Joe's Place

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My Second Suck

In my last post I wrote about my first homosexual experience, sucking an 11.5 inch uncut black cock until my face was covered with come. I had never anticipated doing something like this,but was incredibly turned on by the sight of such a huge cock and felt I would probably never get the chance again.

I enjoyed that first time and decide I wanted more. I returned to the club, took a room and headed for the showers. There were a lot of men cruising, but little obvious going on. I noticed that many men sat in their rooms reading but with the door open. I was still new at this and unsure of etiquette for meeting etc.I made a mentalnote tostudy more on this subject.

I decided to sit on my bed and read and just see what happened. Guys were walking by and looking in. Many would stop and gaze at me. I am told I am good looking,am 6 ft tall 170 pounds and have a 7.5 inch cock. I guessed that the guys peering in were checking me out,but their facial expressions gave little away. Most however left if I did not continue eye contact. Most of htem were older,and I had not seen anyone I really liked. All of us were wearing only towels and you could see some guys had erections underneath.

After about 5 minutes Ilooked up to see a guy about 40, 5ft 9 at the door. He walked forward into the room and sat on the bed. He started stroking my leg and telling me how much he wanted to suck me off. He promised the best blowjob of my life. But I was not really interested.It was akward assking him to leave, and he was very persistent.

After I was alone in my cubicle, I shut the door. I needed to figure out better how to be open to guys who might be interesting without inviting everyone in. I resolved to play the eye contact game and be very definite about what I wanted.

I opened the door and sat back on the bed. Several guys went by loooking in. I said no to a really feminine looking guy about my age, and was considering packing it in,when an East Indian man appeared in the doorway. He greeted me politely in a very cultured accent,and we exchanged pleasantries. He was about 40 years old, 5 ft 10 and 180 pounds,but i could not makeout anything about what his towel hid. He asked if I would like some company. I said yes.

In one motion he moved forward, closed the door and slipped his towel from his waist. He was now only inches from my face,close enough to smell the scent of his sex. His cock was semi hard and cut,but even in this state was over seven inches and thick. I leaned forward and extended my tongueslowly until it met his cockhead just below the opening. I dragged my tongue up his glans till it touched his slit. His cock jerked and a drop of pre cum slid onto my tongue. The taste and scent of his musky manness filed my head as i opened my lips around his cock sliding further down his shaft while probing at his underside with my tongue. I bobbed back and forth taking more of him as he hardened fully. My neck was twisted in this position so I could not take him all. I withdrew his cock and shifted toallow him to lie down.

I slid between his legs and got my first good look at it fully erect. It was about 9.5 inches long and very thick.I did not have a ruler but I did have my 7.5inches about two feet away for comparison :). I couldnot believe how lucky I was, and I wanted to see how much I could get in my mouth. No woman had ever taken more than 5 inches of my cock, they said more was impossible.I wanted to prove that wrong, at least to myself.

I slid my lips over his head and pressed downward. I expected to gag but only met a slight resistance about halfway down.I tried to open my throat and controlmy breathing,as I went for more. His thick brown cock continued to slide down my throat until my nose grazed his belly. I had at leat 8 inches of cock down my thorat and was loving it. I thought i could get more,but it felt like it would cut off my breathing ( that's the only way I can describe it) soI contented myself with that much.

I began working his cock over, sucking the head, rolling my tongue around it,slurping his precum,then bobbed up and down on four inches of shaft while flicking with my tongue. I alternated this with long strokes where I dove down taking 8 inches deep, pressing my nose into his pubic hair.He groaned and pulled me off him rolling on topof me,rubbing his cock against the crack of my ass."Do you like to be fucked?" he asked. I never had been, and I told him so. "Would you like to try?" I had a condom,but no lube, so I said I would rather finish him with my mouth.

He rolled around and I took him deep.He was even harder now as he placed his hands on my head and fucked my mouth in earnest,taking advantage of deep8 inch strokes. Soon his breathing became ragged and I knew he was close. I slammed him into my throat swallowing him whole.I wanted him to shoot down there,but he had different ideas. He pulled out of my mouth and jacked his cock at my face.His cum shot out splattering on my chin,two thick jetsa and then lesser streams dripping onto my face and his belly. He let go and collapsed and I took his slimy softening cum covered cock into my mouth and licked upevery drop.

I thought that was a good evening but it was not over. Less than an hour later I wopuld be on my knees with a Chinese virgin spraying a huge load of cum all over my face.

Houses With Boys

Nothing I expected to see in Europe intrigued me more than Amsterdam's gay brothels (or as the travel guides call them, "houses with boys"). Indeed, to see the brothels was the reason I had taken the early bullet train from Paris, leaving much of the Louvre unseen, and headed into the low countries.

What would a male bordello be like? I had envisioned dirty little rooms and hard-looking straight boys trying to seem like James Dean while straddle-legging bare metal folding chairs. Now I found myself on a downtown Amsterdam sidewalk facing a simple street door, about to find out. Gathering up my courage, I went in.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I found myself in a small, simple bar, the sort of place you might find off the dining room of a country hotel. There were a dozen stools at the bar, a sofa, and some large stuffed chairs. I headed for the safety of the bar, joining a middle-aged man and a bartender in his late 20s before I risked a glance back toward the boys themselves.

Sorting themselves out on the sofas and chairs was an assemblage of some half dozen young men. They had the slow, slightly self-conscious movements of those with great energy and no par ticular place to go. I smiled amiably and looked them over.

Each young man met my eyes, acknowledging my glance with a friendly grin. One stood out. He was extremely handsome and probably the youngest of the group. He was short and dark with glossy black hair. Even across the room I could see that he had extraordinary eyes, filled with mis chief and boyish humor.

I turned back to the bar and tried to settle down with a beer.

Slowly, the short, dark boy drifted over and stood next to me. I turned and smiled. He smiled only a little, as one who encounters a stranger with whom he has not yet decided he wants to talk.

Uncertain, I turned away. As I did, the young man abandoned what had apparently been an effort to entice me by seeming disinterested. Leaning on his forearm, he slid up the bar toward me. His smile, devoid of coquetry, was now a full, youthful grin. It seemed to say, "Well now, we've played hard-to-get, so let's talk."

"Hallo," he said in a thick accent. I turned shyly toward him and caught the lush foliage of his long lashes. I nodded and smiled slightly. He seemed not to know what to say next, so he just grinned. He took my hand from the bar and held it between his.

"I am Carlo," he said, leaning closer to me.

"Hello, Carlo," I answered. "What brings you here?"

My question was foolish, and it threw Carlo for a loop. He looked at me, too stumped even to grin. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, and just smiled.

"He works here," said another, taller young man with bleached white hair who had been lingering just near enough to hear our conversation. "So do I," he added in perfect American Mid western. "Carlo doesn't speak much English."

"He doesn't have to," I tried to quip. The blond boy withdrew.

"What do you do here?" I asked Carlo, feeling somehow bolder.

"I fuck!" Carlo replied. "I fuck you," he added, "right now!"

"But Carlo, I just got here," I protested.

Now Carlo leaned toward me and laughed softy in my ear. "I fuck you in the ass till you can stand up!" This had the sound of a phonetically learned phrase, and he had missed the contraction for "can't."

"No," I said, "I need to have a drink and relax. Maybe later." Carlo put his hand on my thigh and let it slide down to my knee, squeezing before he reluctantly pulled it away.

When Carlo had gone, the blond boy sat down on the bar stool beside me. His white hair was cut short. He was nice-looking and straightforward. "Carlo is Italian," he said. "He hasn't been here very long."

"He's in the right business," I said. "He's absolutely beautiful."

The blond boy smiled and nodded. He put his hand out to me: "My name is Terry."

"Where you from, Terry?"

"You can't guess?"

I grinned. "Where in America?"

"Cleveland," he replied, "though I went to school in Chicago." He turned and studied his glass for a moment. "You like Carlo?" I figured Terry was offering to make the needed arrangements.

"Do you speak Italian?" I asked.

"No, but I can tell Carlo anything you want me to."

I demurred, not wanting to rush into anything. "No, that's all right. I'm going to have a drink and relax. I've been sight-seeing all day."

