The Hunk Walks Into The Gym

The front door to the gym opened, and there he was: the hunk from next door. I looked at my watch: right on time. He made his way to the men's locker room in several long strides, bouncing on every step as if he had springs in the soles of his sneakers. I savored my daily view of those muscular ass cheeks, alternately flexing and relaxing in those ridiculous black polyester pants which the burger joint made him wear. They were nice, squeezable melons, attached to one hot looking dude by the name of Mike.

According to his membership application, Mike was twenty three, 5'11" tall, and weighing 165 pounds. What the form failed to show is that he also has the shiniest black hair, soulful, brown eyes one could fall into, pale, creamy skin with cheeks of apple red (when the mercury drops), and one heck of a confused, flirting nature. Everything I have learned thus far about men tells me "he can be had", yet every move I have ever tried on him - short of wearing a sign around my neck reading "Orifice(s) Available: Terms Negotiable" - has failed. Miserably. Seeing him today reminded me of my most pressing goal: how can I get into those tacky polyester pants and claim the pot of gold?

I work the afternoon shift at "Woody's Club" as the desk attendant. It's only one of three jobs I hold, and it doesn't pay shit, but the fringe benefits - such as seeing a good mile and a half of swinging dick in the whirlpool every week, or rubbing pain-relief ointment into the heavily muscled backs of Dolph Lundgren look-alikes - are worth fighting for. Plus, I'm allowed free use of the equipment which I use regularly to keep myself in shape. But no matter how hard I work my abs or pecs, it's always my woody which gets the best workout at Woody's.

Of course, I have to be careful. Real careful. While I can bench press my own weight fairly regularly and am able to hold my own with the best of them, I am definitely not in the same class as some of these Olympian gods. Just a simple little swat on the wrong fanny or a lick of my lips after staring at a sweat-beaded salami, and I could end up eating knuckles and swallowing teeth. So, instead, I rage against my urges, and settle for more subtle ways of advertising my hungers. Take my sweatshirt, for instance. Basic black, but with a large multi-colored rainbow flag on the front. A simple banner which announces - to those savvy enough to figure it out - my fondness for an occasional flesh cigar or mustache ride.

Woody, the pretty much un-savvy owner of the club, is convinced that I am a left-wing Rainbow Coalition nut and he occasionally tries to egg me on into debates about how the current administration is ruining the Armed Forces of this country. I just smile and play along, not mentioning that I am one of the U.S. Marine Corps' greatest fans, and further, that I have done my patriotic duty in draining the wads of more than a few good men.

In fact, it was one of those jarheads who recognized the true meaning of my sweatshirt. I first encountered Private Kerry "Mad Dog" Madsen when one day he came to me and asked if I had seen Mike lately. Glancing over at the door to the tanning booth, my memories of Mad Dog came flooding back... . "Nice sweatshirt, dude." I looked up from my list of this month's aerobics classes, and almost fainted. The owner of this voice was a breathtaking specimen of a man. He was tall, standing about six foot five, and built like a brick shithouse.

He was wearing a faded olive drab tanktop which had a military decal on the front. The decal consisted of a bright yellow lightning bolt bordered by a red shield. The top of the decal was distorted somewhat, stretched by the massive slabs of meat which were his pecs. The shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of camoflauge trousers which had been roughly cut off just above his knees. His waist, which couldn't have measured more than thirty inches, tapered to a vee underneath his massive chest. His legs were like sturdy treetrunks, covered with a smooth, ebony fur, and ending in a pair of tan hiking boots, with white socks barely peeking over the tops.

It was the aching of my own feet which made me realize that I had raised myself up on tiptoes in order to take in the whole view of this heaven-sent stud. In a quick, but less than graceful move, I lowered myself to a normal standing position.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. I was talking to a set of the most vibrant blue eyes, set like jewels in this square-jawed face, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What can I do for you?"

"I said 'nice sweatshirt'. It looks good on you." A set of the most brilliant white teeth flashed out of this lean face. I noticed, for the first time that this hunk had a high & tight crewcut, most of which was covered by an olive drab bandana. The bandana was pushed upward, showing sandy, blond brushlike hair. My asshole twitched involuntarily; God, I loved crewcuts! Beneath those widespread, glittering eyes was a solid lump of a nose. His lips were the most delicious maroon color, and thick? My god, each lip looked like it was almost a half-inch thick.

