A Man From The Street

August is always hot in Central Texas.  There’s no way to get around it.  Reduced by the heat to sweaty puddles, most normal citizens limit their outdoor activities to a minimum, only those absolutely necessary to sustain existence.  Unfortunately, for me, our parched front garden was one that my wife had declared “absolutely necessary” for existence.  Since our son was excused from these activities because of after school activities, it was left to me. 

“Not necessary for my existence,” I grumbled to myself, standing in the late Wednesday afternoon sun, garden hose in one hand, frosty beer can in the other.   As I stood watering the soil, my eyes were drifting lazily down the hill the away from my house when a mirage suddenly appeared in the distance.

Mirages, to those in the American Southwest, are common.  They are illusions appearing out of nowhere, tantalizing briefly, even suggestively, and then quickly disappearing.

This mirage appeared as a partially clad young man, straining from the incline of our street as he came up the hill to where I stood.  His body leaned slightly forward.  He was using his arms like pistons driving fluids through his muscular, gleaming, body.

I gulped at my beer; oblivious to the spray from the hose hitting my feet.

Approaching me was, not a mirage, but a ruggedly handsome man.  Even a straight man like me could recognize and admire physical perfection. 

His blonde curls were plastered to his forehead, his dark chest hair gleamed, a river of dark curls spread out from his navel to the waist band of his scanty white jogging shorts.

Frozen by my reaction to the sight, I stood with sweat forming on my upper lip, my breath becoming shallow, and my nostrils flaring while my lower jaw dropped open. 

As he drew closer, I could see perspiration covering his shoulders and chest in tiny drop-like beads.  His pectoral muscles rose from his sculpted chest.  Each firm mound was capped with a dark nipple.  His taunt stomach muscles expanded and contracted with every breath. 

Unable to resist the sight, my eyes searched the clinging white fabric of his running shorts.   Between his legs the sleek material molded over a large bulge which rolled from side to side with each step.  Fixated on the sight of the large package swaying in rhythm with his body, I stood immobilized by the moving package. Then, instead of disappearing into my imagination as many had before, this mirage slowed as it approached me.

“I like the way you think,” he spoke.  The dark resonance of his breathy voice was accompanied by a change of his facial expression from determination to quizzical but friendly.

“Huh?” I sounded through my parched lips, more an animal grunt than communication.  Jolted from my revere, red shades of embarrassment flooded my cheeks. My arm instinctively brought the beer to my mouth as a defense gesture for my eyes which remained fixed on his crotch.

“The beer,” my mirage spoke pausing directly in front of me.  “That looks like a great idea.  I think I’ll have one when I get home.”  He extended his hand, “I’m Mike.” 

“Oh,” I muttered while feeling my face flush red, not from exposure to the hot sun, but from exposure to his cool, blue eyes.  Lifting my own eyes to meet his, I stood with only the sound of my pounding heart filling my head.  I noticed small drops of sweat on his dark lashes.  “Uh, yeah, I’m Don,” I replied in an attempt to appear indifferent while feeling waves flush across my face.  I ignored his extended hand.

“Well,” he said, breaking the silence as he flashed an amused smile, revealing his white teeth, “I’d better be off then.”  One pale blue eye winked just before he turned to continue his jog.

Still in the shock and growing shame from exposure, I turned my entire body to follow him as he quickly strutted away.  The rear of his white nylon suit was pasted to round, shapely butt cheeks, each moving in tandem with his legs.  One side of his shorts had risen in the crack of his ass to partially expose a tan line rising up from the bottom of a well rounded cheek.  His jogging costume had no liner and a darkened, wet streak had formed in the crack between the mounds. 

I continued watching as he jogged away.  Two blocks down he made a turn on a side street and disappeared only after, I was sure, glancing back in my direction.  It wasn’t until then that I felt the breath rush from my tight chest.  Looking down I realized that I was standing in water, my shoes wet from the soaking I’d given them.  It was then that I felt my hardened cock pressing against my shorts.

“Oh,” I heard myself say, inhaling deeply to calm my rapid heart.  Slowly turning from the garden, I walked back toward my house shaking my head in an effort to clear what I’d just experienced.

That evening I tried to participate in the normal weekly activities of my family.  We sat for dinner, watched TV, and repaired to bed.  But nothing could calm the altered state I found myself in following my encounter with the jogger.    

The next day at work my concentration continually failed me.  I couldn’t control my thoughts of the young man.  I tried to analyze the encounter in an effort to put some distance between the image and my feelings.  But nothing was working.    

Thoughts that I had been suppressing for years flooded my memory.  Memories of a dark night at a lake where a college buddy and I swam naked together emerged around carefully constructed barriers.  Feelings of slippery, wet male flesh touching my own continued to interrupt my day.  I remembered the feel of our swollen cocks touching together in the water, and the uncontrolled excitement when our tongues probed each other’s inexperienced mouths. 

