Dear Reader
This story, like many of my other stories, has elements that are based on real personal experiences. However, the names and places are all fictitious. If you feel like sending me a comment, negative or positive, please do so: simon23232@yahoo.com
I would love to read your comments and suggestions. Also, very importantly, please donate to keep nifty going.
Thanks, Simon
Fucking Faggot
By Simon Peter
Looking up as he held onto the man' hairy thighs, he was able to see the man's head tilted backwards, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he thrust his cock further inside the warm, wet mouth. He tried to breathe through his nose, now starting to fill up with snot, his knees pressed on the wet toilet floor. He smelled the man's sweat through his filling nostrils, mixed with the strong scent of urine coming from the urinals now lined with his head. He closed his eyes and swallowed as the throbbing, slick knob pushed at his throat. The man's hands were pressing on the back of his head.
He was sucking cock in a public toilet.
His head swam. The man was fucking his face with forceful thrusts. He couldn't believe what was happening. He had come into the toilet, breaking his morning run, for a piss. Dressed in a loose I-shirt, running shorts and running shoes, he had closed his eyes as the stream of urine shot out of his dick.
The relief was a blessing after consuming one full glass of orange juice and two cups of coffee before his run. He felt, more than heard, the movement near him. Opening his eyes, the stream of piss still shooting into the urinal, he saw a man unzipping his jeans and taking out his dick to piss in the urinal next to his. They were alone. The public toilet he found was in the middle of the park and not much frequented by users, fairly at a distance from the entrance to the park.
As he glanced at the man next to him, his eyes dropped down to the pissing cock, and he inhaled. The man had slid his jeans and shorts down to just above his knees, and his crotch, front and back, was totally bare. He looked up and met the man's eyes, who had turned and was watching him. He shook the last drops off his dick, pulling up his shorts and turning to leave, when the man, fisting his now- erecting cock, thrust his pelvis out and shook his tool.
It was shock, at first. The man was inviting him to his cock. In a public toilet. At 9 o'clock in the morning.
As if in a dream, he had knelt in front of the man and had taken the offered dick in his mouth. He tasted the last drops of urine but felt the cock get hard between his lips. What was he thinking? He had never done this before. He had never even thought about this: a blowjob to a total stranger in a public toilet reeking with urine.
He swallowed. The man thrust hard and moaned; streams of cum filled the eager mouth. He tasted salty cum, mixed with urine, a special flavor, he thought as he also detected some garlic-y taste in the cum the man was shooting into his mouth. Finally, the man pulled out, slapped him once on his cheeks with his wet cock, lifted his jeans and tucked his still dripping cock inside. The man smirked at him, whispered, "fucking faggot," and left.
He was still on his knees. He couldn't breathe. He wiped the cum and spit and snot off his lips with the back of his hand. Up till now, he wasn't even aware that his own erection was throbbing inside his shorts. He got up, staggered into a stall, and masturbated. He shot streams of cum, hard and long, splashing the door of the stall. The last squirts dripped onto his shorts, now around his ankles.
He walked out of the toilet into the park, found a nearby bench, and dropped onto it like a sack of corn. The taste of alkaline, salty, garlic-y cum was strong on his tongue. The man's sweat and the urine scent were also strong in his stuffed nose. His face cheeks smarted from the slapping cock. He felt tears well behind his closed eyes as he replayed the scene in the toilet. As if in a different body, he saw himself kneeling, sucking cock. He saw the mixture of cum and spit seep out of his mouth as he sucked hungrily and swallowed the man's juice. The man's parting words sounded like thunder in his ears: fucking faggot.
He was no faggot. Not really. His body hair, his beard, his 7-inch cock, all testified to his testosterone- saturated body. He was in no way effeminate. Actually, in parties and gatherings, women went over themselves to get his attention. He didn't have a girlfriend, even now at 24. He was more interested in men. But he was not a faggot.
The tears felt hot on his face cheeks as the image of himself kneeling on the wet, dirty toilet floor, sucking on a man's cock.
"Hey, Pat. Patrick."
