Date: Wed, 15 Nov 2000 09:04:52 EST
From: J B <stickman36@hotmail.com>
Subject: steeple chasers

This is a true story that happened a few years ago.  If you are not 18 at
least or don't like gay eroticism, don't read this.

I have contributed a few stories to these archives already and continue to
be amazed that others don't write about their everyday fantasies.  Don't
studies show that most men fantasize about sex at least every few minutes?
Doesn't reality teach us that men think about sex all the time?  Well, to
help the dialogue I'm writing this true story about how I got caught
thinking about sex while watching some Eastern Europeans work on a building
next door to where I live and work.

For nearly two years there has been ongoing construction and facade
renovations on the building facing my apartment.  It is very old, and has
been in need of work for a long time.  I dreaded the beginning of the
construction and the inconvenience of having workers all over the place,
especially since they were going to use space in the basement of my building
for their supplies and as a place to rest.  I was soon dissuaded from my
dread.

Let me tell you that I am an average kind of guy, no great shakes, but also
nothing to toss aside.  I like to think that I can make any guy happy and
have him leave with a smile on his face.  While I have enough
"inter-personal contact," I also am a good one handed conductor.  It's
amazing what I've learned to do with my right hand.  I, too, never leave
without a smile!!

When the construction crews arrived, I knew that I'd spend a lot of time
looking and leering out the windows.  God had sent to my little corner of
the world an entire crew of Eastern European steeple chasers.  The crew of
eight was more than I could ever imagine, in more ways than one.  But there
was one Czech (I swear this is true and not the script of some Bel-Ami
movie) guy who made me hard right away.  Just to look at him set my heart
into a tail spin.

I never learned his name, even though I have seen him for nearly two years.
He stands just a little taller than me, maybe 6'4" and must weigh about 220
lbs.  But there isn't an ounce of flab on him and certainly no love handle
here.  I guess he's about 26 and seems to pack enough in his pants to
satisfy me and about thirty other guys at the same time.  He is the boldest
man I've ever seen hanging off a building.  Nothing seems to bother him.
I've seen him leaning over the edge of a building in rain, snow and on the
windiest days.  And this only makes me want to eat him all up.

From the moment he slipped out of the workers' van I was smitten.  He has
deep set blue eyes, heavy eye brows and high cheek bones.  His shoulders go
from here to New Jersey and his waist  slims down to next to nothing.  When
he looks at me he stares into my soul and makes it scream with excitement.
His hair is brown, fine and always well combed (something I just adore in a
man).  Best of all he loves to walk around without a shirt on, showing off
his chest and back.  His pecs are well rounded and end in big, brown nipples
that never seem to get hard even when the wind is blowing.  His arms are
well developed and when he lifts bags of cement or buckets of tools he just
oozes testosterone.  His chest is covered in a very fine layer of downy hair
that tapers down to the inside of his pants and leads to a buried treasure
laying in wait.

During the first summer of their work I was sitting near the window of my
office sweating my balls off and watching these guys do incredible things to
the building.  I was amazed at all of them and their carefree-ness at such
heights (I loathe heights).  And each one of them is handsome and well
developed.  I was convinced that none of them could see me sitting there at
my desk, rubbing myself as I watched them and surfed the web.  Since my
office is the only one on this floor, and is not air conditioned I was
sitting there in a pair of shorts and no shirt praying that a breeze would
come through the window.  Extra clothes seemed futile and stupid on such a
hot day.  And besides, looking at these guys, only made me more hot.

But all at once, from across the alley way, my personal Atlas was standing
in front of me.  He had his shirt off and had stripped down to a pair of
VERY short shorts.  These left nothing to the imagination.  What I thought
was an average size package clearly was more than that, a lot more.  He kept
glancing across at my window as I was staring at him.  He reached across his
sweaty torso and adjusted his shorts in a move that, from the street would
appear PC, but was certainly inviting me to something else.  My mouth
literally dropped open and my hands rubbed even more.  I couldn't hide my
happiness at this vision in front of me.  He just kept smirking with the sun
glistening off his sweaty chest and legs.

I thought to myself, `what the hell,' and got out of my chair and stood near
the window.  Then I slid down my shorts and spit into my hand.  He just kept
looking at me and I just kept going.  Obviously he wanted a show and I
wanted to please him.  He sat down on the ledge where he was and invitingly
spread his legs so that he had some comfortable wiggle room.

