The City & the Night

"After Dark"

Yeah, that’s it. Keep pushing. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Not yet. Almost there. Almost there. Now…

I came to a relieved standstill, chest heaving, hands resting on my burning thighs. God, I needed that. In my final year of University running had become my way of giving my brain a chance to switch itself off and to focus on nothing more than the placing of one foot in front of the other. It took me out of my head and put me back into my body at the same time, and reminded me, albeit briefly, that I was a living, breathing animal.

Having just completed one final lap of the lake in Crookes Valley Park, I looked up and realised I was finishing much later than I’d intended. The chavvy guy who’d been sitting on the wall in front of the Damhouse bar had disappeared (I’d had the sneaking suspicion he was filming me but maybe I was just being paranoid) and now a dusky-blue evening hung over the city. The sun’s dying rays glittered their goodbye in the windows of the looming Arts Tower, where from behind, a full moon had slipped secretly and silver-naked into view.

Because I've been up here for a while, I'm starting to feel the monotony of the tower block... 

Oh great. Half an hour of pounding pavement and I still had that bloody song on my brain. Makes a change from dark matter theory, I reasoned.

I had realised early on in life that being an only child was something of a mixed blessing. I got all the attention I could stomach, but I was never in competition with anyone but me. Deprived of such formative opportunities, I found I always had to study harder, run faster, push further than the boy I saw in the mirror.

University life, therefore, had been challenging in more ways than one. Engaging with my fellow man was one such example. I was not known for being the most sociable of creatures, spending far too much time in my own head. While most of my contemporaries saw it as a golden opportunity to let off some steam; be it through drink or drugs or warm bodies, I was wary of losing myself and never finding my way back. I put it down to genetics.

I took a moment to look into the calm, black water of the lake, wondering how deep it was; the refracted light of sun and moon mingling together on the surface. For a few stolen moments they shared the same sky, locked in endless pursuit. Now the sun was all but gone. Landmarks which by day were so familiar, had been transformed by the stealthy onset of night, and as I walked up the steps to the trees behind the bowling green, it was already dark under the rustling leaves.

Three lads were leaning on the railings which lined the path near the back of the old, redbrick bowling shed; hard to distinguish, but mid-to-late twenties maybe, passing round a cigarette between them. I’d glimpsed them earlier as well, sitting on a bench overlooking the water, knocking back a few cans and sharing stuff on their phones. When they saw me, they inclined their heads together conspiratorially, and as I approached, I made a mental note not to make eye contact.

We’d all heard the rumours. Each night, as darkness fell, the park was supposedly transformed into a gay men's playground; something I'd gleaned from the drunken banter between lads on the way back from town on those occasional Saturday nights I’d been persuaded to lighten the fuck up. The open gates stood just off the main road to and from town and made a convenient piss-stop. There was always someone in our group (usually Billy, an American guy from Tennessee) whose over-indulged bladder necessitated a quick dash inside to water the nearest bush, then a sprint back out again in case he fell prey to the nefarious twilight world that allegedly lurked in the shadows.

Something about the notion of strangers joining in brief, uncomplicated encounters, with nothing more than the primal urge to enjoy each other’s anonymous bodies after dark, was weirdly unsettling, but in that murky, conflicting way in which fear of the unknown is sometimes an extreme form of exitement. Occasionally, only occasionally, I’d let my mind wander there, imagining scenarios, and sometimes even guiltily cracking one off under the duvet after getting uncustomarily shitfaced, but other than that I’d given it little real thought.

Now I found myself right there, sober and alone, and suddenly very conscious of the fact that the thin, black fabric of my shorts was the only thing covering the white jockstrap underneath and clung to the curves of my firm rump as the heat of that evening’s run began to creep over my body.

As I walked past them, one of the lads turned casually and held out a cigarette, asking (in heavily-accented English) if I fancied a smoke. My heart puttered in my chest but I ignored him and kept on walking, but immediately they were right behind me, whispering in low voices between themselves. One foot in front of the other, I was telling myself, when suddenly I felt a warm hand on my buttock; lightly at first, then other hands joined in and sank into both mounds with a boldness which startled me.

