Disclaimer:
The following story may contain erotic situations between consenting adults. If it is illegal for you to read this please leave now.
I went walking again last night.
I can't seem to help it. I have a boyfriend, and I want to be good, but sometimes the chance presents itself, and I have to step out after dark. Not like Patsy; this was well before Midnight. But here above the 40th parallel it gets dark early in December.
It was only about six, six-thirty, but already Prospect Park was dark.
The great Meadow stretched away down the center of the park, but shadows shrouded the treeline on either side. I had entered the park near the subway exit on 15th Street, and I followed the asphalt path through the ballfields toward the shadowy trees. Beneath a lampost ahead a lone skater boy struck an arrogant pose, and he eyed me suspiciously as I walked past, but he never indicated any interest in my mission. It was dark, but he also looked really young. I'm not into jailbait, and I really prefer a guy who's old enough to have grown hair in the interesting places.
I slip into the woods near Dog Beach on the Upper Pool. The path skirts the pond, wending its way among the naked deciduous trees. I'm in a black peacoat with jeans; I'm wearing a cap, scarf, and gloves. The temperature hovers between 35 and 40 F, I'd guess. No one else is on the path, and I think maybe it's too cold for action this evening.
I pass the Lower Pool and cross the rustic wood bridge, taking a sharp right into the Ravine. The night is thick here; the leafless trees nonetheless block out the sky overhead with their bare branches. About halfway along the path, I see a shadow ahead. Another path branches off mine, and several more shadows flit among the trees on that path. So there is action tonight.
A shadow approaches me. When we get within a yard or so of each other, the shadow resolves itself into a guy wearing a tan shearling coat, dark jeans, boots. When we pass, I give him a look of interest.
He doesn't make eye contact and keeps walking. Dispiriting, but he's only the first prospect. Another shadow looms ahead. Actually, it's two shadows, one following the other.
My eyes make out the guy in front to be 6-feet or so, 185- or 195-lbs., I'd guess. He's wearing a shiny coat--leather? nylon?--over a dark hoodie. The hood covers his head, but I'd guess late 20s, 30s--who can tell? No lights in the Ravine; what there is filters from the paths in Long Meadow, thirty or forty yards away.
Behind him is a thinner shadow, shorter--5' 6" or 7", I'd say, 140 or so. He's not wearing a hat, and I can make out enough of his features to figure he must be mid-50s or so. Maybe younger if life's been especially rough. I pass them both, but looking back I can see the guy in front has paused; the guy behind has continued on.
I can see enough to tell that the Brown Hoodie guy is looking at me. I stop and stare at him for a few seconds. It's dark, and I can just make him out as a blacker cutout among the gloom; I figure he sees about the same thing in me.
I continue walking, although I slow my pace considerably. I look over my shoulder and see that Brown Hoodie is following. I slow to a crawl. Another path branches off to the left, but I'm leery of stepping too far into the woods with a stranger. Five yards further on is another fork, but this time a copse of six or seven trees forms an island around a huge fallen tree trunk, so I can step off into the trees without going too far into the woods. I make a slight right and walk just past the fallen trunk. Brown Hoodie is maybe ten paces behind me by now. As I stop and pivot, I see he has stopped.
He stands in the fork in the path, silhouetted by the light filtering up from Long Meadow. I'm at the side of the path leading further into the Ravine, six- or seven-yards from him. My leather-gloved hands are at my side, my left hand clutches a collapsed umbrella. I stare at him, and he returns my gaze. At least, I imagine he does. His face is shadowed deep within his hood; his hands are in his jacket pockets.
He steps tentatively down the path toward me. He comes about halfway, then steps over toward the fallen trunk. The trunk is maybe 8-feet long and four-feet high. He saunters over toward the trunk, turns to face me, and leans against it. He looks nonchalantly one way, then the other. His left hand slips out of his pocket, and he squeezes his crotch. He continues to adjust himself as he looks at me. I step toward him.