"...and that's why I thought maybe you did too. Hello? Anybody there?"

I started. Suddenly, the room seemed awfully hot and I felt a prickling in my cheeks. I also felt my nuts start their traditional dance: a slow up and down migration, while at the same time my dick swelled against the fabric of my jock. Jesus! I had to get a grip on myself. But at the moment, I'd rather get a grip on him.

"I'm sorry, I did it again. I didn't-"

"You didn't hear me, I can tell from your face. Something must be really distracting you, dude." He smiled, and tilted his head back slightly while scratching the stubble on his cheek. He let his hand run slowly down the darkened area between his pecs, before resting it on his hip. "I'd ask you what was distracting you," his gaze ever so quickly dropped to my bulge, then returned "but I think I have a good idea." The tip of his tongue darted between his teeth, and he leaned forward, putting both hands on the counter. As he did so I could see droplets of sweat hanging in the underbrush beneath those rippling, contoured arms, and I was greeted with a heady aroma, a mixture of mansweat and soap, wafting into my nostrils. I wanted to bury my face into those pits, and lick his musky sweat, but my willpower held.

Barely.

"What I said was I bunked with a guy when I was stationed in San Diego who had a rainbow sticker on the bumper of his car and it was just like the one you're wearing." He paused for a second before continuing, "Best damned marine I ever worked with, and one heck of a helpful guy too. I hated it when he shipped out, and I really miss him. I miss him bad." He held my gaze evenly for a while, then raised his eyebrows. "Listen, the name's Mad Dog," a hand of iron was thrust into my own, bruising it with its power. I told him my name. He repeated it, stepped back and crossed his arms, then continued, "Nice to meetcha. By the way, any luck with Mike?"

I swallowed slowly. "Mike?"

"Yeah, 'Mike'...I was supposed to meet him here, to spot weights and lift with him. You seen him today?" I decided to play dumb. "Um, which Mike would that be?"

He stared at me for what seemed like hours. Finally, I broke the stare and looked down at the counter. He repeated my words in a skeptical tone of voice. " 'Which Mike', eh?'" He moved in closer, and leaned over the counter on his folded arms. "How about the Mike who makes your eyes light up every time he comes in here? How about the Mike who always happens to be just getting out of the shower about thirty seconds before you happen to be in the lockerroom collecting used towels? That Mike. Memory getting any better?"

I was caught, and caught redhanded too. As I looked up a drop of ice-cold sweat dropped from my armpit and ran down the inside of my shirt. Our faces were only inches apart. "You a friend of Mike's?" I asked.

"Dude, I don't think he has any friends, at least none that he lets get too close." He lowered his voice to a hush and continued, "And relax, you're not the only one who'd like a free ride on that roller coaster." He chuckled, as he finished saying that, as if to set my fears at ease.

I realized that I had been holding my breath, and released it gratefully. "Thanks," I said, returning his smile, "I'll try to be less obvious in the future."

He patted my hand, then scratched his prominent pouch. "Listen, I have a problem, and was wondering if you could help me with it." I gave him my most lurid smile. Oh God, could I! What was the problem? Excessive semen buildup? Stiffness in a certain joint? Just name it!

"Name it."

"Well, I was going to use your tanning bed, but I heard that the management doesn't let you use it unless you're wearing shorts." A tiny rivulet of sweat trickled down between his pectorals.

"Yeah..." I responded. Was this headed where I thought it was headed? Oh, God, let it be so!

"Well, that kind makes it tough for me to tan all over, doesn't it?" He gave me a bashful, coy look. He took one hand off the counter and rubbed his earlobe. "You see, the guy that I, that is, a person I know really likes me without a tan line. Especially here..." he turned his head in either direction briefly, then lifted his shirt a couple of inches. He dug his other thumb into the waistband of his cammies and pushed downward, revealing more of his honey-colored skin. The beginnings of his coppery bush pushed into view. My ears buzzed loudly, and I felt like a hypo of pure adrenaline had been stuck right into my heart. He raised his eyes, and looked at me like he would after finding a kid with his hand in a cookie jar. After what seemed like an eternity, he ended his little show.

"Um, well," I tried to assume my most professional demeanor. My knees were trembling, and my cock made my normally roomy sweats feel like a vise. "Yes, I guess you do have a problem, now that you put it that way." I paused, and reached down to shift my aching cock, the height of the counter providing me some concealment. "But, I'm afraid rules are rules, and as an employee I can't bend them." Tragically, I saw his smile vanish in a flash.

