An Change from the Usual

An amazing day. Summer. Mid-80s. Just a touch of humidity in the air, enough to make you sweat when you get going. Mid-week. Where I will be going will likely be virtually empty. On similar days in the past it has been just me… and the beach, the lake, the woods. And I have found a place in a secluded part of a local state park that I have been able to make clothing optional. I’m working on overall tan like the one I go so many years ago when I was in college. Tom Nevers Head, Nantucket… too bad I di not know then what I know now. I am not just a nudist at heart, I am gay.

My gayness. The wife does not anything about. I am discrete. How discrete? No discover after 20 years of active life on the DL, almost 20 years of entertaining men in what I have made into a playroom in the cellar (one that quite quickly gets put away). And 16 years of bareback only. 10 years of being fisted. And the sex no infrequent, sometimes as often as 3 times a week, though not recently.

Two summers ago, I found this spot for outdoor fun quite by chance. She was working. I had no date in the cellar. I decided to visit a nearby state park. I followed a usual trail. Then just took an unmarked trail into the heart of the park. I knew I could not get lost. How lucky to find what I found. Off a trail off the trail off the marked trail… I saw glint of brighter sun. It was a clearing in the woods. Bright enough to have a little grass. A big enough opening so that between 11 and 1 there was sun. And it was off the path enough that you had to want to go there. Private. And I thought perfect.

On that first visit I decided to sit and wait and see. How private?

I cannot usually it still for two hours. But I did. I took my short off using it to stretch out on the grass and get some sun. That day, well after two hours I just had to strip, stroke, cum. I knew I would be back when next I had the opportunity. Damn, a place outdoors where I could be nude, sun, and, maybe get lucky.

It was easy not to go when I had a date in the cellar. My desire for cock and fists – just too strong. Was I getting too much? Was I overdosing on the DL – men in cellar fucking and fisting and breeding me? Probably. A sex addict? Maybe I hoped so. So I did not go often to me clearing in the woods.

But today. No date. Time to get out while she is working. The only issue might be a call. But this always possible. And I have had to take a few of them in the past many years. Yeah. Caller ID with voice tells me if it a call I have to take. The first time I had to answer, the first time I had cock in my hole while on my back in the sling… well that is another story. And the pig who is in well-lubed hole just stayed in me, once in a while moving, letting the sling sway just that little bit. And as soon as I hung, he started pistoning my hole, his cock seemed harder, bigger, his load huge. “Man, that was so hot, so hot, so hot,” was all he could say before leaning over and tongue fucking me mouth.

Well today is today.

Off to the park. The usual dress – sort of appropriate for a walk in the woods: hiking boots, shorts, tee shirt with a somewhat suggestive message on the front and back – “Active – Commando – Do It”. Going commando. A small back pack with a bottle of water, a snack, a small bottle of wine for later in the stay if it felt right, a larger towel, bug spray, a bottle of lube, and bottle of poppers – the last two standard now for me, but non-standard for most hikers.

There was a small parking lot. Two other cars there. No one in the cars. So, no overt cruising. But then that was not so common here. This was now a “known” spot. That was OK for me. These visits were mostly for the quiet, the sun, the chance to be nude, maybe a little stroking. I did come with a clean hole, but that would at the least allow my to enjoy some solo ass play. And I know I did not write that my back pack today had a nice dildo – the heaviest thing I was ready to carry these days in that back pack – 12” x 3”, brown, a favorite, and if the spirit moved me to be part of my worship of the sun.

There are now two things I worship this summer. Maybe three. Today it will be the sun. And I have given myself to the worship of the phallus as expressed by the cock and the fist. I would have a Greek Phallus in my garden if I could get away with it. But that might just be too overt. To worship the phallus and worship the sun together is a festival of life expressed and fulfilled. The culmination is to receive the sweet communion of a man’s semen, his cum – the precious food of a kind of heaven on earth that only gay men can inhabit. And that I do my best to inhabit. Just not often enough. And I know what the third thing is, must be, will be – the worship of the Gay Satan as Master of my body and my soul. That would ultimately require I not be married to a woman. I do not believe you can be a secret, part-time believer. You can haunt the edges, but not be in the center, that center you can sense is there when poppered up you “see” your shining hole, His shining hole, the hole of all men who love men, burning in your closed eyes. I need, at least to get closer, closer to full communion, full commitment, perhaps with my cock pierced, my body tattoed, my ass hole wrecked, my ass and mouth full of hot cum, re-baptized in piss, T-piss, sharing the full communion of cum and piss. Yes.

