Message-ID: <033317Z28101995@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an395341@anon.penet.fi (...Mercury.....)
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Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an395341@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sat, 28 Oct 1995 03:31:47 UTC
Subject: Jacket (M/M) 1/1
Lines: 285

o
o        Oh Wise Master, I wonder who rules Alt.Sex.Stories ?
o        Why that is easy, young Grasshopper.  It is...
o
o                 ...  M  e  r  c  u  r  y  ...
o
o        For listen to the Wind.  Does it not whisper in your ear, 
o        "Mercury rulez A.S.S.!"  And listen to the babbling brook.
o        Does it not babble, "Mercury has the biggest dick of all!"
o        You see, Grasshopper.  All of Nature is in harmony with
o        Mercury, for he is one with the Universe!
o
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

			Roeland "The Seeker" Mertens				
			rmertens@eduserv.rug.ac.be
	************************************************************
	*  And Jesus pulled forth a carrot and He said to them :   *	
	* "Behold this,for it is a carrot." And they all knew it   *
	* was true for it was orange with green top. And the Lord  *
	* took a cloth and put over the carrot.Then He swiftly 	   *
	* removed it and the carrot had changed into a white furry *
	* mammal.And the crowd went absolutely bananas and they    *
	* said to Him :"How the hell did You do that??"		   *
	*   			- Rowan Atkinson,1991 -		   *
	************************************************************
 
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
o
o      Notes :
o
o   1.  I did not write this story and do not know who did.
o   2.  If you're a biW/A m/f 18-24 looking for friends, write.
o
Some interesting things that happened at a rest stop tea room.

   Four cars were parked in the lot at the rest area.  Usually there's a
guy in each car, usually older, usually drinking and scoping out the
trickle of truckers in and out.  But tonight, all but one car was empty
and since it was a chilly night, there was only one place they could all
be.
   I parked, got out, walked in.  As the door opens, I know from
experience, all activity suddenly stops and one can usually hear
footsteps, people moving or flushing toilets covering up other sounds.
None of the above.  Nobody at any of the four urinals to my left. Still,
a quick check of the four stalls showed three were occupied.  The second
had a brown leather bomber jacket slung over the door. Its occupant, a
young guy, college age, dark brown hair, was looking down and concealing
himself.  In the third was another college-age guy, shaggy blond hair,
green pullover, green jacket with white sleeves, again looking down.  In
the last stall I could see a pair of feet in black dress shoes.  The
crowd looked promising.  I turned and occupied the first stall.
   No sooner did I pull my pants down and sit that I ducked my head and
peeked under the stalls.  From the third, I noticed the shock of blond
hair hanging down, checking out this newcomer's intentions.  I remained
inverted, watching #2 in his topsiders and black jeans, #3's bright
white Etonic workout shoes and jeans, and the black shoes in the last,
for a couple of minutes.  Number 3, the blond, kept peeking, determining
that, yes, I was okay, interested, possibly even desirable.  The kid in
number 2 finally looked, first at the guy in 3, then at me.  Eye to eye,
an assurance that I'm not just another truck driver there to take a
dump; further, not another old coot desparate for anything he can get
either.
   The guy next to me kept on looking, shifting, stroking from what I
could see.  The dude in 3 reached under the wall, rubbed his leg, his
thigh and ass and as he shifted on the seat he got his dick stroked as
well.  I was practically lying on the floor by now, watching everything
and keeping my cock erect.  The hot youth continued to feel his dick
being pumped by the hand from under the wall.  He was wearing a white
pullover shirt with a Native-American design. His right hand was up
inside that shirt massaging his nipple, and his face reflected the
sensations being experienced by his erection, heightened by the feel of
him pinching his nipples.  The guy in the last stall was watching, too,
but from his viewpoint he can see the guy doing the stroking, surely on
himself as well as his neighbour.
