The guy was gulping down water like it was raining men, and I knew it was only a matter of time.
He was sitting on a tiger-stripe beach towel about 50 feet in front of me, his smooth, muscular, ebony body gleaming with lotion and sweat under the hot sun. Judging by the salt sprinkled throughout the pepper of his close-cropped hair, he was somewhere over 40 – a somewhere that has always held a special attraction for me, ever since I’d first glimpsed a studly Mr Albert Beckles in one of my dad’s old muscle magazines.
This seasoned stud was camped out close to the deep blue water, while I’d pitched my towel and trunks close to the brown and green men’s washroom/changeroom. Waiting impatiently for the Nubian god’s bladder to reach maximum capacity. I was flat on my stomach, chin resting in my skinny arms, eyes full of that wicked eclipse of man, ready, quivering to spring up and beat him into the glory shack.
Maybe the 100 degree heat and 7.5 UV index had gone to my swimming head, but this time I really meant to do something lewd inside the man-shelter – finally make a move. Advance from ogling mature men’s hard, chiselled buttocks, sneaking peeks at their low-slung, veiny pipes, to actually engaging them – filling my palms with taut cheek, my mouth with thrashing tongue, my virgin bumhole with a thick-cut slab of meat. I was going to take that burning hunk’s liquorice stick down my throat and suck like low tide, then jump to my feet and claw my cheeks apart and demand that the man of experience split my lily-white ass in two with his blue-black axe!
Or so I told myself. As I surreptitiously humped the sand with my hard-on, dreamily eyeing the oiled, elder muscleman. But I’d told myself exactly the same thing with similar beach daddies all week long. Using the occasion of the week after my 18th birthday to attempt to progress on my personal journey to flaming gaydom.
So far, I’d barely moved an inch. Other than truly admitting to myself that no amount of staring at my father’s obviously laid-out skin mags was ever going to steer me straight. I’d staked out the men’s washroom/changeroom that had a reputation (so the newspaper said) of being a meet/meat market every day for the past four, and other than glimpsing a few flashes of shrivelled prick at the urinals, gotten nothing more than a sunburn.
But this time, it was going to be …
He was on his feet, that noir dude with the muscled, tricked-out body. And I sprang to mine, racing for the plywood and fibreglass man-hut like I’d just downed a keg of icy cold courage. I jerked my head around when I reached the concrete apron, and saw the big man wading slow and steady through the sea of sand, neon-red Speedo mouth-wateringly bulged out at the front, a black velvet colossus with a need to pee.
I zipped inside. Then grabbed onto the cool white porcelain of a sink and stared at myself in the shining mirror. The plumbing fixture shook in my hands, and I swear my sun-reddened face went pale, my straw-blond hair white. That’s how ridiculously, justifiably nervous I was.
And then the monster of a man was in the room with me, and I almost wetted my trunks with something other than ocean. He glanced at me clinging to the sink like it was a life ring. Then ambled over to a urinal and turned his back, and ass, to me. I gaped in the mirror at those round, rock-hard cheeks bouldering out either side of his thong-like swimsuit. They clenched deliciously when he pulled his pee-gun out and sent a hot stream hissing against the gleaming white porcelain.
I couldn’t see his cock, but I could imagine – vividly. But I wanted, deeply desired to do more than imagine. At least cop a look.
So I swallowed the sand in my throat and tore my clammy hands off the sink, turned around like a man waist-deep in quicksand. My legs started moving, and I stalked over to the urinal next to the big guy stiff-legged as a clown on stilts.
He glanced at me, eyes large and brown, then back down at his business. I could feel the incendiary heat from his massive body so close, smell the sweat-musk of the manly man. My eyeballs rotated downward in their dried-out sockets – to see the biggest, darkest, most appealing length of penis I’d ever laid actual prying eyes on before. It was gleaming like the rest of him, an ebony pipe than even unerect required almost two hands to hold.
I stared, and stared. Until the muscle-popped hottie gave the snake a shake and eased it back into its Lycra lair. Then he looked over at my trunks – the front of which were tented to obvious and obscene proportions by the mesh-enclosed erection that he himself had inspired.
My face went redder than the guy’s Speedo, and I fumbled with my swimsuit, making like I was willing and able to take a leak. Until he turned and walked away, and I heard a tap squeak, water start running. Then I breathed again, pulling out my iron rod and actually trying to bend it down to go to the bathroom. But no bodily fluid but the best kind was going to burst from my grown friend – not in the happy, swelled-up condition he was in.
So I stroked, from fuzzy base to mushroomed top in long, stretching, feel-good strokes. Hardly hearing the tap squeak shut and the water stop running, the pad of bare feet on concrete – coming towards me. I almost shot through the fibreglass roof of that public pleasure palace when a hand suddenly touched my shoulder.
‘Need some help with that?’ a voice caressed my ear, smooth and velvety as the hand on my bare shoulder. He rested his chin on my other trembling shoulder, his chocolate brown eyes on my exposed cock, his hard, hot, musky body kissing up against mine.