We discussed what there was to see and do in Amsterdam, and then Terry said, "You don't have to rush. In fact, you can just have a drink and talk to the boys if you want to; you don't have to go with anyone."

Terry told me he had a degree in philosophy from Northwestern. He had held various jobs, but had always been sexually compulsive. He loved what he was doing now, and made quite a bit of money doing it. But most of all, he loved the sexuality of his work. Terry was a serious young man, and I think that he really does have a Northwestern philosophy degree.

I asked him if he didn't get tired sitting around all afternoon like he seemed to be doing on this day. Sure, he said, but some days he was very busy. But how could he keep it up on busy days? Not all his clients insisted that he cum, he said- indeed many did not care or didn't want him to.

"But if they want you to you will?"

"What ever the client wants, he gets."

"Anything?"

"Sure," Terry said. "It isn't cheap." The going rate is 200 guilder, about $100 US. "It's got to be safe," Terry said, "otherwise anything."

"So Carlo meant it when he offered to fuck?"

"Sure," Terry grinned warmly. "I would, too."

"And you get fucked too?" I asked.

"With a condom, certainly," he said. "Almost all of us do."

"But not all?"

"No," he said firmly, "Carlo doesn't." Terry leaned forward confidentially. "Carlo is dead straight. He's got girlfriends all over Amsterdam." Terry and I chuckled, and I bought him a beer.

"Carlo probably will later, but he doesn't now. Someone will offer him a big tip or one of the boys will get him past the first time."

I was envisioning this exotic scene. "You would do this for Carlo?" I asked.

Terry gave me his first really enthusiastic grin. This was not the first time he had thought of Carlo's cherry ass.

International cast

Terry swung around on the bar stool. "See anyone you like?"

"Sure, I like them all," I said. "I like you."

"No, you don't like me, not that way."

He was right. His acknowledgment let us drop our roles of hustler and prospective client.

"What's that big blond like?" I asked, looking at a large- bodied kid with a knee over the arm of the sofa.

"He's good," Terry said, "got a big cock. He dances in the theater."

"You have a theater?"

"Yeah, we have live shows on Friday and Saturday night and on special occasions." I noted that this was Thursday afternoon.

"His name is Frederick, and he likes the SM room." Terry's gaze drifted back from Frederick to me. "You like SM?"

"Never tried it," I said truthfully.

"You should. We have a good setup here." I looked at Frederick's large, hard body. I won dered what it would be like being disciplined by Frederick- or more interesting, disciplining Frederick.

Terry and I talked about some of the other boys. One was Canadian, two were German. There were no Asians or Africans. I asked Terry about it. "We have a couple of black boys," he said, "but I don't think any Asians." My question about Asians seemed to interest Terry, and he turned to the barman and asked if they had any Asian boys. "Not right now," he answered, "We could probably get one." He glanced at me. "No," Terry said, "we were just talking."

"I'd like to talk to the manager," I mentioned.

Terry looked at me, focusing. "Why?" he asked.

"I'd like to do an article on the place," I said.

"You're a writer?" This seemed to cast me in a different light in Terry's eyes and he looked at me for a moment, perhaps adjusting his notion of why I was here.

"I don't think Tommy does interviews anymore," the barman said directly.

"Why not?"

"It seems like every time he does, he gets fucked over. You know, they come in here and everything is great, then you get the article and it's all this trash and sensationalism. Exposé stuff. He just decided not to give anymore interviews."

"You're talking about the straight press," I said. "I write for a gay American magazine." The barman nodded noncommittally. "What do you want to know?"

The big tour

Soon I was introduced to Tommy, and he was escorting me through the various rooms of the brothel. I had a chance to pose the questions burning on my mind.

"How do you select the young men?" I queried.

"We look for good, clean-cut boys," Tommy answered, holding open the door to a large room for me. "They don't have to be super good-looking, but they have to be nice, and good to talk to. They need to have an average- to-good body. We talk to boys between 18 and up to about 30 or so."

We were standing in a large windowless room with a queen size bed against one wall, a large

television against the wall facing, and a nicely tiled open shower in the corner. "This is an average room," Tommy said, flipping a switch on a small panel above the bed, flooding the space with romantic mood music. A flick of the dial switched the tunes to rock, then Western. With the excep tion of the missing window, the room could be at an upper-end hotel, though the big bed had no top sheet or blankets.

"How do you know if a boy will work out? Does someone try him out?"

"No," Tommy replied. "The boys come here and ask for a job. We never advertise or solicit. If I like them, I have them fill out an information form and I take them to a room for an interview. If I'm not sure about his body, I may ask him to take off his clothes, but not usually. If everything is all right, then we give them a few days trial, usually three days."

So much for my fantasy job- hiring boys for a bordello.

But surely I could find useful work as a trainer, right? No, Tommy said, dashing another dream occupation. "The young men know what they are doing. And if by chance they don't, their customers will tell him. We have a video they can look at before they go into the Thai room- where the boys give full body massages. With SM, either they do it or they don't. It's up to the boy."

"How long do the boys usually stay?" I wondered.

"Usually about six months," Tommy said, opening a drawer in the bedside table that revealed all the simple tools of the trade- condoms, lubricants, massage oil. "Some boys stay a year or two."

Health problems were something else I was wondering about. "A government health worker comes here to test the boys for STDs every three weeks," Tommy told me. "The boys are very clean and healthy. If we didn't keep them healthy, we'd be shut down." Under Dutch law, Tommy ex plained, workers of any kind can't be required to be tested for HIV. But if a sex worker wants a test, it's free. "They have to practice safe sex anyway so it doesn't matter."

What counts as safe? Sucking without coming in the mouth, and anal sex with a condom. Come in the mouth is discouraged, and unprotected anal sex is absolutely forbidden.

"The boys do anal sex then?" I asked, my mind wandering back to the allegedly virgin-butted Carlo.

"They don't have to," Tommy told me. "It's up to them and what they and the client agree to. The rule is that the boy has to find out what the client wants while they are still at the bar. If the boy doesn't want to do something, then the client is free to find a different boy. But the boy has to say what he will do or won't do in advance so there is no disagreement in the room." If only lovers had such high standards of honesty and communication!

"Can the boy charge more for different things?" I asked. Tommy was emphatic: "This is strictly forbidden." All the negotiation had to be done in the bar before the boy takes the man into the room. Once there, he cannot ask for more money. The man can tip if he likes, but the hustler cannot pressure the customer for tips or sell extra service.

"Do your customers fall in love with the boys?" I asked. Maybe the question didn't quite translate to someone so steeped in the brothel industry, but Tommy answered that any outside rela tionship between a boy and a client he meets in the business is also forbidden. A boy who dates a customer on the side, Tommy said, would be fired.

Rooms of love

Now Tommy and I went into the SM room. This was a new experience for me. Some of the devices were obvious enough: there was a rack for neck and wrists, leaving the body bent double at the hips and the ass exposed. I could also figure out the rack with black leather straps for wrists and ankles, perfect for spread- eagling a boy or client. On one wall hung a collection of whips, restraining equipment, and plastic phalluses. There was what looked like a gymnast's side horse, but fitted out with manacles and straps. It was not impossible to visualize my friend Carlo strapped across it.

"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a cage, about the size of a traveling crate for a German shepherd, but made of heavy iron bars. The cage dangled from the ceiling on a rope that allowed it to swing a few inches off the floor. Tommy detached the rope from a hook on the wall and raised it up so that the cage floor was knee-height. This he seemed to offer as an explanation. I looked at it, still unable to apprehend what was apparently so obvious to Tommy.

"But what does it do?" I asked.

"You get inside it," Tommy said, suddenly realizing the extent of my ignorance. How could a man fit inside so small a cage? But if he were inside, I realized, his head would be crowded against the bars at one end and his ass helpless against the other. Again I thought of Carlo learning one of the tricks of his trade, the one he has so far not mastered, through the bars of this ingenious device.

The Thai Room was much like the other rooms, only next to the shower was a water bed. It was here that a customer could enjoy the Thai massage which, Tommy told me, involved the full length rubbing together of oil- slathered naked bodies.

Tommy told me he'd been running his brothel for ten years. I didn't have the courage to ask if he had once been a "boy"- he certainly was a good-looking man, though now over 30.

