This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.
I work in an office all day, sometimes going in before sunup and leaving after sundown. That’s why I like to take walks in the morning – to remind myself a world beyond my computer screen exists.
There’s a wonderful park about a half mile from my house. It offers a mile-long paved walking trail that takes you through groves of trees and near small ponds where birds and turtles live.
Lots of people use the walking trail, although sadly, very few are hot young guys. I managed to hook up with a couple, but that’s for another installment.
Interestingly, the walk TO the park is a different story. I pass by many homes where I know good-looking fellas live, including the subject of this story, a young married man by the name of Matt.
Matt and his wife lived across the street from the park in a modest brick house. I say “lived” because they’ve since moved. I would see him mornings as he left for work, driving his gargantuan pickup truck. He always took his dogs to work with him – two yellow Labs – which makes me think he owns his own business. Where else could you take a dog to work?
How to describe Matt? He’s a big lug of a guy, easily 6-foot 2, certainly over 200 pounds. He’s neither chubby nor skinny; I’d describe him as fit, although he doesn’t have that muscle-bound look of a gym rat. His hair is blonde and thinning. I expect by the time he’s 30 he’ll be shaving his head.
His wife is older than he – I’d say at least five years older. She’s probably close to 30 now and, last time I saw her, very pregnant. The minute I noticed her baby bump I pictured Matt on top of her, pounding away in a frenzy of lust, arching his back and squinting and groaning as he injected her twat with a huge load of semen. The thought of it still gives me a throbbing prick.
Matt was a friendly guy. He’d wave and say good morning. When he bought his new truck I stopped and chatted a minute, which is how I learned his name. But it was the day I helped him move a couch that I broke the ice.
The idiot was trying to manhandle a couch through the doorway by himself. It obviously wasn’t working, so I deviated from the sidewalk, grabbed the end outside the door and lifted. He was surprised and gratified. We hauled it out and into the bed of that mammoth pickup in short order.
That’s how I learned his wife had gone to her sister’s in Atlanta for a couple of weeks while Matt moved their stuff. They had just bought their first new house and were doing the heavy lifting themselves to save money for the baby. He planned to spend the next few days getting them situated in their new digs before she got back.
I guess I must’ve been staring because he shrugged and gave me a puzzled expression, and said, “What?”
I laughed and said, “Sorry. It’s just that you’re so damned good looking.”
He smiled uncertainly and I quickly added, “I don’t mean to freak you out. I’m attracted to guys, even the ones who are married and expecting a new addition to the family.” And then I winked, just to add a dash of humor that might leaven the deadly seriousness of my intentions.
“Nah, it’s OK,” he said. “It’s actually flattering. I’ve never been threatened by the idea of guys liking guys.”
I made ready to leave. Before I turned and walked away, I said, “If you need some relief – some sexual relief – before your wife gets back, say the word. I’ll take care of it for you.” And with that, I left. I didn’t even look back to see if he were angry, or embarrassed, or maybe interested? It didn’t matter. He was moving and I might never see him again. Fortune favors the bold, so I had been bold. Time would tell if my boldness paid dividends.
Over the next couple of days I didn’t see him. But then one Saturday, on a rare afternoon walk, I spotted movement in their living room and noticed Matt standing there, hands on hips, big head nearly knocking against the ceiling fan as he gazed at something with a perplexed look. He noticed me at the same time and motioned with his head for me to come in.
I made my way up the driveway and walkway, and stepped into their living room. He was standing in front of a wooden storage unit, probably an Ikea from the looks of it. He didn’t seem happy.
“Do you know how to take this damn thing apart?” he said irritably. “Vicki put it together in about 5 minutes, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out how it comes apart.”
Ah. The American Psychiatric Association should formally recognize a syndrome called “Ikea Frustration.” It’s a common affliction brought on by seemingly impossible fastening techniques used by a certain Swedish furniture manufacturer. Luckily for Matt I had already dealt with this particular disorder and was able to show him in a minute or two the secret to dismantling the storage unit. When he was done we had a stack of shelves and braces.
“Come in here,” he said, leading me into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and there was most of a 12-pack of Sam Adams Rebel IPA. He took out two bottles and grabbed a magnetic church key from the refrigerator. “You are going to help me drink a couple of these.”
Who was I to argue?
We stood there in the kitchen, the light turned off, him leaning against the fridge and me against the counter, and talked. I learned he was an architect just starting out with his own company. He and his wife, the afore-mentioned Vicki, had been married for two years. He was a local boy, having gone to the same high school I did, though a decade afterwards. He had just discovered “Breaking Bad” and jogged and was worried about making the mortgage payments on their new house. Oh, and he missed his wife. Missed her terribly.
He fished two more beers out of the fridge. I began to feel lightheaded. I hadn’t had a beer in awhile and these IPAs were kicking my ass.
Be bold, I told myself.
He was still talking. I put my beer down. I walked over to him and he continued talking, a note of alarm creeping into his voice. I silenced him by placing my lips over his.
He grunted and tried to talk through the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. I reached down and gently cupped his package. Christ, I could feel the damn thing growing in my hand.
He stopped trying to talk. He stood there, uncertain. But I could feel walls falling down, dams breaking, inhibitions going up in a fire of passion. He breathed deeply through his nose and began to return the kiss. I could taste the beer on his lips; then on his tongue as it found its way into my mouth.
I fumbled at the snap of his cargo shorts and got the damn things undone, then stuck my hand under the waistband of his boxers and pulled down the front. I dropped to my knees, before he could say no, and swallowed his half-hard cock.
The thing was massive. The head was an enormous mushroom cap and as my tongue explored the tip I could feel the piss hole dilating, as if he would cum right then and there. I ran my tongue under the tip and then down the length of this monster. At full mast it would probably top out at 8 inches. That was a conservative guess.
