5/2/09

Saturday.  Nice day.  On my own.  And horny as a bear.  I'd been thinking of blowing off work the coming Monday and heading out to the burbs, and the wide open spaces of their forest parks.  Wide open spaces full of horny closety suburbanites inspired to get away from subdivision civilization to enjoy the freedom of the woods.  And if that means they feel freedom to open their trousers and show off their cocks?  Sure, I'm good with that.

Saturday proved such a nice day, I couldn't stop myself - even though I was undermining my Monday plans.  Weekdays are great at the forest parks, with a first wave of horny working men who show to fool around before work.  Go early, and you'll be rewarded with married guys who tell their wives "I'm going in early," when in fact they're in the park, looking for cock one way or another.  The best just want blow jobs, of course.  But Saturdays don't get that kind of trade.

Nonetheless, I was in the burbs, at my favorite spot, by 11:00 am.  And SHIT!  The road that goes deep into the forest, away from the recreational facilities and into the cruising grounds, was still closed off from winter.  In  freakin' May?  I'd noted online that there were more than the usual number of reports of park patrols.  Seeing the back shut off made me think: they want to stop the likes of me.  And there's a conclave of Pontiac GTO owners filling one of the parking areas.  Damn.  I'm not staying.  Except that first I gotta go pee.  

Coming out of the woods after taking a leak on a tree (which is such a very pleasant way to pee), there's a black Mercedes pulled up next to my car.  The owner - maybe 50, Polish (if the red and white flag on the side window means anything) gives me a nod and a wave, and says something conversational.  He's staring intently at my crotch, and that's giving me a little kick, so I'm starting to show.  We banter leeringly at one another and he winds up reaching into my pants from the driver's seat.  I'm wearing low-rise jeans, and quickly maneuver my cockhead above the waistband.  "Kiss it," I tell him.  He gives my knob a nice quick polish with his lips and pulls off.  That's it.  I think he felt off about the situation, too.  I dropped the remark that I'd heard there were lots of cops around here these days.  He quickly agreed.  I waved, got in the car, and drove off.

There was only one thing to do: to the big bookstore.  I was pissed that the woods were out of consideration.  Especially on this beautiful spring day.  The bookstore would have to do.  But I wasn't terribly psyched.  I was, however, sufficiently horny.

There wasn't much going on when I got there.  After a few minutes of milling around in wanders a heavyset middle-aged guy.  Greek, if I had to guess, wearing a mustache.  With a big gold cross on a substantial chain around his neck and a big gold band on his ring finger.  Married.  He wandered briefly around the place, and took a regular booth - no buddy window system.  But he left the door open.  I had followed him there and stood, as nonchalantly as possible, peering in the couple inches he left open.  Not looking up at me, and watching some straight porn, he fished out his cock.  His big, fat cock.  Top 10% in thickness, cut.  Hairy.  

He looks up, I nod and step into the booth.  I lean directly down and stroke his fat cock.  This short but really fat meat would be a really  magnificent weapon, if only this guy would lose 40 lbs.  (Not that he's unattractive - actually a good shape for his build.  But still heavy.)  He rubs my cock through my pants immediately, and I fish out my piece for him to play with.  He strokes me mechanically.  I push toward his face, but he resists.  Dude doesn't suck.  But yes, on inquiry, he wants a blow.

I go down on him.  He's stretching my jaw, but not gagging me.  This is actually a great combination - short and fat - take my word.   His thick dark bush smells richly of man.  Not freshly washed, but a  long, long way from rank.  This smell would stay with me.  He doesn't last too long.   He unloads in my mouth.  Not a huge wad, but thick and strong tasting, in a good way.  Quality jizz.  This was a way better blo than I thought it would be.  Call me a satisfied customer.  He pulls his jeans up without looking at me.  I slip out and wander off.  I note he drives away in a Toyota Highlander.

