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Friday, November 26, 2010

I Wanna Sauna! – Part II: The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

This is part two of a three part series.
A few minutes later Mr. Mustache circles back. He stands, hip leaning against the outside corner of my favorite little room and looks at me. He looks like a 1970’s porn star gone a little to seed. Tall with a full head of hair badly in need of a trim, his body is covered in black fur and hasn’t seen the inside of a gym in ages. There is a ring of fat surrounding his bellybutton. Slyly, he loosens his towel to reveal his dick which would be lost in a sea of overgrown pubes if it weren’t so…. big. With a quick smile, he covers himself and heads toward the other hallway, where he looks back at me before disappearing into the room opposite the one occupied by Pony Boy and friend.

What can I say? I’m a sucker (pun intended) for a big dicked man. I slip into the room and discover Mr. Mustache lying on one of the beds, his towel open, dick in hand. Without hesitating, I crouch down in front of him and take his cock in my mouth. It’s nice: cut, big head, nice thickness and at least 8.5”. My hands roam over his hairy body. In a reclining position gravity cures many an ill and in this case, Mr. Mustache is looking substantially less paunchy, although he still has that 1970’s porn-star-who-has-seen-better-days thing going on. The room is dark and that, in this case, is probably a good thing. Mr. Mustache hauls his furry body back further toward the head of the bed, making enough room for me to lie on my hip at the bottom.

I’m making good progress toward my goal of complete sperminization when another figure wanders into the room. You see, I’d made a tactical error when I came in – I forgot to close the door. The figure is soon crouched at the end of the bed, playing with my cock and that is when I realize it’s the white-haired man who was stalking Mr. Mustache moments ago. Well, that kills it for me – I’m out of there. I disentangle myself and storm off to the relative safety of the actual sauna. Mr. Mustache will either have to come after me or do without.

After cleansing my pores, I shower and return to the TV Room for another go. Mr. Mustache is no longer in the room with two beds and the door to the room occupied by Pony Boy and friend remains closed. I walk past the futon and turn the corner where my eye lands on a prone, naked figure on the bed in the smallest room. A voice beckons me, so I poke my head in. It’s a very pale, older gentleman, and all too late, I realize it’s the white-haired man who was stalking Mr. Mustache. By too late, I mean that by the time I recognize him I’m lying next to him. He’s not that repulsive, but after five minutes of stingy-lipped kisses (on his part) and no reaction down there where it counts (on both our parts), I get up and leave, heading once again to the sauna for a pore cleanse.

As I’m entering the sauna, exiting is a tall, good-looking man with a cleft chin and a full head of light auburn hair. His body, which is in good shape, is covered in similarly colored fur. As he’s wrapped in a towel, I don’t get a sense of what he might be packing. In the sauna there are a couple of business types, very similar to the man that just exited, but not as enticing. They have that receding hairline thing going and the mid-level manager paunch. Every time I lay eyes on them in the future, I keep thinking that I could do them, but there’s something in me that doesn’t want to do them. As they cruise me repeatedly a bit later, my apparent lack of appreciation remains confusing to all three of us. At that moment, however, I decide to not waste any time, and pursue Mr. Cleft Chin immediately.

I leave the sauna, shower, and begin my hunt. In no time at all we pass one another in the narrow hall just outside the TV Room. He’s still wrapped in his towel, but I can tell by the bow of his head, his averted eyes and mild blush that he’s interested in me. I go to the futon, sit down, and wait. I play with my dick to prime it a bit – keeping in mind the adage – if you build it, they will cum. Fortunately, my cock is standing at full-attention in no time. Unfortunately, coming around the corner at that very moment is the white-haired coot. I drape my towel strategically over my lap as quickly as possible, but not before The Coot has spied my prick and given me a wicked smile. I look away, hoping that he will go away. After a few awkward moments The Coot moves on, leering at me over his shoulder as he goes. Fortunately he’s going away. Unfortunately he walks right into Mr. Cleft Chin who is turning the corner at the same time. They bounce off one another awkwardly. Mr. Cleft Chin is very polite. The Coot is smitten, and blocks Mr. Cleft Chin’s way. Cleft dodges Coot and makes his way hastily past the futon (and me), disappearing down the opposite hall. The Coot watches and is about to pursue when he catches my eye and thinks better of crossing in front of me.

The Coot exit around the opposite corner and I immediately get up and decide to chase after Cleft, but I barely turn the corner when who should I see walking toward me? Cleft! I plant my hip on the corner of those walls, thinking he will take the hint and go in the little room to my left. Instead, making eye contact the entire time, he walks past me and down the hall toward the room occupied by Pony Boy and turns the corner. Nonplussed, I follow, figuring, if nothing else, at least I will find out where I stand with him.

I round the corner and spy Cleft lying on the bed formerly occupied by Mr. Mustache. Wasting no time, I enter, close the door and lay my naked body next to his. That towel around his waist opens up and we are soon deep kissing, allowing our hands to roam freely over each other’s bodies. Cleft is very handsome, and very sweet. It’s one of those situations where I don’t know what the dude sees in me, but hey, if all they want is a hard dick, I can supply the love. My mind always works overtime whenever kisses are accompanied by a spark of immediate intimacy and that is precisely what’s being achieved the longer we lay there. He rolls on top of me; I roll on top of him. We’re squeezing and grasping and gasping for breath. My balls ache deliciously as they press into his body and our lips leave contact of one another only so I can deep throat his very pleasant dick.

Suddenly the door opens and someone walks in. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room with the door closed, so all I can make out is the outline of a figure. It doesn’t look too bad, but it’s hard to tell. I look over at Cleft for a reaction and get none, as his eyes are transfixed on the man in the door. The man then closes the door, and my eyes have to readjust all over again. I am waiting for some type of signal from Cleft as to what he would like to do. The stranger is now sitting at the bottom of the bed and is playing with both of our dicks. Gradually, peering into the darkness, I make out a mustache and a shock of white hair. The dude is older than Cleft and I by at least ten years. He then takes my dick into his mouth and begins to suck. I look over at Cleft and again receive no indication whether this is cool or not. Is this his partner? It must be his partner. Was this some kind of set up where Cleft is the bait?

