Date: Wed, 15 Sep 2004 17:45:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: gloryhole junkie <ghj_4u@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE'S Tales From The Mall -2

By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE, Denizen of the Public Toilets
ghj_4u@yahoo.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GHJ_MALL_OF_MALES


Disclaimer & Warning:

These "Mr. gloryholeJunkie's Tales from the Mall" are copyrighted to the
author and should not be re-posted, printed or published anywhere else
without the author's prior, written consent. These tales are intended
strictly for an adult male audience where the reading of such material is
allowed. So if you're reading this after soccer practice but before doing
your 8th-grade Science Fair project (called, "Ingredients In Semen: A
Microscopic Look at My New Sperm"), you better turn off the 'puter, young
man, and start prepping those slides!

No one is "advised" to haunt mall t-rooms for sex. It's simply not
something anyone would tell a fella to run out and "do". It's always
something a guy decides upon and figures out on his own. So all that can be
"advised" is to think twice about what sex in a mall men's room actually
means.

For the young dudes, it may mean that men three times your age will be
groping, milking and sucking your dick. Do you really WANT that?

For older men and dads, it may mean having a spontaneous tryst with a kid
who attends your kid's same school. You want to be pumping sperm into a guy
who just might show up one of these days at one of your son's sleepovers?

And for all guys, there are these things called "security cams" now-a-days
in most every store and mall. Cameras that actually, literally, are
watching you from the very moment you pull into the mall parking lot. It's
not pre-cam "glory" days of mall sex any more. Sure, sex still happens but
you got to watch your back (and not cuz some man is pressing his bulge into
it).

Do you really want to take the risk? Ask yourself that. If you're really
horny or get boned up with the mere prospect of "high risk" sex, there is
nothing anyone can say to stop you (in fact, you're probably no longer even
reading this...you're in your car already!).

And, if you actually decide to head to your local mall, its not advised to
break any laws while there (so why go, right?)!

Yep, you're not advised to blow strangers all afternoon in a mall
toilet. And if you're an adult man, you are highly discouraged from
'tapping back' when that shoe under the stall is a Ked's sneaker with
"Harry Potter" shoelaces!

Can you still go to the mall and not do those things? Then hit the shopping
trail!

But if you know you won't be able to resist the "call of the public
toilets" while licking an ice cream cone in the mall food court, you'll
want to maybe just jerk off to these completely true mall tales instead.



Preface:


A huge thanks to those who have written to the author after reading the
first installment of these "Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE'S Tales From The
Mall". Although of no real "surprise", its amazing the numbers of guys who
have had sex and ejaculated while at the mall. But it only makes sense
since the mall is part of the very fabric of contemporary culture. If you
can buy underwear, eat Mexican (!!), get a photo made, meet (new) friends,
and ride a rollercoaster in some malls, it only follows that dudes will
also be blowing a wad of their seed under that same roof.

This second mini-collection relates three more mall sexcapades from the
author's own life. And because you fellas apparently so loved what I was
doing in the first collection, these are three more culled from the ages of
eight to thirteen.

And as you're about to read, not all mall sex happens in the men's
rooms. Guys can be sexual almost anywhere! Heck, look at the hot sex many a
married man has right under his own wife's nose (well, not literally right
under it...cuz we know most ain't sucking...but you get the drift). And
look at the sneaky sex that teens are having. Heck, teen guys are masters
at hosting blowjob parties in the basement rec-room without the parents
(well, mom, at least) ever knowing.

So guys bring these quickie, sneaky sex skills into the "marketplace" when
at the mall. Anywhere they can get in a look, a grope or a suck, "guy-sex"
can (and will) happen.

Mall sex is one of those things that if you're not looking for it, you'll
probably "miss" it. And that's the idea. If you're there just to buy some
bath bars or a new watch, you're not suppose to detect the three
middle-aged "chickenhawks" all cruising your son.

Or if you're there only thinking to look at Fubu jeans, you might lose
track of the fact that your dad's been in the men's room for over thirty
minutes.

If you're a soccer mom at the mall, there to buy your nine-year-old
daughter new shoes, you're suppose to "forget the time" before heading back
to the food court where you're suppose to rendezvous with your
fourteen-year-old son and his best buddy. And, yeah, you're not suppose to
understand the reason why they're both sitting there with shit-eating grins
on their faces as they watch some man with an even bigger shit-eating grin
on his face (as he wipes "something" off his mouth) exit the men's room
next to the drinking fountains (hmmm, so many "drinking fountains" at the
mall...most of them in pants).

That's simply "mall life". Not to sound too Kerry-Edwards in this election
year (VOTE KERRY!), but there are, oftentimes, what could only be described
as "two different malls" when guys and gals go shopping. We guys have what
we know to be our mall - and the girls have theirs.

Whereas the females think the mall is simply shopping and eating, men think
its shopping and eating too (but on a "hole" different level).

Women's relationship to the mall is like the one in the brochure or on the
mall directory: Cosmetics, pretty sweaters, over-priced costume jewelry and
a muffin at the Nordstrom's cafe.

But men's relationship to the mall runs in a completely different
direction. Sure, some men like fine woolens, the handsome tie, the
fifteen-hunfred-dollar massage chair, the do-hickey gadget that's always
being hawked in the men's department (a coin bank that's also a cork screw?
Wow, buy two!). But unlike women, the mall is also a sexual place for many
men. Few women even could fathom the thought of having sex at the mall, let
alone...lesbian sex in the Ladies rooms. Yet men by the millions have
indulged their penis' shopping needs by having quick homo sex in the men's
rooms. So, whereas women think they got the "mall thang" all wrapped up,
it's more truthful to say that malls have a particularly special place in
the hearts (and loins) of most guys.

After all, think of it this way: A college girl can go home again, pass the
local mall and reminisce about it being the place where her mom bought her
prom dress.

But a guy, in going home again, will pass that same mall and reminisce
about it being the place where he first got a bj or sucked cock.

Yeah, two radically different "rites of passage" at that same mall.

And, so, yeah, the mall means a whole lot more to most guys (if truth ever
dare speaketh its name).




Mr. gloryholeJunkie's Tales From the Mall - 2

By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE, Denizen of the Public Toilets ghj_4u@yahoo.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GHJ_MALL_OF_MALES



Author's NOTE: All three of the following "Mr. gloryholeJunkie's Tales From
The Mall" are completely true, as things actually happened, in no
particular order and but a very small slice of events from my youth spent
in t-rooms. If you were there, you'll recognize places. And if you were
there having sex and/or recall certain specific encounters (of a sexual
nature, but of course), please feel free to share with me in graphic, yummy
detail (I love to hear from men with whom I just might have had sex)!


+ + + +




Old Orchard Shopping Center, Illinois (age 9, "The Photo Shoot")


And, again, a Marshall Field & Co. t-room! Although there were times other
department store chains had equally wild homo sex in its men's rooms,
Fields has to win some award for t-room sex consistency, quality of trade
and what could only be described as a "we look the other way" store policy.

>From its amazingly, continually "occupato" men's rooms on each floor of
its grand and cavernous flagship store on State Street to every restroom in
every one of its suburban locations, Field, hands down (your pants) was a
full-service department store (in the fullest sense of the term). In fact,
one just knows that, like the Catholic Church, t-room sex was not only
"ignored" but also rather "encouraged" by Marshall Fields highest level
executives. That simply had to be the case because the sex that went on for
decades was simply too much, too often and too hot to be anything but
something that the department store chain "embraced" for its male
customers.

The sheer reputation of its men's rooms alone would have had a less
"homo-friendly" corporate office reeling in fear. But, nope, not
Fields. They seemed to have an unspoken policy that as long as no dead
bodies showed up with their head in a toilet, men and boys could do
anything they like in their very sexually active men's rooms. Or perhaps,
like the Catholic Church, it wasn't even an "unspoken" policy. I would not
put it past the corporate bigwigs and each store manager that they had
regular secret meetings to discuss the, er, "t-room department" on each
floor of every location.

To give you a brief example: Before the slick "Down Under" level replaced
its once famous (for incredible sales) "Basement Level" of Marshall Field's
"Harrods-like" flagship store on State Street, the basement had one of the
world's greatest department store t-rooms. It was large and situated in the
middle of something of a dead zone on the basement level. One would be in
that section and think, "Nothing could be going on...it's like dead down
here".

But one would enter the men's room and it was almost continually packed
with men throughout the business day --especially during office hours,
Monday through Friday. Being in the Loop, it was 'the' choice men's room
for every married businessman within a two-mile radius. There was always a
man masturbating, dicks wagging and cocksucking at the row of urinals while
even more men watched while groping themselves at the mirrors.

But what made it super wild was the way the stalls were designed. Perhaps
sixteen to twenty stalls...facing one another. Yeah, it looked not too
unlike an aisle of arcade booths in many adult bookstores. Eight to ten
stalls faced one another making cruising so easy and so much fun. One could
peep in easily on twenty men - all of them with trousers down and jerking
off ready to play.

Or one could be in a stall and stand to watch the guys across the aisle in
the other stalls (some would even open their stall doors a bit to show off
as they masturbated). You then also had the fellas on either side of you
that you could play with under the stall partitions.

I don't think one man ever came in there to do any call of nature other
than "the call to ejaculate".