Tommy began to talk about Dutch politics. He claimed that his would become the first fully -licensed male brothel in the world. Contrary to what many Americans believe, Tommy told me, the brothels of Amsterdam are still technically illegal. He was not sure when legalization was to happen but seemed to think it would be soon. He told me proudly that the federal minister of health had come here to see how a brothel should be run. Several other houses with boys had been closed, Tommy said, because they employed boys under 18 years, or permitted drugs. Some even were accused of importing youths from the Balkans and holding them as sex slaves.

I asked Tommy about his relations with the cops. He explained that there was a special police unit for the red- light establishments. He had called the police only twice in ten years. "I once had one guy who would not pay," he related, "and another who was drunk and disorderly."

The tour was over, and Tommy led me back to the bar. Like a good ethnographer, I wanted to watch closely the pairing off process between boys and patrons. Now several men sat drinking at the bar. The boys lounged on the sofas waiting, bored, and talking to each other.

Carlo was there, his devastating grin and his beautiful dark eyes drawing me in as ever. But we had already talked- he would not approach me again unless I invited him. I studied the young hustlers. Each smiled as I looked at him, but I invited none to approach. Except Carlo, none of the boys available now had been here earlier in the afternoon. Terry told me that there was the afternoon shift (noon to seven), and the night shift, which was on now and would work till all clients had gone, sometime after 2 am.

At the far end of the room a door opened and blond Frederick came into the bar. He was followed a moment later by Terry, who was dressed as if for the street. Frederick settled comfortably on a sofa with the other boys. Terry stopped just inside the door and looked down the bar at the seated men. When his eyes came to me, I held his look and so he came round the bar and down to me.

"You like the tour?" he said in his Midwestern twang. "Very much," I said.

Terry grinned at me and then nodded his head in the direction of the end of the bar and the hall to the rooms. He let the set of his eyebrows and his slightly opened lips ask the silent question: did I want to go to a room with him?

Big and Black

I am a white male in my mid 20s living in a large city.I have been straight all my life, although I have gone out with several bisexual women. I guess you could say that I never felt anything against gay sexuality, I just did not think it was for me.

I had been overworked and was losing weight due to a lack of time to lift weights etc. I kept saying that I had to join a health club, but it would have to be very near to my home or my work. I happened to hear from an older colleague about a club near his office. It was open 24 hrs, had pristine equipment and was cheaper than any other club in town. He had joined because it also had about thirty cubicles with beds which you could rent for an additional 6 dollars a visit. He used these if he had to wotrk late and did not want the 2 hour commute. The only catch was it was a gay club.

Apparently it had been a gay bath house but had added a great deal of health club features to avoid being shut down. As a result the mainly gay clientele respected the straight members (!) who gave the club some kind of cover. You could not beat the hours or the price. I joined.

At first it was a little weird. Somebody would brush up against me in the sauna,but nobody forced anything. Showers were communal,and often guys would be showering immediately after having sex with each other in one of the cubicles. It was strnge to see so many different cocks of different shapes and sizes.At first I thought that most of these guys were bigger than my cut 7.5 inches, but most were just permanently semi-hard. I found myself looking more and more at the meat between their legs. Especially the uncut guys.

Once in the sauna I witnessed an Asian man and a black man meet and slowly slide into a position with the Asian guy sucking the other's cock. There position blocked my exit, but I wasn't going anywhere. I was fascinated by the sight of this seven incher disappearing into the guys mouth,the slurping sounds,the moans,and most of all the sheer look of contentment on the face of the guy doing the sucking. After about five minutes the black guy put his hands on the back of the others head and pumped vigorously.He moaned and shot a load of cuminto his mouth. The squishing slurping sounds filled the air. So did the fresh mushroom scent of semen.

I was hard. I was a straight guy in a dark sauna full of gay men, and my dick was hard. I had not noticed, but several other men had started giving each other hand jobs. I felt a touch on towel around my waist and then my cockhead was engulfed in something wet and warm and fabulous. I looked down to see the dim image of a man's head sliding down my prick. He took it all. My girlfriend had never taken more than half my cock and this guy swallowed it whole. It was too much, too fast. I didn'tlike not being able to see who was sucking me.I was confused and startled that I had let it get that far. I pulled out and headed for the shower.

I must have been in the shower 15 minutes thinking about wwhat I had seen.A couple of guys came and went and I took little notice. But when the shower next to me was turned on by black man who turned to face me I almost jumped. He slowly started to clean his cock,rolling the loose foreskin back and letting the water rush over it. I was in awe. I was still almost fully erect he was soft, but our cocks were about two feet apart and there was no mistaking that his dwarfed my 7.5 inches.Even flaccid it was about 9.5 inches long and way thicker than mine. He jacked the skin back and forth and turned around.

I had never felt anything like this before,but now I wanted nothing n\more than to drop to my knees and suck this monster cock. My head was spinning. I was turned away to hide my erection. Suddenly I heard the water stop. He was drying himself and preparing to leave. I felt a longing as I knew I would never get a chance like this again.I turned off my shower and started to dry off. He wrapped his towel around his waist and went out the door.

It was now or never. I reacted instinctively and hurried out the door,caught up to him and tapped hiss shoulder. "I'm sorry to disturb you,but I'm in room 656 if you want to drop by." I said, giving him my cubicle number and turning away.

"Jesus that was lame." I thought and walked back to my room. I felt embarrassed, that I had acted foolish. After about a minute there was knock on the door.I could not believe it.I tought about not answering and hesitated.Then I came tomy senses and pulled it open. There he was. He stepped in out of the hall and we introduced ourselves and he said "What do yu like to do?"

"I like to suck" I replied and dropped to my knees. I slipped his toweloff and confronted his cock inches from my face. I tookit in my hand marvelling at the weight and softness. I opened my mouth and slid my tongue outflickat his foreskin, then opened my lips around the giant head of his cock. It's silky smoothness slid into my mouth filling it instatntly. He was fully hard now and had to be 11.5 inches long and thicker than ever porn films I've seen.I could only get about 5 inches in my mouth,but only because he was so thick.

He sat down on the bed and I really went to work boobing my head up and down and swirling my tongue inside his sheath and around the underside of his cockhead.I did all the things that I had wanted women to do to me . I jammed him into my thoroat. His delicious pre-cum ran over my tonugue. I sucked and sucked as he put his hands on my head and fucked my mouth viciously. "That's good.that's good"he said

He thrust faster and I knew he was clos> I closed my mouth around his cock as he jerked intomy mouthand his comee shot out.It filled my mouth and ran out all over his pumping cock its deliciously thick goo coated the inside of my mouth and throat. I was in heaven

Netting A Fisherman

Several years ago during a vacation in Minnesota, we were fishing in a wilderness area. I was with my family, I was home for the summer staying with them for a month. Dad and I liked to fish, Mom and my sister were hiking and enjoying themselves at the lake.

Around mid-afternoon I happened to see a tall, well built fisherman in chest high waders walk by where we were sitting. He said hello and kept going upstream, on a path through the heavy underbrush.

We were just below a small public campground that bordered the stream where we'd left our car.

Curious where this stud might be headed, I told my dad I was going back to the car for something and took off after the stranger, letting Dad watch my gear.

I saw him several yards further on, going towards the parking lot of the campground. He was headed for the old rundown wooden crapper that sat towards the rear of the area. A more modern one was located by the entrance road.

I knew this stud was going to take a dump as if he had to just take a piss he'd have done it anywhere. He stopped by an old pickup truck with a cap, opened the back and tossed his gear inside. He didn't notice me as I dashed into the crapper hoping to get to the booth hoping to get to the booth with the glory-hole before he came in.

I quickly sat down on the doorless stall and waited. I heard the crunch of his boots on the path then he came inside the smelly outhouse.

He looked at me and smiled. "Beat me, huh? Take your time I ain't in a rush, I just better take a dump before I head for the road. Got a long trip."

He seemed to be stoned or something. I could smell booze on him as he spoke. He seemed very friendly.

He was in his mid-forties and obviously an outdoor type. I assume he worked outdoors as well by his coloring and robust appearance. His hands were big, rough from working with them. He had dark curly hair and a large mustache and beard. There was a tattoo on both of his upper arms. His arms were hairy and fur curled up around the neck of his sweat damp T-shirt. The waders were hiding the rest of his body, but as he stood there he shrugged himself out of the shoulder straps and held them up with one hand.

