Short Spurts

by Rob Rosen

  “Huh?” Hans said, popping Spandex’s prick out of his ass.

  “Unbelievable fucking offer,” I informed, doing the same.

  Spandex echoed my laughter. “So, will you take it?” he asked.

  “Who can turn down giraffes?” I replied.

  “And double-dicked aliens,” Hans quickly added, and rightly so.

  Spandex beamed and, much to our delight, both his mammoth cocks started to swell and jut straight up again. “Good,” he said, reaching up to pet our still-throbbing holes. He laughed before adding, “Trick or treat, earthling?”

  “Definitely treat,” I replied, then got on all fours and spread my cheeks for him.

  3,000 Miles of Ass

  I absolutely hate to fly. Always have. Something about being suspended so many miles up in the air leaves me feeling, well, uneasy. It just doesn’t seem natural for us to be up there like that. And flying cross-country is even worse. I mean, an hour-long trip is one thing, even I can tolerate the stress for that long, but four hours is pure, unadulterated torture.

  In other words, it’s no wonder that I wind up in the men’s bathroom several times before each trip. Yep, truth is, my stomach gets that upset. The one saving grace about that particular trip, though, was that it was a red-eye from San Francisco to New York and I’d get to sleep most of the way, allowing me to forget that I was hurtling headlong into oblivion. Still, my belly was in knots before the plane took off and I found myself repeatedly in the john. Now, no one likes to take a crap in public. And three trips to the can is an ordeal I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  Thankfully, it all worked out in the end. Because on my last visit to the bathroom, and with just thirty minutes left until my plane boarded, I was washing my hands in the bathroom sink when I just happened to look up in the mirror and spotted a fine piece of ass at one of the urinals behind me. The guy was short, maybe five-six, five-seven, brown, cropped hair, lean and narrow-waisted, and he had one of the cutest, little bubble-butts that I’d ever seen. Naturally, I lingered at the sink to get a look at him when he turned around. And, man, I wasn’t disappointed. Cute ass and a cute face: the double whammy. He caught my eye in the mirror as he headed over and then stood next to me to wash his hands.

  “Where you headed?” he asked, surprising me by starting up a conversation. I mean, it wasn’t like we were at a nightclub, right?

  “Oh, um, New York, for, um, business,” I stammered. See, I wasn’t accustomed to guys talking to me in airport bathrooms. Especially hot guys with hot, little asses.

  He looked up at me when he was finished and flashed me a smile. He had beautiful brown eyes and pearly, white teeth and a sexy, little goatee. My heart started racing. It was one thing to be nervous before a flight, being horny as well wasn’t going to make things any easier.

  “You don’t like to fly, do you?” he asked, drying his hands with some paper towels.

  “How can you tell?” I replied while drying my own.

  “This is your third trip in here. That’s usually a sign: either you had a bad burrito, or you don’t like to fly.”

  So he noticed me. That was also a sign, and a good one.

  “The latter, yes, you’re right; I hate to fly. Makes me nervous as—”

  “Shit?” he finished my sentence, rather appropriately.

  “Yes, exactly.” I smiled down at him and threw my paper towels away. He smiled up and then did the same. We lingered there a few more moments. Longer than what was necessary, but I was glad for the distraction.

  Then he asked, “Would you like something to help ease the stress?”

  Hmm, nice pick-up line, I thought. “Sure, what did you have in mind?” I smirked and shot him a wink. Remember, this was San Francisco; odds were better than average that this guy was gay.

  “Follow me,” he commanded, and I did, down the row of stalls and into the very last one. The door clicked behind us as I stared into his adorable face.

  “Xanax,” he said, once we were safely inside.

  “Paul,” I said, offering my hand.

  “No, here, a Xanax, to help with your anxiety,” he reiterated, chuckling, and then reached into his pocket and produced a little blue pill.

  “Oh, sorry, yeah, Xanax. Thanks.” I wasn’t too smooth, but given the circumstances, I think it was to be expected. I took the pill and popped it in my mouth. I hoped it worked quickly because being in there with him was rattling my already jangled nerves.

  “Sam,” he said, and then shook my hand.