And it operated like that all day long...and for decades.

So you kind of get a sense of Marshall Fields "extremely high tolerance
policy" regarding restrooms and its male customers. After all, they knew
these same men are the ones who bought the two hundred-dollar ties and let
their wives buy the entire suite of Louis Vuitton luggage. One thing about
Fields, they weren't stupid.

And they had a location in the north suburb of Skokie. It was at Old
Orchard Shopping Center, a mall of similar age and styling of Oakbrook Mall
in the western suburbs. It was an "outdoor" mall with wide overhangs for
inclement weather.

I was nine-years-old when my grandparents, who lived in Winnetka, had me
stay with them for a week in early summer. There was another very small,
"boutique-style" Marshall Fields in the heart of Winnetka's downtown. A
location good for "basic luxuries" but that was about it. In fact, that
store was probably only placed there because Winnetka was a small suburb
loaded with super millionaires and more-than-likely most members of the
Fields family itself.

I was staying with my grandparents a week or so before a large family
wedding. And so while I was with them, it was decided that they would take
me to buy a new suit. So they took me to the larger, full-service Fields at
the relatively nearby Old Orchard mall.

We had lunch, probably chicken salad and parfaits. I remember that after
lunch, my grandmother bought a serving platter from Portugal. Then they
took me to the Boy's department, where for two hours we tried suits on
me. We all agreed on one and the tailor, a nice man who was all smiles,
took me to the back in order to make sure it fit properly. Once altered,
we'd be able to pick up the suit in three days.

No, the tailor neither groped nor fondled me...damnit.

Afterwards, as we walked out of the store and into the mall, my
grandparents, both very socially connected people, ran into two couples
they knew. They all talked and talked as we stood there. It was a lovely
afternoon so no wind or rain was going to cut their conversation
short. They talked about some upcoming charity event or another and
someone's brick patio being put in...

I stood there yawning, trying to be polite but I was bored out of my
skull. I looked at the men passing, one had a nice bulge in his beige golf
slacks and I wanted to suck him.

I shifted from foot to foot as the adults gabbed on. I tugged on my
grandfather's sleeve and whispered, "I have to go to the bathroom."

He looked down, interrupted from something he was saying (and one did not
interrupt my grandfather). He knitted his brow and said, always the
successful business tycoon, "Then go."

As though it could only be that simple - when you're nine!

I said, "It's okay?" And he said, "Yes, of course. Just go if you have to
go." He wasn't being mean, he was just being the businessman making an
"executive decision".

I was about to wander off when my grandmother, talking to the two other
ladies asked my grandfather, "Where is he going?" And then asked me, "Where
are you going, Kevin?"

"He's going to the restroom", my grandfather said, more annoyed that his
conversation with the two other men was again being diverted to something
so mundane.

"Will he be okay?", one of the ladies asked my grandmother.

My grandmother then asked me, "Will you be okay, sweetheart?"

I smiled and nodded and said I'd be fine ('That is, if I can get to a
t-room and suck some man's penis I'll be fine', I thought to myself).

"We'll be right over there", my grandmother said as she pointed to where a
chocolatier's shoppe had set out a few tables for customers.

"Why don't we all get some coffee?", my grandmother said to my grandfather
and the two couples. They all agreed and I went one way as they headed to
two of the small bistro tables. "We'll be right over here", my grandmother
said again as she turned.

"Okay", I said, turning to look at them again.

My heart raced, I was so excited. I was going to find a men's room!

I didn't know the mall at all and so I figured I should just go back into
the Fields store. It was right there, after all.

I went back in and the air conditioning felt good once again. Some woman in
the Women's Accessories area smiled at me as she moved scarves around.

I walked past her and started my search for a men's room.

As I walked through, I got all turned around in a maze of suitcases. I was
lost in Luggage as though it were the evergreen labyrinths of Hampton
Court. A young salesman, sort of blondish, sort of nice looking, sort of in
his early twenties, asked, "Can I help you?" as he was returning from
somewhere back to his register.

"Um", I said, hating to have to ask salespeople where the restrooms were,
"Where's a bathroom?"

He looked at his register as he rang up something and said, "Hang on a
sec..." Apparently he was punching in his salesman I.D. or something. He
then looked up and smiled. "Men's Room? There's one down here but up one
level, through furniture is a quieter one."

I said thanks not even thinking at the time why he'd even care about how
quiet "my" restroom could be.

I walked away and found the escalator. Although I was only just out of the
third grade, I was already a very proficient little t-roomer. I loved
t-room sex - the thrill of meeting new adult strangers, sucking people's
big hairy cocks, tasting the milk each squirted into my mouth. Some boys
love soccer at that age, I loved men's room sex!

On the upper level, I found Furniture. I walked by lamps and couches and
expensive bedroom sets. I hardly saw anyone in the entire area except for,
yards away, two older salesmen, both in their early-fifties, sitting at
facing desks.

I saw the sign for the Men's Room and went over to it. I took a sip of
water from the drinking fountain next to the door and then went in.

Nobody, nobody at all, was in the men's room. I was crestfallen! Here I had
some time alone to play with men and not a man was to be had (or sucked)!
No bigger nightmare to a t-roomer no matter how young!

I peed at a urinal because it was floor mounted and so I didn't have to
reach. I then went to the stall closest to the far wall, went in and locked
it. There was no gloryhole! Drat.

Want to know what a "bad day" is to a nine-year-old men's room cumpig?
That's pretty much it.

But I saw some writing on the wall and decided to at least stick around to
read that. I pulled down my sweat shorts, my new "The Electric Company"
underpants and "had a seat".

Well, at least the salesman was right. It was indeed a very "quiet" men's
room. Why "quiet" would be an attraction to anyone but an old geezer
needing to take an hour-long constipated shit, would be anyone's guess.

I read the scrawled messages. One read, "Deep throat for cock over 9
inches". Another "note" read, "8" needs to cum B here 6-23". And a third
one said, "My son's huge. You should see!"

So although no one was around, I knew that many a cock-loving pervert had
indeed "passed this way". I sat there a minute more listening to Musak when
the outer door opened. Whoever it was, was very quiet (it was the "quiet"
men's room after all).

He walked directly to the stall to my left, where for just a flash, I could
see the very top of his head. He was a tall man. He closed the door and
seemingly took a moment to take off a suit or sport jacket, hanging it on
the back of his door. I listened as he wiped off his toilet seat and then
began to unbuckle his trousers.

It was very quiet except for "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" (the Musak version)
playing overhead. ( Funny how I've sucked men in t-rooms for thirty-years
now to that same tune). I sat there, my feet just scuffing the tiled floor.

Nothing at first happened. We sat there and sat there some more. It was
obvious the man wasn't "doing" any "business" since it was so...quiet.

Then, suddenly, he reached a hand under his stall and made this groping
gesture with his hand - like a fist that kept opening and closing. I looked
at the man's very large hand as he kept doing it. He then withdrew his hand
and we sat there some more.

I adjusted my little butt a bit on the seat in order to try to lean down
and get a better look at the man's feet and ankles. He looked like a
hundred other men I had had sex with in t-rooms - all dark trousers, dress
belt and white boxer shorts gathered at man-sized shoes. I looked and could
see his pale but hairy calves.

He must have then seen my shadow as I shifted about because his hand came
underneath the partition again and made the groping gesture again. This
time I scooted off my seat and squatted near the divider. His hand quickly
went to my genitals, small but very erect. I feared he might stop when he
realized he was fondling what (hopefully) was a little boy. But he didn't.

Instead, his large fingers gently began to stroke the length of my
nine-year-old erection. And then they moved down to feel my smooth nuts. As
I squatted, I looked down and watched this man's hand as it explored my
genitals and more. His hand caressed me down to underneath my scrotum until
he was patting my little butt. He had me by the groin and was patting my
naked bottom that way. His fingers then gently slid along my buttcrack and
then back to my inner thighs. He then withdrew his hand.

But before I could sit again, the man dropped down to his knees pushing his
cock beneath the metal partition. It was set high so I could see the man
from his kneecaps up his very long, hairy thighs where his uncut erection
was bouncing slightly as it pointed at me.

I wasted no time and wrapped my small hand around his erection. It was hard
and hot but not so thick as to make it hard on a child to play with. I
continued to squat and so he resumed playing with me at the same time. It
was so much fun and I didn't even know what the man looked like or
anything!

I leaned down and sucked the salty-sweet head of his penis, maybe down four
inches. He then shifted and his face, at a ninety-degree angle came under
the partition. With his large hand, he cupped beneath my scrotum and pulled
me closer so he could suck my cock.

He sucked me and licked my small, smooth scrotum for maybe two minutes
before we heard the outer door open again. We each jumped
up...quietly...and sat again.

The person who came in peed at a urinal and then flushed. Then he washed
his hands at the sinks. We could hear him wiping his hands on the
wall-mounted crank "towel". But he didn't leave.

Instead whomever this person was padded softly and quietly over to the
stalls. He looked into the man's first and then into mine. I tried hard to
see who it was through the hinge line but could only see he wore a light
gray suit.

I didn't need to wonder if the new man was "okay" because the man in the
stall answered that question when he again dropped to his knees, sticking
his big uncut penis under again.