"I won't be long." I said as he stood there a minute then turned, going towards the urinal. I heard the sound of him pulling the waders down as I leaned towards the glory hole. He hauled out a fat piece of meat and began to piss. When he was through he pulled the rubber waders back up. He paused, I touched a finger to the hole. I heard him chuckle.

"Hungry, are you? Damn! I can sure use some good head!" he said softly as he stepped around from of me again. He pulled the waders down and then fished his cock out of his fly and offered it to me, stepping close to the booth shaking his meat at me, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

I began to suck him. His cock stiffened then died as he tried to overcome the effects of the booze he'd had.

"Feels good but I can't seem to keep it hard." he apologized. "I had a few shots.....feels good.....I love it even if it won't stay up."

"I'd love to suck it for you all afternoon," I said. "I like the way your crotch and nuts smell from the sweat and the perspiration in your jeans from the waders.

"You can suck it all day....I ain't in a rush, but I gotta take a dump first."

I got up, he took a seat on the crapper. I was turned on by him and no sooner was he sitting with his waders and levis around his legs, below his knees, while I was kneeling down with my face between his legs in his hairy groin.

He leaned back with a smile on his handsome face.

"Hell, I tell you I gotta take a dump."

"Do it while I suck on it!" He sighed, leaning back.

"Listen for someone coming," he said softly as he felt my lips around his shaft.

"Nobody comes here unless it's for fun. They use the new shithouse over by the road." I said.

He pulled the T-shirt up past his nipples and lay back legs stretched out with me kneeling in the tangle of clothing. The smell of his crotch turned me on as I began to lick and suck his hairy, loaded balls.

I wet my finger then reached under him and put my finger against his sticky asshole. He'd recently let a fart and it had been a messy one. There was a smear of fresh shit around his hairy asshole.

I fingered it gently feeling my finger enter and press against what must have been a solid turd. I worked my finger around inside feeling the turd and running my finger around it between it and the wall of his rectum. Then I pressed on it causing him to let out a grunt.

"Yeah, I told you I was full in there."

I pulled my finger away and looked at it. There was shit around the fingernail and as I held it to my nose to sniff if, his eyes followed my every move.

I licked it as I stared into his eyes and slowly replaced it up his asshole feeling around inside again, pressing my finger into his turd.

"I want to suck your funky ass," I whispered to him.

"But I gotta shit! Real bad, I'm trying to hold it back!"

"I want to suck it out of you."

"I gotta take a dump real bad. I ain't holding it much longer," he said as I fingered his hole, digging into the turd and pulled the shit-stained finger out with a small lump on the tip of it, licked my finger clean again as he watched, fascinated by what I was doing.

I'd started eating shit when I was twenty while in the Marines. I had this rugged DI from Odessa, Texas, who was all redneck and was always making rotten remarks about queers. One night I met him in a bar our first weekend after bootcamp. He drunk himself almost unconscious, then had the nerve to ask me to drive him back in his own car. Of course I did. He got in the car and pretended to be sleeping but I could see he had a hard-on. When I looked back his dick was out and at full staff!

Well I sucked him off. Next day he acted like nothing happened. The following weekend I went to the same bar and the same thing happened. This time he was really passed out drunk and when I got down on him I heard him fart. It was a wet one, and then I smelled shit.

Imagine my surprise when I reached down to play with is balls in his pants and my fingers came out streaked with soft shit. The DI had shit his pants!

I wanted him and decided to blow him even if it was soft. I sucked his hairy nuts and while doing it got a taste of some shit that was on them. Then in my wild passion I rolled him over on his side in the seat, pulled his pants and shitty boxers down and licked every trace of smeared shit from between his hairy asscheeks and when I was done he was almost as clean as before he'd messed his pants, except I couldn't suck all the shit stain out of his boxers!

When I got him where he was going he went in. Next day he asked me about his dirty boxers. I told him what happened.

I was only going to be there the rest of the week, he knew it and came to me and wanted to go to town and get a few beers. He brought up the subject of shitting in his pants and how clean his ass had been even if his underwear was so stained.

He drove off on a lonely road telling me he was going to get one last blowjob out of me before I shipped out.

He pulled up under some bushes and got out and ordered me out too. There was a good moon so we could see each other. He put me down on my knees and had me suck his cock. Right in the middle of it he pissed in it and wouldn't let me off until I drank all his warm beer piss.

Then he turned around, put one foot up on the sill of the open car door and leaned forward.

"Lick my ass!" he said. "Lay some tongue up it!"

I did, boy it was just what I wanted. Then he reached back and clamped my face in his cheeks and strained. Some soft shit drooled out. I was licking his ass so hard that I never even stopped when I tasted it. He let his hand go and I kept right on licking like a junk-yard ass dog.

He lay on the car seat with his legs up in the air so he could be comfortable and feed me his ass. I kept rimming him and he kept grunting and groaning how good it was.

"Open it up," I begged. "Let it open wide!"

That was the signal. He just gave a loud grunt and filled my mouth with soft shit. I swallowed it then he stood up and fucked my face until he made it and told me to get back in the car and drive him back. That was the last time I ever had him.

And that was how it started. He wasn't the last and now I had this rugged fisherman and was cleaning his shitpipe out.

"How's it taste?" he asked with a sort of smile.

"Tastes good, man, can I please have more?"

He looked down with a strange look on his face. His fat dick was hard and drooled clear snot from the piss hole.

I pushed him back against the wall, then lifted his legs up. He grabbed his feet and pulled them back towards him as he scooted down on the bowl. His ass was now at the edge of the seat, it was dark with hair and I could see his shithole. He had a ring of piles that circled it. I leaned down and tongued it then licked up and down it cleaning all the funk out of it before darting my tongue inside his hole causing him to let out a gasp and a loud "Oh Yeah!"

"Like that huh, Mister Macho?"

"Yeah...suck out my fucking shit hole!" he urged.

I began to rim him at the same time forcing some air up him. He farted it out giving me a taste of his sweet tasting farts.

"I gotta dump," he said again.

"Give me a taste."

He strained then began to deliver! I stayed on it until I felt my mouth filled then backed off to look at the brown offering. It was solid and chunky. I could see chunks of shit balled together into one thick turd.

I went down on it sucking it like as if it was his cock. The fisherman groaned as he felt me working on it then I bit it off, chewed it up and gulped it down getting another mouthful and doing the same.

He had control over his bowels and looked to see me as I slowly ate his shit. Then as he broke it off, his asshole contracted and he sat up on the seat.

"Fuckin' ruinin' my back," he stretched and pushed his hands into his kidney area.

"Got more?" I asked.

"Sure do...you really gobbling down my crap? That's pretty fuckin' strange stuff, buddy."

"I want more, please?" I begged.

He stood up, turned and bent forward lifting one foot to the bowl giving me access to his hairy crack.

"Get it, I got more and I ain't going to be able to hold it much longer. I got gas pains from all the ass sucking you did. Get up in there and get ready for more shit," he said.

I plastered my lips to his asshole as he strained and let go with another turd. It was softer, I swallowed his stinking mush as fast as he could squeeze it out, then when the last bit came it was loose. I gulped it down.

I licked his ass cleaner than it had been before I met him. He turned around and stood there with a hard on.

"Okay, shitface, suck me off.....I gotta get movin'!"

I began to suck his cock and as he got nearer he grabbed my head and face fucked me hard and drove his shaft into my throat and unloaded. When he was done he pushed me away then turned towards the toilet.

"No! Don't waste your piss......give it to me. Wash your cum and shit down with it. Flush this hungry toilet's mouth out. You flush your toilet at home when you use it, don't you? Well do it to the one kneeling at your feet!"

He shook his head then offered me his soft cock and then began to relieve himself in my mouth. It was strong and hot but I drank all he had. Then he pulled his pants up and walked outside.

"Thanks! And if you ain't fuckin' dead from my poison maybe I'll see you around again." He went to his truck and began to get out of the waders and put his shoes on. I was going back to where dad was as he roared out of the parking area.

When I got back Dad asked if I found what I was after.

