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My Magazine > Editors Archive > cat5 > Tales from the Net: Outside (the Box)
Tales from the Net: Outside (the Box)   by Jack Mauro

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I’m going to take a leap here and suggest that anyone reading this is at least a little aware of the mega-porn to be found online. The pics and movies are endless, pointing to about ten billion sexy naked men having some fun with each other, or solo, all around us.

This was in fact in my mind as I sat at my PC the other day, scanning literally hundreds of pages of freshly-culled man smut. It’s almost too much ‒ when your senses are that reeling, your dick gets a little confused too. So I stepped away to my window, to give both senses and dick a break. You know, inhale some air, regain control, like that.

Shit! Is there no escape? For my window overlooks a slightly lower roof. Upon which a small team of big men were erecting something there, a few of them shirtless and gleaming in the August heat. Little did they know the power to erect from a distance they had. My position was just, and I mean just, barely close enough to permit being seen. And for the next hour I kept rushing back to that window, shirtless myself, taking in the real stuff that lives outside the PC box. It was too damn hot. It got me thinking, too, in that drunken way you think when your cock takes over.

I did the math. I figured out which building was under that sexy roof and I calculated on the average going-home time of the average roofing stud. Then I thought, what the fuck. I slipped on a t-shirt, rolled up the sleeves, grabbed my keys and headed on out into the sunset. After all, I thought, what’s the worst that can happen? Someone beats the shit out of me? Well, as long as I made my intentions not truly direct, I reasoned I could avoid bruising.

Make no mistake: this wasn’t easy. It’s fucking hot out there, after all, and hanging out for even fifteen minutes can be a killer. The thrill of what might be kept me steady and fueled, but not for much longer. Twenty minutes, and I figured these bastards liked overtime like they loved pussy. Time to trudge the short hill to back home.

That’s when I noticed what had been staring me in the face, right across the street. A whole excavation within an old structure, just in front of the railroad tracks. OK, it was sort of on my way anyway. So I crossed over and peered inside. I won’t waste your time with the hot Latin guys I saw, dust-covered and getting me throbbing. Let’s cut to the chase, when I realized some of ‘em had to be out back as well. Let’s go to the lone, sweaty bull I saw mixing cement in the desolate strip behind. Let’s cut to when he finally responded to my casual looks by rubbing his gloved hand on the crotch of his filthy jeans.

God bless deserted wasteland by railroad tracks. I jumped off the loading dock and ‒ casually ‒ walked away from my guy. Not far; just up to an abandoned backdoor to another deserted building. Where I didn’t wait long. He was suddenly there, the sweaty musk actually reaching me before I saw him. Tall, dark as hell, a bit of a gut, great arms and pecs, and a mustache out of ‘Viva Zapata.’ He slipped into the space with me, his paw on his crotch, and breathed fire on my face as he stared very, very hard at me. Then he unbuttoned his jeans with one hand and pushed me to my knees with the other.

A plump, uncut, semi-hard cock sprang out, reeking of even more intense musk. I took my cue and opened my lips. But this wasn’t enough for him. He held his cock an inch from my drooling mouth and, arching his back, used the fingers of his other hand to actually pry my mouth open wider. His dirty fingers stretched my lips as that cock got fatter and harder an inch away. This was fucking wild, like it was a ritual he was used to performing. He didn’t fuck a mouth until his meat was fully hard. It was only when I tried to suck on his big index finger that he gave in and gagged me in one thrust.

Maybe you don’t like violent mouth . I know there are times when I don’t. But this wasn’t one of them. I had made it clear that my face could be his cum dump and he was merely taking advantage of the offer. He humped my throat hard and fast ‒ I guess he didn’t have a lot of break time ‒ but I wanted to make it last at least longer than two minutes. I pulled my head back and immediately whipped my face forward again, to lick the shaft and maybe get to his nuts. Shit, I used my chin to push the button fly down just enough to get there. My reward was hearing a guttural groan from above and a mouth full of curly, thick pubes.

His hand now cupped the back of my head and my tongue found its way to the biggest balls I’d ever gotten this close to. I kissed, I licked, I tried to get one in my mouth but couldn’t. Meanwhile that beautiful Latino prick was pressing my forehead, dripping on it, searching for the moist hole it expected. My nostrils just needed a little more of this though, breathing in the rank ripe smell of his pubes and monster nuts, worshipping the holders of what had to be a gallon of seed ready to spill.

Too ready, I guess. He held my head back, aimed, and resumed even more serious fucking. I gripped the backs of his thighs, choking, feeling his pace quicken even more and knowing I didn’t have to gasp for air much longer. The first blast actually did shoot down my throat. Only by struggling to pull away just a little did I get the next on my tongue. Then the next. In a heartbeat my mouth was spewing excess cum because I just couldn’t gulp fast enough. That’s when my body quaked and I felt, for maybe the second time in my life, that fantastic thrill of shooting inside your pants with no help from your hands.

My body stopped shuddering in this spasm just as I licked up the last of the cum from his purple cockhead. Sanity immediately gripped me then ‒ I’m due to get lost, and fast. I stood, a little wobbly, and was just about to turn. When, to my utter amazement, he pulled my face to his and planted a sloppy, lush kiss on my mouth. God, I wanted to lick the mustache and suck that tongue, plump as his cock. No dice, no time. He pinched my nipple through my now-soaked t-shirt, and then he pushed me away.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t dare. I practically scampered back up the loading dock, pulling my shirt off and tying it around my waist to cover any visible cum soaking through. And I nearly ran home, head down, grateful that I lived right around the corner.

That was a few days ago. I think about visiting the tracks again, yet I’m not sure I will. It just feels too much like tempting fate. But I’ll tell you this: the roofers across the way don’t drive me nearly as crazy anymore. And, if they start to, well...I’ve always got my PC.







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 M4M.

You can write to Jack directly at www.jackmauro.com.