Straight boy stepping out
- 4 months ago
- 14 min read
- 12,847 views
I don’t know why I started watching him.
I mean, sure, he was a good-looking guy for somebody his age, which I guess was early to mid-30s. It was much too obvious that he was married, unless that mousy little thing attached to his arm was a girlfriend, or, dare I hoped, an insecure sister. She reminded me of Shelly Duvall in “The Shining,” all legs and arms and pale, smooth skin. She was pushing one of those armored baby carriages, the kind that look like you could rent them on airbnb.
And judging by the way he ogled that busty blonde in the skin-tight T who was walking ahead of them, he was straight, too. In fact, he seemed to be steering the Shelly girl down whatever aisle the blonde took, pausing when she paused, moving on when she moved, all the while feigning interest in the plasticky crap on the shelves at the mega-discount store, chatting up Shelly, while his eyes secretly roamed.
He couldn’t fool me. I was an expert on this stuff. I knew when somebody was being stalked. He was hiding behind his camouflage of domestic bliss, but he was stalking the blonde, probably stripping her with his eyes and wondering what it would be like to peel that T-shirt off the mounds of her breasts and plant his lips over the nipples and … and. …
Little did he know but the stalker was being stalked.
The four of us must have looked comical as we followed each other around the store, a couple of perverts and their unwitting victims. I had taken up residence behind the couple because the man was acceptably hot. His light brown hair was shaggier than somebody his age usually kept it, but it was his body that drew my eye. He exhibited a fullness of form that men reach in their early 30s after their metabolisms start to slow down and they shed the bony scrawn of twinkness and start filling out. His was a nice, meaty ass that looked good despite the baggy shorts, and would look better on my face. I could see a tuft of hair peeking above the neck of his shirt and that meant a luxuriant growth on his chest, something I could run my fingers through as I sucked on his nipples and ground my crotch against his muscular hip. Guys like him were totally ignorant of the effect they had on guys like me. They’d pose and posture in front of the mirror sometimes, appraising themselves with a critical eye and hoping they still looked as good to the opposite sex as they did when they were in their 20s. But they were never entirely happy with their appearance and needed somebody like me assure them that hey, they were OK! Actually better than OK!
We roamed the aisles until the blonde wandered into the hobbies section. Here, the guy seemed to pause, and I could guess what he was thinking. How does one plausibly explain to his bony, clingy girlfriend a sudden interest in scrapbook making or bedazzling a pair of pumps? The simple answer is that one doesn’t, and the guy seemed to have surmised that for himself because after a moment he turned to the mouse and said, “Honey, I need to drop by the shitter for a minute.”
The mouse rolled her eyes and whispered, “For God’s sake, Tony, can’t you just call it the men’s room like every other civilized man on the planet?”
“Who said I was civilized?” he smirked, and she play-punched him in the arm.
“I’m going to housewares. You better hurry up in there because I’ve got the credit card.”
She spun on her heel and marched away, waving over her shoulder without looking back. I watched him watch her go. Then he turned a longing eye to the hobby section and seemed to weigh the possibility of going in there vs. getting caught, or worse, looking stupid. He decided discretion was the better part of valor, it seemed, and reluctantly headed toward the bathrooms at the back of the store. With no reluctance at all I followed him.
He wasn’t kidding about the bathroom being a “shitter.” Most men’s rooms stink to high heaven. You wonder what in the hell guys had for dinner the night before, and the thought of going near that orifice without a thorough scrubbing out turns your stomach.
But this bathroom was different. For starters, it had an exhaust fan that not only sucked out all the noxious fumes but provided a handy level of noise that would mask a number of sounds … the sound of sucking, for instance, or the unintended moan of lust. Also, it had an air freshener dispenser mounted high on the wall at the opposite end of the fan that didn’t smell like awful disinfectant or something you would smell in an ER lobby.
The target of my surveillance had taken up residence in the handicapped stall, which was much larger and roomier than the crypt like single-person stalls attached to it. The handicapped stall had its own sink and paper towel dispenser, along with those tissue things that fit over the toilet seat, in case the guy who last sat there had a particularly germy butt. I slipped into the adjoining stall and took a seat, pants bunched around my ankles.