He jerked himself out of his reveries, quickly wiped the tears off his face and looked towards the source of the voice. Someone was calling his name. He spotted his work colleague, Matthew, jogging in place on the running path, waving at him.
Slowly, feeling guilty, fully aware of the taste in his mouth and the scent in his nose, he tentatively waved back.
"Hey, Matt," he croaked. He watched Matthew stepping onto the grass, crossing the few feet between his bench and the running path.
"Pat, hey, man," Matthew was smiling as he approached. He was in a similar set of I-shirt, shorts, and jogging shoes as Patrick. Pat drew in a deep breath, trying his best to collect himself. He knew, almost for certain, that Matt was gay. Matt had this "gay" attitude. This "faggot" attitude, Patrick thought bitterly. Now it was he that was being judgmental. The man called him a fucking faggot. He didn't even get to know the man's name. He sucked his cock and he didn't even know his fucking name. The lump in his throat grew larger, strangling him. He swallowed hard fighting down the tears.
"You look lost in thought," Matt said, as if from a hundred miles away. Patrick shook himself back, the image still strongly imprinted in his brain. He forced a smile.
"Just relaxing," he said lamely.
Matt smiled. "I wanted to catch you in the office yesterday, but you had already left. I'm having a few friends over for drinks this evening. It would be nice if you could make it. Nothing formal."
Patrick nodded absently. "Yea, sure. That would be nice. What should I bring?"
"Oh, not to worry, unless you prefer to drink something special, other than wine and beer."
"I'll bring some wine, then."
"Ok, great. Around eight. See you then, Pat."
Patrick wasn't specifically friendly with Matt, but he had nothing lined up, and it would be nice to get out on Saturday night. He felt a stirring in his groin as the taste of cum on his tongue brought back the image of him kneeling and sucking a stranger's cock in a public toilet came back vividly. He felt the beginning of an erection. He vaguely remembered reaching back with one hand, sliding it inside his shorts and into his crack, rubbing his hole as the man fucked his face. His ass twitched and he felt a little burning, his finger having had penetrated his hole savagely as soon as he felt the man unload his balls down his throat. He vaguely remembered finger-fucking himself as he swallowed cum, the man's cock pulsating and spewing in his mouth.
Now he had a full erection. He looked around him. This area in the park was fairly deserted. He stood up and went back into the toilet, in one of the stalls, and he showered the walls with another load of cum.
Feeling dirty and humiliated, Patrick hurried back to his apartment, his cock semi-erect even after shooting two full loads. He got into the shower and again masturbated under the hot water, the image imprinted in his mind. He played back the scene, how the man offered his cock, thrusting his pelvis forward, how he knelt in front of him, how he encircled the cock with his lips, how the man forced his cock deep, thrusting, how he fingered his own ass, how he swallowed the bitter-salty garlic-y jizz.
"Fucking faggot" rang loudly in his ears.
Patrick spent the whole day doing nothing. He tried to occupy himself with ten thousand things, but the morning episode in the toilet never let up, replaying over and over, making him remain in a horny state. A couple of times he actually sauntered to the public toilet, not knowing what to hope for, but attracted toward the place as if by a huge magnetic force. He sat on the bench. A few men entered the toilet, but he remained sitting on the bench, his heart pounding, his dick throbbing. He had blown guys before; he was no virgin, but he never felt such a "fucking faggot."
Absent-mindedly, he picked a bottle of Chablis on his way to Matt's. Matt's apartment was a few minutes away from his, but he had never visited his workmate before. He was mildly surprised at the invitation, but he looked forward to seeing what type of pad Matt had.
Patrick was greeted by a warm, nicely lit living room. There were some 5 or 6 people already holding drinks and chatting. Patrick was impressed. There was nothing "faggish" about the place. He started to think twice about his impression of Matthew.
"Hey, Pat, I'm glad you could make it. Come, let me introduce you around." Matt took the wine bottle and led Patrick to the middle of the room, approaching a group of three men. Pat noticed that he didn't know any of the people there, but everyone seemed to be of the same age, all dressed casually.
"This is Patrick," Matt was saying, still holding Pat's hand. "Pat is a work mate of mine."