"However," I quickly added, "if you give me five minutes, I'll be officially off-duty and more than willing to help you bend that rule...or anything else that comes up." His eyebrows slowly ascended, and that killer grin re-emerged.

"Fuckin-A, guy! It's a date, dude. I'll be waiting for you." He stripped off his sweaty bandana, placed it in my shaking hand, closed it into a fist, and covered it with his own. A parting squeeze, and then he strolled away.

I waited until he entered the tanning booth, then quickly punched my employee card, resisted the urge to sniff the bandana and stuffed it into my duffel bag, and handed my stack of unprocessed application forms to the nightshift attendant. As an afterthought, I grabbed a starched, white towel from the stack and took the key to the booth from the ring under the counter.

I closed the door to the booth behind me, locked it, and turned - right into Mad Dog's arms! He had stripped his shirt off and was only inches from me. I jumped from being startled so, but my cry was muffled as he crushed his lips against mine. He ground his hard, muscled frame against my own, so that both of us were tight against the paneled door. His breath was minty, and as I quickly loosened up, his probing tongue slid its way into my mouth. I shuddered, and barely heard the key as it clattered to the floor as his tongue snaked its way between my teeth and upper lip. I wrapped both my arms around his solid back and moaned, my breath mixing with his own. His passion intensified, and I could feel hot breath from his flaring nostrils warm my clammy cheeks.

He slid his hands between the door and my back and broke the kiss, his mouth only inches from my own. "God, you make me so fucking horny..." he whispered. He started kissing my face, the sides of my nose, licking my closed eyelids. He brought his hands to either side of my head, cradling it firmly. Turning my head to the side gently, his slippery tongue pressed into my ear, and I both felt and heard his hot breath thundering into me, warming my ear and neck in hot, moist flames.

He slipped his mouth to my earlobe, and began gently biting it. I squirmed in utter ecstasy! As I turned my head, I was hit full in the face with the intoxicating aroma emanating from his armpit. Wrestling free, I plunged my face beneath his rockhard bicep and inhaled deeply. The odors were wonderful: pungent yet sweet, healthy sweat from physical exertion mixed with a trace of Ivory soap. I stretched out my tongue and licked the textured flesh and hair. He moaned as my tongue made contact with the searing flesh, and lowered his arm tightly, trapping me in this olfactory paradise.

I lowered my hand to cup the hardness of his asscheek. The only softness was provided by the material of his shorts; the chunk of meat beneath was hard as granite. I sucked a few strands of his underarm hair into my mouth, savoring their saltiness, while simultaneously I pressed my free hand into his growing mound.

"Grrrr....God, I need this!" he exclaimed. "Make me hard, baby. Show me that you like me." He thrust his mound into my cupped palm while loosening the half-Nelson which pinned my head. I rubbed the mound by moving my hand in concentric circles.

"Never fear, stud...I fucking love you..." I replied, taking both hands to undo the handful of buttons on his cammie shorts. The shorts did not fall to the floor; instead, they were impeded by his massive legs. I grabbed the tattered ends and pulled roughly, his bulging jock pouch popping into view. The shorts rested inside out atop his hiking boots.

"Oh, fuck. Blow me, dude. Blow me dry, little guy." His calloused hands massaged the back of my head, pushing it until my face was pressed against the ribbed contour of his pouch. I contemplated soaking the pouch with my spit, chewing and licking the garment to extract the juices like some sort of Marine Corp issued teabag, but time would not allow it. Besides, I was hungry. Hungry for cock.

Dropping to my knees, I slipped my fingers into his waistband and pulled his jockstrap down as quickly as I could manage. My eyes widened as more and more of this stud's meat was revealed, and the tightness of the jock actually stretched his rod until, at the very end, it sprang free, allowing the jock an unimpeded rendezvous with the upturned shorts. Exercising the only self-restraint I could muster at the moment, I forced myself to pause, take in a deep breath, and look at the present I had unwrapped.

And I stared at the handiwork of God Himself.

I have seen more cocks of various shapes, colors, and dimensions that I would likely ever admit, but honestly, truly, I have never seen a cock that would make me gasp in its glory.

Until now.

