Date: Wed, 4 Sep 2013 23:29:56 -0400
From: Rocco Talespinner <roccotalespinner@gmail.com>
Subject: Back Seat Heat

My wife had been out of town for a week and I was getting horny out of my
mind -- but not for pussy. I had tried my favorite internet site for a
hookup without any luck and Craigslist produced nothing promising. I even
went to a gay bar I knew about but had never dared enter before. However,
no one hanging out there turned me on and certainly none of them hit on me.
Against the possibility that nothing was going to come my way, I bought a
six-pack and stashed it in the back of my car. Yet my yen for cock would
not go away. So, in desperation I drove to the local pickle park, despite
the likelihood that danger might lurk -- if not physical danger then at
least the risk of getting busted and having my name in the papers. But it's
a place where for an absolute certainty there would be guys waiting for
something to come up.

I had driven there a number of times before, prompted by desire and
curiosity, down to the cul-de-sac at the end, but without stopping or
parking. It always seemed creepy as I approached and most of the guys
sitting in parked cars or brazenly standing outside them seemed either
pathetic or trashy, and definitely not the sort I would ever see socially
with my wife. And on this night it seemed no less creepy and I wondered if
I was a total jerk to be taking this risk. But dammit, I really was
obsessed by the desire for some cock, so I made myself do it anyway.

I crept along the drive to the cul-de-sac, cruising the faces I could make
out in the dark. On the straightaway there were only sad looking old men,
but the faces got younger as I approached the turnaround. So I held my
breath and pulled over into an interval between cars and stopped. I shut
off my lights, letting the engine idle for a few moments, and almost lost
my nerve and drove away. But I turned off the ignition and just sat.

It was a dark night with little moonlight and no streetlamps. I turned my
head to look fore and aft to see if anyone was out and about, but the scene
was virtually still. After a few minutes some dark figures emerged from
bushes where they had repaired for their furtive activities, then got into
their respective cars and drove away. Unsure how action was traditionally
engaged, I waited to see if anyone would go from one car to another to
solicit interest. For the longest time nothing happened.

Then I saw a young guy I took to be a professional hustler go to the car of
an older man, who rolled down his window to talk. Whatever transpired
between them, nothing was concluded and the young guy went back to a car to
stand with another about his age, the two leaning against the front fender
with arms folded. OK, I thought, so those are the hustlers. Better not them
because of the risk of disease or getting rolled. But I realized that if
not them then no one else was going to come calling, so I had better
explore on my own.

I steeled myself to get out of the car and go on a hunting expedition. As I
opened the door the dome light went on, of course, spotlighting me to all
the occupants of the cars parked nearby. Walking away from my car I felt
exposed and ridiculous, but I really wanted what I wanted. So I walked down
the middle of the pavement, only faintly visible to the guys sitting in
parked cars on either side of the road. Some lowered their windows and
softly hailed me to chat, negotiate, whatever. I peered at each as best I
could, but all I could discern was a series of old men who hoped to find a
kindred spirit for some sort of coupling.

They were not what I was looking for. The guy I needed had to be young, of
legal age of course, but full of vitality and juice. I passed car after
car, parked under the large trees at the edge of the road, some empty
because their owners were occupied in the nearby woods. Between some of the
trees were park benches, amenities seldom used in this portion of the park
but furnished anyway for the sake of consistency. Approaching the third
bench on the right, I discerned a figure sprawled at one end, legs wide
apart and head inclined back. Although it was a hot summer night it was
surprising that he wore only a pair of cutoffs and some flipflops. As I got
closer I recognized that he was young, punkish in appearance, and slow to
react. Standing over him I could tell he had been smoking pot and was high.
He was also sexy in a rough trade sort of way, very much to my taste. All
this seemed promising.