Pat shook hands with the men. "I'll get you a glass of wine, Pat," Matt said, letting go of his hand and walking towards the kitchen.
Patrick tried to act as casually as possible. The men were typically talking about sports, specifically soccer. Pat's mind reflected on his love for watching soccer on television. He didn't care for the game itself; his attention was always focused on the players, their chiseled bodies, muscled legs, pronounced bulges. He loved to watch them sweat, raise their jerseys to wipe off the sweat, revealing beautiful male chests.
Matt came back with the wine. "Thanks, Matt." Pat took his first sip, enjoying the initial tang on his tongue. Suddenly his morning escapade jumped into his mind. The wine turned to man cum on his tongue. He almost gagged. Excusing himself, he asked Matt for the toilet and hurried there. He didn't throw up. Instead, he started pulling on his dick, the feeling and taste of cock in his mouth so real.
"Are you ok, Pat?" came Matt's voice through the bathroom door.
"Yea," Pat panted throatily, stroking his cock. "I'm fine, Matt."
"You don't sound good," Matt said, opening the door, freezing as he saw Pat leaning back against the sink, his pants around his ankles, masturbating.
"Oh," Matt exclaimed, taking a step back. "Sorry, mate, I was just trying to help."
"You can definitely help," Pat heard himself say in a throaty voice. He emulated the gesture the man made to him in the park toilet in the morning. Matt was on his knees in a second, Pat's cock buried deep in his throat.
Pat heaved, thrust a couple of times, and unloaded down Matt's throat.
"That was fast," Matt stood up, wiping his mouth. "Took me by surprise."
Pat didn't know what to say. He had always prided himself in his stamina, in his ability to last until his partner was satisfied. What had just happened? His explosion inside Matt's mouth after a couple of thrusts took him by surprise as well.
"Sorry, Matt. I have been under pressure all day."
"Looks more like under horniness all day," Matt smirked.
Pat pulled Matt to him and kissed him on the lips, tasting his own cum. He pushed back the sensation of the man of the morning's load. Matt responded eagerly, his hand back on Pat's cock which didn't go totally soft and which now was erecting beautifully. Matt moaned, but he soon pulled back.
"Rain check," he said apologetically, squeezing Pat's hard cock, reluctant to let it go. "I am the host and I need to get back to hosting although I'd much rather host your hot tool."
Pat pushed down on his dick as he pulled up his briefs and pants. He quickly apologized and left.
Without even thinking about it, he headed for the park. The gate would close at midnight. Pat was hungry for sex, for quick sex, for hot cock spewing down his throat, dirty, urine-filled, garlic-y. He wasn't much interested in kissing and hugging. He wanted cock.
Sure enough, there was already a man in the toilet as Pat walked in. He headed for the urinal next to the man without even looking at the man's face. He pulled down his pants and briefs, taking out his erected dick and turned towards the pissing man. The man wasn't surprised. Instead, he turned and aimed his own pissing cock at Pat's crotch. Pat's initial instinct was to move back, to avoid the yellow stream, but somehow, in a very sick way, the warm liquid which flooded his pubes, cock and balls turned him on more.
He knelt in front of the man. Piss hit his face. He closed his eyes and moved closer, licking the underside of the cock, letting the stream of urine shower his head, his hair, his face, dripping onto his body, soaking his clothes. The man finished, squeezing the last drops. Pat took the dripping cock in his mouth and started sucking, giddy by the reekish smell and taste of urine and by the hardening of the man's tool.
The man pumped and cummed. Pat swallowed, just like a "fucking faggot." His own load hit the dirty tiles as he swallowed. The man tucked himself away and walked out, snickering.
Pat stepped into the shower, scrubbed soap all over himself, watching as the stench of urine mixed with soap lather seeped down the drain. He slowly started to feel clean. His body shuddered as he realized that the scene of sucking cock in the public toilet on his knees was replaced by the kiss he planted on Matt's lips. Patrick felt as if he had been exorcised, as if the urine shower had cleansed him from the eroticism he had felt throughout the day. He realized that his toilet experience was just that, a passing experience. He was not a fucking faggot. He was a man who enjoyed sex with other men.
