This took place back in the 80s. At the time I was in my third year of law school at Yale, married, with one kid and another on the way. I wanted the so-called American dream back then and though I didn't think of it in such terms, was willing to sacrifice personal happiness to achieve it. It was all within my grasp and then reality came charging down on me.
I was 24, 5'10" with a body buffed out by almost daily workouts. I had thick black hair, dark blue eyes and a fairly decent looking face. I was no GQ model, but its fair to say I was your desirable boy-next-door type. I would never have admitted it, even to myself, but other guys turned me on. I know now that marrying as young as I did (19) was a futile attempt to exorcise those vague demons that inhabited my subconscious. Though I'd never succumbed to temptation, never sucked cock or been fucked those were unrecognized yearnings. The closest I came fulfilling my hidden desires was that on a couple of occasions I'd gotten sucked off by an anonymous mouth through the glory hole of a local peep show booth.
To complicate matters I was a bit of a sex fiend. I was constantly horny. Looking back I'd have to say that because I denied myself my true cravings I was never fully satisfied and as a result always in need. I had sex with my wife at least twice, more often three times a day. Subconsciously I guess I was literally trying to fuck my way to heterosexuality. I also buried myself in my studies, making me a straight A student. So good, that I made law review in that last year of school. That literally guaranteed me a dream job the following June. I was poised for success. Then as though my life were a Greek tragedy, the gods intervened.
It was October 1982, Kate (my wife) was in her 7th month of pregnancy and both because of medical problems and a total lack of desire on her part, we had abstained from sexual relations for the past month. The best I could get from her was an occasional hand job maybe once or twice a week. Of course I was jacking off like a 14-year old, but it just wasn't doing it for me.
It was early on a Saturday morning, like 1:00 A.M., and I was driving back to New Haven from New York City. I had attended an all day seminar at Columbia Law, followed by a cocktail party. Normally Kate would have been with me; she loved shopping in the City when I was there for school and after we'd do something social like this party, but she was in no shape to do either. So I found myself alone on the Connecticut Turnpike, lonely and very horny. The fact that I'd only dumped one load that day, during my morning shower, made me one hurting unit. I just had to get some relief and waiting until I arrived home wasn't the answer.
Though I'd never frequented them, all the Howard Johnson rest areas they had on the Turnpike in those days were notorious for the gay cruising, both in the men's room and in the lobby area immediately outside of it. Gays went there because there was a steady supply of straight cock coming in and out; and the law of averages guaranteed that at least some straight dick would make itself available to a wet and willing mouth. From what I'd heard there was plenty to keep the gay guys happy. Truck drivers horny and away from home, local married guys who couldn't get head at home, curious teenagers with raging hormones and of course travelers and commuters who just took advantage of an opportunity.
I decided that I stop at one and see if anyone was interested in taking my load. A good blowjob was among my most favorite of sexual practices, unfortunately Kate wasn't all that good at it and she would never eat my cum, always finishing me off by hand. I knew from previous experience that with a gay guy taking the load was the whole point. I think that's why a gay guy also gives a better blowjob. For him it all about providing total pleasure for the object of his lust and being rewarded with the pure essence of the man. In the end both men achieve sexual satisfaction in a way most heterosexual couples can never attain in the act of fellatio. I could hardly wait to feel a pair of lip tighten around my thick pole. (As I said earlier I was no GQ model, but I do have a GQ cock. It's a thick, 7 1/2-inch, ramrod straight, cut cock with a meaty, helmet-shaped head. Both men and women seem to really get off on it.)
I was just outside of Fairfield when I decided I'd see if I could get some action going between my legs. I saw the mile post sign for the rest area and pulled into the right lane and switched on the directional signal. I pulled into a parking space, got out of the car, arranged my hardening cock in my jeans and proceeded into the building. The restaurant was off to the right while the lobby and restrooms were to the left. You couldn't see one area from the other. I turned left and was disappointed to see that there was nobody standing in the lobby. When I'd stopped here at other times, while with Kate, I'd always seen at least one or two guys hanging out, subtly on the prowl. Tonight there was nobody.
