Birthday Cake

It's summertime and the sun is shining on Canal Street. A sweltering  August heatwave is taking hold of the city, seeping into it's storied  walls and pavements, saturating everything and everyone with hazy,  shimmering heat. As we sit here with our cool drinks, we watch the   crowds pass by: ripped, shirtless muscle jocks, skinny twinks in  tight shorts, high-heeled fem-boys, sweaty rubber guys, determined drag queens. The air around us feels thick and close on our skin,  the effect of heat and pressure combined. 

I watch as you slip your hand down the back of your shorts, like  there's an itch in your crack that you really need to scratch. You're really digging in there but no-one notices except me. When you see  my hungry eyes following you, something changes in your own, like you've had this great, evil idea. A lightbulb flashes. You bring your  fingers up to my nose and the scent knocks me off my feet. Ripe.  Masculine. The unmistakable flavour of ass lingering on your  fingertips. You whisper something straight out of a porno, like,  "yeah, sniff my butthole," or, "here's what a real man smells like." 

Time slows for a moment. Like a hit of poppers, I feel you coursing through me, expanding. Far above, an airplane draws neat white lines  in the sky. Tiny beads of water condense on a pint glass, connecting, combining, growing into larger dew-like droplets that quiver imperceptibly in the sunlight before gravity yanks them downwards.  My heart beats faster. A bee drones by.

There's a cocky, confident expression on your face now. It's obvious  - I'm hooked. Your hand is stuffed down into your crotch, cupping  big, heavy bull-balls. You're rolling them around in your palm and  giving them gentle little squeezes while we talk, coating your fingers in a layer of fresh, musky sweat.  

"Want some more?" you ask, and I just nod. You bring a warm, moist  hand up to my face, covering my nose. The stink of sweaty balls and  dirty underwear assaults my nostrils, making me moan in pleasure. I don't care who hears. My cock swells, oozing pre-cum, a sticky wet patch blooming in my shorts. 

We down our drinks and cut through the heat of the crowd, my hand  gripping yours as you lead us to the toilets. We cram ourselves into a tiny cubicle, so close I can feel your warm breath on my face.

"Happy birthday, pig," you say with this mischievous grin. Then you  spin around, hop onto the bowl and slowly peel down your shorts, strip-tease style. Your cute, fuzzy butt sways just inches from my nose and I'm staring at it in mute reverence like it's God or the Death Star or  something. You spread yourself wide and I lean in close to take a  long, deep breath. The smell crashes into me like an ocean wave,  overpowering, input overloading my senses. Synapses explode like  fireworks: deep, primal desire, raw and animalistic, obliterating. I goon out, drooling, getting high on the fumes. 

"Are you gonna eat it, or what?" you growl, so I smush my face right in there like it's a birthday cake. I'm rubbing it all around,  smothering myself in it, a wild hog rooting for truffles. You reach  back to grab my head and pull me deeper. Your ass is so warm and  swampy and I'm getting absolutely drenched in fresh, tangy  butt-sweat. I dive in with long, wide cow-licks, slurping it up. Then  I trace the tip of my tongue around your slick, puckered asshole,  teasing it. It twitches briefly, deliciously, and I plunge in as deep as I can go, wriggling into you, tasting your depths. 

Time passes but I don't notice. Right now my whole world consists of just three things: your butt, my mouth and how amazing it feels to explore one with the other. Eventually you prise yourself off me and my tongue shoots out with a pop, like a cork. You hoist up your shorts, laughing, and we jostle our way back to the bar for another drink. More warm bodies, pressed together. Anyone who gets close enough can smell you on me: my nose, my lips, my beard - all bear the most intimate, exquisite aroma that I can imagine, a scent that marks me like territory. I love what that means.