"Yep, I sure did. I was hungry, there was a chocolate bar I left in the car I didn't eat on my way here." I smiled. "That will hold me until supper."

"You fucking pig, did you ever think I might be hungry too? You could have at least saved me a little."

I belched.....the taste of shit came back up on me. I belched again then told Dad, "There's a sample for you."

"Why you pig!" he grinned and cast his line into the river.

"Hell Dad, it was laying around in the car too long. It tasted like shit anyway. You wouldn't have liked it."

The Best Whore I Ever Had

My most satisfactory experience with piss took place when I met a young guy at the Barracks, a bath in the Times Square area.

He left the door to his room open and lay naked on his bed. He was a Western type of guy, lean and lanky, with gorgeous sex organs. I passed by his door many times to enjoy the sight of his nakedness, not daring to go in since I was more than twice his age.

Finally, I got up enough courage to step inside his room and make some casual greeting. To my surprise, he seemed glad to see me. There was friendliness in his keen blue eyes.

I closed his door, sat down on his bed, and started to play with his prick and balls, teasing him to a magnificent erection. His cock rose up above his belly to an impressive height and I took as much of it as I could into my mouth.

He complimented me on my technique and said I really got him excited. However, he drew his cock out of my mouth so he wouldn't shoot his load and said that what really turned him on was pissing. He didn't want to mess up his room so he took me down to the steam room, where he said there was a hose to wash down the floor when we finished pissing.

It was early in the afternoon and there were few customers, so we had the steam room pretty much to ourselves. The steam pressure was down, so we weren't overcome with excessive heat.

He lay on the floor and had me spatter my piss over his head and chest and belly, saving enough to drench his cock and balls. Then we reversed positions and he pissed on me. He had a bladder full and took his time bathing me with warm urine. He finished up by squirting the last drops into my open mouth. I enjoyed the warm odorous liquid as it ran over my body.

When we had finished he hosed down the floor so the attendant wouldn't know what we'd been doing and returned upstairs to his room, where I sucked him off. To tell the truth, I enjoyed his come more than I did the piss.

I never had but one guy who insisted on being tied up. I met him at St. Mark's Baths years ago. He couldn't get a hard on and he wouldn't let me suck him unless he was in bondage. His physique wasn't remarkable but he was young, masculine, and had attractive sex organs. His come was tasty, too. He would produce some ropes and order me to tie him up. Unfortunately, I was always rather clumsy with knots so I had difficulty getting the ropes tight enough to suit him.

This ritual of bondage may turn some guys on but I regarded it as an impediment to the main attraction. Still, it meant one more cock to suck and add to my score, one more load of sperm to swallow, so I went along with him and tried to follow his directions. I don't think we had more than half a dozen sessions together on my various trips to St. Mark's and none of them was ever quite satisfactory to either one of us. Obviously bondage was not my cup of tea.

Off and on at the baths, I have met many guys who wanted to be spanked, but have only one steady guy who insists on my whacking his ass. I met him a long time ago at the West Side Sauna and I had no idea at the time that he was a masochist. At our first encounter, he let me suck him and take his load before he got dressed and went home. Later when I ran into him again, he let me stick my tongue up his ass.

Finally, one day he patted his ass with both hands, indicating he wanted me to spank him. I was happy to oblige and gave him a few whacks. The harder I hit the more he seemed to enjoy it, so I really let go and slapped him with such force that my hands began to hurt. I stopped only when his ass turned bright red and looked rather raw. That is probably as far as I shall ever get at being a sadist. Now we have a standard routine: first I spank him until his ass begins to look raw, then he will stick his stiff prick through his legs so I can suck it from the rear. Only occasionally will he allow me to take his load.

Once at Everard Baths I paired off with a guy who seemed to want no more than a blow job. He was young, attractive, with nice cock and balls. He was rather passive and never seemed to hold a stiff hard on for long. I was sucking him on a bed in the dormitory when an older guy came up and the two started talking while I continued the blow job.

Suddenly the guy I was sucking drew his cock out of my mouth and stood up, and I thought I had lost my trick to the older man. I was about to walk away when the latter turned and told me to come up to his room with the two of them. I accepted gladly.

Once in the room, the older guy picked up a wicked-looking whip with several strands. The younger man stood with his arms raised in a wide "V" above his head. He spread his legs and had me sit between them on the floor so I could return to my cocksucking while the other guy reviled him and lashed his back and ass. This time the young guy had no difficulty holding his hard on and it didn't take him long to shoot a heavy load.

Another thing I learned at the baths was how to get fucked in the ass. For me a man's cock has always been the main attraction but for many guys the anus becomes of equal if not paramount importance. For me too a gorgeous ass becomes a source of intense pleasure. There is something about the curves of a guy's ass that makes exploration of it sexually satisfying. We can use the lips, the tongue, the finger, and the cock.

I began to enjoy watching guys fucking and getting fucked in the steam room and the dormitories. It turned me on to see the heaving buttocks. If other guys get such intense pleasure out of fucking and being fucked, I though I should try it too.

So fairly early in my career I offered my ass to an attractive young guy at one of the baths who wanted to get his rocks off that way. I bent over a bench in the steam room, sticking my rear end up in the air. The guy spit on his fingers, then stuck one finger, and later two, up my hole, twisting them around to loosen it. Then he rammed his cock into me brutally. I yelled with pain and struggled to get away but he was a strong bugger and he held my chest to prevent my escape. To my vast relief, he finally relented and withdrew his prick. Being fucked wasn't immediately the delight I had imagined. It took time to acquire a taste for it.

It was a long time before I let a guy bugger me again. If I was really hot for a guy, though, and if he didn't have too huge a cock, I would let him stick it into me even if I bled a little afterward. It was a real triumph when I heard one of my lovers exclaim that he had "got it all the way in."

I also learned to squat over a guy's mid-section while he was prone on the bed or floor and bounce up and down on his rigid pole.

I especially liked to lie on my back and have the guy lift my legs and hold my feet in the air and watch him plugging me. I never really felt comfortable with a cock in my rectum and generally avoid getting fucked if I can.

I did have a few pleasant fucking sessions at the Barracks in New York City. There was one guy I fell in love with at once-- a real stud, German type, tall, blond, blue-eyed, clean-shaven, who showered me with affection. He kissed me on the lips passionately, stuck his tongue into my mouth, massaged my nipples, and kept rubbing his hands over my body and stroking my ass cheeks.

He had a good-sized cock so his penetration of me was a bit painful, but his gentle love-making enabled me to endure it. For the first time in my life I felt like a woman and realized more or less what a woman experiences while she is being fucked.

When he had finished he kissed me tenderly and repeatedly on my lips, cheeks, neck, and shoulders. Sweet lover man, he seemed really grateful.

I never particularly enjoyed fucking a guy either, although a few guys won't let me suck their cocks until I have fucked them awhile first.

The one guy I really did enjoy fucking was a man I picked up in the subway and not at the baths. He was a friendly guy, medium height, black hair, pleasant features, an open face, and a reassuring smile. He wore rough work clothes and I assumed he was on his way home after work. I started to give him a blow job in the subway toilet but he withdrew his cock from my mouth and invited me to his place.

He led me to his bedroom, where we helped each other take our clothes off. It was a warm afternoon early in June and the sun sent a cheerful glow into the room which glorified the man's body as though the sculptured figure of an athlete had suddenly come to life.

He picked up a tube of lubricant from a small table at the head of the bed, smeared some over his fingers and thrust them in his hole, then turned to me and started anointing my cock. The sensation was so tantalizing I almost shot my load then and there, but I summoned up the will power to hold off.

He moved to the foot board of the bed and, grasping the foot board, leaned over to give me access to his rear end. His every movement was a thing of beauty. He seemed to possess the innocence, grace, and power of an animal.

As I placed my hands on his flanks to drive my cock into him, he trembled a little. It was a glorious moment when I felt the warmth of his butt against my legs and groin.

The guy was a pro. He knew how to work his asshole muscles to give a fucker the thrill of a lifetime.

I wanted to get him in another position-- on his back with his legs in the air-- so I could bend over and kiss him on the mouth while I was cornholing him, but with the sensations I was experiencing I couldn't hold off that long. The pleasure became so acute that I shot a big load of cum into his ass in a spasm of delight.

