by Rob Rosen
I wasn’t pee shy, actually. I just felt weird exposing myself to someone I worked with, especially Frank, who was, and this is a gross understatement, hot as all hell. He was tall and lean, dark and handsome, scruffy and wickedly sexy. In other words, whipping my dick out in front of him could prove, um, embarrassing.
In any case, he started to pull his out, so I did the same, trying hard not to stare. Trying, naturally, and failing. We both sent a stream out against our respective trees at the same time, filling the otherwise silent forest with the sound of our mutual pissing.
I coughed. Frank looked over. “Hey, Matt, you getting a chubby over there? A woody in the woods?”
My cheeks burnt a painful red. I looked up and over. “No, I, um…” I stopped cold. Yes, my cock was semi-stiff, but his was as thick and hard as the oak he was pissing on. “Oh,” was all I could think to say.
“Yeah, oh,” he replied. “Something about being out in the open like this, kind of gets my juices flowing, so to speak.”
“So I see,” I managed.
“Same for you, I guess.” Then he upped the ante. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his sneakers, revealing well-muscled, hairy legs and a giant set of balls beneath all that thick meat. “Mind if I, you know, pull the pud?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t…”
“You can whack one off too, if you like,” he interrupted.
The thought was appealing. Actually, his mammoth cock jutting out was appealing, but I didn’t say as much. Instead, I walked over to his tree, my cock still dangling out of my zipper, and said, “Well, we are supposed to be strengthening our relationships this weekend. I suppose this is better than climbing a tree and walking across an inch-wide strip of wood.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, spitting into his hand and lubing up his impressive, veined eight inches.
My jeans were down in a flash and my own thick slab was already dripping and eager. He watched, intently, as I began my slow stroke. He, however, liked it fast and furious, pounding hard on all that glorious flesh, which rocked and shook his heavy, hairy nut sac. Two methods, same result, I figured.
Then he let go of his prick, which stood up and out like a fifth limb, an entity unto itself. He turned his waist from side to side, which sent the beast rocking back and forth—a memorable image, to be sure. “I’ll do you, if you do me,” he said, with an impish grin and a sparkle to his already stunning blue eyes.
I didn’t have time to respond. His fist was already reaching out and grabbing at my shaft, sending a jolt through my crotch and down my quaking legs before reversing up my spine.
I sucked in my breath as he nudged closer. Then I reached out and tentatively, though gladly, wrapped my fist around his thick cock. It was smooth to the touch and hard as granite, with a plum-sized, leaking head.
In silence, we continued, matching each other’s rhythms, though always speeding up, building to the inevitable. He stared at my cock, I at his. Watching, waiting. Soon enough, I saw his balls begin to tighten and lift. “Close,” he moaned, his throaty voice reverberating up and down my body like a train over its tracks.
Moments later, his legs bent and his head jerked back. With a growl, he spewed, sending thick ropes of come flying across the void and onto the tree. My own cock shot a split second later, my hot, sticky load melding with his before sliding down the rough bark.
He shook my cock one final time and quipped, “Now that’s teamwork.”
I laughed, released his still-solid cock, and lifted my jeans and underwear back up. And that was that. We didn’t say anything more about it, just walked back to our cabins and to the rest of the seminar. No harm no foul, I figured. Plus, it made for a great memory to flash back on.
If it had ended there. Which, clearly, it didn’t.
A week later, back in our dreary offices, with their unnatural lighting and piped-in air, I was making my way down the hall to the men’s room. Fortunately, it was a private room: one stall and one urinal behind a locked door. Frank was walking down the same hall in the opposite direction, heading directly for me.
“Great minds think alike,” he said. “Going to take a leak?”
“Um, yep,” I replied, slightly blushing at the personal nature of the question—and at the person asking it.
“Me too. Can we share the room?” he offered.
I looked around. We were the only ones in the hall. Plus, it was late; most everyone had already gone home for the day. “Sure,” I said.
