The Butt

Note: This story was inspired by a photograph of a make butt in tight jeans that one my readers has used for his profile picture. It incredibly created the image and its attraction in my mind. The story is fiction, but could very well be real. Enjoy. Simon

You will think I’m weird. I guess I am. Weird.

Let me explain: I get turned on by the way guys wear their clothes. I’m glad that I get to watch more clothed guys than naked ones. Yes, that’s weird, since I’m gay and love cock.

Crotches in tight jeans or sweatpants. Don’t tell me that that is not more erotic than a limp dick hanging over balls. Really. The bulge? Not necessarily huge, but there, promising all kinds of things, evoking all kinds of sensations. In sweatpants, the bulge is even more defined than in jeans. When the guy is walking, the moving thighs swing the jewels left and right and front and back. It’s like an erotic animation for me.

If you think this is not weird enough, then what about the butt? Yes, the butt in tight jeans. So I am gay and I go for the cock. But the male butt in tight jeans sends shocks down my spine. Of course, I’d rather have the guy’s dick down my own throat and up my own butt, but that’s in the bedroom. Out there, in the street or the coffee shop, his butt turns me on.

That said, I had to experiment. On one of my “dates”, the guy had a mirror attached to the ceiling above the bed. His favorite position was for me to lie flat on my stomach as he rode my ass. But because of my “fetish” I insisted on him fucking me missionary. The way I cummed under him, my eyes glued onto the mirror above, detailing the movements of his butt, was beyond description. The rippling of the firm muscles with every thrust, the opening of the hairy crack every time he pulled out, then the squeezing when he pushed in, all this sent tremor after tremor throughout my body, making me spasm crazily around his invading cock.

I watched my hands, entranced, as they roamed down his back and clutched the butt cheeks, felt their firmness, their maleness, masculinity. That was the best fuck I had ever had. He did mention afterwards that that was his best fuck also. I guess I milked him good. Because of his fucking butt.

So, what do you think now? Am I weird or am I weird? Should I carry a mirror with me whenever I go to get fucked? Instead of condoms? Just joking. That would be weirder than weird. Honestly now, how could one not go crazy watching the fuzzy cheeks rippling, the hairy crack spreading and closing, the puckered pink hole squeezing with every thrust in and every pull out?

And what about those guys’ feet in flip flops. They do the strangest things to me. My ass twitches, my balls tingle, my stomach flutters. Should I go on about the dry mouth, the increased breathing, the start of a sweat? The hurrying to the toilet to jack off? Feet in flip flops. Yes. I know some of you guys are nodding now and others are disgusted, but you guys will keep reading. I know that.

So that’s me, Dylan, 26 years old, fit and horny, as I sit at a sidewalk Starbuck’s café, watching. Faces? Yes. Crotches? Definitely? Butts in tight jeans? No question. But feet in flip flops? Oh my god.

And this dude, in flip flops, in sweat shorts, in a loose tank top, chose to take the table next to mine. I melted. My own dick got rock hard and I pressed my thighs together, aching and trembling. This was a dream. Or Karma. Did Jesus hear me? My desire? The epitome of me erotic fantasies?

“Hey, dude,” the voice, gruff and deep, pulled me out of my reveries. “Got a light?”

The guy had started a conversation. Don’t be silly, Dylan. He just wanted a light. Oh, why didn’t he want me? I could light his fire, man. Absolutely could!

“Sure,” my reply was a bit squeaky as I handed him my lighter. His hand brushed mine. He lit up. Inhaled Blew out smoke. Smiled. Handed back the lighter.

“Thanks, dude.”

I had to keep this going. I could glimpse a nipple under the loose tank top. The bulge in his sweat shorts was enticing.

“I’m Dylan,” how lame could that be?

“Hey Dylan, dude,” he smiled. The gruff voice sent chills down my back. I wanted him, now.  I wanted him to take me, here, on the sidewalk, at Starbucks, spreading my legs apart, fucking me blind.

“Lawrence.” He must have seen the expression on my face, and he laughed and added: “Larry.”

Fucking Lawrence. Not a Charlie or a Mike or an Ed. Lawrence. Could a name sweep a guy off his feet?

Lawrence and I started a kind of lukewarm conversation as we smoked and sipped coffee. After stumping his cigarette out, Larry got up. “Need to take a leak, dude. Could you watch my stuff for me?”

He stood facing me. Tall, lean, fucking sexy as hell. His crotch right at my face. His hand on my shoulder. Was that a squeeze? He moved. He had to get closer to squeeze through and his crotch got closer too, just inches away, so close. Slowly, I moved my eyes up the lanky body to the face.

“Sh… sh… sure,” I mumbled. And the crotch advanced another inch, and I almost fainted.