His smell was earthy and masculine, of hormonal ferment, mostly, the hot box of his crotch throwing off an aroma of sexual power, the kind that belongs uniquely to a man in the prime of his reproductive capabilities. I finished pulling down his shorts and then backed away from his cock so I could take in its beauty.
It was fully hard now and stood out from his body, throbbing gently to the beat of his heart, begging me to take back into my mouth. I did, but only momentarily. I licked down the shaft and began to lick below where his balls hung in a loose, wrinkled sack covered with fine hairs. I did not take them into my mouth but just licked, over, under, then allowed my tongue to travel a bit south but not quite to his ass crack.
I returned to his cock and put my mouth over it and sucked. I heard and felt him gasp, and his hands traveled to the sides of my head as he began to rock slowly into and out of my mouth. His cock head poked at the back of my mouth and on the next in-stroke, I opened up my throat and took him all the way down to his balls.
“Oh my God,” came the husky whisper as his hands traveled to the back of my head, and he pushed. My nose was buried in his pubic hair and his balls were draped over my chin as he pumped in and out, squishing my face against his sexhood. The smell he gave off ratcheted up a hundred fold into a sticky fog of lust that had my own cock growing painfully hard in my basketball shorts.
His knees came unpinned and he knelt, then lay on the floor. I lay down with him. That massive cock never left my mouth.
Then, he did something amazing.
He moved his right leg under me – I had to raise up a little to let it pass – and placed the crook on my shoulder. Then, he did the same with the left. It created a scorching valley of flesh, with his dick and balls at the very center. Once everything was in place he began to ram his cock down my throat. It was as if his entire body had become a kind of piston, designed to do one thing: power his rigid cock down my throat. I had no option but to accept it.
I have gone down on a lot of guys, gay and straight, but I could not remember such a wild, superheated blowjob as this. He had his hands on the back of my head and his legs on either side, and all I could feel was his hardness ramming down my throat with the urgency of a man who was desperate for sex. He was using me to pleasure himself, to dump his cum, and I was letting him. It got me so worked up I took my right hand and slapped it on that young ass, rubbing the glutes up and down, feeling the bristly hair and the layer of sweat on the glistening flesh.
I got my middle finger wet with his perspiration and allowed it to travel into his crack, where it was hotter and wetter and strongly aromatic. He whimpered as it moved over his asshole and began to rub gently against the wrinkled bud of his anus. I felt his hole dilating and the next time it opened, I gently slipped inside.
“Oh my God” he groaned, and you could hear an almost narcotic pleasure in his voice as my finger sank to the knuckle. He began laying into my throat with an urgency I did not know existed and I could feel his asshole sucking at my finger. If fingers could cum, mine would have filled his colon with white semen.
He suddenly stopped breathing and his grip on my head became fierce, and then he arched his back and I felt a mighty blast of cum shoot down my gullet. Then another, and another, and one more, as I sucked on the base of his cock and probed at his sphincter with my finger. He loosened his grip just a little and I pulled his cock out of my throat and sucked it into my mouth, concentrating on the tip so I could lap up the aftershocks of his ejaculation. I wanted to taste that shit. It was creamy and savory, a kind of sauce you will not find in any cookbook.
He was gasping now, the contented gasping of somebody who had just scratched a longstanding itch and was enjoying the pleasure of relief. I continued working on his cock, and when he raised his leg, freeing me from his smelly prison of flesh, I began to lick those balls that had produced the semen injected into my throat. He lay on his hip and spread his legs, giving me full access to his crotch. I licked everywhere – in the V between his legs and his body, his balls, his cock, and that faint treasure trail leading up to his navel. He was sweaty and his flesh quivered when my tongue touched it. And my tongue touched every part of it.
Finally we were done. He sat there, smiling down at me as I gave his cock a final tickle with my tongue, just under the tip, where most guys like it. He nodded slightly and murmured, “You think you could, uh,” and I looked down. My finger was still deep in his asshole. I chuckled and slowly pulled it out and the hole closed, giving me a final wink.
He got to his feet, and I followed. He looked at me a moment and said, “That was freaking awesome – but I still love the ladies!”
“Of course you do,” I giggled as I snatched a paper towel from the roll and wiped off my finger. I didn’t wash it. I wanted the smell of him to be there when I jacked off later that day.
We both got dressed and finished our beers. I said goodbye. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed or self-conscious, but he did ask that if I ever bumped into his wife, that I please keep what just happened to myself. I promised I would, and I have kept that promise … although I didn’t say anything about not writing about it!
Two days later the place was empty, and Matt was gone.
But I have a feeling I’ll see him again. He did move to another house – another house in the neighborhood. I just need to drive around and look for that gargantuan pickup in the driveway.
Then change the path I take to the park each morning.
Check out Part 1 of my erotic novel “One Day in the Life of Josh” at Amazon. It’s only 99 cents, but I guarantee you’ll get more than a dollar’s worth of hot action. Follow this link: http://www.amazon.com/ONE-DAY-LIFE-JOSH-PART-ebook/dp/B014ORH9YE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1450023605&sr=8-1&keywords=one+day+in+the+life+of+josh
I’ve collected all my daddy-son stories into a single volume, “Daddy’s Boys,” on Kindle. Take a look at it here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CC7PZO4 A companion book, containing most of the stories from “Daddy’s Boys,” is titled “ANAL-ogy” and is also available on Kindle at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01D6IRQH2
Let’s hook up on twitter. I’m at @anonymous_sexie . Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone.
I’m on tumblr at theanonymousa.tumblr.com .
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