His left hand stroked his shaft as he knelt there and I could see his
wedding ring. I squatted again and we resumed our "play" as this man in a
gray suit shifted back and forth as he peeped into each of our stalls. The
man in the stall then got up and sat down again. He took a minute or more
and then handed a slip of paper to me under the stall. I took it and read
it. "Open your door. He's ok".

I needed no further prompting. I stood up, my shorts and underpants at my
gym shoes and unlocked my door. Standing there was the young salesman from
the Luggage department. He made a "Whoa", sound as his eyes looked me up
and down. He looked back at the main outer door (as is only natural human
behavior...when about to do something really, really naughty). He then
gripped his crotch, showing where his big boner sat along his hipline. He
smiled and whispered, "You like that?"

I answered by touching him and he released his grip allowing me to massage
the big super hard thing in his trousers. "Oh man, this is hot", he
whispered with a very white-toothed grin.

The other man had gotten up and opened his door. He'd put his suit jacket
back on and although his trousers were now up, they were fully open. His
cock and hairy nuts were exposed as he masturbated.

The two acknowledged one another and that's when I noticed they had tags on
the lapels of their jackets. One was "Keith something, Sales, Luggage &
Cameras" and the other was "Bill something, Furniture Sales". They had to
have known one another. And if they didn't on an "Employee's Lounge" basis,
they sure did on a "Men's Lounge" basis.

Keith, the young blonde man, had something in his other hand, something I
also hadn't noticed at first. It was one of those new One-Step Polaroid
Instamatics-type cameras. The sort one didn't have to peel off the
paper. It was sort of clunky but I had wanted one so bad for my ninth
birthday but got a stupid Nikon instead.

Keith smiled and put the camera to his eye and snapped a picture of me. As
it zipped out of the camera, he asked, "Mind?"

I shook my head and he replied, "I didn't think you would. Show us your
butt."

I turned around and faced the flusher.

"Bend over", Keith said as he spread my left buttcheek with his free
hand. "That's good". And he snapped another picture.

As they came out, he handed the developing pics to his "friend", Bill.

Keith then pushed a finger into my exposed little butthole and snapped
another picture.

"You suck?", he then asked. I turned around and the second I nodded, he
unzipped his gray slacks and struggled to pull out his incredible hard,
eight-inch cock. It was beautiful, a perfect cut dick. I put it in my mouth
and he said, "Stay like that a sec", and he snapped another picture.

I sucked him down to his pubes and the fabric of his suit slacks. "Wow, you
know how to do that!", he said. "Do him now", he added pushing my head over
to Bill's long, uncut cock. As I wrapped my lips around the older man's
erection, I heard another clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip as Keith took another
picture.

I deep throated Bill as he held my head gently and again,
clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip as Keith took another photograph. He was now setting
them on the floor and on the ledge of the toilet paper holder in my stall
as they developed.

"Do mine again", Keith said as he handed the camera off to Bill. The
Furniture salesman then aimed the lens at the length of the much younger
man's big shaft as it rested, almost measuring itself along my cheek. The
young salesman's boner went from my chin to above my head! "Suck it more",
Keith said as he stuck it back into my mouth.

When Bill snapped the last of the ten shots, he handed the camera back to
Keith. "This is so cool...this is the hottest!", Keith said, all excited,
as he reached into the inner pocket of his suitjacket and pulled out
another cartridge of film.

Bill watched the other film develop. When they'd be done, he'd show me one
and wink and then gather them into a pile in his left hand.

Once he slipped in the new cartridge, Keith said, "Suck me off now", I
sucked him and held his hips as he fucked them into me. He had a great
cock! He snapped another pic and then said to Bill, who was really getting
overly excited, "Shoot cum in his mouth". With that he pushed my face back
over to the tall older man and I sucked him some more. "I'm going to cum",
Bill said more to Keith than to me.

"Let's see it, man", Keith replied as he positioned the camera to his
eye. "Let's see your mouth more, kid."

I turned toward Keith more as Bill pulled my head back from him. He
understood the shot that Keith wanted. He held his shaft and placed his
uncut cockhead right inside my open mouth. His semen began squirting and
shooting out of his wide slit, flooding my mouth and coating my tongue in
thick white semen.

And again, clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip.

And clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip again.

And...again... clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip!

When Bill was "done" filling my mouth he pulled his penis out and stepped
back to allow Keith more room in the open doorway of my stall.

"That was so hot, kid!", Keith said. "Did you swallow it?"

I opened my mouth wide and proved to him I was a little cumpig.

"He swallowed your cum", Keith said to the other man. As he zipped his
slacks, Bill laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. I think he liked it, too".

"You like cum, kid?", Keith asked.

"Yeah", I replied. "A lot!"

"Cool...real cool...fuck that's hot", Keith said. He wagged his cock at my
lips and said. "If you want some more, put your mouth on it again."

I didn't hesitate. I opened my mouth and slurped along the length of the
young blondish man's steely hard cock. Between the salt of his palm and his
dripping precum. it tasty sort of sweet but salty.

He snapped another picture and then said, "I'm going to cum. Let me see my
cum in your mouth. Don't swallow too fast."

Bill, adjusting his belt said, "Do his just like you did mine, kid."

"I'm gunna cum", Keith mumbled as he tried to hold the camera steady to his
eye. "Yeah, open you mouth...like that...let me cum in your hot little
mouth, okay?"

And with that he blasted nutfluids into my mouth, juicing up and flooding
my oral cavity in gooey, sweet-salty white stuff - the reproductive milk of
a healthy, strapping young salesman.

And... clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip.  Clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip
Clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip Clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip

Keith pulled out and was winded from both "ejaculatory release" and
"tension release" having just done some buddy-system "molestation" in his
own work place.

He slung the camera strap on his shoulder as he stuffed his very handsome
penis into his slacks again and zipped up. "That was fuckin' hot", he said.

The two men waited a minute or so, allowing the last prints to finish
developing and drying. They looked at them, showing me some as they
did. Somehow they divvied the twenty or so shot between them. I watched as
each put his "set" away into his inner suit jacket pocket. I was given none
and must have had a look on my face, like, "Where's mine?"

Without my asking though, Keith looked at me and casually said, "'Don't
want your parents finding any on you."

Bill was at a sink washing his hands when Keith took the one next to
his. They talked saying how hot that was...and then Bill asked, "You going
to that party for that Sheila in Housewares later?"

Keith, wiping his hands said, "No, can't. That's at like five. I get off at
three-thirty and me and my girlfriend are going with friends on their boat
tonight."

As they exited, I heard Bill's voice trail off saying, "Fun. A boat...you
going on Lake Michigan...?"

I was in the men's room alone again. And it again was very quiet.

Seeing I was gone for over twenty-five minutes, I pulled up my pants and
left.

As I crossed the Furniture department, Bill, carrying a clipboard and
walking with a couple said to me, "Bye now." I wondered what the couple
would think if they knew what their salesman had in his breastpocket just
inches from them.

I rode the escalator down and then found the correct door back to the
mall. I saw my grandparents across the way, still sitting at the bistro
tables and still talking to the other four people. I approached and my
grandmother smiled. "There he is! We were just talking about you,
sweetheart. Mrs. Noll wants to hear about how you won that ribbon at school
this past semester."

Mrs. Noll immediately said, "Yes, sit here next to me and tell me. How
exciting, a blue ribbon..."

Absolutely no one even seemed to notice I'd been gone so long - except one
of the men who looked at me and smiled. But he didn't say anything.

We sat there and they ordered me a cold chocolate drink as shoppers passed
by. As Mrs. Noll asked questions, I thought, 'So many different realities
running concurrently at a mall. Here are these people talking to me about
some school competition and in there...in that department store yards
away... two different strangers had photos of themselves shooting cum from
their big dicks into my mouth.' And I knew what I liked about malls. And,
no, it wasn't bistro breaks.


+ + + +


Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, Milan, Italy, (age 13, "My Mall Slutting
Goes International")



My parents had divorced the summer I was thirteen. For lots of reasons, I
stayed with my dad in Chicago while my mother re-married and moved to
London.

Two weeks before the start of eighth-grade, my mother wanted me to come
meet up with her and her new hubby on the tail end of their "honeymoon" in
Italy. They had been in Lago Maggiore but returned to Milan where I was to
spend a week with them.

Although this is a "mall tale", I must interject quickly an "airline tale"
before I go any further. At thirteen, I was well hung, developing well and
was always - always - horny (and ready for sex). I was on a direct flight
to Milan from O'Hare since being thirteen my parents didn't want me to have
to change planes. My stepfather bought a first class seat for me since he
probably felt guilty about destroying our once happy home (just joking,
actually I was glad he came along... but why let him know that when I could
get shrimp cocktail at 35,000 feet, right?).

It was a crowded flight, we left late, and people were crabby. I was tense,
the flight attendant looked like she swallowed bitter semen from the
co-pilot...it was just a stressful start to a ten-hour flight.

The only "bright" spot was that my seat was next to a very handsome
businessman also from Chicago and also traveling to Milan alone. We barely
spoke the first two hours of the flight. But when it came time to flip down
the table for dinner, he helped me figure out my seat position (I'd had it
on slight recline) and we started to chat.

