Date: Mon, 29 Feb 2016 16:15:43 +0000 (UTC)
From: simon peter <simon23232@yahoo.com>
Subject: Fucking Faggot

Dear Reader

This story, like many of my other stories, has elements that are based on
real personal experiences.  However, the names and places are all
fictitious.  If you feel like sending me a comment, negative or positive,
please do so: simon23232@yahoo.com

I would love to read your comments and suggestions.  Also, very
importantly, please donate to keep nifty going.

Thanks, Simon

Fucking Faggot

By Simon Peter

Looking up as he held onto the man' hairy thighs, he was able to see the
man's head tilted backwards, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he
thrust his cock further inside the warm, wet mouth. He tried to breathe
through his nose, now starting to fill up with snot, his knees pressed on
the wet toilet floor. He smelled the man's sweat through his filling
nostrils, mixed with the strong scent of urine coming from the urinals now
lined with his head. He closed his eyes and swallowed as the throbbing,
slick knob pushed at his throat. The man's hands were pressing on the back
of his head.

He was sucking cock in a public toilet.

His head swam. The man was fucking his face with forceful thrusts. He
couldn't believe what was happening. He had come into the toilet, breaking
his morning run, for a piss. Dressed in a loose I-shirt, running shorts and
running shoes, he had closed his eyes as the stream of urine shot out of
his dick.

The relief was a blessing after consuming one full glass of orange juice
and two cups of coffee before his run. He felt, more than heard, the
movement near him. Opening his eyes, the stream of piss still shooting into
the urinal, he saw a man unzipping his jeans and taking out his dick to
piss in the urinal next to his. They were alone. The public toilet he found
was in the middle of the park and not much frequented by users, fairly at a
distance from the entrance to the park.

As he glanced at the man next to him, his eyes dropped down to the pissing
cock, and he inhaled. The man had slid his jeans and shorts down to just
above his knees, and his crotch, front and back, was totally bare. He
looked up and met the man's eyes, who had turned and was watching him. He
shook the last drops off his dick, pulling up his shorts and turning to
leave, when the man, fisting his now- erecting cock, thrust his pelvis out
and shook his tool.

It was shock, at first. The man was inviting him to his cock. In a public
toilet. At 9 o'clock in the morning.

As if in a dream, he had knelt in front of the man and had taken the
offered dick in his mouth. He tasted the last drops of urine but felt the
cock get hard between his lips. What was he thinking? He had never done
this before. He had never even thought about this: a blowjob to a total
stranger in a public toilet reeking with urine.

He swallowed. The man thrust hard and moaned; streams of cum filled the
eager mouth. He tasted salty cum, mixed with urine, a special flavor, he
thought as he also detected some garlic-y taste in the cum the man was
shooting into his mouth. Finally, the man pulled out, slapped him once on
his cheeks with his wet cock, lifted his jeans and tucked his still
dripping cock inside. The man smirked at him, whispered, "fucking faggot,"
and left.

He was still on his knees. He couldn't breathe. He wiped the cum and spit
and snot off his lips with the back of his hand. Up till now, he wasn't
even aware that his own erection was throbbing inside his shorts. He got
up, staggered into a stall, and masturbated. He shot streams of cum, hard
and long, splashing the door of the stall. The last squirts dripped onto
his shorts, now around his ankles.

He walked out of the toilet into the park, found a nearby bench, and
dropped onto it like a sack of corn. The taste of alkaline, salty, garlic-y
cum was strong on his tongue. The man's sweat and the urine scent were also
strong in his stuffed nose. His face cheeks smarted from the slapping
cock. He felt tears well behind his closed eyes as he replayed the scene in
the toilet. As if in a different body, he saw himself kneeling, sucking
cock. He saw the mixture of cum and spit seep out of his mouth as he sucked
hungrily and swallowed the man's juice. The man's parting words sounded
like thunder in his ears: fucking faggot.

He was no faggot. Not really. His body hair, his beard, his 7-inch cock,
all testified to his testosterone- saturated body. He was in no way
effeminate. Actually, in parties and gatherings, women went over themselves
to get his attention. He didn't have a girlfriend, even now at 24. He was
more interested in men. But he was not a faggot.

The tears felt hot on his face cheeks as the image of himself kneeling on
the wet, dirty toilet floor, sucking on a man's cock.

