Date: Thu, 6 Jul 2006 14:44:20 -0700 (PDT) From: TSL <tsl_write@yahoo.com> Subject: smokingcub part 1 (c)TSL, tsl_write@yahoo.com This is a work of fiction and is intended to be read by those who find sexual activity between males of erotic interest. That's not to say the stories are always about sex. I repeat this is a work of fiction. From time to time, reality is not reflected. The players don't go to the toilet or pick their noise, unless it's pertinent to the plot. Sometimes, within the stories, HIV and other STDs don't exist. In real life, they do. Play safe. Sex is only fun between consenting adults. You should be of a legal age and in appropriate surroundings before reading further. This story may be distributed in its entirety provided the author's details are retained. * Smokingcub part 1 * He was there at 10 o'clock on the dot. And - same as yesterday - my cock stirred. This is ridiculous, I thought, but my gaze strayed again to look at him. He's not even my type, I tried to reason with myself, with my cock. True, his face was attractive, intelligent and focused. But he was short and stocky, and wore his hair cropped; it was not a look I was into. I preferred guys like my own body type, taller, lean and fit. Not balding. But worst of all he smoked. There he was, at his bench in the courtyard outside the building for his 10 o'clock smoke. He was from the second floor, I think. I was one of the lucky ones with a window seat that looked out on the courtyard on the ground floor... but since the building turned non-smoking, my only view at certain times of the day is a mist of cigarette smoke. I don't open the window any more. Occasionally he has company, but - like now - he's out there alone. And lately, I've noticed his gaze meets mine, whenever I glance left away from my monitor. He has dark hair and eyes, but I know he's looking at me. Today he's in short sleeves, and his forearms aren't as hairy as I had imagined them to be for a bear-type guy. As he lit his cigarette, I watched the forearm muscle compress and realised his stockiness wasn't flab, but muscle... at least in his arm. I looked away. My cock is too hard. Focus, focus, I told myself. I tried to will my cock down in case a colleague came over, but I knew he was still watching me. I started at my monitor, and snuck a glance sideways. A puff of cigarette smoke wafted across his face, but it cleared and I could have sworn his lips moved, his lips had formed words. In my mind I knew what he said, or thought he said... but he showed no expression as he drew in his next breath of nicotine. He exhaled. No mouthed words this time, but I knew his eyes were on me. This is crazy! What was happening to me? He'd started work here about six months ago; the ban was in place then so he'd always had to be outside for his cigs. But it was only this week, that I really noticed him... and got a reaction from looking at him. I stopped reminiscing, and focused - he was standing up, returning indoors. He didn't look my way, and I guiltily faced my monitor again. I was free for another two hours. At noon, he was there, but the courtyard was buzzing. It was a hot day, and people were taking early lunch breaks, stepping out to enjoy the sun. His usual spot on the bench was taken, so he leant against the wall. He didn't appear to be looking my way... or was he? Wait... did he say it again?? No... he was just exhaling... I'm going crazy, I tell myself. I almost tore myself away from my desk, intending to distract myself by heading towards the kitchen at the back of the building, but my cock was engorged, pointing at a stupid, yet obvious angle through my chinos. We've never spoken; I didn't even know if he was gay. Yet why in my mind does he keep telling me these words: "suck me"? And the thought of that is driving me insane. * * I'm single. A gay man in his twenties, who enjoys his life, and has sex regularly. I'm told it's `vanilla' sex I have, but what do I care? It's great meeting someone I'm into, and they're into me, both hot for each other, lean bodies together. We do all the usual things: kissing and sucking and fucking. I love to kiss, nice sweet breath, the hint of beer or wine, but certainly not cigarette. And I'm versatile, I love giving as much as receiving. My cock is appreciated by those who love a nice thick cock to suck. When I don't have sexual release, I masturbate - have a wank - doesn't everyone? Daily. I can't even remember the last time I abstained so long that I came in my sleep; yet, last night I came in my sleep. From a dream. A dream of him. And me on my knees, sucking him as he smokes. * * He's gone for his lunch, and I'm left waiting to calm down again. Is that a spot of precum I can feel?! It's only Tuesday, but I decide there and then to forego the gym. I'll head straight home, log on and, see if any of my regular sex buddies are around, and relieve this tension. * * The rest of the day passes without incident. After a very short lunch break, I'm in meetings for what seems like forever. But they take me up to leaving time; and I've avoided seeing him on his bench. I head straight home, and as the thought of sex hits me, I become slightly aroused again. It's a little early in the day, but I hope Rich or David will be online. I haven't seen Rich for months; David is a greedy cocksucker with a hard tight body. Last time we'd met, David had unexpectedly swallowed my cum, and my pulsating cock in his throat drove me wilder, even though my mind screamed instinctively against it. I usually came over his face; it was safer... I've never swallowed cum; to be honest, I don't even like sucking when there's precum, but I always respect a mutual situation... but David is happy to suck me and not expect the sucking in return, which is good as he precums buckets when he starts taking me down his throat.. Sex is too hot to be just focused on sucking. I love a hot cock to suck, don't get me wrong, but that in itself wouldn't be enough for me. So why the thought of sucking my smoker would push me over the edge last night... my smoker? I can't get him out of my head. Fuck, my stop! Gotta get off this bus, and log on. Please, David... be online. * * I had to call both David and Rich in the end. Neither answered. In anticipation of sex, my cock felt like it was about to burst. I'm not crazy; I've just never felt like this before. This need. No matter what I thought about, my cock refused to soften enough, and I'm left online waiting... My online picture should be hot enough to attract some interest, but no one is falling for it today. I'm too bloody early, I tell myself. Everyone's still at work. Or on their way home. Or... - hey I got a message! Oh, the name wasn't appealing, smokingcub, and I moved to close the window without replying. - come suck me I closed the window now, but a new one opened up immediately. - suck me now Something struck me. I clicked on the link to his profile. A headless shot of a naked torso, one arm folded up, obviously holding a fag to his mouth, off shot. The body was chunky but solid, with a light covering of dark hair. The forearm was muscular and not really as hairy as I imagine a 'cub' should be... - suck me now, or wait 2 tomorrow My mind was abuzz. - you know where I live. [smokingcub cannot receive messages as they are no longer online] I knew he was right. His address flashed in my mind... what the? How could that be? No, no, no. This was too weird. I pulled down my trousers, and wanked myself off. It took a while, as horny as I was... my cock refused to cum... until his dark eyes entered my imagination, the waft of cigarette smoke breaking eye contact briefly, and his lips mouthed those words. The first shot took me by surprise, and I showered myself in five long streaks.