How do I begin to describe this unparalleled delight? Should I describe the size? It was - even now, at its semi-soft, semi-hard condition - easily as thick as a flashlight, and damned near as long. Its shape? Its coloration? Unlike some garden variety cocks, formed so standardly cylindrical, so blandly candle-like, this work of art was more like an elongated oval: its cream-colored root was about an inch and a half in diameter (still semi-soft, mind you), then swelling gracefully to a girth of two inches or so over a length of four glorious, blue-veined inches, and then just beginning to taper before meeting a sepia-colored fleshy crown. The head of his cock was walnut-sized, and painted the color of last week's bubble gum: a faded pink with a crystal clear drop of dew poised at the quarter inch fissure, daring to be tasted. He seemed neither to be cut or uncut; instead, the ample folds of sienna skin covered only a third of his bulbous head, looking for all the world like Darth Vader wearing a poncho. And his balls? They threatened to join his clothing on the floor, so low were they hanging in their fur covered sack.

"Yo, dude," he rasped, "are you gonna play with your food, or are you gonna eat it?" He tilted his pelvis forward to punctuate his statement, and his meat, about a pound and a half of it by my estimate, swayed slowly back and forth like some unheard bell. A dinner bell, to be specific.

Closing my eyes, I threw my face into his dangling mass of flesh. My nose wedged underneath his heavy cock and nestled where that tube ended and his balls began. Like a newborn babe, my mouth began to suckle reflexively, my lips drawing in enormous quantities of loose scrotum, my tongue feeling its bumpy texture and sampling the slightly sour sweat which lingered there. As I sucked more of the seemingly endless supply of sack, his left nut - as large as an egg - slowly ascended. Mad Dog groaned as his nut plopped into my mouth, and, warmed by the heat of my mouth it began a rolling motion like some tiny lava lamp.

"Oh, God, yeah, suck my balls..." he moaned, while lifting his fleshy cock with one hand and pressing my face tight against his balls with the other. Like a snake dislocating its jaw in order to eat a goat, I somehow managed with great effort to squeeze his second nut inside my mouth.

He responded with another moan, this one longer and raspier, as I savored in the soup that my saliva was making with his jumbo sized, grade A orbs. I was unable to swallow or move my tongue, so large were his balls, but instead bent my neck back to accomodate him more, looking like some eaglet at feeding time. "God damn, that feels soooo nice..." he hissed. He dropped his schlong on my upturned face and rubbed it slowly across my eyes and forehead. That drop of pre-cum stuck to my eyelashes, and like some erotic spider spinning its web, it smeared across my face to the other cheek.

Without warning, I let his nuts escape from my mouth with a "sploosh" and dove onto his still soft dick. Oh God, how good it felt and tasted and smelled! It felt oddly cool to my tongue, and already moist from his jarhead sweat. The texture was meaty, and the loose foreskin was in abundance. I rested my nose in his scraggly bush and inhaled deeply. A clean, masculine scent. I withdrew so that just the bulbous head was in my starving mouth and marvelled at how the plentiful flesh continued to move even efter I had stopped - so loose was his skin! I lifted my hungry mouth off of his prick, and grabbed it with my fist. My God, this marine had enough cock left over to accomodate my other fist! I looked like I had an ice cream cone in my hand, and I dived in for a lick to the underside of that raspberry scoop!

My tongue was instantly rewarded with the sweet taste of his nectar. I ran my fist up his shaft, with my thumb underneath, and was rewarded with a half teaspoon of the sugary goo, like some fleshy honeysuckle whose juice I had stolen. Now it was my turn to moan as all rational thought left my mind.

I tightened my fist around his thickening cock and slid it down, inch by lusty inch, followed by my sucking hole. I started pumping in regular rhythm, back and forth, fist and mouth, slick and slicker, and back and forth. On each back stroke, I could see his balls swaying like some pendulous water balloons. His cock was no longer cool, but instead was covered with my hot spit. The distinct, musky smell of aroused Marine started to fill the booth.

"Oh, yeah, go down on it, bud" Mad Dog's hands lovingly caressed the back of my head, becoming more forceful with every downward stroke. I stretched my arms above my head and massaged great handfuls of meaty tit. I grabbed his nipples, and felt them instantly turn to little iron erasers. "Oh, yeah, rub those tits...ahhh" he gasped. His hips picked up the rhythm where my hands left off, rocking and tilting, in and out of my mouth. He was moving faster than my swallowing coul keep up, and bits of froth spilled from my mouth with his pounding, splattering on the floor every now and then.