I figured he was probably horny from all his imaginary sex with the busty blonde and was planning to rub one out, so I began looking for a way to peer into his stall without being noticed. There were no handy holes in the wall. Sometimes in a public bathroom they’ll relocate the toilet paper dispenser and leave the old screw holes that, with a bit of contortions, can be used to observe your stallmate. But this wall was clean and smooth – not even any dirty graffiti to set the mood. And there was certainly no gloryhole.
Finally I noticed a gap between the stall and the wall. There was no way I could press my face flat enough to see through the gap, but by holding the phone eyepiece up there I could record what was going on easily enough, though the angle wasn’t perfect. So that’s what I did.
I held it up about a minute, then pulled it back and, with the volume turned down, replayed the last minute of video. There was our boy on the toilet, his tanned legs giving way to pale white flesh just above the knee, meaty ass spread out on the toilet seat, his dick in his hand and his phone in the other. Had he been secretly videoing the blonde? Probably not – not with the Shelly girl attached to his arm. But he was indeed working on a jism-letting and a burn of lust settled into my stomach. His cock was average length but nice and fat, and the knob was glistening, which meant he wasn’t long for squirting his stuff.
It was then I made a momentous decision.
Hooking up with strange men – and obviously straight men – can be a hazardous undertaking, though guys seem to have relaxed a little here lately. In the past they would have instantly beaten the shit out of you. But these days they weren’t so quick to strike, and I think it’s because all that online porn has not only exposed them to the reality of men sometimes having sex with each other but has normalized the idea so that instead of being disgusting and perverted, it’s actually a kind of turn-on. I say this based on the number of married men I have hooked up as an older teen and an adult.
With that hope in mind I stuck my hand down under the partition and made a “come here” motion with my fingers.
Nothing happened for about 30 seconds. Then I heard a sound, faint against the constant whir of the fan. I saw a shadow fall over the floor on his side of the stall, and a moment later I saw him drop to his knees, that fat cock jutting just under the wall. I felt my pulse quicken and my body temperature seemed to shoot up. A nice, fat cock.
A nice, fat, straight cock!
I reached down and took it in my hand. It was nicely warm and my fingers stuck to the flesh, which meant it was sticky with body emanations – sweat and glandular discharge. I raised my hand and gave it a quick sniff before returning to his dick. It smelled musky and fermented, as if his penis had been stewing in sex hormones.
I had to have that thing in my mouth.
I’m not a gymnast and can’t simply unhinge my back to bend down like that, so I ended up getting on my knees, all the while hanging on to that big dick lest it disappear before I could get it in my mouth. From outside the stall it would have been painfully obvious what I was doing, but I’ll be honest – I was beyond caring. My heart was pounding now that I had smelled what was going on between Mr. Stalker’s legs and I had to have it.
I turned my head sideways and slipped that big knob into my mouth.
I was able to swallow most of it until it touched the back of my throat. Struggling to suppress my gag reflex, I opened up and took it all the way down, until my nose was pressed into his pubes and my chin was rubbing against his balls (which had pulled up tightly into the scrotum). I backed off and then swallowed it again, using my tongue to rub it everywhere along the underside as I sucked and sucked and sucked.
His hand slipped under the wall and sought the back of my head, but the angle wasn’t good and he settled for grabbing my shoulder to pull me onto his raging pole. By this time I was pistoning up and down, sucking and licking and applying as much friction as my mouth could generate. I reached up with my hand and rubbed the back of his thigh, then let it wander farther north, over the globe his sweaty butt and into his steaming crack. My fingers went up and down his crack, looking for that sweet love hole I knew to be there, and when they found it he let out a tiny, squeaking gasp. I pressed against it lightly, then rubbed it gently as I continued sucking that fat dick of his.
