Long John Silver

In the village where I had lived for a year, there was a little store that sold all the essential food and alcohol one would require. Their prices were slightly higher than the supermarkets in the adjacent town that was fifteen miles away. The sheer convenience, however, negated the added expense.  

As I settled down to my sedate existence in this magical little enclave, I got to know all the locals one by one. I had made no secret of being gay, mindful of the many single women that lived in the area. I certainly didn’t want unwanted and annoying female attention. The smorgasbord of male talent that I encountered in the store, nonetheless, consistently had my mouth watering.

During my first year, I saw a guy called Long John in the store from time to time. His proper name was John Silver. I imagined that due to his height, which was at least six-foot-three-inches, he had garnered the nickname of Long John.

Long John was tall and long-limbed, and if I am to be quite honest, skanky. He always wore well-worn tracksuit pants, threadbare polo shirts, and enormous old boots that looked like he had inherited them from his father.

One would not refer to him as good-looking, and yet, there was a strange sexiness about him. Although we never communicated directly during our visits, I did make observations about his demeanour.

Firstly, he had enormous workman’s hands that were rough and scraggy. Next, his mumbled conversation made one believe that he had a speech impediment of sorts. Lastly, Long John continually wiped his mouth with either the palm or back of his hand as he spoke.

The reason that he and I finally communicated with one another was as a result of large wood stumps that he was able to supply.

One of the features in my home was an enormous fireplace. I bought all my wood and stumps from another man in the village. He was a miserable and unreliable bastard that I did not enjoy supporting.

I loved using large stumps, which I would place on either side of the fire, enhancing and prolonging the process. The visual benefit of this was also fantastic on the cold winter nights, as I sat cozily enjoying the warmth.

One morning as I visited the store and moaned about my wood supplier, the owner incredulously asked me why I didn’t use Long John’s services. After informing him that I didn’t know that Long John supplied wood, as luck would have it, Long John’s truck pulled up outside.

After Long John entered the store, we got formally introduced. My heart skipped a beat as my hand got sheathed in his rough paw as we shook hands. Having only ever seen him side-on before this, I noticed that he had what seemed to be an oversized tongue in his mouth. As we commenced chatting, his hand began wiping his mouth to and fro, as I had seen many times before. Inexplicably, this procedure gave me a raging boner.

When our business transaction got concluded, Long John promised to deliver my wood later that day. As I was about to leave, I once more extended my hand, hoping that I would get to shake his soggy, spit-sodden paw.

Disappointingly, Long John now wiped his hand vigorously over his shirt before we concluded our deal. 

When I got home, I couldn’t wait for his visit. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that I would get lucky, but after a year of ogling him, the ice had fortuitously got broken.

At forty-thirty that afternoon, Long John pulled into my driveway. From the moment he arrived, he was a lot more engaging and friendlier than he had ever been. I wasn’t sure if being out of the spotlight of the shop, he felt more relaxed, or if now that I was a customer, he was donning a business-like persona. It was, after all, universally known that I was gay, and as we all know, straight men can often be skittish around gays, particularly when in heterosexual company.

I was, additionally, very impressed with the stumps he had brought along. They were vastly superior to the ones I had formerly purchased. Amusingly, as he was about to unload them onto my veranda, he looked at my delicate hands when I offered to assist him and sternly opted to complete the task on his own.

As I watched him in action, I did not doubt that his sinewy arms were powerful. I was becoming more and more enamoured with Long John by the minute. John, as he had by now invited me to refer him, was a real alpha stud.

Once he had unloaded all the stumps, John followed me indoors so that I could pay him. Hoping to retard his visit, I offered John a drink, which he gladly accepted. He did not appear to be in any hurry and leisurely sipped the beer that I handed over to him.

Making small talk, I asked him about his nickname, which I presumed was due to his height, and also had a Stevenson (Treasure Island) connotation due to his surname.

“Yeah, that’s the polite version,” he proffered. “Obviously, with my surname and height, that’s what most people assume,” he then mischievously replied.

Intrigued by this, I became compelled to learn the impolite version.

“Well, if you promise to keep a secret, I will tell you,” he conspiratorially responded.

“Scout’s honour,” I jokingly countered with the appropriate saluting gesture.

An uneasy look now overcame John’s face, like someone who had misspoken. In the pause that followed, I was about to throw him a lifeline when John again spoke.

“Well… I got the nickname at school. You see, I have a very long cock, and my buddies used to tease me about it,” John shyly concluded.

Excited as I was about the revelation, I reservedly replied with a simple, “Oh.”