He removed one of his hands off my head and guided my left hand from his tit onto his face. I strained to look upward as the expanding rod pumped my face hole, and I could see that his eyes were half-closed with lust and delight. He moved my hand softly over his face, as if I were blind and he was letting me recognize his features.

I took my other hand off his bullet-like nipple and reached behind his ass. How smooth and hot his ass cheek was! I could feel the muscles dimple and flex with every swing of his pelvis. Suddenly, the fingers of my other hand felt wet as he had placed them in his mouth. He drew my middle finger in past the third knuckle and sucked it like it was my cock - causing me to almost shoot my load in my pants as if he had sucked it instead!

I pulled my mouth off his dick and replaced it with my free hand, stroking him in quick, short, strokes, making wet "squshhi squshhi squshhi" sounds. Taking this chance to catch my breath, I noticed that drool was running freely down my chin, with a few coppery hairs matted to my lips. I could barely think as the stud sucked in and out and in and out on my finger, getting me hotter every second. I felt my cock oozing precum against my waist, and its telltale thumping let me know I was gonna shoot - and without touching my cock at all!

He must have sensed this, because he pulled my finger out of his mouth forcefully, pulling a long string of spit behind it which promptly splashed on my forehead. He bent behind him, and guided my finger to his ass. I needed no further direction, and decided to surprise him. With lightning speed, I managed to spin him around, tangling him in his shorts and causing him to fall forward, his upper body resting on the tanning bed. I grabbed two fistfuls of ass flesh and pushed them apart, like Moses spreading the Red Sea. Before me loomed a twinkling starburst of tan and rose, ringed with short tan and black curly hairs. Without thinking, I buried my face into his ass crack and licked his twitching hole.

"Aahhhh...." he exploded, as my searing, snakelike tongue doused his burning fires. Such rich and musky tastes and aromas filled my senses. I had only done this once before, and I was drunk at the time, but nothing short of Armageddon would have taken me away from this stud's ass today! His muscular sphincter opened and closed like some beastly iris, and Mad Dog began pressing back against my nose and tongue and lips with strong spasms. "Oh, God, my ass, my...Oh, God, yes, eat me, eat my ass..." I stiffened my tongue and stuck near its entire length inside his hole, and was shocked at how viselike his sphincter became! It gripped my tongue like some organic dildo, and for a moment I actually could not remove my tongue!

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him bodily on top of me, my tongue never leaving his funky hole, until I was flat out on the floor with this Adonais sitting squarely on my face. I emitted a long, sustained moan which sent strong vibrations into his twitching ass canal. Mad Dog began sliding his spit-slicked ass back and forth across my face, his hands supporting him in his squat position. When his hole was directly over my mouth, his drooping, dangling nuts were draped over my chin. Each backward motion caused them to scrape along my whiskers.

I started humming a long, plaintive tone which only amplified this stud's pleasure. He took one hand of the floor, shifting more of his weight on my face, and began stroking his now rockhard cock. "Oh, yeah, oh....fuck...yeah..." Back and forth he slid, faster and faster.

I was able to somehow get one arm unpinned, and used it to spring my own cock free of its jockstrap prison. It felt like it was covered with thick, slimy honey and I knew that I was only seconds from blowing my wad. Mad Dog was close too.

"Arr....unhhh...arrr...oh...oh, yeah..." He had stopped sliding on my greasy face and was fisting his dick with a fury, filling the booth with "phifft phifft phifft phifft" sounds. I was paralyzed, as his thighs closed tighter around my head. "Oh...yeah...I'm....gonna....I'm...arrr..."

I wrenched my head free and pulled several muscles in the feat. "Mad Dog! Your cum! Let me have your wad!"

"Ahhh...ahh...ah...ah..." He lifted his ass high so that he was in a crab-walk posture. I saw my chance and scooted out from underneath him, and held my open mouth beneath the blur of his fist and cock. "Aaah...oh...oh, sheeeiiitttt!"

Like a quart of marshmallow cream shot from a turkey baster, his pent up desire splashed all over my waiting face. Sweet, thick ropes of musky spooge splattered into my eyes, along my nose, in my hair, and directly into my gaping mouth. Like a petunia welcoming the first summer rain, I drank and drank.