More downtime.  There's a strangely beautiful guy in a black leather biker jacket hanging around.  Late 30s, maybe, pale complexion.  Dark hair, crewcut.  6'1" or so, slim-to-average build.  Big sorta sad eyes, and sweet cocksucker lips I can sum up in a phrase: Black Irish John Travolta, who doesn't think of himself as beautiful.  I hope that summons a picture for the reader.  

He's leaning up against the corner of a booth at the end of long line of them.  I'm seized by a strong urge to pat his ass.  So I step around behind him with my back to the wall and stand close enough so he can't help but feel my warmth.  He remains nearly frozen, not acknowledging my presence or moving out of the way, so I reach for his butt and gently stroke just one side.  He doesn't flinch.  I'm almost entirely behind him, out of view of the rest of the place, but he's exposed.  I continue, working both sides, and probing deeper in between.  This goes on, even as someone is walking toward us.  We're finally interrupted by others who come at us from the side.  After a couple more bouts of this, he wanders off down the long row of booths.

I follow slowly, at a good distance.  He walks the length of the long hallway and steps into the farthest booth.  I follow and he's looking out of the booth, his gaze directed downward.  Nicely submissive.  I lock us in, and grab hold of his ass, and look him in the eyes I tell him to pull down his pants.  He obeys quickly, as I nuzzle his neck.  "You desperately want me to dry hump you, don't you."  He turns obediently and without a word.  I unzip and rub my cock against his gently hairy ass.  He rides along with me, clearly enjoying being mounted - even if it's only a half-measure, simulated sex.  I'm reaching around him to want his fat, average length cock.  I give his ass a couple good smacks on the flank and ask if he wants me to beat him with his belt.  He moans something that sounds affirmative.  I push him gently to his feet, and he goes willingly and is on my cock immediately.  He can deep throat, and he's good.  He's gentle and smooth, using his hand to follow up where his mouth has been.  A very talented cocksucker, so good in fact that I'm starting to think I could pop him a load if this continued.  I pull him off and bid to him to stand again.  He turns for me to continue humping his ass, but I want to get my tongue in his mouth.  I want to taste those great cocksucker lips.  But he resists me: "I don't kiss" as he holds me back.

What?!  A guy who can suck cock with the best of them, deep throat suck cock with the best of them, but he won't kiss?  Man, I tell you, you get some funny variations on closety in the burbs.  

I hump his ass a few minutes more, push him down for a little more head and then tell him I'm not wanting to cum yet.  As I button up I tell him I might enjoy really taking a belt to his ass sometime.  He just looks down and grunts.  I raise his face by the chin: "you'd like that, wouldn't you?"  He briefly looks me in the eye, then away again, and assents.  Yeah, he'd like something rough.  I leave wondering if he ever gets it.  I really might enjoy giving it to him if I ever see him again, but I sort of doubt he'd let himself do it.

Kill some more time.  OK, 55 and married.  Slacks, a pressed shirt and shiny loafers.  A bit heavy.  Nothing inspiring about him, nothing bad either.  In the booth, him seated, he's fascinated with stroking my cock.  His own cock, which he struggles to pull out with one hand while the other is occupied stroking mine, isn't anything special.  Average in every way.  Once again, I push toward his mouth, but he's not sucking today.  I solicit a blow, he consents, and I go down on my knees.  He doesn't last terribly long, and unloads a small tasteless load from his small, flavorless cock.  Not much to write home about here. 

Black Irish has gone, but now there's a very small framed well groomed nice looking guy - nice looking in a professional sort of way; he's the helpful young fellow at the bank branch - wandering around.  Too cute to be straight.  I sidle up and stroke his left ass cheek gently.  I'm having one of my small guy rape fantasies.  But we're soon interrupted.  After some going around, he invites me to join him in a booth.  Like Black Irish, he enjoys have his ass handled, but heartily resists a kiss.  I'm thinking I might get some good head out of him.  But no, all he'll do is lick along the shaft after lots of urging on my part.  He just wants to bedry- humped.  So I give him some more of that, then excuse myself.

That's enough for now.  I'm going to remain sexually frustrated for now.  Regular readers might have noticed I like that from time to time.