X-Gateway: ZCONNECT GF gismo.gun.de [DUUCP BETA vom 19.09.1996]
From: timm@gismo.gun.de
Subject: MP4-18.TXT
Date: 03 Nov 1996 10:50:00 +0200

"Warning, the following story contains scenes of graphic sexual activity
between adult members of the same sex.  Readers under aged 18 be warned...
AUTUMN IN NEW YORK - SEASONAL MUSINGS

 It was a long hot summer, this year, in New York.  To some the Big Apple
became a baked apple.  I was away and missed the worst of the heat - not
that I mind  the it all that much.  What the heat does do, however is to
make the arrival of fall, all the more welcome.
 Autumn, for me, is the smell of burning leaves, fresh donuts, crispy
apples. cider and rosy cheeks.   Autumn in New York, is also the season of
the Big Apple Marathon and all the activities running up to it.   The 26+
mile run enhances the city's image as a place for watching and looking.
Rosy, plump cheeks bouncing down the street ... and not on little
children.    All those joggers are out in force warming up and prepping
for the big race in November.
 I feel like a kid in a candy store... all the sweets to be seen.   This
morning, driving cross town past Central Park the dedicated were running.
I was having a difficult, not to say hard, time watching the display.
There was one guy... legs sheathed in brilliant turquoise Lycra, loping
down the sidewalk, bubble butt cheeks like firm ripe apples... As I drove
by, I looked into the rear view mirror to get a front view of the tight
rear...  What a view... I don't think that this young man knew what
underwear or a jockstrap was, from the look of his long, thick softy and
sac lying down one leg pressed by the stretch fabric into his thigh.   I
was well beyond him, waiting at the light for him to get closer so I could
better appreciate his "fall foliage".  Alas he ran in place for a few
steps then turned back the way he came.
 There were lots of well trained, in shape, shapes to watch.  Some were
well covered against the morning chill, while others were still training
in their wave-runner, split sided filmy shorts.  The sheer fabric would
slap between the passing breeze and the taught leg muscles as they
pistoned the athletes ahead.   One in particular, again, didn't appear to
have anything between the sweet cheeks and the the chill, save the
lightweight nylon cloth.
 To look at the scene, one would imagine that some great power had spread
some irresistible food on the ground and the runners flocked to get and
chase it like gulls on a dump!  The circled and centered in all directions
and in all shapes and sizes.  There were tidy types and those who looked
more "alternative".  There were Clean shaven and bear types, those with
every sinew and muscle defined and cut, buffed to a brilliance, and there
were serious types who worked out enough to get the job done, but not be
obvious.  The common factor was the look of raging endorphins, a look of
pure physicality... legs and chests and back... asses that shift, rising
and falling to the running pace, bulges and baskets leading the way in
front. .  The Cocks both big and small, free hanging (unencumbered by jock
or shorts, flipping and flapping from side to side, up and down.
  There are times that I wish that I was a runner, or at least a jogger.  
I can imagine working out and finding this bird on the path in front of
me, of falling into stride beside him and casting looks, of striking up a
conversation... about anything solely to keep my place.  We would finish
our run together.  Rather he would finish his run and I would stop at the
same time and discover that we work out at the same club on Central Park
South.  We wend our way back to the NYAC.  In the course of our walk we
learn that each of us like to swim and decided that since it is a weekend
some laps are in order.
 My imagination works as hard as the runners, to envision the bodies
unencumbered by clothing.  This shimmering bluebird was a special
challenge.  He gave every appearance of being super hung... I can just
imagine his great schlong and ball sack swinging and slapping as his feet
hit the pavement.   In the club, we go to the locker room and strip for
the pool.  This is, after all a men's club, so most of the time the pool
is suit less.  After a few block following behind ( sometimes in front)
watching the flexing of his ass cheeks,  watching him undress is an
experience.slips easily out of his Lycra top and skins off the tights,
leaving only socks.. one  foot reaches forward while the other stretches
back and he bends over - spreading wide - the plum sized balls swing low. 
They mask, almost completely, the sausage sized penis just ahead.  He has
shaved his sack and the depression of the void where the scrotum joins the
perineum is clearly defined.  That little wrinkled ridge of flesh that
runs for the balls backward was exposed, teasingly, almost to the pucker
of his asshole.  In this spectacle of swinging flesh the socks are gone. 
I, too am now naked and barely able to restrain a thickening cock of my
own.
 We swim 20 -30 laps and my vantage point of the lane next to Carter ( I
have by this point learned his name) lets me admire his well maintained
body, under the water to watch the slipstream of current and bubble caress
his form and flow his endowments aft.  Every other lap is signal to change
stroke and he alternates from crawl to backstroke so that when his hands
hit the edge of the pool and he turns belly up to muscle to the other
extreme, his balls and penis twist and flip eagerly following the rest of
his body.
  We really haven't talked much more than to cover name and basic
pleasantries, but in the sauna following the swim, I learn the Carter is
single, not dating, has a good job that leaves hi to schedule his time as
he likes, and that he live not far from my apartment.  As we toweled off
and put on our street clothes, I had the feeling that he was eying me and
my shape(s) as I was his.   I was trying to be discreet... he, too. We
seem at ease talking, and not too different from each other.  Lunch in the
clubroom follows easily, as does walking home in the same direction.
 I have long since decided that timidity would never get me anywhere. 
After spending a couple of hours with him, I had the feeling that Carter
was pretty open, and probably bi, if not gay and that he and I could hit
it off in ways other that intellectual..   I wanted a taste of those
swinging eggs, and I wasn't going to get it unless I asked, made a move.