‘I, uh, well, um …’
His hand slid off my shoulder and along my arm, under my arm and onto my chest, long, dark fingers capturing and squeezing one of my pointing pink buds, warm palm resting on my twitching pec. A wall of heat surged through my beanpole body like an erotic tsunami. This was actually happening! Not a fantasy, not another wet dream with a sticky ending; I was actually, really getting fondled by another man – a mammoth man with obviously plenty of hands-on manhandling experience.
I could barely wrap my shattered mind around it, as the dark daddy’s other hand slid under my other arm, across my heaving chest, down my drum-tight stomach and onto my own hand still grasping my granite cock. ‘Uh! Oh, my …’ I articulated, rocketing to my tip-toes with a wonderful tingling sensation.
The big guy brushed my hand aside and took hold of my pole, and I swooned back against him in a daze. He started stroking up and down my hardened length with his huge, hot hand, and I had an out-of-body experience, I was flying so high. On fluffy, blissful white clouds of joy.
He gently pinched and rolled my buzzing nipples with his other hand, kissing my neck, biting into my earlobe, sticking his kitten-pink tongue into my blood-reddened ear and swirling, and swirling. Stroking and swirling. It was so right, so real, so wickedly …
‘You’re not a cop, are you?’ His hand motions stopped, sending me crashing back down to earth.
‘Huh? Me? A … cop?’ I shook my bleary head, desperately praying to the great Greek gods that this wasn’t somehow the end of our encounter.
‘Hmmm, I heard they were cracking down on this place.’
I felt the warmth of his smile, his hands moving on my throbbing cock and chest again; the hardwood log that was his own prick pressing in between my quivering cheeks. And I was airborne again.
He licked my neck with his warm, wet tongue, bit into my shoulder with his sharp, white teeth, his soft, bulbed fingertips rubbing my stomach and chest and achingly-hard nipples. Setting my shimmering skin ablaze. His strong hand pulling on my pulsating prick so slow and sure and sensual burning me down to the core.
I gulped, gasped, the seed bubbling, boiling out of control in my tightened sac, the tug of his mighty hand just too powerful to resist for too long. My body jerked and my brain went sailing, white-hot come blasting out of my man-pumped cock and splashing against the urinal, over and over and over.
I grunted and groaned like the feverish first-timer I was, bouncing off the big guy’s unbending body, blowing my rocks off like never before. He hand-drained me of every last ounce of manly pleasure. Until I sagged back against him, as limp and wrung out as my noodled penis.
‘Guess you’re not a cop, huh?’ the mature muscle-stud with the knowing hands breathed in my ear.
He gave my cock one last affectionate tug, squeezing a final teardrop of come from my slit, and then he was gone. Leaving me clinging to that porcelain piss-tank like it was a lifebuoy, my mind and body at sea.
I just couldn’t leave it there, however. I’d had my first sweet and salty taste of man-love and I wanted more, and more. I was a true believer now, ablaze with fervour. So after my heads had cleared and the bones in my body had re-solidified, I rushed out of the men’s washroom/changeroom just in time to see my ebony prince saddle up in a pearl-white Corvette in the parking lot. I jumped into my own flame-painted Fiesta and took off after him, like a hound dog takes after a silver fox. I tailed him to his house – where he changed – and then to his workplace.
And then I spent the next two breathless days researching all the intimate details on “Donald Jefferson” that I could Google and microfiche. And the next three sweaty days and nights after that mapping out a personal plan of action; and, most importantly, screwing up the courage to actually implement it.
Getting into his workplace wasn’t that difficult. But I did have to duck a couple of suspicious characters in order to make it into the “employees only” washroom in the bowels of the building. I wanted our reunion to be just as full of polished porcelain as our first erotic engagement had been.
And after an hour of squatting on a black-lidded toilet in a black-walled stall, surreptitiously popping my head up like an overeager gopher and anxiously eyeing everyone who entered, I finally ogled the magnificent man himself. ‘Hello … Officer Jefferson,’ I chimed from my lookout.
His hands froze on the taps, and he stared at my grinning reflection in the spotless mirror. Then he slowly turned around, looking absolutely resplendent in the dark blue uniform he was filling to every seam, the silver badge on his broad chest twinkling like my eyes.
‘Busted,’ he growled.
Then he strode over to my stall and kicked the door open.
I staggered back on the toilet top, suddenly unsure what was going to happen. It’s risky business calling a man out – on-duty – letting him know that you knew he’d been doing anything but his duty when you’d first come into contact with him. Mind you, police brutality held as much promise for me right then in my hyped-up condition as did the prospect of being protected and served.
And … it was officer down!
Donald grabbed my belt and roughly unfastened and unzipped me, yanked my jeans and Jockeys down without even first reading me my rights. My collapsible baton sprang out into his face and he took it into the wet-hot cauldron of his mouth without so much as a warning. The walls of the cop shop stall almost came tumbling down right on top of us, I was jolted so hard.
