It had been a couple years since I able to participate in my favorite Superbowl Sunday ritual: cruising Man Park and getting my own taste of over-charged testosterone. But this year I made a long-anticipated return trip to Man Park while the Superbowl was in the first half.
It was, of course, still daylight when I arrived. I was surprised to find several men wandering around, couples as well as a few single men! Previous Superbowl Sundays had been satisfying and successful, but high numbers wasn't usually a factor (large members, yes, but not large numbers).
As usually happens when a couple or couples are casually strolling the grounds, not much else was happening, no bushes rustling, no posing on the Balcony, no waiting in the Grove. I decided to wander elsewhere.
Dusk was descending as I returned from my distraction. I ducked onto the first trail as I re-entered Man Park and, before I knew it, two men were standing behind the tree at the curve in the path. I stopped still.
It was already too late to watch them awhile unnoticed. I sensed they had only been there a minute or two: no dicks were out yet, both were standing.
The one nearest me had on a light jacket, glasses, curly hair neatly cut. Businessman, late 30s, he had a frozen "caught with the hand in the cookie jar" air about him.
The other guy wore a heavy sports tee over a square torso. With the Superbowl on my mind, I thought of a tight end or blocker. He had on semi-shiny jogging pants. A mustache, square as his shoulders, a smile toward me, a slight nod.
Staying about two feet away, I opened my jacket and undid my zipper. The businessman did a nervous look around in the semi-darkness. He wasn't ready for a group grope so rather than prolong the awkwardness I returned my still-limp dick to its nest.
He moved a half step to the side and I noticed the linebacker grabbing his crotch and watching to see that I noticed as I passed him. Two steps behind him was a fork in the paths and I took the turn which was a cul-de-sac rather than continuing on the main path.
Three feet later I stopped, ready to watch them continue from a discreet but noticed distance. Of course, I was also hoping they'd both join me and I opened my pants, top button and all, to be ready. It looked like they were mouthing silent plans: join him? leave? stay here? find a new spot?
The linebacker walked away but didn't come my way, instead continuing a few feet on the main path past the path I'd taken. He stopped. The businessman followed him. He stopped.
The linebacker walked away from him and returned to the path I'd taken. He stood and looked me over again. I hadn't meant for it to be a competition. His large hand over his large basket, he approached me.
We stroked each other a short while before I noticed the businessman take his place at the fork in the path. He was watching us, arguing with a shy side about joining us. To show him what he might get if he joined us, I got to my knees and began toying with and working on the nice-sized pole in front of me.
His dick was about the size of mine, a surprise given that he was about twice my build. I snuck my right hand up under the sweatshirt and found a soft furriness more pleasant than any material. I sucked greedily.
If our dicks were the same size, our ball sacks sure weren't. His was the size and texture of a waterballoon left in the sun for a week. I usually love to take a guy's entire hefty bag into my mouth but this was such a whole package that there was nowhere to start. It wouldn't fit.
The businessman left (my apologies to him for stealing what he'd started, I honestly hate when this happens) and the linebacker was pretty quick in getting to a point where he whispered huskily under his breath, "I'm gonna blow...."
Still on my knees, I threw my own shirt over my head to bare my chest.
"Come on me, shoot it here," I whisper-pleaded, pushing my right tit toward his leaking head. With one hand I continued to massage the huge pillow of his smooth balls with my left hand and his frizzy-haired left nipple with my right.
And he did shoot. One. Two. Three strong, warm loads that stretched from nipple to nipple. Then one, two, three, four, five last lunges, smooth drools as he heaved and breathed audibly above me.
I had gone from soft to hard in pretty quick order and now I went from hard to coming in another amazing rush. My left hand wet with my own ooze, I took my right and slowly rubbed his come over my entire chest.
He moaned in encouragement, staring hungrily at my cock as I came. I took a last lick or two of those huge basketballs (sorry, wrong sport) before he tucked them back into the jogging pants and said, "Thanks," then walked away.
I took the handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped my chest and hands, completely drenching the hanky. I want to save it.
It had become completely dark and I left the park, intending to go home. About ten blocks away, maybe twenty, I was overtaken by a second wave of horniness that was so strong that I turned around without even realizing it.
There was a pickup truck still parked at the top of the hill. A guy in the driver's seat had been there for hours. When it had been twilight and I could see him, I saw an average-looking guy I'm sure would taste wonderful.
I walked past him again and realized he had been there too long to do anything other than what his courage had mustered thus far: just being here. So I left him alone and returned to where the linebacker had given me a long-overdue shower.
I wasn't in the cul-de-sac long when a figure approached from the other direction. Tall and full-bodied, my first reaction was that this guy isn't the kind I usually can get turned on by: too blonde, too big. He approached me.
I could smell a scent that was half perfumes and half sweat, the sweet sweat of a clean man, not that of a wild man like I'm more used to. Something about him said he was moneyed and pampered, another turn-off.
His smell covered me like a jacket as he, to his credit, took an assertive step toward me and caressed my groin. I returned the gesture.
He dropped to his knees before I'd have liked him to and took my semi-hard dick in his warm mouth. His tongue was practiced and able. He liked the hip thrusts that started of their own accord on my part. He moaned encouragement. I heard him undoing his own pants.
He stood then and we faced each other, cocks all but touching as we each stroked ourselves. He pulled my shirt up to my chin and began to kiss my right nipple. I remembered that the majority of the linebacker's load had been there not long before.
He went from kissing my right nipple to my left but that didn't last long. His acute sense of taste soon returned him to my right nipple and he nibbled it with increased interest as he got closer to coming. His gentle nibbling changed to large licks.
I was about to come myself when he raised his head to kiss me. So tall he was still bending over, the kissing seemed like something he was more excited by than even having my dick in his mouth. His lips were soft, warm, tender.
His moaning hit a high when I began to suck softly on his lips and then his tongue. I felt a warm wash over the head of my cock and thought for a moment that it was my own. But it was him, coming on my cock just seconds before I did the same.
He wrapped himself together more quickly than I would have thought, not lingering over what for me had become unexpectedly tender and intimate. My drenched hanky had enough wiping power left to take care of what was left on my dick and hands. The giant was long gone.
I was glad I'd returned. I walked past the guy in the pickup at the top of the hill and contemplated thrilling thirds. But I walked home. There's another Superbowl next year!