Erect Jock Cock Gets Pumped

Four cars were parked in the lot at the rest area. Usually there's a guy in each car, usually older, usually drinking and scoping out the trickle of truckers in and out. But tonight, all but one car was empty and since it was a chilly night, there was only one place they could all be.

I parked, got out, walked in. As the door opens, I know from experience, all activity suddenly stops and one can usually hear footsteps, people moving or flushing toilets covering up other sounds. None of the above. Nobody at any of the four urinals to my left. Still, a quick check of the four stalls showed three were occupied. The second had a brown leather bomber jacket slung over the door. Its occupant, a young guy, college age, dark brown hair, was looking down and concealing himself. In the third was another college-age guy, shaggy blond hair, green pullover, green jacket with white sleeves, again looking down. In the last stall I could see a pair of feet in black dress shoes. The crowd looked promising. I turned and occupied the first stall.

No sooner did I pull my pants down and sit that I ducked my head and peeked under the stalls. From the third, I noticed the shock of blond hair hanging down, checking out this newcomer's intentions. I remained inverted, watching #2 in his topsiders and black jeans, #3's bright white Etonic workout shoes and jeans, and the black shoes in the last, for a couple of minutes. Number 3, the blond, kept peeking, determining that, yes, I was okay, interested, possibly even desirable. The kid in number 2 finally looked, first at the guy in 3, then at me. Eye to eye, an assurance that I'm not just another truck driver there to take a dump; further, not another old coot desparate for anything he can get either.

The guy next to me kept on looking, shifting, stroking from what I could see. The dude in 3 reached under the wall, rubbed his leg, his thigh and ass and as he shifted on the seat he got his dick stroked as well. I was practically lying on the floor by now, watching everything and keeping my cock erect. The hot youth continued to feel his dick being pumped by the hand from under the wall. He was wearing a white pullover shirt with a Native-American design. His right hand was up inside that shirt massaging his nipple, and his face reflected the sensations being experienced by his erection, heightened by the feel of him pinching his nipples. The guy in the last stall was watching, too, but from his viewpoint he can see the guy doing the stroking, surely on himself as well as his neighbour.

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He shifted around so the intruding hand can get a feel of his buns and butthole. That put his cock in a position where I could reach under his leg, fondle the head, feel the slippery pre-cum dripping out of the slit. I rubbed some pre-cum on the head and stroked him lightly. I couldn't get a good-enough grip on his cock, so he moved around and let the other guy do some more pumping.

When the excitement becomes too much to handle, the kid next to me pulls his dick from the hand, sits back, erection pointing upwards, shiny and deep red as his hand flies up and down its length, still pinching his nipple. I haven't moved; I'm still standing on my head, captivated and stimulated by the sight of this hot guy working himself out. My nostrils are tittilated by the faint smell of leather from his bomber jacket that hangs a few inches from my face. The look on his face becomes more and more intense. He's nearing his pleasure edge. Looking at me, thinking of my cock and the hand job he has been getting, he pushes his ass back on the toilet seat, points his cock into the toilet bowl and strokes with a mighty fury. Sharp, short breaths escape his rounded lips. I can see his groin pulsate as he unloads his cum into the white porcelain. His face fills with the total pleasure you usually see on the actors in high-grade porno flicks. If he had gotten any hotter he would have boiled over. The pumping goes on for a dozen or more thrusts as my cock swells and fills.

His load spent, he quickly reassembled, put on his leather jacket, made a swift exit. The cute guy in number 3 got up, too, put on his jacket and walked out. I stood up, watching him. He's about six-two, wearing snug Guess jeans and a green long-sleeved shirt with a lot of words and pictures, the kind you find in the "young men's" department. But for me his jacket is the ultimate. It's a varsity-style jacket, green wool flannel with cream-white leather sleeves, white striped green cuffs and collar, and again words. Front and back. If you're a jock, you usually wear a jacket like this with your school letter on it - that really turns me on. This jacket, this guy, is even hotter. When I go shopping, I duck into stores like Merry Go Round and Chess King and admire the stuff like he's wearing, a three-hundred-dollar varsity jacket, daydream about meeting a guy all decked out, ready for action. Guess, Girbaud and Roots make similar jackets but I've never seen one like this. He stands there a moment, looking at me, such a stud, turns to wash his hands, and walks out. I'm depressed. The most perfect looking guy to cross my path in a long time and he's walking out without even giving me a chance to talk to him, much less touch any part of him.

