This story contains acts of sex between two consensual people. This story is real-life fiction and any similarities between persons dead or alive is purely coincidental.
Please consider donating to Nifty, they can't run the servers on ad space alone, and everyone using this site gets plenty of enjoyment. It's only fair we contribute financially as well as with our stories.
01: Middle-Age Runner
I remember him running down the trail on a hot summer afternoon. He was middle-aged with thick legs and a pouch that bounced effortlessly left to right in his nylon shorts. He wanted to be noticed, if only by the right person. When I turned around to run beside him, I wasn't sure that would be me.
Small talk is nothing more than politeness to a means. It gauges the situation while offering clues in tone and expression. For example, I learned right away that my middle-aged mild-mannered father figure enjoyed my company as running solo can be tedious. Moreover, he was not huffing and puffing, which told me he was in great shape.
After just a few minutes, in between other runners going the other way, I could not resist. I reached between his legs and squeezed my first manhood. It felt like what I thought it would, robust, meaty, and fulfilling, but I also felt guilty and ran. To nobody's surprise, I was not fast enough as my middle-aged runner caught up to me and turned me around.
"Why'd you do that for?" It was one of many questions he had, as I doubt anyone other than his wife has felt him there for a long time. But, looking back, I dare say, even she stopped touching him.
I didn't know what to do other than keep looking at what provoked me. Now that he was not running, his manhood appeared heavier and thicker in his shorts, but all my guilt could muster was, "I'm sorry."
"You think you can just do that to anyone?"
I remained quiet.
"What gives you the right to do that?" His scolding tone demanded a response.
"I'm sorry." When I heard his hefty sigh, I looked up into his concerned eyes, "I just like the way it looks." The truth is nerve-wracking sometimes.
Confused about what to do next, the middle-aged runner puts his hands on his hips. He resembled Tom Bosely, which drove me nuts! I realized right then that I would be subservient to authoritative men for the rest of my life.
I think he sensed it, "You can't just go around grabbing everyone you see."
"I'm so sorry." At this point, I was worried he would call the police or, worse, my mom, but I did what I did and had to take my punishment.
The middle-aged runner looked around and then back at him, "It's OK. Just don't do it again. OK?"
"Yes, sir." I lied while my eyes focused on the outlines around his crotch. "It just looks so..." I could not say it.
"Looks so what?" After I didn't answer for a few seconds, "Come on, son. Spit it out."
I knew after I said what I said, there was no going back, "It looks so good."
My words made him more uncomfortable as he turned to his side as if hiding himself. "Aren't you too young to know about these things?" It was a rhetorical question to which we both knew the answer.
I remained quiet once again.
Then he did something that surprised me. He hugged me. His strong arms pulled me to him as I was inches from his hairy belly. His sweat and musk hypnotized me. We stood there for what seemed like minutes but were probably a matter of seconds. I had not been held like that ever by a man old enough to be my father. Then, out of instinct, I wrapped my arms around him where my hands touched the meaty part of his backside. It was not my intention, but at the moment, he felt more than flesh and bones or an object. It was what I always wanted.
Suddenly, I felt a growth against my chest. I didn't move because the warmness coming from my middle-aged runner was overwhelming my senses and being. But all good things must come to an end as he released his embrace and took a step back. It was then that I was able to see a big stiff rod pushing his shorts out with a noticeable wet spot at the tip. I was petrified.
Nervously my middle-aged runner, "Now, I am sorry."
I looked up, confused because I knew no reason for him to apologize.
"Maybe, one day, you'll be mad at me for this."
I did not understand. I just stared as the spot in his shorts got wetter.
"Follow me."
We went off the main paved path onto a dirt one that led further into the woods. I followed him for about 10 minutes to a spot that seemed miles away from the world. Truthfully, I would have followed him to the edge of the earth.
"This is a good spot as any." The middle-aged runner turns towards me and puts his hand back on his hips. "Do you wanna see it?"
Looking up, I saw uneasiness behind intention. I nodded.
"OK. Well, you'll have to pull my shorts down."
It was a command that also sounded like a request, but I still looked up to make sure it was OK. After a subtle nod, I stepped closer, and with a hand by each hip, I did what I wanted to do the moment I saw the middle-aged runner. I yank his shorts down to reveal a wet, thick, meaty, hard pink prick. It was beautiful.
I stood there mesmerized, and then he caused it to twitch up toward my mouth as if inviting me. But I didn't know what to do until, "Give it a kiss." And so I did. I kissed it right where the wetness leaked out of his pisshole. My lips felt good against his mushroom head. Then, to my surprise, my middle-aged runner pushed into me so that his manhood was inside my mouth.
My eyes almost popped out of their sockets as I tasted a mix of cream and salt. But it was the musky smell from his hairy pubs that put me in heaven.
I didn't know what to do until he started gently moving his hips back and forth. I learned to use my tongue to lick the bottom of his shaft. Then he stood still as I began to bob my head and tightened my mouth, creating a sealed suction. My saliva offered enough wetness to remind him of something he might have had but not for a while. I realized, years later, that it was both our first times.
Then I heard him moan, and a few seconds later, a squirt pumped into my throat and then another and another. I stood still and let him empty himself inside me. Something told me not to spill any as I tried to swallow it all. It tasted so good. I would never have imagined such a wonderful thing could be produced from the two low hangers between his legs.
At that moment, nothing felt wrong. Looking back, I could blame him, blame society, blame everyone but myself, but I wanted it. I wanted to be close to a father figure, even if it were for a moment. Of course, the Christian Critics would call it an abomination, but it was simply exploration and curiosity. The saddest moment was not him getting soft, rather him pulling out of me.
My middle-aged runner lifted his shorts and chuckled, "That's a big wet spot." Then, giving me a big hug, "Let's get going now."
The walk back to the main trail felt quick. The whole time, I saw his buns shift with each step, wishing I had gotten a peek of them naked. He was every bit a man, and I suspect an excellent father. I wonder if he ever did this again or was it just a one-off, but I do know my search for a father figure had just begun despite its perversion.
To Be Continued....