   He shifted around so the intruding hand can get a feel of his buns
and butthole.  That put his cock in a position where I could reach under
his leg, fondle the head, feel the slippery pre-cum dripping out of the
slit.  I rubbed some pre-cum on the head and stroked him lightly.  I
couldn't get a good-enough grip on his cock, so he moved around and let
the other guy do some more pumping.
   When the excitement becomes too much to handle, the kid next to me
pulls his dick from the hand, sits back, erection pointing upwards,
shiny and deep red as his hand flies up and down its length, still
pinching his nipple. I haven't moved; I'm still standing on my head,
captivated and stimulated by the sight of this hot guy working himself
out.  My nostrils are tittilated by the faint smell of leather from his
bomber jacket that hangs a few inches from my face.  The look on his
face becomes more and more intense.  He's nearing his pleasure edge.
Looking at me, thinking of my cock and the hand job he has been getting,
he pushes his ass back on the toilet seat, points his cock into the
toilet bowl and strokes with a mighty fury.  Sharp, short breaths escape
his rounded lips.  I can see his groin pulsate as he unloads his cum
into the white porcelain.  His face fills with the total pleasure you
usually see on the actors in high-grade porno flicks.  If he had gotten
any hotter he would have boiled over. The pumping goes on for a dozen or
more thrusts as my cock swells and fills.
   His load spent, he quickly reassembled, put on his leather jacket,
made a swift exit.  The cute guy in number 3 got up, too, put on his
jacket and walked out.  I stood up, watching him.  He's about six-two,
wearing snug Guess jeans and a green long-sleeved shirt with a lot of
words and pictures, the kind you find in the "young men's" department.
But for me his jacket is the ultimate.  It's a varsity-style jacket,
green wool flannel with cream-white leather sleeves, white striped green
cuffs and collar, and again words. Front and back.  If you're a jock,
you usually wear a jacket like this with your school letter on it - that
really turns me on.  This jacket, this guy, is even hotter.  When I go
shopping, I duck into stores like Merry Go Round and Chess King and
admire the stuff like he's wearing, a three-hundred-dollar varsity
jacket, daydream about meeting a guy all decked out, ready for action.
Guess, Girbaud and Roots make similar jackets but I've never seen one
like this.  He stands there a moment, looking at me, such a stud, turns
to wash his hands, and walks out.  I'm depressed.  The most perfect
looking guy to cross my path in a long time and he's walking out without
even giving me a chance to talk to him, much less touch any part of him.
   Well, there's still the guy in the suit down at the end, so I pulled
up my pants, walked down there, watched him stroking it.  He stood up,
walked toward me with his cock in his hand, and opened the door to his
stall.  I reached out and grabbed his erection, pumped it furiously in
my fist as he rubbed my dick through my pants.  A few seconds were all
it took.  He turned his body to aim his cock at the wall and began
squirting his white slippery load all over the tile.  Globs splatted to
the floor.  He shook as the torrents weakened, then wiped his cock,
stuffed it back in his pants.  I went to the sink to wash up as he put
his coat on and ducked out the door.
   To be continued....
   As I was drying my hands under the hot wind from the electric hand
dryer (the ones that someone usually mutilates to read "1.Press butt--.
2.Rub hands under arm hair."), I heard the door open again.  A glance up
to see who it is.  And my heart raced when it was the blond in the green
varsity-style jacket with the white leather sleeves.  He's come back for
another round, I figured.  He must not have gotten off with the young
guy in the leather jacket.  Maybe he was going after him but he got
away.  What a pair they made...
   He took the third stall, removed his jacket and hung it up, pulled
down his jeans, sat down.  I walked over, looked over the door at him
sitting there, so gorgeous.  He reminded me of the typical California
dusty blond surfer or beach dude.  Moppy hair, clean shaven, well-
defined face, ocean blue eyes made more intense by his dark eyebrows.
He didn't look up at me but once, and wasn't playing with his dick or
showing it off to me.  I thought he wasn't interested in me.  I do the
same thing, when I'm sitting there and someone I don't particularly care
for is ogling me, so I recognize the brushoff.  There was one thing I
wanted to say to him, though, if nothing else:
   "That's a great jacket."
