DISCLAIMER: This story and any/all others in this series are for entertainment purposes only. It depicts acts of a homosexual nature and includes frank descriptions of raunchy sexual behavior. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. If you are under age or offended by this type of behavior, please do not read any further.
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The smell of his manhood filled my nose as volley after volley of spunk coated the back of my throat. I struggled to swallow while Russell's huge, engorged cockhead still filled my mouth. The musky flavor of his cock snot and the heady aroma from his un-showered cock and balls overwhelmed my senses. I simply couldn't believe what was happening. Perhaps, however, I should back up a bit and tell you the entire story.
You see, growing up in a small town in the mountains of western North Carolina, there weren't a lot of opportunities for a young, gay man to "sow his oats". Long before the ease of internet or hookup apps, in the late 70s and early 80s being gay required a lot more creativity in order to scratch the "homo" itch.
At the time and especially in rural America, gay men were forced to seek affection and satisfaction in the shadows and on the outskirts of social norm. As crazy as it sounds by today's standards, even going to a gay bar required being "sponsored" by a trusted member. Needless to say, in order to survive, gay men quickly learned to navigate the game of same-sex cruising seeking those much-needed primal "connections".
I got my driver's license at the usual age of 16. But I didn't buy my first car until I was 19. By then, even though I struggled to admit it to myself, the urge to "connect" with other men burned in my groin and clouded my thoughts. With my newfound freedom, however, I was able to explore on my own and to seek out like-minded, horny men with the same interests I shared.
Back in those days, the easiest place to score a hook up, of course, was an out-of-the-way, public men's room. The trick (no pun intended) was finding one that was not only cruisy but also private enough not to risk being caught. Quite by accident, I discovered just such a tearoom existed close to the entrance of a National Forest near my hometown.
The long circular drive around the perimeter of the picnic area was dotted by a few permanent "out" buildings. Each building was divided in two, with the men's room door on one side and the women's on the other. While the modest, painted brick structures were equipped with running water for the sinks, urinals and flushable toilets, they didn't have power. Therefore, the only light in the small room came from the open door (when it was) as well as through the brick, lattice wall facing the roadway. Sitting on the metal, wall-mounted toilet, one could make out cars parking or passing by as well as the sidewalk leading up to the door. As with most vivid memories, I distinctly remember the smell of those facilities. Any guy who's ever used an older, public men's room is familiar with the smell. Similar to a locker room, the scent of dick, ass & stale piss lingers in the air no matter how well maintained or clean the john is. (I think I've always been aroused by that scent and associated it with man sex, even to this day.) Wonder why?
I quickly figured out one of the out buildings, in particular, seemed noticeably more cruisy than the others. So, I spent many an hour there, either sitting on the can waiting, like a Venus fly trap, for my occasional "prey". Or, I'd sit on a nearby picnic table and enjoy the natural beauty of the forest while monitoring the cummings and goings of the john Johns!
The men, usually older than me (& probably married on the DL) would drive the circle, taking inventory of potential partners from the safety and anonymity of their own cars. Getting caught sucking cock in a small town, the news would certainly spread like wildfire and it wouldn't take long before everyone in town knew. So, it was understood, one took extra precautions to take care of your gay "business" while staying discreet.
On several occasions, while sitting watch, I'd noticed a particular large, silver van making the rounds. The van seemed somewhat out of place with its custom paint job, tinted windows and a pair of large, fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. From what I could make of the driver, he appeared to be in his mid 40s, ruggedly handsome with longer, reddish brown hair, a square jaw and large hands.
One sunny day, I was sitting watch on a picnic table, catching a few rays near the cruisiest toilets, when the silver van started its rounds. With each revolution, the driver and I would make visual contact and after a couple more times around the loop, a mutual nod of the head signaled interest. As the van passed for the 4th time, I decided to up the ante by getting up and, as obviously as possible, heading in the direction of the men's room door. Hoping my suiter had noticed, I quickly entered, walked into the toilet stall, closed and latched the door, dropped trow and settled my young, bubble butt directly on the cold, metal seat. First move made and the game was afoot!
Sitting on the can, I was able to peek through the small openings between the bricks enough to see if the silver van made another loop. And it did! But this time, it pulled in and parked directly across from the bathroom. I waited anxiously, with my heart pounding in my chest, while the man carefully surveyed our surroundings for any other passersby. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, for a horny young fag, he opened the door and stepped out.
