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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.
WORKING AT THE CAR WASH
By anonymous.a
By now you must think all I do is walk in the park, work, and fuck young guys.
Yup. That about covers it.
For the record, I'm 39 years old and work for a graphic arts firm. Sure, I haven't discovered a cure for cancer or solved world peace, but I have a good life and it suits me, so don't judge. I do no harm and follow all the rules – well, most of them.
For instance, if there's a rule you can have sex only with people your age, I'm a flagrant violator. I've described for you my seven most recent sexual encounters.
To recap:
I sucked off my friends' 18-year-old grandson, Danny, who then fucked me (Showing Danny the Ropes).
I ate out the ass of my coworker's 20-year-old son, Andrew (Working the Late Shift).
I delivered a power sucking to a 25-year-old married man, (Taking Care of Hubby).
I got fucked by a 22-year-old military guy who caught me trying to steal a pair of his smelly boxers (Servicing the Serviceman).
I spread my legs for a 22-year-old assistant manager at the local grocery store – in his car in the parking lot (Paper or Plastic).
I ate out the ass and fucked a ginger-headed loading dock worker who couldn't have been more than 20 years old (Loading Up at the Loading Dock).
And finally, I sucked off and ate out the ass of a married guy in his early 20s who was walking to the bus stop (Set the Dryer on Rim Cycle).
The oldest of those guys was 25, which I guess makes me a twink lover. Nothing wrong with that. But with this eighth tale I depart from the formula. The fella in question is the ripe old age of 31. I call this tale "Working at the Car Wash," because that's exactly what he does.
See, I pass by many businesses on my morning jaunt to the park. One of them is a car wash. Usually the workers are hot little Hispanic boys who bust their asses making extra money for their families down south. I need to brush up on my Spanish phrases so I can help bust their asses.
But the guy in question is an Anglo who comes to work at 5:30 in the morning. He's there only a couple of hours until the Mexicans and Hondurans show up, and then he heads out for what I assume is a full-time job.
I know he's 31 because I found a personals with his picture on Craigslist. He's compact but not skinny. His body contains not an ounce of fat; it's all lean muscle. I'll bet he can crack walnuts with those ass cheeks. His hair is blonde and thinning. He keeps it shaved close to the scalp and I'll bet one of these days he shaves it off entirely, because he's already showing significant pattern baldness. That's OK; bald guys are hot! He wears chunky, thick-framed glasses, shorts, a clingy T and athletic shoes with low-rise socks.
I'd been watching him long before I discovered he's gay, thanks to his listing on Craigslist, and I guess that represents another departure. I don't believe any of my past seven sexual encounters have been with guys who are into guys. I think they've either been straight or uncommitted. Mr. Car Wash Boy represented something special.
I'd been thinking of ways I could meet him. I even considered responding to his Craigslist ad. But in the end it was the direct approach that worked. Seems like directness is my usual approach.
And heck, it usually works.
It was a middle-of-the-week morning that I headed out for my walk. The sky was cloudy and misty, and a cold wind blew from the northwest. I wouldn't have been surprised if snow flurries were on the menu. I carried an umbrella in one hand and a travel cup of steaming coffee in the other.
As I approached the car wash I spotted his gray Kia in the parking lot. He kept that thing spotless, which is odd. You always hear the guy who mows lawns for a living has the crappiest yard on the block, or the plumber has the leakiest faucets. But Mr. Car Wash Boy had a freaking showroom finish on his bargain Korean import. It had the look of a car that got washed then wiped down with a dry micro-fiber cloth.
As I got closer I saw an ass sticking out of a GMC Yukon that was in the wash bay. I would've recognized that tight little backside anywhere. Today he was wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved pullover that probably would have left me calling 9-1-1 for hypothermia treatment, but he was damn near 10 years younger than I and I guess his internal thermostat was set higher.
Feeling bold, I crossed the street and walked up to the Yukon. His ass protruded from the right passenger door and a vacuum cleaner howled as he ran it over the floorboards. I walked right up to him and gave that ass a mighty slap. The sound was like a whip cracking. His head shot up and banged against the headliner. He whirled around and glared at me.
I couldn't suppress a laugh.
"I could have sent you an email but I thought this was a better way to introduce myself," I giggled. "I'm answering your Craigslist ad."
