Whipped Cream

I was frustrated -- seriously frustrated. Even my legendary patience waiting for something to happen at the Stuttgart cottage was becoming exhausted. It was early evening on a Thursday, and I was hoping for some horny men to finish doing whatever shoppers enjoy doing in shops, and come and satisfy me. I hadn't even had a solitary wank for 2 days (almost a record for me!) The tree against which I'd been leaning to observe the (in) action was gnarled, scratchy, and uncomfortable. Few men had even entered the toilet; none had stayed long enough to be searching for the same thing as me -- spunky cock.

Ah hah! At last! Now who's this ... ? So blond that he must be Scandinavian, a fringe of beard on a beautiful suntanned face, red and black plaid shirt, and tight jeans. He came nearer along the path: tight, *tight* jeans, no underwear, cock straining the material down his left leg, and when he turned to go into the cottage such a wonderful taut bum was displayed that I felt precum spurt into my own jeans. Please, god, let him be gay. Please, god, let him be cruising. Please, *please*, god, let him fancy me.

I rushed towards the door -- as fast as one *can* rush with an erection that threatens to tear its way out its confinement. He was still there, halfway along the curved stainless steel urinal. I resisted the urge (barely) to sidle up behind him and cup his buns in my hands, and settled for a position at the urinal that didn't quite overlap his personal space.

And I ogled him shamelessly. If he was straight and offended let's just hope that he would zip up and leave, rather than using violence against this outrageous lecher (me!). I'm not a small man, but he was a good three inches taller than me, heavier and fitter, and if he hit me I'd go down like a log -- well, a log with a branch sticking up.

He didn't zip up; he didn't leave; he didn't hit me; he didn't even look at me. But, yes! He was plainly cruising -- that cock was now so erect that he couldn't possibly get it back inside his jeans. Not such a huge cock, about six inches, but straight and smooth with creamy skin and a big fold of foreskin pulled back from his cockhead. A very good mouthful, my mouth told me as it produced enough saliva to suck off an elephant.

It was about now that I realised that I hadn't even taken my cock out, not even to pretend to piss. I wrestled my mean monster (six and a half inches, uncut with a short foreskin and a big fat plum head) out of its prison. This took some time and not a little pain, as I had to bend it to get it through my fly. He looked on in amusement. Yes! He looked!! And his cock throbbed up and down a few times. Yes! He's interested!!

I stood there, my crotch thrust forwards, just holding the base of my cock. If I'd even touched the head I'd have come all over the place. Dangerously close to losing it, I breathed deeply and waited for the urgent spasm of lust to subside. Precum dripped from my slit, then turned into a single column of drool that almost reached the floor. I longed to gather it up on a finger and savour it. I longed for my Norse god to gather it up on *his* finger and savour it. Even more I longed for him to wrap his sensual lips round my cock and siphon up anything I had to give.

He turned towards me slightly, and I could see that his balls were out of his fly, too. Smooth skin, just a hint of blond pubic hair, eminently lickable. From somewhere my mouth found more saliva. Frankly, I drooled, from both mouth and cock. He began to slide his fingers up and down his cockshaft. Now he was leaking precum, too. I imagined the taste of his cock and precum, and nearly came on the spot. Brazenly I turned to face him, the shimmering rope of precum swinging below my impossibly hard cock. He licked his lips, and I nearly came on the spot.

Shit! Fuck!! Someone else coming in. I hastily turned back towards the urinal. A man with a kid. Blondie and I both attempted to hide our erections with a strategically placed hand. The kid pissed with his father's help, then was taken to wash his hands. The hand dryer breathed lukewarm air. Drying his hands took forever. 'Hurry up, piss off, fuck off,' my mind clamoured as the man spent whole minutes rearranging the way his son's shirt was tucked in. But at least they hadn't looked at us and wondered why we were both standing there with strained expressions on our faces and our hands in a funny position.

At last, at *last*, they left. We hastily turned towards each other, ready to get down to business. Oh no! Another interruption!! We resumed our strange stance. An old man shuffled in, took a quarter of an hour to undo each button ('for fuck's sake, get a zip!') and pissed briefly, then took more aeons to do up his trousers again. At least he didn't stop to wash his hands -- we'd both have turned into fossils before he'd finished!

He wandered out. Just as we reached for each other's cocks the door opened again. I couldn't believe our bad luck. This time the Scandinavian shook his head regretfully, and did a curious motion pushing his bum out at the back in order to make enough room to force his erection back inside his jeans. He waddled out, clearly in some pain.

The new arrival was a youngster. I thought at first he was a schoolboy, but as he walked to the far end of the urinal I realised that he was at least twenty, just very slightly built and with no facial hair. Because of the curve of the urinal, I couldn't see him without actually turning round, so I just stood there, achingly erect, waiting for him to finish pissing. No sound of pissing. Hmmm. I risked a glance over my shoulder. He was standing with his back to me, somewhat hunched over, but there was no sign of wanking action.

Minutes passed. Still no sound of pissing. Surely he must be cruising? I turned right round and pointed my loaded weapon at his back, willing him to turn round. And he did! God is definitely a woman, and she has a sense of humour. Never in my life had I seen such a mismatch as between the lad's slight frame and his magnificent cock. I gasped. I drooled some more. My asshole twitched, imagining that monster sliding in. I nearly came on the spot. I begged for someone to produce a dildo with those exact dimensions.

He grinned (probably amused by the look of crazed lust on this drooling idiot!) and took a step forward. He started a slow wanking action, just moving the loose skin backwards and forwards on his shaft, making his cockhead peek out of his foreskin at each stroke. His eyes rolled upwards, his head leaned back, he was going to come! I had to have it!! I took two steps towards him ...

... and the door opened again. That god woman has an *evil* sense of humour. I went back to my original position, cursing internally like a mute with Tourette's Syndrome. The new man stood between us, pissed like a horse, shook, tucked in, zipped up, and left.

Quickly I turned back to my young friend. It was too late! He had his back to me, but I could clearly see the involuntary thrusts of his bum as he reached his climax. Now, imagine one of those pressurized cans of spray cream. Imagine emptying the whole can onto the edge of the urinal. That was his orgasm. He shook and grunted as if he were having a seizure, and the spunk just poured out in jets and ropes and swirls, stark white against the steel surface.

Half of my mind was screaming, 'What a waste!!' The other, more rational half was saying, 'That would seriously drown you!!' I contemplated the effect of drowning in so much spunk, slurping and swallowing as much as possible before the remainder filled my mouth, throat, and nose.

The lad forced his erection back inside his jeans and stumbled past me, giving me a regretful half-smile as he went out. I rushed over and stood above his outpouring. That heavenly smell made my nostrils tingle. I still couldn't believe how much he had come. Never before or since have I seen so much cum in one place. If I hadn't been so fastidious I'd have scooped some up and used it as lube on my own erection.

I collected as much of my own precum as I could and just wiped my hand over my cockhead twice. I came so hard that it made my head hurt, and I shouted. Normally my cum oozes out in thick globs all over my cockhead and hand. This time, the first three spurts shot out like rubber bullets and splattered on the back of the urinal. The rest joined the huge pile of whipped cream on the floor.

With a last regretful glance back at the monstrous load I stepped out into the cool evening air, vowing to return every day at the same time until I met the young man again. But though I had many more very enjoyable encounters there, I never got the chance to drown in his spunk.