My wife had been out of town for a week and I was getting horny out of my mind -- but not for pussy. I had tried my favorite internet site for a hookup without any luck and Craigslist produced nothing promising. I even went to a gay bar I knew about but had never dared enter before. However, no one hanging out there turned me on and certainly none of them hit on me. Against the possibility that nothing was going to come my way, I bought a six-pack and stashed it in the back of my car. Yet my yen for cock would not go away. So, in desperation I drove to the local pickle park, despite the likelihood that danger might lurk -- if not physical danger then at least the risk of getting busted and having my name in the papers. But it's a place where for an absolute certainty there would be guys waiting for something to come up.
I had driven there a number of times before, prompted by desire and curiosity, down to the cul-de-sac at the end, but without stopping or parking. It always seemed creepy as I approached and most of the guys sitting in parked cars or brazenly standing outside them seemed either pathetic or trashy, and definitely not the sort I would ever see socially with my wife. And on this night it seemed no less creepy and I wondered if I was a total jerk to be taking this risk. But dammit, I really was obsessed by the desire for some cock, so I made myself do it anyway.
I crept along the drive to the cul-de-sac, cruising the faces I could make out in the dark. On the straightaway there were only sad looking old men, but the faces got younger as I approached the turnaround. So I held my breath and pulled over into an interval between cars and stopped. I shut off my lights, letting the engine idle for a few moments, and almost lost my nerve and drove away. But I turned off the ignition and just sat.
It was a dark night with little moonlight and no streetlamps. I turned my head to look fore and aft to see if anyone was out and about, but the scene was virtually still. After a few minutes some dark figures emerged from bushes where they had repaired for their furtive activities, then got into their respective cars and drove away. Unsure how action was traditionally engaged, I waited to see if anyone would go from one car to another to solicit interest. For the longest time nothing happened.
Then I saw a young guy I took to be a professional hustler go to the car of an older man, who rolled down his window to talk. Whatever transpired between them, nothing was concluded and the young guy went back to a car to stand with another about his age, the two leaning against the front fender with arms folded. OK, I thought, so those are the hustlers. Better not them because of the risk of disease or getting rolled. But I realized that if not them then no one else was going to come calling, so I had better explore on my own.
I steeled myself to get out of the car and go on a hunting expedition. As I opened the door the dome light went on, of course, spotlighting me to all the occupants of the cars parked nearby. Walking away from my car I felt exposed and ridiculous, but I really wanted what I wanted. So I walked down the middle of the pavement, only faintly visible to the guys sitting in parked cars on either side of the road. Some lowered their windows and softly hailed me to chat, negotiate, whatever. I peered at each as best I could, but all I could discern was a series of old men who hoped to find a kindred spirit for some sort of coupling.
They were not what I was looking for. The guy I needed had to be young, of legal age of course, but full of vitality and juice. I passed car after car, parked under the large trees at the edge of the road, some empty because their owners were occupied in the nearby woods. Between some of the trees were park benches, amenities seldom used in this portion of the park but furnished anyway for the sake of consistency. Approaching the third bench on the right, I discerned a figure sprawled at one end, legs wide apart and head inclined back. Although it was a hot summer night it was surprising that he wore only a pair of cutoffs and some flipflops. As I got closer I recognized that he was young, punkish in appearance, and slow to react. Standing over him I could tell he had been smoking pot and was high. He was also sexy in a rough trade sort of way, very much to my taste. All this seemed promising.
He roused just a bit as I sat beside him. He stirred, sat up, and spoke. We had a few civil exchanges and his responses became friendly. I put a hand on his thigh and he did not protest. Getting bolder, I moved it to his crotch and gave his cock a gentle squeeze. He placed his hand over mine, making no attempt to remove it from his crotch. I leaned over close to him and flicked my tongue on his neck and nuzzled it with my chin. His neck was damp with sweat and scratchy with stubble and he exuded a spicy masculine odor.
He sighed and grunted, "You like me, huh?" his words slightly slurred due to the dope.
"Yeah, I think you're hot. I'd like to party with you. You must be thirsty. Would you like to join me in my car for some beers?"
"Yeah, and what else?" he asked. "You gonna try to get in my pants, you faggot?"
"That depends, whatever you'd like," I replied.
"What the fuck, I'm horny; let's go!" he exclaimed.
Making our way back down the road to my car, I was acutely aware that the odd couple we made was under intense scrutiny by the lonely men just sitting behind their steering wheels. One even flashed his headlights as we approached. Finally we reached my car and I flicked the remote to unlock the back doors. I opened and he slid in and I behind him, hoping to douse the dome light before we attracted too much notice. I know it is not advisable to carry on action in the car rather than in the anonymity of the dark woods, but bagging this dude depended on using the beer as bait.
Fortunately for my purposes I had lowered all the windows halfway before I left the car, so we would have air and not fog the windows, And I had brought my pocket knife, which had a beer opener. Once we were settled I popped two of the caps and handed him a bottle. He took it and downed half the contents in one long chug. That was good from my point of view, because I wanted him to get even higher than he already was.
While he was taking a second swig I ran my hand over his nipples and tweaked one, betting that they were erogenous. He grunted deep in his throat and took a third swig, not resisting my advance. So I ran my hand down his abs (really firm!) and ran my hand under the waistband of his cutoffs. He still didn't resist, so I unbuttoned the band and unzipped the fly. Then I reached in to grasp his treasure. Ahhhh! So round, so firm, so fully packed -- a lucky strike!
"Hey, faggot! What the fuck are you doing?'