Next thing I know, Cleft is getting up and hastily exiting the room. I follow suit. Thinking he and I will meet up again, I make my way to the futon and wait. And wait. Those business dudes that I saw in the sauna walk around and cruise me, but, having had a taste of Cleft, I’m holding out for Cleft. But there is no Cleft. I decide to head to the sauna again; thinking maybe that’s where he is. I enter the sauna and look around. There’s a couple of balding, older dudes with round middles and patches of untrimmed fur. I sit and get my bearings. I take the heat of the sauna for as long as I can and then hit the showers. Then I return and run the circuit of rooms. No Cleft. Maybe he left. Dejectedly, I plop my ass down on the futon and contemplate buying a soda. A few guys walk by, one of them, a round-faced, goateed baldy with a nice fleshy, furry bear middle makes his interest known, but I’d rather have the soda. I go my locker, get some quarters and return to plug the machine. I get a Coke, thinking maybe the caffeine and sugar will do me some good.

The Coke feels good going down my throat, a throat that has not sucked nearly enough cock today. I contemplate paging through an old, worn copy of Lavender magazine sitting on a table nearby, when Cleft appears to my right. He cocks his towel-covered hip on the corner of the smallest room and cocks his head to indicate that he would like me to join him inside. Once inside, we lay on the small bed, cradling each other’s faces while kissing. In between kisses I tell him I thought the older guy was his partner and he laughs. We spend the next hour kissing, fondling and rubbing on each other. I suck him, he sucks me. I can tell by his lack of technique that he is something of a novice when it comes to sucking dick, but I’m so smitten with him and flattered by his attention I don’t mind. We’re interrupted by other dudes twice, and each time a simultaneous and distinct “No!” hisses from our mouths. We both make plays like we’re the top, but that is where it ends. Picking up on a vibe that butt sex is not on the menu, we both settle into mutual J.O. mode, deep kissing and getting each other off at the same time. Both loads end up on his stomach and I take joy in messing around in it, rubbing the cum into his skin.

As we make small talk I sense that he is a very discrete man. Deciding to respect that, I remain in the room when he leaves to go shower. We don’t see each other again, and I assume that after showering he immediately left. I hang around for another hour, but the memory of the intense intimacy I just experienced makes contemplating getting it on with anyone else out of the question. After hitting the sauna a few more times, making the rounds and checking out the new arrivals, I decide to shower and get some dinner. I woke up that morning assuming I would, at some point, get fucked senseless. That sure did not happen, but then I still have tomorrow.

I dropped off my towels and key at the front desk and make my way down the hill toward downtown’s main street. The gathering dusk and fog helps sustain my mood as it envelops me. So, I didn’t get fucked. Not really. But still… it was kind of a successful day. Wasn’t it? Well, maybe tomorrow.

The next day is Sunday. I wake early, have breakfast and decide to skip trying to hook up on line altogether. My friend didn’t have to be at the convention center until nine or so, so we hang out together for a bit. Later, after dropping him off, I decide to head right downtown and take advantage of the free wi-fi at Jitters, a little coffee house not far from Family Sauna. I spend two hours nursing a skim milk latte while chatting with several of the locals. Whenever I mention that I plan on going to Family Sauna once it opens the reaction is always quite negative. “Careful not to catch anything.” “There are so many old trolls there.” “That place is a dump.” I couldn’t disagree with them, for they were quite right on all accounts, but I remain undeterred. There are a couple of invitations to come to their place and play, but that would mean changing my plans, and since I’m due at the convention center to breakdown and load at 5:00 pm, I don’t want to chance wasting time on another one-on-one situation that turns out less than stellar. I will take my chances at Family Sauna.

I arrive shortly after they open, check-in, and make my way to my locker. I immediately go to the bathroom and douche my ass, prepping it for what I hope is to come (pun unintended). I scope out the various rooms and don’t find anyone of interest. There are eight lockers with locks on them, but I only lay eyes on half that many men. Hitting the Sauna, I sit alone and allow the intense heat to move through me. After taking as much of it as I can, I shower. As I’m showering I catch sight of someone of interest; a studly looking dude about my age sporting a big dark mustache and a camouflage hunting cap. His compact, rugged body is covered in a nice pelt of dark brown fur with a towel wrapped securely around his waist. First he heads into the video room and then returns to the locker area. I finish up my shower, toweling off quickly and lock onto his scent. The Hunter is now the hunted!

But no dice. I check all the rooms twice and then sink dejectedly onto the futon. Maybe he’s onto me and is purposely avoiding me. Maybe he’s not into me and found someone else. Well, I shrug, it’s early, let’s see what the day has to offer. I spend my time playing with my cock ring and displaying my condoms (one for regular-sized guys and one for big boys) and my bottle of Rush. I’m really hoping that today I will get an opportunity to use those poppers. Yesterday, the timing and the situations at hand never seemed appropriate for popper use. Hopefully today some macho fucker will come along and take my ass on a ride it will never forget. Maybe a certain hunter will realize that there’s a quality piece of ass wasting away, sitting on this futon.

I am just about to head back to the sauna when The Hunter appears around the corner near the small room. In spite of all the adjusting I’d been doing, my dick is only half hard. I do nothing to cover it up, and I know he is eyeing it as he passes by. On a hunch that he will be back, I immediately begin stroking my dick, hoping to have it up to full mast by the time he circles back. Mission accomplished, and apparently the sight of my hard prick is enough to prevent him from passing me by a second time. Just at that moment, a really old dude with white hair comes around the opposite corner. It’s not the same dude from the previous day, but very similar. This one is probably five years younger than that other one and his body is in really great shape, especially his pecs. The one thing that strikes me immediately is that he’s very short. He walks right over and plops himself down beside me on the futon. I respond by grabbing my stuff and springing upright. The Hunter gets a bit flummoxed and heads off toward the TV Room. Thinking quickly, I decide to head down the opposite hall to see if I can head him off at the pass. My tactical maneuver pays off, as I’m able to catch his eye in the opposite hallway before he heads into the locker area. He turns right around and follows me back to the small bedroom near the futon.

Once inside, we turn to each other. His hands go immediately to my dick and he begins working it back and forth. I push aside his towel and it falls to the floor. Reaching for his cock, I move in for a kiss and am met with… total inexperience. My mind racing, I try to reconfigure who it is that I have just lured into my little fuck nest. After a few more attempts at kissing, each getting a bit better, I crouched down in front of him and take his dick in my mouth. It’s on the small side, obscured by a sea of dark, untrimmed pubes. My hands grab the globes of his chunky little ass and pull him towards me. His dick is just starting to get hard when he pulls me to my feet. “I don’t… I don’t have… haven’t done this much before.” I looked at him incongruously, thinking “Dude… where have you been all these years?” I suggest that we lay down on the bed, but that’s not his cup of tea. “I’m nervous” he says. No shit. Not helping the situation? The three dudes that stick their heads in the door one by one to see if they can join us.

What is it about this place and people not respecting a closed door?