He was so handsome. I still vividly remember his face (and more). His suit
jacket was hanging in the closet and yet he barely even loosened his tie
throughout the entire flight. I was in sweat pants and a tee shirt to give
you some contrast. During dinner, he started talking to me about his wife
and his kids and the fact he generally hated to fly since he traveled
hundreds of thousands of miles annually.

He asked what school I went to, if I was traveling alone, why I was going
to Milan. It was just a thirteen-year-old boy talking to a forty-year-old
man.

But after the dinner items had been removed, the flight attendant handed
out large blue woolen blankets and sleep masks. It was time to sleep now,
children. The cabin lights went dim and all the passengers began to click
off their overhead lamp.

The first-class seat was immensely comfortable, leather and over-sized. The
man helped me put my seat into a full recline since I guess I was taking
too long to figure it out. The first class flight attendant then
"disappeared" to somewhere closer to the nose of the plane (probably 'time
to fuck the pilot over the Atlantic' - after all, it is called a cock pit).

What I did notice though - and I thought it was a little odd even at the
time - was that the businessman, as he reclined fully next to me, with mask
over his eyes - flipped up our arm rests. I suppose he may have wanted just
a little more room to spread his legs as he slept although the seats were
so roomy, I didn't know why.  , But I was a horny kid and figured it could
make things easier. We both had blankets and after maybe just fifteen
minutes, his right knee hits mine. He's still "asleep", his head back
some. I think he just accidentally knocked my knee. But a minute later he
does it again.

At thirteen, I knew plenty about men and so went with wherever this man
wanted it to go. I let my left hand graze his right hip and he doesn't move
or even flinch so I move it up more beneath his blanket. He smiles but has
on the airline eye mask. I reach further and am rewarded with his rock hard
erection straining away at the fabric of his fine suit. Although, "asleep",
he lets me have a good feel and I begin to massage this man's bulge. No one
can see, it being dark and under the blankets (and no one would even
suspect some man and a teen boy would be playing like that anyway).

I tug at his zipper but can't quite do it without getting too obvious. I
retract my hand and sit there with a woody tenting my sweats and the
blanket. Maybe thirty-seconds later, I can see he's trying to very
discreetly unzip his trousers and when his little smile returns, I know he
has.

So my hand returns to his crotch and finds he not only unzipped but had
also "released" the TWA peanuts from the fly of his boxer shorts. And when
I say "peanuts" I only mean the "warm nuts" since there was nothing peanuty
about this man's erection as I wrapped my adolescent fist around it. Super
thick, he was uncut and so the skin of his meaty erection had some movement
as I milked him very slowly beneath the covers.

The man spreads his legs wider and I reach into his fly even deeper to feel
his big, loose, hairy nuts - just a great cock between the legs of this
traveling family man.

Even at thirteen, I was addicted to sucking off men but I didn't want to do
that because it was an international flight and if "caught" by the bitchy
flight attendant, I was afraid Milan might refuse my passport once reaching
Customs. Hey, I was thirteen.

So I don't know what further "to do" at that point. I pulled my hand away
again and there was silence punctuated only by a man across the wide aisle
who was snoring. I'm annoyed at myself for not having the nerve to lean
over and blow this man next to me.

Suddenly, I feel the man's hand creep along my leg and right onto my
tenting boner. His large hand gives it a good long squeeze. I sit there and
shift slightly more to my left to allow him even better access. If you
looked at his head, and his overall body position, you'd have thought he
was asleep. But he wasn't. He was masturbating the teenaged boy beside him.

He had an easier time because of my sweats. He reached his hand right into
the elastic waistband and into my underpants. He cupped my nuts, gripped my
big boner and then sort of gave a tug to my sweats as if indicating I
should pull them down some.

So I did. I tried to look as relaxed and nonchalant as he as I lifted my
small bubblebutt off the leather seat and quickly pulled down my sweats to
below my nuts. Immediately he reached over again and slowly, luxuriously
started giving me a handjob. I reached over and he shifted slightly
allowing me to return the favor. We sat like that for almost an hour. A
married businessman playing with the boner of a teen and a teen playing
with a married businessman's super thick uncut erection. All under the
blankets on Flt. 645 to Milan.

And you could tell he was getting off on playing with young teen boner. He
purposefully rubbed and ran his fingers over my pubes feeling the light
dusting of hair there. His fingers would tap or drum on my smooth scrotum
as if telling me he knew they were young and just capable of making
sperm. And the entire time he's wearing the mask.

I couldn't take any more mutual masturbation after an hour and had to shoot
up a load of adolescent sperm. He obviously sensed that and gripped my
boner as if telling me to hold off. I tried.

He leaned forward and took out the now-empty clear plastic cup in which the
flight attendant had served his gin & tonic. He barely fumbled much as he
returned his hand to the beneath the blankets and held the mouth of my cup
to the head of my cock. He wanted me to squirt into it obviously.

So I did. I tried hard to aim my very erect cock into the cup, but I know
some semen hit the backside of the blanket as well.

He waited until my orgasm was complete and then slowly, very slowly moved
his hand holding the cup, away and to above the blanket again. Its then he
lifted the mask off one eye and looked at my milky seed in the clear
cup. Without even looking at me, he stuck a finger into it and licked it
off, like it was cake batter. He then put the cup to his lips and let the
thick goo - my thick goo - flow into his mouth. Here was this married
businessman sitting on a plane six miles up in the air eating kid sperm out
of a disposable beverage cup! (Makes you really think about the "World",
doesn't it?). He ate it and even smacked his lips, slurping up some thick
semen that clung to his lower lip and the rim of the cup. He then licked
around the inside of the cup, turning it and turn it, making sure he'd
gotten every drop (and yeah, making sure any "proof" of what he'd done was
eliminated too, I'm sure).

I sat there watching and thinking this man was the coolest married dad on
the planet. But he wasn't done. He put the cup under his blanket, between
his legs where he pumped off his own load into it. He pulled it out from
under the covers and handed it to me. Looking at me with just one eye, he
smiled. He wanted to serve me up what he made, same as he sampled mine.

I took the cup and gulped his very thick white breeder milk into my
mouth. He watched as though he never ever saw a teen boy eat cum before -
or maybe just his cum before. I mimicked what he'd done and lapped the cup
clean. He took the cup from me and set it down along side of him again.

I watched him stuff his cock back into his trousers and zip up - all
beneath the camouflage of covers, of course. I didn't have to do much, I
just lifted up and pulled up my jockey shorts with my sweat pants.

I then had to pee and got up. Some lady was in line and someone else was in
the other w/c. I stood in the dimly lit cabin waiting my turn.

When I returned to my seat, the man had his mask off, his seat up and his
light on. I scooted back into my seat and buckled up. He said nothing
except, "You're a good kid." We barely chatted after that. He got all
friendly again, even fatherly, when we were approaching Milan. He helped me
get my bag from the overhead container and said that if I needed any help
in Baggage or Customs just to ask him.

We exited and stood next to one another at the baggage carousel where just
by looking, you'd never guess what this man and this boy had swapped while
on that flight. We barely looked like we knew one another.

I didn't need any help going through Customs and just on the other side
stood my mom and her new husband. We got in a taxi queue and, two persons
ahead of us, was the man. He didn't even turn around. When he got in his
taxi though - maybe feeling guilty he didn't (or couldn't) say goodbye to
the kid with whom he had swapped semen, he did look right at me as we
continued to wait for a cab and smiled as he nodded. It was as much as a
married businessman could do, I suppose, to acknowledge the young teen
whose semen was still on his breath.

So that's how my trip to Milan started (gives you an indication of what
kind of thirteen-year-old I was).

We're in Milan and the first evening, we go to the hotel and eat dinner in
its 3-star restaurant. I go to bed in my own room and fall directly to
sleep.

Bright and early the following morning, we head to see the "Last Supper"
before going to the Cathedral. At that point, about noon, I want to go off
on my own. I'm not bored, just horny. My mother isn't thrilled nor does she
understand why I'd want to go off on my own. My stepfather incorrectly
explains to her to let me go off on my own for a couple of hours because
apparently I must have some underlying anger issues in trying to adjust to
her quick remarriage.

He's completely wrong but let them think that if it lets me go off alone to
cruise for mancock.

My mother gave me money to shop and more if I got lost and needed to take a
taxi back to the hotel. We planned to meet up again at two o'clock in order
to go over to Teatro alla Scala, just a couple of blocks away.

Linking Piazza del Duomo to the Piazza della Scala is Galleria Vittorio
Emmanuele II, so after parting from my mom and stepfather, I headed
directly over to it. I had spotted some "suits" going over there so I was
like a puppy on a boner.

Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, built in the 1860/70s, it is often
considered to be the earliest "mall". To call it a "mall" is rather an
understatement. Its stores are a collection of elegant buildings along
intersecting "streets" beneath an elaborate, Belle Epoch glass and iron
roof.

Wearing dress-up casual gray trousers - no belt (purposefully) - and a
simple white poplin shirt, I entered Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II from
Piazza del Duomo and was immediately taken with the coolness. It was almost
as if there were a breeze wafting through. And high above, some even
pecking around on the mosaic floors, were pigeons.