He engulfed my bloated pink cap with his bloated purple lips and tugged on it, his thick tongue darting out and scouring my straining shaft. It was almost too much to believe possible – virgin to boy-toy in under one week!
The salt and pepper haired hunk earnestly tugged on my glistening knob. Before briefly popping it out of his mouth to say, ‘Keep your eyes peeled for fuzz.’ Then popping it back into his wicked mouth and picking up sucking right where he’d left off.
I shot a glance at the black door to our porcelain paradise, my body and brain crackling with sexual electricity. Then I refocused my spinning eyes back down on the man and my member. Just as he gripped my hips and dive-bombed my prick, swallowing me down to the sack.
‘Code fucking blue!’ I hollered, bucking with joy.
My knuckles went white on the stall, my face red as a cherry top, my body shaking like I’d been Tasered. As I desperately stared down at Donald’s upturned eyes, his flared nostrils, his lips pressing into my blond pubes, his mouth and throat locking me down in the softest, wettest, hottest prison in the world. I never wanted to go free.
But Officer Jefferson slowly pulled back on the pressure, releasing my pent-up pipe in dripping, dizzying increments, making my eyes and spine pop. And when he had just the meaty head between his dazzling white teeth, he bit in, and I felt the erotic shock all the way from the tip of my hi-tops to the top of my faux-hawk.
He swallowed me down again. Pulled back up again. Deep-throating my raging prong with the greatest of ease and impact; the guy’s man-eating technique obviously field-tested to perfection. But my man-taking it technique wasn’t. I was ready to blow!
Donald sensed it, like a true veteran. He pulled my boiling shaft out of his red velvet mouth and applied a chokehold just below the hood, slowing my flow. ‘Time to get serious,’ he gritted.
I wasn’t sure just what the dude meant. But he showed me (always the best way to learn!), leading me by the throbbing wet cock off my toilet perch and out of the stall and over to a sink. ‘Assume the position,’ he grunted.
I grabbed onto the cool porcelain with my clammy hands, spread my liquid legs. I knew what, and who, was coming now – just not how hard.
Donald strolled over to the door and locked it. Then ambled in behind me, staring at my anxious face in the mirror. He loosened his gunbelt, and it, along with his blue dress pants, crashed down to the black and white tiled floor. I swallowed hard, and dry.
He slid his red briefs down. And that crowbar of a cock I’d glimpsed a week earlier, unerect, now rose up and pulsed hot and dangerous against my skinny white thigh, nightstick long and hard. I bit my lip, sweat peppering my burning face. Hammer time!
Donald pulled a tube of lube out of his shirt picket and shone up his snake, grinning at my gaping reflection. Then he slid his slippery digits in between my quivering butt cheeks and greased up my crack. I jumped at his warm, slick touch, almost pulling the sink out of the wall.
His probing fingers trailed away from my ass and something soft and bulbous took their place, shoving up against my virgin opening – his shiny, blue-black cap. He gripped my waist with one hand and his gleaming liquorice stick with the other and drove his monster hood through my resisting ring and into my tight anus.
‘Fuck … yeah!’ I groaned, in relief and pleasure.
It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was the best feeling in the world – that filling up with cock feeling – the bad cop/good cop’s long, vein-ribboned steel sinking into my ass. Stuffing me to the point where I thought I’d explode, stretching my chute to the bursting point, flooding me with the warmest, weirdest, wildest tingling, shimmering sensation I’d ever experienced; my own cock an overblown length of numbed meat hanging from my electrified body.
Donald started pumping his hips, pumping my ass, slow and smooth and deep. Both hands gripping my waist now, fingernails biting into my flesh, quad-heavy ebony thighs banging against my jumping ivory cheeks, fucking faster, harder. Pole of a cock churning my chute and turning me molten liquid. My cherry hadn’t been popped, it’d been obliterated!
I had no strength in my arms and legs, no will of my own; all the strength and will came from my mentor’s pistoning cock, pounding and pounding into my very being. My butt was on fire, stoked to inferno by the big man’s big poker.
He torqued up the tempo to the frenzy point, rattling me and the sink, splitting my ass in two and sending me sailing. The sharp smack of his hard-rock body against my bloated bum blurred into one long, sustained thunderclap, my ecstatic mask of a face bouncing off the looking-glass.
I somehow tore a hand off the sink and grabbed onto my flapping cock. Just as Donald threw back his head and hollered, hips flying, cock plunging, my gloriously reamed ass flooding with hot, soothing salve. My own cock went off in my hand as soon as I touched it, soul-searing spurt after spurt of heated come splashing against the taps and into the sink, draining me of everything I had to offer.
He held me in his big, strong arms afterwards, strong cock still buried to the pube-pebbled balls in my blasted ass. ‘How ’bout we hook-up in the men’s room at The Locker this weekend? The place is a real cop hangout.’
I bobbed my head up and down, basking in the sweaty glow of my newfound manhood. Anxious for my man to ride me like a porcelain pony all over again.