I had walked away from that night determined that one encounter would not spoil the plans I had for my life.  A marriage, later followed by the birth of a son, framed the stable, successful life that I had planned. 

As the day drug passed, I first hoped for then rejected thoughts of another encounter with the stranger. I feared that, offended by my awkward staring the afternoon before, he would never pass my way again.  Then I became afraid that he would come and my life would become forever changed.

Anxiety gripped me as the clock hands moved toward day’s end and what I knew would be another evening of unrest.  I planned to have several drinks with dinner hoping for an early bedtime. 

* * * * * *

I stood in my garden again.  And once again, he was running up the hill towards me wearing the same white shorts.  His muscled thighs, with their covering of light fur, churned, propelling him toward me.  In the glimmering sun sweat rolled down his temples creating lumps of dark blonde hair pasted to the side of his face. 

Once again I stood transfixed at the sight of the swaying bulge beneath the thin fabric of his shorts.  He looked upward towards me and, with a flicker of recognition, his mouth broadened into a smile.

“Got a beer for me today, buddy?” he asked, slowing to where I stood. 

My throat was dry, my tongue thick as I slurred, “Yes, behind those shrubs, in the shade, where it’s cool.”  I gestured to the large clump of shrubs beside the garden while thinking, “How could he have anticipated my planning?” 

“First, let me cool down a bit,” he spoke as he reached to take the garden hose from my hand.  He raised the hose and lifted the nozzle to just above his head; arching his head backwards as he stroked his hair. Water ran across his forehead, down his face, and cascaded across his muscular chest and flat stomach before finally streaming down his hips and legs.

The white nylon of his jogging shorts was turned transparent by the water.  A dark smear of pubic hair boldly showed through.  Prodding below the dark mass was his thick cock, molded against the wet fabric, revealing the shape of his shaft and ridge of his cock head.  It was now obvious that the suit had no liner.  My eyes devoured the sight. 

Smiling, he handed the hose back to me.  “Better.  Now I’ll have that beer.”

I laid the hose on the ground.  Stepping backward I turned towards the cluster of shrubs beneath the large oak tree.  He followed me as we slipped through the brush to a small clearing under the oak.  This was my private place.

On the ground, at the base of the tree, I had left an opened can of beer.  “Ah, there you are,” he muttered as he knelt to the ground, taking the beer in his hand as he turned to sit.  His knees bent upward and his feet were flat on the ground.  He took a sip of beer.

I stood speechless staring at the sight of him.  Between his spread legs I could see peering from beneath the leg openings of his shorts the dark purplish head of his cock.

“Sit beside me,” he patted the ground at his side.  My legs, already shaking, nearly collapsed as I lowered myself to the spot he had patted. 

 “Do you like what you see Don?” Mike whispered.  I only mumbled in reply.  My ears filled with a roaring sound.

Mike took another gulp of his beer while watching me attentively.  Unable to resist, I continued to stare at his cock head peering from the shorts.  Nothing was spoken between us.  Slowly the purple head expanded and began to rise forward.  It was large.  His shaft crept outward and upward from under his shorts. 

He shifted to open his legs wider and spoke in a whisper, “Something is getting restless.”

Nearly breathless, as my heart tapped a staccato beneath my chest, my hand reached toward his massive pole.   When my fingers touched the skin, the cock jumped at my touch.  I heard the sudden intake of air between his lips.

“After yesterday I thought you might be interested in that, Don,” he whispered.  “Don’t be afraid, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.” 

“I don’t do this,” I heard myself whisper. 

“There’s always a first time for everything, buddy,” he replied with a smile. 

Tentatively wrapping my fingers around his cock, I felt the turgid, distending pole twitch in my palm.  Through my fingers I felt blood throbbing through the shaft.  Then it lurched upward stiffly, breaking free from all restraints posed by the running shorts.

I could hardly breathe.  My eyes fixed on the swollen rod.  I could barely enclose my fingers around it.  The tip of its head flared like a plum ripe for picking; the slit across the top glistened invitingly.     

“Lick it, I know you want to lick it Don,” he whispered towards me.

I turned to look into his inviting clear blue eyes.

Slowly bending downward, I brought my lips to a stop just above the bulging head.  Pausing to take a deep, uneven breath, I let my tongue tentatively part my lips and reach towards the cock head.  I felt warm skin brush against my probe.  I licked twice, then three times.  The massive cock jerked with each lick.  A deep moan broke through his mouth. 

The flat surface of my tongue boldly licked over the entire head, taking in the faint taste of salt from the clear bubble of liquid nestling in the slit.  Relishing the feel of the ridges around the base of his head, my tongue lapped hungrily in circular motions. 