End Part II
Next Week: Part III

Saturday, November 20, 2010

I Wanna Sauna! – Part I: The Truth About Duluth

This is the first of a three part story about my recent visit to Duluth, MN.

I like Duluth, MN. A lot. I’ve been there several times now, and each time I discover something (or someone) new. This is just a weekend trip; two days to explore and experience the men of Duluth. Basically I’m helping out a friend of mine. He goes to Duluth each year for a convention where he’s a vendor. I help him unload, set-up, strike and load his stuff. While I have some time obligated, for the most part, during the day, I am on my own to do as I please.

This time, we stay at a hotel in the harbor district. I thought it would be a place that would be easy to find, easy to get to, and known to all. Unfortunately, there’s quite a bit of road work going on, so coming into the city from the south involves a lengthy delay for all. This will prove problematic during my first morning there. Arriving late on Friday, I help with unloading and the set-up, eat dinner, and then go to bed.

Up early the next day, I get on-line; using my usual venues, changing my profiles to suit my location and situation. I also place an ad on Craigslist. Along with my stats, talents and desires, I specify that I will be at the Family Sauna later that afternoon.

The Family Sauna is kind of a rarity in Minnesota. The upper floor is a legitimate sauna for males and females. It is a family-friendly place up there, so needless to say I have never ventured up those steps. It’s another kind of sauna in the basement. In this instance “Sauna” translates to “Bath House”, as in “Gay Bath House”. That said; this is not exactly an upscale bath house, like say, Steamworks in Chicago. No, this is more in line with what you might experience at Man Country in Chicago; in short? It is kind of a dump, but a dump that is not without its charms. Granted, you have to kind of blur your eyes and pretend it’s 1972, but there can be plenty to like found there.

The first few times I visited Duluth I was not aware of Family Sauna, nor did I have a laptop with wi-fi, so my early visits were rather fruitless; checking out the local public restrooms to absolutely no avail. The time previous to this, I still didn’t have a laptop, but I did do a little more research. So, on that trip I checked out not only Family Sauna, but also the adult bookstore/movie house up the hill from the sauna. The guy at the movie house wore a sneer on his face the entire time I looked at their selection of poppers and was really kind of rude when I asked to purchase tokens for the movie theatres. Besides the usual booths (minus glory holes, but featuring a large sign reminding one that two people are not allowed to share a booth), there were two actual mini-movie theatres; one gay, one straight. The tokens allow you to enter - one time only - through the doors to the theatre and then they seal electronically behind you. I went into the straight one, realized there wasn’t anyone under fifty or without a major gut and left. The gay one was empty, and I actually watched the movie for like twenty minutes before another guy entered. The guy was one of the fattest, ugliest men that I had seen in the straight theatre. I’d positioned myself in the far rear corner of the theatre. He chose to sit on the end of my row, which meant, in order to leave, I would have to go past him. The dude began playing with himself and I took that as my exit cue. Climbing over the row of seats in front of me, I made my way to the door at the back of the theater, careful to keep my eyes averted from whatever the fat man had in his hands. I never went back, and probably never will.

My first impression of Family Sauna was not that great either, but, after spending two afternoons there, I did manage to meet some nice guys (one each day). So, based on those experiences, I was looking forward to spending more time in that dank little hole, albeit with much more confidence than on my first two visits. After all, I’ve been working out for another whole year, and also, my quality standards have risen somewhat.

Having a laptop in Duluth with free wi-fi would prove to be… well, not all that helpful, really. I spend the morning on-line. On Adam4Adam, I believe there are about six people in the Duluth room, with only one that I have any interest in. Unfortunately, that individual (age 46) is only looking for boys under the age of 25, which, given that Duluth is a college town, he probably gets more than enough boys with daddy issues knocking on his door. The Craigslist ad yields only four leads, one of which is old enough to be my grandfather – which is to say, he is really, really, really old! One of the four is also on A4A and I’d already eliminated him from consideration, as he has only one headless pic of dubious quality and strikes me as someone I should do my best to avoid. But he is persistent, and apparently close by. I keep him at arms length as I pursue my one good leads: a full-bodied man ten years younger than me, with a hot goatee and an evil mind, makes it quite clear that he is a total dom top. I’m concerned that he might be a little on the flabby side, but, he titillates me with promises of subjugation and complete control and wins me over. Not only am I going to suck him hard and then take his dick up my ass until he cums, he’s then going to make me stay in bed with him while he worships my body and gets hard again, before providing me with a second load. Needless to say, he has me at hello!

We set up a time, 20 minutes from then. I gather the things I need and check my ass to make sure I’m good to go. Twenty minutes come and go and no dom top. I get a message from him via his cell phone: “Coming in from the south and traffic is backed up. Will be a bit later than promised.” Kind of disappointing. Well, I get on-line and begin looking around. I get hit on by this big guy – as in 6’6”, 280 lbs. He has a face pic, but that is it. He’s got a big round head and black, buzzed hair. His face is covered in a black, closely cropped beard, and while I am a little concerned that big in this case means fat, I was intrigued by what it might be like to have such a large dude crushing me under his full body. He claims to be a dom top, too, sporting a 7” dick. Well, since his peenie isn’t a weenie, I decide to go for it, and schedule him for an hour and a half after my other dom top is to arrive. What could go wrong, right?

Well, time marches on and not a word from Dom Top #1. The entire time I’m waiting that dude from A4A keeps hitting on me, telling me he’s only a few minutes away from my hotel. After waiting an hour for Dom Top #1 to show, I go ahead and invite the persistent dude with the headless dick pic over. Of course, the moment I do that, who do I get a text from? Dom Top #1. He’s almost there. I ask him if he would mind if someone joins us. His answer is vague, but he’s not opposed to the idea, so thinking everything might work out, I email Mr. Persistent and tell him to hold off for 30 minutes. He tells me, no problem.

Mr. Dom Top #1 shows up. He immediately takes control of the scene, ordering me to strip off what little I have on and get on my knees. I slurp on the outside of his jeans for awhile before being given permission to loosen his belt and unzip his fly. Then I soak the cup of the jock he’s wearing with my spit until he orders me to lick his balls. Mr. Dom Top #1 is a solid man, as in, big, but not an ounce of fat. It is all solid, healthy, and as firm as his dick. His pictures have not done him justice and as my hands explore while my mouth works magic on his six and a half inch cock, I am really regretting having invited someone else over. In no time, I have him stripped of his clothes and he’s ordering me to get my ass on the bed. I slip a condom on him and offer up my hole, but he wants it a different way. He has me lie on my back with my legs in the air. He wants constant eye contact and to kiss me while he fucks me. I’m hot for him and do as I’m told.