  “Paul,” I said.

  “I know. You said that already.” He winked. And he was still shaking my hand when I slowly bent down to thank him with a kiss.

  His lips were soft, and his tongue deftly found my own as we stood there kissing and shaking hands. The feeling of his devilishly sexy goatee up against my chin was sending me into the stratosphere as I teased the soft down on his forearms and pulled him even closer into me.

  “Thanks, Sam; I needed that,” I whispered, just millimeters away from his face.

  “The Xanax or the kiss?” he asked, now unbuttoning his jeans.

  “Both,” I answered, watching intently for what was to come next.

  “How about this?” he asked, offering me a hefty third option. It’s the little ones that always pack the biggest punches, or make that pouches, I’ve found. And thank the Lord for that. And for Sam.

  Now, normally, I’d have jumped at the chance to munch down on such a thick piece of meat, but I knew my flight was going to leave momentarily and I hated missed opportunities, so I said, “Um, I’m more of an ass man, Sam.” And then I made the familiar turn-around gesture with my finger waving over his head.

  “Oh, no problem. How’s this?” he asked, following orders quite well. He turned around, placed his hands on the stall door, and stuck out his rear. “Better?”

  “Much,” I sighed, and crouched down to get a better look.

  Oh, and was it ever perfect. Round and small, with a light spray of hair down the crack and a sprinkling of soft hairs around the fleshy parts. I gently kneaded his ass with the palms of my hands and watched as his asshole came into view. It was pretty and pink, with just a small patch of short, brown hairs that ringed it like a halo. I eagerly slid my tongue in and around his asshole, lapping at it with gusto. Then I reached between his legs and grabbed at his dangling balls, rolling each one around in my hands before I pulled them back to get a good suck. Sam acknowledged my work with a muffled moan, but I knew my time was limited, so I gave it a final kiss and then firmly patted his fine, little ass for good measure.

  “Sorry, Sam, gotta go. My flight is leaving in a few minutes and, much as I’d like to stay, I have to be on it.” I was thinking that I’d rather be on him, or rather in him, but business, after all, is business.

  “Yeah, I understand. Maybe next time?” he asked, pulling up his pants and then zipping them closed. And, damn, did I ever hate seeing that fine ass of his get covered by those jeans again.

  “You bet,” I replied, giving him a quick kiss goodbye before I ran out of the stall and over to my gate.

  I made it just as they were boarding my section.

  Nearly out of breath and with still just a hint of my hard-on straining at my slacks, I sat in my seat and let the Xanax take effect, closing my eyes and replaying the bathroom scene in my head as the plane took off. Luckily, Sam’s little blue gift worked fast. No longer nervous, and with a brilliant smile on my face, I peacefully drifted off into slumber.

  Sometime later, I awoke when someone walked by and bumped into my seat. The plane was relatively dim, with just a few overhead lights on, and it was pitch black outside. Still, when I turned around and looked down the aisle to see what woke me up, I recognized that ass immediately. I knew it quite intimately by then, I figured, though apparently not nearly well enough. Not yet, anyway.

  I shot up and headed down the aisle as well, reaching the bathroom in the back of the plane just as Sam opened the door and walked
inside.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” I said with a knowing smile.

  “We do?” he asked, motioning me in.

  “Well, maybe not,” said I, closing the door behind me and taking him into my arms. Again, I looked him deep in his brown eyes before I planted a hard kiss on his mouth.

  “You taste like my ass,” he said, once we broke free.

  “Speaking of which,” I replied, “I think we have some unfinished business down there.”

  Sam kicked his sneakers off and quickly yanked off his jeans. Then he straddled the toilet. Again, I was greeted to the vision of his beautifully tufted ass. And again, I crouched down to taste it. Just as sweet, and still moist from my previous endeavors, my tongue easily slid in and up his sparsely haired asshole. I could feel the smooth muscles inside as I kissed and probed with my tongue, all the while stroking him with my left hand and myself with the right.

  “You have a perfect ass, Sam,” I rasped, in between licks and sucks.

  “And you have a perfect tongue, Paul,” he moaned appreciatively.

