It was nighttime, just after sunset. I was still early, but the itch in my mind wouldn't go away. I was out, hunting.
That's what I liked to call it, anyway. I walked through the streets, hands in my pockets, my leather jacket zipped up tight against the cold of autumn. I kept my eyes open for any guys out alone, a pair of tight jeans. Something that would catch my eye. I was still a little jetlagged, and I didn't know the waterfront streets at all, but I could see a couple of bars were already open. Likely places, maybe. But I took my time, walked slowly. The hunt is more fun that way.
The sky was a heavy, washed-out grey over my head. Autumn sky. I felt the bite of the wind on my face, and smiled. I even stopped for a moment and looked out between two houses at the rocky beach that was never far, and at the deceivingly calm sea just beyond. I wondered what in would be like to be suddenly plunged into the cold waters of the bay just then. The clothes I was wearing would soak through, dragging me down. My heavy boots would be like concrete shoes. I would not be able to move my arms well with my jacket, and I would probably drown very quickly. I grinned. Somehow the prospect excited me.
I resumed walking as the light faded from the town streets. Some of the people I passed glanced at me curiously, but they looked away when I glared. I could practically hear what they were thinking. Too late in the year for tourists, and too early for the heavy winter work and the wandering laborers that came with the snows. All of them stayed out of my way, and a few even went out of their way to avoid me. Perhaps they could feel the energy emanating from me. The hunger.
I walked until it got dark, and under the cover of night I felt much better. I could walk noiselessly when I wanted to, and in a town with streets as wide as this one, with few streetlamps to light the way, I could become a shadow.
I walked through the streets crisscrossing the dock, silent. Thinking. Not many people saw me, but I saw them all. Nobody recognized me. Good.
By now they had probably lost the trail anyway, if they hadn't before. The last leg of the journey I had not used the stolen credit card anymore, only cash. Hard to trace a man without an electronic trail to follow. I had also made sure my face was covered on the highways in case a camera got a glimpse of me, and once past the state line I had simply thrown all my old stuff away and hidden it in some ditch. Nothing on me was mine, no way to tell I my name was Sven Madison at all. And they'd have to be really lucky to trace me all the way to this godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere.
Fade away. Just fade away.
I blinked. The sky had gotten darker while I had been walking aimlessly, thinking. I was not wearing a hat and I had shaved off all my hair, so the bite of the wind was getting uncomfortable. I shrugged, turned my back on the sea. I retraced my steps, back to the room I was staying in.
When I got to the tiny three-story house its owner liked to call a hotel, I asked for my key and yanked it out of some woman's hand as she handed it over to me. It was much warmer inside than out. That was good. I climbed the creaky wooden stairs quickly, the steps groaning under my weight. I had to duck my head when I reached the landing on the third floor to avoid banging it on the ceiling. I was a bit over six feet tall, and used to that. I did it automatically. Then I turned right, down a shadowy hall, and used my key on the only room in the floor. 301. The door opened with a creak.
I had a view of the town from here, and even a sliver of sea through the rooftops of the nearby buildings. It was nearly full dark outside now, though, and all I could see were shadows and the many points of light that were turning on now on porches, through windows, and on lonely streetlamps. Soon the town was awash with light, but that only made the sky above seem darker. I wondered if it would rain tonight. I hoped it would.
The tiny room didn't have a minibar, but I had stuffed a cooler with ice and set some beers on top. They were nice and cold when I touched a can, so I grabbed it and popped the cap. I took a long swallow, then settled down on a chair that felt like it would give under my weight.
I was too horny to wait until I found someone by then. I'd have to take care of myself. I touched the bulge between my legs with a lazy, heavy hand, feeling the shape of my dick through the fabric of my jeans. I felt my shaft growing hard, pressing against the tight cloth as it reached its full size under the touch of my fingers. I shifted in my seat to be more comfortable and undid my belt. Then I pressed the cold can of beer I still held to my crotch, feeling the hard and cold touch of the metal through the denim on my cock and balls. I closed my eyes; it felt good.
I unzipped my jeans and took them off in a quick motion, throwing them to the floor. I took another long gulp of beer, put the can on the floor and then touched my rock-hard cock through my briefs. I began rubbing my shaft in long, slow motions, using my other hand to cup my balls and squeeze on them through the soft cotton fabric. That soon got me going. Before long, a patch on my underwear was wet with precum, and my cock was throbbing with pent-up energy. Time to jack off for real.