By now, John had finished his first beer and was rapidly glugging down his second one. I once more mentioned how happy I was with the stumps he had brought me, in order to diffuse any inhibition he might be feeling after his exposé.

When I handed over his third beer, he placed it on the counter and said, “Before I have this, I’d better take a piss.”

After I pointed the direction to my toilet, John exclaimed, “Would you mind if I piss outside? You see, I’m a slovenly pisser and drive my wife mad with all the spillage. That’s why I generally piss outdoors.”

“No, not at all,” I answered as I led the way onto my back veranda.

After John passed by me, he took up station on my back lawn, just beyond the edge of the veranda. Without facing away from me, he then lowered his tracksuit pants and cupped his dick in his right hand. With his attention focussed on his cock, I was able to have a good look at the reason for his schoolboy moniker.

The only word that now came to mind was spectacular! John’s substantial dick was very long and topped with a foreskin overhang of epic proportions. Once the foreskin tube began wiggling about as a wide spray of piss fanned out over the lawn, I instantly understood why he was a messy pisser. I watched transfixed as he moved his hips from side to side, wetting a large portion of the lawn. I had never seen anything more erotic in my life.

Intrigued as I was, I was under no delusion that he was straight and summarily having an outdoor man-piss, a practice that was popular in this region because several guys popping in had pissed outdoors.  I had, nevertheless, never been lucky enough to witness such an overt display because all these men had always faced away from me. Even more fortuitously, John got so fixated on his task, that I could freely sate my voyeuristic wantonness as he focussed on the task at hand.

After John finally finished, he gave his impressive dick a few deft shakes before returning to its imprisonment.

Once inside again, John commenced sipping his third beer. I was betwixt and between complimenting him on his handsome dick. I did not want to damage our budding friendship by being salacious, but yet, his overt demonstration gave me a feeling of deliberateness. On an impulse, I decided on a bold approach.

“I could see how you got your nickname,” I cautiously informed him.

With an air of mock modesty, he shrugged his shoulders proudly.  

Feeling like a green light had got given, I decided to pursue my conniving ploy.

“You must’ve been popular with the ladies,” I proffered.

“Well, sort of,” he replied with an air of dejection.

What John now told me was bizarre. I had realized by now that as he consistently wiped his mouth as if he had some or other problem. The story that followed had me floored. John informed me that he had a slightly oversized tongue that impeded his speech, as I had detected. Resultantly, he suffered from hyper-salivation, hence the continual mouth wiping that I had observed.

John now went on to commiserate on the problems that this had caused in his love life. Throughout his adulthood, women had baulked at his condition, disgusted by the excessive drool that he emitted. Resultantly, women hated being kissed by him. Even his wife only consented to a peck on the cheek after he had thoroughly wiped his saturating mouth and only ever consented to doggy style lovemaking, appalled by his incessant drooling.

“Jeez, buddy, you have no idea how I crave kissing and fucking simultaneously,” John miserably declared.

I had encountered ‘spitter’s’ in my past, but in truth, I had never fixated upon this practice. Much as I had enjoyed having my torso and face spat upon and the inevitable emulsifying that took place, I can honestly say that it was nothing more than a curious byplay I had enjoyed. With John, however, I was fully prepared to drown in drool if it meant that I could sample his remarkable cock.

“Your wife’s crazy. Spit is spit. We have spit in our mouth’s all day long. So what’s the big deal if it’s yours or someone else’s. It’s generated in the same manner. In any case, spit tastes better than cum,” I said with a laugh, before adding, “Sex is all about exchanging body fluids, after all.”

John’s face lit up at my revelation. Deciding to now go for broke, I quickly added, “If I could enjoy your incredible cock, I would happily drown in drool,” I said, echoing my lusty thoughts.

“Are you serious?” he asked disbelievingly.

I knew I was out on a limb but beyond caring at this point. ‘But whatever will be, will be’, I thought to myself.

I could tell that my philosophy had excited John, even though his facial expression was showing confusion. It was like an inward struggle had gripped hold of him, and he was now pondering if he should move forward or backward. John’s dilemma was palpable, and I prayed like hell that an inquisitive lust would prevail.

“Well, let’s see how much you like drool,” John said as he inhabited the space between us.

In a flash, he gripped hold of me and commenced kissing me. The wetness of his onslaught yielded instant dampness as I had never experienced before. His slug-like tongue filled my mouth like the most sensuous pacifier I could ever imagine possible. Additionally, the swampy sloshing from him made me weak at the knees as he slobbered in my mouth.