"Ahhh, Jesus, ahh..." Mad Dog screamed as he regained control of his renegade firehose. He slid it into my slime-covered lips , dumping a final tablespoon of liquid Marine onto my twitching tongue. My own cock exploded finally, sending jets of almost boiling spunk onto my belly, chest, and neck. I sucked hard on Mad Dog's softening cock, and felt his orgasmic contractions pulse in synch with my own. Sweet tastes mingled with sour and with salty. My throat was warmed as the custard slowly sank to my belly like so much rum-spiked eggnog. I was suckling at the mother's tit, and nothing would let me release my hold. I wrapped my arms around his sweaty, rockhard buns, pushing his softening cock further down my throat. Breathing his sweet smell through my nostrils, I felt a hot tear leave my eye, rolling down my cheek. Contentment. Sweet contentment.

I woke up some hours later. I was in the fetal position on the floor, the towel was placed under my head like a makeshift pillow, and I was sucking my thumb. A thumb with a Marine Corps issued jockstrap wrapped around it. There was a handwritten note beside me.

"Yo dude, gotta fly for now. Will catch you later. Next time, we'll get Mike to play our reindeer games too. - Mad Dog"

**I received a lot of favorable mail from readers of my first attempt at posting, called "Woody's Workout", that I thought I'd continue the series. What I didn't count on is how quickly all of you wanted more! The following scene I actually wrote before* the one I already posted, but chronologically, it seems to flow better after the main character's encounter with the Marine... .

Your responses have inspired me to explore this little world more - and who knows? - perhaps I'll make it into an honest-to-God story, complete with beginning, middle, and end! grin Till then, a scene at a time is the best I can do. Thanks again for your support, and please let me know what you thought of this installment. -Jim (a.k.a. an137689@anon.penet.fi) ***

The next afternoon I hit the Burger King, hoping to straighten things out with Mike. I thought telling him about the blond chick's comments might please him, but I didn't even know if he'd be working this shift. As luck would have it, he wasn't behind the counter when I strolled in.

I ate a greasy burger halfheartedly, but made sure I was facing the front as I ate. I was surprised to see that Mike's co-workers weren't the usual assortment of pimply-faced, post-pubescents. Instead, the staff looked like they were the offensive lineup from the local high-school football team. These guys were studs! As a bit of cream sauce drooled out of the corner of my mouth I wondered if maybe Mike had something to do with the hiring process.

A corn-fed, beefy, blond, linebacker type with brilliant green eyes served up fries while a tall, sinewy lad with short, auburn hair and a mustache (which was nothing more than a sprinkling of strawberry fuzz) served up the drinks. In my pornographic mind's eye, I could see the wonderful contrast of colors as the drink boy - crouched atop the gleaming chrome countertop on all fours - waved his ass high in the air. His pendulous nuts would dangle in a sack of purest pink, while a brown patch of scruffy hair would trail up into his glistening asshole. This alluring little wiggle would be certain to attract the attention of the no-neck, Neanderthal "french fry technician", much like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings might cause a bullfrog to slowly close the distance between them...waiting for his chance to unleash his elastic tongue. I could see it now: the linebacker would absentmindedly drop the brightly-colored, cardboard, french fry holder and salt-encrusted fry scoop into the deep fryer, causing a furious, seething geyser of grease to erupt. His gaze locked on the drink boy's shining ass, he'd move as if drawn by a magnetic force. Each of the linebacker's giant hands would dwarf the other boy's asscheeks, pulling them apart effortlessly, as if each hand was palming a basketball. His tongue would be enormous: like a four inch python, it would first touch where the boy's nuts ended and his crack began, and then lick slowly up the glory trail, ending with a loud slurp as it tickled the boy's rosebud. The boy would scream in ecstasy with each lick, though in between shudders, he'd manage to spout into his headset "That'll be $4.35..AAAH!...Please pull around...AAAH!"

I snapped out of my reverie as I realized that both boys were waving their hands slowly back and forth over their faces. Shit! I was staring again. Both boys laughed and went back to their duties. Well, Mike or no Mike, I had to do something about my swollen cock. And fast! I headed for the restroom.

A quick survey revealed that I was alone. I toyed with locking the door, but decided that would be too suspicious. Instead, I headed for the handicapped stall, its huge proportions being more than adequate to hide me while I fisted myself into a frenzy.