Towel around his waist, he picked up his cell and called Matt. It was still 11:30 and he was hoping that the party had ended, that he could spend the night making love to Matt, clean, straightforward love.
"Hello," Matt sounded winded.
"Hi, Matt. It's Patrick." Pat could hear the music and other sounds in the background. Shit, he thought, the party was still going full blast.
"Hi, Pat," Matt panted. "How are you feeling now, mate?"
"Just got out of the shower. Feeling as good as new," Pat admitted.
"Then get your ass over here. Now," Matt ordered and hung up.
Without hesitation, Patrick put on clean clothes: a polo shirt, open at the neck, showing the beginning of his chest hair patch, a pair of tight boxers, stretched over his dick and balls, outlining them beautifully, and a pair of faded jeans, maximizing his crotch.
A few minutes later, Patrick walked into Matt's place, greeted by a scene he hadn't expected. There were two women on the center sofa, kissing, one a doll type, the other a DeGeneres type, with short hair and all. Next to the kissing female couple, a guy leaned on the arm of the sofa as another guy pressed his body on him and was kissing and licking his neck. Matt had taken off his shirt, exposing his smooth chest, and was serving booze and nuts, being the perfect host.
Matt pulled Patrick in, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed him on the lips. "I'm so glad you came back, Pat," he whispered. "I have had my eyes on you for such a long time, but have held back believing you were straight."
Pat smiled and returned the kiss, running his hand down Matt's bare back, grinding on him. He was no more a fucking faggot. He was gay and he was enjoying a deep kiss with another man. That was neither dirty not faggoty. He watched the male couple take off their clothes and lie on top of each other on the rug, kissing and grinding. The top guy's ass looked so enticing that Pat found himself moving towards them, magnetized. He placed his hand on the guy's hairy butt, feeling the muscles ripple under his touch. The guy turned his head and pulled him down, the three kissing.
"You guys," Matt said from somewhere above them. "Started without me?" he joked, stripping naked.
Matt pulled Patrick up and stripped him slowly. The two women watched, smiling. Matt inhaled as he fisted Patrick's big cock. "Oh, my," Matt breathed. "A man's tool."
The top man on the rug sat up and licked Pat's thigh, moving up to his balls. Matt fed him the hard cock and he slobbered hungrily on it. As Pat watched getting a blowjob, he expected the toilet scene to jump into his mind. But happily, what he saw was a hot guy sucking on his hard dick. He pumped the upturned, eager face, green eyes staring back at him, lust shining in them.
What followed was a full-fledged gay group sex. Pat fucked, got fucked, sucked, got sucked, kissed and licked smooth and hairy masculine skin, smelled different scents of after-shave, lotion, soap, and testosterone. The taste of cum in his mouth was so much cleaner, so much healthier, than the loads he had received in the public toilet. Perhaps it was his imagination: man semen was man semen. But Patrick tasted the difference, even though he knew that most of it was in his mind, not in his mouth.
When he left Matt's place on Sunday morning, after Matt had cooked a bacon-and-eggs breakfast, and after Patrick thanked Matt by fucking his hot, tight ass one more time, Patrick felt liberated. All this shit about fucking faggots was just shit, hypocritical shit. The man who had called him a fucking faggot did not mind having his cock sucked. The man was as gay as Patrick was, except Patrick was honest about it. It was really the man himself who was a fucking faggot.
Patrick smiled and heaved a deep breath of clean Sunday morning air into his lungs. His dick was a bit sore, semi-erect but sore. Everyone in the party wanted a piece of it, and they had gotten a lot as he retained his erection over and over and lasted for long periods before he shot his much-awaited loads.
Even the doll woman had a go at sucking him as her DeGeneres partner held his cock shaft for her.
Fucking faggots were all around him, Patrick thought as he walked back to his place. All those men who branded people, humiliated people, looked down on people, when they themselves were much sicker in their bigotry and hypocrisy. Those were the fucking faggots in their Sunday clothes going to or coming from churches, cheating themselves, cheating their God. That is faggotry.
Patrick smiled, rubbed his crotch, and walked home.