The Last Cocks of Indiana

Northwest Indiana—November, 2015

My time in Indiana was almost over.  I had two days left when I could explore the bookstores.  So, of course, off I went…

Day One:

I am in the parking lot of the last bookstore I found in the area—where I’d fucked the resident whore and a guy I recognized from my usual bookstore haunt in Michigan. The lot has a decent amount of cars, but once I’m in the building I can’t find the men.  No one is in the theatre (I’ve bought the combo pass this time).  I go into the arcade.  No men in the hallway.  A number of locked doors with the ‘occupied’ light turned on.  One door is open.  A man is giving head to an overweight gentleman.  I watch for a moment, but there is no room in the booth for me, even if I want to step in.

I go watch the movie across the way in the theatre.  It’s straight and has a plot about wife swapping.  It’s one of those videos designed to help women like porn.  I prefer the ‘smear her mascara with cum and spit’ genre.

I wander the arcade.  I find a back booth.  A stream of light from a glory hole is shining like a beacon.  I put in some tokens and before the movie kicks in, a hard cock is pushing through the hole.

Nothing remarkable.  Actually rather small.  But a good warm up.  I barely begin before I get the load.  I sit back up on the bench and take a swig from my water bottle.  When I look down, another cock, bigger and very red, is waiting.

I have to work harder on this one.  And think about making sure my teeth are not connecting with his flared head.  The unknown man shoots quickly and he, too, is gone. 

I watch the movie on my monitor.  Something from Raw Fuck Club.  I hear the door lock in the  opposite booth.  Sure enough—cock three.  And it’s a beauty—thick, and uncut.  I’m down on my knees.  I’m not prepared for the next moment.  The unmistakable smell of engine oil.  It’s on his jeans and on the fingers surrounding the base of his dick.  Every grease monkey fantasy I’ve ever had while watching the hot men who service my car rush back at me.

My need must be conveyed to my feeder.  My tongue snakes under his foreskin.  It’s perfectly clean, his dick has just had a long day in his white Hanes.  He grunts and then, in almost a whisper, begins telling me how good I’m making his cock feel.  I can’t catch all of it—but his girlfriend is mentioned.  I hope he likes my mouth better.  He grunts again and his cock head swells, pulling back the hood.

“Fuck,” he grunts out, “This is why I let guys suck me.”

And he shoots.  Floods my mouth.  I swallow.

I lick him clean.  He makes himself stay there, rigid, his body pressed against the cheap plywood, until I have cleaned every scrap of cum on his cock head. When I pull off him, satisfied, he pulls out and does himself up.  He grates out a “Thanks” as I pull myself up on the bench.  I unlock my booth. 

The door opens almost immediately. 

And I know I’ll give my load to any man who enters.