He found a towel, wiped his hole with one end, and handed me the other so I could wipe my prick.

When I was dressed and ready to leave, he surprised me by asking, "Have you got any loot?"

I hadn't expected he would want money for his services, but I wasn't reluctant to pay up. A guy doesn't find such bliss every day. So I gave him all the cash I had on me, saving only enough to get something to eat for supper and to pay my bus fare home.

All that and a lot more would not have been too much for the best fuck and the best whore I ever had or hope to have.

Once I almost got caught in a raid. The police used to make raids on the baths sporadically, usually on Saturday nights or on the eve of a holiday, especially during an election year.

One busy night at St. Mark's years ago, we heard sirens in the street outside. I thought it was a fire and went to one of the windows on an upper floor to see what was going on. I noticed a long van parked in front of the baths but I could see no fire trucks in the vicinity.

Scared shitless, I retreated hastily to my room, locked my door, put on most of my clothes, and lay down on the bed with the light out, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Instead of spending Christmas that year with friends and relatives, I would be in a jail cell. I could lose my job.

At long last I heard a key in the lock and saw a man at the door whom I took to be a police officer, although he was not in uniform. He turned on the light and looked sharply at me. But after a moment's scrutiny the guy closed the door and left.

What a relief. Apparently only the customers who had been caught in some homosexual act had been hauled off to jail. Along with me, perhaps a dozen escaped arrest. A few stayed on to suck and fuck the rest of the night, but I was in no mood for further sex so I got dressed as soon as I could and left.

Once in a while I got a chance to play around with some of the attendants at the baths. Often they were young and attractive and of course they knew the score.

I had several attendants at St. Mark's. When they were off duty they would sleep in the dormitory along with the customers. Sometimes the attendants would sleep stark naked, sometimes with a towel wrapped around their waist.

Often they were so exhausted they didn't know, or didn't care, when I played with their dicks and started sucking on them.

One attendant I sucked fairly regularly-- a tall blond guy, good looking, well hung, good natured-- slept profoundly and rarely pushed me away. Only once or twice did he shoot a load. He was probably too tired to come.

There was another attendant there whom I sucked several times when he was asleep, but after that he began to want money. Five dollars was the usual fee in those days at that place. On a commercial basis he would come to my room in the baths and let me play around with him as I wished. He was generous with his cream and always delivered a load before he left.

Later on he rented a two-room apartment only a few blocks away from the baths and took me there when he was off duty. The price was higher, of course, but it was worth it. He would let me take his clothes off, play with his feet, kiss his body all over, drink his piss, suck his ass, and fuck him-- the works.

There was another attendant at St. Mark's who let me blow him. He was a rather burly guy with rather coarse features. He had a heavy-set, powerful body with a thick cock and hot nuts. He took me to a room that had just been vacated and hadn't been made up yet. He unbuttoned his pants, lay on the bed, and let me suck him off. He complimented me on my technique but I never had a chance for a repeat performance. I heard from other customers that he did this with most of the guys who came regularly to the baths.

There used to be a small steam bath in the basement of a fleabag hotel on West 31st Street near Penn Station. Just a bare room with lockers, double-decker beds, a steam room, and showers. Everything was very open and when an orgy began one of the attendants, a young, heavy-set Greek, would join in, opening his pants to let the guys suck him. I had him several times, always giving him a good tip before I left.

There was one attendant at the Sauna on West 58th Street that I had my eye on for some time. He was a short guy, compactly built, and sexy. Ex-Navy, maybe. Cock appeal at first sight. I saw him sometimes at other baths so I knew he was gay, but he always avoided me.

My opportunity came at long last, early one morning when a violent storm kept people off the streets. The all-night customers at the Sauna had left, so besides the man at the desk, the attendant, and myself, there was no one in the place.

I followed the attendant about, making causal conversations, and finally he sat down in a chair in the lounge. I drew up a seat beside him.

Talking about the storm, he told me that once he and his brother had spent most of the night stranded in their car because the rain and darkness prevented them from seeing more than a foot or so in front of them. All I had on was a towel wrapped around my waist and while listening to his story I reached under to play with my prick and balls until I got a noticeable hard on. When he finished his story I emphasized the fact that we were the only two guys left in the place and that there probably wouldn't be any other customers until the storm slackened. He said he had never before been alone with just one customer in the Sauna.

Perhaps he got bored and wanted some entertainment while waiting out the storm. I noticed that he gradually slouched in his chair, spreading his legs suggestively, while he rubbed his groin with one hand.

I rose to my feet and he looked up at me with a sly smile on his lips and a nod of his head which looked like an invitation.

At any rate, I took it that way and he didn't stop me as I knelt between his legs and reached up to unfasten his belt and open his fly. I pulled out his prick and my dream came true at least. His cock rose up immediately. It was a real beauty-- long and thick. The head of his prick was bright red and a drop of pre- cum juice glistened in his piss-hole.

I jerked him off while putting his peter in my mouth. Then I pulled his pants and shorts down to his knees so I could play with his balls and reach up under him and feel his ass and shit hole. He didn't object when I pulled his loafers off an nuzzled his feet against my cheeks and mouth and massaged them through his socks, enjoying the odor. I reached up under his shirt to tug at his nipples and rub his chest and belly. With all this stimulation, it didn't take long to shoot a load of rich, thick cream.

No one came into the baths during our sex play and for some time after we had finished we were still alone. I seldom have had such a good time. I gave the guy a large tip when I left.

Some men have told me that they get bored at the baths and that they prefer the excitement and danger of making conquests on the outside, but I always have a better time at the baths, probably because I don't make friends with strangers on the outside very easily. It takes a certain amount of tact and personal magnetism to persuade a guy on the outside to get into bed with you. The baths gave me experiences that I could never have had anywhere else. I must have had relations with thousands of men in them and it is hard to remember more than a very small percentage of them.

Some are unforgettable, like the guy from Washington, a magnificent specimen of powerful manhood who said that he liked the way his wife sucked him off but that he had never had a blow job as exciting as the one I gave him.

I also can't forget the three strapping truck drivers from Jersey who came into Everard's in the early morning hours and whom I sucked off one after the other. They seemed to be new to the gay scene-- perhaps this was their first time in an all- night steam bath. Perhaps they just wanted to try something different, just for kicks.

When I asked one of them if he liked to be rimmed he answered, "I don't give a shit what you do."

And then there was the guy who liked to sit on the edge of the bed while I knelt down at his feet to suck him off. After he had shot his load he used to caress my head and shoulders and tell me, "You're a natural-born cocksucker. You shouldn't have to do anything but suck men's pricks all day."

I agreed most heartily.

I Wanna Jack You Off

It was summer and I had just returned home from my first year at college. I had been attending a large church-affiliated university which had an excellent reputation for its educational standards but which, in my case, proved to be unbearably repressive as far as sex was concerned. All these gorgeous gay guys (I could tell from the looks they gave me on the sly) but all of them, myself included, too uptight to even think about touching another guy except for the usual slap-on-the-butt jock shit.

Anyway, little did I know that my summer vacation at home in Georgia would be a lot different from the routine at school. If I had known before hand what that summer held in store, I don't think I could have waited out two full semesters. Summers in Georgia are very hot and humid so people tend to dress cool. I decided to look for a pair of white cotton slacks and went to one of the large department stores downtown to see if I could find what I wanted.

The retail clerk in the mens department was a foxy upper-classman I had seen before on campus--but always with a girl on each arm. I spotted him from halfway across the store--or rather, I spotted his ASS from halfway across the store; he was bending over looking for some stock under a counter. Oh, but when he turned around--that was the coup de grace! It was all I could do to keep from staring. Finally, I got so intimidated I decided to leave, besides--I couldn't find any slacks in my size. Just as I started walking away, I heard a man's polite southern accent behind me:

"Excuse me sir. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Uh, ahh, umm, well no. I'm looking for some white cotton slacks".

"We just got some in but I haven't had a chance to put them out yet; what is your waist size"?

"Size 30".

"I think you might like the new Calvin Kleins. Why don't you go back to a dressing room and I'll be right there".

