When the alarm clock screamed out its message on Friday morning, my thoughts turned immediately to the events of the night before. It's not every day that I get sucked off by a complete stranger. More than that, there had never previously been ANY day when I'd received a blow job from a guy. And kissed him too! I felt my cheeks burn at the memory of it.

In the shower, I gave more attention than usual to my undercarriage. I must have soaped and lathered my dick and balls at least four times. It was as though I was washing away the taint of having strayed from the straight and narrow path I had previously pursued. That said, I still paid more attention than usual to styling my hair and I took a lot of trouble choosing which tie to wear. I also decided to wear my favourite suit; the navy one my girlfriend helped me choose."

I have known since puberty that my cock is impressively big. That's not boasting - indeed, I'd rather be smaller; it's just the card life dealt me. It's well over ten inches long but I'm sure that's far short of a world record. My dick is ridiculously thick too. I read somewhere that a guy's cock just about doubles in size when erect, so I guess I'm more of a shower than a grower. My flaccid penis is around seven inches; God forbid that it should reach fourteen inches when it's hard! So it looks more promising than it really is. I also have fairly large and low-hanging testicles. If I don't dress carefully, they add unnecessary mass to the bulge in my jeans, pants or swim-suit. I don't like to stand out in that way. It seems to invite unwanted attention and I am no exhibitionist.

Nor am I a voyeur but - like most men - I've checked out other guys' equipment at the gym or in the change-rooms at the beach or the pool. I suppose it's a good thing to know you're well hung, but then again, I have watched my fair share of porno movies - and read some pretty steamy stories too - and I know that my dick is not so extraordinary when compared to some of the guys on-screen. My balls are larger and hang lower than I would like, but we all have our crosses to bear.

Anyway, time to get back to the Friday after the night before. As I drove to the train station and parked my car, I couldn't help but wonder if I would run into Martin again. Moreover, I was quite agitated as to what I should do or say if I DID encounter him once more. Ignore him? Cut him dead? Act as if nothing had happened between us? Pretend he hadn't deep-throated my cock and swallowed my cum the night before? I was in a fever of anxiety.

I didn't spot Martin's vehicle in the car park, but it was already pretty crowded and - just in case he was watching me - I didn't want him to think I was scanning the lot in the hope of seeing his car. No matter how I felt inside, I was determined to appear cool, calm and collected on the outside.

I swiped my train pass at the barriers and headed for my usual carriage. I entered and took up a nice position. I deliberately avoided casting my eyes about just in case they met Martin and one of his knowing smiles or winks. I opened my book and began to read. Make that I pretended to read. I was still too uptight to actually focus on the written word. Finally, I heard the one-minute warning announcement and, soon afterwards, the doors began to close automatically. I breathed a sigh of relief and finally looked up ... just as Martin appeared before me and sat down right alongside.

"You're not avoiding me, are you?" he enquired with a smile.

"No, of course not" I lied shame-facedly.

"That's good. You know you look good enough to eat this morning. If no one else was around I'd like to explore that sexy bulge in your pants."

Even though he spoke softly; even though no one could possibly overhear us, I was highly disconcerted.

"Please don't say things like that or I'll have to move to another seat. It's 8am, I'm on my way to work, and sex is the last thing on my mind right now."

He laughed. He was right to do so. Something was obviously stirring in my pants and he could see it plainly. Sex - like last night's blow-job - was very much on my mind. And, if I moved to another seat, I would have to do so with a very obvious hard-on.

"Let's talk about tonight then" Martin suggested. "Will you be on the 6.05 as usual?"

"Probably" I replied, "but I'll be heading straight home. I have a date tonight."

"She's a lucky girl" he said. "I assume it is a girl you're meeting."

"You bloody well know it's a girl" I whispered in protest. "Look here, Martin, I really don't want any more suggestive comments and I certainly don't want to fool around again. Let's just put last night behind us. I'm willing to be a friend or an acquaintance if you like, but I'm not gay and I'm not interested in doing anything like that ever again."

"Pity" he said. "I'd love to. You turn me on big-time. Look." And he stretched out his legs in order to display the erection in his trousers.

"That's enough" I said, and I rose to my feet and found another seat further down the carriage. I didn't care if anyone spotted my hard-on. I just wanted to be left in peace. I prefer to travel facing forward but I deliberately chose to sit so my back was towards Martin. I hoped he would take the hint and leave me alone. The next station arrived and went; the carriage began to fill up; the daily sardine can became a reality; and he did leave me alone. I actually got to read a little and I began to calm down. Things had been nipped in the bud.

But they hadn't. When we finally reached the city, Martin was suddenly right beside me on the escalator.