   I was in love with that jacket.  I'd love to wear it, to feel his
warmth, smell his scent, strut like a hot stud, knowing he bought the
jacket to attract that certain kind of guy, and knowing he's gotten off
in that jacket a lot.  I imagine myself getting off wearing it, playing
with it, wrapping my cock in the leather sleeves, staining his jacket
with my cum.
   "Thanks."
   He whispered at me, glancing at the jacket hanging to his left, then
up at me for a moment.  A half-grin cracked his lips.  Just then, the
outside door opened and I ducked into the last stall, pulled my pants
down and sat down, checking the feet of the latest visitor.  Sweat pants
and Nike hi-tops; maybe something hot.  It occured to me it's the same
guy who came in and took a leak a few minutes earlier.  Blond hair
ducked down next to me, meeting the glance of the new guy, as we all
determined each other's purpose.
   I took off and hung up my jacket and once again assumed my position
leaning on the floor, looking up at my neighbor, watching him stroke his
meat.  I had a great vantage point.  It's long but not too thick, the
uncut foreskin extending about halfway up the glans, less so when he was
fully erect.  He was definitely turned on and pumping.  I could see the
guy beyond as he knelt down.  A much more massive cock appeared, his
blue sweats and jockstrap pulled down around his ankles, the top of his
basketball hi-tops visible inside the legs of his sweats.  The thick,
upturned ten-incher protruded under the wall and the blond dude squatted
down, took it in hand and stroked.  I was able to reach his cock between
his spread legs, and after a brief stop at his fuckhole, my fingers
found his rod and kept him up while his were busy working out the
jockstrapped guy.
   We proceeded this way for a few minutes.  I stroked his cock the best
I could from where I was; he pumped with a tight grip on the huge boner,
stroking furiously.  He moved; I released my grip on his cock, felt his
thigh, and fondled his buns as he lifted them off the toilet seat to
better masturbate the man in the sweats.  A rush of breath was heard, a
gasped "Aaaaah" and a huge load of cum erupted from the giant erection,
a powerful squirt at first which splatted across the stall, followed by
several pumps, some of which ran down the shaft.  I watched, stroked my
cock, as the guy next to me continued to stroke, catching the slippery
cum in his fingers and lubricating the stranger's shaft, making a loud
slurping sound as he continued stroking the fading orgasm.  The shaft,
throbbing in his hand, finally ceased to eject any more fluid but
continued to be pumped for another half minute or so, remaining erect,
until finally he removed his hand, unrolled some toilet paper, and wiped
off as much of the liquid as he could from his right hand.  The cock
under the wall disappeared, replaced by the man's arm and a wad of paper
to mop up the gooey evidence of his orgasm.
   We both strained forward to watch the fading erection being stuffed
back into its jockstrap and sweatpants pulled up over the lump.  We
glanced over the doors as the man, attractive and about forty, left his
stall, washed his hands and left the room.  We were alone!
   The hand came under the wall.  I knelt down and, for the first time,
felt the hand of this hot guy, the same hand that just induced orgasm in
the jockstrapped dick, stroke my bone.  Face and chest flat against the
wall, knees digging into the cracks between the floor tiles, I felt my
cock being pumped while thinking of the guy, only wishing I could stroke
him and see him too.  The stroking stopped for a moment, then continued
closer to the root and I felt something warm and wet on the underside of
the tip of my cock.  He was sucking me!  It felt so incredibly great,
the slippery wet tongue and lips, his warm breath, his hand massaging my
nuts and forefingers wrapped tightly around the base of my twitching
dick.  I pressed my groin further under the wall, gripping the toilet
seat with my left hand for leverage.  A few seconds of this and I felt
like I was getting really close. And then the familiar sound of first
the outside door opening brought us to alert; the door to the men's room
opening interrupted our passion.
   Stay tuned...

