The Man In The Red Satin Shorts

There's a big park not far from where I used to live, and for a while the washroom there had a glory hole. Before the AIDS scare, on pleasant summer nights after dark, there would sometimes be a dozen men prowling around that park looking to suck or be sucked.

The parks board response to this situation was to take the doors off the cubicles to remove the element of privacy. This backfired -- people just learned to love sucking each other in front of an audience. Eventually they put heavy sheet metal on the wall between the cubicles, covering the glory hole. But they left the doors off.

There's a urinal right opposite the cubicles. I was sitting waiting in one of the cubicles one night, touching myself, hoping for some fun, when a young fellow walked in and stood in front of the urinal. He peed, glancing furtively behind him to see if I was watching. He put one hand behind him and touched his bottom softly as he peed. I knew I was in luck. I took out my **** so he'd see it the next time he looked.

He looked, looked again, turned and watched my hand moving on my ****. Then he stepped toward me. His **** was sticking out of his pants, hard. I opened my lips and licked them. As he came close I put one hand up to stroke the shaft and head and base of his penis, and the other hand behind him to caress him there, where his own hand had been. I opened my mouth, ready to receive him. But he turned sideways, and I knew he wanted me to play with his bottom.

I undid the button on his pants and they dropped to his ankles. He was wearing surprising red satin short shorts. They were like flared boxers, but with the legs cut so short and loose that the crotch was no more than a ***** of folded cloth hanging between his smooth thighs. I sighed and slid my hands up his legs and into the shorts from below, beginning to caress his tightening balls, his hard ****, with one hand. He sighed too as I began to touch him.

My other hand crept up to stroke the cheeks of his bottom. My fingertips slid to the crack between them, and he shifted slightly, opening to me. His crack was warm, and I slipped my fingers deeper into it. My middle fingertip found and touched his anus gently. He pushed against my fingertip, opening himself wider, and I knew I had found his kink. He began to talk, low, eager.

- Do you like my shorts? - Yes. - Why? - Because I can touch you, reach you through them so easy. I can touch your ***. You like that don't you. - Yes. Touch me there more.

I continued to stroke him, his ****, balls, ***. Each time I caressed his *** hole with my fingertip, he quivered. The two of us pulled his shorts off. I pushed my fingertip against his *** hole. The tip pushed in just a little. He spoke again. We answered each other slowly, with long pauses, not believing our luck, our delight in sharing this secret desire.

- I wish my *** was wet. - Why? - So you could put your finger inside me.

Long pause. Then I said:

- I can make your *** wet. - How? - With my mouth.

And, slowly, he turned and backed closer to me. His hands and my hands went to the cheeks of his *** as we worked together to spread him open for me. He leaned forward and arched his back. I breathed over him. I could smell him, warm, dark, alive, trembling for my touch. It was one of those incredible moments you wish could last forever. At last I began to go down on him.

I kissed him tenderly as though I were kissing his mouth. I opened my lips over his *** and began licking the tight, tender hole. He made a small sound and pressed himself against my mouth. We clung to each other, all mouth, all ***. Loving this moment. My tongue began to enter him and he gasped.

I licked him there for a long time. He kept asking if it was all right, apologizing in case it wasn't. I kept telling him I loved it. It was funny. He said he had ridden down here on his bike and he hoped his *** wasn't too sweaty -- as if that would bother me! I told him again and again how I loved it. My hand was on him in front, stroking him. He drew close to his moment. His balls were tight and hard.

He gasped, drew away from my mouth, turned sideways again. He began to beg for my fingers. He was wide open and wet, like a woman. The first finger slipped easily into him and I began to stroke him from inside as I rubbed the shaft of his ****. He asked for more and I gave him the second finger. He began to jerk back and forth, pressing his **** into my hand and his *** onto my fingers. "More. I can take more." I put three fingers into him and began ******* him hard with them. "Oh" he started to say. I slipped the fourth finger inside his ***, the key turned and he cried out as his pleasure began to fountain from him.

He came wildly, my hand clutching his ****, my fingers opening him deeply. He bucked and bucked against me, his come spurting from him. Gasping cries. He slowed, grew still. Slipped from my fingers, touched my face softly, thanked me, pulled up his shorts and pants. "Good night." And he was gone.

I held myself, thinking of him open against my mouth. I closed my eyes, opened my lips, licked the air as my hand travelled on me faster and faster until I came quietly there in the dark, there in that room of so many shared comings.
curioustongue curioustongue
56-60, M
May 17, 2012