La Escena de Amor: Numero Cuatro

	"Young, White male, with big dick wanted. No queens. When do you
want to meet?" This is the message that is left on the beige wall of the
park's bathroom stall. I question the validity of the message. Maybe it's
some kind of ruse to gaybash some of us? I don't know. The curiosity, the
anonymity of the whole situation, I find it extremely erotic. How will this
man look? What does he want? These questions fill my mind, and I want them
answered, so I write "Meet me here Thursday at eight o'clock" with a marker
I had in my pocket. I leave the bathroom and finish my jog, anticipating
Thursday which is only two days away.
	It's Tuesday and I'm doing my customary jog around the park, then I
remember the message. Had he answered back? At this thought, I quickly ran
to the bathroom to the stall I had written in yesterday. I search the wall
looking for my message that stands out from the other ones that have stupid
questions like "Looking for a good dicksucker?"  I find my message and see
that it has been answered; I feel like a little kid opening a Christmas
present. The excitement is eating me alive. His message says "Sorry, busy
on Thursday. How about tonight at midnight?" Midnight? Damn, that's pretty
late. But I'm up for the challenge, so I write "Midnight's fine."
	I leave and, on the way out, I see this muscular, pale,
brown-haired dude standing next to the door. I hadn't paid attention to
him, but I noticed that he was standing at the door before I came in. I
speak to the man, and afterwards I wonder if he is my little anonymous
writer. I take another look at the man after I've already passed him, and I
see him looking me up and down.
	I come back at midnight either expecting to get my freak on for one
night or to get my ass kicked by some homophobic gaybashers. Either way, I
think "What the hell" because at least I will know who I've been writing to
for the last two days. Before entering the bathroom, I look around and see
that it is pitch black. Anybody could beat up my sorry ass and no one would
even know about it. I open the door to the bathroom and the man from this
morning is standing there.
	"I've been expecting you," he says in a huffy voice. He is even
more better-looking than this morning. His brown hair is long and tapered,
his muscles bulge from his tight white T-shirt, and his beady, brown,
puppy-dog eyes looked at me as if relieved and happy. I am attracted to him
immediately.
	We go to one of the urinals and I grab on to its rusted, gray
handles. I take his big, pale hands and unzip my jeans. My pants
immediately fall to the floor, and then he goes for my purple cotton/lycra
flex brief. My underwear is tight (so that my crouch hangs even further and
makes me have even more extra baggage). He puts has hands inside the brief
and takes it off. As his hands grip my hips, he moves to my butt and pats
them, massages them. As he massages one of my buns, he takes his middle
finger from his free hands and sticks it up my ass. This can as a complete
shock to me, so my asshole tightens up on his finger as if saying "You
cannot enter." I relax and begin to enjoy his finger inside me, twisting
and turning as if it's a wet shirt drying off in a dryer.
	After a while, he removes his finger from inside me and licks
it. He growls. I can hear him unzipping his pants and then it dropping to
the floor. He takes his hands and spreads my buns so that his plug can
enter my socket. He is in me; I can feel him sending bolts of electricity
throughout my ass. It's very electrifying. His hands are free again and he
needs something to grab. He keeps one on my butt to keep himself inside me,
and the other he uses to masturbate me. Aah! The ecstasy of it all. The
pleasure. I'm being pumped and stroked; I feel like a damned bagpipe.
	I lift one of my legs on top of the next urinal and the other one
is on a nearby sink. I can really feel his megabolts shocking every nerve
within me. It's very sizzling. I feel like someone has stuck a lightning
rod up my ass and I'm being shocked. He's stroked me too much and I sees my
white stuff splattered across the wall as if it's one of those inkblots a
psychiatrist shows you to see what's your problem. I see Spiderman being
stuck up in the ass by one off his enemies. Then I realize that this is how
I probably look by my clinging to the wall.
	The stranger behind me finally winds down and puts back on his
clothes. As he leaves, he says, "This was great; maybe we can do it some
other time." I say, "Yeah, I'll like that."