I kept stroking and gyrating my hips so that he got the idea that I could be
talked into more, even if we could only communicate with our eyes (it is
amazing how much you can say with your eyes and never speak one word).  I
spit some more into my hands and then lubed up my shaft.  Well, you could
only imagine that I didn't last long and was able to spray a good load all
over the wall near where I was standing.  When I stopped groaning and could
open my eyes, he was just sitting there with the biggest smile I had ever
seen.  I guess he liked the show.

But that wasn't to be the end of it for the day.  A few hours later, I was
in the laundry area of the building which is a little deserted and
isolated.  It is near where they have their materials and supplies and
their restroom.  As I was coming out of the laundry room and heading out of
the building, I literally bumped into my steeple chaser.  And he instantly
had a steeple that needed some tuckpointing.  He just stood there looking
at me and I could smell his maleness mixed with a morning's hard work.  His
hands were in front of him and he was stroking his hard-on with his left
hand.  It was so huge that he couldn't close his fingers around the shaft.
I leaned forward to touch it as one would touch a piece of fine china.  But
he just backed away and into the room where all their supplies were.
Naturally I followed.

I kept reaching for the steeple that was stuck in his pants, but he wouldn't
let me touch.  I could only watch and stroke myself.  So this I did without
any difficulty.  He rubbed a hand across his defined abs and smeared dust
and soot into the sweat of his body.  I desperately wanted to lick it all
up, or at least touch it, but he wouldn't let me anywhere near him.  I
certainly am no match to him and didn't want to jeopardize this moment so I
let him do as he pleased.

As he rubbed his abs with one hand he undid his pants with the other.
Without any effort they slid to the floor and huddled around his work boots
and hairy legs.  He didn't have any underwear on and I was instantly
rewarded with a view of his jack hammer, all nine inches of Czechoslovakian,
uncircumcised, pre-jiz dripping cock.  I actually came in my pants as I
looked at him jerking off in front of me.  He was dripping so bad that he
was making a little puddle between his feet.

He closed his eyes a little as I undid my shorts and stepped out of my cum
soaked Calvin tighty-whities.  I kicked them to the side and kept stroking
as I hadn't lost any bit of my hard-on.  My five-and-a-half inches seemed
paltry compared to his monster, but it wasn't the moment to be a size queen.
I just tried to breathe.

He built up his rhythm and started moaning and groaning.  He never spit in
his hands but just kept sliding his foreskin back and forth like a
windshield wiper and this kept him well lubed for the task at hand.  His
bush was well shaped and trimmed to highlight his small sac and balls.  Even
though they aren't proportionate, there was something attractive about this
huge piece of meat holding up such a small set of balls.  He grabbed his sac
and pulled down on them a little harder than I would have done, but what the
hell, they were his balls.  When he wasn't tugging his nuts, he was sliding
his hand around his ass cheeks and slipping one finger inside the Gates of
Paradise.  I came again, this time a little more forcefully since it was the
third time in about two hours.  Any more of this and my balls would implode.

I knew we were getting to the point of no return when he started stroking
even more forcefully.  His pecs and his biceps were so contracted that I
think I could have crushed a walnut in them (or my own nut if he would only
let me).  Here we were, two young guys facing each other and standing in a
dark room pulling on our peckers as if the world were ending.  Both of us
were naked down to the ankles and didn't care if our mothers walked into the
room.  We only wanted one thing.

When he came I thought I would need a rain coat.  It was like he hadn't
jerked off for a month; maybe he hadn't.  I was just thankful that I was
there when he decided to break his fast.  He shot straight across me, and
his first jit landed on their lunch table.  But all of his subsequent shots
landed on my stomach, legs and balls.  He shot thick globs of jiz and must
have had about five or six waves of it shooting from the tip of his pecker.
The piss slit opened so wide when he came that I could have slipped half my
tongue in there.  I've never seen someone's cock do that before or since.  I
was absolutely awe-struck and just let him shoot all over me.  It would have
been rude for me to do otherwise!!

He actually lost his balance and fell to his knees when he came, panting and
moaning loudly.  I shook and writhed again, but was empty this time around.
My balls still ache whenever I think about it.  He sat there on his knees
and held onto the steeple where he had worked so hard as if he were
Michelangelo holding onto David's stone pecker.  It still pulsed in his
hands and oozed jiz onto his hands and legs.  He just licked his fingers and
wiped off his legs with my Calvins, then got to his feet and pulled up his
shorts.  He left me there to figure out what had happened.  When he walked
past me he said something, but since I had no idea what he meant I took it
as a compliment.  I smoothed the jiz on my legs and stomach with my hand and
tasted him for the first time.  I thought I'd died and went to heaven, it
tasted so good.

And I guess it was a compliment, because we've met a number of times since
for a repeat performance.


If this made your day, let me know.

Stickman36@hotmail.com