I walked down a long hallway with about ten curtained booths on either side and went in the last one on the right. It seemed like I had only been in there for a couple of seconds when I turned around and there he was with a pair of slacks on his arm. He smiled at me, drew the curtain behind him and said:

"Let's try these on for size" as he handed me the slacks.

I had never been in a situation like this before. I mean, God!! Here I am, getting all turned on by this super-hunk, straight college jock while he expects me to strip right in front of him and try on some pants. I tried my best to mentally will my hardon soft but there was no way!! I stepped out of my jeans and hoped that he hadn't seen the wet spot on my jockeys and the throbbing bulge underneath. I started to tuck my shirt in when he said:

"That's OK, leave your shirt out for now".

I didn't understand why he would make a request like that but I complied, zipping the fly and buttoning the waist.

The pants were obviously too big, but I waited to hear his reaction. His face was right in front of my crotch as he knelt down and ran his hand along the inseam. I thought to myself: if he doesn't watch out, I'm going to go over the edge!! He said that the legs seemed to fit OK and asked me what I thought--all the time his hand pressed tight up against my balls.

"Yeah, the legs are fine but look at the waist--these must be at least a size 34!!!"

"Let's see. Are they really that big"?

He stood up and, looking me in the eyes, put his hand inside the waistband of the slacks running it from side to side and said:

"Yeah, you're right. They are too big but how do they FEEL"?

"Well, you know--they feel loose, kind of..."

"Yeah, I know but how does THIS feel"?

He moved his hand to the inside of the waistband of my jockey shorts, tickling the hair on my stomach as he continued to run his hand back and forth--his eyes demanding an acceptable answer to his question. I was starting to shake with sexual excitement. My breathing, though deep, seemed completely inadequate. I was practically unable to speak but the reaction of my body told this young stud everything he needed to know. When he moved his hand down into the wet pouch of my shorts I thought I would pass out and slumped back against the wall. This guy would not let up--THANK GOD!!! He had his hand in my shorts and after playing with my turgid, swollen balls, began to JACK ME OFF!!! I knew I should not be encouraging him, but I had fantasized about this moment for years--it was so easy to just let him DO it! And besides, all the time he was stroking my dick he kept asking me:

"How does that feel.....Does that feel good"? There was no way I could lie. It felt fucking GREAT!!!

I could feel the cum rising through the root of my cock. The feeling of this stud's hand massaging my slippery, lubricated cock was more than I could take. Abruptly, my handsome young masturbator pulled his hand from my shorts but there was no turning back--by this time my cock was so filled with cum that I HAD TO SHOOT!! I was overcome by waves of orgasm that completely saturated my jockey shorts. When I finally was able to speak, I started to tell this guy what a talented hand he had but he interrupted:

"Excuse me, sir--but--ummm, could I ask you a PERSONAL question"?

"Yeah, sure".

"Did you just 'POP'"?

"Are you kidding?....Just look at this mess"!!

"WOW"!!! "I guess you did, huh"? "Wait here--I'll be right back".

In less than a minute, he returned with a new pair of Jockey shorts and said:

"Here...let's trade"!

I left without the cotton slacks and often wonder if that guy is still getting off on my shorts. Just thinking about this experience gets me hot and I love to jack off on the jockeys he gave me in return.

But wouldn't you know.......

He gave me size 34!!!

The Jacket

Some interesting things that happened at a rest stop tea room.

Four cars were parked in the lot at the rest area. Usually there's a guy in each car, usually older, usually drinking and scoping out the trickle of truckers in and out. But tonight, all but one car was empty and since it was a chilly night, there was only one place they could all be. I parked, got out, walked in. As the door opens, I know from experience, all activity suddenly stops and one can usually hear footsteps, people moving or flushing toilets covering up other sounds. None of the above. Nobody at any of the four urinals to my left. Still, a quick check of the four stalls showed three were occupied. The second had a brown leather bomber jacket slung over the door. Its occupant, a young guy, college age, dark brown hair, was looking down and concealing himself. In the third was another college-age guy, shaggy blond hair, green pullover, green jacket with white sleeves, again looking down.

In the last stall I could see a pair of feet in black dress shoes. The crowd looked promising. I turned and occupied the first stall. No sooner did I pull my pants down and sit that I ducked my head and peeked under the stalls. From the third, I noticed the shock of blond hair hanging down, checking out this newcomer's intentions. I remained inverted, watching #2 in his topsiders and black jeans, #3's bright white Etonic workout shoes and jeans, and the black shoes in the last, for a couple of minutes. Number 3, the blond, kept peeking, determining that, yes, I was okay, interested, possibly even desirable. The kid in number 2 finally looked, first at the guy in 3, then at me. Eye to eye, an assurance that I'm not just another truck driver there to take a dump; further, not another old coot desparate for anything he can get either. The guy next to me kept on looking, shifting, stroking from what I could see.

The dude in 3 reached under the wall, rubbed his leg, his thigh and ass and as he shifted on the seat he got his dick stroked as well. I was practically lying on the floor by now, watching everything and keeping my cock erect. The hot youth continued to feel his dick being pumped by the hand from under the wall. He was wearing a white pullover shirt with a Native-American design. His right hand was up inside that shirt massaging his nipple, and his face reflected the sensations being experienced by his erection, heightened by the feel of him pinching his nipples. The guy in the last stall was watching, too, but from his viewpoint he can see the guy doing the stroking, surely on himself as well as his neighbour. He shifted around so the intruding hand can get a feel of his buns and butthole. That put his cock in a position where I could reach under his leg, fondle the head, feel the slippery pre-cum dripping out of the slit. I rubbed some pre-cum on the head and stroked him lightly. I couldn't get a good-enough grip on his cock, so he moved around and let the other guy do some more pumping.

When the excitement becomes too much to handle, the kid next to me pulls his dick from the hand, sits back, erection pointing upwards, shiny and deep red as his hand flies up and down its length, still pinching his nipple. I haven't moved; I'm still standing on my head, captivated and stimulated by the sight of this hot guy working himself out. My nostrils are tittilated by the faint smell of leather from his bomber jacket that hangs a few inches from my face. The look on his face becomes more and more intense. He's nearing his pleasure edge. Looking at me, thinking of my cock and the hand job he has been getting, he pushes his ass back on the toilet seat, points his cock into the toilet bowl and strokes with a mighty fury. Sharp, short breaths escape his rounded lips. I can see his groin pulsate as he unloads his cum into the white porcelain. His face fills with the total pleasure you usually see on the actors in high-grade porno flicks. If he had gotten any hotter he would have boiled over. The pumping goes on for a dozen or more thrusts as my cock swells and fills.

His load spent, he quickly reassembled, put on his leather jacket, made a swift exit. The cute guy in number 3 got up, too, put on his jacket and walked out. I stood up, watching him. He's about six-two, wearing snug Guess jeans and a green long-sleeved shirt with a lot of words and pictures, the kind you find in the "young men's" department. But for me his jacket is the ultimate. It's a varsity-style jacket, green wool flannel with cream-white leather sleeves, white striped green cuffs and collar, and again words. Front and back. If you're a jock, you usually wear a jacket like this with your school letter on it - that really turns me on. This jacket, this guy, is even hotter.

When I go shopping, I duck into stores like Merry Go Round and Chess King and admire the stuff like he's wearing, a three-hundred-dollar varsity jacket, daydream about meeting a guy all decked out, ready for action. Guess, Girbaud and Roots make similar jackets but I've never seen one like this. He stands there a moment, looking at me, such a stud, turns to wash his hands, and walks out. I'm depressed. The most perfect looking guy to cross my path in a long time and he's walking out without even giving me a chance to talk to him, much less touch any part of him. Well, there's still the guy in the suit down at the end, so I pulled up my pants, walked down there, watched him stroking it.

He stood up, walked toward me with his cock in his hand, and opened the door to his stall. I reached out and grabbed his erection, pumped it furiously in my fist as he rubbed my dick through my pants. A few seconds were all it took. He turned his body to aim his cock at the wall and began squirting his white slippery load all over the tile. Globs splatted to the floor. He shook as the torrents weakened, then wiped his cock, stuffed it back in his pants. I went to the sink to wash up as he put his coat on and ducked out the door. To be continued.... As I was drying my hands under the hot wind from the electric hand dryer (the ones that someone usually mutilates to read "1.Press butt--. 2.Rub hands under arm hair."), I heard the door open again. A glance up to see who it is. And my heart raced when it was the blond in the green varsity-style jacket with the white leather sleeves. He's come back for another round, I figured. He must not have gotten off with the young guy in the leather jacket. Maybe he was going after him but he got away. What a pair they made...