He roused just a bit as I sat beside him. He stirred, sat up, and spoke. We
had a few civil exchanges and his responses became friendly. I put a hand
on his thigh and he did not protest. Getting bolder, I moved it to his
crotch and gave his cock a gentle squeeze. He placed his hand over mine,
making no attempt to remove it from his crotch. I leaned over close to him
and flicked my tongue on his neck and nuzzled it with my chin. His neck was
damp with sweat and scratchy with stubble and he exuded a spicy masculine
odor.

He sighed and grunted, "You like me, huh?" his words slightly slurred due
to the dope.

"Yeah, I think you're hot. I'd like to party with you. You must be thirsty.
Would you like to join me in my car for some beers?"

"Yeah, and what else?" he asked. "You gonna try to get in my pants, you
faggot?"

"That depends, whatever you'd like," I replied.

"What the fuck, I'm horny; let's go!" he exclaimed.

Making our way back down the road to my car, I was acutely aware that the
odd couple we made was under intense scrutiny by the lonely men just
sitting behind their steering wheels. One even flashed his headlights as we
approached. Finally we reached my car and I flicked the remote to unlock
the back doors. I opened and he slid in and I behind him, hoping to douse
the dome light before we attracted too much notice. I know it is not
advisable to carry on action in the car rather than in the anonymity of the
dark woods, but bagging this dude depended on using the beer as bait.

Fortunately for my purposes I had lowered all the windows halfway before I
left the car, so we would have air and not fog the windows, And I had
brought my pocket knife, which had a beer opener. Once we were settled I
popped two of the caps and handed him a bottle. He took it and downed half
the contents in one long chug. That was good from my point of view, because
I wanted him to get even higher than he already was.

While he was taking a second swig I ran my hand over his nipples and
tweaked one, betting that they were erogenous. He grunted deep in his
throat and took a third swig, not resisting my advance. So I ran my hand
down his abs (really firm!) and ran my hand under the waistband of his
cutoffs. He still didn't resist, so I unbuttoned the band and unzipped the
fly. Then I reached in to grasp his treasure. Ahhhh! So round, so firm, so
fully packed -- a lucky strike!

"Hey, faggot! What the fuck are you doing?'

"Holding your cock, stud. And I'm ready to do more."

He took another swig from his bottle, "Just what more you think you're
gonna do?"

'Well, You know, go down on it."

"Go down on what, you queer. Say it straight out."

"OK, I wanna suck your cock."

"And what else?"

"And I wanna suck your balls and lick your asshole. But mainly I wanna suck
your cock 'til you cum and I suck you dry."

"You gona swallow, too, cunt face? Every fucking drop of it?"

"Yep, I promise."

He finished the beer and dropped the bottle out the window. It smashed on
the pavement. "Gimme another brew, cocksucker. Then get to work on my
dick."

In any other situation I would have protested the wanton littering and
maybe kicked him out in the face of such egregious insults. But in the back
seat of my car, in the dark, with a hot trashy stud on this hot summer
night when I was horny out of my mind, the effect was just the opposite. I
didn't just tolerate it; I actively relished it. He may or may not have
understood that: being rude and crude was simply him. Anyway, I reached for
the beer I had opened for myself but not touched and handed it to him. Then
I leaned over his lap and started licking his cock.

"Get the fuck on the floor between my legs where you belong, motherfucker,"
he barked, as he slipped his cutoffs down his legs and off his feet. As I
got down in front of him he spread his legs wide, giving me both full
access and full vent of the rich musk of his crotch. I started again,
licking his cock head and taking it into my mouth. I love the moment just
before a guy gets fully hard when I can go down on his shaft to the hilt,
and if it's long enough it enters the top of my throat. Then as it hardens
I can force myself to keep it all in, my nose buried in his bush. I would
guess this guy is just a bit more than 7", and thick, so when he was fully
hard and stretched my throat I felt as if he would fill me completely.