I was even more disappointed to find the men's room as apparently empty as the lobby. I figured that I might just have to pound out a load for myself, when I noticed the door to the last stall was closed tight. (The restroom was a long affair, with about 20 urinals along the wall and about 10 stalls and 7 sinks running next to each other on the opposite wall. The stalls were made of cement blocks and you could not see under one into the other, the walls were about 8' high; they were not designed to aide in cruising. I decided to see if the last stall might be what I was looking for. I walked about two-thirds of the way down the line of urinals, until I could look under the door of the last stall from an angle. I hauled out my plumped prick and stood there kind of just slowly stroking it, not jerking off, more making love to it with my right hand.
There was a cough from the last stall. I waited a moment or two and then cleared my throat. By this point my head had turned back to the right and my eyes were focused on the floor of the last stall. The tips of a pair of pointed cowboy boots came into view and then more boots topped by jean legs. Whoever it was had stood up. Then I saw him step back as he moved to swing the door open. He stepped out.
I gasped audibly. This was obviously a trucker and he was just standing there staring at me. The guy was 100% All American beefcake. Besides the cowboy boots and jeans he was wearing only a black leather jacket, which hung open revealing a perfect smooth, tight, muscular chest. He was just a hair taller then I, with the same black hair and blue eyes, he had a two-day growth of beard, but it only made him look sensuous. The guy exuded sexuality. He was captivatingly handsome, in a rugged, working-class way and there was no mistaking what he was looking for. Like me he was looking for a blowjob, definitely not looking to give one. He was holding his cock in his hand and it looked eager for action, leaking pre-cum and as stiff as a cock could get. By this time my own had grown to full staff. He didn't say a word. He nodded at me and then looked down as his cock and nodded at it. With his head still down he looked up at me and the message his blue eyes delivered said, "drain my cock dry."
He stepped back into the stall but held the door open. I didn't even think, it was as though I'd been hypnotized by those eyes. Holding my hard cock in my hand I turned toward the last stall and walked in its direction. I hesitated for only a second and then stepped in. My cowboy grabbed me by the arms and we pivoted until my back was to the rear wall and his was to the door. He reached back with his arm, closed the door and locked it.
"Sit on the shatter," he ordered with a definite western twang.
I did as I was told. I looked at his dick. It was a slightly larger version my own making it all the more intriguing to me. It had to be 8" long and 3 1/2" around to my 7 1/2" X 3". I'm not certain if I was consciously aware of why I was really there. I remember thinking that we'd jack off together, but I really knew better.
The cowboy was busy pushing down his jeans and briefs to below his knees while I stared at his cock and stroked my own. He removed his leather jacket and hung it back on the door hook so that he was naked from the knees up. His body was beautiful and a charge of sexual energy surged through my body as I took in the sight.
He leaned back slightly thrusting his groin forward. He grabbed his cock at the base with his thumb and one finger and pointed it at my lips. "Eat this mother fucker real good." And he thrust it forward. I instinctively opened my mouth and was soon gagging as he pushed it deep into my throat.
I pulled off chocking, my eyes tearing. "Take it easy," I panted and coughed, trying to regain my composure. "This is my first time."
His attitude changed immediately. "No shit? Sorry, I'm just so hot to trot and I just thought you were, uh...you know experienced. But shit I'm kinda turned on by being somebody's first. Don't think that's ever happened before either with a man or woman. If you're willing to keep going I promise to let you do your thing your way. I'll just kick back and enjoy it."
I'd gone this far I certainly wanted to keep going. He was as good as his word. He just stood there and let me have my way with him. I explored and exploited that wonderful piece of hard man-meat. I licked it, made love to it. I went at it slow, a good 30 minutes. A couple of guys came in to take a piss. We ignored their presence; if they knew we were there they didn't pay any attention. The only thing that existed at that time was that wonderful slab of man. As for him, I think he'd lost himself in the warm sensations of my mouth, lips and tongue. In a strange way it was kind of narcissistic, because more than once I found myself fantasizing that I was servicing myself, and that thought seemed to really turn me on.
The cowboy seemed to enjoy what I was doing nearly as much as I enjoyed doing it. He moaned and sometime involuntarily pump his hips, but by the time he did so I'd become accustomed to his 8-inch pole and was easily taking it to the base, if only for a split second. Cock sucking seemed to come to me as naturally as suckling on a tit had.