"Holding your cock, stud. And I'm ready to do more."
He took another swig from his bottle, "Just what more you think you're gonna do?"
'Well, You know, go down on it."
"Go down on what, you queer. Say it straight out."
"OK, I wanna suck your cock."
"And what else?"
"And I wanna suck your balls and lick your asshole. But mainly I wanna suck your cock 'til you cum and I suck you dry."
"You gona swallow, too, cunt face? Every fucking drop of it?"
"Yep, I promise."
He finished the beer and dropped the bottle out the window. It smashed on the pavement. "Gimme another brew, cocksucker. Then get to work on my dick."
In any other situation I would have protested the wanton littering and maybe kicked him out in the face of such egregious insults. But in the back seat of my car, in the dark, with a hot trashy stud on this hot summer night when I was horny out of my mind, the effect was just the opposite. I didn't just tolerate it; I actively relished it. He may or may not have understood that: being rude and crude was simply him. Anyway, I reached for the beer I had opened for myself but not touched and handed it to him. Then I leaned over his lap and started licking his cock.
"Get the fuck on the floor between my legs where you belong, motherfucker," he barked, as he slipped his cutoffs down his legs and off his feet. As I got down in front of him he spread his legs wide, giving me both full access and full vent of the rich musk of his crotch. I started again, licking his cock head and taking it into my mouth. I love the moment just before a guy gets fully hard when I can go down on his shaft to the hilt, and if it's long enough it enters the top of my throat. Then as it hardens I can force myself to keep it all in, my nose buried in his bush. I would guess this guy is just a bit more than 7", and thick, so when he was fully hard and stretched my throat I felt as if he would fill me completely.
As I bobbed up and down on his cock I alternately sucked hard on his shaft and licked his cock head. After awhile and he was getting into it I pulled off and licked his balls. I sucked first one ball and then the other, then opened wide and sucked both balls into my mouth, careful to give both equal attention with my tongue. He was clearly enjoying himself and his dominance over me. He raised both legs and rested his ankles on the backs of the front seats. "Lick behind my balls, faggot! He demanded. "Yeah, like that. Now lick further back. More. Right, lick my asshole."
Normally when I do that I like to be sure beforehand that the guy is really clean. This time I knew he wasn't, but I was so grateful this was happening that I screwed up my courage and licked his asshole up and down and then tongued it. I won't get into details about smell and taste, much less unhealthy microbes. You can guess. But disgusting as that aspect was, the degree of intimacy with this stud was exhilarating.. Anyway it wasn't long before he directed me back to his cock, which I was more than happy to do. Meanwhile, he kept swigging the beer while I sucked.
At this point I got seriously into giving this dude the best blowjob I knew how to provide. He urged me on with one insulting obscenity after another, which kept me fueled for the duration. I sucked super hard down the length of his shaft and sometimes punctuated it with loud slurping noises to make it abundantly clear that it was cock sucking that was taking place. But this sweaty dude also got into the act by clasping the back of my head with his hands and pressing me down to the max on his fuck tool, while he began to pump upward with his hips. It all started out gently, but the more excited he became the rougher the ride. He was grunting and groaning and even occasionally growling with male lust. I was moaning and even squealing with appreciative pleasure.
This went on for quite awhile, long enough, in fact, for him to interrupt the proceedings to demand another beer, dropping the empty out the window again to smash on the pavement. That made me wonder how long it would be before he would have to interrupt again to relieve himself. But I needn't have bothered because he soon started gasping for breath, and bucking harder. His sweet pre cum told me that my main reward was soon to be delivered. Then, with the exclamation, "Fuck, yeah, you cock sucking queer," he began to squirt jet after jet of hot, thick, creamy, fertile jism into my mouth. In a situation like this one hopes for a big load, but it is rare to get satisfaction beyond one's expectations.
I tried to keep it all in my mouth, so I could appreciate the full extent of his ejaculation. The taste was a combination of wild and sweet, one that makes a sucker think twice, even three times, before swallowing. But first, to celebrate this spectacular load I squished it between my teeth and swallowed deliberately, as if quaffing a rare and priceless vintage. Then I continued sucking to make certain nothing was left, just as he finished the third beer and dropped the bottle out the window.
Reluctant for it all to end I continued sucking even as his penis softened, savoring the last moments of having my face in his crotch. Then another kind of warm emission began to enter my mouth. He clasped my head to make certain I did not pull off and then he began to piss in earnest in my mouth. That had happened to me only once before and I definitely had divided thoughts on whether or not I wanted to be involved with this. He settled the matter, however, by firmly forcing me and I began to drink. Three bottles of beer produces a long steady stream of golden rain. I would have preferred to have it on my face, but I did not want him to piss all over the back of my car. Long story short, I managed.
When he had finished I pulled off gasping for breath and sighing with relief that it was over. He laughed and said. "Well, faggot, I guess you got what you wanted, you pussy cunt-face queer."
"Yeah, it was great. Thanks, man. Oh fuck, yeah."
So my rough trade stud fished around on the floor for his cutoffs, pulled them up and zipped, and slipped into his flipflops. "Hey man, can you lemme have the rest of the beers?"
Oh, sure," I replied handing him the carton as he opened the back door, exited, slammed, and disappeared into the night.
As I sat up and opened the door, surveying the sweat stain on my back seat and sniffing the air, I realized I was going to have to do some serious rehab to remove the evidence before my wife returned home. But what an adventure!
I got into the front seat, started my car, and drove off down the road, just as a police car approached from the other direction.