I was, comprehensively, smitten by his drool. As my body got coaxed toward the bedroom, I thought I was about to succumb to cardiac arrest with excitement. Not for one second would I have believed that this luck could befall me. I felt like a man who had just won a lottery.

In the bedroom, John swiftly removed both our t-shirts. Next, I got shoved onto the bed before he jumped on me like a hyperactive kid. Much as I had believed that the gob monster would not be too hectic, the drool flowed so prolifically that in no time, my head, shoulders, and chest were sopping wet as he moistly traversed my body like an out of control irrigation system.

I was delirious with happiness as he snorted and grunted his pent up frustration of years of rejection. Although I was happy about the slobbering and kept on encouraging it, my primary motivation was definitely about sucking and getting fucked by his magnificent cock.

By now, John was so hyper-excited as he rubbed his crotch against me that I began to fear that he wasn’t going to last too long. My fears got realized when he announced that he was about to cream himself in his pants before I could ask him to unload into my mouth. 

Afterward, John lay on his back next to me on the bed. Wondering what his next move would be, I asked if he would like another beer.

“Sure, that would be great,” he replied.

“Isn’t your wife expecting you shortly?” I asked.

“Nah, I often pop in to see friends for a drink in the afternoons. Fortunately, my wife doesn’t get upset when I’m late. She plates up my food and leaves it in the microwave for me.”

Once I returned from the kitchen, John had moved up the bed and had his back against my headboard. After handing him his beer, I said, “Well, I’d better clean you up.”

“Nah,” he once more repeated, “That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, but I insist,” I countered.

I first began untying his shoelaces before removing his boots and socks. John’s masculine feet were even more beautiful than I had expected. I then asked him to lift his backside so that I could pull his pants and underpants down. As I had hoped, his underpants were dripping with spunk.

“Let me just take these to the bathroom and use a face cloth to clean them off,” I said, holding his underpants up.

In the bathroom, I first gave his underpants a good sniff before I licked cum off them. The smell and taste were heavenly.

Once I got back to the bedroom, I moved between his legs before offering to clean his crotch. John’s animated eyes were all the permission I needed. The heady pong of his crotch was mesmerizing, and soon my mouth was cleansing all the residue off his cock and balls.

John’s long cock was not overly thick and instantly began to stiffen as I went about my work. Soon, I commenced my oral descent down his erect phallus. My compliant throat muscles were shortly at full stretch as I determinedly ingested the full majesty of his spectacular dick.  

“Jeez, buddy, that’s incredible,” he lustfully uttered, as my head began bobbing up and down. As I did my thing, John repositioned his body by moving flat onto his back.

This time, John lasted longer before he once more shot his load. His fresh spunk was incredible, and this time I made sure that I consumed every morsel. Afterward, as I looked up at his face, John had the broadest smile I had ever seen.

“You’re cum tastes as good as your drool,” I announced.

“Really?” he disbelievingly asked.

“Yes, it’s fucking delicious,” I replied.

“Jesus, James, I’ve had the time of my life today,” John gushed, before adding, “I hope that I’ll get invited again.”

“John, I hope that I’ll become one of the buddies that you pop in to see in the afternoons before you go home,” I responded.

“You can count on that,” John uttered with a chuckle. 

After a brief pause, John said, “I feel a little guilty,”

My heart sank at these words, hoping like hell that it had nothing to do with his wife.

“Why?” I then hesitantly inquired.

“Because I’ve cum twice, and you haven’t unloaded once,” he informed me.

“I’ve had a great time, John,” I reassuringly replied.

“Yeah, but is there anything special I could do for you?” he asked.

“Well, I’d like you to fuck me,” I suggested, before adding, “If you’ve still got gas in your tank.”

“James, I can never get enough. All I need is a small break, and then I can perform again,” John said with a chuckle.

“Another beer while you recharge?” I offered with a laugh.

“Definitely,” he countered.

As John sipped his next beer, he got a pensive look on his face. “You know; I’ve never had uninhibited sex with anyone before. I also never had a proper blowjob before. I’ve also never fucked anyone in the arse before, male or female. Fuck, I’m learning a lot today.”

When we commenced our final session, I made it clear that I wanted to be on my back and drowning in drool as he fucked me. John did not disappoint, and for the next half-hour, I got transported to nirvana as I got the best fucking of my life.

As I finally saw John to the door, he said, “You know, I’ve never cheated on my wife before.” As I began to worry that he was suffering from some or other remorse, however, John quickly added, “But, then you’re a guy, so I suppose it doesn’t count.”