This is a true story by Michael Stewart, written for NYC's Pier BBS in 1988. Copyright (c) 1988, all rights reserved; permission granted to the "Nifty Andrew" archive for online "publication" and distribution.
Comments and lewd propositions may be sent to Michael at brooklyn@yorick.ny.cybernex.net
"Automobile Blow-Job"
The Diary of Michael Stewart: Wednesday, May 11, 1988 -
One of the users on the board had mentioned an interesting little car cruising spot not too far from me, and on a rainy Wednesday night, I had nothing better to do, so I figured I'd go check it out...
By the time I found the place and got settled in, it was about 10 PM, and I was kind of surprised to see lots of other cars there too. I didn't think they were all there for the same thing I was, but I've since learned differently...
About 10:30, another car...a big, black town car (might have been a Cadillac), pulled into the spot next to me. What I saw behind the wheel was something straight out of Italian-Watcher Heaven. Because of the shadows, he was back-lit, but I liked what I saw. Young - couldn't be more than 22, 23. Black hair in the classic Brooklyn cugine style. A football jersey.
Since it was my first time there, I wasn't entirely sure of the etiquette, so I just stared. He stared back. Gradually, the stares got more and more intense, and I knew I had to do something...
I got out of the car, looking like I was casually stretching. Walked around a bit. Felt a drop or two of rain...nuts. I knew I had to move quickly. I steeled up my nerve and walked over to his car, noticing that he had his window open a bit.
Jeez...looked even better close up. I revised my estimate...he was maybe 20, tops. And his fucking basket! I don't think I've ever seen jeans mounded like that. I took a deep breath and decided to go for broke...
"Hi," I said. "Want a blow job?" (To this day, I can't believe I said that...) He looked up at me, as if noticing me for the first time. "I'm real good at it," I added. He looked me up and down, and the next sound to be heard was him popping the locks on the car doors.
I dashed around to the other side of the car, swung open the door and hopped in; just in time, too, since now it was -really- raining. We looked at each other for a minute, and I said, "Hi, my name's Mike."
"John." A real conversationalist, I remember thinking.
"So," I said, "you want that blow job?"
He just looked at me and nodded, and I reached over and ran my hand up his leg, from his knee to his groin. Muscles...and in the middle, a pretty fucking sizable basket. I kneaded it, and he thrust his crotch outward a bit and moaned.
I dropped my hand from his bulge and whispered, "Take it out." He didn't waste any time; raising his ass up off the seat, he ripped open his jeans, pulled down the fly, yanked down the waistband of his briefs and tucked it under his balls, and sat back down.
My God! I consider myself something of an expert on dicks, and I have to admit to rarely having seen such a perfect specimen. Perfect shape, maybe 7" long, real fucking thick...and hard as a rock. I bent over for the bird's eye view, and I think the little mental snapshot I took will last me forever. Picture a cock that perfect, suspended over two hairy balls, stiff as a board, with a line of dark black hair tracing it's way from his pubic hair up to his bellybutton (which was now showing since he had hiked up his t-shirt as well). I gave the head a lick.
Then the shaft. Then the head again. Then the shaft, and this time I kept going down and nuzzled his balls a bit. Licked the left one, then the right one, then both of 'em, sucking 'em both into my mouth. He seemed to like that - I heard him say, "Oh, fuck, that feels great!" when I did it. Naturally, I did it again. Then it was time to go back up the shaft, slowly. Lick around the head again. Suck a bit. I wanted to deep-throat him, but it was too difficult to do with the steering wheel banging against my head, so I concentrated on the head of his cock, keeping it locked in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, and finally getting the hand I wasn't using to balance myself between his legs to massage his balls.
He was thrusting his ass up and down off the seat, saying "Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck!" over and again. I moved the hand from his balls to his shaft and ran it up and down in time with what I was doing with my mouth. His breathing got heavy and I felt his shaft thicken and get even harder. "I'm gonna fuckin' cum!" he gasped, and I pulled my mouth off, keeping my hand right where it was, stroking him, stroking him hard.
Although I was watching his cock and balls and stomach, from the corner of my eye, I saw him pull a Handi-Wipe or something from a pouch on the side of the door. He jammed it onto his gut, and with that -- whammo! He creamed, shooting all over the rag, up and onto his t-shirt, and all over my hand. "Aw, fuck!" he said, timing it with each shot, three or four times in all.
Finally, he stopped pumping his load out, and looked up at me while he wiped off the head of his cock and stuck it back into his white briefs and then put the whole package back into his jeans. "Thanks," he said, "That was fuckin' fantastic!" He smiled, and it was then I realized that at some point during the whole thing, I had creamed my jeans, without even taking my dick out. Now -that's- something I haven't done in a l-o-n-g time!
By now it was really pouring, so we just sat there and bullshitted for a few minutes till it let up. I found out that my guestimate of his age was only off a little...he was 18, and a senior at Canarsie High School. The football jersey was for real. And it was his dad's car.
I sure wish my dad had a car when I was 18...