"HOLY FUCK", I thought! Even though my view was partially obscured and I couldn't quite get a look at his face, this guy looked hot. A daddy bear, by any standard, he was wearing a light-weight, blue & gray flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves, dirty blue jeans and construction boots. He was the epitome of masculinity without a single ounce of "gayness". I heard his heavy boots hit the pavement as he strode toward the john and I held my breath as he entered the small room and walked to the urinal a foot or so away, blocked only by the partition between us.
Next came the familiar sound of a zipper and the rustle of denim as my new neighbor freed his manhood, then silence. I'd cruised this particular bathroom enough to know there were a couple of pencil-sized peep holes in the stall wall separating the urinal from the toilet. So, I quietly shifted my weight on the seat to see what I could make out through the tiny peep holes.
As I sank down, I heard the stranger's forceful stream of piss begin hitting the back of the metal, wall-mounted urinal. Crouched into position, peeking thru the tiny hole, I saw what had to be the largest, still soft cock I'd ever seen as it unleashed a steady torrent of yellow gold into the urinal. Within seconds, the familiar smell of his waste water started to fill the small tearoom. The flow seemed endless as he pissed what had to have been at least a quart of the pungent liquid into the urinal. I watched in awed silence as he relieved his swollen bladder. After a few last squirts, my visitor just stood there, limp cock in hand. A large drop of piss glistened on the hole of his amazing cock. I fully expected he might zip up and leave. Maybe I'd misread his intent. I continued to watch as he slowly pulled on his thick member, squeezing the tip to release the last few drops of piss. To my happy surprise, rather than stop, he continued fondling his bull cock. Apparently aware of my intrusion of his privacy, he seemed intent to put on a show. He turned slightly toward me and stroked his massive member allowing it to grow to its fullest potential as I quietly watched.
The mushroom cap of his circumcised cock was the biggest I'd ever seen. Don't get me wrong; his entire cock was a gorgeous specimen of manhood, thick, probably 7.5 inches long and as thick as a water bottle. But it was his enormous head, as big as half a lemon, with a huge ? inch piss slit that had me mesmerized. I wondered if my mouth were even big enough to suck the head, much less take any more. Scared this guy might just be setting me up to kick my ass, but incredibly horny and curious, it was an opportunity I couldn't let slip away.
My heart was beating out of my chest as I quickly peeked thru the brick to see if anyone else had arrived while I'd been hypnotized by the peep show. No one in sightÉ Thank God! I knew, from experience, I'd have to decide my next move and soon. My window of opportunity would close quickly if he heard a car or otherwise got spooked away from our tearoom rendezvous.
I leaned forward as far as I could and quietly slid back the lock on the stall door which let the door swing in just a couple inches. Had he noticed? What would he do? I could barely breath. In the deafening quiet, I heard him shift and take a couple heavy booted steps. The door to the stall pushed all the way open and he stepped inside.
I should mention I'm no "small fry". At 19, I was already 6'2" and weighed a solid 180. However, sitting on the metal throne, with my pants around my ankles and looking up at him, rigid cock in hand, I felt tiny. I was scared to death but you'd have never known since my rock-hard cock gave away my excitement. He turned to close the door. There was no escaping now, whatever was going to happen.
As he turned back to face me, sitting just three feet away, he hadn't bothered putting his dick back in his jeans. His monstrous, fully-engorged cockhead and piss slit were pointed right at my face. It was as if I were staring into an oncoming locomotive, head on! Trying to guess the next move, I looked up again, this time to get a good look at the man who was going to be using my throat. While I'd caught a glimpse of his dark, mirrored sunglasses, firm jaw line, short beard and longer, almost hippie, brown hair, I hadn't been able to make out the face until now. As he reached up and took off the sunglassesÉ. another HOLY FUCK moment! I immediately recognized the man who was getting ready to feed me his dick; it was Russell Hickory! I fucking knew him and his last name!
In a small town, like the one where I grew up, "six degrees of separation" was more like three degrees! Turns out, Russell and his family were friends of our family when they'd lived a couple blocks down our street. I hadn't seen Mr. Hickory since they'd built their new house and moved to the other side of town when I was about 7. I was pretty sure he didn't recognize me because I'd obviously changed a lot in twelve years. He, maybe a little older and a little grayer, however was definitely and unmistakably Russell Hickory.