As the experience continued I became more sexually energized. I wanted to swallow this guy's dick and I started to go wild attempting to do just that. I was craving something more and I knew the only way to get it was to drive him over the top. As my lust built to abandon so too did his. Then we crossed the point of sensibility, nothing but satisfaction mattered. Forgotten was both the plea and the promise to go easy. He grabbed the back of my head with both his hands and began pumping into my mouth in rhythm with my own up and down movements. We were both building toward the grand finale. I wanted his seed; I wanted to swallow his living sperm, to drink of him. I could tell that he wanted to feed me in the same erotic way. I was in ecstasy as his hard cock piston in and out of my mouth. Then his rhythm changed, became noticeably slow and more deliberate. I felt the girth of his shaft expand against my tongue and lips. He took a deep breath and held it, went up on this toes and then back down. Suddenly my mouth was flooded with a warm, tangy liquid, thick and rich. His cock pulsed, once, twice. . .a total of six time. I was forced to swallow some of my prize in order to make room for the remainder. I didn't care as long as I could hold enough in my mouth to savor the intoxicating flavor.
I knew it was almost over, but I didn't want it to end. I kept my mouth securely clamped on this still hard meat. I knew from personal experience not to make too much contact with my tongue or lips, but I gently bathe the now spent cock in its own juice. I held it between my lips until I felt it start to soften and my cowboy's whimpering abate. It slipped from me and I looked up at him.
"Shoot man, if that was your first time I want to meet up with you when you've got a few miles under your belt. That was just what I needed, thank you much. Now how about you? Let me watch while you get your nut."
I guess this was his way to reciprocate, but the thought that his stud was going to watch me shoot my load was more than enough for me. It took my needy rod in my tight fist and pounded away. It didn't take long; I was more than primed. After no more than ten strokes I felt my cum shoot up my shaft like molten lava in a volcanic eruption . The first spurt shot up a good 18 inches, arching forward and landing in an opalescent strand on the cowboy's chest, from his navel up to the valley between his nipples. I felt three or four more volleys blast out, but with much less intensity, merely shooting up a couple of inches and then cascading down over my hand and cock-head.
I looked at his chest, fearing that he'd be pissed that I'd cum on him. I was relieved at his reaction.
"That was fuckin' hot, man. Now clean up your mess."
I understood immediately what he was saying and after wiping my hand clean with some toilet paper, I leaned forward and ran my tongue from his navel, into which my load was slowly running, up to where the trail began, making certain to clean up every drop. I'd tasted myself before, but now with the flavor of another man still on my tongue I was able to compare mine with another. His was more musky, stronger even more intoxicating than my own.
Even though I'd already blown my load the touch of my tongue to his naked flesh got me immediately horned up again. I couldn't stop licking him. I moved on to his left nipple and worked it, sucking, licking and gently nipping at it. His moans encouraged me to move on to the right, again my ministrations were welcome and his moans increased. I moved back down his torso to his hard abdomen and tongued out his navel. As I did I felt his cock, which only moments ago had been going totally limp, pushing up hard under my chin. Who was I to refuse? I took it in my hand and swallowed it to the hilt. I began moving up and down on it, no less enthusiastic for having done so just five minutes earlier. I closed my eyes and made love to it. Then I felt the cowboy push me back off of him.
"Hold on Dude. Looks like we're both up for a second round, but this ain't no place to party this long. I say we move the action to the sleeper in the cab of my truck. There I can get comfortable, kick back and really enjoy this."
Not ten minutes later that's exactly where we were. He was stretched out naked on his mattress and I was down to my Calvin Klein briefs kneeling between his legs. That another story.
That was my encounter with reality. Though I tried to put it out of my mind, to pretend that it didn't happen, it had. I had touched real sexual satisfaction and I craved more. Life didn't change immediately. On the outside everything seemed the same, but inside me everything was different. It took another 3 years, a messy divorce, psycho-therapy and being total honest with myself before I had an equal shot at being happy in life.
It's worked out just fine. I 43 now, live in New York, have had a life-partner for the past 14 years (and I'm crazy in love with him) and a very successful, law practice with an exclusively gay clientele. I also have the memory of the hottest first time story of anyone I know. My lover, Craig has me tell it to him whenever he's into hearing a dirty story.