In a comment to my
last post, fellow blogger, Upton King of Wonderland Burlesque wrote: “Wow…Epic night. But then, where you’re concerned, they’re all
epic, huh?”
Well…No.
But his comment made
me think a little about the sex I record here.
I have skipped over very little that has happened to me sexually since I
started writing this blog. I have
covered the Good, the Bad, the Spectacular and the Dirty. Some entries are a combination of several of
those. The few sexual things I skipped
over in the last year were two different trips to a bookstore where nothing
happened but me jerking off to porn. I don’t think my readers care about me
wanking to an empty and/or non-interested room—and, gasp, one time it was to condomed
porn, since that’s what is often shown there.
I do have a tendency
to choose something to pursue that I will likely find exciting. If I have an offer for a regular fuck and the
offer of a small group, I’ll take the group.
If it’s two asses on offer, I know I’ll choose the kinkier guy. If it’s a blow job or fucking, most of my
readers know where I will be going.
I also know I have a
true talent for getting things started in a public place. I have always enjoyed being the first one out
of my clothes at a motel party, or the first cock out at a bookstore. I don’t walk around a bathhouse with a towel
so tightly wound around me you can’t see if I have a dick—no, I wear a jock
that accentuates my meat and frames my flat ass for all to see—and the towel is
tossed over my shoulder.
I also play with a lot
of guys I know—so I know I will have a good time. I like to think my regulars are guys who like
to keep pushing limits, just as I often do.
But there are days—as there
are for all of us—where nothing works.
The online sites are silent. Or I’m
too far away from anyone. Such was the
case in early September. I was sitting
in the tiny rest area on a state road here in West Michigan. I arrived at noon, usually a good time to
find guys on their lunch hour.
I pull out my book and read.
The couple leaves.
Silence, but for the wind in the hickory trees.
I go back to my book.
A car at the far end.
A lone man. I watch as he
scrambles out of his compact car and all but runs for the men’s room. But he takes the time to slam the door of the
toilet. You can hear the lock slide
shut. He’s gone in minutes.
A tractor starts up in the neighboring field. The sound of his engine mixes with the Handel
I have on the radio.
A truck arrives, taking up four parking spaces. The driver gets out, stretches and walks
slowly toward the toilets. He looks
right at me. I return his gaze. He’s nothing special, but in today’s
wilderness, I know I’d play with him. When
he gets to the door, he bangs it shut twice before he can get it to latch.
The sky darkens. I
think we might get some rain.
Another car. A family
of four comes and goes.
Rain spatters on my windshield. Just a few random drops, all big and fat. Not a downpour—just enough to make me put up
the window for a moment.
Back to my book.
I eat the sandwich I had packed.
A car parks quite close to me.
A thirty–something blond man looks over at me. He gets out.
He’s a cub, in cut-offs and a tee.
He looks once more at me and goes in to piss, leaving the door ajar.
I wait a moment.
I get out and start towards the toilet. He is out before I’m halfway there. He stops, looks at me, and goes behind the
building. I follow, my cock hardening.
He’s there. Standing
on the edge of the cement foundation.
His cock is out. What there is of
it.
“Suck me off.”
I hesitate. I so
needed it to go the other way today. I
kneel.
I swirl my tongue around his tiny cockhead twice and he
erupts in my mouth. He grunts and bucks
into my face and then whips it out of my mouth and shoves it back into his
shorts.
All told, maybe a minute and a half.
No other men. No
other cars.
Epic?
Not quite…
The rest areas here in NJ (and some bookstores) were closed down by undercover cops some years ago. I don't know about now but back then it put a scare into everyone including me especially when they would fully prosecute and put your name in the newspapers.
ReplyDeleteWe have had some of that---especially during sweep months for television news--in the metro Detroit area. But not around here. There were many days this summer and fall, this particular rest area was busy. Or busy enough.
DeleteWow... this post reminds me of the year I spent in the middle of Iowa. And yes, you're absolutely right... it ebbs and flows. Sometimes you can't turn around without finding a willing trick and sometimes it's like... you're in the middle of Iowa. - Uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque
ReplyDeleteAmen!
Delete