I repressed another panic attack as my brain quickly sifted through his new information, struggling to decide what to do. It would be difficult to play shy now. Any sudden change of plan would've made him take even more notice of me and possibly have given away my identity. Looking down to avoid his gaze as much as possible, I figured the closer he was the better, so I motioned for him to come over. Without hesitation, he took a step toward me as he unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. As the full length of his cock and huge untrimmed bush came into view, his musky, after-work dick smell smacked me in the face and just in time.
The next couple minutes were a blur as every instinct I had fought in conflict. But, the dank, dark smell of his ripe manhood and his gruff voice startled me awake. "Suck it!", he said, as the head of his dick reached my lips! (Guess this was really happening). I opened wide and welcomed the salty taste of his unwashed dick in my mouth. Even a relative virgin to mansex, I could tell right away this wasn't going to be a gentle affair. He reached for the back of my head to pull me all the way down on his shaft. Somehow, at least for a moment, I managed to stop him from a balls-deep thrust, with a slight turn of my head. I knew I'd have to, gradually, get used to his girth and try my best to relax my jaw and throat for the oncoming skull fuck.
His dick tasted as good as it smelled, definitely all man with no sense of self- consciousness at his lack of cleanliness or freshness! With each thrust of his hips, I was able to relax my throat and take more of, arguably, the biggest dick I'd had so far. His large glans filled my mouth completely. And Russell must've liked my initial, clumsy efforts because he was already leaking pre-cum like a sailor pulling into port. And thank God too! The cock snot helped lubricate the back of my throat with every slam.
My every apprehension faded into pure lust as the man who was old enough to be my own dad, took his pleasure in my teen mouth. The combination of horny, pure, animal instinct plus the knowledge I knew the owner of this amazing cock was almost more than my na•ve, teenage brain could handle.
His cock was the stuff of porn and it made every nerve in my body tingle. And while I could've sucked his huge dick forever; unfortunately, my teenage libido had other plans. Less than 2 minutes later, just as Russell's engorged head made its way all the way down my throat for the first time, the lack of oxygen and the overpowering smell of his sex sent my body into auto-pilot. Without even touching my rigid member, I shuddered and blew three or four tablespoons of nut all over the cement floor between us.
From my limited experience, the tearoom custom I expected was that once one party busted his nut (in this case me), the other party would quickly excuse himself and leave to resurvey the area and not risk getting caught. Russell's feet, however, remained firmly in place and the assault on my throat continued. I used my hands and pushed back on his hips to try and catch my breath. "Oh NO faggot, I'm not done yet!", he said as he pulled my head tighter into his crotch and increased the speed of his thrusts.
By this point, the brain fog created by my need to cum had begun to clear and paranoia quickly kicked in. Thoughts of being caught crept back but the brain fuck continued. Tears streamed down my cheeks as Russell showed me what he had meant about not being "done"! I struggled to breath between each throat-deep intrusion. Whether he knew who I was or not, it was obvious he didn't care at this point and only needed one thing from me.
My throat rebelled against his massive dick. I'd never experienced such a violent act of sexual dominance, but I liked it. My throat instinctively started producing copious amounts of saliva to deal with the relentless invasion. Slobber rolled off my chin and I felt like a bull dog chewing on a bone as Russell continued raping my throat with his smelly dick.
After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only 5-6 minutes of ruthless skull fucking, Russell grabbed my head by the ears with both hands. He forced his cock so far down my throat my face was completely buried in his musky bush. His large balls slapped my chin for the last time and I felt my throat burn as volley upon volley of his perfect tasting, salty spunk coated my raw throat.
A second later and clearly spent, Russell smacked me, rather forcefully, on the side of my face and said, "Next time, don't stop no matter what faggot!". Without as much as a "thanks", he stuffed his softening hog back into his fly (leaving a trail of cum on his jeans), turned, unlatched the stall door and walked out without even stopping to wash his hands.
I sat, in exhausted disbelief trying to regain my composure and let the flush settle from my cheeks. The smell of piss & sex lingered in the room. I heard the rumble of the van as Russell cranked it and then listened as the hum of the engine slowly disappeared around the next turn. Just as quickly as it had started, it was over.
Thirty two years later, openly gay and happily married to a wonderful man, I think back on my experiences of youth and my sexual awakening at a time when being gay in small-town American was still a thing left to the shadows.
Russell may never have put two and two together about who I was. I hope he didn't figure it out and fret about it too much after. I doubt it. I think he knew his secret was safe with me.
Although, regrettably, it never happened again, I will never forget my raunchy, toilet hookup with best friend's daddy. You just can't make this shit up!