Hey, don't get me wrong. I'm as straight as an arrow, but something that happened when I visited Branson a seven years ago has been bugging me to death. Maybe if I go public with this one time, it'll go away and quit haunting me.
It started in the lounge of a large hotel--no names of course. Being a liquor salesman, I enjoyed talking to prosperous-looking, professional men sitting beside me at the bar. After consuming several drinks, which this particular African-American man in a pin-stripe suit bought for me, he told me that the hotels in town were sold out, and if I had a couch in my room he could use, he would pay for my room.
"I guess that'll be okay," I said. His name was Charles. Don't remember his last name. He acted so polished and appeared well groomed.
In the room, I took my shower first, then he took his turn, and even borrowed my shampoo. Propped up with pillows, I watched TV for awhile until the Hot shower and liquor finally caught up to me and I passed out. The last thing I remember was Charles curled up on the couch with a pillow and blanket.
I had no idea what time it was, but somewhere in the pre-dawn hours, I had a sensation of warm breathing on the back of my neck. I felt lethargic, and couldn't remember where I was--maybe home with my wife, maybe not. Drifting back to sleep, I felt the sensation of warm skin against my back and behind my legs. It felt good. I moaned but couldn't wake up. It was like a sensual dream, only different. An arm slipped over my waist and a warm hand slid past the waistband of my shorts and gently stroked the sensitive spot just under the head of my now-erect penis. At the same time, I felt lips brushing against the fine hairs in the back of my neck. I still couldn't wake up, remaining at some level of twilight sleep--as though I had been slipped a Mickey Finn. When articulate fingers unsnapped my shorts, I instinctively rolled on my back and raised my hips while the hand slid them down to my knees. My erection stung as the skin stretched near the splitting point. Who the hell was this, and where was I? My arms and legs felt like lead and I felt so damned helpless. I was drugged for sure.
Manipulated like a rag to a position on my side where I felt myself being enclosed in powerful limbs--like an anaconda closing around its prey--I felt the presence of a very large, hot penis sliding between my legs. My own average-sized member slipped up against hard abs and into a mat of course hair. What the hell was happening. When I opened my mouth to yell, large lips pressed hard against mine and a hot tongue invaded my mouth as far as my tonsils.
The tissue around my anis began to sting. I felt the sensation of something large being rotated just slightly inside, as though depositing a sticky, slippery substance.
Hey, what can I say? Can I lie? I knew what was happening. Struck by a sudden moment of the forbidden, I managed to roll on my back and draw my legs up, locking them around hard, muscular hips. I then rolled my pelvis forward until I felt a sudden pop as the head of his penis penetrated me. Although painful at first, I managed to wet my fingers in my mouth, reach down and slither them around the huge member, feeling the pulsating veins protruding around under its slippery skin. Oh, my God, it's so damn big, and no condom ether.
Unable to move under his weight, I tried to cry out, only to be muffled again by those big lips and tongue invading and exploring my mouth. He lurched against me, and I felt the huge member sliding deep inside. I moaned, tightening my grip, pulling him in deeper. I felt the head bulging somewhere behind my navel. God help me, I loved it so.
When he began to pump in and out, the natural, hot-sticky excretions from his urethra started to lubricate, heightening the extreme pleasure that had completely taken me over. I began to wish I could be a woman--feeling the experience of being taken. Yes, taken and impregnated. I'm embarrassed to say, the I wanted him to fuck me. At that same moment, I gave myself to him so completely. Reaching down, I slid my hand around his balls and gently held them as he erupted his hot bursts deep inside of me. Now literally swimming in the opaque, viscose fluid, he pumped it in and out a few times as I started to come, but he fell back in exhaustion before I could.
"I'm sorry," Charles said. He stood and stumbled to the couch. Still weak, I managed to crawl over on the floor between those long, athletic legs.
"Don't be sorry." I said. Laying my head on the inside of his thigh and inhaling the enticing, acrid scent emanating from his manhood, I lifted his now partially-limp member and squeezed an opaque drop from the opening of his urethra. It glistened in the moonlight like a large pearl. I then drug my tongue through it, stringing a long ribbon of the sticky juice and coating my lips. Sliding the slippery, viscose fluid around the head of his penis with the gentle caresses of my mouth, I slowly took it deep within and milked what was left, wishing there was more--much more--maybe even a cupful more. Before dawn, there was much more which I ingested with great pleasure, then once more before we checked out. I'll never forget how it burst in my mouth and down my throat, while feeling the pulsations along my tongue as it pumped through his urethra, just under the skin of his huge erection.
I never saw Charles again after that. Probably was a good thing. If I were to run into him, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be able to resist that which haunts my dreams, and that which I try to block from my thoughts. Also, that which makes me come in my hand in the middle of the night, and slither my tongue through my wet, slippery palm. Hey, don't get me wrong. I still love women, but. . . . You know.
By Orphius soillark@yahoo.com