Date: Fri, 17 Dec 2004 23:22:35 -0800 (PST)
From: perfesser
Subject: Precious Jewels

The following is a true story.

It happened to me earlier this afternoon, December 17, 2004.

If you are not eighteen or older, or if reading materials which refer to
male/male sexual activity is illegal where you live, please go elsewhere
for your entertainment.  The following depicts (to the best of my
recollection) an actual event.

Precious Jewels

Every year in our area shopping mall, two young men lease a kiosk and
offer their trove of fine jewelry to the buying public.  Each piece is
custom made, the jewels themselves being imported from Europe; handpicked
by the two men and brought to the U.S.A. by them on one of their several
yearly junkets.  And every year, sometime between Thanksgiving and
Christmas, my wife and I end up trudging through the mall, spending like
crazy, and usually purchasing one or more new pieces of bling-bling from
these two lovers.

Yes ... they are lovers ... they are both in their mid-thirties, young
attractive and charismatic.  They are business partners together; skilled
craftsmen and fine artisans.  They are the cream of the crop as far as
jewelry artists are concerned.  And they are gay lovers who share more
than a business interest, together.

One of these fellows, I'll call him Jeff, is blond (with a touch of early
grey), svelte, muscular, wiry and every bit as adorable as his fine
jewelry.  He dresses like a college stud, but never obtuse.  He seems to
prefer sweaters and corduroy slacks that are a little snug, showing his
impressive package as proudly as his counter-top displays of jewelry.

Two weeks ago we purchased a small dangle of silver and stone as a gift
for one of our grand daughters.  When we got home, we discovered it had
been assembled "backward," so I called the shoe and got one of the boys
to the phone.  Within a few seconds, the problem was solved ... I would
send them the piece and they would repair it and ship it back before
Christmas.  Problem solved.

But only three days after I'd mailed it, I needed to be in the area of
the mall, and stopped by their stand to discover they had received the
mailing the day before and were repairing the item at that very moment.
I waited.  And while he repaired the jewelry, Jeff and I bantered a bit.
Somehow in those few minutes, I managed to allude to his prominent bulge
and was referred to the other man for comments.  There was much laughter
and innuendo, and I left forty-five minutes later with the repaired
jewelry in hand.

On my way home, my mind wandered over the encounter and the bi-genetics
in my dreaming stirred thoughts about Jeff and his as yet concealed
jewels.

Today we were back in the mall.  And as custom moves us, we stopped by
the kiosk even though we had no intentions of purchasing jewelry.  We
bantered, visited a few minutes about nothing in particular, and then it
was time to move on to the other stores.  Two hours later found me
waiting on a bench outside a department store while my wife searched the
cosmetics counters.

Suddenly Jeff was standing in front of me.  He teased about going broke
and we talked about the economy and their relationship and about the
consistent quality of their merchandise.  Then my wife joined us and Jeff
excused himself to return to their stand.  Ten minutes later I was
carrying overweight bags of purchases to the car, agreeing to meet my
wife at a designated area in a half-hour.

In the parking lot, I changed venue and re-entered the mall through a
service entrance near their community rooms.  There is a restroom in that
area that is often a meeting place for autonomous sexual encounters ...
O.K. it's not a glory hole, but damn, a lot of guys give blowjobs or get
played with while in there.

There were three stalls occupied, and the guy in the fourth seemed like
he was dancing (footwork was very interesting under the wall).  Another
guy was waiting by the door ... he looked a bit exasperated.  "Full
house," I said to no one in particular, and he looked at me with a
pinched expression.  I leaned against the wall near one of the waste cans.

In a few minutes, the "dancer" stood, flushed his throne, and came out of
the stall.  My fellow-waiter immediately entered the booth and produces
numerous sounds of gas and solid.  Then he flushed and left.  I took his
stall.

In the next few minutes several people entered and left the restroom, and
the people in the other stalls left ... except the guy next to me.  He
had not moved at all ... I was frankly beginning to wonder if he wasn't
dead.

Since there were only the two of us, I tapped my toe two times.
Nothing.  I lifted my toe (a little more obviously) and tapped it slowly,
twice.  Still no reaction.  The main door opened and someone came in and
used the urinal next to me.  He flushed and left.

And the guy next to me stood up as if to leave.  After a few seconds, he
turned toward our shared wall.  He stood like that for almost a minute.
The he dropped down and slid his knees and lower body under the wall; hi
flaccid penis hung just under the edge of the wall.

His cock was soft but fairly long.  The circumcision scar was bright red
... almost angry ... and the glans was the size of a small plumb.

Of course I reached for it ... I may be a fool, but not that foolish as
to ignore such an offer.  I reached under his cock and hefted his balls.
What little hair showed was very light in color and wispy in character.
I rubbed under his balls and up and over the shaft.  There was a
perceptible flexing in the shaft.

I formed a ring with my thumb and forefinger and began lightly stroking
him, taking my other hand and stroking the glans and that little notch on
the underside.  There was a perceptible gasp from the other guy.  I kept
stroking.

I alternated between lightly stroking and playing with the glans ...
sometimes doing both (as if my fingers were multiple tongues).  And his
pecker swelled ... to a full nine inches, maybe two inches across, with a
soft bulbous head ... and a flexing shaft.

Four minutes, maybe five, the breathing from the other guy became audible
gasping, "Uh... uhhh... oh...ummm... ahh..."  And then the obvious ... he
erupted.  This wasn't a short spurt or two of cum.  This wasn't a watery
dribbling.  This was a spurt after spurt ... six or seven or more ... and
considerable pooling of thick, white cream on the restroom floor.

I squeezed out the last drops.  He pulled back and sat on his commode.
There was obvious heavy breathing, gasping for air.  I drew a fistful of
toilet paper and wiped the floor.  He stood in place, fastened his pants,
and flushed.

I pulled myself into a standing position and pushed my face into the
corner to see him through the crack by the door as he left.

A man came into the room, and the door on the stall next to mine opened
and a young man rushed out, past the man who had just come into the
room.  I saw the side of his face in the mirror across from me.  I saw
the short-cropped, grayish blond hair.  I noted the blue coarse-brushed
sweater, the corduroy pant leg and tan loafer.  I couldn't swear to it,
but I was pretty sure.

Twenty minutes later, I had caught up with my wife outside a toy store.
We were just up the mall from the jewelry kiosk.  And on our way to the
parking lot ... we were headed to WalMart ... we wished a joyous Merry
Christmas to our jeweler friends.  Jeff, I noted, was wearing a
coarse-brushed, blue sweater and light, cream-colored corduroy slacks.

He had a twinkle in his eyes and wished us both a Merry Merry.