“Suck me, I need you to suck me,” he spoke quietly, his breath ragged.

With a sudden panic, I pulled away,   “I can’t.  I want to, but I can’t.  I have a family,” I muttered hopefully. 

In one abrupt motion, I felt myself flipped backwards while he leaped on my chest.  His weight was heavy.  I was pinned.

Bending towards my face, the lips of his mouth parted into a sneer.  He spoke with a different voice.  “Yes you can lick it, I know you want it.” He moved so that his knees pressed against my skull.  He jerked down the waist band of his shorts and his cock sprung free.  With his hand he pressed it downward.  The bulging head rubbed against my closed lips.  “Now, bitch, take it, swallow my cock.”

I resisted, shaking my head from side to side, my lips clamped shut.  His pressing knees hurt my ears.  I tried to rise, but the weight of him had me pinned.  His fingers clamped firmly on both sides of my jaw.  Under the strength of his fingers, I slackened my mouth and he pushed his cock downward through my lips, between my teeth, and into my mouth. 

“Now suck it, you little prick whore.”  His face was no longer beautiful.  It had reddened, and a vein bulged across his forehead.  His mouth and jaw were taut.  He became the determined runner, straining up the hill. 

My beautiful young vision had changed.  Fear mingled with my excitement.  His steely ferocity made him seem dangerous.

My arms flopped uselessly on the ground.  He pushed his cock deeper into my mouth, pressing further into my throat.  I gagged as it reached the back of my throat.  “Open your throat, take it all” he snarled at me.

Gagging, I felt his hard cock pressing down me.  I gagged again and again.  Tears formed at the corner of my eyes and rolled down each side of my face.  I gasped for air, but none came.  I felt as though I was drowning.  I was going to suffocate lying here on the ground, pressed beneath the god-beast.

“Breath through your nose, Don,” he hissed at me, “breath through your fucking nose.”

My efforts to recover air didn’t slow him.  He pressed his cock into me with more ferocity.  My hands reached around him grabbing hold of his hips.

His began thrusting downward.  I pulled on the fabric over his driving buttocks; I grasped the wet nylon in my fingers.  His cock repeatedly and savagely plunged into my mouth.  With each push of him my lips became buried in the wet, wiry mass around his cock.  Saliva rolled out of my mouth in bubbles.  My lips struggled to close around the swollen shaft.  Tears boldly rolled down my face.

Lying struggling on the ground while he drove his swollen pole down my throat, I couldn’t open my eyes and I inhaled air in uneven snorts.  My chest, pressured by his weight upon me, jerked as my lungs cried for more air.  My hands pulled down his shorts and my fingers began kneading the taunt skin of the firm cheeks.  His breath increased with the pounding and his heavy breathing was accompanied by an occasional loud gasp. 

“I’m going to cum,” he cried aloud, “You’re going to eat cum Don,” his words sounded around me.  My head was thrown back.  I felt the hard cock begin to throb, its thrusts becoming shorter.  I tried to hold my lips around it as I opened my eyes.  His face grimaced above me, his eyes were squeezed tight and his head was tilted backward.

“I’m cuming, oh fuck, I’m cuming,” I heard him cry just as streams of hot, stinging liquid exploding inside my mouth.  “Oh damn it, I’m cuming.”

An abrupt jolt of warm, salty liquid filled my mouth.  It stung my palate and my nostrils filled with the acid smell of man-cum.  I became choked from the flood, the back of my throat stung.  With each breath I felt more hot liquid in my mouth.  His hands were clasped behind my head as he pulled me upward, my face crushed against his matted pubic hair.  His balls rested over my chin. 

Gradually his cock began to slow, the deep thrusts changed to jerks as liquid continued to dribble through the hard shaft into my mouth.  His body was taut.  His thrusting stopped.  He sat above me frozen, with his fingers locked in my hair.   With each swallow of his salty cum I gagged.  My lips remained locked around his shaft.  I made sucking noises like a hungry pup.  From my own throat I heard the whimpering sound of a feeding infant. 

Time suspended while we stayed locked together before I felt his body grew slack.  His gaze looked away from me.  The cock in my mouth began to relax.  Suddenly he pulled out, rolling off me onto his side on the ground.  As I swallowed the last of his liquid my nostrils filled with the strange taste.  My own gasping noises began to slow.  I opened my mouth, grateful to breathe deeply, taking in the pungent smell of warm earth, green vegetation and his cum.  My arm lay across my chest, rising and falling with the slowing of my heart.

I continued laying there with my eyes closed.  I felt the thick, sticking wetness of my own cum on my stomach.  Unaware, I had ejaculated at the same time that he had.  I heard him rise and then the sound of his waist band snapping when he jerked up his shorts.  Then I heard foot steps away and the swish of bushes hitting against skin.