“Hey, why you in such a hurry English boy?“ one of them leered as he swung in front of me, jigging from foot to foot like he needed to pee and placing his hands on my pecs to bring me to halt. “You gotta nice ass there, man.” He brought his grinning face close to mine as he reached round brazenly for another feel.

One of the lads behind me blew smoke against my ear. “You be nice to us, we be nice to you, yeah?” he said matter-of-factly, leaning in and sliding a hand down the back of my shorts to give my arse a firm squeeze.

I braced myself inwardly for a moment, my eyes gazing toward the steps beyond which led up to the top level of the park and the exit, not knowing how to respond. I felt like I was being corralled by pack animals that had instinctively sensed my weakness, and my hesitation seemed to offer them all the signal they needed. I found myself surrounded and being maneuvered into the shadows under the trees beside the path, pushed down on to my knees and a worn denim crotch was in my face...

*****

Sharing a house with five other guys could be a stifling experience at times, but it meant I was no stranger to the male form. It never ceased to intrigue me that the most unnassuming, average-looking Joe you might pass by everyday on the street often seemed to be disproportionately blessed when it came to the organ between his legs.

He unzipped quickly, and the large purple head of an obscenely huge cock was brushed against my lips. I could taste the salty tang of precum.

“Maybe you like to smoke on this, eh, bitch,” his tone wry, but unquestioning.

He slapped my face with his stiffening meat as he slid his fingers round the back of my head with his free hand.

The lad standing next to him began tugging on the large bulge tenting in his trackies and out plopped another big, veiny prick only inches from my mouth. I could sense the warmth of his ripe flesh, laced with the faint aroma of piss rising from his pink slit. I glanced upwards, as an electrifying mixture of fear and unnamed desire rose in me, but I could no longer make out their faces in the dark. At this point, however, my double-crossing dick began sending me signals.

All at once, I was on the edge of a strange new place, no longer aware of my surroundings, only my heart going like mad and the rush of blood in my ears, wanting to lose myself. As everything clicked into instinctive slow-motion, my wavering lips parted willingly to accept the challenge as it was offered.

Suddenly I was taking turns sucking on two rock-hard cocks as if I’d been doing it my whole adult life; gripping them both firmly at the base of the shaft and slowly swirling my tongue around one glistening piss slit then the next, feasting on one then the other, then swallowing them each in turn, deeper and deeper, until I could feel the prickle of groin against my nose. This is really happening, I thought.

Behind me, the third lad was unbuttoning his combats and I felt him sink to his knees to begin pulling at my shorts. I leaned forward slightly, vaguely aware I was aiding and abetting, when in one determined movement he used both hands to rip them wide open, letting in the cool night air. Rough hands massaged my mounds. I was already learning to relish the sensation.

Then I could feel the round mushroom head of a spit-slicked bellend probing at my exposed arsehole, which clenched involuntarily then relaxed as he firmly spread my milky white cheeks wide apart and spat.

In surprise, I choked on the thick cock in my mouth, and drew back before it was quickly rammed home again. I needed a moment to catch my breath, and so holding the swollen cockhead in the back of my throat, I gulped hard, taking in welcome air through my nostrils, and heard a gratifying moan of pleasure from above; seems I was good at thinking on my knees. Behind me, combat lad opened me up gradually to take every last inch of his raw fuck meat till he was balls deep inside.

“Yeah, this is what you like, eh, you English bastards,” he breathed, close to my ear.

Sometimes it takes a stranger to tell you who you are, I thought.

He groaned as he began to piston in and out, full balls slapping against my plush hole. Grabbing a fistful of my hair he guided first one engorged cock then the other right to the hilt in my hungry throat, tugging back my head and pushing my face into the smooth, low-hanging bollocks that swung tantalisingly, musky with the scent of soap and manly exertion, as the two other lads wanked furiously on their rigid knobs before spit-roasting me once more.

By now he was pounding my aching fuck chute with a hammering of rough, eager thrusts when my freshly stretched hole tensed around his thick meat, sending a shudder through his body, and then I could feel it; a hot jet of sticky white fuck juice flooding my guts. His breathing faltered as he emptied into me, grunting in quick, successive gasps, letting the scruff of his chin rest on the back of my neck, his hot breath in my hair, then he leaned back to give me a few more final questing shunts as I milked the fullness of his length before he stood up again.