"No hard feelings?" he murmured.

I ignored the possibility that this was a deliberate double entendre.

"No hard feelings" I agreed.

We reached the top of the escalators and headed towards different street exits. Just before he disappeared into the crowd, Martin spoke once more.

"Have a think about tonight. We could always meet up after your date. Or you could cancel it."

And then he was gone, leaving me to walk the few hundred yards to my office; and leaving me with very mixed emotions.

Heaven only knows what value I was at work that day. I'm the Assistant Director of a company that owns and operates a string of exercise and wellness centres throughout the State. That might sound a bit unchallenging to the uninitiated but, trust me, it's a very busy job. Most days are jam-packed with meetings, decisions to be made and an endless stream of telephone calls. I like the PR side of my role best - the days when I visit one of our established gyms or the opening of a new one. I get to meet a lot of interesting people and I get to escape the confines of a suit and tie.

When visiting any of our gyms, I usually head for the change-rooms and slip into a track suit or some shorts and a singlet, and I make a point of working on some of the equipment or participating in a class in order to demonstrate how wonderful it is to be fit and healthy. For this reason, it's important I keep in good shape. A free trial is not going to impress a would-be member if the head honcho is a big fat slob. Even if I worked in a call centre, I would still do my utmost to avoid slob-hood. I am very much in tune with my body and I strive to maintain it in tip-top condition.

But there was nothing tip-top about my work effort that particular Friday. I moved through time in a daze. I was preoccupied with Martin's last remark. Should I agree to meet Martin after my date? Should I cancel the dinner date altogether?

A call from my then-girlfriend - Gemma - made my mind up for me. She rang just as my day was drawing to a close. She was obviously looking forward to the evening and full of chatter about the new Italian restaurant we were about to try out. I hate disappointing people and I genuinely liked Gemma - she was pretty, a good conversationalist and a reasonably good fuck; even if she did moan that my dick was too big for her. But, as she prattled on, it became apparent that there would be no fucking at my place after dinner this time. Gemma's grandparents were arriving that night to stay the weekend and she was determined to get home at a reasonable hour in order to catch up with them before they lapsed into a geriatric coma.

"You don't mind taking me home early, do you?" she asked. And, all of the sudden, I didn't mind at all. My mind had been made up for me. I don't believe in resisting fate. I would meet Martin after all. I would eat heavenly Italian food ... and then Martin could eat heavenly me afterwards!

The train-ride journey was as crowded as ever that evening. I scanned the sea of heads but couldn't see Martin anywhere. I have to admit I felt disappointed. But then my cell phone rang. It's not easy to grab a phone and manoeuvre it to your ear when you're wedged in a sea of bodies, but I managed it somehow. It was Martin.

"So - are you still hitting the night-spots with your dolly-bird?" he drawled.

"She's not a dolly-bird" I protested, whispering because I did not want to be overheard by my fellow sardines. "I'm not into bimbos. And yes, we are still going out to dinner."

"Pity" was his response. "You'll be missing out on a VERY good time. How about tomorrow night?"

"I'm not sure what I'm doing tomorrow yet, but I think I'll be spending it at the gym and then with my girlfriend."

"Pity" he repeated. "But I hope you have a good weekend anyway. Maybe we can catch up some other time."

I could have left it at that and said goodbye. But I suddenly realised that I definitely wanted the best of both worlds.

"Hang on. Hang on" I whispered. "Maybe we could catch up later tonight. Maybe I could meet you afterwards. After dinner. After I take her home."

"Maybe" he said. "Well, you have my number now I've rung you. Call me later and maybe I'll be up for a meeting. And maybe not. I might devote my night to someone else. And you might be too drained to be of any use to me after bonking Miss Non-Bimbo."

And then the call was terminated and I was left fuming. How ironic it seemed. Someone who considered himself straight was smarting at having been spurned by another guy!

Well, the dinner went well. The food was great and Gemma and I chatted and laughed happily as we demolished a bottle of wine. At one stage she removed a shoe and applied her stockinged foot to my groin under the table. She exerted some gentle pressure and I responded immediately. I remarked that she was torturing me and that I wished we could go straight to bed. The foot was removed and she apologised for tormenting me.

Once I'd driven Gemma home, and after a few kisses and some mutual groping, I was back on the road and debating whether or not to call Martin. I decided not to. In my fevered imagination he had become a promiscuous faggot who was probably giving head - if not more - to some other young guy at that very moment. So, no way was I going to call him.

But I did. I did call him; and he answered on the first ring.

"Meet you at the station car park at ten-thirty" was all he said before disconnecting.