We entered together. I locked the door behind us. The sound pinged in the small enclosure. We approached the urinal at the same time and my stomach did a back flip. “Whip it out,” he said, and I did, the comment now having a Pavlovian effect on me. We both watched as my released prick grew, inch by hardening inch, arching upward as it did so. “Impressive,” he said, unbuttoning his fly and releasing the beast from within. I watched in awe as his cock also began a gradual lift. Up, up, up it went, throbbing and pulsing as it did so, until it reached its mighty full length and girth. He clenched his ass and it bobbed in response. “Ta-da!” he said, with a flourish.
I turned and looked at him. He was grinning from ear to ear, those majestic blue eyes of his beaming under the fluorescent light. We were only a few inches apart. “Um, Frank,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”
His smile widened. “Sure. I gargled after lunch, so you’re in luck.”
I leaned in, eyes locked on his, and brushed my lips against his. They were surprisingly soft. He met my mouth with his, which he opened to allow me inside, swirling his tongue around my own. At first the kiss was tender, tentative, but it soon grew hard and eager. His hand reached for my cock and mine for his. And we stood there like that, jerking and kissing, swapping some heavy spit, until finally he said, “Get naked for me, Matt.”
I grinned, as did he. I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it out of my slacks, opened it, and removed it. He watched intently. I bade him to do the same, which he did. His broad chest was covered in a dense black spray of hair, which spread down his flat, ripped tummy. I reached out to touch it. It was soft and fine, like down. I tweaked his nipple, which hardened beneath my touch. He sighed, happy for the attention.
“Pants,” he commanded. “Off.”
I nodded, kicking off my shoes, removing my socks and sliding out of my slacks and paisley boxers. I’d never been naked at work, even in the bathroom. It was strangely exhilarating, even more so than when we’d been out in the woods. My cock throbbed in anticipation. “Your turn,” I said, my voice suddenly raspy.
And then he too was stark naked, hairy and ripped in all his glory. He sat down against one tiled wall. I followed suit and sat down against the facing wall. He spread his legs. I did the same, with the soles of our feet touching, rubbing against one another. He grabbed his cock and began to stroke it. My hand played with the precome dripping down my head. He sunk down a bit, his legs bending at the knee, revealing the area beneath his massive balls. His asscheeks were hairy, like the rest of him. He then reached under his leg and began to caress his hole, prodding it, all the while maintaining the pace on his huge, fat tool.
“You’ve got a great cock,” I moaned.
He smiled, wetting his fingers and then gliding one then two up his ass. “As do you,” he replied. “Now show me your hole while I beat off.”
I lifted my legs up in the air and spread my cheeks for him. He groaned, glad for the show. Then I too finger-fucked my hole as I pumped my cock, with each of us staring at the other as we worked our rods.
“Come with me,” he said, quickening his pace.
“Okay,” I panted, matching him stroke for stroke.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I repeated.
Then we shot. Up and out the white come flew, pooling on the cold tile in front of us, ounce by glorious ounce, as our moans and groans filled the space around us. He smiled and winked at me, and I stared at his cock as it slowly,
gradually shrunk back to normal and a lone drop of come dribbled off his pink head. I leaned in and kissed it, licking it off. He rubbed my neck and chuckled.
“What’s next on the menu?” he whispered into my ear, biting down on my tender lobe as he did so.
“You tell me,” I replied.
He paused, pondering this. “I’ll pick you up on Friday. We have a meeting at nine about a half hour from here. Might as well take one car instead of two, save on gas.”
It was a strange come-on, but I agreed, got dressed, kissed him goodbye and went home.
Three days later, wondering what he had up his sleeve, I waited on my doorstep as he pulled up. Apparently, it wasn’t his sleeve I should have been wondering about; it was his pants—or lack thereof.
I opened the passenger door of his SUV. He was naked from the waist down. I grinned and got in. “Whip it out,” he said, using the standard opening line. I kicked off my shoes and then did as he asked, getting completely naked and reclining backward on the seat so that I was nearly prone. He pulled away from my house, one hand on the steering wheel, the other caressing my chest and stomach.
“When did you get so sexy?” he asked, with a laugh, while he teased my nipple.
