The warmth of spring and a similar warmth in my pants helped me decide to check out ManPark after a long absence from the place that "used to be my playground."
I mounted the back stairs, counting them as I'd done so many times before: 59, 60, 61, about half way to the first stop, a great place to take a pee onto the greenery growing at the cliff-like ledge that supports the steps. It's always nice to get and successfully lose a boner after a nice outdoor whiz.
Taking my time zipping up, I continued up the stone steps, rounding the corner at 83, 84, 85,86, these old stone steps here since when John Reed's family owned this land and he may have climbed them himself. One-hundred and twenty-three and there is the choice of the road or continue up more steps. As I usually do, I choose more steps, 30 and a 31st which is really a tree root.
I turn to my right and toward my favorite tree. And stop in my steps. I don't really remember the next few minutes.
The first downed tree I saw was one from the grove below my favorite tree. It wasn't completely toppled but instead had crashed into another tree which didn't fully fall either but was no longer as it had been.
My favorite tree. What I next remember is standing at the tree with tears in my eyes and a man shaking my shoulders.
"You're going to have to move. We're working here," he said. Looking around I saw two other guys besides the one talking to me. I must have been there awhile and they were just arriving.
He looked at my hands which were covered in a brown, heavy sap that ran out of the wound in the tree. I couldn't help but think of how my own sap had often been in abudance at the site.
"There's a washroom around this corner and up those steps and over the hill," he continued. I hadn't spoken but had halted the waterworks that had slowly flowed down my cheeks.
Still speechless I slowly continued up the path as they moved in to do their duty. It was hard not to look back but I trodded up the last of the steps.
I hadn't been in that restroom for ages but figured I would need to wash up so crossed the parking lot and went down a back path between the trees to the facilities.
Of course the hot water wasn't available and the cold water wasn't enough to rid my hands of resin. Like a Catholic on Ash Wednesday, I didn't mind wearing a sign of my mourning.
The door creaked open and I turned to see the Parks employee who had shaken me out of my daze.
"Oh, you found it," he acknowledged me. "You okay?"
"Well, I will be," I tried to keep from glancing over his crotch as I would anyone else I'd see in here.
"Fell two nights ago in that wind storm," he said over his shoulder, having reached the urinal. I heard the sweet song of him starting to do what he'd come to do.
I was still rubbing at my fingers with that brown, papery paper towel, tree against tree.
"I'll have to have a memorial ceremony soon," I let slip out.
"Well, we'll be at it a couple days," he said as he shook his hips to throw that last drop. My imagination was curled around his fingers as they tucked his tingling meat back in and zipped up.
"That's ok. It'll be at two in the morning or so."
"You know you're not supposed to be in here after closing hours." He was direct.
"And you know that doesn't stop anybody." I was trying to be.
"I do know," he said. "I checked it out once soon after I started working here and heard the stories. I've never had such a great blow job. But I haven't been back. I'm usually straight, only do that once in a while."
Since he was talking about it, I sensed that this must be near his "once in a while" and I almost stepped forward to caress his thighs and refresh his memory. But he was working and I do try to keep my tongue off people while they're working (with some memorable exceptions).
"If you're not doing anything tonight about one in the morning, come by," I said, my feet taking me the other direction rather than toward him which my brain was telling them to do. I stepped out and away, walked down the road, stopped and watched through the trees as he left the wash room and returned to work.
It was about 12:30 and very dark that night when I returned, no moon, thick clouds. The tragedy in the park, the loss of two trees, had seemed to make men less likely to be there. It was awkward walking around the sawed and severed pieces of tree that were littered around where I had so often dirtied my knees.
I took a couple candles from my jacket pocket and placed them on the stump of what had been My Favorite Tree. "Poor tree-ling," I chanted in German, "my dear." I tried to ignore the tree that had been lost in the grove, the one that had caused this worse loss.
I didn't really expect the Parks guy to show up so I had to reconstruct him in my mind. Blue jeans, tight, early 30-ish, muscled and butch with a tenderness to his eyes and the sides of him mouth. Lean despite the muscles. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, the watery kind.
"I see you weren't kidding," I jumped and saw my imagined man step into the light of the candles, same blue jeans but the bulge was bigger than I'd remembered and much closer to my eyes than before.
Behind him was a sweet-looking younger guy, dirty blond, handsome but quiet. And behind him on the other side was a man my age, barrel-chested, bearded (but immaculately trimmed), dark eyes. I was most distracted by the forest of dark delight on his forearms. My mouth watered instinctively.
"This is my buddy, Joe," the Parks worker said, motioning toward he whom my eyes couldn't stop washing over. "And this is ...."
"Ian," the twink finished.
"We found him down by the washroom and I told him he should join us for a ceremony." Ian was already slowly massaging his jogging shorts.
"Well, we can start," I said and reached for his groin like I'd wanted to that afternoon.
"Oh, this is it? I thought there'd be a few moments of silence or something," Joe spoke at last.
"This is much more appropriate," I spoke my last as I drew him closer with my free hand, my mouth already aimed at the Parks worker's main attraction. Ian stepped behind the Parks worker and began a slow grind. I never did learn the Parks worker's name; I'll have to call him Bert.
Bert turned to give Ian some attention and I bounced like a squirrel to Joe's forearms. I had to slow myself down for fear of scaring him away. I wanted to be on my back on the ground with him fucking me into a new realm of reality. Joe didn't flinch or motion me away as I licked at his beard. But he didn't seem ready to kiss yet, wanted to be worshipped. I was the perfect congregant. I opened his pants slowly, letting him continue to caress himself.
Once his pants were open, I pulled his hand from his crotch to my cheek as I moved forward and took a deep breath before removing his white briefs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I was happy to see Bert being braver than I'd have guessed. He was sitting on the ground, his back to one of the burls of my favorite tree that had not yet been moved away. His pants were nowhere to be seen and the twink was standing in front of him, pants still on but opened, fucking Bert's face with real vigor.
"Ah, yeah," Joe exhaled quietly as I swallowed him whole.I didn't bob at first but kept him deep in my mouth and still, getting as much a taste of him as I could.
He started to do a bit of pumping action just as I began some movement of my own. I layed back onto my haunches and was soon on my back on the ground. Joe, who had gotten to his knees to stay in my mouth, stood and removed his shoes, socks, pants.
"That's going too," I said as I pulled at his shirt and then mine. I slammed my eager tits against the carpet of his chest. And rubbed. And rubbed.
Bert now had his shirt off as well, revealing a tawny-haired chest that any other day (night) I'd not be able to resist. But with Joe over me, I couldn't move. His balls were dangling just inches from me now and I opened my mouth like a chick in a nest waiting for the worm.
As I worked my mouth around the pendulous cock and balls as he squated over my face, I heard a rustle and saw a newcomer emerge fully nude and on hands and knees, crawling to take Bert's cock in him mouth.
The newcomer's position was ideal for Joe to lean just a bit forward and begin to chew the ass of the newcomer. I wanted to be between his beard and the ass cheeks of the stranger.
We were a major chain, me on my back lapping Joe who squatted over me and leaned forward to lick the ass of the man sucking his friend who was getting his face fucked for the first time by a sweet boy with the look of a life guard.
A sudden gust blew out my candles.