Immediately, trackie lad took his place behind me and shoved his cock inside in one firm unrelenting stroke; this one even bigger, slower at first, enjoying the feel of my pink pucker as it tightened fervently around the girth of his pole, then quickening the pace. He growled angry words I couldn’t understand, gripping me firmly by the hips and burying his thick shaft deep between my mounds, grinding hard into my slick hole, until he stopped abruptly, holding me assertively in place.

His cock twitched, and with a sudden rush that, to this day, I swear I could feel all the way up the curve of his pulsating rod, he spewed the spunk from his heavy balls deep into me, slapped my arse and staggered to his feet.

It was then, for the first time in my life, I was awakened to the strangely gratifying sensation of another man's cum beginning to slide from deep inside me to drip down my balls, as the third lad, the one in denims and a buzzcut, knelt behind me with the same urgent need to plunge his monster cock into my spunk-filled slot, while the other two took turns feeding their sticky meat into my mouth, getting them both hard again.

*****

This was the one I’d been waiting for. He was the one who had first stopped me on the path. His was the first cock I ever sucked. It was the biggest of the three and breathtakingly sculpted, with a thick vein running from the purple head to his furry groin. It looked like it belonged on a porn star, and now it was about reap its rewards.

“You gotta nice ass there, man,” he reminded me, his mouth right by my ear.

With almost impeccable comic timing, the buzzing intro to Don’t You Want Me? suddenly came blasting from the open windows of the Damhouse bar, back across the lake, as the regular business of a Saturday night was resumed for the city’s other inhabitants. I nearly laughed out loud.

I could practically feel the grin on his face as he slowly pushed himself inside. Pulling tight on the ragged waistband of my shorts with one hand and the back of my head with the other, Denim lad cored me out with a leisurely vehemence. Then he was speaking again; calling me a slut, a cock-loving whore, ordering me to fucking take it like a good little pussy boy, telling me to make him cum, telling me I liked it.

I pulled back from the engorged meat in my mouth and turned my head to meet his. “Don’t stop,” I pleaded. “Don’t stop. Not yet.”

Without missing a stroke he tugged at my shorts until they came free in his hand and looped them around my neck in a makeshift leash, pulling hard. Faster and faster he drilled his thrilling meat into me, struggling to control his breathing, until he was fucking me like an animal.

“Yeah, that’s how you like it, eh, English boy,” he glowered. “Make me cum. Make me cum in you. Uh, gonna cum in you... NOW...”

I felt his cock convulse as the third and biggest spunkload of the evening was unleashed inside my well-used cunt with a long, low, juddering moan. He put his hands on the ground either side of me and placed his chin on my shoulder, gently biting my earlobe, then he grabbed my hair and pulled back my head until it was level with the two rigid cocks in front as once again they were skilfully wanked to completion.

To a crescendo of moans my face was decorated with a double onslaught of man-batter until I could barely see. Then after a moment’s reprieve Denim lad slowly withdrew his throbbing cock only to slide into me again, repeating the motion until a guttural sigh of satisfaction sounded in his throat. I gasped for breath; cum oozing from my cock-ravaged arse and sliding down my face.

Then all three were standing over me.

One of them reached down with a calloused hand and placed his sticky thumb on my lower lip to prize open my mouth, as each rewarded me in his turn with a drooling gob of spit to mark their territory; reminding me I was an animal.

“Na razie,” Denim lad said, still out of breath as they fastened up. “Do you again sometime, maybe.” He stroked the side of my face. Then they strolled away, laughing quietly and lighting up another smoke.

I stayed there motionless in exhilarated awe, my own cum seeping through the front of my jockstrap, sweat cooling on my brow, as the sounds of the city came rushing back; a warm springtime breeze whispering through the trees, the distant rumble of traffic somewhere beyond and music mixed with the lairy voices of other lads well on their way to a night out in town.

Wanting more.

I found myself wishing even one of them would find himself wandering along the short path that led right to the spot where I knelt in supplication, reluctant to leave, transformed by the welcome onset of night, and eager to take his ease down in the park.

As if in answer, the light of the moon broke through, casting its spell.

Something in the air told me to wait.