  I kissed his asshole, then ran my tongue up and down the crack, and then sucked hard on the area just below his ball sac. Sam responded by shoving his ass even more firmly into my face, and I pulled my head back for an instant to get a good look at it again, so I’d have the picture forever burned into my brain. Then again, his perfect little ass, with that smattering of hair, and his gleaming, pink asshole was not an image I’d soon forget.

  I spit on his hole and then stopped stroking myself so I could slide a finger inside. It glided in and to the back with one easy push. I slowly eased my finger out and repeated this motion, all the while stroking his ever-hardening cock, which was leaking a heavy amount of precome by then. Sam obviously liked his asshole worked over, so I added a second finger to the mix as he spread his legs wider for me.

  “Finger-fuck that ass, Paul,” he groaned, barely above a whisper, so as not to call attention to our mischief.

  “No problem,” I eagerly replied, quickening the pace of the two fingers deeply entrenched in his asshole, matching it with the pace of my fist wrapped around his cock.

  “You like me in your ass?” I asked, feeling his prostate hardening with each finger thrust.

  “Oh yeah, man, faster,” he practically purred, his ass rocking back and forth into my hand.

  I reached in with a third finger and rapidly worked them in and out. Soon enough, he was close. His breath quickened and the muscles in his ass clenched around my fingers. Seconds later, he shot a huge load into the toilet below. “Fuuuck,” he moaned as his body quaked and rocked, and the come plunked in the water below.

  “Stay there,” I ordered, reaching for my own cock again. It didn’t take long. I mean, he really had me worked up by that point and my balls were already tight. I watched in the mirror to my right as I rubbed my rock-hard cock between his glorious cheeks. “Here it comes.” I shot several thick loads of spunk all over his beautiful, hairy ass and then watched as it dribbled down his hairy crack. Beautiful. Seriously.

  Then I quickly cleaned us both up before sliding my tongue deep inside his mouth for one final, perfect kiss.

  Still holding on to me, he pulled his lips away and asked, “Still hate to fly, Paul?”

  “Not as much, Sam, no. I’m starting to enjoy it more and more,” I replied, grinning down at him before adding, “By the way, what’s your ass doing three thousand miles from now?”

  With a sly smirk, he replied, “Taking a different ride, I’d imagine. Heck, this beats frequent flier miles any time. And just wait until you fly these friendly thighs.”

  “Looking forward to it, Sam,” I whispered, holding on tight to him as we flew into the sunrise.

  Opposites Attract

  35 y.o., GWM, 6’1, 170 lbs, professional, well educated, fun, funny, and versatile, seeks similar for LTR. Friends say I’m handsome; judge for yourself.

  Jerry sat in front of his laptop and reread his very first personal ad. “Honest, if a bit trite,” he said to himself. Then he changed the 170 to 175 and the 35 to 37. “Okay, now it’s honest, give or take a few pounds.” Before he could think twice about it, he saved it online, along with a relatively recent photo, the one he took just after he got back from Mexico. Granted, he was rarely if ever that tan in real life, or that thin, considering the five pounds he shed during his bout with Montezuma’s revenge, but he figured that, after all, to catch the biggest fish you need the best bait.

  Since he’d been fishing all his life at the nearby bars and coming up with nothing but guppies and minnows all that time, he thought a change in venue was appropriate—hence the ad; that and the fact that, at thirty-seven, he was still very much single, with no prospects in the pipeline, and slim pickings at the local watering holes.

  A minute later, he received his first response. By the next day, there were nearly fifty. All the respondents were men around his age and all were looking for the same thing—namely, a mate. But all men, as the saying goes, are not created equal, and it was relatively easy to separate the good from the not so good from the downright awful.

  The men without pictures were the first to get dumped into his trash folder. The men with pictures that were clearly outdated, like the ones with the eighty’s hairdos or, worse, seventy’s wide lapels, quickly followed suit. Those with vague descriptions also didn’t make the cut, and neither did those looking for one-night stands or fuck buddies, of which he’d already had his fair share. When all was said and done, and after he jacked off to the photos of the guy with the ten-inch cock—some fish were simply too big to reel in, even by Jerry’s standards—he was left with just a few viable options, but only one truly stood out from the rest.