“Look who’s calling the kettle black,” I replied, moaning softly to myself as I worked my rod up to par. I glanced over at him. His cock was already rock solid and sticking straight up. I licked my lips and leaned over. His crotch smelled like soap and sweat, musky and clean at the same time. He caressed my back as I slapped his cock against my lips and began a slow suck on his fat, wet head.
Fortunately, we didn’t need to travel on any major highways. Then again, considering I finally had his porn-star cock in my mouth, I didn’t really care. I downed it hungrily, working my way as far as was possible, gagging only intermittently.
“Yeah, baby, suck it,” he coaxed, while I stroked my cock and he managed to keep us safely on the road. “Suck that big dick.”
And suck it I did, relishing the thickness of it as it poked and prodded the inside of my mouth. All the while I pulled his hairy balls as he filled the SUV with sighs and grunts. When we reached our destination, he pulled to a far corner of the parking lot and we both worked our respective cocks while kissing each other just above the stick shift.
“Come with me, baby,” he said, in between kisses.
And, oh man, how I came. Round after round of hot come spewed from my quivering cock and into my waiting hand. I watched as his fat tool did the same, shooting and shooting and shooting. When he was done, he lifted his hand up to show me.
“Breakfast of champions,” he quipped, gobbling it down.
“I think I’d rather have a coffee. Or a paper towel.” He had the latter on hand and gave me a roll. Then we cleaned up, got dressed, and rushed to our meeting, smelling only faintly of come and Purell.
Weeks passed. Our little get-togethers continued: hand jobs at restaurants, blow jobs on the way to meetings, quick encounters in the basement of our building, on the roof, in the stairways. In fact, I whipped it out on just about every floor of our high-rise—no mean feat, mind you, considering there are eighteen stories. We were fuckbuddies, as I said, without the fucking. Or anything else, for that matter. Which, all things considered, was starting to wear thin on me. I had, somewhere along the line, become quite fond of him, and not just his prize-winning peter.
I scheduled a meeting for that Friday at the end of the day. He was the only one invited. “Whip it out,” I said, when he walked into the conference room and closed the door behind him. I was already sitting in a chair facing him.
“Oh, um, huh?” he said, clearly unused to being the recipient of the line.
“You heard me, whip it out. Lock the door and do it.” I smiled and slid down my fly. I was going commando and my cock sprang out. I was hard in seconds.
“Nice,” he commented, quickly revealing his own soft prick.
I watched in anticipation as it grew, thickening as it sprang out and then up. He stroked it for me with a grin and a wink. “Shoes off,” I commanded. “Then socks, slacks, boxers and shirt. Naked. Now.” He did as I asked, revealing all that glorious body hair and ripped, lean muscle. His body never failed to amaze me.
“Now what?” he asked, ready for my next command.
I smiled, wide, and put my turgid cock, as best I could, back in my pants. “That’s up to you, Frank. I just wanted to see you naked one last time before you gave me your decision. Just in case.”
“I don’t follow.” The smile briefly wavered from his handsome face.
“It’s simple. No more friends with privileges. Ask me out on a date. Take me home. Fuck me. Or let me fuck you. Cuddle and wake up with me in the morning.”
He paused, but at least his dick remained solid and hard. “Ah,” he finally said. “I think I get it now.” He leaned in and down, until we were face-to-face, his brilliant blue eyes right in front of my brown ones, his magnificent cock just above my hands. He brushed his lips against mine. The familiar jolt coursed down my spine and burst through my crotch. “Matt,” he whispered, “would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”
I pulled on his heavy nuts. “I’d be delighted,” I said.
“And will you fuck the hell out of me afterward; and then when we wake up in the morning, I’ll do the same to you?”
I reached for his dick and gave it a soft, easy stroke. “Deal.” “Deal, huh?” he said. “Then let’s seal it with a kiss.”
And seal it we did. With my hands spreading his hairy, round cheeks and my finger gently stroking his puckered hole, we kissed, long and hard and deep.
We’re still fuckbuddies, Frank and I. Still having sex, still whipping it out in the strangest of places. Only now, when he says it, and I whip my instantly hard dick out, he adds. “Man, I love that cock of yours, Matt. And, of course, I love you too.”