But I wasn't looking at stinkin' birds. I was there looking for sex with
strange men - strange Milanese men. I was gunna have sex with men not of my
national origin (bydamnit)!

Even at thirteen I could spot a "tourist" from the local men. The local
businessmen, of which there were many there, just oozed charisma and
dressed like a million bucks. I wandered along looking at men who all
looked at me - ah, the Italian men! Unlike in America, Italian men,
straight, gay, married or not, are up for some flirting with another guy,
especially a well-built teen boy. It's not so much just that they're
sexdawgs (what's the Italian for that? Canesexuale?) but they appreciate
all sorts of Beauty.

I looked for the men's rooms and the one I found was being cleaned. Arg!

I wandered around some more and heard some men shouting. In the center of
the mall, where the two "roads" or arms crossed, there were perhaps twenty
men watching a soccer match on a television. I gravitated over to them not
because I was into soccer but because collectively they emanated this
potently sexual energy. I stood among them and looked at the scores being
displayed.

As I stood there, as is very "Italian" the back of two of the men's hands
brushed along my butt and along my crotch. I couldn't tell if it was sexual
or just the fact they were all standing thisclose...no, t'clo's, to one
another (as is the euro way). I figured it had to just be customary
proximity since men couldn't possibly be feeling up some teen boy in the
very middle of this mall at noontime.

Or could they? Hmmm...

Although they seemed sexually excited - aroused, energized, even some
playing some fidgety pocketpool as they stared at the game and me and the
game and each other - I walked away after just a few minutes since
apparently none of these men were going to unzip while they followed some
"stupid" televised soccer game.

Instead I walked over to another area to "shop" some more, bulge-watching
the entire way. Further down one arm of the cruciform mall, an area which,
because it wasn't in the beeline axis from Piazza del Duomo to the Piazza
della Scala, was much scarcer of people and therefore much quieter. I was
getting frustrated and annoyed that here I was among all these men and yet
there was no place to have quick sex with them (well, maybe the men's room
but it was still closed for cleaning. As it was taking so long, I figured
the ladies must have had a lot of semen to mop up...which would be a good
sign).

I was thirsty and went up to a man selling icy cold oranginas from a
cart. When I went to dig for money, though, some man I didn't even see
before was standing right along side me and gently pushes my arm down,
signaling for me to put my money away. He doesn't even say anything, just
gestures for me to keep my money. I look at him and he's saying something
to the vendor in Italian and they grin and laugh some. I'm confused until
the vendor hands me an orangina. Then, I'm even more confused. I don't take
it right way, knowing I hadn't paid for it. But he says, first in Italian
and then recognizing I didn't speak any, in English, "This man...here...he
buy for you."

I looked at the man who stood beside me, a man in his early fifties,
wearing gray slacks and a gray sportcoat. I take the soda and thank
him. "Grazie", I manage to say as I smiled. He smiled big and then looked
at the vendor who said something else to him in Italian.

I said, "Ciao" and wandered off. I thought it very nice...that the mall's
chickenhawks had finally zoned on me.

Yeah, I knew what they were. A mall chickenhawk is a mall chickenhawk no
matter the language. Men looking for teen meat all have that same look in
their eye, that same over-eager excitement in their step, as they cruise
for some really young boner.

But I played along and went to a very quiet corner of the mall. It had a
recessed area divided by large columns and was cool. I sat on the high
ledge of a base of a columnar section and took a sip of my orangina, hoping
not to spill any on my crisp white shirt.

And sure enough, the chickenhawks, like the cooing pigeons all around,
began to perch. Not just the man who bought his quarry a sody-pop, but
three other "strangers out of nowhere" began to circle. They were all men
between forty and sixty probably. And so cute the way they think boys can't
tell what they're after. Yeah just different adult men who all just have to
hover around, sit near and start small talk with a hunky little teen.

It's funny because when you're a cock slut, you learn early that one barely
needs linguistic skills to play with men. Body language is the language of
"amore", after all - no matter how deviant and perverted that amore may
be. And heck, one learns not to worry about a language "barrier" - men got
hands, they don't care. They'd rather you save your mouth for other things
anyway!

And I loved being chickenhawk "feed" - really did. I let men feel me up,
suck out sperm from my big dick, shove cocks and squirt cum into my mouth
and butt - do anything they wanted to me in some malls. Besides the purely
sexual, there's something powerful - like "Sforza" family powerful - about
being a thirteen-year-old boy with all these middle-aged men's hands on
you. Heck, Sex itself is powerful and when additionally you know you're
getting all these men to break every taboo, every "norm", every law as they
clamor to do downright depraved things with you, swap sperm with you, fuck
your butt, pump seed down your throat ...a kid realizes real early how Sex
is loaded with Power.

So I just sit there and let them go in for the kill (after all, I suppose,
that's part of their thrill).  I'm watching the nice man who thought a way
into a boy's pants is through sugary sweets when, instead, another
chickenhawk "attacks" from behind. I see it first in the eyes of the
chcikenhawk who had bought me the orangina - this look of grave
concern. Not concern for me but, rather, concern for himself that some
other lucky mall man might get into my pants (or throat) before he got in
his shot (and, heck, he was the one out a thousand lire...that soda bought
at least a grope of my crotch, he's probably thinking).

I turn and look behind me. Some man had been "loitering", yeah, even
"lurking" back there in this cool, dark, marble niche. It seemed like it
might have been an entrance at one time to somewhere but was now
permanently sealed off. But it made for a terrific place where a boy such
as myself might find himself molested.

This man came around the column and nodded. He watched my adam's apple as I
gulped some soda and he made a "whew" sort of sound as he watched. He
looked up and down, obviously seeing the other men who were perching
nearby. He seemed to know them - or at least knew them by sight because
their presence didn't concern this man at all. He stood only a couple of
feet from me looking straight head and then at me. He was in his late
thirties, rather good looking, wore a very dark blue suit and a green,
yellow and white striped tie. He looked very dapper and suave in this mall
pervert sort of way.

He didn't look at me at first all that much as he stood like a tin soldier
at my shoulder. Then he said, "Boungiorno, ragazzo."

The second I replied, "Buongiorno", he sat right beside me...and I mean
right beside me, his hip pressing along mine. Since I replied, I suppose he
figured I was open for some sexual action with him (which is only
understandable, of course).

He starts a schpeel in Italian and doesn't even notice I don't understand a
word he's saying. That's when orangina man takes his opportunity and walks
straight up to us. He says to me in very bad English, "He not know", and he
laughs. The blue suit man knits his brow and turns to me and in much better
English says, "You're not Italian?"

I shake my head.

"English?", he asks.

"No", I reply.

"Americano", the man who had bought me the soda says to the blue suit man.

"Ahhhhh", the blue suit man says with a grin. "I like American boys...so
big down there." With that he looks directly at my crotch. So does the
orangina man.

I smile and spread my legs a little wider, just a little, bringing no
attention to the huddle, which was slowly forming around me.

"You do?", I asked.

"Umhaaaa", the blue suit man says. He then stretched out his legs and
looked at his own crotch, which caused me and orangina man, to
look. Running down his pantleg was this thick tube of cock - erect cock. He
caught me looking and said, "It's very, very big...you like?"

I nod and am parched despite having beverage in hand.

"All the American boys like it", he said with this evil yet utterly
seductively handsome expression on his face.

Orangina man says something to him in Italian and whatever they started to
laugh about caused blue suit man to quickly grope himself.

A third man, older than the other two, perhaps sixty, strides up at this
point and says hello to the men. None of them moved. He apparently knows
them. He then says, "Ciao" to me.

Quickly the man in horse-hung man in the blue suit says, "He is American."

The third man, very dashing, whitish hair, pale blue eyes, smiles at me
like a kindly father...or grandfather...and says, "Ah, gli Stati
Uniti...the United States...my daughter e, come sedici?...her husband live
in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

I smile and tell him I know where it is.

"The Liberty Bell!", he announces with a smile.

When he saw me laughing, he leaned in and tweaked my chin, "Such a...come
sedici? Bello! A beautiful boy."

As he talked, a fourth man hovered nearby. He seemed afraid to join the
group so he just smiled and paced around a bit perhaps twenty feet from
where my "new special friends" and I sat. He paced until the man in the
blue suit flagged him over. Seeing that, he casually came over and said
"Buongiorno, tutti" to everyone.

The four men made small talk and laughed. The blue suit man even turned his
body to me and said, "They are talking about the soccer tallies...the
scores...but I know you're not here for that, am I right?" As he spoke, his
bold confidence provided by the location (he seemed to know and was
comfortable with the cool dark recess behind us very, very well), the
bodies of the other men surround us and blocking us from view...and his
lust...he actually reached his hand into the back waistband of my pants.
Like a pro whose done it before...numerous times, this man had his entire
hand down my pants (inside of my underpants) and a finger stroking along my
bare buttcrack.

He took my left hand and placed it on his extremely hard trousersnake. It
felt like he had a steel rod in his silk trousers. He smirked as I felt
it. "You like, Fabrizio knows young boys like it..."

The three other men had stopped talking and were looking about casually as
they watched the blue suit man play with me very discreetly. You'd have
hardly known what it was he was doing to me from ten paces. He just looked
perhaps like a father sitting with his arm around his son's back. Or the
way Italian men gather, like any fivesome of locals talkings.