Apparently, the charms of this stall were appreciated by others before me, as the walls were covered with crude drawings of vaginas and cocks. Dried streams of crusty, reddish-brown cum were everywhere, and where the toilet paper dispenser had once been a potential gloryhole was in the making. I looked through the holes where the mounting screws had once been, and saw that it would give a wonderful view of anyone occupying the next stall.

My jeans were down in a flash, and I began roughly grabbing myself through my Calvins. I imagined Mike's angular face nuzzling my crotch, his aquiline nose inching into the slit of my briefs while his hot breath warmed the fabric surrounding my nuts. His jet black hair would feel squeaky and cool, and his fleshy earlobes, warm to the touch, would make perfect handles to hold him against my thickening rod.

I released my squirming nuts by pulling them out to the side. They were cascading, upward and downward, already priming their pumps. I reached into my briefs through my piss flap, and pulled my pink-and-creamy-tan colored cock out through the slit in the fabric. The ever so slightly sour smell of turned-on cock reached my nose, and holding the head upright, I dropped a glob of spit onto my fist. I moaned loudly as the hot sticky goo lubricated my bone with every pass of my fist. I spit into my other palm and replaced the first one on my cock. Bringing the other moistened hand to my face, I could now smell the earthy, passionate aroma of hot male flesh. Quickly, my mind fantasized that this was Mike's cock smell, and not my own, and just as quickly, my asshole twitched, bouncing my swollen cock upward, then back. I started a slow rhythm of steady up and down strokes, imagining Mike's meaty banana stuffed deep inside my throat. With my free hand, I held it in the air inches from my face, pretending to knead Mike's blocky asscheek, pushing his pole deeper inside my starving mouth. In my passion, I actually could feel the textured globe, and I slid my finger up inside his phantom asscrack. Drops of pre-cum splattered the tiled floor, making echoes to accompany to squish, squish, squish of my pounding fist.

Suddenly, the door to the restroom flew open, and someone rushed inside. I instantly froze, clamping hard on my purplish cockhead, denying passage to the wad of cum which wanted to spray free. This had the effect of throwing me instantly into orgasm, but I held even tighter to my dick as my balls plopped and rolled in frustration, while my cock was silently screaming "I can't breathe! I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" in powerful, pleasant orgasmic spasms which I only barely held at bay!

I heard a mechanical click. Was that the door being locked? Barely controlling my breathing and while enjoying the insistent wracks and throbs of my bottled genie, I also was alarmed at the same time. Without knowing why, I raised my legs onto the seat, so that my knees were pressed to my chest and my sneakers were on the front of the commode. Almost immediately after doing so, I could see two purple and white-toed Reeboks in the inch or so crack where the stall door almost met the floor. Mike! Was that Mike who now stood just a few feet from me?

Ten fingers now replaced the shoes, as whoever was there apparently was trying to look under the door. My still hard cock, now bluish with a fiery head, throbbed insistently, and I dared not loose my grip or else a gallon of lumpy cum would splash upon the floor. I could feel my heartbeat in the back of my throat: pound, pound, pounding in synchronization with the throbbing of my rod.

The mystery person stood back up, and, apparently satisfied that he was alone, went into the adjoining stall. There was a thud as something which sounded like a satchel hit the floor. I heard a long zip as the satchel was opened, and then the sounds of jangling belt buckle as pants were being dropped. With the greatest of ease I lowered my legs to the floor and waited. Soon, sounds of a magazine being opened were joined with the fleshy, telltale sounds of a cock being pounded.

I made my way slowly - incredibly slowly - to the peephole. This was actually easy to do unnoticed as the other person was getting more and more self-absorbed. I silently got onto the floor and approached the quarter inch hole on my knees, my angry cock still held tightly. I caught a whiff of sweat and cologne. Drakkar! My head was swimming, as I realized that this was Mike, this had to be Mike!

I pressed my eye to the hole and instantly focused on what had to be the biggest, thickest, uncut schlong this cock connoisseur ever laid eyes on! It was easily ten inches long, and damn near thick as a table leg. My field of view was limited; I could only see upward from Mike's knees, over his furry thighs and enormous cock with swaying balls, up to his segmented abs and meaty tits. He was slouched on the seat, and his balls hung so low, I could swear the left one was dipping into the cool water! This view afforded me a clear shot of the underside of his shaft, and I could make out a prominent piss tube, girded on either side by shiny, veiny meat. It looked like the space shuttle, with its main engine supported on either side by external fuel tanks.

