Date: Sun, 30 Jun 2013 23:30:25 -0400 (EDT)
From: keybedder@aol.com
Subject: Lunch Hour

LUNCH HOUR by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2013 by the author.

When I stopped in at Starbucks on my lunch hour last week I had no idea
what was going to happen.

I was dawdling-it was a slow day at the office. No one seemed to care when
I announced I was taking off half an hour early to go work out. I went
through my sets quickly so there was time for coffee when I finished-not
lunch, as I was determined not to let my hard-won gains get covered up by
belly fat.

My favorite Starbucks was cool and thankfully not too crowded. By now the
baristas greeted me by name when I walked in and then asked, "Grande iced
coffee?" I'd given up being annoyed by the forced familiarity.

My drink came up quickly. I took it to the bar by the front window of the
store that looked out onto a small patio and the parking lot. I perched on
one of the high stools and pulled out my smartphone. Between reading my
e-mail, surfing Facebook (a guilty pleasure), and looking up things on the
Web, I ended up happily killing time for quite a while.

Finally I took a break and looked around. Some cyclist was fitting a
plastic cap onto his drink at the cream and sugar stand nearby. He stepped
out the door and the next moment was standing right in front of me-he had
left his bike propped on the front wall of the store. I was perched at
exactly the right height to get a good look at him, though the blinds
across the window partly obscured his face.

Most men who wear skintight cycling outfits shouldn't. This guy was an
exception. The stretchy fabric fit his lean, rangy body like a glove. His
forearms were corded with muscle and vein. His biceps strained against the
short sleeves of his jersey. His shorts were black and sheer, leaving
nothing to the imagination. The folds of the fabric formed a snug pouch
between his legs, revealing the outlines of an impressive package. His legs
were just what a biker's ought to be, tanned and ripped. His face was
partly hidden by reflector sunglasses, but I imagined keen, intelligent
eyes to go with the even teeth and square, clean-shaven jaw.

He put his helmet down on one of the outdoor tables and stood sipping at
his drink he had just purchased, giving me plenty of time to check him
out. I figured I was safe since the window shades were hiding my face from
the outside. In a few moments he would get on his bike and ride away,
leaving me to face a long and boring afternoon. Better enjoy the view while
it lasted, and it was quite a view. I felt myself getting hard and shifted
on my barstool, trying to be inconspicuous about adjusting myself.

I was amazed when the biker outside did the same. I blinked, thinking I was
seeing things. No, I wasn't. One sinewy hand was cupping the goods I'd been
admiring, slowly squeezing and releasing.

I whipped my head up and found myself staring directly into his reflector
shades. The blinds must not have been concealing me as much as I thought. A
smile spread across his face as he continued to play with himself through
his shorts.

He put down his plastic cup, now empty except for ice, and reached for his
helmet. Quickly the biker snapped his equipment on and mounted his bike. I
sighed inwardly, figuring the show was over. It had been fun while it
lasted.

I watched him glide into the parking lot and begin to ride away.

Except, he didn't ride away. He covered the parking lot in leisurely
circles, dodging the occasional car, casting glances in my direction. After
a few passes he stopped in front of me and put one foot down on the
pavement, taking a hand off the handlebars and cupping the swelling mound
between his legs once again.

Clearly I was being cruised. But what to do? In a flash I made up my mind.

Quickly I downed the rest of my coffee. I got up, pushed the door open and
went out into the parking lot, straight toward the cyclist. He nodded and
smiled.

"How are you doing?" His voice was deep and resonant.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Come here in your car?" Getting straight to the point. I nodded again.

"Yeah."

He leaned toward me and spoke in a low voice. "I know a place nearby. Want
to follow me? Got time?"

The words came out of my mouth without thought. "No time like the present."

He laughed softly. "Cool. I'll wait for you at that exit over there."

I ran to my car. Moments later I was heading toward him. He saw me and
turned right out of the parking lot, waiting by the curb until he saw me
exit. Then he headed down the thoroughfare on the bike path, surprisingly
fast. Obviously he was in good shape. I was driving near the speed limit to
keep up with him.

After a while he turned left off into a more residential neighborhood. The
road became hillier and he slowed his pace a bit, though his muscular legs
continued to pump steadily. I followed him at a safe distance, enjoying the
sight of his athletic body at work.

Ahead of us on the right was a break in the parade of houses with large
front yards. I saw him turn into the open space. When I got there I
realized it was a small park, not much more than a clearing surrounded by
woods, a bit of wilderness that had not been swallowed up by development. A
gravel strip by the road served as a small parking lot. I pulled into it
and looked up. I caught sight of the biker in the distance. He had
dismounted and was walking his cycle toward the woods. He turned to make
sure I was still with him, then disappeared into the foliage.

I got out of my car and walked toward the spot I'd last seen him. As I
approached I saw that a small trail led into the trees. I plunged in,
hurrying so as not to lose the biker. I needn't have worried. A short
distance away I saw his machine propped up against a tree. He was nearby,
leaning against the trunk of another, reflector shades still on his face,
biceps bulging on crossed arms, smiling. His teeth flashed brilliant white,
even in the semidarkness.

I went up to him, panting from exertion and excitement.

"You made it."