I walked in. I passed no one. Not unusual. I took off my shirt. Turned down the first un-marked path. Walked I the several hundred yards. Turn down the second path, stopping only to take off my shorts, to be nude. I walked down that path so free and not afraid of being stopped, turned into “my” clearing and there HE was – a tall, built, hard-bodied and hard-cocked black man, his skin glistening in the sun, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

It was Bill. I had told him about this place. He had decided to come. Bill. 6’, 190, 8 inches, tight ass, a never satisfied desire for ass, and lucky me, for my ass.

“Bill. Two nude guys in the woods.”

“Yes. We are.”

“Worshipping the sun it looks like.”

“And more.”

“Yes.”

“May I?” I always asked.

“Yes.”

And with that he stepped forward, I knelt down. I took his cockhead in my lips, kissed its gleaming head, ran my tongue underneath, and took it into my hungry mouth. I wanted that. I reached into my bag to get my poppers, I wanted to feel that first huff inflame my desire at the same time making it easier to take his cock. He took my head in his hands, holding it so he good face fuck me. My mouth was wet. So wet. Saliva ran down my jaw.

“Yes, Bob. Damn. Suck my cock. Suck it you pig.”

I did. An incredible hard cock. I tasted the pre-cum. I wanted his load. Another hit of poppers, another. I broke away and kneeled down on all fours, my hole facing his cock. I steadied myself and put my hands on ass and spread, opened up to be there ready. He saw the lube and worked some in my hole and on his cock. He stroked. I felt his cock head on my hole. I could feel it probing lightly, teasing my fuck hole.

“Want it?”

“Yes”

“How much?” I showed him. I felt his cock head on hole. I pushed back impaling myself on his tool – to the balls. Fast hard.

“Yes. Yes, Yes, Bob. You are going to get my babies, I want to make you my pregnant bitch, mine.”

Damn he knew how to take a hole. He fucked from behind, then flipper me over to be on top, his body pressing mine, his lips on my lips, our tongues dancing. My hole was on fire, in lust. He game me the poppers.

“More hits, pig. Daddy wants you ready for my cock and more. Keep them handy. You will huffing them when I, a high priest of the Black Satan you want to worship gives you our sacred fluid – cum.”

Back on my knees. His cock pounding in a hole I could feel getting hotter and hotter, wetter with more lube and my ass juices and his spit. His cock played in my hungry loose hole.

“Oh Baby.”

He pulled out.

“Hits baby.”

Four.

“Hold them until I count down to 0 from 10.”

I did.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1…”

His fist – punching in, punching, fucking. I could feel him probing for the second ring. He passed that. Fisting. In. Out. In.

“I’m to my elbow Bob. Fuck.”

It was then that we both heard some noise. We looked up at the same time. It was another guy. His camera was out. He was filming. His cock was out. Hard.

I said, “Feed me that cock.”

He did. Face fucked and fisted. Heaven.

“You’re Bob?”

“Yes.”

“More?”

“Yes.”

Bill had briefly pulled is fist out of my wrecked hole.

“Bob, hot cunt. More? And interested in a real hit?”

“He is,” said Bill.

Bill held my arm. The other man go out the works.

“This will protect him from COVID,” chuckled the other man.

“Yes it will, “ said Bill.

“Good,” I said. “Give it to me.”

“And you will get more than that pig Bob.”

The prick of the needle. The slam. Fuck. I felt my whole body shake, shiver, fall into the lap of gay lust. Amazing. Higher than high and hungrier than hungrier. Gayer than gay.

Bill was back in my hole. Alternating fists as he fisted me, fisted me. My hole wrecked. Sloshing with all the lube and juices.

Bill paused. Then the other guy put his cock up my loose hole. Damn he was pissing in. Bill was pissing on me. Drenched. In heaven. My hole wanted more. I wanted more. I got it.

The two men kneeled behind me. Four lubed hands. Alternating single fists. Then doubled.

“How much can this pig take.”

“Fist me.” The T was my master. I did not care what the state of my hole was as long as he was fucked or fisted.

I must have passed out. When I woke up, I was nude, wet, my hole feeling lie it was just hanging open. Satisfied, but wanting more. Hung over in a way.

A simple hour in the sun.