled in his arms on the back.

The way the evening is going, I guess this is the best I’ll get.  I stand and slap his ass—which still has the T of the thong running down his crack.  I spit on my palm and slather it on my cock.  I stroke. 

He’s busy talking—telling me how he wants my big cock another time.  How his ass could easily take a man my size.  How I need to fuck his pansy ass.

I shoot.  It’s the only time I’ve shot this week—it’s a big load.  He makes more noise than I do.  I watch his hand reach back.  He smears my cum all over his hairy cheeks—then starts working it up his hole.  Damn—I was wrong about his wanting latex.  He works most of my load into his ass.  He’s missed one spurt—I swab it down to his hole and let him push it into his man hole.  The blue material of the thong strap is now sopping with my jizz.

I mop up the remainder on my palm.  The man digs into his wallet.  He gives me his business card. 

I hope to get my cum into him, directly, the next time we meet.