Well, there's still the guy in the suit down at the end, so I pulled up my pants, walked down there, watched him stroking it. He stood up, walked toward me with his cock in his hand, and opened the door to his stall. I reached out and grabbed his erection, pumped it furiously in my fist as he rubbed my dick through my pants. A few seconds were all it took. He turned his body to aim his cock at the wall and began squirting his white slippery load all over the tile. Globs splatted to the floor. He shook as the torrents weakened, then wiped his cock, stuffed it back in his pants. I went to the sink to wash up as he put his coat on and ducked out the door.

To be continued....

As I was drying my hands under the hot wind from the electric hand dryer (the ones that someone usually mutilates to read "1.Press butt--. 2.Rub hands under arm hair."), I heard the door open again. A glance up to see who it is. And my heart raced when it was the blond in the green varsity-style jacket with the white leather sleeves. He's come back for another round, I figured. He must not have gotten off with the young guy in the leather jacket. Maybe he was going after him but he got away. What a pair they made...

He took the third stall, removed his jacket and hung it up, pulled down his jeans, sat down. I walked over, looked over the door at him sitting there, so gorgeous. He reminded me of the typical California dusty blond surfer or beach dude. Moppy hair, clean shaven, well- defined face, ocean blue eyes made more intense by his dark eyebrows. He didn't look up at me but once, and wasn't playing with his dick or showing it off to me. I thought he wasn't interested in me. I do the same thing, when I'm sitting there and someone I don't particularly care for is ogling me, so I recognize the brushoff. There was one thing I wanted to say to him, though, if nothing else:

"That's a great jacket."

I was in love with that jacket. I'd love to wear it, to feel his warmth, smell his scent, strut like a hot stud, knowing he bought the jacket to attract that certain kind of guy, and knowing he's gotten off in that jacket a lot. I imagine myself getting off wearing it, playing with it, wrapping my cock in the leather sleeves, staining his jacket with my cum.

"Thanks."

He whispered at me, glancing at the jacket hanging to his left, then up at me for a moment. A half-grin cracked his lips. Just then, the outside door opened and I ducked into the last stall, pulled my pants down and sat down, checking the feet of the latest visitor. Sweat pants and Nike hi-tops; maybe something hot. It occured to me it's the same guy who came in and took a leak a few minutes earlier. Blond hair ducked down next to me, meeting the glance of the new guy, as we all determined each other's purpose.

I took off and hung up my jacket and once again assumed my position leaning on the floor, looking up at my neighbor, watching him stroke his meat. I had a great vantage point. It's long but not too thick, the uncut foreskin extending about halfway up the glans, less so when he was fully erect. He was definitely turned on and pumping. I could see the guy beyond as he knelt down. A much more massive cock appeared, his blue sweats and jockstrap pulled down around his ankles, the top of his basketball hi-tops visible inside the legs of his sweats. The thick, upturned ten-incher protruded under the wall and the blond dude squatted down, took it in hand and stroked. I was able to reach his cock between his spread legs, and after a brief stop at his fuckhole, my fingers found his rod and kept him up while his were busy working out the jockstrapped guy.

We proceeded this way for a few minutes. I stroked his cock the best I could from where I was; he pumped with a tight grip on the huge boner, stroking furiously. He moved; I released my grip on his cock, felt his thigh, and fondled his buns as he lifted them off the toilet seat to better masturbate the man in the sweats. A rush of breath was heard, a gasped "Aaaaah" and a huge load of cum erupted from the giant erection, a powerful squirt at first which splatted across the stall, followed by several pumps, some of which ran down the shaft. I watched, stroked my cock, as the guy next to me continued to stroke, catching the slippery cum in his fingers and lubricating the stranger's shaft, making a loud slurping sound as he continued stroking the fading orgasm. The shaft, throbbing in his hand, finally ceased to eject any more fluid but continued to be pumped for another half minute or so, remaining erect, until finally he removed his hand, unrolled some toilet paper, and wiped off as much of the liquid as he could from his right hand. The cock under the wall disappeared, replaced by the man's arm and a wad of paper to mop up the gooey evidence of his orgasm.

We both strained forward to watch the fading erection being stuffed back into its jockstrap and sweatpants pulled up over the lump. We glanced over the doors as the man, attractive and about forty, left his stall, washed his hands and left the room. We were alone!