 So - I asked Carter... since there are no women in evidence, photos,
ring, where his preferences lay.  His response was to brush the back of
his hand on my cheek and trace a line with his finger down my chest, then
a a pat on the sofa to sit down, an invitation... to talk... to touch. 
There was now no place to be with shyness so I reminded him of the picture
he presented me as he dressed and undressed in the club, as i saw him
jogging.  I told him that I would like to have my mouth press and caress
his basket as had the Lycra.  Each pulse of his leg to the ground causing
the stretchy fabric to compress and  squeeze the slightly swollen flesh of
his rod.  I described how I saw  his scrotum from behind as he bent to dry
his feet, each as it was raised to the bench, the way the fleshy eggs drew
down the sack, and the indentation, just above, below the perineum, how I
wanted to fill the dent with my tongue.  
 As we sat talking and looking into each other's eyes, there was
movement.... in my jeans and his.   He reached over and unbuttoned my
shirt, then his.   He stood and said that my imaginings were within the
realm of the possible.  With that he stood and reenacted the peeling away
that I had witnessed in the locker room, and before that in my minds eye
in the park.  This time, when he maneuvered to pull off his socks, he
motioned me to come behind him and satisfy my urges.
 Carter mounted the coffee table, spread his feet wide and bent over at
the waist to grip his ankles... there they hung, those beautiful nuts,
gently swinging in their bag, just hiding the glory rod that hung from the
bush in front.   they were hairless, clean shaven, lushly relaxed,
inviting tasting.  I applied my tongue where they floated free and licked
upward... the smooth skin drifting from my taste buds... my flickering tip
teasing the luscious depressions, my nose brushing up into the
soap-clean-smelling cleavage of his cheeks.  I lowered down and took both
orbs into my mouth and played in the fleshy fields, gently tugging,
rolling and massaging them.  I drew them deep into my mouth - my nose
burrowing in his crack and sex-bud.  I balanced, both he and I, with my
hands and arms around his hips stroking and learning his musculature,
sometimes discovering the head of his glans beneath his uncut foreskin. 
His purrs and moans spurred me on.
 I suggested with motions and eyes that he might be more comfortable and I
might have greater range if he were to lie on his back, across the table
and sofa.  That break gave me the opportunity to, briefly, study his face,
his deep blue eyes; his lips, very full and rich and so kissable.  Beyond
him, the autumn leaves were falling and fluttering.... began my hands
again and his in my hair... on my face.
 I stroked down his well trained chest, tracing across his belly, twisting
and teasing his thatch... lifting his meat... one hand kneading the sack,
the other toying with his fleshy stretchy hood.  I dipped my lips
replacing my hand.  Teeth were perfect to lift and stretch the soft
skin... to pull it back, exposing the hardening , firming head and dewy
glan slit.  I plunged my face over it - down into the curls.  Seven inches
glanced off the back of my throat.  Carter cried out!   I  tightened the
seal, sucked in and pulled off of him.
 My hands gently spread his knees apart and I focused on the original
inspiration... nibbling down his turgid shaft and lapped up, first one
ball, then the other, then both.   My mouth worked rhythmic miracles on
those orbs, pulling them to the back, lips closing on the root of the
sack.  I managed to hold them there and darted my tongue down the wrinkled
rib of perineal flesh and teased his rosebud.  
 I could have gone on for hours tasting the flesh, sensing the textures.  
I let the balls fall from my mouth and put the full attention of my lips
to his ass, the creamy cheeks, the wrinkles aureole of shaved ass-cunt,
rose-bud.  I gave it a full bathing.  I coaxed it to relax from tightly
formed bud to flatten open, like a flower, to the second ring of muscle. 
I darted in like an insatiable snake.  Movements sometimes sharp,
sometimes gentle.  He writhed.
 He pulled me up and away to kiss me deeply, to taste from my mouth his
own scents and juices.   I felt as though his mouth wanted intercourse
with mine... he got it.  I opened myself to him... I fucked him back.  His
hands played eagerly over the field of my body, my chest, so faintly
haired and not overly muscled.   Carter explored my bush, my thighs, legs,
where ever he could reach.  He moved my body as though I were weightless
to  nibble and taste me as I had him.  It felt glorious - every nerve
ending was alive and bursting with sensation.   He eased his mouth over my
phallus and swallowed it in one deft motion.
 My balls always pull up, tighten, hide against me, when I am naked and
excited.  He placed his lips and mouth and tongue where they usually swing
free and worked the out... He sucked them from their hiding, he lick the
tender flesh - there and in the hollow where my thighs meet my groin.  I
was wriggling with delight.  He sucked me in and drew me out - my balls,
my cock.  He opened the bud of my ass and wet it, wet a finger and probed
my inner skin.  We were alternately moving in and out of each other.
 We reversed places and dominance, if you will, though there was no
domination... just shifts of initiation.  I wet his ass, once more and
opened the bud to a flower.   Lifting his legs up and out, I placed my cut
meat, still wet from his mouth, against his flower and eased into him.  He
tightened, cried out for me to pause.  A wave of relaxation and I pushed
further at his signal, coming to rest, fully inside him.  My balls, hung
free after his ministrations and the slapped his cheeks.   I began the
coming and going, easing in and out.  He picked up my beat, increased the
tempo and we thrust wildly and excitedly to each other.  I tried to be a
part of him by being inside him and he trying to be come part of me by
taking my in...
 Leaning away from each other we watched the consummation of our bodies. 
Each place a hand on the other's chest or belly.  Each wrapped a fist
around his cock.  Spittle from each of us lubed it and we worked in
unison.  He stroked himself at the root and I polished the plum head.  Our
tensions and energies were electric... all senses super alive... we came
into each other... I into his gut and he into my hand.   We shriveled and
collapsed into a rest and repose.  Peaceful in each other's hold.