As I bobbed up and down on his cock I alternately sucked hard on his shaft
and licked his cock head. After awhile and he was getting into it I pulled
off and licked his balls. I sucked first one ball and then the other, then
opened wide and sucked both balls into my mouth, careful to give both equal
attention with my tongue. He was clearly enjoying himself and his dominance
over me. He raised both legs and rested his ankles on the backs of the
front seats. "Lick behind my balls, faggot! He demanded. "Yeah, like that.
Now lick further back. More. Right, lick my asshole."

Normally when I do that I like to be sure beforehand that the guy is really
clean. This time I knew he wasn't, but I was so grateful this was happening
that I screwed up my courage and licked his asshole up and down and then
tongued it. I won't get into details about smell and taste, much less
unhealthy microbes. You can guess. But disgusting as that aspect was, the
degree of intimacy with this stud was exhilarating.. Anyway it wasn't long
before he directed me back to his cock, which I was more than happy to do.
Meanwhile, he kept swigging the beer while I sucked.

At this point I got seriously into giving this dude the best blowjob I knew
how to provide. He urged me on with one insulting obscenity after another,
which kept me fueled for the duration. I sucked super hard down the length
of his shaft and sometimes punctuated it with loud slurping noises to make
it abundantly clear that it was cock sucking that was taking place. But
this sweaty dude also got into the act by clasping the back of my head with
his hands and pressing me down to the max on his fuck tool, while he began
to pump upward with his hips. It all started out gently, but the more
excited he became the rougher the ride. He was grunting and groaning and
even occasionally growling with male lust. I was moaning and even squealing
with appreciative pleasure.

This went on for quite awhile, long enough, in fact, for him to interrupt
the proceedings to demand another beer, dropping the empty out the window
again to smash on the pavement. That made me wonder how long it would be
before he would have to interrupt again to relieve himself. But I needn't
have bothered because he soon started gasping for breath, and bucking
harder. His sweet pre cum told me that my main reward was soon to be
delivered. Then, with the exclamation, "Fuck, yeah, you cock sucking
queer," he began to squirt jet after jet of hot, thick, creamy, fertile
jism into my mouth. In a situation like this one hopes for a big load, but
it is rare to get satisfaction beyond one's expectations.

I tried to keep it all in my mouth, so I could appreciate the full extent
of his ejaculation. The taste was a combination of wild and sweet, one that
makes a sucker think twice, even three times, before swallowing. But first,
to celebrate this spectacular load I squished it between my teeth and
swallowed deliberately, as if quaffing a rare and priceless vintage. Then I
continued sucking to make certain nothing was left, just as he finished the
third beer and dropped the bottle out the window.

Reluctant for it all to end I continued sucking even as his penis softened,
savoring the last moments of having my face in his crotch. Then another
kind of warm emission began to enter my mouth. He clasped my head to make
certain I did not pull off and then he began to piss in earnest in my
mouth. That had happened to me only once before and I definitely had
divided thoughts on whether or not I wanted to be involved with this. He
settled the matter, however, by firmly forcing me and I began to drink.
Three bottles of beer produces a long steady stream of golden rain. I would
have preferred to have it on my face, but I did not want him to piss all
over the back of my car. Long story short, I managed.

When he had finished I pulled off gasping for breath and sighing with
relief that it was over. He laughed and said. "Well, faggot, I guess you
got what you wanted, you pussy cunt-face queer."

"Yeah, it was great. Thanks, man. Oh fuck, yeah."

So my rough trade stud fished around on the floor for his cutoffs, pulled
them up and zipped, and slipped into his flipflops. "Hey man, can you lemme
have the rest of the beers?"

Oh, sure," I replied handing him the carton as he opened the back door,
exited, slammed, and disappeared into the night.

As I sat up and opened the door, surveying the sweat stain on my back seat
and sniffing the air, I realized I was going to have to do some serious
rehab to remove the evidence before my wife returned home. But what an
adventure!

I got into the front seat, started my car, and drove off down the road,
just as a police car approached from the other direction.