He took the third stall, removed his jacket and hung it up, pulled down his jeans, sat down. I walked over, looked over the door at him sitting there, so gorgeous. He reminded me of the typical California dusty blond surfer or beach dude. Moppy hair, clean shaven, well- defined face, ocean blue eyes made more intense by his dark eyebrows. He didn't look up at me but once, and wasn't playing with his dick or showing it off to me. I thought he wasn't interested in me. I do the same thing, when I'm sitting there and someone I don't particularly care for is ogling me, so I recognize the brushoff. There was one thing I wanted to say to him, though, if nothing else:

"That's a great jacket." I was in love with that jacket. I'd love to wear it, to feel his warmth, smell his scent, strut like a hot stud, knowing he bought the jacket to attract that certain kind of guy, and knowing he's gotten off in that jacket a lot. I imagine myself getting off wearing it, playing with it, wrapping my cock in the leather sleeves, staining his jacket with my cum. "Thanks." He whispered at me, glancing at the jacket hanging to his left, then up at me for a moment. A half-grin cracked his lips. Just then, the outside door opened and I ducked into the last stall, pulled my pants down and sat down, checking the feet of the latest visitor. Sweat pants and Nike hi-tops; maybe something hot. It occured to me it's the same guy who came in and took a leak a few minutes earlier. Blond hair ducked down next to me, meeting the glance of the new guy, as we all determined each other's purpose.

I took off and hung up my jacket and once again assumed my position leaning on the floor, looking up at my neighbor, watching him stroke his meat. I had a great vantage point. It's long but not too thick, the uncut foreskin extending about halfway up the glans, less so when he was fully erect. He was definitely turned on and pumping. I could see the guy beyond as he knelt down. A much more massive cock appeared, his blue sweats and jockstrap pulled down around his ankles, the top of his basketball hi-tops visible inside the legs of his sweats. The thick, upturned ten-incher protruded under the wall and the blond dude squatted down, took it in hand and stroked. I was able to reach his cock between his spread legs, and after a brief stop at his fuckhole, my fingers found his rod and kept him up while his were busy working out the jockstrapped guy. We proceeded this way for a few minutes.

I stroked his cock the best I could from where I was; he pumped with a tight grip on the huge boner, stroking furiously. He moved; I released my grip on his cock, felt his thigh, and fondled his buns as he lifted them off the toilet seat to better masturbate the man in the sweats. A rush of breath was heard, a gasped "Aaaaah" and a huge load of cum erupted from the giant erection, a powerful squirt at first which splatted across the stall, followed by several pumps, some of which ran down the shaft. I watched, stroked my cock, as the guy next to me continued to stroke, catching the slippery cum in his fingers and lubricating the stranger's shaft, making a loud slurping sound as he continued stroking the fading orgasm.

The shaft, throbbing in his hand, finally ceased to eject any more fluid but continued to be pumped for another half minute or so, remaining erect, until finally he removed his hand, unrolled some toilet paper, and wiped off as much of the liquid as he could from his right hand. The cock under the wall disappeared, replaced by the man's arm and a wad of paper to mop up the gooey evidence of his orgasm. We both strained forward to watch the fading erection being stuffed back into its jockstrap and sweatpants pulled up over the lump. We glanced over the doors as the man, attractive and about forty, left his stall, washed his hands and left the room. We were alone! The hand came under the wall.

I knelt down and, for the first time, felt the hand of this hot guy, the same hand that just induced orgasm in the jockstrapped dick, stroke my bone. Face and chest flat against the wall, knees digging into the cracks between the floor tiles, I felt my cock being pumped while thinking of the guy, only wishing I could stroke him and see him too. The stroking stopped for a moment, then continued closer to the root and I felt something warm and wet on the underside of the tip of my cock. He was sucking me! It felt so incredibly great, the slippery wet tongue and lips, his warm breath, his hand massaging my nuts and forefingers wrapped tightly around the base of my twitching dick. I pressed my groin further under the wall, gripping the toilet seat with my left hand for leverage. A few seconds of this and I felt like I was getting really close. And then the familiar sound of first the outside door opening brought us to alert; the door to the men's room opening interrupted our passion. Stay tuned...

The sound of the door ended the surging in my prick and we scrambled quietly back to our seated positions. A middle-aged man perused a couple stalls before settling on the first one. Peeks under the wall confirmed: he was looking too, and was cruising to get off as well. He looked, we looked, I looked at my friend, he kind of grins, I felt his leg. He mostly sat there and stroked it, the firm shaft up above the rim of the bowl, the foreskin covering about the bottom third of the shiny purple head, his blond locks in his face, his long-sleeved pullover shirt loosely covering his firm torso, his jeans and Calvin Klein underwear resting on his bright white Etonic workout shoes.

Suddenly, he stands, pulls up his pants and zips them, puts on his fabulous jacket, leaves the stall, walks around and stands at the urinal. I'm not going to lose an opportunity so I do the same, follow him over, stand next to him, unzip, pull it out, and in a couple seconds it's back to full erection, just like him. I stand close to him. His cock looks so magnificent; his hand strokes it firmly. I reach my left hand out, put it on his wrist, his hand, the base of his shaft. He removes his hand, puts it on my thigh, as I stroke the length of his meat. I'm pumping my cock and his in rhythm. We turn and face each other. Our cocks meet briefly, his turgid shaft contacting mine, and he puts his hand up to my face, then to the back of my head. I smell the leather sleeve of his jacket as he pulls my head forward, looks in my eyes, then looks down at his cock, and back at my eyes. He wants to be sucked off and I'm not going to deny him that pleasure. Squatting, I face the red-purple shaft. It's dry; no precum lubricates the tip. My mouth opens; my tongue contacts the head, then the underside; my lips surround the shaft and as my tongue provides gentle suction, I engulf his rod in my mouth. Liquid rushes of pleasure envelop his penis; I bury my nose in his crotch hair, piston stroke his flesh into a frenzy of tension and release.

I feel his rod erectify even more, filling my throat with the rubbery shaft and I know he's getting close. As I hear his breathing getting shorter and more passionate, I look up to see this blond stud's face flush red, eyes close, mouth open, neck muscles tensing, a wave of total immense pleasure sweep over him and I don't want to miss the explosion. I pull my mouth off his erection just in time, for the first volley of cum spurts forth, catching me on the nose and cheek. I turn him and aim him into the wall as I stand and vigorously wank his dick. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, our bodies close, and I absorb the sights and smells of this fabulous guy in the fantastic leather-sleeved jacket.

This is the closest I've been to his body. I impulsively bury my face in his neck, lips pursed, suck on his neck and jaw. From the collar of the jacket I pick up the faint smell of New West cologne, a scent that drives me crazy, which mixes in with the leather. The moans keep coming and so does he. His groin bucks and pulses. His face, contorted with pleasure, remains crimson. For a moment I believe this man is experiencing so much pleasure that some of it is being transferred to my groin. Then I realize that I am orgasming as well, and my cock shoots its five-day supply of sperm at the urinal in a massive gush that splats and echoes on the tile walls. I pump him and me and our dicks respond, alternating splashes of spunk for several more seconds until both of us are drained dry and very nearly so weak that our legs wobble and almost collapse under us.

All this time we find the middle-aged man has been watching us and is working hard on his own cock, and as we turn and look he loses his load into the door of his stall as well, a fitting salute to the show we have been giving him. I really regret not having said anything more to my partner for the past half hour or so, for he is the kind of guy I could get into having around. Not even an exchange of names, much less phone numbers. As the white briefs soak up the last drips of his cum, he zips his sperm covered wad into his jeans. As I return to one of the stalls to wipe up, he leaves the room and is gone forever. I rush out, hoping to find him outside the door, but instead see a pair of taillights accelerating toward the highway. No matter; I'm walking on air, even though I'll probably never meet him, or anyone like him, again.