He’s fucking me for about ten minutes when there’s a knock on the door. That’s when Dom Top #1 starts getting pissy. He sighs and tells me to go answer the door. When he first got there we discussed the other dude coming and he seemed resigned to it. I open the door to my mystery date – and discover I got a dud. Dude is short, older than he claimed and kind of a pudge; one of those formless, hairless, round guys with stooped shoulders and a permanent string of drool running down the corner of his mouth. Another word for him? Goon. He pads in and Mr. Dom #1 heads immediately to the bathroom and begins cleaning up. The Goon proceeds to strip off all his clothes and is good to go. I keep trying to catch Mr. Dom #1’s eye, but no luck. Mr. Dom tells me, “I know this guy,” dresses, and exits in a huff. I’m crushed, but understand. It’ my fault.

The goon persuades me to get on the bed on all fours so he can eat my ass, which I allow him to do for about two seconds. “That’s it. I’m done.” I say, because I was – done. This doesn’t seem to faze The Goon and something tells me that this happens to him quite frequently. He exits, trying to persuade me to come over to his place later, but no dice.

I send an email to Dom Top #2 telling him I have to run and do something and apologize for my lack of planning. Truth is, the idea of another dude showing up at my hotel room isn’t working for me. I need to get out of that room and away from the memory of Dom Top #1’s hasty exit.

I look at the clock and figure it’s time to head over to the Family Sauna. I’m leaving early because there’s a little shopping I want to do on the way - I need some fresh poppers. I’d come across an ad for a head shop called The Last Place On Earth. They are currently suing the city of Duluth for passing an ordinance banning the sale of synthetic marijuana. The place is part porn/sex shop, part head shop. I bought a little pipe (because I could, not because I have anything to smoke with it) and a bottle of poppers. The staff is really friendly. The guy that sells me the poppers tells me that the good people who make Rush have gone out of business (rumor has it the owner of the company committed suicide). I pocket my stuff and head toward Family Sauna.

Walking into the lobby on the main floor one can’t help but notice the smell of stale smoke. It always reeks of cigarette smoke. There’s someone different behind the counter, a sprightly-acting, balding librarian sort who is very solicitous and a bit full-tilt giddy. I purchase a couple of bottles of water, grab my towels and key and head down into the basement. I have a full bag of “stuff” with me. Why? Because on previous trips I learned that there is nothing extra to be had at Family Sauna. No condoms, no lube. No food. There is a soda machine, and I know I will make good use of it, because I suddenly realize that I’ve not eaten since 7:00 am. I don’t like soda, much, but I really hate it when my blood sugar suddenly crashes.

Once my stuff is stored, I make my way to the bathroom – which is really just a concrete stall with a saloon style door that provides very little in the way of privacy. I have to douche. There was a time when the idea of cleaning out my ass in a public restroom with little privacy would have unnerved me, but I’ve gotten over it, so I just get down to business and do my thing. Once that’s done, I slip on a metal cock ring and decide it’s time to take in the sights. There was also a time when I would have walked around with a towel secured around my waist to hide my dick from prying eyes, but I’ve gotten over that as well. I know what everyone is here for, so why not just be upfront about it? Even if I’m not interested in fooling around with someone I figure I might as well allow them to get an eyeful and get their jollies. Not into me? Keep it to yourself.

Before I leave the locker area I look around me and count the number of locked lockers (8). That gives me an idea of the number of men trolling about. I first check out the sauna (empty). Then I proceed to the little video room (one white obese man plopped in a chair), the two bedrooms behind the video room (one empty, one occupied by some dude snoring, too dark to see) and eventually make my way to the TV room (one tall, dark-haired man, late 40’s with bushy mustache watching some true crime show). After that I make my way around the hallway where all the private rooms are. First one has one bed and is empty. The next has, for some reason, two beds, and is empty. The third, and this is the most prized room, has it’s door closed, which indicates that a little something something is taking place between those four walls. I walk along the back hall, past my favorite place to hang – a futon situated directly across from the soda machine – and turn left into a hallway where there are three more rooms (all empty). The tiny room next to the soda machine is my personal favorite.

I like the size of Family Sauna because not much can happen there without you knowing about it. If someone is there, you will eventually see them. That’s reassuring, which is why, this trip, I decide to plant myself on the futon and see who’s interested enough in what I got to cruise me. I circle back, through the TV Room and past the dark-haired mustached man. I don’t make eye contact, because, on first glance, I am not interested. As I head down the hallway, the door to the most-prized room opens and out walks what can only be described as my worse nightmare. I will call him Pony Boy. Pony Boy is not a boy. He has not been a boy for many, many years, but since he is a clueless mess (or should that be ‘meth’), he still carries himself as if he were. He was probably very attractive at one time, but years of drug use have left his once muscular, smooth body gaunt and stringy looking. His main of shoulder-length black curly hair, once his pride, is now sparse and lusterless. His ass still looks good – carried high and looking perky, but his face? His eyes are now sunken, beady black and bird-like, his cheekbones a bit too austere, and his skin… a roadmap of where not to travel.

He breezes past me, no eye contact. No doubt he’s on his way to clean out his ass. I walk past the open door and spy, lying on the bed, a reclining male body, his scrawny legs and arms resting on all sides of his protruding, round, distended belly. I don’t need to see his face to know his story; one of, what not to become. I do my best not to judge, but some observations cannot be trifled away. Sitting on one end of the futon, I try not to allow my own hopes and prospects to be dimmed by the reality of what I’ve just seen.

It isn’t long before Mr. Mustache makes his way past me. Hot on his heels is a short, white haired man with a strong jaw and a fairly nice hairless body, especially in light of his age. They both have their towels wrapped around their waists, but not me! I make eye contact with Mr. Mustache and give him a slight smile. He moves on. When the older man pauses before me and smiles at me with raised eyebrows, I look away and place my towel over my dick. Only then does he move on. I’m in no hurry, I tell myself. I have hours before I have to be anywhere and certainly better things will come along. I call to mind a beautiful Italian man that was arriving just as I was leaving the last time I visited Family Sauna. Quality men do come here.

One just needs to be patient.

End Part I

Next Week: Part II

Saturday, November 13, 2010

San Francisco Treats: Ordering Room Service in the City by the Bay

Shaking off the veil of grief that enveloped my last days of summer, I began looking forward to the change promised with the beginning of autumn. I dread winter, but also know that the comfort of coffee houses with free wi-fi will see me through the worst of it. In the meantime, I am making the most of the warmer, sun-drenched days of early fall, hiking along familiar trails and seeking out adventure where and when I can.

