Jackson—November, 2022

Jake came to see me on a Thursday.  When Friday dawned, I was horned.  Really horned.  I was aware I was erect even before I was aware that I was awake.  I showered and did all those morning things.  The erection may have ebbed, but not the feeling.  I wanted sex; sex that was different than the kind of sex I had had the day before.  It being Friday, it made me think it might be a good afternoon at the bookstore that had just changed its video lounge into more of a playspace.

The moment that thought hit, my cock told me it was the right answer. I packed a lunch, dressed in clothes I didn’t care about and hit the road, nursing my second mug of tea…

There are a few cars here at 11:30am.  I am early on purpose.  I want to stroke a little and watch the men arrive.  I pay and go in.  No one seems to be here.  No, there is a man’s head appearing over the partitions that make the row of cubicles.  He must be standing on the ottoman in the last booth.  I can feel his eyes watching me as I sit down in the main area, the one showing straight and gay porn on the same wall.  I open my fly.  I hear him make some sort of noise in the back of his throat.  When I turn, he has disappeared into the cubicle.

I stroke.  Suddenly he emerges from the curtained doorway.  He is naked except for a pair of shower thongs.  His erection is swaying from side to side as he strides toward me.  He goes to his knees without a word and wrests my erection from my hand and swallows me down.  I think I know him from here, but I can’t quite place him.  I try to get lost in the moment.  His oral technique is good—but just as I am beginning to relax, he knicks me with a tooth or squeezes my shaft in a death grip.  So instead, I’m tense.

“You need to fuck me,” he keeps repeating, when he comes up for air.

Finally, he squeezes me once too often.  “Get on your knees of the sofa,” I bark.

“Why?”  He’s not playacting here.  He really doesn’t know what I want.

“You said you wanted to be fucked.”

That does it.  He jumps up, knees on the cushion next to me.  I get up and bend to rim.  Now I know who it is…it is the man who anoints every inch of skin on his body with baby oil.  I can smell it before my face connects.  How could I not before?  I forego ass eating.  I lube up and slide in.  The man grunts and moans.  “Give me your load.  Cum in me.”

“Earn it,” I snap.

Instead of inspiring him to work harder, he just takes a hit of poppers and let’s his asscunt go slack.  And then I feel it.  I know, as I pull out, what I’m going to find.  He cleaned for a six incher, not for me,

I stomp off to the bathroom while he keeps telling me it’s impossible that he’s dirty…

*

I watch porn.  There are men milling about.  Not many.  A man my age with a shaved head finds me.  He gives good oral.  He was a witness to the earlier fuck—and assures me he is cleaned out properly.  I fuck him.  And he’s wrong.

Strike two.

Once I have cleaned up, I go eat my lunch.  New men are walking around as I come back in from my car.  I sit in the overstuffed chair in the gay room.  Another man is here, on the far end of the couch.  He is very blue collar—in his work clothes, seemingly direct from some sort of job with cars.  I can smell the engine oil on him—a smell I find hot, not in the least off putting.  I take out my cock.  He smiles at me, rather tensely.  But he unzips the slightly oil-stained blue pants.  He takes out a thick piece of meat, coaxing it to full hardness.

We stroke.  My eyes on him.  His eyes moving back and forth from the porn to my cock.  Minutes pass.  I stand up.  “May I?”  I indicate the seat next to him on the couch. 

He nods.

I sit.  And now we stroke side by side.  Soon, my hand is on his cock, his on mine.  We both stroke each other, a little awkwardly.  Without asking, I go to the floor and take him in my mouth.  This finally makes him harden up fully.  He sighs, closes his eyes and his rough hands stroke the stubble on my head. 

I feel, rather than see, a man sit on the couch.  I glance up.  It is an older Black man.  His gnarled hand reaches over and strokes the guy’s bush and chest.  When I come up for air, the Black guy leans down and take him in his mouth.  I move to the mechanic’s balls, taking them individually into my mouth.

I pull off him.  The older man lets me have another go at the drooling dick.  But soon, we are sharing it again.  He sucks some, I suck some.  He sucks while I lick balls…

My knees rebel.  I stand up.  The Mechanic leans forward and takes me in his mouth.  This inspires the older man to really go to town on the Mechanic.  I like what he’s doing to my dick, but it is an awkward position.

“Hey,” the Mechanic taps the older man on his shoulder, indicating for him to stop.  “What I really want is for you to fuck me,” he says, looking up at me.

I think back to the two other men with not very well-prepared asses.  I start to stumble through a speech about cleaning out.  The Mechanic cuts me off.  “I know how to do that—and did it.  I just don’t know if I can take someone bigger than my shower nozzle.”

The Mechanic stands up and drops his pants around his ankles.  The underwear follows.  He turns and braces himself on the arm of the sofa.  The older man has unzip and is stroking his own cock now as I lube up.  The ass in front of me is totally smooth on the cheeks—and incredibly hairy in the cleft.  I want to rim him, but the Mechanic reaches back and pulls me by my cock towards his hole.

“Go slow,” he implores. 

I work my head in.  The Mechanic starts to pant.  I disappear into him inch by inch.  I am almost all the way in.

“Oh, fuck, no!”  The Mechanic pulls off me.  “Sorry.  No way.”

I shake my head and go piss.

I take one last look around and go home…

This Friday might have been a bust—but if I’d gotten off then, I would have missed the hot man I met on Saturday.  And that’s the next post!

The original is here:  From My Side of the Sling: Bookstore Friday: "Go Slow..." (felchingpisser.blogspot.com)       November 30, 2022