"Hey, Pat. Patrick."

He jerked himself out of his reveries, quickly wiped the tears off his face
and looked towards the source of the voice. Someone was calling his name.
He spotted his work colleague, Matthew, jogging in place on the running
path, waving at him.

Slowly, feeling guilty, fully aware of the taste in his mouth and the scent
in his nose, he tentatively waved back.

"Hey, Matt," he croaked. He watched Matthew stepping onto the grass,
crossing the few feet between his bench and the running path.

"Pat, hey, man," Matthew was smiling as he approached. He was in a similar
set of I-shirt, shorts, and jogging shoes as Patrick. Pat drew in a deep
breath, trying his best to collect himself. He knew, almost for certain,
that Matt was gay. Matt had this "gay" attitude. This "faggot" attitude,
Patrick thought bitterly. Now it was he that was being judgmental.  The man
called him a fucking faggot. He didn't even get to know the man's name. He
sucked his cock and he didn't even know his fucking name. The lump in his
throat grew larger, strangling him. He swallowed hard fighting down the
tears.

"You look lost in thought," Matt said, as if from a hundred miles away.
Patrick shook himself back, the image still strongly imprinted in his
brain. He forced a smile.

"Just relaxing," he said lamely.

Matt smiled. "I wanted to catch you in the office yesterday, but you had
already left. I'm having a few friends over for drinks this evening. It
would be nice if you could make it. Nothing formal."

Patrick nodded absently. "Yea, sure. That would be nice. What should I
bring?"

"Oh, not to worry, unless you prefer to drink something special, other than
wine and beer."

"I'll bring some wine, then."

"Ok, great. Around eight. See you then, Pat."

Patrick wasn't specifically friendly with Matt, but he had nothing lined
up, and it would be nice to get out on Saturday night. He felt a stirring
in his groin as the taste of cum on his tongue brought back the image of
him kneeling and sucking a stranger's cock in a public toilet came back
vividly. He felt the beginning of an erection. He vaguely remembered
reaching back with one hand, sliding it inside his shorts and into his
crack, rubbing his hole as the man fucked his face. His ass twitched and he
felt a little burning, his finger having had penetrated his hole savagely
as soon as he felt the man unload his balls down his throat. He vaguely
remembered finger-fucking himself as he swallowed cum, the man's cock
pulsating and spewing in his mouth.

Now he had a full erection. He looked around him. This area in the park was
fairly deserted. He stood up and went back into the toilet, in one of the
stalls, and he showered the walls with another load of cum.

Feeling dirty and humiliated, Patrick hurried back to his apartment, his
cock semi-erect even after shooting two full loads. He got into the shower
and again masturbated under the hot water, the image imprinted in his
mind. He played back the scene, how the man offered his cock, thrusting his
pelvis forward, how he knelt in front of him, how he encircled the cock
with his lips, how the man forced his cock deep, thrusting, how he fingered
his own ass, how he swallowed the bitter-salty garlic-y jizz.

"Fucking faggot" rang loudly in his ears.

Patrick spent the whole day doing nothing. He tried to occupy himself with
ten thousand things, but the morning episode in the toilet never let up,
replaying over and over, making him remain in a horny state. A couple of
times he actually sauntered to the public toilet, not knowing what to hope
for, but attracted toward the place as if by a huge magnetic force. He sat
on the bench. A few men entered the toilet, but he remained sitting on the
bench, his heart pounding, his dick throbbing. He had blown guys before; he
was no virgin, but he never felt such a "fucking faggot."

Absent-mindedly, he picked a bottle of Chablis on his way to Matt's. Matt's
apartment was a few minutes away from his, but he had never visited his
workmate before. He was mildly surprised at the invitation, but he looked
forward to seeing what type of pad Matt had.

Patrick was greeted by a warm, nicely lit living room. There were some 5 or
6 people already holding drinks and chatting. Patrick was impressed. There
was nothing "faggish" about the place. He started to think twice about his
impression of Matthew.

"Hey, Pat, I'm glad you could make it. Come, let me introduce you around."
Matt took the wine bottle and led Patrick to the middle of the room,
approaching a group of three men. Pat noticed that he didn't know any of
the people there, but everyone seemed to be of the same age, all dressed
casually.