I was totally caught by surprise when he pumped my mouth full of sperm. Without any preamble whatsoever the thing suddenly unloaded big gouts of hot, sticky fluid. I felt his thighs quiver and his asshole clench as he pumped his seed into me. Knowing that just a minute ago he was fantasizing about fucking that bit-tittied blonde, and that he would probably go home and lay the pipe to the Shelly girl, made it all the more sexy and hot. I was feeding his seed to me and I had subordinated myself to him so he could do it. Fucking hot!
He pulled his dick out of my mouth and I brought my hand back under the partition. My fingers smelled like ass, and the aroma instantly hardened my dick, which had been flopping aimlessly between my legs.
I wondered if maybe he’d be interested in more?
I stood up, kicked off one shoe and pulled my pants leg off my right leg. Then I turned around and once again knelt to the floor, this time thrusting my ass under the partition. There was no mistaking what I wanted, not even by a dumb straight boy
Nothing happened for several seconds. Then I heard the liquid soap dispenser being used. I heard the squelching sound of a hand lubing up a big, fat straight boy cock. I swallowed the last bit of his cum that clung to my teeth and waited for that delicious pressure to enter my asshole.
It was not long in coming.
The knob of his dick pushed against my ass and I relaxed to let it in. The head slipped in and I felt his cold hands grab me by the hips. He seemed more than eager because he wasted no time pushing that big pipe in as far as it would go, until his pubes were up against my ass cheeks. Then he began fucking.
To know that the dick currently in my ass had only moments before unloaded a steaming deposit of sperm in my mouth was such a turn-on that I began furiously jacking my dick. Straight guys have a fixation about anything entering their butts, but if they only knew, after you get used to it, how good it feels to have another man’s cock up your ass, well, they’d all be faggots like me. There’s something sexually stimulating about allowing another man to derive physical pleasure from your body, and at the moment I was in sex heaven. This straight boy was not shy about his needs, either. He rutted my hole with a desperate urgency, as if he’d never had sex before and was expelling a lifetime of bottled up desire.
I jacked and jacked and after only a minute felt my muscles contract and that burning node of joy in the back of my brain light up as my cum shot out all over the dirty bathroom tile. I could feel my asshole clenching his cock as I pumped out my seed, and the sensation ratcheted up the pleasure by a factor of 10. It felt like the crack cocaine of sex.
But straight boy was not so quick in his cum this time, so I settled back for a long, pleasant, illicit pounding. I wondered if mousy Shelly was wandering the aisles of the housewares department, wondering where her hubby/boyfriend had gotten off to. I pictured finding her later and telling her how much I had enjoyed her partner’s breeding of my ass, how he had pumped my stomach full of sperm and now would fill up my colon with the same. Before long I was hard again and started masturbating my penis as straight boy thrust away at my hole.
Finally he gripped me with renewed ferocity and pushed as hard as he could, and I felt that familiar squirt, squirt, squirt as his fluids were injected into my ass. He let out a huge, grinding sigh as he continued to pump into me, a remarkable output for somebody his age. All that clean living, I guess.
After another minute, his cock lost its hardness and he pulled out. When he did I felt a stream of sticky fluid flow out of my ass, down my taint and across my balls. I got back on my feet and sat down on the toilet, allowing the semen to drain out of me. I was still horny as hell and continued working on my cock. I would be here a few minutes longer.
I heard him washing his hands and I think maybe he washed his dick, too. Then he put everything back in place, zipped up, blew his nose and left. As he walked past my door he said “Thanks” very quietly and headed for the exit. Just then somebody else came in and they exchanged “Excuse me’s” and I was left there, my gullet full of another man’s cum as my ass leaked a second load. Five minutes later I would erupt again.
I got myself cleaned up and went back out into the store. I bumped into them again on the household chemicals aisle. I was buying laundry detergent and backed up without looking behind me. My ass bumped into his. I turned and said, “I’m sorry; excuse me” until I saw who it was and my breath hitched in my chest.
But he didn’t recognize me and when I last saw him, mousy Shelly had reattached herself to his arm and was leading him toward the grocery part of the store.
That ass, I thought, staring at his shorts as he walked away. I didn’t get a chance to eat that ass.
Oh well. There was always next time.
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