Jackson—November, 2022
Jake came to see me on
a Thursday. When Friday dawned, I was
horned. Really horned. I was aware I was erect even before I was
aware that I was awake. I showered and
did all those morning things. The erection
may have ebbed, but not the feeling. I
wanted sex; sex that was different than the kind of sex I had had the day
before. It being Friday, it made me
think it might be a good afternoon at the bookstore that had just changed its video
lounge into more of a playspace.
The moment that
thought hit, my cock told me it was the right answer. I packed a lunch, dressed
in clothes I didn’t care about and hit the road, nursing my second mug of tea…
There are a few cars
here at 11:30am. I am early on
purpose. I want to stroke a little and watch
the men arrive. I pay and go in. No one seems to be here. No, there is a man’s head appearing over the
partitions that make the row of cubicles.
He must be standing on the ottoman in the last booth. I can feel his eyes watching me as I sit down
in the main area, the one showing straight and gay porn on the same wall. I open my fly. I hear him make some sort of noise in the
back of his throat. When I turn, he has disappeared
into the cubicle.
I stroke. Suddenly he emerges from the curtained
doorway. He is naked except for a pair
of shower thongs. His erection is swaying
from side to side as he strides toward me.
He goes to his knees without a word and wrests my erection from my hand
and swallows me down. I think I know him
from here, but I can’t quite place him.
I try to get lost in the moment.
His oral technique is good—but just as I am beginning to relax, he knicks
me with a tooth or squeezes my shaft in a death grip. So instead, I’m tense.
“You need to fuck me,”
he keeps repeating, when he comes up for air.
Finally, he squeezes
me once too often. “Get on your knees of
the sofa,” I bark.
“Why?” He’s not playacting here. He really doesn’t know what I want.
“You said you wanted
to be fucked.”
That does it. He jumps up, knees on the cushion next to
me. I get up and bend to rim. Now I know who it is…it is the man who anoints
every inch of skin on his body with baby oil.
I can smell it before my face connects.
How could I not before? I forego
ass eating. I lube up and slide in. The man grunts and moans. “Give me your load. Cum in me.”
“Earn it,” I snap.
Instead of inspiring
him to work harder, he just takes a hit of poppers and let’s his asscunt go
slack. And then I feel it. I know, as I pull out, what I’m going to
find. He cleaned for a six incher, not
for me,
I stomp off to the
bathroom while he keeps telling me it’s impossible that he’s dirty…
*
I watch porn. There are men milling about. Not many.
A man my age with a shaved head finds me. He gives good oral. He was a witness to the earlier fuck—and assures
me he is cleaned out properly. I fuck
him. And he’s wrong.
Strike two.
Once I have cleaned
up, I go eat my lunch. New men are walking
around as I come back in from my car. I
sit in the overstuffed chair in the gay room.
Another man is here, on the far end of the couch. He is very blue collar—in his work clothes, seemingly
direct from some sort of job with cars.
I can smell the engine oil on him—a smell I find hot, not in the least
off putting. I take out my cock. He smiles at me, rather tensely. But he unzips the slightly oil-stained blue
pants. He takes out a thick piece of
meat, coaxing it to full hardness.
We stroke. My eyes on him. His eyes moving back and forth from the porn
to my cock. Minutes pass. I stand up.
“May I?” I indicate the seat next
to him on the couch.
He nods.
I sit. And now we stroke side by side. Soon, my hand is on his cock, his on mine. We both stroke each other, a little awkwardly. Without asking, I go to the floor and take
him in my mouth. This finally makes him
harden up fully. He sighs, closes his
eyes and his rough hands stroke the stubble on my head.
I feel, rather than
see, a man sit on the couch. I glance up. It is an older Black man. His gnarled hand reaches over and strokes the
guy’s bush and chest. When I come up for
air, the Black guy leans down and take him in his mouth. I move to the mechanic’s balls, taking them individually
into my mouth.
I pull off him. The older man lets me have another go at the
drooling dick. But soon, we are sharing
it again. He sucks some, I suck some. He sucks while I lick balls…
My knees rebel. I stand up.
The Mechanic leans forward and takes me in his mouth. This inspires the older man to really go to
town on the Mechanic. I like what he’s
doing to my dick, but it is an awkward position.
“Hey,” the Mechanic
taps the older man on his shoulder, indicating for him to stop. “What I really want is for you to fuck me,”
he says, looking up at me.
I think back to the
two other men with not very well-prepared asses. I start to stumble through a speech about
cleaning out. The Mechanic cuts me off. “I know how to do that—and did it. I just don’t know if I can take someone bigger
than my shower nozzle.”
The Mechanic stands up
and drops his pants around his ankles.
The underwear follows. He turns
and braces himself on the arm of the sofa.
The older man has unzip and is stroking his own cock now as I lube up. The ass in front of me is totally smooth on
the cheeks—and incredibly hairy in the cleft.
I want to rim him, but the Mechanic reaches back and pulls me by my cock
towards his hole.
“Go slow,” he implores.
I work my head
in. The Mechanic starts to pant. I disappear into him inch by inch. I am almost all the way in.
“Oh, fuck, no!” The Mechanic pulls off me. “Sorry.
No way.”
I shake my head and go
piss.
I take one last look
around and go home…
This Friday might have
been a bust—but if I’d gotten off then, I would have missed the hot man I met
on Saturday. And that’s the next post!
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