The Strip Tease in the Booth (Ah, But Underneath...)

Near Home—August, 2018

Work was beginning to wind down.  I could get away at an unusual time.  I ended up at the bookstore in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.  It was a totally different crowd.

“You have such a hot mouth.”

I am on my knees in front of a guy who’s likely my age, but looks a little older.  His regulation sized dick is in my mouth, sticking out of his loudly patterned Bermuda shorts.  We had started sitting side by side on the couch in the straight theatre.  He had reached to stroke my cock.  I had returned the favor.  He’d leaned over and licked the head of mine.  When he stopped, I slid to the floor and swallowed him down. 

His cock is gushing precum.  My tongue keeps swiping it out of his piss slit.  I am pretty sure I’m going to get a load before I do much more.  I can feel his balls tightening.

“Wait!”  He stands up, wresting his dick from me.  “I want my money’s worth.”  I just look at him.  “I just walked in and I’m not ready to shoot.”  He zips up and takes off to the arcade.

A man I hadn’t paid any attention to down front speaks up.  “I’ll give you something to suck.”  He stands—and it’s Cam, the man who used to throw terrific motel parties—many of which are detailed in these pages.  He sits on the couch in the same position, his pants undone.  He reaches down and pulls my head into him.  “I want to get off and go home.”  I swallow him down.

And swallow the load.  Huge.

*****

Thirty minutes later.  A man with a straw Fedora comes in.  He sits next to me on the couch.  

“There’s some good dick in the arcade,” he tells me.  Then he sees mine.  “Sweet Jesus.  Let me suck that.”

He’s good, once he removes the hat so he can be a little more active with his head.  He pulls off me.  “Do you suck?”

“Sure.”

“I have a big old load for you.”

And he does—every bit as big as Cam’s.

*****

Thirty minutes later.

There is a man standing against the wall next to me.  I can’t tell if he wants head or not.  He gropes himself—but only occasionally.  He never unzips his fly.

The door opens again.  A young man in his twenties enters; he’s out of place in our 50+ crowd.  He stops—his eyes are riveted to my cock.  Finally, he looks up from my dick and into my eyes.  The hunger is written all over his face.  I simply spread my legs, inviting him in.  He walks towards me.  He reaches out his hand—and grabs mine.  He pulls me up, out of my seat.  The young man takes me out the door—my dick still waving in the breeze—and into one of the booths that are supposed to be reserved for men “previewing” a video.  I lock the door.

Without a word, he begins undressing.  Shoes off.  Pants follow, folded neatly on top of the shoes.  Shirt unbuttoned, folded and laid on top of the pants.  Underwear follows—designer and skimpy.  I sit on the padded bench and watch the strip tease.  He’s Italian, I think.  His hair is jet black.  There is dusting on his young, not very muscled chest.  He’s that boy in so much of Renaissance art.   That Boy/Man.  My cock drools as he bends over, showing me his ass, each time he places an item on the clothes pile.

He stands, unsure of what to do next.  His dick is not fully hard.  He’s uncut and the head is mostly covered by a generous foreskin.  When he sees my looking at it, his hand instinctively covers it. 

I spread my legs again—the same invitation.  He kneels between them.  His hand grabs my dick and he looks at it for a long moment before his mouth engulfs me.  He’s good.  And no, he’s not as good as some of the men who have been sucking cock for 40 to 50 years.  But he’s good for a young man.  A young man who knows he needs to worship a Daddy dick.  He grunts as he finally takes me to the root.  I look down and his cock is now fully erect.  And twice as big as it appeared before.

He worships every inch of my shaft.  Sucking.  Licking.  He moves to my balls.  Grunting as he smells the day’s sweat on them.  He pulls my pants down my legs.  I lean back. Now he is working under my balls.  He stops two licks short of my hole.  He comes back up and engulfs my entire dick, starting the whole process over again. 

After the third time, I stand up.  I fuck his face.  He loves this.  And I’m going deep.  When I stop, I pull out long cords of deep spit.   They fall on his chin.  Without thinking, I bend to kiss him.  I can see a flash of panic for a millisecond.  And then he melts into me.  He’s a great kisser.  Hungry and passionate and not afraid of exchanging spit.

We break apart.  Both panting.

“I need to taste you.”

He stands, waiting for me to suck his engorged cock.  I slip to the floor.  I’m right at eye level with it.  I grab his hips and turn him.  He suddenly knows exactly what I want.  He leans against the built in bench, presenting me his ass.  It’s full and hairless (except for his ass crack where it’s a jungle of black hair.)  I burrow in.  He groans and strokes his dick.  His hole is tight.  I have to work to get it to begin to relax.  I must be doing something right—he stops stroking, reaches back and spreads his cheeks apart.  He holds them in place.  His hole relaxes.  I go a little deeper.  He gasps and let’s go, his hands flying to stroking his dick as I continue to eat him out.

He finally has to stand up.  Only then do I suck his cock.  It actually does down a little with my paying attention to it—he’s truly hole driven.

“Do you want to get fucked?”

“Yeah.”  He looks at me.  “But I don’t have a condom.”

“I don’t either.”

“Then not today.”

“Ok…”  I make a mental note to keep some in the pockets of the clothes I wear to the bookstore.

“I want you to shoot in my mouth,” he says.  It’s a whisper.  Intimate and close to my ear.

He goes back to sucking me.  He works very hard.  I close my eyes and think about rimming his hole.  I can feel my balls tightening. 

Soon enough I’m giving him my load.  As big a load as either of the two that I swallowed earlier today.