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DRINK IT
By Dudley Jarvis-North
I am waiting in front of my condo and see the blur of yellow round the corner and the screeching of brakes,
I start to get cold feet. I have never been "picked up" in someone's automobile, done car sex or been driven to who-knows-where. But I could see him through the windshield. Dark hair, trimmed gotee, full lips, chiseled features. Great nose -- not too big, nice and straight, very masculine, handsome. If a guy's nose is too small or too big, it ruins the rest for me.
I head toward the yellow door and breathe out a "hello." Through the open window and I get back a stare, as he once-overs my face and slim body, short brown hair, scruffed face, and white T-shirt. I see a smirk on his lips. "Get in," he commands.
He is swigging on a can of Rolling Rock, and we aren't saying a lot. I know this about him: He has advertised for a hot mouth and could pick me up at my door and have sex in his yellow vintage Chevy Impala convertible. Oh, I also know that he has a hairy belly and chest, is about 40, in good shape, wears Levis and is an "oral top."
On this very hot night in Boston, I'm off for what could be the ride of my life.
He heads up the street, around the corner and onto the main highway and I start to wonder -- I am a born worrier -- if this is a good idea. He senses my unease and tells me to relax. "There's a cooler of beer on the backseat. Help yourself."
I could use some brew, and soon we are out in suburbia on narrow tree-lined roads, away from the denser city where I live.
I feel calmer when suddenly he reaches over, grabs my left hand, pushes it onto his lap and tells me that I need to do what I am told.
I decide to become more active, so I rub the fly of his Levis up and down and wonder if I should make a move or wait to be told what to do. He tells me to rub harder. As I move my hand to the right in search of hard flesh, I can feel his penis harden and I start to get excited, especially when I move my finger near the tip and can feel no beveling near the head, no mushroom cap bulging out. He is uncut.
I take the chance of asking if he had showered -- surprising myself -- but he isn't startled by the question. "Not since early this morning. I'm nice and ripe down there, if that's what you want to know. I guess you are a pig." He is right.
I reach for his belt buckle and try to push the end of the leather strap out of the clasp, but he slaps my hand and tells me to get on the floor. I do as I am told. My hands are trembling as I have gotten his buckle open and now it is time to undo the top button of his jeans -- not that easy with him sitting. I persist until I can see the elastic band on top of white briefs with Hanes Classic staring at me. Luckily, we are on a well-lit street and the moon is smiling down on us.
He makes a left turn and soon we are in a darker place as I groove my hand into the fly of his briefs. "Pull it out, cocksucker. It won't bite you."
I free the rubbery shaft from Hanes State Prison and am ready to inhale the pungent masculinity. The silky foreskin slides easily down the shaft as I use my feet and knees to leverage myself closer. He brusquely asks me what I am waiting for. "Get your mouth on it. Clean it. If you don't get moving, I will stop the car and push you out."
I have no idea what street, what town we are in. I fill my mouth with spittle and push my head over the covered crown. As I use my mouth to pull the skin back, the scent is strong, like cheese that has been left on the table for too long. It is like perfume to me.
While I am contemplating how to suck him, I I learn that he has other plans. "Grab me another beer out of the cooler." I do as I'm told. "Open it, he orders, "what are you stupid?".
He is drinking furiously by now, and, as I push myself closer to his crotch, he blurts out that he needs to take a piss. "OK," I say, figuring that we'll stop at a Dunkin' Donuts or McDonald's. "Didn't you hear me?" he shoots back. "Get your mouth on it NOW."
I feel a knot in my stomach.
"You hear me... You'll love it and even if you don't, you better not spill any -- on me or my car."
I have watched watersports in porn movies, but have never done it. But here I am. I purse my lips on the soft head. I barely get a chance to complete the connection when I feel a trickle of warmth in my mouth that surprises me. It has a sharp taste, a little salty. Not overwhelmingly pungent, a bit sweeter than I expected. I might like this. I had thought too quickly. The flow starts to build very fast and is soon gushing into my mouth. I can't savor it because I have to concentrate on swallowing, lest I get kicked out of the car in the middle of nowhere.
After about a minute, the stream starts to let up and I can taste it more acutely. It has left an odd flavor in my mouth -- not unpleasant, but different from anything I had ever tasted.
I am rock-hard in my jeans and my mouth is burning hot. I think I am about to shoot without touching myself.
"Good boy," he says in a more obliging voice. "I think this is going to work out better than I thought. Now, hand me a few beers." While I am reaching in the back seat, I see him on his cell phone, and he is speaking in a low voice so I don't hear what he is saying. He stuffs three beers inside his jacket.
As he puts his cell back in his pocket, he drives toward the highway. "Where are we headed?" I say. The apprehension is back in my voice.
"You'll see."
(to be continued)