But these four Milanese chickenhawks now knew they had made
a..."GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL"! It wasn't soccer
but it was still the preferred sport of men at malls.

The blue suit man grinned and whispered something in Italian. I recall
thinking that the ladies must be bowled over by this guy's
charms...although he had his hand down an adolescent boy's pants (could
prove to be the monkey-wrench in his dating women, come to think of it).

I squirm my small, smooth but muscled butt to allow him better access in
his attempt to finger my rosebud. Heck, the man wants to fingerfuck a kid,
let him fingerfuck a kid, you know?

He then whispers, "You follow". And he stood up, his huge tenting erection
only slightly masked by the very dark color of his suit. "Come...you come
now."

I looked at the three other men who smiled and nodded, as if telling me to
follow, that I'd come to no harm...well, that I'd come...but to no harm.

"You follow...him", the orangina man instructed as he pointed to the dark
recessed area behind the columns. There were two ways to get into that area
and we sat at one.

I looked over the shoulders of the men and seeing that no one was anywhere
near this end of the mall, I stood up and the man with a daughter in Philly
grinned as he clapped once, "Good! That's a good boy!"

I had a boner in my own slacks and the men were quick to notice. I went
around the enormous pillar and there stood Fabrizio in a shadow groping and
squeezing his trousersnake. "I know you come...the young boys want
this...", he said as he again lewdly pawed and squeezed the erection in his
slacks.

And right behind me were the three other men. The one who was tentative
held back some, acting as lookout. Apparently these men had done this
before and were going through their paces.

Immediately, I had two hands squeezing the boner in my slacks. It was
orangina man and the handsome sixty-year-old. They made me turn to face
them as they each lewdly groped my bulge, the orangina man making haste to
open my pants as well. As he did, Fabrizio again shoved his hand down the
back of my underwear and this time went straight for my teenaged
butthole. And right in went his thick middle finger. He had done this to
boys before, you could just tell. He leaned into me and whispered, "We all
make love to you now".

Make love? Gosh, how sweet but at thirteen, I'll just take the molesting
sex, please, sirs!

I found out that "making love" when spoken to a thirteen-year-old boy
behind the column at a public mall while two other men are masturbating
him...basically "translates" to molesting sex. So I was okay with it!

Fabrizio unzipped his fly and pokes his huge thing into my butt, right
between my buttocks but through my cotton underwear. The heat and sweat and
mild cologne of the man sent me into erotic throes. I looked at his hairy
wrists as he reached around me to help the other two get my pants open.

Orangina man and Philly man are hot to feel themselves some teen studlet
boner. They're smiling at me as they open my pants, unzip me and as they
then both shoved their hands into the front of my jockey shorts.

In a flash, orangina man crouches and is sucking my cock. He was finally
getting his dividend for his investment of a thousand lire. Philly man
"helps" Fabrizio get my pants shucked down just far enough so Fabrizio
could sodomize me with his ten inch uncut Italian rod of "amore" - all
within yards of a bustling crowd of men watching soccer while apparently
their wives shopped. Yes, it was amazingly sexy and torrid and
dangerous. Just the way mall sex oughta be.

And sodomize me is exactly what the big-dicked man did. He wasted no
time. He was an Italian stud, after all. No namby-pambying around the
world's finest stallions when in heat. He ramrodded his erection into me
where I thought I was going to pass out. It was like a fire poker had
entered my tight butthole and skewered itself up into my abdomen. Unreal! I
lost breath but stayed with these men...wanted to be a good junior high
sextoy for them, after all (and in so doing, do America PROUD!).

The Philly man, all turned on but also concerned, but more turned on,
whispers, with a lewd yet grandfatherly grin, "He is big, no?".

I think I managed a grunted, "Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaah" as Fabrizio shoved more
into me. I thought, by the way it felt, it was already all in me but I was
wrong. That initial penetrating fuck pushed just the first four inches into
me. And the second shove of his hips sent another three inches up my
kid-canal. And a third shove fucked the final three inches in. It's then he
leaned into my ear and whispered, with a lewd chuckle, "Fabrizio is big...I
told you that...but you can take all of Fabrizio...awwwwww...all inside of
you...."

Orangina man was sucking away and licking at my big scrotum and Philly man
held my shaft and ran his other hand under my shirt. Philly man leans down
and orangina man lets him have a very quick suck of my cock. But apparently
my cock was orangina man's now and he allowed him only a momentary
taste. Philly man stood erect again (well, up again) and kisses both my
cheeks, He then waved for the fourth man to step over. As he did, he
exchanged places with him at the colonnade as lookout.

The fourth man was nice looking, had a crocodile valise under his arm as he
stood right next to me, his erection pressing my thigh as he watched
Fabrizio and orangina man have their way with my body. I reach and grope
him. He smiles but nervously. I grope him some more, seems he has big meat
in his slacks (WE'RE IN ITALY, KEVIN!"). He lets me pull the tab of his
zipper down but then takes over and whips out his cock. Again, thick and
uncut and oozing with precum. Precum just dripping out of his cock and onto
my hand and the marble floor ("Watch your step...no that wasn't a banana
peel!").

I can't bend easily, what with nearly a foot of Fabrizio up my butt and
orangina man's lips permanently attached to my thirteen-year old boner. But
I manage to lean forward enough - and he lifted himself up on tippy toes a
bit - for my mouth to wrap itself around his very handsome cock. I taste
all this stranger-in-Milan's leaking salty-sweet precum as it liberally
flowed into my mouth and down my throat.

I then felt hot milky liquid shoot up my butt and run out. Fabrizio, some
mall version of the "Italian Lover", had blown his nut up my teenaged
ass. He gripped me tightly and mumbled stuff in Italian as he made sure to
unload his big scrotum fully before withdrawing.

Just knowing I had this handsome stranger's reproductive fluids in me made
me have to shoot of my own. I stood up straight and shot ropes and ropes of
my thirteen-year-old's jizz into the happily grunting and chugging throat
of orangina man. I was wildly ejaculating like some...some...teenager into
the mouth of my beverage provider. Hey, he'd 'given drink to the thirsty'
and thus was only deserving of the same. He slurped up my American teen goo
like it was gold.

As I spazzed out boymilk into him, the other hung but more reticent man
swapped places with Fabrizio, (who hung around to watch while quickly
zipping up), and he, too, stuck his cock up my cum-soggy butthole. I was
being fucked behind a pillar like a street...or mallwalker. It was great -
men of Milan getting off in my foreign teenaged spoogehole (is there a
6-month Visa for that???). He was a quiet guy but fucked like a demon. The
man gripped my slender hips and bucked his hips and big uncut cock into me
like he was doing a bad disco move (bad dance move but great fuck move). It
took him only a couple of minutes to ejaculate into me, adding his thick
"alfreddo" sauce to my kidcunt. He held onto me like he wanted to pump more
seed into me - the most seed he could muster up.

Fabrizio laughed and slapped the man's shoulder saying, "Basta! Basta!" But
the man hadn't had enough and he ground his hips and cock into me some
more, as if wanting to make sure that I knew that he had been in me and
left his deposit. He pulled out and stuffed his long cock into his slacks
and zipped up.

Orangina man stood in front of me and kissed my lips and then either cheek
and then my nose. "So good. Molte, molte bene!" He had me shuffle around so
my small butt faced him and he gently spread my smooth buttcheeks. He then
dove in nose and slurping mouth first as he ate out the loads the men had
shot into me. Orangina man licked up and down my reddened rosebud and
slurped down ejaculate he found running down my smooth inner thighs. He
cleaned me good and then stood up again. I groped the bulge inside his
slacks and he smiled. "You want?", he said with a grin.

I squatted and orangina man unzipped as Fabrizio and the other man who had
fucked me chuckled and watched. Fabrizio unzipped his dark blue trousers
again and also pushed his very thick, uncut, flaccid cock to my lips. In a
few moments it was big and hard as he watched my lips suckle on the older
orangina man's juicy penis.

Philly man comes over to see better what I'm doing. He switches lookout
position again with the other man. I reach and grope Philly man's bulge. He
stands there and chuckles something in Italian to the other two using my
mouth.

I'm behind some vast column blowing three Milanese mall chickenhawks - and
wishing more men would come down this arm of the mall and turn the corner
into this cool, dim niche.

After maybe five minutes of sucking, Fabrizio grabs my hair and holds still
as he pumps seed down my throat. I could literally feel his thick shaft
pumping out the fucksauce. That got the two others into high gear and
Philly man pulled my chin gently to his cockhead. He looked down at me and
smiled. "Want to be my good boy?", he asked as he started to ejaculate into
my mouth. He shot a copious amount of very tasty salty-sweet, watery cum -
the cum of a sixty-year-old father. I drank and drank from his uncut cock,
nursing on the heavy foreskin, even sucking semen from its skin.

I then turned my head to finish off orangina man but instead over my right
shoulder stood another man suddenly. I turned more and looked up to see it
was the vendor who had sold orangina man the orangina which he then gave to
me. His penis was enormous - super thick, I doubt my hand could have
wrapped itself around its girth. I opened really wide and he took my head
into his hands and started screwing my mouth real easy. He put more in and
more and I imagine I pleasantly surprised him by being able to manage so
much of his fifty-something mancock. I sucked him while Fabrizio unzipped
again and whacked his cock against the back of my head. He wanted more!