I began to travel a good deal; three separate weekends with three different destinations, each trip coming fully equipped with both obligations and potential pleasures. I was in the midst of planning these trips when sorrow came uninvited and having committed myself, viewed them in a new light; as a possible means for casting out the visions and shadows that haunt me.

First up: San Francisco

San Francisco is a dirty, filthy place, steeped in grime and debris, be it The Warf, Union Square, Chinatown or wherever else you might visit. Spit, jizz, and heaven knows what else covered the sidewalks everywhere. I was amazed that this was such a tourist trap, for other than cruising for a hot fuck in the Castro District – it held little in the way of visual enticement. There were a few good restaurants that I was lucky enough to stumble upon, but my distaste for culinary mediocrity was continually called into play. One in particular, an Italian eatery cozily adjacent to a rather famous night club of the classic variety failed to impress. Its food was as bland as it was over-priced. The calamari dish was particularly disappointing, encrusted in a tasteless, impenetrable shell; it was like eating starched parchment. The best food? A dicey little sushi/sashimi place a half block from my hotel. What it lacked in atmosphere it made up for with in-your-face flavor. I also quite enjoyed the East Indian fusion cuisine offered at the restaurant on the main floor of my hotel.

I liked my hotel, a little boutique place which caters to Europeans. My room was everything it needed to be and the windows (which actually opened) looked out onto a corner populated by tranny-hookers in the wee hours of the morning. It was like having a free, late-night floor show right outside your bedroom window. Not that the street walkers were the only entertaining thing to be found in my room, but more on that in a bit.

When I wasn’t busy playing tourist, dismayed by the detritus of human and real debris, or being mildly disappointed by the local food scene, I was burning up the free wi-fi offered by my hotel. Cruising all my usual internet hot spots, albeit with a change of venue, I managed to snag the attention of quite a number of men interested in getting naked with yours truly. In three short nights I managed to play with five very decent dudes (and one not so decent).

The first to visit my room was a tall, thin black man in his early thirties. He wore black-rimmed glasses and looked a bit bookish. He was a no-nonsense sort, not big on small talk. He was there to only to nut. When he first arrived, he was totally ill-at-ease, adjusting the lighting, the shades on the windows, and the pillows on the bed. As he moved silently through these machinations, I sat on the edge of the bed wondering at what point he was going to bolt from the room. Finally, after inspecting the bathroom, he sat in the easy-chair next to the windows. I sidled up, and sitting in front of him, on the floor between his legs, reached up and began caressing the crotch of his trousers. In no time, I unearthed and brought to life a healthy, throbbing, nine-inch wonder. I had no poppers with me, due to my fear that they would be confiscated by security at the airport, and he had neglected to bring any, so I was quite surprised and pleased when I managed to expertly deep throat his monster cock with an ease that impressed us both.

After 20 minutes of playing digital tonsil hockey, during which my dark prince uttered only the occasional, deeply-felt guttural sound of appreciation, he ordered me onto the bed. Stripping off his remaining clothing, he propped both pillows against the head board and proceeded to lay back with his legs spread eagle. I pretty much knew that kissing was off the table with this one, so I didn’t even attempt anything bordering on romantic. Instead I wound my way between his legs and quickly resumed deep-throating his rock hard dick. Wanting to tempt him with what his future might hold, I got on all fours with my ass in the air. With my throat still wrapped around his dick, I reached back and began to play with my hole, testing it for readiness and hoping that he’d take the hint. He did. Pulling me up, I straddled his crotch, and without so much as a whiff of poppers, and just a little bit of lube, slid down the length of his cock like a high-paid hooker working a stripper’s pole. I think we both gasped. The friction of his massive prick filling and rubbing up against my insides had me moaning and steel hard.

We fucked for only about ten minutes, but it was certainly quality time. Once we’d both shot our loads he was quick to make a break for the bathroom to clean up. He surprised me by asking a few questions about myself, but, by that point, it all felt perfunctory. It was late (too late) and I was tired, so I didn’t encourage conversation. All told, it was exactly what I wanted before turning in and I slept very well that night.

The next day, after seeing a few sights – including a really beautiful cathedral – I decided to try my luck and see if I could snag a little afternoon delight. It came in the form of Nathan, a short, furry, bald, goateed, strawberry blonde with a 7 inch dick. There was something incredibly appealing about him. His body was tight and covered in fur. He’d advertised himself as a dominate top, which turned out to be something of a misnomer. In reality, he confessed, he was an energetic cuddler who loved to kiss, rim and suck dick. We got on really well, with both of us commenting on how nicely we were hitting it off. We talked as much as we made out. I kept waiting for him to make a move for my hole, but, other than eating my ass big time, he seemed hesitant to dive in. He told me about his job and then asked me if I smoked 420. He told me had some and would love to share it. I was game. He didn’t have it with him, but only lived a few blocks away. That’s when I noticed the clock.

Unfortunately, Nathan had shown up about 30 minutes after his scheduled time, prompting me to continue to play on-line and book another trick. I had to interrupt our play, claiming that I had made plans to meet friends for a drink. He was really cool about it, gave me his phone number and told me to call him once I got back from dinner, so he could come over, smoke some weed and play more. I told him I would do my best to be back by 8:00 pm.

The trick scheduled stood me up (karma?), so I did end up meeting my friends for drinks and dinner. Good to my word, I was back at 8:00 and called Nathan. He told me a friend had stopped over, they’d just smoked some, and were fooling around, so he was all set for the night (karma? again?). Feeling a tad let down, I immediately got on-line to see what I could find.

An hour or so later I got hit on by this guy named Mike. Mike’s probably at least five years older than me, very tan, and handsome. When I finally met him face to face he reminded me of a fifty-year old Ken doll. He had a beautiful smile… and a partner! They both wanted to use my ass and invited me over to their place for a little 420.

On-line, Mike was charming and personable and while I was reticent to leave my hotel, I decided to venture out into the night. Before I agreed to come, I mapquested their address and realized that they were only about a dozen blocks away from me. I am not much of a night owl, but it was before 10 pm, so I decided to go for it.

I had the hotel ring me a cab – a cab that never arrived. Instead, I poached someone else’s cab as it dropped guests off at the curb. As the cabbie navigated his way to the address I’d provided I tried to orientate the mapquest route that was imprinted in my brain with the street signs we passed. It’s not a very long cab drive and once I arrived, I was pretty sure I’d managed to keep my bearings. As I approached the panel where I was to buzz their condo I got a sinking feeling. What if I was being set up? What if they planned to rob me? What if someone was just playing a practical joke?

