JOE SALAMI
That's what I call him, because I don't know his name. He had a good body, lean and thin. Light blond hair, probably dyed, because he was clearly no longer young. But neither was he over the hill. Pleasant-looking, but not handsome.
And a huge dick.
Long and thick, it swung between his legs as he walked proudly through the locker room. Its girth and length contrasted markedly to his spare body, made it seem longer and fatter even than it was. He would leave the curtains open when he showered. He never wore a towel. He wasn't exactly cruising, just sort of strutting, enjoying the stares of other guys, feeling on top of the world because he had a big cock. Well, so would I.
It was thick, too, the kind that stayed thick while soft. Huge, egg-shaped balls, which hung down even lower than his proud organ. Circumcised, with a nice head. He would linger in the locker room, dressing or undressing slowly, moving so that it flopped off the bench or lolled on his thigh. Everyone looked, and he loved it.
Now I'm not small. I'm bigger--by just a bit--than most men I've been with. But I'm not overly thick, and I'm a grower, so I'm not the envy of the locker room. And I'm certainly not supersize. Nevertheless, I'm pretty secure in my equipment, especially when it's in action.
But one look at him and I feel tiny. Although his jumbo size arouses me, gets me that much thicker than usual, still I feel inadequate when he's swinging through the locker room. I look at him, stare really, but not in a cruisy way, not daring to think that he would want to fool around with me. No, he'd be after bigger fish.
So I did a double-take when, coming out of the shower one afternoon, I saw him through the glass sauna door. He was in there, he was playing with himself--and he was staring at me. No doubt about it. At me, not the guy next to me or behind me. This was an invitation I couldn't refuse.
I went brazenly into the sauna. He was standing in the middle of the small room, looking at me intently and stroking himself. That look and that gesture could only mean one thing. Of course, no towel. I felt suddenly a bit shy, even though his invitation was unmistakable. I sat discreetly on the bench, unwrapped my towel, and started groping myself. I somehow felt that he, as cock of the walk, should take the lead.
And he did take the lead. Grabbed it. Came over and started stroking me, looking heatedly into my eyes. I immediately reciprocated, getting my hands on that huge cock that I had lusted after for so long. I could just about wrap my hand around it. I was amazed that he was actually hard, since it continued to hang down, the way a big dick hangs down when it's hard. I realized that sometimes, walking around the locker room, he must have been hard like that. The thought turned me on even more. It was only because I was touching him, squeezing him, enjoying the feel of his beautiful cock, that I knew he was hard. It didn't look different from a cock that was swinging thick.
He backed away from me a bit, an invitation for me to stand. With one hand on my cock, he began to feel my sculpted chest. His was flatter, and he particularly liked my pecs. He worked my nipples--I love that--and jerked my cock at the same time. He slapped my chest with the flat of his hand, feeling my pecs. He liked their firm feel, the feel of a man's body. I got off on that, on his admiration. He didn't have pecs like that. But I didn't have a dick like that. We clearly enjoyed each other. The mutuality of the scene got me even more turned on.
Wow. A guy with a huge cock wants what I've got. Wow. Major turn on. I'm hard now, standing straight up. My cock is curved slightly towards the left, and I don't want him ever to take his hand off it.
But he does--to replace it with his mouth. He eagerly bends down, so that his mouth is at my crotch, and sucks me in. He goes to town on my cock, sucking on it enthusiastically. I am so happy. I feel fulfilled, acknowledged as a man, a man with a cock that other men want. Other men with huge organs that I lust after. Other men with low-hanging balls that I'm now cupping, squeezing gently in my hand, listening to the soft sucking noises he is making as he swallows my cock down, pressing with the muscles of his mouth, savoring my penis with his mouth as I am savoring his with my hand. I love this!
He lets my throbbing cock out of his mouth, stands up again, and resumes slapping my chest gently. He's really getting off on this, squeezing my pecs, massaging the nipples. He's making little noises: "Yeah! Yeah, man! Oh, man!" And I can't take my hand off his cock.
I go down on him, like he did on me. But now I'm feeling inadequate, in the strangest way. He's just too big. I can barely get the huge plum-sized head in my mouth, and maybe a bit more. Never mind that the most sensitive parts of his penis are in my mouth. Never mind that my tongue is going crazy on the rim of his cock head. Never mind that I love the feeling of even part of this huge cock in my mouth.