I took off my briefs slowly, sliding them off my legs and kicking them aside. I was naked from the waist down, a can of beer lying on the floor nearby, in a nearly dark room with slices of light coming in through the blinds of my window. The light traced the shape of my body, hard and muscular from my usual heavy workouts. I undid the buttons in my shirt and opened it a little impatiently. Looking down I could see my own sculpted abs, and the trail of curly dark hair that led down from my navel to my cock, nestled among my pubic hair and standing stiff and erect, ready for some milking.
I grabbed the warm, throbbing shaft with my right and began pumping. My cock was so big that I usually needed two hands to cover it all, but right then I had better uses for my other hand. I traced the hard outlines of my abs with my palm, feeling the fuzz of hair as I went up. I reached my powerful pecs next and traced their marble-like hardness, the roundness of the muscles under the supple skin. My dick throbbed in response to my touch.
I caressed my pecs, skirting over the nipples and feeling the soft hair that grew over my sternum in a dark patch. As I did that, I began pumping ever so slightly into my right hand with my hips, pumping a bit faster every time I felt the pleasure spread from my dick to my entire body, making me sigh deeply and feeling as if my dick were on fire and stroking it was the only way to quench it or put it out. I wanted to finish, but I also wanted to make it last.
I stopped stroking my dick and spit into my palm to lube it up. Then I passed my wet palm over the mushroom head of my dick and lubed it well. I began pumping again, but nearer the tip this time, so my fingers rubbed the head every time my hand went up. It increased the sensations radiating from my cock, and it only made me go all the harder. I increased the pressure and the speed, feeling how the tension was building up inside me, wanting an immediate release.
Fuck it. It felt too good to stop. I pumped even harder with my hand, and faster, and as I did I used my left hand to pinch one of my nipples until it hurt. It twisted it and dug my nails into the sensitive skin, and the pain added another dimension to my pleasure entirely. Without meaning to, I moaned deep in my throat. I moved onto the other nipple and twisted, harder this time. My fist was flying over my dick, stroking the thick shaft, pushing me further and further to the edge and going faster all the time. Sweat was dripping from my brow and I was breathing as fast as if I was running when the pleasure exploded from the tip of my cock and all through my body. I arched my back, moaned again and shot a load of hot cum straight onto my chest, and again, and again... and again.
I felt each rope of cum hit my skin as I came. I even shivered a bit, sweating, and feeling completely satisfied when it was over. Afterwards, I just lay there for a bit, eyes closed, enjoying the relaxing, mind-numbing nothing that came over me after an orgasm. For a few minutes I was content with everything. I sipped my lukewarm beer and thought about nothing at all.
I may have slept. The can I had still been holding was on the floor when I looked, some beer seeping through the wood very slowly. My room was pitch-black by then, and the light from the same streetlamp spilled through blinds still, falling on my body in rows of orange and the black of night.
I made myself stand up, and I walked to the bathroom to take a piss. I stood above the toilet with my dick in my hand, letting out a stream that seemed to never end, and closing my eyes from time to time. I wanted to keep on sleeping, maybe have another beer and call it a day. I could probably sleep well into the afternoon if I wanted to. I was that tired.
My eyes opened. My heartbeat quickened. I was suddenly done taking a piss.
I looked at the mirror to my right, but I could see nothing. I hadn't turned on any lights and the bathroom was pitch-black. Yet I knew that I was looking back at myself, that another pair of eyes was staring at mine right then, and for some reason that was unsettling. I wanted to look away from the reflection I couldn't see, but somehow I stayed instead, even turned to look at the mirror. I reached up and touched the cold glass.
Maybe I should go out.
Or not. Best to lie low for a bit. They were still looking for me.
Maybe I should go hunting.
Maybe I should stop having conversations with myself like a fucking lunatic. But going out suddenly seemed a bit more attractive. I had seen a couple bars by the docks during my earlier walk. There could be someone there. Someone to meet.
I reached for my clothes lying on the floor and put them on. I hesitated.
Maybe I'm afraid.
I pushed the thought away. I was not afraid. I had conquered my fear long ago, way back after my first time. But if I wasn't afraid, then what?
Then nothing. I was just too damn tired. I should rest.
I wanted back to the main room, remembering the last hunt. The burning expectation, the thrill of finding him. My world, shrinking to a single person. And then, the proper hunting... words, gestures. A smile. A touch. And then, the reward.
I grinned. I had gotten hard again without noticing and my jeans were uncomfortably tight. The hunger was back by then, and I knew my earlier jacking off had only been the appetizer for the evening. If anything, I was even hornier now. I needed to go out, and find someone. I needed to start the hunt.
I felt around in the pockets of my jeans, feeling alert and ready for more action. I found the wallet almost immediately. I checked I still had some condoms and put them in a pocket of my shirt. I grabbed the keys to the room then, and I went out, slamming the door behind me.
Time for some fun.