Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Undated - Fall 2009

Ah, the lost month and some . . . when I wasn't blogging actively, and wasn't keeping track of my exploits (and also suffered a nasty cold, some nasty work demands, and a hundred other excuses - really, readers, I was just burned out.). I've reconstructed from emails some of my activities. But there were some that did not involve emails, so I can't give you exact dates. And I don't have pictures, which I always try to get. Apologies.

The rediscovery of two bookstores, sometime this fall, date unknown: there are two XXX bookstores out by our local airport that I hadn't been to in several years. At one time, both had abundant gloryholes, and a thriving suburban customer base. Both have gone downhill significantly in recent years. One had suffered lots of police harassment in its tiny highly corrupt suburb. The other had suffered greedy, controlling owners. At least five years had passed since I'd darkened the door of either place.

Being out that way one day - and with some time to kill - I got inspired to check them out again.

I hit the first place, once a ten gloryhole joint, but in recent years reduced to one or two that would get covered over or not, one never knew when. And reports of lots of police presence. I went into the booth area and was greeted by two very friendly Mexican guys - the place is in a heavily Mexican area. Too friendly. Like I think they're probably hustlers. Unlikely looking hustlers, too - one was a short, well-built 40ish guy wearing a huge cowboy hat and cowboy boots and full cowboy regalia, the other maybe 30, big, and dressing all hip hop. But I avoided them. I'm not one to play the blowjob-for-a-price game, even in ranchero or cholo guise. I reflected their presence might explain police interference in recent years.

I was pretty much ready to leave after a short while, as there was no promising traffic. But as this thought formed in my mind, in walked a guy, probably 55, kinda middle managerial looking and wearing a wedding ring. Glasses, hair slicked back. A little better looking than the average guy, but not too much. Very Eastern European looks. Without really looking at anyone - very straight ahead gaze - he went directly into a booth and mostly closed the booth door. I hustled right over to seize the advantage. The door stood open enough that I could see him standing, staring intently at the screen, not looking back. After a few moments, I pushed the door open a little further. He did not react. So I stepped inside. He looks up, catches my eye and nods. I mince no words: "You looking for a blo?" "Yeah." The deal is sealed.

I sink directly to my knees as he hauls out . . . a huge, beautiful uncut cock. I mean fat, and long. Probably a true 7, and thick. Thick enough it didn't look all that long. Nice untrimmed bush. He takes the seat, and I commence a good 10 minute blo. I'm so loving this dick. And the guy's good, encouraging me with murmurs of enjoyment, guiding my head to maximize his pleasure; and he's considerate of my gag reflex. He builds up audibly to his orgasm, and floods my mouth with a huge, seriously flavorful load. This whole thing could not have been better.

Evidently he liked it too. He inquired whether I lived anywhere nearby, and specified that "the wife" doesn't put out. Sadly, I live too far away from him to be convenient, but when I told him I'd meet him here at the bookstore anytime (I'd drive 20 minutes for that cock any time of day or night) he brightened up and solicited my phone number. I didn't blink before giving it. He entered it into his cell phone's contacts along with my name.

And then I never heard from him again. Damn.

A couple weeks later, encouraged by my return visit to bookstore one, I tried bookstore two. These two XXXs are located a couple miles apart on a seedy commercial strip the likes of which inspired Lady Bird Johnson to launch her Beautify America campaign. Cheap hotels, car dealers, gas stations and fleabag apartments. Nasty. Just the place for a XXX.

This second place has the strange distinction of sharing a building with a car mechanic's shop - the kind of a shop that has lots of guys milling around out front while their beaters get patched up enough to last a few more months. At 11:30 am, the bookstore's long, narrow parking area was completely full - I had to wait for someone to leave to get a spot. Amazing. Lunch hasn't even started.

Inside the place was just as congested. But it's not a promising crowd. All the gloryhole booths are occupied. I hang around a bit, and manage to get into two of them. No reason to stay long in either, if you know what I mean. Lots of guys standing around, waiting for their shot at the holes. One was a tall pale skinny string-bean guy wearing a sweatshirt with the logo of one of the nation's leading Catholic universities. He looked about 35. Dweeby as all hell, but not unattractive. He kept checking me out, but I was feeling not interested.

Then he moved into a non-hole booth directly across from where I'd been reduced to leaning against a booth (the place was that crowded - milling about was not really feasible). He fed the machine and left the door open enough for me (and several other guys, given the density of the crowd) to watch him paw his sweatpants. And the pawing is showing something interesting. Big, I think - though in my experience big bulges can often disappoint. But this one's transfixingly big, at least in this preliminary stage.

What the hell, I gotta check this out. I step into the booth, close the door and reach for his crotch all in one smooth, easy motion. Goddamn! It feels as big as it looks! I reach past the elastic of his sweats to grab this monster - and in my hand, it doesn't disappoint, not one bit. I haul it out and sink straight to my knees without asking further. A monster it definitely is. Almost freakishly large - I'd say a true 8" or more and extremely fat. It looked completely out of place on this tall skinny guy. But that wan't stopping me. I went down on him and sucked for all I was worth. He wasn't super rock hard - really big dicks usually aren't, I've found - but wow, what a mouthful. I stretched my jaws and relaxed my throat as best I could for a good 5 minutes. This was competition level cocksucking, I tell you.

At some point I clearly got tired, and he encouraged me to stand. Which was nice, as it gave me another vantage point from which to admire his enormous meat. He reached for my hard cock when I stood - I'd been jerking the whole time I was sucking him. He stroked me a couple times, and then dove on my cock, sucking like a champ. A fine cocksucker, which came as a surprise as he just didn't look the type. And a good surprise as I was (1) already close, and (2) needing to get on with my day. I decided to give him my nut. I gave him plenty of auditory warning before I started to cream, but he reacted to my shot by pulling out and spitting suddenly. What a downer to go from a great blo to cool air and vigorous jerking.

Not a good finish. I was out of there and on my way within minutes.



  2. One real good one not so good isn't bad :)

  3. damn that first one sounded REALLY nice!