[FelchingPisser] Drip

[FelchingPisser]

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Near Home—July, 2013

With the playroom down and my spare time at a premium, the bookstore became the easiest place to find relief during my busy summer months.

I walk into the gay theatre. At first, I think no one is in the room. It’s dark. The scene in the film is dark and trying for romance, so it makes the room even darker. I open the door a little more. There is a lone man sitting in the corner. I feel my way along the far wall. I find a chair with my shin. I sit. I’m on the opposite side of the room from the other occupant. He is hard to see across the gloom. His eyes seem to be only on the screen, his hands in his lap. Not stroking.

I watch the movie. Oh, please let them fuck and stop making them say lines of dialogue. Eventually the scene on screen builds to an amazing ass being eaten by the hung top. It’s good enough to get me hard. I unbutton and stroke. I shoot a look over to the other man. He’s not stroking, but he seems to be kneading his bulge.

I can see him a little better, now that my eyes have adjusted to the dim room. He’s younger than I, maybe late 30’s. He’s thin, wearing a t-shirt with a logo on it that I can’t make out. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, with his head is resting on the back of the couch. I can’t make out the expression on his face.

On screen, the cock goes into the gorgeous ass. My attention goes back to watching a few minutes of that amazing ass getting plowed. The guy to my side, and slightly behind me, stands up. I wait for that touch on my shoulder. Nope, he’s leaving the room.

I sit and stroke totally alone. I wonder if anyone new has gone in on the straight side. About the time I think I’ll put away my cock and check, our door swings open. I glance behind me. It’s the same guy. He’s back. I can actually hear the toilet refilling down the hall. He shuts the door firmly. He sprawls back on the leatherette couch. Are his legs spread wider than they were before? He undoes his belt and unzips. He is holding his hand so I can’t see his cock, but I know it’s out of his pants.

We stroke.

And stroke.

Finally, I walk over, standing between his spread legs. He looks up into my face. He’s cute in a slightly off beat way. He says nothing; he just takes his hand away from his ample cock. I kneel and take him to the root. It has a slight curve to the side that makes it harder to suck. I manage a few times and then switch to his balls. They are hairy and full. They roll around in their sack. He strokes as I nuzzle into that sweaty, crinkled skin.

His hand goes from his cock to the top on my head, stopping me. He’s close.

I stand up. He shucks off his jeans. He pulls me down onto the couch. He bends over and sucks me. It’s a bad angle and he knows it. He stops. He swings a leg over me and is straddling me. He just wanted to get my cock wet. His ass is sinking down on my raw cock before I can say anything.

He rides me, his cock flopping across my A-shirt. Then he holds still and I fuck up into him. He feels wonderful. He’s tight. And he knows how to work his butt.

When we both need to slow down, he slides up and off me. He brings his cock to my mouth. I hungrily take it in.

Then I feel it. His ass is dripping onto my A-shirt. He looks down. “Oh, my God…”

We become flustered. He gets off me quickly, but not easily. I reach for the paper towels in my pants pocket, but the pants are now down around my boots. He grabs a proffered towel and kicks into his jeans. He keeps apologizing. I say no problem…but I’m not sure I believe it. He’s out the door and into the bathroom before I can mop at my shirt.

I sigh.

I eventually get into the bathroom. I am done for the night.

Blueballed .

This is why, I remind myself as I reach for my car keys, I don’t usually fuck at bookstores.

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