What is? The straight boys on sites who jerk off for what they have to know is a gay trade. No, I’m not talking about the “straight” jocks who, two videos later, take to a cock in their mouth like a duck takes to water, or who expose surprisingly inviting and clearly previously visited assholes. They can make for hot viewing, sure, but the straight fantasy pretty much has to be checked at the door. I’m talking about the serious, not always super-buffed, boys. The ones who are bland, mean, vain, truly amateurish and very obviously after a fast, cum-stained buck.
The latest variation, from what I see, is the ‘maskurbator’. Gotta love this premise. It’s the Clark-Kent-takes-off-his-glasses-and-we-see-Superman thing all over again, the idiot fiction that the little strip of black around the eyes will conceal the straight identity of these boys. Uh-huh. Go for it, kid, if you think it protects you. Dumb and horny is hotter than just plain horny, anyway.
This was sort of circling the back of my mind the other day as I clicked around online. I wasn’t cruising and I wasn’t unearthing fresh porn. I was, for reasons honestly having to do with promoting my book M4M, checking out the local university’s sites. The dick is a resourceful beast, though. My intentions may have been innocent but seeing only a few shots of jocks toting books around the campus got my….wheels turning. And I realized it had been a long time since I enjoyed the green grass, fresh air, and wholesome atmosphere of the college scene. What the hell.
A fast bus ride and there I was. The strip itself, that lateral plane of funky cafes and bars, bookstores, and reduced everything for students, wasn’t my aim. Instead I strolled–yes, strolled–on the grounds of the halls. I’d dressed, too, with an eye for potentials. Jeans and a shirt that showed off those fucking hours at the gym just enough without making me look like an older, fit, too eager cocksucker. Hip teacher, in fact, was the aspired look. Almost achieved, too.
The sun sparkled on oceans of richly green grass. Ancient trees stood sentry by oaken doors, and small hills and valleys allowed for variety in the walking. As for the students ‒ bevies of college girls with jeans nearly falling off of plump hips. More girls, with streaks of purple in their hair or in tattoo form on their pale arms. And the occasional guy jogging, looking good but moving too damn fast. Shit. This is a major university. Where the hell is all the sexual, young stud tension?
Then I saw a boy on a bench. Dark hair hanging in a boyish cut over his forehead, sweats below, school t-shirt above. The body got to me. I like them muscled, but softly so and just a little beefy. That’s what was on the bench. He had a book in his hands but, strangely, he was holding it with the covers shut, his hands on it like hands in prayer. More strangely, he was nodding his head as if in time to music. But no iPod was attached to him.
I parked my ass on the lawn and lit a cigarette. I checked my cell to show that I wasn’t only not a freak or bum, but that I was used to being contacted. Then the series of alternating glances began. Mine were non-committal, as random as I could make them, looking behind this hot boy, in fact. Loved that tree he was blocking. His were…anybody’s guess. There was that element of hostility in them, sure. But that’s a look you see in the eyes of the dudes who jerk off in video, too.
To make a point–and maybe to show that I’d be OK with nothing more than what I already had, as far as beating off alone went–I stood up and slowly moved away from him and to the library. What I see now is that this in itself was a prompt. I’d never been before; I didn’t know this library had a famous bathroom.
He rose, passed me, and I followed, loving those round ass cheeks in sweatpant material. The crack is so there. It drew me like a magnet. Once inside, he walked down a mosaic-tiled floor without looking back once. Then he made a left into the men’s room.
When I entered he was at the urinal, and he was seriously taking a piss. I went to a stall, and I went without pausing. If my intent was clear, I still wasn’t going to beg. My jeans around my ankles, I played with my cock. His stream had stopped even as I unzipped. But he hadn’t stepped away from the urinal.
Then–and I loved his boldness–he appeared in the slit of the closed stall door. Black eyes, too, looking at me defiantly. Meeting his gaze was apparently all that was needed. He stepped in. And here’s where that straight video aspect comes into play….
The door to his back, only a couple of feet separated us. But that was the Wall of Jericho. Still sitting, I reached out for his dick but he backed away. He even held up a palm, signaling me that he was about to do all that he was about to do. He lifted his t-shirt and rolled it over his head, and his paws began mauling the pink nipples surrounded by black hair. His eyes were locked onto mine. My cock was now fully hard, though, and he was at least peripherally taking that in.
The sweats were pulled down, releasing a fat, not-too-long dick with a fucking huge head. I saw the hair on his knuckles as he grabbed it. He looked down, pulling on his meat until a few drops of precum surfaced. I licked my lips and worked my bigger dick, giving him the audience he needed. His other hand lifted up his full, hairy nuts, and his sexy belly was thrust out. It was up to me now, to come fast and show him how fucking hot he was.
Then I got inspired. After all, I’d obeyed the rules here and hadn’t tried touching him again, so I figured I’d earned the right. “Turn around,” I whispered. He paused, a dumb, animal look on his face. Then he did it, pulling the sweats down a little more.
 |
His fingers reached behind and he spread his cheeks. I guess it was just knowing that the pink hole I could barely make out under the black fur was cherry, but I couldn’t take it. A few, hoarse, “Fuck, yeahs,” from me, and I felt cum surge up from my balls. It shot high, falling to the toilet seat edge and the tiled floor. My mouth open, breathing like a dying man, I saw him pump his meat and blow a wad too. The cum hit the stall door he was leaning on, and I saw it ooze down between his jock thighs.
He never even looked back. Not once. The sweats were pulled up and he was gone, not even stopping to wash his hands at the sink. Which gave me time to enjoy what rarely happens for me ‒ the second come. Using a smear of my boy’s load, I jerked off again, enjoying that oddly more intense follow-up. The load is smaller but the electricity kicks ass.
Jack's new book, M4M: For an Hour, or Forever - The Gay Man's Guide to Finding Love Online is out and it looks great! Check out excerpts and more at [extern url='http://www.amazon.com/M4M-Forever-Guide-Finding-Online/dp/1416940723/sr=8-1/qid=1172579812/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/002-1055302-1892010?ie=UTF8&s=books' target='_blank' text='M4M']."
You can write to Jack directly - at [extern url='http://www.jackmauro.com' target='_blank' text='www.jackmauro.com'].