Florida in the summer isn’t bad at all. You just need to approach it, every second you’re there, like you’ve gone to war. Drop your guard–that is, fail to secure an air-conditioned space waiting for you whenever you have to be outside, and don’t carefully limit those outside minutes–and you’re a dead man.
It all came back to me last week when, for a book signing in West Palm Beach, I revisited my old homestead. I liked it. I liked staying at a hotel I once worked at. I liked seeing the shirtless dudes on Dixie, even as I knew how dangerous they could be. And I liked cruising in my nice, cool, rented Toyota. Horny as only you can get in a different place for a few days, I headed west one free afternoon, away from the way built-up miles nearer the coast. Up Military Trail, then to Jog. Farther west, down 441 and then north to Riviera Beach. Where was I going? Didn’t know.
Until I passed a stretch of park as huge as only South Florida parks can be. They’re so big, you don’t really know where they begin and end. But I knew where the heart of this one was, all right. Because right off the strip of highway cutting through it, a muscled stud in nothing but satin gym shorts was working out on the jungle gym. No one else was anywhere near, only passing cars to slow down and admire. This was obviously what the whole thing was about. He was putting on a show, and I decided I wanted to get a front-row seat.
I pulled in and parked, lit a cigarette, and slowly made my way to where he was now doing chin-ups. The body was fucking amazing; not that tall but sculpted perfectly, with massive pecs, big defined thighs and calves, and a strangely retro sea of black curls on his head. Patches of damp showed on the ass of his shorts, thick sweat coating every inch of this animal. I leaned against a Banyan tree, just close enough, and watched. It seemed like, again, there was no one around for miles. My cock began to push out the khaki on my thigh. I wanted to worship this bastard bad.
He dropped down from the chin-up bar, panting hard. Then he turned in my direction. I didn’t care how stupid it was ‒ I licked my lips. Then I flicked my cigarette away and started moving deeper into the park. I had a destination, and it wasn’t far: the men’s room.
Why are those park bathrooms so damn erotic? The concrete brick entry, the smell of damp, the musky scent of old piss. I went into a stall, left the door open, stood and unzipped. My dick sprang out and I squeezed precum out of the tip. Listening hard.
It wasn’t long. I heard the shuffle of sandals and peripherally saw/felt my stud go into the next stall. The concrete partition was short ‒ I saw those sweaty calves and the dropped shorts resting on his feet. He was up and in piss position, like I was. Dead silence. Then the soft rhythm of flesh on flesh. He was stroking. I held my pants up with one hand and followed my cockhead to his stall. He didn’t turn. His huge left arm steadily moved as he pumped his cock, his wet V of a back to me. I closed the door, my tongue nearly hanging out of my mouth.
I put my hands on the backs of his arms and pressed my cock to the sweat-covered mounds of muscled ass. He still didn’t turn, and he still stroked. Then he pressed against me a little and I heard a whisper of a moan. I licked, then bit, the salty nape of his neck and his head fell back. This hunk of male muscle, dripping sweat and sexiness, was passive, all the way. Sweet.
My hands on those fucking monster shoulders, I turned him to face me. For one burning second I stared in his sleepy, dark eyes, then I dropped my head and clamped my lips down on his right nipple. I knew this was what he wanted but I didn’t know how much.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” he groaned in a surprisingly high, sweet voice. “Suck it. Bite it.”
I did, switching from pec to pec, pinching the shit out of those nips with my teeth. He reached down to hold my dick and I felt for his. It wasn’t big. At all. But the nuts were nice. And it wasn’t his cock we both wanted me to go for.
After chowing down on his man-tits for a while, I turned him again and he spun in complying. He leaned over and thrust that huge ass out at me, like a dog in triple heat. There was a dusting of glistening black hair along the crack. My dick was raging, then screaming, when he reached back to pull one cheek aside. I needed to get inside that pink hole. Right then.
“Fuck my cunt,” he breathed, humping the air, gripping that cheek. “Fuckin’ sperm it.” As ready as I was, this was no fucker to take bareback. I jabbed my middle finger in his asshole up to the knuckle, twisting it, making him writhe. With my other hand I dug in a lowered pocket for a condom. I don’t think I ever got a rubber on faster in my life.
It was on and neither one of us was in the mood to take it easy. I pushed with all my weight and rammed the mushroom head of my cock in. He yelped, and a second later I buried my whole shaft in that moist, tight tunnel. I felt his ass cheeks pulse as he milked me. This was a muscle bitch out of a dream.
“I’m a cunt,” he started to chant. “Fucking cunt. Fucking cunt. Call me a cunt whore.” I did. I humped him hard, my hands finding and pinching the shit out of his nips. I called him my pussy, my baby, my cunt, and he rocked harder and harder, impaled on my meat. I sunk my teeth into his shoulder blade, my now wet balls whipping against his own sac. I don’t think any asshole ever held my cock like that, like it was trying to pull all of me in after it.
Time was up and I knew how to trigger his load right with mine. My lips behind his ear, I whispered hoarsely, “You want my baby cream, pussy? You want this hot thick sperm in your cunt?” Bingo. I dropped one hand from his nipple to his small cock. My cum exploded from my nuts into the rubber, making his ass even tighter around it. He cried out a long, “Ohhhh,” and I felt his jizz ooze all over my hand. I stayed inside him for a little bit longer, his hulking, panting body stuck to me by sweat. Then I lifted my hand to smear his own cum on his lips, I turned his head and kissed him, and I left.
Back in the air-conditioned rental, I enjoyed that depraved feeling of cum drying in your pants. I thought, too, about all those muscle boys I’d seen in gyms over the years. How many wanted to be fucked hard like a bitch? It might be interesting to delve into that scene further...
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']."
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