Fortunately, Mike answered after the first ring. I walked up and met him on his floor. All he was wearing was a pair of tight fitting, sky blue, square-legged swim trunks: just like a Ken doll! His hair was as perfect as his tan. It was only the crinkle of the skin in the corners of his eyes that gave away his age. A great conversationalist, he was super personable and a real salesman. Entering their condo, I removed my boots and then met Mike’s partner. His partner was probably a few years younger than me. He was bald, tall, furry, and muscular. It was his barrel chest that caught most of my attention. On-line, Mike had sent me a link to his partner’s profile. It described him as a dominate, take-charge top. Now that I’d met him in person? My ass was just tingling.

We sat down in their large, over-sized living room on their large over-sized furniture. The conversation flowed pretty well. I told them what I’d seen in town, they told me what I yet needed to see. I asked why everybody seemed to have 420 and it turned out that in San Francisco all you needed to do was tell your doctor that you’re having trouble sleeping and they’d write you a prescription! With that, Mike and I crept out onto their balcony for a few hits. I am such an amateur smoker that I was hacking and coughing after one small toke, and told Mike that was enough for me. We headed back into the living room for more conversation. Mike’s partner was having a drink, and I asked for a glass of water. We talked for what seemed like forever, my head muddled just enough from the 420 that I began to lose track of what we’re discussing. In the back of my mind, I kept wondering when the action would start. I also tried to gage just how excited Mike’s partner was about my presence. Was he into me? He was very nice, but his affect seemed very laidback and I was beginning to wonder if he was going to ask me to leave. Instead, he surprised me by saying, “Seems to me we’re all supposed to be fucking, so what do you say we get naked?” Mike, who had been sitting to my left on the couch, leaned over and planted a deep, wet kiss on my mouth as his hands roamed over the front of my jeans. Standing, I shucked off my t-shirt and dropped my jeans. Mike moved to his knees, taking my dick in his mouth. His partner, who had been sitting in an over-sized chair on the other side of their over-sized coffee table, materialized behind me, his crotch nesting in the crack of my ass. I turned my head and my lips found his, warm and receptive. The partner turned me around and guided my mouth down onto his dick. This left my ass exposed and Mike didn’t hesitate a moment. He was up inside me in an instant. Fortunately I came pre-lubed, and with the 420 working its way into my system, I was relaxed enough to take it without recoiling in pain.

This went on for awhile, until one of them suggested we move to the bedroom. My pants were still around my ankles, so I stopped to remove them and my socks before following Mike into the bedroom. Once inside, it was full tilt boogie time. They both fucked me, repeatedly and I fucked Mike twice before losing my load deep inside him. The partner fucked Mike a few times, too, but decided it was my ass he wanted to breed. Mike came twice before the night was over; once in me and once on my face. They took breaks throughout all this, running off to the bathroom. They also paused occasionally to adjust the airflow from an open window. At least that’s what I was hoping they were doing. The paranoid part of me was terrified that they were filming this, or that they had a live webcam going, or that someone in an adjacent building was watching us through the window. Ah, that would be the 420 talking.

The only other odd thing at play was the sexual banter going on between the two of them. Mike’s voice got a little higher immediately after doing poppers and he kept calling his partner by a certain term of endearment that under normal circumstances would have probably escaped my notice. However, there’s something in the pitch of Mike’s voice and his rate of delivery that caused my paranoia to kick into overdrive. It reminded me of something you would hear in the movie “People Under the Stairs”. Thankfully, there were only two brief episodes of this type of banter between them and in the end I just wrote it off as something they get off on. They do… I did not.

In any event, we ended up as one sweaty, cum-stained, seething heap of man flesh. Everyone was totally satiated and coming down from their popper/420/orgasm highs. We made our way to the bathroom where we all showered and made small talk. I got dressed and left, thanking my hosts profusely. I had a wonderful time.

Once on the street, I got my bearings and attempted to retrace the route the cab took. I succeed up to a point. Then? I was lost. Maybe. I kept calming my inner-self down, aware of the late hour and the fact that there were tons of dark corners yet to pass. I changed routes several times, certain that I had lost my bearings. In the end, I ended up going out of my way four blocks south and two east of my hotel.

Let me tell you about the streets of San Francisco! At two in the morning? It’s like a zombie video game. Hookers appeared out of alleyways and floated toward me. On every street corner there was some hooded, cloaked figure whispering, “’sup, dude?” Everyone looked like they were on heroin or crack. It was a world of shadows. I was never so grateful to be back in my hotel. That’s the night I first noticed the tranny hookers outside my hotel window. I watched them in action until I drifted off to sleep.

Based on my experience the previous night, I vowed to be a good boy the next day. That lasted until after dinner. About 10:30 pm, I was back on-line and in short order started a conversation with a very to-the-point black man 12 years my junior. His picture seemed nice, I liked his stats, and I wasn’t getting a weird vibe from him, but then his conversation was so terse I had no idea what to expect once he showed up on my doorstep. They locked the hotel doors at midnight, so I had to go down to the lobby to let him in. Standing out on the front steps was a very pleasant looking black man. There was a softness to his face that I had not expected and his smile totally won me over.

We ended up having a very easy evening together. He’s an excellent kisser and extremely passionate. I was unable to place his accent; vaguely British, colonial. Our conversation flowed as easily as our bodies did into one another’s. No poppers needed this evening. His cock felt like liquid as I slid up and down it; my hole receptive and relaxed. There was no anger in this fuck, but rather something sweet and kind. When, at last, we both came, we melted into one another like deserving schoolboys. This one lingered and as he dressed to go there was a part of me that wished he would stay longer.

I spent the next day on Alcatraz; then drinks, then dinner. It was my last night in town, but I was too tired to haul my ass over to the Castro, and, quite frankly, given my experience walking home the other night, was a little leery of leaving my hotel room. I got on-line and was hit on almost immediately by a short Puerto Rican, who was eager and at least ten years younger than me. His profile featured a pic of his dick, and at 8.5” it held a lot of promise.

He arrived after midnight, so I had to go down and let him in. Right away I realized I’d probably made a mistake. His body reeked of cigarette smoke and his breath, of beer. As we rode up in elevator I noticed, in the harsh light, the bags under his eyes and while I felt a bit sorry for him, I also began thinking of ways of getting out of this situation. Once on my floor, should I just get out of the elevator, push him back, and say, “No.”? No, I couldn’t do that. Wordlessly he followed me to my room.