“Thanks, dude.” He moved. And there was the brush at my shoulder. Light and fast as he slipped through. But I swear I felt his dick. Don’t laugh at me, now. I did feel his dick, brushing my shoulder. For an electrifying fraction of a second.

And then I saw his butt as he flip-flopped into the coffee house, and I fell in love, desperately in love. That butt, in the sweat shorts, the fucking sexy flip flops. The moves, the ripples, the firmness. I almost creamed my pants. Left to may imagination, I contemplated this guy’s attitude. Friendly. Even in the casualness of his clothes, there was taste. Not vulgarly showing off. But his killer body, the hot feet in the flip flops, the bulging crotch, the peeking nipples. Tasteful. But then, when he got up, and he placed a hand on my shoulder, I did think that he squeezed a little. Then the closeness of the crotch to my face. Was it because of the tight space in the café? Or was it some kind of a sign? A come on? An invitation? Something like “I noticed your glances, dude. Wanna fuck?” To top it all, the brush at my shoulder. It was real, not imagined. Did he really send me a message?

In my fucking dreams. My fucking wishful thinking. My fucking luck. These signs were all figments of my fucking imagination.

“Back,” Larry smiled as he squeezed himself back into his seat.  I was waiting, hoping, dying, for him to grind his crotch on my shoulder. As he sat down, I noticed his bulge was now outlined sideways, perhaps with a semi-erection. When I looked up at his face, there was a smirk. He had realized that I was gazing at his dick inside his shorts. Slowly, he reached down and adjusted his dick pulling it back over his nuts, making the bulge even more noticeable

I couldn’t take my eyes away. I was hypnotized. In my mind I kept seeing myself wrapping my lips around his cock, taking in his scent, grabbing his butt cheeks with both hands.

“You seem like you also need to pee, Dylan,” Larry laughed as he also noticed my erection stretching against my jeans.

“I guess,” I heaved.

Larry picked his stuff and gazed straight into my eyes. “Let’s go, then.”

What? An invitation to visit the rest room together? He had just been there. Oh, fuck me sideways! This hunk wanted a piece of me. I could give him all my pieces, right there and then.

With shaky legs, I followed, eyes glued at the swinging butt in front of me. Oh, what I would have given to kneel, grab those cheeks, and sink my face into them.

The rest room was empty. Two sinks, two urinals, two booths. Larry walked over to the farthest booth, turned and nodded for me to follow. I sat on the toilet seat as Larry locked the door and towered over me, his crotch in my face.

Slowly, as if in a dream, I pulled down the sweat shorts and grabbed his bare butt cheeks with both hands. I felt the muscles tense under my palms. His dick hanged down, semi-erected over his balls. I licked. Up and down. Around the cock knob, trying to lower my head further to get it into my mouth, not wanting to release his butt and use my hand.

Looking up, I saw his smirk. He winked. I moaned and reluctantly brought one hand round to fist his cock, lift it, and place it between my lips. I worked the knob feeling it swell and stretch my jaws. God, he was big. His cock kept hardening and expanding and thickening. I tried to swallow. My eyes watered. Halfway down the thick shaft I gagged.

“Can I try something, Larry?” I heard myself croaking.

“Sure, buddy.”

I turned him around and gazed at his butt, so firm, so fuzzy, so masculine. I reached between his thighs and grabbed his cock pulling it down and back as he leaned his hands on the partition wall and spread his legs wide, his feet so sexy in their flip flops. My mouth found the knob. I sucked with my nose pressing on his butt, and then I licked. More like slurped. The balls, the ass cheeks, the hairy crack, back to the cock, which by now was already leaking.

“Fuck, Dylan,” Larry moaned after a couple of minutes bending over to give me more access. I reveled in treating his cock and ass at the same time. I could suck the hard man cock and gaze at the rippling butt cheeks. I was in heaven.

“God, Dylan, I’m gonna cum,” Larry grunted. He turned around, held my head with both hands and shoved his cock deep into my mouth. The squirts hit the back of my mouth with force. He shot and shot. Cum seeped out onto my chin. I pulled back, licking, slurping, sliming his balls and crack and around his butt cheeks with his semen. I exploded inside my jeans.

“Oh, shit,” I cried as I squirted.

“You cummed in your pants, dude?” Larry snickered straightening and pulling up his sweats. “Fuck, man. You give awesome head. I’d love to have more of you.”

Lawrence had more of me. A lot more. He fucked me in my favorite position, but without the mirror. My hands grabbing his butt cheeks as he fucked me imprinted in my mind the image of the ripples, the dimples, the fuzziness, bringing both of us to intense explosions.

Since then, my weirdness has intensified tenfold. A bottom dude excited by his top’s butt. How weird is that?