To which I always respond, “I love you too, Frank. I love you too.”
BUS RIDE
Salome Wilde
The twinge in my hip had gone from annoying to insufferable as I made my way off the factory floor and out the door of the massive tire plant once my shift was over. The money’s good, I tried to remind my hip, thinking about midnight, four plus hours from now, when my virtual paycheck would make its way into my small but growing bank account. It was all I thought about lately. In a healthy mood of denial, I pictured moving out of my small, overpriced apartment and into a house I owned. In this bubble, working the line at Firestone wasn’t just what got me out of bed in the morning, but kept me in good physical condition, too. Staying fit improved my Average Joe looks enough to get me some action. Someday it might even get me someone who wanted more.
Thoughts about aches, pains, money and men took me to Mickey Dee’s, where I grabbed a burger, which I ate on the way to the bus stop. The sky was nearly dark as I thought about a cold beer, waiting for the number seventeen. The wind was cold, and I threw my hood over my head. Only one other guy from the plant had ever taken the same bus after the second shift, but I didn’t want to think about Rick anymore.
He’d been put on the first shift a while back. “I like it,” he’d said over a shared break one day, as if I should like it for him, too. He had a wife at home, after all, dinner waiting for him. Why should it matter to him that he’d been the best part of my day for the six months we’d been getting it on after work? He’d probably already forgotten the rotten picnic table behind the boarded-up muffler place between the plant and the bus stop. Out of sight, out of mind, I guessed. But even when I was in sight, his mind was elsewhere. Whatever. It wasn’t love, just good, hard fucking. But I had liked the feeling of his body over mine, his cock inside me, his hand yanking my shaft from behind. I’d liked it a lot, in fact.
If I wasn’t quite over the rejection, it was probably because I hadn’t filled the gap just yet. Thinking about planting vegetables in a garden behind the house I was going to buy someday didn’t fill the time, especially after
work. The guys at the plant thought I should blow my wad on a car. I explained how the bus stop was only half a block away, and if I wanted to hit the bars or see a game, someone would always take me—one of the guys or maybe a friend. Though mostly I just worked.
I was downing the last of my quarter pounder when the bus pulled up. In the driver’s seat wasn’t Henry, the fat, gruff old man with his thick head of silver hair and an irrational devotion to the Cubs. I’d made the mistake of sitting up front once, and was accosted with tales of the glory days of the mideighties when it seemed the team might actually take the pennant. I had to hop off two stops early just to get away from him. This guy, on the other hand, was the type I’d be willing to stay on two stops past home for. His appeal started with the radio. Instead of AM sports talk, he was playing music, and something unfamiliar—I’d call it jazzy. It sounded like you were walking into a classy restaurant rather than a grimy bus.
Beyond the music, there was even more to tempt me. He was young like me, in his twenties, and altogether tall, dark and gorgeous, with creamy caramel skin, almond eyes just a half shade lighter, and black, wavy hair, longer in front than in back. I wanted to guess something like Brazilian, but in Des Moines it was far more likely the guy was born down the street, white mom, black dad, or vice versa. That was pretty much as exotic as Brazil for Iowa.
As I stepped aboard and swiped my card, I’d already shifted from face to body, imagining what he looked like under the white button-up shirt and baggy blue pants. Slender but not scrawny, I guessed. Looking back up as the door shushed closed behind me, I found him grimacing. My heart sank, but then he leaned over and switched the radio station. A mouthy DJ was giving call letters: “This is KGGO, Classic Rock That Really Rocks.” The driver pushed the curls out of his eyes before pulling away from the curb. I grabbed an overhead rail and pulled myself along, heading for my usual seat at the back of the half-empty bus.
Despite the now-blaring music, the guy interested me. I could say it was boredom, but it was only half that. The scenery out the window was gray and too familiar to interest me, same as the passengers; the driver, however, was new. The first two times I looked forward, he was banging the heel of his hand to the beat against the steering wheel, eyes on the road. But the third time, my gaze was met in the big funhouse mirror at the front. Pausing at a red light, the guy didn’t take his eyes away until it turned green. My heart beat faster and my cock jumped. Something was happening.