I turned my head but before I could suck Fabrizio again, orangina man
intercepted the pass because he had something to "feed" me. He held my ears
as he ejaculated into my mouth. He breathed heavily as he enjoyed his
orgasm and then, as though he knew the others weren't "done, he "served" my
head (like some muskmelon) to Fabrizio's cock once again. Fabrizio, perhaps
seeing how I could suck the super thick vendor's cock, figured he had to
out-do him (the Italian macho thing, I suppose). He didn't want to be
out-done by the vendor's cock.

Fabrizio, this third time pumping into one of my orifices, almost is like
raping my throat. He's no longer being the huge-dicked "charmer", instead
he'd pounding and plowing my adolescent throat like an angry jackrabbit. I
choked because he grabbed my neck so violently. In fact, it made the vendor
and orangina man grip his wrists at the same time to try to get him to let
go a bit. But Fabrizio was strong and he held me as he violently came in my
throat once again. His body tensed and almost froze up as his testicles
unloaded their potable product.

Finally he was done and let up, more to the two other men's relief than my
own. Orangina man squatted down and whispered, "You alright? Right?"

I smiled and licked my lips. "Good, good!", he chuckled as he stood up
again.

Vendor man had given me a second to catch my breath but wanted me to finish
the job. He tapped my shoulder and, smiling, he waved his super huge cock
at me. I opened my mouth and he pushed his penis back into it.

Fabrizio was zipped up again and he wandered off and down a couple of
steps. And at the same time, vendor man was ready to shoot a seventh load
(in just twenty or so minutes) of Milanese mancum into me. He shot and his
huge fat nuts slapped my smooth chin as he did so. He was a gusher - felt
like he blasted a bucket of semen into my mouth. It was as if he were
washing out my mouth in daddymilk!

I drank and gulped and slurped and guzzled but was glad I'd worn the crisp
white shirt because between these five men, I knew I had semen on it.

He smiled as he watched me eat down his juices. Then he pulled back a step,
and zipped up letting his vendor's apron fall over his crotch once
again. He said something in Italian to orangina man and then patted my
shoulder before walking away and down the same steps Fabrizio had taken.

I stood up and wanted to see if anybody was around the column. Philly man
was still there acting as lookout (but just looking like an older man
standing at the mall). I stood beside him as orangina man joined us. I
looked down the concourse and saw the vendor reopen his kiosk just as two
women approached it.

I didn't see any sign of Fabrizio or the other man. And no one else - male
- was coming down this way.

Orangina man tugged my shirtsleeve to have me go back around the column. I
did and he lewdly massaged my cock through my trousers. Philly man was
standing lookout but moved so he could both watch the concourse and us. He
smoked as he watched and smiled. Orangina man groped and felt and played
with my teenaged bulge for all it was worth. He unzipped me again and
shoved his big hairy hand into the fly.

"You move", he said. "Here...to Italia, no?"

I shook my head and said, "I'm on vacation with my family."

"Si, si, si", he said as he looked at where his hand was stroking my
boner. "Ma...but you move to Milano...you move here...live with Peppito...I
buy you things. You move here."

I laughed and he looked at me as he continued to jack me, "I have nice
apartment...you stay with me?"

I shook my head regretfully. "I can't", I said.

Philly man stepped up at that point and said, as he too started to milk my
dick, "We want you to stay here...with us...here in Milano." He laughed
knowing it would never happen. "You stay with Peppito for a while and then
with me...we two take care of this for you," he said as he playfully
gripped my very hard, big and bouncing thirteen-year-old erection. "We
bring you here many times...many other men, no?"

I smiled and thought to myself, "Does this offer come with a pony, too?"

Philly man quickly bent at the waist and took a fast taste of my penis. He
stood straight and kissed my cheeks once again as he ran his sixty-year-old
hand along the length of my boner. As he did so, he also grabbed my hand
and smiled as he "made" me return the favor. For an older man he was as
erect as a horny kid.

He then went back to the column and looking out immediately said,
"Polizia!"

Orangina man hastily put my boner back into my trousers. "Close up", he
said as he looked at my open zipper. I did so quickly as orangina man,
Peppito, returned to stand beside his "friend", Philly man.

I was left behind the column as I went the other way, near a narrow opening
to the large niched area. I slipped through and was back in a busier part
of the mall. I looked back, down the shorter concourse and saw two very
elaborately dressed policemen talking in a very friendly manner to Philly
man and Peppito. The one policeman even had his leg up on a step as the
four men talked.

I figured it best to go the opposite way. I still had time to kill before I
had to meet my mother and stepfather in front of La Scala. I figured I'd
wait until I saw the two policemen leave before trying the public toilets
again. Instead I went into various stores. I finally went into a jewelry
shop. As a pretty woman greeted me from behind the counter, I saw the back
of a very handsome figure. Working on a wristwatch was Fabrizio. I don't
even know if he saw me (or if he did, he wasn't talking).


+ + + +



Author's Note: This final (for this second installment anyway) true account
occurred at the very, shall we say, "sexually busy" mall men's room at
Yorktown Mall. It was such a busy and notorious t-room that,
coincidentally, as I was writing this, a reader, responding to the first
installment, wrote to tell me how as a kid, he also loved to have sex in
this same exact restroom! Small world as they say. Well, not so small when
you think of the continual action guys of all ages brought to this
particular suburban mall sexroom, I mean, restroom.




Yorktown Mall, Lombard, Illinois (ages 11, "The Barbershop Limbo")

Okay, now for another true tale - this one from a t-room which was truly a
world-contender for the All-time Busiest, Wildest, Perviest and Most
Wonderful Award (Suburban Mall Division, Class A). The men's room on the
second level of Yorktown Mall. It was the actual "mall" men's room and not
one in one of the department stores.

At the time, there was no "food court" at Yorktown (they "remodeled" or
retrofitted one into the place only much later). So the public restrooms
were placed down a more "out of the way" sort of hallway on the second
level of the mall.

It wasn't quite a hallway, it was more of a mini concourse really, lined
with "guy"-related smaller shops - one of those "Tobacco & Beer Steins"
shops on the corner of the hallway & the main mall concourse, and a photo
finishing place and I think, a workman's shoe place (special order shoes
for the big lugs working construction and things like that). At the very
end of this mini concourse or hallway were the mall restrooms.

Ah, but one vitally important shop was right before one reached the
restrooms. The shop at the very end of the hallway was a six-chair
barbershop. Why, I think it was even called "Yorktown Barber Shop". It was
all inside, of course, (being in the mall) but was built out to look like a
real or small town barbershop - its exterior festooned with electric barber
pole and a large picture window overlooking the hallway. I'm not sure if
they had a direct view of the men's room but if any guy passed their
window, the knew they were, could only, be going to the men's room.

I don't know if the barbers were all Italian-American or not, as they are
in many places but my guess it that definitely the man at the first chair
(next to window), who was the primary owner, was. He seemed to be, most
likely, Italo-American. Late fifties, dark graying hair, pleasant "dad
demeanor".

There were about six barber chairs, all in a row in this rather large,
classic 50s-style barber shop. Each chair was set up with its own stuff; an
enormous mirror running the length of the wall behind them.

I went to this shop for the first time when I was eleven-years-old, (and
more often later - but that's another series!). I recall being given a
haircut by a man in his late forties, very handsome in a swarthy south side
way. He had the big barber's apron around my neck, it draped over my arms
and hands. I kept my hands gripped to the arms of the chair as he cut and
cut and cut. I didn't even know an eleven-year-old boy had that much
hair. I remember his name was "Nick" and I remember he'd keep brushing his
big, meaty bulge against my hand. When I didn't move my small hand, he got
bolder and would crush his bulge into my hand, rubbing it in a bit to make
sure I knew what a big man "Nick" was.

I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but you know how you just know
when a group of men have a good thing - a really good thing going? But you
don't even quite know what that really good thing is...really?

They were all married men, none under the age of forty, maybe forty-five
even. The first chair guy was the oldest, but, still, only in his late
fifties (or he took a lot of Geritol!). They'd have a baseball game on the
television set as it was always a rather full house. Men sat on the row of
chairs across from them waiting their turn (unless you made a specific
appointment, it operated something like the Post Office, you got whichever
barber was done first).

So yeah, they were a successful, very successful, barbershop but that still
wasn't quite the really good thing...

I sat in "Nick's" chair as he happily scooted all around me, cutting my
hair the entire time but never failing to push his ample package onto the
backside of my covered hands and arms. And, yeah, it was more than a
barber's brush or "accidental", it was lewd and lascivious behavior with a
minor...and pinking shears!

Other than asking how short I wanted it, after my mom had left to go
shopping, I don't even think "Nick" said anything else to me throughout the
haircut and "minor molestation". I think, in fact, the only other thing he
said to me was, "You're done, kid!" The rest of the time the barbers talked
to one another, shouted at some game score periodically and would all watch
as someone or another passed their big picture window. It was almost as
though they had some "secret code talk" amongst themselves every so
often. Or an inside-joke going on. As the first chair owner would say
something like "Sausage man making another round!" and the barbers would
smirk and chuckle but then go onto something else like "Viv and me are
goin' to Vegas next weekend...want me ta place five hundred on a game?"