The copse of trees is on a slightly-raised mound between three paths. I step off the asphalt onto the leaf-covered loam. As I approach him, the leaves scuffle beneath my feet. As soon as I start walking toward him, his right hand moves to his belt buckle, and I am now close enough to see that he has unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. My eyes are drawn to the sizable lump in his brightly-colored boxer briefs. I look up at his face, and he shrugs the hood off. All I can really tell is that he's light-skinned--though whether white, hispanic, or even African-American, I can't tell. He sports a crewcut or shaved head, and I momentarily catch a glimpse of his tongue slide against very white teeth. I don't really see any features, but I can tell he's staring down at his own crotch. I drop to my knees on the dirt in front of him, slipping off my gloves and stuffing them into my pocket. I've already dropped my umbrella. The scent of his jacket hits me--Yes, leather!
Neither of us says anything. I look up at his shadowy face. He cups the back of my head in his left hand and pulls me into his crotch. I bury my nose in his briefs and breathe deep. Fuck! He smells so hot!
Cotton, Tide, soap, sweat, a hint of piss, and that strong undertone of male pheromones. I'm lost in a haze of lust as I massage his cloth-clad dick with my lips.
Though he doesn't speak, he nonetheless lets me know what he wants. He grabs my wrists and puts my hands on his ass, his thighs, his belly, indicating I should be rubbing and caressing his body as I worship his cock. He pushes my cap off my head and runs his fingers through my hair as I grip his elastic waistband with my teeth and pull his briefs toward his knees. I'm feeling his ass and thighs, and his cock flops out and hits my cheek. He hooks his underwear behind his balls with one hand while the other guides me onto his stiff dick. He's oozing precum, and his smell overpowers everything else. I bury my nose in his pubes, and his thick cockhead slips just into my throat. I breathe deep and swallow, massaging him with my throat muscles. My tongue swirls up and down the underside of his rod as my hands squeeze his firm buttcheeks and caress his beefy thighs.
This guy is built like a wrestler. He has a slight belly, and it's slightly furred. This is another turn-on. He unzips his jacket, and the slight leather aroma mingles with the sexy ripeness of his pubes to send aphrodisiacal shivers throughout my body. My hands are both gripping his ass, pulling him further into my hungry mouth, and he obliges by gripping my head in his paws and pumping my face with his dick.
I'm slurping and moaning on his fuck tool, and he's pumping away like a beast. I hear a rustle to my right, but I'm too far gone to care.
He pulls me off his dick and guides his balls into my mouth. I bathe one and then the other, savoring their salty roundness on my tongue, lost in my horny lust for cock. He slowly jacks his cock with his left hand as I swallow both his balls.
He grips my shoulder and pushes me off his dick and looks around; it seems he's heard something, too. He's still gripping his dick with his hand, and I tease his cock head with playful licks; I taste the salty, sticky pre-cum oozing from his slit. I need his dick back in me. I can tell he's a little nervous, but he doesn't seem to see anything, so he releases my shoulder and lets me engulf him again with my mouth.
This time, I know I'm going to get my reward. His cock stiffens, thickens; his thighs and ass tighten. He plunges his tool even deeper into me and grinds my nose in his pubes. His cock pulses, and a saltiness fills my mouth. His thighs shudder as his cock pulses again and then again. My mouth is filling with his warm seed, and he pulls out a bit. I open my mouth and look up at him as he grabs his dick and starts pumping his hand up and down the shaft. Another spurt shoots and then another. The first lands on my tongue, the next slightly above my lips on the right side of my nose. I swallow what's already in my mouth and wrap my lips around his fat cock again, sucking the remaining drops of semen out of him.
He's collapsed against the log, his fingers playing idly through my hair as I reluctanly pull myself off his spent dick. I lovingly lick the shaft and head; I pay especial attention to his balls, licking away any stray bits of cum which somehow missed my mouth.
He still has said nothing; he hasn't even grunted or moaned. I engulf his semi-hard cock with my mouth once more and suck it down and then back up. As it slides from my lips for the last time, I give it sweet peck, right on the head. He tucks it back into his briefs. Strangely, he zips up his jacket but leaves his jeans down around his thighs.
I get off my knees and pick up my cap and umbrella. His pants are still open, but he hasn't moved. He doesn't look at me. I look around for a second, put my cap on my head, and turn and walk away. At the fork in the path, I look back and can see his shadow still leaning against the log. Another shadow slides past me on the main path.
"That was pretty hot," a voice says as the shadow glides past. "If you're up for it, I'm sure you'll find more like that one around." The shadow disappears among the gloom of the wooded path, and when I glance behind me, I see that Brown Hoodie has disappeared as well.
I look left toward the Ravine and right toward Long Meadow and consider my options.
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