Playing hard to get, I deliberately reached the car park at 10.35! There were very few other vehicles. I pulled up alongside Martin's Ford and waited with my engine running. He got out of his car, locked it and then opened my passenger door and sat down. I tried some small talk but all he said was:

"Just drive. I'll direct you to my place."

So I drove. Silence reigned apart from the occasional direction to turn left or right. I began to think I'd made a big mistake. I took his silence for brooding antagonism, even menace, but then his hand was on my thigh. And then his hand was at my groin. And my cock responded and I began to feel a happy anticipation once more.

When we were almost on the furthest outskirts of town, I began to worry again, but he finally said to slow down and turn into the driveway of a neat little cottage on the edge of the market gardening area. I parked up and followed him inside via a small porch.

He didn't turn on any lights. I walked straight into him in the darkness of his entry hall. His lips were immediately on mine and I kissed him right back. His hands began to unbutton my shirt. When my shirt was tossed aside, he stopped kissing me and went on his knees in order to remove my shoes and socks. These were tossed aside too. I am usually very diligent about caring for my clothes but I was past caring as Martin fumbled with my belt and then my zipper. My pants fell to the floor and I stepped out of them. His hands went to my buttocks and pressed me toward him. His lips were at my underpants. I was already rock-hard and he was nibbling and sucking at the outline of my dick. The flimsy fabric was saturated. I longed for him to pull my shorts down and take me in his mouth. Instead, he stood up, kissed me again and then took my hand to lead me elsewhere.

I assumed we were heading for a bedroom. I was right. Once there, he turned on an overhead light. The sudden switch from gloom to brightness was dazzling.

"I want to see you" Martin said, and again he went down on his knees and slipped my shorts down slowly. My cock sprang into the air as it was released from its moist cotton prison. When my shorts reached the floor, I stepped out of them. Martin remained on his knees looking upwards.

"Beautiful" he sighed. "Beautiful."

Now I'm somewhat of a wham-bam, thank you Ma'am guy. I'll never be inducted into the Foreplay Hall of Fame. I sensed that Martin wanted to take his time; that he might stay on his knees for hours just looking up at me and my appendages. I wanted him to move into action and suck my dick again. I wanted him to suck on my balls again. I wanted a repeat of the night before. I was a selfish bastard. It was all about me. I gave no thought to what Martin might want. I wanted to urge him on but I managed to hold my tongue.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, his hands moved up my legs, squeezing my calves and my thighs as they travelled. He reached my ball-sac - giving each testicle a gentle squeeze - and then he grasped my erect cock and gently massaged it back and forward. He finally raised his head further and took my dick into his mouth - not all of it, just the head. I could feel his tongue swirling around the glans and his teeth gently teasing at my foreskin. I was enjoying the attention but I also wanted to plunge all the way in and to fuck his mouth until I shot a load down his throat.

He eventually rose to his feet. He turned away for a moment and turned on a lamp on his bedside table. He then switched off the overhead light and, taking my hand, led me to the bed. My heart was in my mouth. I hadn't shared a bed with a male since I was small and our house was packed with Christmas visitors. I felt as though I was smashing a taboo. The guilt was like an aphrodisiac. If possible, my cock grew even harder.

He undressed very quickly, throwing clothes around the room willy-nilly. For the first time I saw him naked and aroused. He had a reasonable body. Not toned but not flabby either. And he was circumcised - which surprised me a bit. He wasn't exactly well-hung but his dick looked neat and nice and adequate. His adequacy in that area didn't really matter much to me anyway. I wasn't planning to pay him all that much attention. I wasn't even sure if I could bring myself to touch him there at all.

We lay down together and somehow it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be in his arms and kissing. He paid some attention to my nipples, bringing them to full attention, and then he moved further down the bed to rest his head on my stomach and gaze at my dick as it twitched expectantly.

"You have fantastic abs" he said.

One hand went behind me to fondle my buttocks.

"You have fabulous glutes too" he said. "And I love your cock. It's fucking huge and I adore foreskins."

"That's nice" I said. "But lots of guys have a foreskin nowadays. It's no big deal."

"Ahh" he replied. "It depends what world you inhabit. In my world everyone is circumcised. I'm Jewish."

"I see" was all I could think of to say. "Is it OK for Jewish guys to be doing what we're doing?"

"Definitely not" he said. "I'm very much the black sheep of my family."

Nothing more was said. His mouth enveloped my dick and I was immediately transported to a warm, moist and sexually demanding space. This time I didn't intend warning him when I was close to shooting my load. He'd already swallowed my load once and obviously enjoyed it. But I didn't need to warn him anyway. Somehow, he knew when I was close and - each time I reached that point - he stopped all movement until the moment had passed. Maybe my breathing betrayed me. Maybe he could feel that my cock was swelling even fuller. Or perhaps my precum increased its flow.