So after that first haircut there, I hopped down but didn't have any money
to pay. Nick said that was okay, he understood my mother was going to
return so I could just take a seat. I sat in the vinyl waiting-chair
closest to the register and was sort of nervous and sort of bored. My
mother always got "lost" in merchandise when shopping.

"There's a magazine for you there", the first chair barber said to me as he
cut some man's hair. He pointed to a low coffeetable loaded with
magazines. I looked through them and there were Newsweeks mixed in with
tons of Sports Illustrateds and a few Highlights magazines and then I saw
three Playboys and two Hustlers.  I wasn't actually going to take a Hustler
but two of the barbers watching immediately said, almost at the same time,
"Wait, wait, wait...", in nervous but jolly tones.

One even stopped his haircut and came around. He grabbed a Highlights and
said, "Better you read this one..." He then went back to his position and
said to the first chair barber, teasingly, "You gotta get some of those
into a special basket or sumthing, Tony!"

So I sat back down with Highlights magazine and realized I had to pee. Or
more realistically, I wanted to go into the men's room to look at penises
at the urinals.  But I hadn't paid and my mom wasn't back yet. I sat there
and must have looked tense because Nick said, "Hey, you, you need
something?" He asked in the concerned way a dad would ask.

"I have to go to the washroom", I said. Almost at once, three of the
barbers pointed to where they were - out the door, to the left just a bit
at the end of the hallway. Seeing I didn't know what to do, Nick said, "You
go, we trust ya."

I smiled and set the Highlights magazine down. I went out their always-open
glass door and to my left. Just a few steps away was the door to the mall
men's room. Inside were sinks, then urinals and in the back, three
stalls. A young guy, in his twenties was at a urinal. He looked like he was
just peeing and was pressed to his urinal so I skipped him and went to the
stalls. Only the middle stall was occupied so I took the free one along the
far wall. As I wiped the bowl and flushed, the man next to me, cruising but
perhaps seeing kid's sneakers, left. He probably thought any little kid who
was in those shoes couldn't possibly be there for anything but a poop.

Some men are stupid.

So I pulled down my pants and underpants and sat on the commode. There was
a small, very small peephole into the next (now empty) but no
gloryhole. And it wasn't even much of a peephole really. One couldn't
actually see much unless the guy might stand up to masturbate. And since
the partition was set up off the floor rather high, the peephole told you
nothing a guy's feet couldn't.

I sat there "alone" for only two minutes at the very most. Soon the outer
door opened and someone's footsteps came directly over to the stalls, and
took the middle one next to me. I could see under the stall that the man
wore dress type slacks and sort of shiny but slighty worn black shoes. He
quickly pulled down his pants and sat down. Immediately he started tapping
his foot. I tapped my right white Ked's sneaker in response. He tapped
again, very expressively, as if he was the "daddy shoe" saying hello to the
"son shoe".

I was in half-tap again when he suddenly drops to his knees, I see his
hairy thighs, white boxers, slacks, belt and this big, uncut boner. The
partition wasn't "obviously" or "obscenely" high off the tiled floor - I
mean not so high as to get people not into sex complaining. But it was set
high enough for great and rather easy "understall" blowjobs. I imagine the
work crew that installed them knew what they were doing.

I loved sucking men's penises by age eleven and so I got on the floor and
started sucking and sucking this wonderful penis being "given" to me to
play with. I was like a hungry little calf nursing on a big man udder
beneath the metal divider. I sucked and sucked, tasting the man's precum as
it coated his shaft. He smelled great and soon was squirting a big helping
of milky seed into my mouth. I sucked as I swallowed it all. He then pulled
back and sat again. He wiped his cock with some toilet paper, stood up,
pulled up his trousers and left.

I was only sitting on my commode for maybe a minute when another person
came in and went straight for that same stall. I looked down and saw
another pair of dress slacks and sort of shiny but slighty worn black
shoes. I chalked it up to just being what "dads" wore. I didn't really
think a whole lot more about it.

The man did the same thing, quickly unbuckled and sat down. He tapped but
didn't even wait for a reply. He knelt and his muscular thighs were
impressive - all muscled and covered in black hair. His public hair was
thick and framed the most enormous erections and scrotums I have, till this
day, yet to see again. He was huge! You see men with such a cock in
Internet pics occasionally - those guys with erections that even its owner
can't wrap a fist around. It was uncut, loads of foreskin where the wide
head popped out from. It was so big that it seemed nothing was in the men's
room except for this cock and an eleven-year-old boy who was about to suck
on it.

I reached under and almost fainted. I had had a lot of sex with adult men
before by age eleven but had never seen or felt a more enormous and erect
mancock. And his scrotum was hanging low, huge and hairy. (And, no, he
wasn't a "pumper" - it was all natural horse meat).

I sucked him best I could. His being so huge made it a little difficult
even for me who was able to deep-throat big adult cock from the age of
seven or so. But this man didn't seem to mind. He seemed to be enjoying my
sucking on him just the same, although I doubt I even got five inches of
his super thick eleven (?) inches into my mouth. He fired off hot semen
into my mouth in less than five minutes, he shot and squirted and sprayed
it into my mouth. It was so yummy. I loved cum even at that age.

I felt his cock after he shot his was in my mouth and although he was still
hard as a rock, he pulled up and then stood up. He reached down and I could
see his hairy wrist and wristwatch as he pulled up his slacks.

He left and I sat there. I was about to get up and go back to the Barber
Shop, fearing that they might think I ran off, when a third man entered the
middle stall. A BUSY PLACE - always was - all day long.

I sat there and this man pulled down his slacks and sat down. I peered
under the metal partition and saw he had on sort of shiny but slighty worn
black shoes. Again, I just figured, "these suburban dads have no flair for
fashion".

He wraps the fingers of his left hand under the bottom of the partition. I
do the same and he drops. He holds his belt buckle making sure it doesn't
clunk. He's on his knees, and again, this third man has rather muscular,
hairy thighs. His cock is nowhere as huge as the last man but he's very
hard and its bouncing in its excitement. It's hairy and veiny and the big
head of it is all taut and shiny because its so erect. I again get on the
floor and suck him under the stall. I can't see anything of him but his
thighs, underwear but he holds my head as he fucks my throat. Very
deliberate, clean strokes - in and out of my throat. I suck and he's
fucking, a very cooperative effort to get him to blow his load. And he
does. Maybe five minutes in to it, he grips my head a little and starts to
profusely ejaculate into my mouth. Very salty, viscous cum out of this
man's scrotum. Delicious stuff (better than a Twinkie in my lunchbox)!

He taps the side of my face and then sits. He wipes his penis off, stands
up, pulls up his trousers, takes his time zipping and buckling up (probably
making sure his shirt was all neatly tucked back in). And exits. It's
rather cool doing so many men right in a row because you become an
"observer" of the human behavior. Funny how so many men go through the same
identical routine or steps. But there's also a greatly perverse and erotic
sense to seeing so many men use you like you're a cum dump in a public
toilet-brothel.

So he leaves and now I know I have to get back to the Barber Shop. I'm sort
of scared though because I fear they'll know I was in the bathroom so
long. I dreaded that moment when I had to re-enter the brightly-lit shop
across the hallway, you know?

But it had to be done. I pulled up my little pants and unlatched my
door. As I passed the urinals again, the same young dude was standing at
the same urinal. Only this time when I passed and he saw me at the sinks
beside him, obviously having seen or heard what I was doing in the stalls,
he jerked off at his urinal right in front of me. He was like two feet back
from his urinal and smiling at me weird as he jerked off furiously. I
looked at him while I washed my hands, thinking to myself, "One, you should
have shown that to me on my way IN. And two, I'd love to catch your sperm,
sir, but I have to get back to my mom."

I was late, really late, but could not resist when he waved me over. He was
insistent as he waved me to stand next to him while the room was empty. I
came over to him (being the ever-obedient cumchild) and he grabbed me by
the nape of my neck and "forced" his cockhead into my mouth where he
immediately fired off volley after volley of rich, white, warm "young dude
proteins"! I coughed it was so warm and tangy (and unexpected). He then
pushed me away from him - more afraid to be caught than angry - and jammed
his dick back into his jeans.

I went back to the sinks and washed my hands again. The dude guy passed me,
went out the door first, didn't even hold it for me.

I opened the door and saw the picture window of the barbershop. I could see
my mom wasn't there yet. I slowly approached and saw the first barber
cutting someone's hair. The place was busy and I thought I could just sneak
in again, take my seat again and go "unnoticed". Instead, Nick says,
announcing, "Kid, your mom was here but we said you were in the washroom so
she paid and said she'd meet you down the hall at Woolworths." As I sat
there and looked at the men's - the barber's - shoes. All six of them had
on basically the same sort of shiny but slighty worn black shoes.

As I smiled and left, I wondered which of them had the enormous cock and
scrotum.  To this day, just the scent of a real barber's shop, that scent
of barber's talc makes me pop a boner.



By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE, Denizen of the Public Toilets ghj_4u@yahoo.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GHJ_MALL_OF_MALES