"This is Patrick," Matt was saying, still holding Pat's hand. "Pat is a
work mate of mine."

Pat shook hands with the men. "I'll get you a glass of wine, Pat," Matt
said, letting go of his hand and walking towards the kitchen.

Patrick tried to act as casually as possible. The men were typically
talking about sports, specifically soccer. Pat's mind reflected on his love
for watching soccer on television. He didn't care for the game itself; his
attention was always focused on the players, their chiseled bodies, muscled
legs, pronounced bulges. He loved to watch them sweat, raise their jerseys
to wipe off the sweat, revealing beautiful male chests.

Matt came back with the wine. "Thanks, Matt." Pat took his first sip,
enjoying the initial tang on his tongue. Suddenly his morning escapade
jumped into his mind. The wine turned to man cum on his tongue. He almost
gagged. Excusing himself, he asked Matt for the toilet and hurried
there. He didn't throw up. Instead, he started pulling on his dick, the
feeling and taste of cock in his mouth so real.

"Are you ok, Pat?" came Matt's voice through the bathroom door.

"Yea," Pat panted throatily, stroking his cock. "I'm fine, Matt."

"You don't sound good," Matt said, opening the door, freezing as he saw Pat
leaning back against the sink, his pants around his ankles, masturbating.

"Oh," Matt exclaimed, taking a step back. "Sorry, mate, I was just trying
to help."

"You can definitely help," Pat heard himself say in a throaty voice. He
emulated the gesture the man made to him in the park toilet in the
morning. Matt was on his knees in a second, Pat's cock buried deep in his
throat.

Pat heaved, thrust a couple of times, and unloaded down Matt's throat.

"That was fast," Matt stood up, wiping his mouth. "Took me by surprise."

Pat didn't know what to say. He had always prided himself in his stamina,
in his ability to last until his partner was satisfied. What had just
happened? His explosion inside Matt's mouth after a couple of thrusts took
him by surprise as well.

"Sorry, Matt. I have been under pressure all day."

"Looks more like under horniness all day," Matt smirked.

Pat pulled Matt to him and kissed him on the lips, tasting his own cum. He
pushed back the sensation of the man of the morning's load. Matt responded
eagerly, his hand back on Pat's cock which didn't go totally soft and which
now was erecting beautifully. Matt moaned, but he soon pulled back.

"Rain check," he said apologetically, squeezing Pat's hard cock, reluctant
to let it go. "I am the host and I need to get back to hosting although I'd
much rather host your hot tool."

Pat pushed down on his dick as he pulled up his briefs and pants. He
quickly apologized and left.

Without even thinking about it, he headed for the park. The gate would
close at midnight. Pat was hungry for sex, for quick sex, for hot cock
spewing down his throat, dirty, urine-filled, garlic-y. He wasn't much
interested in kissing and hugging. He wanted cock.

Sure enough, there was already a man in the toilet as Pat walked in. He
headed for the urinal next to the man without even looking at the man's
face. He pulled down his pants and briefs, taking out his erected dick and
turned towards the pissing man. The man wasn't surprised. Instead, he
turned and aimed his own pissing cock at Pat's crotch. Pat's initial
instinct was to move back, to avoid the yellow stream, but somehow, in a
very sick way, the warm liquid which flooded his pubes, cock and balls
turned him on more.

He knelt in front of the man. Piss hit his face. He closed his eyes and
moved closer, licking the underside of the cock, letting the stream of
urine shower his head, his hair, his face, dripping onto his body, soaking
his clothes. The man finished, squeezing the last drops. Pat took the
dripping cock in his mouth and started sucking, giddy by the reekish smell
and taste of urine and by the hardening of the man's tool.

The man pumped and cummed. Pat swallowed, just like a "fucking faggot." His
own load hit the dirty tiles as he swallowed. The man tucked himself away
and walked out, snickering.

Pat stepped into the shower, scrubbed soap all over himself, watching as
the stench of urine mixed with soap lather seeped down the drain. He slowly
started to feel clean. His body shuddered as he realized that the scene of
sucking cock in the public toilet on his knees was replaced by the kiss he
planted on Matt's lips. Patrick felt as if he had been exorcised, as if the
urine shower had cleansed him from the eroticism he had felt throughout the
day. He realized that his toilet experience was just that, a passing
experience. He was not a fucking faggot. He was a man who enjoyed sex with
other men.