Mike was really into whatever he was reading, his fist hammered up and down that long, blue-veined ivory shaft so fast it almost blurred. He would pause as his free hand turned a page, and his other fist would slowly gather all the loose skin, sliding it upward where it would pop over the enormous head and cover it like the petals of a flower closing over a pink bud. The surface tension of a clear drop of precum burst, sending a trickle of the slime over Mike's fist. No need for spit here, this guy brings his own man-made lube!

As Mike got closer, he dropped the magazine, and brought a spit-moistened finger down to his puckering brown and rose-colored hole. He placed his middle finger to the hole, and it slid in effortlessly to the third knuckle, making wet cracking noises as it entered. He let loose with a moan, thankfully, for it masked my own involuntary outburst at witnessing this incredible scene.

Being able to stand no more of this, I placed the forefinger of my free hand to the underside of my urethra, and put my thumb on the top of my cock. Like a giant tube of Crest, I slid my thumb and finger upward, squishing out a good tablespoon of cum-in-waiting. The chlorine smell of my wad wafted to my nose, where it mixed with the citrus aroma of Mike's cologne. I palmed the goo over the entirety of my cock, and pumped passionately, not caring that the smacking sounds of my lubricated dick were loud and raucous. I looked again through the hole, if only to wish it was Mike's hand that was slipping over my swollen member.

When I focused on him again, I was shocked to see that he had replaced the finger in his ass with a shocking-pink latex dildo! Apparently, like Mike himself, his gym bag was filled with surprises. He was bucking and bouncing like a cowboy on a spirited bronco. His fist was clenched tightly on the dildo's fake nuts, and he used it as a handle to spear the entire length of the pole into his ass. There was no middle ground with this stud, no poking around the edges; instead, he was pushing and pulling, shoving and yanking the entire length with every stroke. His cockhead now streamed pre-cum as if a faucet was left turned barely on. The motions of his flying fist would break the stream every other stroke, sending cellophane noodles of lube flying into the air, and then splashing onto the tile.

I felt the tingling at the base of my cock spike suddenly and I threw my fist into overdrive. Mike's breaths, like my own, were short staccato bursts. Suddenly, Mike and I both hit the mother lode: our yells combined as his balls bounced like manic marionettes, and together we shot rockets of exploding, stringy cum hurling into the air. My own hose whitewashed the grungy wall, as my muscles twitched, and my lungs spasmed in post-orgasmic chaos.

"Oh shit!" Mike exclaimed, as he finally realized he wasn't alone. I heard a furious fumbling next door as Mike raced to re-assemble himself. Not wanting him to escape, I quickly stuffed my slickened meat into my underwear and buttoned up my jeans.

Mike was quicker. His back was to me as he was washing his hands furiously in the running water at the sink. He reached for the paper towels, pointedly not looking back at me. "Mike. It's me..." His head shot back over his shoulder and his jaw dropped open.

"Oh, God..ugh, listen-"

"Mike, it's OK! Listen, I understand. Really, I do. You got me so hot just now that..." his alabaster complexion slowly deepened to a scarlet hue, "that I'd really like to help you out some time myself."

My gaze fell to the slimy dildo, its shiny head poking out of the satchel by his feet. His eyes tracked my own, and instantly he knew what kind of help I was suggesting.

"Listen, dude, I don't need no help with nothing!" He quickly zipped up the satchel and was ready to say something else when a pounding ensued on the restroom door.

"Yo, Mike! Hurry up, man, we got us a bus full of retirees in drive through! Mike, you hear me?"

Mike shot me a glance of fear and confusion, looking very much like the look a deer gives you in the glare of your headlights before it tumbles over your hood and roof.

"Damn it, Mike! Come on!"

"Alright, already!" he shouted to the closed door. He grabbed his satchel, and breezed past me. Just before unlocking the door, he turned his head and said "Not a word. Not one, understand?"

I said nothing in return, but held my gaze level with his own, refusing to look away or even blink. Mike held this "tough guy" look and dared me to look away. I didn't.

Mike's stare softened. "Please."

The pouty look, the imploring voice, the cry for mercy - all these things - worked.

"OK, Mike. I'll look for you at the gym."

Without another word, Mike, his satchel, and one damned lucky dildo sailed away, and with them my hopes of ever getting this stud on his back. I came so close to having him - how much closer could I get? - and now my hopes were dashed again. I cleaned myself up and left, feeling even more dejected than before.

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written by anonymous