So with Covid--and me being very careful until I could figure out how to play--I didn't have a lot to write up. I did some reposts. I did some equipment closeups of the toys and hardware in my playroom. And I dipped back into time. Here's one of those. And a warning. I was still using condoms...
Near Home—September. 1997(?)
As it is Memorial Day here in the United States, I looked for a post about a marine I knew. This was a hook up that I had long before I was doing the blog, but I thought I had written it up. I couldn’t find it. Maybe I had only meant to write it. Now this was a very early watersports adventure. Long enough ago that I was a very young 40...
So here it is…
I am online—on Squirt, the only dating site I know. I am reading the cruise listing when my email alert sounds. I click the mailbox open—and go to the profile first. A man in his early 30’s. A man with an incredibly built torso. No face. I open his message.
“You like to piss?”
I tell him I do. Though I haven’t done it a lot.
“Come over and find me.”
I tell him I am about 45 minutes away.
“You can drink up as you drive.” He proceeds to give me instructions of how to find his apartment in a big apartment complex. And his address. I grab two bottles of water and head out the door.
I chug one bottle and sip the second. It’s a night in late summer—and the sun is only just thinking about setting as I pull into his place. I see his number on a door on the second floor. I go up. It’s ajar and a note is taped to it. I open it and read before I enter:
“Bathroom at end of hall—grab the hose. You know what to do.”
My cock shifts in my jock—making the front of my 501’s tent. I go in. I shut the door and open my fly. I go down the dark corridor. I can hear some movement behind the half closed door at the end. I open it. He is sitting huddled over in the tub. Even in this pose, you can tell his body is magnificent. I can’t see his face for he is wearing a military issue gas mask. The breathing hose is connected to the filtered mouthpiece. I pick it up.
And I begin pissing down the tube. Instantly he begins choking. And gasping as he swallows my piss. Swallowing and fighting for air. I can’t stop emptying my bladder. I piss on and on. He chokes and wretches. He writhes and reveals his incredibly hard cock as his body straightens up. I finally run dry. With no more coming down the tube, he wrenches off the mask—gasping for breath. He is handsome—with a big pronounced nose and high cheek bones. His long surfer hair is damp with piss. He gasps once more and asks for me to wait in the living room. I hear the shower turn on as I find his kitchen and the living room beyond.
He joins me, fast, having just done a quick rinse. A light bathrobe over his handsome, damp body.
“Beer?” he asks.
I tell him I’d rather have water.
“Can I add some scotch to it?”
I nod. He brings it to me—and we go out on one of those mini balconies that were so popular with apartments built in the 70’s.
“You were great,” he says.
He’s talkative as we sit in two lawn chairs out in the dying sunset.
He tells me he was in the marines. He got addicted to piss at boot camp. He never saw which of his buddies pissed him. He was always in the gas mask…as they passed the breathing hose from one to another.
“You can’t breathe when the piss comes that fast. I didn’t used to want to drink it, but you had to, to try and get air.”
“Did they fuck you?”
“A couple of times…but it was the piss humiliation that we both loved.”
He refills my drink. And has some scotch himself. I tell him about the piss party in Chicago—a group I have only just found.
“I don’t think I care about guys who want to drink it,” he offers. “That’s crazy.”
We chat a little more. We go inside when the mosquitoes find us. I sit on the end of his bed. I ask to see his body.
“It’s not much…” he says as he slips off the robe.
It’s magnificent. Toned, hairy in all the right places. That Jon Hamm/Robert Mitchum torso—defined by slightly soft. He is not remotely hard now.
“Turn around. Let me see your ass.”
It is hairy, too. He even bends, presenting it to me. I slip to my knees and tongue his hole.
He whimpers. Like a bad boy—being punished.
I stroke my dick as I eat him out.
He reaches back between his legs and finds my cock. “Shit, no…” he groans.
I bat his hand away and continue sticking all my spit up his hole.
I guide him around so he leans against the mattress. I rip open a Magnum (it’s 10 to 12 years before I go bare again). I slip it on—with my mouth still plastered to his ass. I grease it up—and stand. I poke the latexed covered head at his hole.
I work the head in. His breathing becomes fast. He goes from standing and leaning on the bed, to knees up on it in classic doggy. I push the first four inches into him.
He moans in pain. The rest of me slides in. Now he truly screams. He falls forward, pulling it out. He is in tears. I have triggered something more than stretching his hole.
“I…can’t do that,” he mumbles. I know I should be holding him—but I just stand there.
Eventually he stops and crawls off the bed. This hot man crawls to where I stand, my cock still encased in latex. He takes me in his mouth and peels the condom off with his teeth. It’s not a great blowjob…but it’s not bad.
“Can you feed me that scotch? The guys in the barracks had always been drinking, you see…”
Like a shot he’s off to the bathroom. I follow. He is masked and ready. Hunkered down on the cool, damp porcelain. I grab the breathing tube.
“I have something for you…” I growl.
My strong liquor piss begins to pour down the tube. His breathing becomes labored as he tries to swallow while encased in the mask. I see his cock erect.
And this time he shoots…
This is a link to the post where there is a little more....[think before following links] [think before following links] [think before following links] http://felchingpisser.blogspot.com/2020/05/the-masked-marine.html