He frowned a moment and looked put out, but when I laughed again his expression relaxed and a whiff of a smile appeared. I reached in, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him out. I brought him close and put my mouth right next to his ear. "I think you're a sexy little beast," I whispered. "You hear me? A SEXY little beast. And I want to fuck you. Right here. In this – " and I used my free arm to take in the Yukon " – this obscene, gi-fucking enormous American vehicle."
He laughed uncertainly and gave me a look that told me he wasn't sure if I were worthy of a fuck, or a passing lunatic making actionable demands. It wasn't until I pushed him back into the Yukon, shut the door and pushed the door child locks that he began to take me seriously. A note of panic crept into his eyes.
"Shhh!" I whispered, trying to look seductive, not crazy. "I know you like older fellas, and I'm an older fella. I think you're attractive and yes, I do want to put myself inside you. Why don't we get this job done before your co-workers show up?"
He looked surprised, and shocked, and about to burst into hysterical laughter, all in one strange, shifty expression. But actions speak louder than words, and his action was to unbutton those jeans and slide them down his slim, firm ass.
I moved my hand over his buttocks and it was as I suspected. They were rock hard. Hardly any give in that taut flesh. A thin layer of hair covered his glutes, darker than the blonde bristles on his head. I slid my hand into the valley of his crack and was rewarded with heat, and a sticky adherence, and the hot smell of male sex. As I reached down farther I felt a compact bundle of balls squeezed between his clasped legs. I brought my fingers north and ran them over the wrinkled entrance to his ass. It was especially sticky and fragrant, but none of that was turning me off. To the contrary, it was an enormous stimulant. My dick became painfully hard in my pants. It seemed to be pulling out my pubes by the roots as it stiffened.
Only one way to fix that. "Release the Kraken!" I shouted as I dropped my drawers, and my cock sprang out, giving off a wave of pheromones that would have had an army of car-washers gripping their apparati. I wasted no time guiding my cock to his hole. If it was necessary I dry-fuck him then heck, I would. Luckily, he fished a tube of Ultra-Glide from his pants pocket and made quick use of it.
I began sinking into him, his hot, wet warmth.
The sensation cannot be described, but I'll try. It was like descending into a heated whirlpool that, once you've committed the last square inch of your body, produces the most intense orgasm you've ever experience. This boy's body felt so good on the inside that I really did not think I'd be able to fuck him. My cock wanted to explode and I wasn't fully inserted into his asshole. I kept pushing and pushing – I don't know where all this cock was coming from but it seemed I must have shoved 10 inches up his butt before my crotch finally made contact with his backside. I left it there a moment, savoring the sensation of having a boy screwed onto my prong.
And then I started fucking.
He was an accommodating lay. He bent his body the way I needed it bent. He licked what I needed licking as I drove myself into him. He made all the appropriate sounds. His body gave off the appropriate rhythms and scents and tensions as I pounded my cock into his tightly muscled hole. I had him spread as wide as a man could be spread, opening himself to invasion. My dick had become a separate but necessary thing, ramming into his secret spot, eliciting small squeals of primal satisfaction. I in turn threw in with a series of grunts that escalated into roars as the physical sensation of pleasure built up like a thunderhead at the base of my spine and then shot lightning bolts of euphoria across my body as I came. I poured myself into him, arching my back as warm splatters of cum from his dick spread themselves across my stomach.
It wasn't just sex. It was some kind of creation, a work of art. I didn't move for a long time because I wanted to preserve it for as long as it could exist. Like the snow flurries that come, and then are gone, this act would not be long in disappearing into human experience.
Finally, we were done. I pulled out my dick, which emerged with a champagne bottle "pop" from his asshole. Immediately a pearly stream of cum oozed from the hole and dripped to the Yukon's beige upholstery. God, that would be another mess he'd have to clean up.
I slowly tucked my goods back under my cold-weather leisure pants and smiled impishly at Mr. Car Wash Boy. "What's the Latin word for `seller'?" I asked him.
He shook his head. He didn't know.
"Because I was going to say something about `Let the buyer beware,' but you're not the buyer. You're the seller, in a manner of speaking."
"So I guess I'll just leave it at `Be careful what you wish for' and be on my way. Be careful what you wish for on Craigslist, man."
And then I headed out for my walk, telling myself I couldn't wait until I passed this way again tomorrow.
Be careful what you wish for indeed.
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