From: Art_Fish@hotmail.com (Dr. Fish)
Subject: - MC_D'S.TXT [01/01]
Date: Fri, 26 Dec 1997 15:00:29 GMT
Organization: St. Dismas Infirmary for the Incurably Informed

Tiger
                        McDonalds In the Morning

I like my McDonalds.  More specifically, I really like my
McDonalds between six and eight a.m.  It is a great time to watch
the men who pass through.  At other times the place is either too
empty with nothing to see, or so busy that when you see something
worthwhile someone moves between you and him.

My favorite spot is a table in the front corner.  It is a strange
table.  The bench along the window wraps around the corner.
There is no way you could sit across from someone at this table.
However, I can sit along the side wall and face everyone waiting
in line for breakfast.  A turn of the head to the right brings
the back entrance into view.  It is the best place to see
everyone as they come and go.

Many customers are regulars.  Others are in construction trades
and come by for a few weeks to a few months and then disappear.
These construction workers are among my favorites.  Lots of
handsome young men pass through the door, many in tight jeans
with beautiful bulges in their crotches.

I sit at my favorite table reading a book.  The books take a long
time to finish, but they give me an excuse to stay longer than
most do.  The books may also help to hide some of my watching.
Still, I am sure that many realize exactly what I am doing.

Today, a new guy came in.  He was tall and thin with long blond
hair that came down just over his shoulders.  There was a
significant bulge in the front of his black Levis.  As he stood
on the line, that magnificent bulge was marvelously visible.
Coming over to get napkins, he displayed it again.
Unfortunately, his order was for carry-out and he left quickly.

For several months a young construction worker arrived by bus
every morning at 7:25.  He was only about 5' 7'' tall and stocky.
His sandy brown hair was cut short and he sported a mustache.  He
always wore a tee shirt with a zip-front sweatshirt over top.
Sometimes his sweatshirt would be open enough to expose his
nipples pressing against the tee shirt.  For me, this was a real
turn on.  Often my mind stripped that tee shirt from his body to
expose that muscular chest.  Those nipples were in the mouth of
my imagination more times than I could count.  Usually he wore
black sweatpants.  On occasion he replaced the sweatpants with
black jeans.  The black jeans were my preference.  They
highlighted his crotch just as I like it.  Underneath my
imagination would put him one day in a classic white brief and
the next day in a dark blue bikini.  Whether the underwear was
classic white or dark blue, the long thick cock inside ended up
deep inside my throat.

There was another young guy in his mid twenties who showed up
daily for a week or so.  He was slightly over six feet tall with
short, black hair.  His blue jeans sported the biggest basket I
have ever seen.  I wondered if it could possibly be real. Still,
every time my mind opened his jeans I put my lips to a silky
white brief chuck full of beautiful white meat.

My all time favorite, however, is a guy who must be almost
thirty.  He has dark brown hair.  It comes down about five inches
below his shoulders.  Half the time he wears it down.  The other
times it is tied back in a ponytail.  Down pleases me best.  That
soft, shining hair contrasts with his hard, mustached face.
Bill, as I have come to know this guy, always wears a tee shirt.
Sometimes he wears a flannel shirt over top with the collar open.
When the flannel shirt is not there, the movement of his nipples
under the cotton would start me getting hard.  His blue button-
fly Levis showcase great buns and an impressive bulge in the
crotch.

One day last week, I had just taken my place at the corner table
when a bus load of 4-H'ers arrived.  It took them quite a while
to get through the line.  As they did get their food, the tables
filled up.  Only a few were left to be served when Bill came in.
His hair was down that day.  As he stood behind the others, the
bulge in his jeans was more prominent than ever and I couldn't take
my eyes off it.

This was the object of my daydreams when Bill paid for his
breakfast and headed for the tables.  He stopped and looked around,
but all the tables were in use.  Then he walked over to my table
and asked, "Do you mind if I share this table?  They 're busier
than usual this morning."

Almost in shock I said, "Be my guest.  It is busy today."  He then
sat down around the corner from me.  The shape of the bench made it
seem that he was sitting next to me.

As he ate, we made some small talk.  What we talked about escapes
me, as my attention was on the incredible muscles of his arms and
chest, which were clearly visible under his thin cotton tee shirt.
Bill got my attention back, however, when he said, "I'm finished
eating.  If you're quick though, there is still time for you to eat
me.  Everyone knows you've been eying it long enough."

My mouth hung open.  Fully stunned, I couldn't reply.  Bill took
the initiative, got up and said, "Come on.  You're wasting time."

He led me to the men's room, which was large enough to easily
accommodate a wheelchair.  As the door closed, he pushed the button
that locked the door and assured our privacy.  I pushed him against
the wall as I pulled his shirt over his head.  My lips went
immediately to his left breast and my tongue began to play with his
nipple.  He, however, said, "There's no time for that," and he
pushed me to my knees.

He unbuckled his belt as I undid the buttons of his fly.  I quickly
pulled his jeans down to his knees.  His red, white and blue brief
surprised me.  One star in particular caught my attention with the
head of Bill's cock pushing out at the center.  I released this
magnificent eight-inch cock from its prison and began to lick
Bill's balls.  As my tongue went up the underside of the elegant
dick, Bill grabbed my head.  Saying, "We have to hurry.  Time is
short," he pulled my head toward him.  His cock slipped quickly to
the back of my mouth and down my throat.  I nearly gagged with the
surprise movement, but the gagging only brought moans of pleasure
from Bill.

Bill fucked my mouth, as my lips, tongue and throat tried
desperately to hold onto his huge rod.  One of my hands divided its
time between Bill's back and chest.  The other hand found its way
to his balls and tried to tickle them as they jumped in time to his
thrusts to my throat.  My own cock was hard pressed against my
jeans and delighted in the sensations of the fabric.  The shear
eroticism of the situation had more effect on my own pleasure than
even Bill's touch could have.  Soon Bill was ready to cum.  His
first hot splash triggered an explosion in me as I creamed my
jeans.  I tried to swallow Bill's cum, but volume and speed of his
shots caused me to choke and his jism bust out of my mouth and onto
my chin.

I was exhausted and content.  Bill left quickly without a word.  I
stayed behind and tried to clean up the cum in my pants.  When I
thought I had done as well as could be, I returned to my table,
which was still empty.  My daydreams about Bill continued.
Finally, a shout from a 4-H'ers brought me out of my daydreams  I
saw Bill, just paying for his breakfast.  He headed for the tables,
stopped and looked around, but all the tables were in use.  Then he
walked over to my table and asked, "Do you mind if I share this
table?  They 're busier than usual this morning."

In expectation I said, "Be my guest.  It is busy today."  He then
sat down around the corner from me.

God is a magician, 
Reality His trick, 
and it's all done with mirrors.