Once there, we undressed and he sat on the end of my bed. His dick was already hard and while it looked inviting, it was the only part of him that held any appeal for me. So I concentrated on it. Ten minutes later, he slid his back up against the headboard and beckoned me on board. Grabbing the poppers that he had, thankfully, brought, and some lube, I worked my hole down the length of his pole until I was seated firmly on his pelvis. I decided to get this dude off as fast as possible before the stench of his nicotine soaked body penetrated my pillows. Shifting my legs, I moved my feet so that they were flat on either side of his body. Then I began to pile-drive my ass up and down his cock squeezing my sphincter for all it was worth. It paid off. In a matter of minutes the dude shot his load and came gallons. After that, I was civil, but made no effort to engage him further or give him reason to believe that his presence was required any longer. He cleaned up and dressed. He seemed sweet enough, in a sad way, and while there was a part of me that wanted to rescue him, there was also that part of me that wanted to go to bed as soon as possible.

It was not a great ending to my otherwise excellent adventure, but hey, five out of six? Not bad. My memories of San Francisco are a bit tainted, but then, considering the condition of the city, what else could I have expected? I’m glad I went, but not sure if I will ever return. The entire time I was there everyone kept commenting on how they could not believe I’d come there that weekend when the next weekend was Castro Days (or something like that), when gay people run naked and leather clad through the streets.

Now that? That might well be worth returning for.

Next Up: My Weekend in Duluth, MN

Saturday, November 06, 2010

Married Men, Part II: Push, Push, In the Bush

Two days after my romp with the Josh Hopkins look-alike, I return to the same parking lot. This time my ass is clean as whistle and I am ready to roll. The air is a bit cooler than on my last visit, but that doesn’t keep me from hoping my prince will cum. I’m changing clothes in the front seat of my car – out of dress shirt and tie and into jogging pants, a t-shirt and this time, a nice Eddie Bauer thermal, long-sleeve shirt. It’s too cold to show off the guns, today. Still, I skip the underwear. Easy access makes for quick turnaround.

My heart sinks when my eyes light upon a familiar figure. I call him The Beave – because, not only does he remind me a bit of Jerry Mathers (taller, though), he also reminds of an actual beaver (he doesn’t have buck teeth, it has more to do with his posture). I fooled around with him once about two years ago. He couldn’t get it up and then when I let him suck me off, his technique was so bad, I finally, out of frustration, whipped my dick out of his mouth, jerked myself off (shooting all over his glasses and face) and then stormed off. Since then, he has taken the hint that I am not interested, but that has not stopped him from setting up camp at one of my favorite parking lots. And by setting up camp, I mean, once he arrives, he will not leave. If you or anyone else gets out of their vehicle to take a stroll he will shadow you and eventually hit on you. Rebuffing him is easy, but it’s also just sad. His whole affect is that of a puppy that is used to being beaten. What I don’t understand is why he is so determined to do something at which he is so obviously incompetent? It’s maddening, really.

So I temper my excitement and resolve to remain in my vehicle for the duration. Several men drive in, park and go for a walk. Because they’re not of interest to me, I stay put, but not The Beave. He pursues each one of them, to the point where the guys give up, return to their vehicles and take off. I watch as this same scenario is acted out three different times.

Suddenly a mini-van pulls in right next to me and comes to a lurching stop. The driver seems to be in a hurry, so I am assuming that he’s pulling over in order to answer his cell phone, get directions, or something. He’s in his early thirties, with a slight, fawn-colored beard and a nice face (from what I can see). I keep watching him just in case he glances my way. He doesn’t. There’s a deep scowl on his face, so I’m pretty sure he’s not here for fun. He glances to his right, the side of the parking lot the Beave is stationed at, turns back to look at his steering wheel, barks something harsh, but inaudible, and then puts his vehicle in reverse, making a fast, dramatic exit. I laugh. I totally understand people’s frustrations behind the wheel. I can only imagine what others have witnessed of me during one of my “I’m lost and I hate you God” episodes. Not a pretty sight, I’m sure. And while part of me is thinking his hasty exit might be in response to the presence of The Beave, I’m pretty sure it was simply a case of a guy having a bad day.

A few more dudes, all of them regulars, pull into the parking lot and then pull out just as quickly. I don’t know if it’s the sight of The Beave’s vehicle or mine that causes them to flee. I’m just starting to lose all hope that The Beave will never leave and that I will have to make a hasty retreat to another parking lot when in plows Mr. Mini-Van. His vehicle is still in full, forward lurch, when he gets out and slams the door. Without so much as a look in my direction, he makes his way up the hill and down one of the most popular cruising trails. As he passes my car, I take note of his hooded sweatshirt, which has a rather odd name inscribed on the back. I won’t share with you what it said because it’s much too distinctive, but it gave me the impression that either his wife hates him or he’s been doing a bit of children’s theatre.

In any event, I like what I see and decide that it’s now or never. I gather up my stuff; lube, condoms, poppers, cock ring, bottle of water, etc. and am just about to follow when, much to my disappointment, I look up to see The Beave walking in front of my car, off in pursuit of Mr. Mini-Van. I freeze. I don’t want to compete with The Beave or be anywhere in his vicinity if I can help it. Railing against the injustice of it all, I sit in my car and stew for about ten minutes. Part of me is waiting to see if Mr. Mini-Van, after dodging The Beave for awhile, will return to his vehicle. But that’s not the case. I then begin to assume that Mr. Mini-Van is letting The Beave have a go at his dick. The very perverse part of me decides that this is something I have to see with my own eyes and the other part of me, the pragmatic side, hopes that the sight of me might entice Mr. Mini-Van away from The Beave. I hate to poach another dude’s trick, but I will not tolerate ineptness – not when there’s another, more qualified cocksucker readily at hand.

Aware that a significant amount of time (in terms of outdoor trysts) has passed, I make a mad dash to the back part of the woods where the two of them are most likely coupling. As I approach, I see Mr. Mini Van making haste, fleeing from The Beave who stands, shoulders drooping, blending into the background. I come to an abrupt halt just to see if, as Mr. Mini-Van passes me, he will finally take note of me. Oddly enough, Mr. Mini-Van comes to a halt at the exact same time I do. I’m not wearing my glasses and he is just far enough away that, in the fading light of late afternoon, I’m unable to read his face. He turns about and storms down a different path, away from The Beave and myself. Thinking, maybe Mr. Mini-Van isn’t here for fun and games, but just to burn off some steam, I slowly walk forward, toward the mouth of the path that Mr. Mini-Van just disappeared down. Once again, I come to a sudden halt, for there, just a few feet down that path is Mr. Mini-Van. He’s standing in profile, not looking at me. His hands are in the pockets of his chinos and he is looking down at the ground. Not sure if I should approach or keep walking, I stand very still and wait to see what happens next.