Towel around his waist, he picked up his cell and called Matt. It was still
11:30 and he was hoping that the party had ended, that he could spend the
night making love to Matt, clean, straightforward love.

"Hello," Matt sounded winded.

"Hi, Matt. It's Patrick." Pat could hear the music and other sounds in the
background. Shit, he thought, the party was still going full blast.

"Hi, Pat," Matt panted. "How are you feeling now, mate?"

"Just got out of the shower. Feeling as good as new," Pat admitted.

"Then get your ass over here. Now," Matt ordered and hung up.

Without hesitation, Patrick put on clean clothes: a polo shirt, open at the
neck, showing the beginning of his chest hair patch, a pair of tight
boxers, stretched over his dick and balls, outlining them beautifully, and
a pair of faded jeans, maximizing his crotch.

A few minutes later, Patrick walked into Matt's place, greeted by a scene
he hadn't expected. There were two women on the center sofa, kissing, one a
doll type, the other a DeGeneres type, with short hair and all. Next to the
kissing female couple, a guy leaned on the arm of the sofa as another guy
pressed his body on him and was kissing and licking his neck. Matt had
taken off his shirt, exposing his smooth chest, and was serving booze and
nuts, being the perfect host.

Matt pulled Patrick in, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed him on
the lips. "I'm so glad you came back, Pat," he whispered. "I have had my
eyes on you for such a long time, but have held back believing you were
straight."

Pat smiled and returned the kiss, running his hand down Matt's bare back,
grinding on him. He was no more a fucking faggot. He was gay and he was
enjoying a deep kiss with another man. That was neither dirty not
faggoty. He watched the male couple take off their clothes and lie on top
of each other on the rug, kissing and grinding. The top guy's ass looked so
enticing that Pat found himself moving towards them, magnetized. He placed
his hand on the guy's hairy butt, feeling the muscles ripple under his
touch. The guy turned his head and pulled him down, the three kissing.

"You guys," Matt said from somewhere above them. "Started without me?" he
joked, stripping naked.

Matt pulled Patrick up and stripped him slowly. The two women watched,
smiling. Matt inhaled as he fisted Patrick's big cock. "Oh, my," Matt
breathed. "A man's tool."

The top man on the rug sat up and licked Pat's thigh, moving up to his
balls. Matt fed him the hard cock and he slobbered hungrily on it. As Pat
watched getting a blowjob, he expected the toilet scene to jump into his
mind. But happily, what he saw was a hot guy sucking on his hard dick. He
pumped the upturned, eager face, green eyes staring back at him, lust
shining in them.

What followed was a full-fledged gay group sex. Pat fucked, got fucked,
sucked, got sucked, kissed and licked smooth and hairy masculine skin,
smelled different scents of after-shave, lotion, soap, and
testosterone. The taste of cum in his mouth was so much cleaner, so much
healthier, than the loads he had received in the public toilet. Perhaps it
was his imagination: man semen was man semen. But Patrick tasted the
difference, even though he knew that most of it was in his mind, not in his
mouth.

When he left Matt's place on Sunday morning, after Matt had cooked a
bacon-and-eggs breakfast, and after Patrick thanked Matt by fucking his
hot, tight ass one more time, Patrick felt liberated. All this shit about
fucking faggots was just shit, hypocritical shit. The man who had called
him a fucking faggot did not mind having his cock sucked. The man was as
gay as Patrick was, except Patrick was honest about it. It was really the
man himself who was a fucking faggot.

Patrick smiled and heaved a deep breath of clean Sunday morning air into
his lungs. His dick was a bit sore, semi-erect but sore. Everyone in the
party wanted a piece of it, and they had gotten a lot as he retained his
erection over and over and lasted for long periods before he shot his
much-awaited loads.

Even the doll woman had a go at sucking him as her DeGeneres partner held
his cock shaft for her.

Fucking faggots were all around him, Patrick thought as he walked back to
his place. All those men who branded people, humiliated people, looked down
on people, when they themselves were much sicker in their bigotry and
hypocrisy. Those were the fucking faggots in their Sunday clothes going to
or coming from churches, cheating themselves, cheating their God. That is
faggotry.

Patrick smiled, rubbed his crotch, and walked home.