I was working from home for a few weeks. My wife was away for work and not back for 2 weeks.
Temps are in the 80s at night–this is a rough August. Glad to be home in the air conditioning.
Midweek, I saw a small box on the porch. I wasn't expecting anything. No mailing address on it. Suspiciously, just my first name.
Opened it very carefully in the backyard. There was a note at the top from a long time buddy that I hadn't heard from in a few years. I dug under his note and through the bubble wrap and found 2 dozen brown bottles of poppers and half a dozen cans of max impact. He knows me so well.
We had played for about 10 years and shared our pigginess for poppers. Every time, we lamented the great loss of “original” poppers. His note said he's living in Europe now and back in town for a funeral, but wanted to get these to me while here.
Here, I had 24 large bottles of old style poppers, probably from some sketchy backroom in Eastern Europe. That was his style, filthy and dangerous. This was gold.
I pulled out one bottle of poppers and a can of MI for immediate use. I wrapped the rest tightly and stuffed them into the back of the freezer.
My day went on as usual. Lots of work, gym right after, then relaxing till tomorrow. That night, though, at about 11, a local regular buddy messaged me that he and his black friend were hanging at his place. Always wanted to meet his BBC buddy.
In less than a minute, I jumped in the car--a bottle of poppers and a can of MI in my fists and headed his way.
My buddy’s as white as they come. Suburban, white bread, short, thin, small average 4.5" thin, uncut dick-- but hes aggressive and fucks real good with that little meat.
Same protocol as always, text when parked, door open, room dark. He's usually on his couch with a pillow on the floor for my knees (thoughtful, albeit aggressive top guy.)
Parked. Texted.
Shoes off, keys zipped in my back pocket, poppers top seal chewed off. About to hear that “fizz” sound from when you crack open a new bottle.
They both are on the couch. Straight porn lights up the room.
His black buddy is a total opposite of him. He’s big, 6'7" (even slouched in the sofa you could tell.) 300 pounds easy, wide all over and had a true foot long BBC that wasn't even hard yet.
I knelt in front of them on the same pillow as always in the dark room and hit the poppers quick and hard. Just opening them–the crack and fizz sound–makes my mouth water and my hole twitch. That old school smell makes me dreamy. Mouth watering like crazy, I wanted (needed) something in me. Drooling and swirling, I opened wide.
First I slid my buddy in: thin, 80 percent hard, buckets of precum, nice.
Then the BBC: 95 percent hard, fat, jaw achingly fat, not much precum, determined but not forceful.
Back on my buddy, the BBC, then back and forth.
I think the sharing a mouth thing got them both really going.
More poppers.
So much drool.
Trails of spit from one dick to the other.
Neither lasted long and I got a belly full of cum pretty damned quick. First the BBC shot right down my throat, then my buddy creamed my mouth.
I walked out the door with not a word said. Horned the fuck up now, and a pocket full of poppers and MI, I drove into the nearby park in hopes of not wasting this mood.
The place is empty at midnight. That's not typical on a hot summer night. Damn. It’s like only a 10 min drive home, but lemme give it a few minutes to see if anyone drives thru.
Checking the apps and dozing off.
12 minutes later, headlights drive in.
Lights out 100 feet behind me.
Drives up to my bumper in darkness.
Engine off.
Door opens
Smoke billows out.
No one gets out
I open my door and stand just outside it
Flash of a “cigarette” in the driver's seat.
I close my door and walk to the passenger side. Click the locks.
His foot hits the ground hard. Muddy ass big heavy boots.
Slides out of the car while stomping his other foot on the ground.
Stands.
Thin, tall, dreads tucked into a knit cap. Dirty looking tank top, long, stained shorts that are too big and dropped below his ass cheeks, Boxers cover his ass. What a fucking stereotype. They usually just want head. Takes em forever to cum.
I adjust my ball cap backwards and move a little closer to his car.
He brushes his lanky hand across his crotch and walks about 40 feet into the woods.
No one is anywhere around, but we gotta go into the woods.
I follow, hitting the poppers hard the whole way.
Walking down the trail I smell pot, really intense man smell, and the faintest patchouli. He's just inside the trees with his back to me.
Man smell is so much fucking better than poppers. That meaty stink gets in my head and literally eats my defenses. Makes me a fucking weakling sub for that stink.
I walk around him and feel his flat chest. I breathe in his smell and my hole is fuckin drenched.
He reaches up and, real easy like, he moves my hand to his big soft dick.
Face to face. His breath smells of beer and pot and I want to taste inside his mouth.
Those baggy shorts drop.
Hit my new poppers.
Bend over and slurp in his amazing soft dick.
The heavier he breathes, the more pot and alcohol I can smell. The more I want to taste his mouth.
5 minutes in and he's still soft.
more poppers.
12 minutes -- still soft.
He mumbles something I don't understand. I stand to hear him better. His voice is deep and he spits on my face a little when he tries saying it again.
"Huh?" I say.
"You like hard dicks bro?"
"Yeah"
"I got buddies"hit the poppers.
Lean in and lick on his lips. He tastes ripe, like pot, cheap beer and time. My tongue stings. He opens his mouth and we dart tongues for a minute.
He pushes me back, pulls up his shorts, and walks out of the woods.
What the fuck did I do to piss him off
More frustrated than I should be, I start back toward my car.
He looks over.
“You coming ?”
I nod and hide my grin.
I get in a stranger's car and he starts up the motor.
My car’s locked.
Keys are zipped in my back pocket.
Phone, poppers and MI in front pockets.
He pulls out of the park without saying a word.
I have no idea where we're going or what's gonna happen.