I nodded. My hand reached out tentatively and made contact with his
Lycra-wrapped package. He nodded encouragement, his grin widening. I
kneaded his junk for a while, then reached for the waistband of his bike
shorts.

"Did I tell you I love these things?"

"I figured you might."

I let my hands slide underneath the slick fabric. There was nothing
underneath but moist skin. I pushed the shorts down his thighs as I sank to
my knees. His cock flopped out, cut, semi-hard, pink head flaring from the
pale veined shaft. His balls were round and tight, almost hairless. In fact
his crotch was bare except for a neatly trimmed patch above his cock. I
absorbed the sight in a flash as I took his cock in my mouth, smelling and
tasting clean sweat. It quickly grew to a steely rod, bumping the back of
my throat as I blew him in long, eager strokes. I let my hand wander up and
under his jersey, feeling the smooth ridges of his abs, finding and
squeezing a hard nipple.

His strong hands gripped my head, caressing my hair. A faint moan issued
from his throat and I increased the pace of my sucking to bring him
off. Abruptly his grip tightened, forcing me to stop. I let his cock slip
out of my mouth and looked up.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You're great. I want to taste you too."

"You don't have to do that," I said, but he was already grabbing me under
my arms and hauling me to my feet. Quick, confident fingers unzipped me and
snaked inside, finding my cock and hauling it out. In a moment I felt
myself enveloped by his warm, wet mouth. Waves of pleasure washed over me,
and I turned my head up to the sky, my eyes closed and my mouth open in
silent ecstasy.

Even in the middle of a great blowjob my mind wouldn't quite shut off. I
looked down. "We'd better hurry," I whispered, though I was enjoying the
sight of my shaft sliding in and out between his lips.

He looked up, releasing me, and grinned. "Damn right. Don't know about you,
but the mosquitoes are eating me alive." Abruptly he stood and turned
around, gripping the trunk of the tree he was leaning against.

"Fuck me."

"Really?" I said, nervousness returning.

"Yeah. I want that hot cock up my ass. Do it, buddy." He pushed his shorts
further down and the dimpled, pale globes of his butt cheeks came into full
view. The sight caused my cock, which had softened a bit, to rise again to
its full length.

"Lube in my saddle bag," he said, turning. "Hurry."

"Rubber too?"

He turned and shook his head, the grin flashing again. "I take all
cummers. You're clean, right?"

"Yep." I went over to his bike and found the stuff, squeezing it out and
quickly greasing myself up. As I got back in position behind him I
unbuckled my belt and shoved my pants and underwear down. I took my
slippery cock in hand and guided it between his cheeks. A bit of gentle
pressure and I felt his ring give way. The smooth heat of his asshole
surrounded the head and shaft of my cock as I slid into him.

He sighed with pleasure. "Yeah, give it to me, man. Every inch."

"You got it," I said to him.

I was scared out of my mind-and tremendously turned on. It would have to be
fast. I began to thrust, starting with small strokes, gradually increasing
the pace. In a few moments I was drilling his hole, almost slipping out of
him before shoving my dick back in.

My efforts were delighting the biker, judging from his grunts and
mutterings of "Yeah...fuck me man...uh-huh." His own right hand had moved
from the tree trunk and was furiously jacking his own stiff rod, still wet
with my spit. All too soon I felt myself go over the edge. Cum rushed up
and exploded out of my cock buried deep inside him as I rammed it in up to
my balls. My eyes squeezed shut as I emitted strangled grunts through
clenched teeth, trying not to make too much noise. These gave way to harsh
gasps as I collapsed onto his back, stunned by the storm that had shaken my
body and brain.

His body shook underneath me as the speed of his hand on his own organ
increased to a blur. He moaned, and I felt his asshole pulsing around my
cock as he emptied himself onto the tree trunk.

We didn't have time to enjoy the aftermath, but quickly straightened, broke
apart and dressed ourselves. I crammed my spent cock back into my pants
with some difficulty. He stood, hands on his hips, looking at me as I made
some final adjustments, still sweaty and disheveled. The swollen outline of
his dick was prominent in his shorts, and though I had just shot I wished I
could have another go at it.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "You?"

He smiled and nodded. "That was fun, buddy. Thanks."

"Thank you." I stuck out my hand. "I've got to get back to work. What's
your name?"

He shook it, his palm hot and moist. "Matt." He leered. "You shot a nice
load. It's sloshing around inside me."

I grinned, a bit embarrassed. "John. Hope I'll see you again."

"I go by that Starbucks a lot. Look for me."

"I will. Take care."

I looked back after I'd walked out of the woods and was heading toward my
car. Matt was just emerging from the path with his bike. He'd taken off his
reflectors. Even at a distance I could see that his eyes were blue, set
deep in his bronzed face. He gave a friendly wave, which I returned. He
started running to catch up to me, so I waited.

"Got your phone?" he asked as he came up. It just happened that I did.

Matt took it from my hand and poked at the keypad. I heard an electronic
chirping in his saddlebag.

"Now we've got each other's numbers. Have a good one." He handed it back,
jumped onto his bike and rode off, giving me a last look at his
Lycra-wrapped butt.

I turned on the air conditioner full blast as I swung the car onto the
road. Getting through the afternoon didn't seem so bad now.

END