I drove home, grabbed a Narraganset out of the frig, and hit the shower. As I pulled off my cargo shorts, I saw the large wet spot of cum. Although Tim had done a yeoman’s job of releasing my tension, my balls still needed to drain the residual reservoir of jizz.
I turned on the shower and chugged half the can of ice-cold beer. I developed an immediate brain freeze. It served me right. My mama had always told me to sip my RC Cola or pay the price.
I shampooed my scalp and applied a liberal amount of Dove body wash from head to toe. I started thinking about Tim, my first cock sucker. He was an attractive soccer dad. Did he have a nice cock?
What?
I had never thought about another guy’s meat before. Was I gay or was Tim’s warm mouth just a port in the storm?
The answer came quickly. Without giving it any thought, I closed my eyes and slid my right index and long fingers into my mouth. My respective left digits went first to my cock and balls; then slid across my taint and into my anus.
Keeping my eyes shut and thinking of a naked Tim; I sucked my fingers in and out of my lips. I bucked my hips backward and crammed my long finger against my prostate. I came instantly, shooting three hot ropes of man-milk onto the tile wall.
I woke up Saturday with morning wood. I thought about giving it a quick work-over, but needed to pee like a racehorse. No way could I drain the lizard with a boner or immediately after dropping a load. I opted for a pot of coffee.
I did two batches of laundry and cleaned up the cottage. Cottage, it still drove me nuts that Connie had gotten the house in the divorce. After all, she was the whore who had been sucking cock and banging my best friend.
I had a late brunch of leftover pizza and a cold Narragansett. I decided to mow the small backyard leading down to the lake. I knew I was low on premix and totally out of weedwhacker line; so I hopped into the pickup and headed to Home Depot.
Twenty minutes later, I was leaving the big orange box and sitting at the light on Elm Pike. If I turned right, I’d be headed home. If I turned left, I’d could be at the boat ramp at Prescott Point in seven or eight minutes. Left it was.
Given that it was almost noon on a Saturday, the ramp lot was about three-fourth’s full. Pickups with bass boat trailers filled the double-length parking slots. A few passenger vehicles were scattered along the lot periphery, particularly at the shady south end. A solitary Harley was pulling into the last slot.
I leaned forward and looked toward the hog as I idled by. The rider looked over his left shoulder and simply nodded. I tapped my brakes.
By the time I had circled back to the end of the lot, the biker was nowhere to be seen. I pulled up and parked beside the Harley for a closer look. There was a narrow trail leading into the woods. Approximately fifteen yards into the dense woods, I could just make out his black club vest.
I locked the truck and entered the woods. The biker watched me, then turned and walked another five yards or so, rounding a slight curve. By the time I caught up with him, he had already unzipped and pulled out his junk.
I was taken aback. I had cruised the ramp area, fully expecting to be sucked.
Before I could reverse my course, the biker placed his ham-sized left hand on my right shoulder and applied downward pressure. He uttered in a gravelly voice, “Down on your knees, cock sucker. I’ve got what you want.”
I obeyed his command and dropped to the muddy ground. I had never had another man’s meat in my mouth; but I wanted, no I needed to not only suck his cock, but taste his hot load.
The biker put his left hand behind my head and pulled my face toward his cock. I smelled the man scent of his sweaty balls and crotch.
He fisted an uncircumcised rod that was at least eight inches in length. Despite his huge hands, he could barely circle its veiny girth.
He painted my face with precum, then stopped with the head just in front of my lips. Without instruction or further pressure on my head, I opened my mouth and leaned forward. I sucked in his velvety plum.
I began bobbing my head. My lips were stretched open. Saliva escaped my mouth and drooled down my chin. With each forward movement, more and more of his massive sausage entered my mouth.
He began to buck his pelvis forward while still holding pressure on my head, essentially face fucking me. I began to gag and involuntarily my eyes began to tear. Just when I thought I was going die on a muddy woodland trail, his cock head slipped into my throat.
I can’t say the sensation of a massive snake down my throat was comfortable, but at least I wasn’t gagging.
The biker released his cock and added his right hand to the left at the back of my head. I reached up and fisted his weapon, one hand above the other like a grip on a Louisville Slugger.
I began increasing the pace of my head bobbing and began frantically jacking his piston. I felt him tense and his body slowly lean backward. He seemed to be holding his breath.
Without warning he bucked forward and exclaimed, “Oh, fuck. I’m cumming.”
I felt him blow his load into the back of my mouth. To keep from drowning in his prodigious spew, I swallowed two, three, maybe four times. I squeezed his man teat and milked the last of his jizz onto my tongue and lips. As his cock flopped out of my mouth, I smelled that telltale musty-bleachy scent of fresh cum.
Like most men, he was the love ‘em and leave ‘em sort. He stuffed his junk back into his 501s and said upon leaving, “Thanks. You really know how to suck cock.”