Anyway, he took me to the brink several times. I was almost weeping from frustration and anticipation. My dick was weeping too. He occasionally removed his mouth and applied his tongue to the eye of my cock.

"I love pre-cum" he said as he captured a few more droplets and savoured them.

I guess he lavished attention on my yearning prick for at least half an hour. He seemed to know, however, when I'd reached my limit. I was almost at the stage where I was going to blow even with no hand or mouth to urge me on. Martin sensed this and took me to the very back of his throat and beyond. I felt his throat muscles contract on the sensitive glans. He repeated this just two or three times and then I exploded. It felt as though wave after wave of cum was jetting out of me. I felt as though I could blow forever. I felt almost cruel. In my mind I was saying:

"Yeah. Suffer. Choke. Drown. Swallow every last drop."

I felt unleashed, powerful and dominant. I wanted the moment to last forever.

When the last drops had been milked out of me, I remained in his mouth. I just lay there and his tongue swirled around the shaft as if it was tasting an irresistible lollipop. He did not make the mistake of applying pressure to the glans. I hate it when that happens. The head of my dick is very sensitive when I have just ejaculated and it's almost torture if it is touched or sucked too soon afterwards. Maybe it's the same for all guys. Maybe Martin was just super-intuitive. I don't know. I only know he did things just right.

I murmured "Maybe you're right. Maybe guys really do give the best head."

He chuckled. It was like a peristaltic movement on my cock. He continued to swirl his tongue around my shaft and I became aware of movement beside me. He was jerking himself off while slurping on me. I felt a measure of relief. I would not be expected to reciprocate in some way. He was finishing himself off. Selfish of me, I know, but - to my credit - at least I didn't go "Eew" when I felt his warm cum splatter on my legs. I wasn't all that interested in another guy's genitals or his jizz, but I wasn't completely revolted when he shot all over me. I was just glad that he'd satisfied himself. The question of what to do next was resolved. Nothing unsettling was expected of me.

Martin next moved up the bed to rest his head alongside my own. He smiled and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. Nothing demanding. Just a gentle kiss that was almost like a blessing.

"I'm trying to lose weight" he declared. "God knows how many calories you just pumped down my gullet."

We both laughed. Suddenly we were just like two lads sharing a bed on a sleepover - chatting, joking and enjoying a closeness that was essentially unsexual. Seamlessly, we slipped into a relationship that was almost platonic.

"So - how often do you do this kind of thing?" I asked.

"What kind of thing?"

"You know - accost an innocent young guy and proposition him for sex."

"Are you such an innocent?" he asked. "Haven't you ever done anything with another guy?"

It was getting a little chilly lying naked on his bed. Martin pulled the bed sheet up to cover us and we settled in for a long, comfortable chat.

I assured him that my previous 'gay' experiences consisted of comparing dick-size with my cousin and a best friend when I was about thirteen and a few circle-jerks with other boys at school at around the same time. I quickly outgrew this phase. It irritated me that the other boys seemed in awe of my cock. I just wanted to be one of the guys. I didn't like the nickname "Meat".

For his part, Martin told me that he'd always known he was gay but that he'd not succumbed to his feelings in all the time he lived under the same roof as his parents. Apparently they were fairly strict parents and, while not excessively devout, they were committed and orthodox Jews. When Martin came out to them - at age 22 - he was virtually expelled from the family. He still had regular contact with his older brother - who was married with three kids - and his mother rang him very occasionally to enquire about his welfare, but his father, younger brother and former school-friends were unrelenting in their disapproval of him.

"So I'm an outcast" Martin told me. "And, to answer your question, no - I don't routinely proposition young guys. I've had very few encounters compared to most gay guys. I'm actually very diffident about approaching other men. I'm kind of shy really."

"You didn't seem so shy when you first talked to me" I said. "You shocked the bejesus out of me when you asked if I wanted a blow job."

"You have no idea how difficult that was" Martin told me. "I'd been lusting after you for weeks but had no idea how to get your attention. I know a guy who is openly gay - flagrantly so, actually - far too effeminate for my taste - and I asked him for some advice. You might say he coached me on how to set about capturing your interest. I practised all the opening gambits and quips with him until I felt confident enough to try it out in real life."

"Wow" I said. "It's hard to believe I could cause that much angst, arouse that much interest. I'm no movie star. What attracted you?"

