By Cocksearch 09
(We've made an earlier attempt, but now we are getting serious: we're going to repost the entire content of Cocksearch's blog Cocksearch 2009, the full and unabridged account of the sexual life of a US lawyer hailing from the Mid-West during the year 2009. Enjoy:)
|This is just a hook. Scroll down for the real picture|
Out in the burbs this afternoon. Watch out, local forest preserves, I'm there and I'm on a mission.
And this one was fast. I pulled in, and driving along the road spot a mid-size commercial van, though with no markings on the outside, and there's a pair of feet under it on the other side of the van. As I pull slowly by, I see a dude in tight jeans and a tight t-shirt. The look's not gay. It's '80s. A fly in amber, tastes set in 1982. Now maybe in his 40s, in nice shape, good looking. Just dated. He's getting back into the van. I note a muscular ass, strong shoulders. He's in good shape.
I pull in next to him, a couple spaces away. We immediately exchange glances that show we're paying attention, but no more. After a couple minutes, I step out (into 18 degree cold) and over to his window. He rolls it down, very friendly. "Damn, it's cold. I step out to take a piss and nearly freeze to death." He's in his later 40s, tan -- the real kind -- well groomed. Remember those tight, wide-ribbed t-shirts from the '80s? Yup. He was clearly the hottest, coolest guy in his high-school class, madly desired by female cheerleaders and in-the-closet gay boys who didn't dare even approach him. Conversation reveals he's an electrician, and he's got a killer working-class accent and demeanor. I'm so there.
His remarks about freezing his dick off surely gave me a good opening. "Well, I hope you didn't damage anything," I say, eyeing his crotch. He laughed, and I proposed he show me what he's packing. He declines, citing the public nature of the place. No problem. We banter on a couple more minutes, and I ask him if he wants a blo, and he gives me a grin and says "yeah". And follows up asking whether I like getting my cock sucked. Of course, Mr. Working Class Disco Hunk.
He doesn't like where we are. Wants to go to another, less cruisy park, one I'm not familiar with. Fine, I'll happily follow. I pull out after him, and note on the back of his van a small Italian flag. I've got your number, goomba, and I like it just fine. I miss a light along the way, and a couple minutes behind him, I pull up next to him and hop into his van.
We talk a second, both of us rubbing our jeans. He asks whether I'm "clean", as he's got a wife and kids at home. The wife and kids part is a surprise, give the tan and his well-groomed, sorta vain appearance. And no ring. I assure him, I only play safe. (Which, if cocksucking is safe, is true. But geez, if he'd read this blog. . . . ) I reach over to feel him up, but he proposes we move to another location, further back, given that it's busy here. I agree. It is busy here.
Back we go, me riding with him, and park. I seize the initiative and massage his crotch and ask him what's he packing? He unzips readily, and up there at the top of the blog was what I saw. My jaw dropped. This fucker was beautiful. Thick, flashy, fat, tasty. I eagerly go down on him. It got bigger and harder, so fat and thick that it stood straight up - impressive for a 40-something - when I came up for air, or when he spotted a car coming, which was rather often. This guy was a little nervous, given that we were in a van, parked facing inward. But I won't quibble with precaution out here.
I tell him, between slurps, that this is the finest piece of meat I've seen in a long time. He responds, modestly, that "I'm not that big." Oh, yes, you are that big. He hauled out some poppers, a totally spent little bottle, explaining that "the family" doesn't get to snoop around in his van. The bottle may be low, but it's still working. I plunge back on him as he reaches around the back of my pants and fingers my ass. I'm working harder, he's asking if I mind if he cums in my mouth, I grunt and groan, making it clear that his sperm would be quite welcome. He tells me he's close.
But another car pulls through and he tells me to get up. Then back to it, him fingering my ass more, inquiring whether I'd like to get fucked. I rise up and tell him yeah, but express concern that he's so big: "it's gonna take a lot of lube and a lot of patience, but I'd take you on," I tell him. He just smiles and presses me back down onto his cock. Then another car drives by.
A couple more cycles of this, and it's becoming clear he's not gonna cum - I think he lost it when the car went by and called me off. But before it becomes a burdensome situation, he takes matters into his own hands and strokes off quickly, letting me slurp on him as he pumped his fist. He was a dripper, not a sprayer. I got a good taste of his jizz - medium taste, thick. Nice. Kept his cock warm for a couple minutes after he came.
When I came up off him, he'd softened, but was still big. Sweet floppy piece of sucked dry meat. I slurp it in again, he tells me that feels great. I come up off him, and fight off the urge to kiss him. I don't think he goes there.
He's totally friendly after he cums. Asks if I'm gonna cum. Seems disappointed that I'm not, but understanding about how I'd been gagging on his cock and that took the lead out of my pencil, so to speak. Really friendly nice guy. There could be potential here if I want more.
He leaves his pants down as we talk. I tell him again what a great cock he has. He soaks up the praise, but insists he's not that big. I tell him, fine, maybe not that big, but still the finest piece of meat I've ever seen. (OK, maybe that went a bit far; I've seen a lot of meat, after all - but his truly ranks.) Flipping my camera phone in my hand, I jokingly tell him I'd like a picture of that beauty, and he's into it, kinda posing, moving his hand out of the frame. I tell him no, I want your hand in there for scale. He obliges immediately, and I take the pic above.
And sure enough, as we drive back to my car and I tell that if he wants more, he's got it, he asks for my phone number. Dude, absolutely you've got my phone. He writes it on the back of his electrician's union book. Sweet.
|The real picture (that's the way it is, folks).|
UPDATE: I ran into the electrician again! For an account, see above, 3/22/09.