He glimpses me through the throng and we throb in unison. A geyser of adrenaline floods my chest and blossoms outward. I wonder if he feels an iota the same? For his sake and the sake of decorum we adopt a farcical parody of normality, though each of us ache for touch, pleasure, warm lips, hard cocks... one another.

The mass of meat comprising the gathered people in the high street become just that, moving, unremarkable pieces of meat. To my eyes they become slurry, I see only him, unspoken communication hurtles back and forth carried on cables of unspoken desire and lust. Sky dims, pavement begins to stick beneath my feet, as he turns in the direction we know so well. Tingling thrill masters my incapacity and pulls me forward from the pit of stomach, a mild tingle of excitement seeks further indulging.

He's older than me, with looks that make a mockery of conventional "handsomeness." Every inch Mr. Average (apart from where it counts). His casual middle-aged, seemingly heterosexual facade belies a magnetism that stokes sexual passion in my veins like petrol on a fire! Old enough to be my dad and clutching a can of lager for moral support or as some other crutch, doesn't matter. He exudes sex appeal, ebbing with greater force than the high tide bothering the shore of the coastal backwater we mutually share (along with his wife and kids that are clueless to what I provide to their breadwinner).

Your Average Joe is often a better chase than your archetypal airhead Adonis. They are more grateful for the fact that yes, a Plain Wayne such as them can turn a head, can attract adoration and possess a sexual magnetism that most women would find risible, let alone visible. It's a magnetism born of desire, of years of sex never quite up to par with the opposite sex. Chasing the ultimate sexual high with women, can be a headache for them! Add to this the whispered rumour, all "straight" guys have heard it, some even entertain the idea of testing this theory... that guys "do it better!" All blend into a lethal time bomb they want to go off between their legs.

I remember when I first met him. I'd visit a nearby cottage for kicks and once misjudged movement outside a cubicle. I revealed myself, hoping for a nice treat, there was a treat, two of them. One was him, one was his mate. The mate laughed and walked and he had no choice but to bow to peer pressure that time, and he walked. But the split second that passed between us then was enough. He looked at me stroking my cock, held my eyes for a bit longer... and a spark was born! He committed me to memory that day, from that day when we spot one another (unless family is in tow for him) we are drawn together, find the nearest place and I take his earnest cock in my mouth.

Even to this day, nerves and amazement fill him as we find an abandoned toilet cubicle and he rushes through the door as I sit in waiting for his glorious dick. The speed of his entry still is infused with the "if I don't do it now, I never will," footsteps that were there the first time, in his eyes, when he had to walk away. He slowly unties the strings on his grey trackies, and slides them down, pants follow in a smooth motion. Out pops an eager semi-erect cock, already big in it's limbo state. Uncut, his foreskin offers a tantalising glance at what is underneath, a delicious crimson gland, it glistens with precum, as though it knows what I'm going to do. My mouth was made for this majestic penis.

I lean forward from my seat, open my mouth and begin to suck. Slowly at first, luxuriating in pushing my lips down his ever growing shaft and back again. One hand rests on his bare thigh, he places a hand over that hand, standing passively, yet directing it where he wishes to feel my fingers. He moves my hand to his balls, I cup them as his hand caresses mine. Fingers slide from his balls to his arse, his breath gains pitch and he begins to talk dirty: "yeah, suck that big fucking dick!" He whispers, the toilet is our own world. Another free hand works up to his nipples and I squeeze them. He murmurs in delight and I go faster, lips sliding along the increasingly wet shaft, I deep throat and he gasps in joy. "You love my big cock don't you?"

As my mouth releases his fully grown cock, my tongue laps lazily around his head, circular sweeping motions making him mindless with bliss. The tip dances on the slit of his penis, sweeps around the gland vigorously and laps every inch of the shaft, alternating between licks and kisses. Tongue finds his balls, licking and sucking on the rough sack, lending ecstasy to the otherwise coarse skin. He leans down, kissing my ears and neck, he seeks my mouth and we kiss sloppily, hands groping a superbly pert arse for a middle-aged man, hunting his unconquered hole, gasping again at the only penetration he's ever known.

We kiss a little longer, then he straightens and lets me get to work. I'm at my fastest now. One hand playing with his arse, the other on his cock, then nipples, then cock. My mouth concentrates on his purple head mostly now, loosening my lips on the way down, tightening them on the way up, he stands there, glorifying in ultimate sexual freedom, moaning softly, caressing me. Faster, faster, his back arches and he moans. Jets of warm cum cover the back of my throat, I gratefully guzzle down every last drop. I obediently lick his penis dry.

After, he slowly pulls his pants and trackies back up, scarcely looking at me. That way, at least, he can still pretend he's straight I guess. He flees the toilet pretty quickly and I finish myself off. Wave after wave of shuddering pleasure takes me, the tingles growing to a crescendo until they reduce my muscles to mush. I clean up, look around our love nest, a place where he could leave pretence behind, and go.

Back in the world where he is something else, we would never talk to one another, let alone look at one another. I know the score, I'm cool with the score. I know what he's into more than his wife ever could, that's why he needs me. He has his life and I have mine. He probably makes mention of me to his mates down the pub. In that tall tale, I'm probably a young slut who sucks him off then lets him cum over her tits. I might be a Playboy Bunny in his tall tale, because that's how I make him feel inside. For a few moments he is wanted more than anyone else and he's more important than anyone else. Precisely what your average, largely overlooked middle-aged working class dad rarely gets, the ultimate "him time." I just wish I could offer this ecstasy to more of his peers...

© Brad James, 2013.



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