Saturday, August 12, 2017

Five Hours at the Bookstore

Near Home—June, 2017

So I was home from IML.  (Hit IML in the label cloud if you need a refresher.)  Now I was ready to get back out and find some cock to suck or some ass to fuck.  I thought I was ready to go back to the bookstore…

I arrive just after 8 o’clock.  It’s a very warm evening.  Men are dressed in considerably less than when I was last here.  I enter the straight theatre.  There is a good crowd.  As I find a seat, I wonder if there has been a posting on Craig’s List about a couple coming to the bookstore.  Or maybe they are all just hoping.  I open my fly and start kneading my bulge.  I look around the room.  No one else is doing more than letting their hand rest on their crotch.  I go ahead and stroke once I’m hard.  I can almost always encourage some other man to be brave enough to at least get his dick out.  Not tonight.  Guys occasionally look around but seem to be truly watching the movie---and one that isn’t even all that good.

I finally sigh and tuck myself away.  I get up and go into the gay theatre.  There are fewer men here.  One to be exact.  I smell him before I see him—and not in a good way.  He is rank and likely hasn’t seen a shower in the last week.  I sit on the other side of the room.  He sits against the wall and flogs his half hard dick.  He’s uncut.  And unkempt.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, before I even think about staying long enough to get my dick out.

I make an excuse:  “That’s not what I was looking for tonight.”

He doesn’t listen. He gets up and drops his grimy, once plaid, Bermuda shorts to the floor.  He bends and shows me an ass that might have been more than acceptable cleaned out and showered. 

I tell him again.

He shuffles over to me, waving his cheesy cock in my direction—now seemingly willing to settle for a blow job.

I bolt.

I go back to the straight side.

It’s cleared out.  Where the fuck did they all go?  One man sits on the couch.  Stroking.  A graying daddy with a nice dick.

I sit next to him.  I open my fly.  I pull out a less than hard cock after the last encounter.  But my dick springs to life now.  I wait for the touch of the man’s hand on my thigh or a soft word. 


I look at him. I catch him eyeing my dick.  Progress.  Good. 

I wait.


I look again.  He is busy stroking.

I take the bull by the horns.  “Do you want some help with that?” I murmur.

He looks at me with total disgust.  If looks could kill I wouldn’t be typing this… “I don’t let men touch me.”  He gets up, pulling up his jeans just enough to cover his erection and waddles to the front row.  He sits down there and strokes in privacy.

I stay put.  I’m in the cock sucking position on the couch—the seat at the end next to the empty wall space where men stand if they want to be blown.

I don’t wait long before the door opens.  A burly truck driver type comes in.  He stands right next to where I am sitting.  He gropes himself openly.  Soon he is hauling out a nice beer can of a cock.  I look up at him and do that half head nod that tells most men I’m willing to suck them.

He gets it.  He looks at me for a long moment—then puts his cock away and leaves the room.  For good.

And so it goes.  I go back to the gay side—after the attendant tells me she has Lysol-ed it thoroughly after the homeless man left.  I stumble on a blow job in progress.  They stop the moment I come in.  I assure them they can continue—but they don’t until I leave them to it.

No one wants any of the things I have to offer. 

One other man wants to be fucked—but has no idea what I mean when I mention clean out.

But I have rarely had so many men refuse to let me suck them.

And not one man has offered to suck me.  No one.  At all.

I settle in the gay side.  By myself.  It’s a film from a small bareback company I don’t recognize.  They seem to be nicely nasty—every scene has repeated ass to mouth cock cleaning.  And a little felching.

When the movie ends, I make one last attempt to find a willing partner in the straight theatre.  Two older men are sitting on the couch.  Rampant.  A young, queeny man is on his knees in front of them.  He goes back and forth between the men.  I sit in the nearest chair, pull out my dick and stroke.  

These guys seem to want to play.  Finally.  I watch the boy change dicks again and again.  He’s being careful to not let the man who is not in his mouth get bored.

I watch.  He switches again.

“He spends longer on you than me,” says the man whose dick is now not being sucked to the other guy.  The man deep in the boy’s throat grunts a non-committal reply.

The speaker turns to me.  “Do you suck?  I need to get off and go home.”

I look at the boy on the floor—not wanting to step on any toes.  He actually nods enthusiastically for me to join him on the caked linoleum. 

We kneel side by side.  I take the spit drenched cock into my mouth.  We suck the two men in a similar rhythm.  Both of them explode in no time at all.

They get up and go.  I stand up and offer the kid my dripping cock.  I really need him to take my load.  He shakes his head and leaves.

The place is deserted.  It’s very late—later than I ever stay.  I do up my pants and go out into the now rather damp night.  


  1. In a way it's good to have a post like this. It's keeping it real. It lets us all know we all have those bad nights when nothing seems to work no matter how bad we want it. We appreciate the good times all the more.

    1. That is just why I did it. I thought about summing it up in a sentence or two on another post about the bookstore, but then I thought it provided real contrast.

      I have a lot of great sex. But not every time; not every night. I pledged to tell the truth with this blog--so here it is...

    2. Thanks for sharing this. Close to what my experiences have been.

    3. You always take a chance when you go to public venue to play. As Ref...Twink said below--you win some and you lose some...

  2. That sucks... and not in a good way, but thanks for sharing the truth of cruisy sex, you win some you lose some.