  Jack was six-feet tall, a lean, mean hundred and seventy pounds, ruggedly handsome, dark featured, scruffy, and best of all, a blue-eyed stud of a man with jet-black hair. It looked, from his picture, like he’d just stepped off the pages of a Levi’s ad. Actually, the guy looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Still, visually speaking, he was Jerry’s dream man.

  “Where have you been hiding?” he asked himself as he emailed Jack to say that he’d love to meet him for a drink at a nearby bar. Jack quickly replied that he’d like that, too, and they made plans for that Saturday night at eight. Jerry’s instant hard-on strained at his shorts, but he kept it in place, deciding to save it for his date, should all go well. “Please let this be the one,” he whispered as he signed off his computer. “Oh please, oh please.”

  By the time Saturday night rolled around, Jerry was nervous as a schoolboy, and, needless to say, just as horny. He’d never been on a blind date before, let alone with someone he’d only had a written correspondence with. All sorts of misgivings rattled around his already addled brain. The one saving grace was that Jack seemed to be, or at least appeared on paper to be, exactly what he’d been searching for.

  And so, with butterflies in his stomach and a pounding heart, Jerry entered the bar. He was slightly early, preferring to get his bearings, plus a drink in his gut, before the date officially got underway. The bar was sparsely populated since it was still early, so he could easily spot Jack when he entered. He took a seat on a stool in the back of the place, ordered a scotch and soda, and stared anxiously at the door, watching, waiting.

  The drink was gone in five minutes, and still no Jack. Several men had arrived, but none with the devilishly handsome face he was waiting for. Each time someone entered, his heart would skip a beat and his tummy would churn, but it was all for naught; none of the men were Jack, not by a long shot.

  Drink number two was ordered. Jerry nursed it this time. Still, fifteen minutes later, there was nothing left but ice, and still no date, though the bar had filled up considerably by that point. Jerry glumly looked around and fretted the inevitable. Thirty minutes later, with drink number three long gone, he realized he’d been stood up. Dejectedly, he got up to leave.

  “He didn’t s
how, huh?” came a voice from his left.

  “Who didn’t show?” Jerry asked, turning to look at the guy talking to him.

  “The dude you were waiting on,” said the stranger. “You were waiting for someone, right?” The guy was cute, too, short, maybe five foot six, with a buzz cut and long sideburns. Tattoos covered his arms, and both ears were multi-pierced. Not his type, and certainly not Jack, but then again, Jack was nowhere in sight.

  “Yeah, I was waiting for someone. Guess he isn’t going to show. Oh, well.” Jerry tried to smile, but his ego was deflated, and he was miserable at having been stood up.

  “His loss,” the little guy said with a wicked grin. “Mind if I join you then?”

  Jerry looked at his empty glass and the equally empty stool to his left, and said, “Sure, why the hell not.”

  The hunky dude stood up and nodded, then sidled over and took a seat. “Name’s Neil,” he said, and offered his hand, which was also tattooed and on the rather hairy side.

  “Jerry, nice to meet you,” said Jerry, and shook the guy’s hand. For a little man, he packed a strong grip. And judging from his ultra-tight jeans and T-shirt, he was packing a whole lot more. In other words, Jerry finally managed a smile. Maybe the night wasn’t hopeless after all, he figured.

  Neil, as it turned out, had just popped in for a quick drink before heading home. Jerry told him the story about Jack, and Neil, in turn, told him that he was thirty, single, well-employed, and lived just around the corner. It was a come-on, if ever he’d heard one. So, feeling tipsy, not to mention still very much horny, Jerry asked if he’d like some company.

  “Some company or your company?” Neil asked with a gleam in his eye.

  Jerry answered by leaning over and, staring into Neil’s magnificent, deep, brown eyes, gently placed a kiss on his new friend’s lips. They were soft and tender, though the kiss was rough and eager. When the two finally got up to go, Neil had the biggest, brightest smile on his face. Jerry returned it with one of his own, and the couple left hand in hand.