The Beave can see me, but not Mr. Mini-Van, and I could care less, as all of my attention is centered on Mr. Mini-Van. Mr. Mini-Van has dark-blonde hair and a nicely trimmed full beard which actually serves to highlight his best feature, his chin. He’s either in his late twenties or early thirties; it’s hard to tell due to the beard. I think he’s quite good looking, and his body, though covered in bulky clothing, seems height/weight proportionate. I watch intently as he turns his back to me. Immediately, I recognize the motions of someone playing with the fly of their pants and I begin my approach. As I near, he’s turning to face me. My hand reaches out for and finds exactly what it expects; a dick offset with a nice set of balls. I give them a squeeze and then try to establish eye contact. He reaches out and grabs my crotch. With that, I’m now not sure which way this is going to go: is he looking to give or get head? We stand there rolling the other person’s privates in our hands for a bit, before, over my shoulder, at the mouth of the path, we both catch sight of The Beave.

“Let’s move back a little further,” Mr. Mini-Van suggests and I follow.

Once we move, The Beave takes the hint and heads back to the parking lot. Mr. Mini-Van finds a nice little niche near the back of the woods and turns to face me again, his dick shooting out of the open fly of his chinos. As I approach, I decide to put an end to any and all questions regarding who will be blowing whom. Shucking my jogging pants down to my ankles, I crouch before him and take his dick in my mouth. It isn’t quite hard, though in a matter of moments it comes to life, filling out to a nice 7.5 inches. It’s not thick, but it’s not thin either. In many ways it is a picture perfect cock.

Deepthroating him is no problem and he seems to like what I’m doing. I’m itching to grab my poppers and take a hit, but decide to concentrate on giving first class head instead. With his hands on either side of my head, he’s guiding his dick in and out of my mouth while I make it nice and sloppy. At this juncture I don’t have any other expectations except to make him cum. To my surprise, he reaches over my back and furtively, tentatively touches the pucker of my ass with his index finger. Since I’m ready to roll, I stick my ass out slightly and give a moan of appreciation. If he wants to go there? I’m game. With his dick crammed down my throat, he swiftly wets his finger in his mouth and retests the readiness of my hole. Since I have his dick held in my mouth, down to the root, I don’t need my hands, so I use them to spread the cheeks of my ass. As his slick finger comes in contact with my slightly pre-lubed hole, I let out an earthy moan to let him know that he is right on target. Pressing past the point of initial resistance, he opens up my ass and really begins to make me yearn for something bigger and deeper.

Some small prayers get answered in record time.

Still not believing my luck, Mr. Mini-Van pulls me to my feet and moves around behind me. He crouches down, spreads my cheeks with his hands and tongue-dives my ass big time. I bend over, not only to allow him full access, but to pull out the poppers, lube and condoms in my pockets. I take a deep hit of poppers and begin to quietly, verbally encourage Mr. Mini-Van. His tongue is awakening all sorts of nerve endings back there and it is clear that this man knows what he’s doing. In no time, I’m good to go and really feeling the need for some hardcore penetration. I guess great minds think alike, because, once back on his feet, Mr. Mini-Van is all set to slam into me. I ask him, nicely, to take it slow and am taking another hit of poppers as he enters. Based on the manner of his initial thrust, one has to question whether or not he’s acquainted with the whole concept of “taking it slow”. It hurts like a motherfucker and there’s a part of me wondering if the dude did it on purpose. The pain has me huffing on my little brown bottle like it’s filled with oxygen and I’m a drowning man. Still, something clicks, because by his second thrust my ass has warmed to the feel of his form. In no time he’s flowing in and out of my hole like liquid sunshine and I am in heaven. His hands grab me by my hips and he uses that leverage to pull me back and forth on his dick. Soon, I pick up the rhythm and begin taking over the driver’s seat, bouncing my ass and fucking back onto his fuck stick.

With a sudden halt, he pulls out of me and steps back. I’m thinking… oops. Big mess? But, no, he simply wants to undo his pants and pull up his shirt. It’s then that I notice, or realize – oops – no condom. Mr. Mini-Van is taking my ass raw. In no time we pick up right where we left off. I’m taking yet another hit of poppers and talking up a storm (for some reason), telling him how great it feels. I wish could stand behind him in order to watch his ass cheeks flex while pumping my hole. I bet it looks hot. His arms are now forward and completely outstretched, his hands gripping my shoulders. That’s when the slamming gets real ugly. Mr. Mini-Van is taking all his anger out on my butt. Who knew fucking could be so therapeutic?

There’s something about going raw in the great outdoors that seems so natural. The entire time I’m begging him to breed my hole. To seed me, fill me, use me. Not that Mr. Mini-Van needs any encouragement. He has his own agenda firmly in mind (and stuck up my ass), and since he does, I decide it’s time to work on a project of my own. I slick up the palm of my right hand with saliva and start working my dick. It’s already semi-hard, despite the poppers, and between the sensation of my spit-soaked hand and the pounding my ass is taking, I’m rock hard in no time. One of the reasons I like this cock ring so much is that it puts my balls under tremendous pressure, a pressure that increases with each body slam from behind – and there is nothing I like better than having a dude fuck the cum right out of me. Mr. Mini-Van lets out a small noise, which my ears pick up on right away. He keeps pounding away for another couple of minutes before pulling off of me again. Pretty sure that he’s shot his load; I work out my own load and send it spilling onto the leaf-covered ground.

I check in with him right away and sure enough, he tells me he came. The second he pulls out, I whip around, crouch down and take his dick into my mouth. It’s clean as a whistle and I suck out whatever cum remains from the head of his dick.

As I stand, I start laughing, still giddy from the poppers and having just shot my own load. I’m a little amazed that a married dude would be so careless as to bareback a total stranger, but, hey… who am I to judge. He’s all smiles as he zips up and takes off; pausing just long enough to tell me that he hopes to see me again. With that, he walks off into the haze of the darkening woods.

“Anytime,” I say.


He disappears from sight and I immediately crouch down and push his load out of my hole. I grow giddy all over again at the sight of his load; it’s so fucking huge; we’re talking major baby batter. Grabbing the bottle of water I brought with me, I place it over my recently fucked hole and, squeeze the bottle from the bottom, causing the water to shoot up inside me. Then, I push the water out in order to flush out my ass. Hey, I do my best to run a clean house.

As I move down the path, back to my car, I am more than a little titillated that a married dude just pounded the fuck out of my ass and majorily spermed my hole. The guilt that I know will come later has yet to dim the exhilaration I’m feeling, and for the moment, I allow myself, unburdened by the facts of this situation, to bask in the afterglow.

Ah, married men… there’s nothing more tantalizing than tasting the forbidden.