The hand came under the wall. I knelt down and, for the first time, felt the hand of this hot guy, the same hand that just induced orgasm in the jockstrapped dick, stroke my bone. Face and chest flat against the wall, knees digging into the cracks between the floor tiles, I felt my cock being pumped while thinking of the guy, only wishing I could stroke him and see him too. The stroking stopped for a moment, then continued closer to the root and I felt something warm and wet on the underside of the tip of my cock. He was sucking me! It felt so incredibly great, the slippery wet tongue and lips, his warm breath, his hand massaging my nuts and forefingers wrapped tightly around the base of my twitching dick. I pressed my groin further under the wall, gripping the toilet seat with my left hand for leverage. A few seconds of this and I felt like I was getting really close. And then the familiar sound of first the outside door opening brought us to alert; the door to the men's room opening interrupted our passion.

Stay tuned...

The sound of the door ended the surging in my prick and we scrambled quietly back to our seated positions. A middle-aged man perused a couple stalls before settling on the first one. Peeks under the wall confirmed: he was looking too, and was cruising to get off as well. He looked, we looked, I looked at my friend, he kind of grins, I felt his leg. He mostly sat there and stroked it, the firm shaft up above the rim of the bowl, the foreskin covering about the bottom third of the shiny purple head, his blond locks in his face, his long-sleeved pullover shirt loosely covering his firm torso, his jeans and Calvin Klein underwear resting on his bright white Etonic workout shoes.

Suddenly, he stands, pulls up his pants and zips them, puts on his fabulous jacket, leaves the stall, walks around and stands at the urinal. I'm not going to lose an opportunity so I do the same, follow him over, stand next to him, unzip, pull it out, and in a couple seconds it's back to full erection, just like him. I stand close to him. His cock looks so magnificent; his hand strokes it firmly. I reach my left hand out, put it on his wrist, his hand, the base of his shaft. He removes his hand, puts it on my thigh, as I stroke the length of his meat. I'm pumping my cock and his in rhythm. We turn and face each other. Our cocks meet briefly, his turgid shaft contacting mine, and he puts his hand up to my face, then to the back of my head. I smell the leather sleeve of his jacket as he pulls my head forward, looks in my eyes, then looks down at his cock, and back at my eyes. He wants to be sucked off and I'm not going to deny him that pleasure.

Squatting, I face the red-purple shaft. It's dry; no precum lubricates the tip. My mouth opens; my tongue contacts the head, then the underside; my lips surround the shaft and as my tongue provides gentle suction, I engulf his rod in my mouth. Liquid rushes of pleasure envelop his penis; I bury my nose in his crotch hair, piston stroke his flesh into a frenzy of tension and release. I feel his rod erectify even more, filling my throat with the rubbery shaft and I know he's getting close.

As I hear his breathing getting shorter and more passionate, I look up to see this blond stud's face flush red, eyes close, mouth open, neck muscles tensing, a wave of total immense pleasure sweep over him and I don't want to miss the explosion. I pull my mouth off his erection just in time, for the first volley of cum spurts forth, catching me on the nose and cheek. I turn him and aim him into the wall as I stand and vigorously wank his dick. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, our bodies close, and I absorb the sights and smells of this fabulous guy in the fantastic leather-sleeved jacket. This is the closest I've been to his body. I impulsively bury my face in his neck, lips pursed, suck on his neck and jaw. From the collar of the jacket I pick up the faint smell of New West cologne, a scent that drives me crazy, which mixes in with the leather.

The moans keep coming and so does he. His groin bucks and pulses. His face, contorted with pleasure, remains crimson. For a moment I believe this man is experiencing so much pleasure that some of it is being transferred to my groin. Then I realize that I am orgasming as well, and my cock shoots its five-day supply of sperm at the urinal in a massive gush that splats and echoes on the tile walls. I pump him and me and our dicks respond, alternating splashes of spunk for several more seconds until both of us are drained dry and very nearly so weak that our legs wobble and almost collapse under us.

All this time we find the middle-aged man has been watching us and is working hard on his own cock, and as we turn and look he loses his load into the door of his stall as well, a fitting salute to the show we have been giving him.

I really regret not having said anything more to my partner for the past half hour or so, for he is the kind of guy I could get into having around. Not even an exchange of names, much less phone numbers. As the white briefs soak up the last drips of his cum, he zips his sperm covered wad into his jeans. As I return to one of the stalls to wipe up, he leaves the room and is gone forever. I rush out, hoping to find him outside the door, but instead see a pair of taillights accelerating toward the highway. No matter; I'm walking on air, even though I'll probably never meet him, or anyone like him, again.

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