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."