   The sound of the door ended the surging in my prick and we scrambled
quietly back to our seated positions.  A middle-aged man perused a
couple stalls before settling on the first one.  Peeks under the wall
confirmed: he was looking too, and was cruising to get off as well.  He
looked, we looked, I looked at my friend, he kind of grins, I felt his
leg. He mostly sat there and stroked it, the firm shaft up above the rim
of the bowl, the foreskin covering about the bottom third of the shiny
purple head, his blond locks in his face, his long-sleeved pullover
shirt loosely covering his firm torso, his jeans and Calvin Klein
underwear resting on his bright white Etonic workout shoes.
   Suddenly, he stands, pulls up his pants and zips them, puts on his
fabulous jacket, leaves the stall, walks around and stands at the
urinal.  I'm not going to lose an opportunity so I do the same, follow
him over, stand next to him, unzip, pull it out, and in a couple seconds
it's back to full erection, just like him.  I stand close to him.  His
cock looks so magnificent; his hand strokes it firmly.  I reach my left
hand out, put it on his wrist, his hand, the base of his shaft.  He
removes his hand, puts it on my thigh, as I stroke the length of his
meat.  I'm pumping my cock and his in rhythm.  We turn and face each
other.  Our cocks meet briefly, his turgid shaft contacting mine, and he
puts his hand up to my face, then to the back of my head.  I smell the
leather sleeve of his jacket as he pulls my head forward, looks in my
eyes, then looks down at his cock, and back at my eyes.  He wants to be
sucked off and I'm not going to deny him that pleasure.
   Squatting, I face the red-purple shaft.  It's dry; no precum
lubricates the tip.  My mouth opens; my tongue contacts the head, then
the underside; my lips surround the shaft and as my tongue provides
gentle suction, I engulf his rod in my mouth.  Liquid rushes of pleasure
envelop his penis; I bury my nose in his crotch hair, piston stroke his
flesh into a frenzy of tension and release.  I feel his rod erectify
even more, filling my throat with the rubbery shaft and I know he's
getting close.
   As I hear his breathing getting shorter and more passionate, I look
up to see this blond stud's face flush red, eyes close, mouth open, neck
muscles tensing, a wave of total immense pleasure sweep over him and I
don't want to miss the explosion.  I pull my mouth off his erection just
in time, for the first volley of cum spurts forth, catching me on the
nose and cheek.  I turn him and aim him into the wall as I stand and
vigorously wank his dick.  We stand, shoulder to shoulder, our bodies
close, and I absorb the sights and smells of this fabulous guy in the
fantastic leather-sleeved jacket.  This is the closest I've been to his
body.  I impulsively bury my face in his neck, lips pursed, suck on his
neck and jaw.  From the collar of the jacket I pick up the faint smell
of New West cologne, a scent that drives me crazy, which mixes in with
the leather.
   The moans keep coming and so does he.  His groin bucks and pulses.
His face, contorted with pleasure, remains crimson.  For a moment I
believe this man is experiencing so much pleasure that some of it is
being transferred to my groin.  Then I realize that I am orgasming as
well, and my cock shoots its five-day supply of sperm at the urinal in a
massive gush that splats and echoes on the tile walls.  I pump him and
me and our dicks respond, alternating splashes of spunk for several more
seconds until both of us are drained dry and very nearly so weak that
our legs wobble and almost collapse under us.
   All this time we find the middle-aged man has been watching us and is
working hard on his own cock, and as we turn and look he loses his load
into the door of his stall as well, a fitting salute to the show we have
been giving him.
   I really regret not having said anything more to my partner for the
past half hour or so, for he is the kind of guy I could get into having
around.  Not even an exchange of names, much less phone numbers.  As the
white briefs soak up the last drips of his cum, he zips his sperm
covered wad into his jeans.  As I return to one of the stalls to wipe
up, he leaves the room and is gone forever.  I rush out, hoping to find
him outside the door, but instead see a pair of taillights accelerating
toward the highway.  No matter; I'm walking on air, even though I'll
probably never meet him, or anyone like him, again.


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