Whatever disclaimer is necessary - infer it here.
Rick at the Faultline
Before I knew his name, I knew his smiley-badass-intellectual-Latino-smirk - usually with a Marlboro Red hanging from the corner.
I would see him every Sunday at the Faultline, chatting with random guys and getting buzzed on the cheap beerbust beer. He was puro sexy. Always wearing baggy cargo shorts. Always wearing flipflops. Always showing enough of his upper body to keep my interest. Then, of course, there was just his overall beauty that reminded me of all the Hispanic guys I had lusted over growing up in South Texas.
I was always at the Faultline with my partner of 10+ years. We kept the guys guessing as to why we chose to spend sunny Los Angeles Sunday afternoons crammed into a corner of the bar's patio, rarely speaking to anyone other than each other. Evidently not too many of the guys cared to know the answer, and that was fine with us. It kept us from having to negotiate difficult 3-ways.
After about 6 months of spying Rick across the bar I was caught dead-on staring at him. He returned the stare, and made his way through the crowd toward us. When he arrived he let me know he had seen me checking him out on many occasions and realized that's all it would be unless he made the first move, which he just had. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and traded rounds of beer, and a couple hours later we were playing grabass/cock and having a fine time in the sun.
From then on we were regular bar buddies and always took time to catch up with each other, sometimes for a few minutes, other times for a couple of hours. Each time the sexual tension got greater, and I became more determined to at least touch Rick's sizable-seeming, hopefully uncut, cock. On my 43rd birthday I got my chance.
As it was a special celebration, my partner and I got an early start to beat the line that developed by 4 o'clock. It was a warm spring afternoon, and most of the guys had begun their tanning regimen - standing around shirtless. At about 6pm Rick walks into the bar. I'm drunk, horny and feeling like getting in his pants would be the perfect birthday present.
Rick wandered over pretty quickly to where we had alighted in the center of the patio. I'm not sure if he was being friendlier than usual, or if I was just high on adrenalized horniness, but within a few minutes we had established he had nothing on under his sagging shorts, and that there was more to the dense black pubic forest peeking out of his waistband. My partner, surprisingly, admitted that he was also freeballing and I took this as an invitation to give he and Rick a stereo grope. What I found were two large and growing phalluses just begging for more attention.
Rick reached over, pulled on my partner's jeans and peered in to check out his dick. Pleased with what he saw, he pulled down the front of his own shorts just enough for us to get a glance at his, as I had hoped, fat, uncut dick. This is pretty standard activity at the Faultline, and not likely to draw too much attention. What happened next did draw some attention.
Before anyone could react I was on my knees, had freed both penises from their limited confines, and was working each with my mouth in turn. Both grew quickly to their full 7" lengths and for the next two minutes I was the slutty cocksucker of my dreams. Far too quickly, attention turned to our activity, and I gave each cock one long last trip past my lips before struggling to my feet and planting a thank you kiss on each guy's lips.
Rick thanked me for the short, incomplete blowjob and soon moved on through the crowd.
The following Halloween we found Rick dressed in a wrestling singlet standing at the bar. At closing time, we took him home with us, but that's a story for another time.
One Sunday Rick told me he really gets off reading stories here. Hey, buddy, if you read this and want to drop me a line, I'd love to know what you've been up to this past year. We miss you on Sundays.
Yowza2000@yahoo.com
Comments appreciated, also.