I want him in my mouth. I want the whole thing, like he took my whole thing in his mouth. I want to give as good as I got--that's my sexual credo. But I can't, and I feel inadequate. I can't get more than 1/3 of his enormous cock in my mouth, not even down my throat. Maybe some guys could do this--not me.
So I begin to lick him all over. Lick up and down the shaft. As I get to the head, I swallow it, and it swells. I'm digging this now, forgetting about my feelings of inadequacy. I'm all over that huge cock, and he's enjoying it, throwing his head back, gasping.
He's a talker, but not exactly eloquent. "Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man." Over and over, as I lick up and down his shaft, feeling the cum vein pulsing, swallowing the head whenever I get to it. I'm feeling pretty good. I can pleasure him after all. I go down to his balls. I love low-hanging balls, and his are stellar. I lick around the loose scrotum, down the back, where it hangs down from his ass. I grip his ass. A little too skinny--the thought flies through my head and out, not really disturbing my enjoyment of his equipment and his response to me. I suck one ball in my mouth, then the other. I can't quite do both at the same time. Licking and sucking at his scrotum. This turns him on. His cock is going from pink to violet to purple. He reaches down and feels my chest again. Then, overcome with lust, he sucks on my nipples, then on my cock, taking it in his mouth and slurping like it's the last cock on earth. His nose is in my pubes now. His tongue is swirling around my cock head, teasing the piss slit. His cheek muscles are somehow stroking my shaft all the while. The guy is not just big. He's talented.
I'm going to cum. I feel it way back in my balls, in my ass, in my nipples. This is turning me on big time. My balls start tingling, then my chest. I'm going to have one of those all-over orgasms, the kind that involves all the major nerve cells in the body.
I'm holding onto his cock for dear life, jerking it with the remains of the fluids from my tonguing of him. He's sucking on me. I pull out of him--sort of hate to, but safety first, for both of us--and the orgasm is upon me. That tingling feeling grows and grows, and I'm dimly aware of my cock spurting, shooting hot cum up, up, in a long arc over his head and mine. Not quite hitting the ceiling--that's for pulp fiction--but enough of an arc to give us both a show.
The spurts of cum, the arc they describe, it all seems to be in slow motion, as if the cum itself enjoyed leaping up out of my cock and sailing through the air. My cock is pulsating, my body aglow. He stares, wide-eyed, and his cock swells.
As my orgasm subsides, I'm aware that I've been pumping his penis with my hand. Having slaked my lusts, I turn to his, hungrily devouring the head of his cock, licking and slurping, pushing him gently backwards so he sits down on the bench. I want to bring him off.
His head is lolling on his neck, his eyes no longer looking at me. He's muttering that cute mindless way: "Oh shit. Oh fuck." And his cock remains as it was, thick and hard and pointing down between his legs.
Then I feel the shudder, and the taste of pre-cum. I take my mouth off him, and start licking and sucking his nipples. My hand replaces my mouth, and he cums, his cock jerking. I can almost feel the contractions as a wave, first the base, then the shaft, then the head. But that's my lust-crazed imagination. I don't think that's how he came, really. No one comes like that, really. Do they?
He doesn't shoot. His wads of cum drop down out of his huge cock head and hit the floor with a plop! Two or three of them, and he's done. His head sits back up on his neck. His eyes are focused on mine.
He's done. So am I. We smile at each other, and he leaves for the shower. I stay in the sauna a bit longer, enjoying the heat and the afterglow.
We got together a few more times. Once I saw him with two other guys in the sauna. He looked at me and walked out. I heard the door of the steam room open. I sauntered out, and into the steam room. We were alone. He looked at me, then gobbled my cock down with his hot mouth. I groped him, then sucked on him, then licked him. We were getting into it when someone came in. Too bad.
Another time he groped me in the shower, when no one was looking. We met in the sauna, and he played with my chest. We did a lot that afternoon, undisturbed. We had a few more encounters, on slow afternoons.
And when I saw him strutting in the locker room, I felt proud. Proud of his organ, proud that a guy like him enjoyed my body. Then he somehow stopped coming. Our schedules changed, or he moved to a different neightborhood. And I never learned his name. He remains Joe, Joe Salami, in my fantasies.