"Don't put yourself down" Martin replied. "You're a very desirable guy. I first noticed you on the train about a month ago. I had managed to get a seat but you were still standing and leaning this way and that as you clung to the overhead strap. Every time you swayed my way, your crotch was practically thrust in my face. I don't know if you deliberately avoid wearing clothes that accentuate your assets - all your trousers seem unnecessarily baggy - but, when you swayed towards me, I could clearly see the outline of your dick. I could see that you dress to the left, that your cock is enormous and that you also have a very nice set of balls. I wanted to reach out and grab you, especially once I'd clocked the rest of you - the flat abs, the pecs, the handsome face."

Once again, "Wow" was all I could think of to say.

"And the very next day" Martin continued, "You were seated directly opposite me on the way to the city and I checked out the package between your thighs while you read a book in blissful ignorance of my interest. It doesn't matter how generously cut your trousers are, Andrew - when you sit with your legs wide apart, it's like you have a watermelon in your pants. I heard you speak to a young woman sitting nearby and I loved your voice and your smile too."

"Amazing" I said. "You'll give me a swelled head if you say any more. I thought I was just another guy on a train. It never occurred to me that I might be seen as a stud or a sex symbol. And I certainly never imagined that another GUY might find me attractive."

"Hmm. Maybe" said Martin. "But you must know how gorgeous you are. The blond hair, the blue-violet eyes, the perfect teeth, and the toned physique. Even though you choose to avoid clothes that hug your body, you're always immaculately dressed. And you obviously work hard to maintain a good physique. That's got to be because you want to be noticed."

I explained my job to him and emphasised that it was in my company's best interest that all of us maintained a buff body and did our best to project health, fitness and - yes - maybe even sexuality; and that it did not bother me greatly if a middle-aged woman signed up as a gym member because she was mesmerised by the obvious masculinity lurking in my track pants or exercise shorts.

"What about mesmerising guys?" Martin asked.

"Never even thought about it before. If it helps attract clientele then so be it, but I'm not deliberately aiming at the male demographic I assure you. And you're right - except at the gym, I deliberately dress to camouflage my junk. If I'm to be noticed at all, I want it to be for my mind or my character and not for the size of my dick."

We chattered on some more. I got up to take a leak. Martin opened a bottle of wine and placed a glass for each of us on the bedside tables. Eventually, a comfortable silence developed. I stretched out and yawned. Martin suggested I stay the night. He followed up this suggestion with a deep kiss and he commenced fondling my balls as he did so.

"Before you get too hard" he said, "I want you to get up on your knees with your legs spread apart."

"I don't think so" I protested, my cock ceasing to rise as I panicked at the thought that he wanted to penetrate me.

"I just want to lie underneath you" he explained, "with my head right under your junk so I can lick and suck your balls for a while. You have the biggest balls I've ever encountered."

So I did as he asked. And it was a truly wonderful tongue bath until my dick grew too excited to be ignored any longer.

I received another blissful blow job and shot yet another load down Martin's throat before the night was over. I even summoned the courage to grasp his dick and jerk it until he too shot his jizz in several sharp bursts across my body. I declined his offer of a bed for the night. I'd already gone far further than I'd contemplated when Martin first got my attention the preceding day. I was highly conflicted about my ability or willingness to reciprocate and I dreaded the prospect that he might want us to have anal sex.

"You're worried that I might want us to fuck, aren't you?" Martin said. The man was a mind-reader!

"Yes. I am."

"Haven't you ever had anal sex with a girl?" he asked. "What's the difference?"

"No. I've never had anal sex with a girl. Why would I? What's the point? It strikes me as painful for her and probably a bit messy for me. Why not stick to what most normal couples do?"

"You'd be amazed what most allegedly normal couples do" Martin retorted. "But no pressure. Just think about it. I think you'd soon become addicted if you knew how fabulous a tight arse can feel."

And that's about where we left it. We finished off the wine, and then I got dressed and headed out into the night. I drove Martin back to his car at the train station. The area where he had parked was dimly lit. I cut the engine and he leaned across to kiss me goodnight. I was a bit concerned that someone might see us but I found myself kissing him back.

"Enough" I said. "I'm getting horny again and I really need to get home, have a long shower and then hit the sack."

"OK" he replied. "I'll call you tomorrow afternoon. Will you think about me as you go to sleep?"

"Maybe" I lied, knowing full well that I would definitely re-live the night constantly until sleep overtook me.

"Ciao" said Martin as he got out of my vehicle.

"Goodnight" I responded.

Martin drove off immediately without a backward glance. I watched as his tail-lights disappeared into the distance. And then I drove home wondering what the hell might happen next.


Andrew Tait

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