Discretion dictates that I probably shouldn’t say where I’m living. I should say that I recently moved to a big-ass town with a huge gay population and let it alone. I ought to refer to a generalized, big city environment and leave it there. I should respect the conventions of writing and try to remain as respectful as possible of my new home.

Fuck that. I’m in Atlanta. Midtown Atlanta. And let me tell you, there are a lot of very hot men swimming down these avenues and byways. It ain’t easy. The truth is, I walk out of my apartment to cross the street and fetch some milk and I come back home with a raging hard-on. Thank God it’s getting cooler and some of these fuckers will be slapping their shirts back on. I hope. My dick can’t take much more. Muscle, sweat, biceps, thighs, asses all over the place. How do these people get any work done?

Then there’s the park, just down half a block from me. Holy damn. It’s big and beautiful. They have concerts all the time, and an astounding amount of beautiful men running dogs. All this I can see just by perching my ass on a log at the end of the block. Then there are the other guys. This is Atlanta, after all, and these other guys are the hustlers. So…the other night, and after too many cocktails, I developed the classic, male what-the-fuck attitude. And I walked down the slope to the benches where they hang out.

This boy was named Sam. Think Lenny Kravitz; he had dreads, youth, and intensity. I didn’t even think his body was that hot, from what I could see. But at that moment, I wasn’t too interested. The truth is, I just wanted to suck some dick. The truth also is that I believe he approached me. Then again, I suspect I was seriously telegraphing my need. No hustler misses that.

We talked in the park for a while. He seemed amazingly genuine, and there was no trace of hardness in his manner. In fact, he seemed a little lost. If it was an act ‒ and I learned later that it wasn’t ‒ it was a good one. Buzzed, I asked him to my place. Very reckless, I know. But my cock was making the calls. (I did have the presence of mind to make it clear that I had no money to give him. Happily, he would be happy with a glass of wine….)

We walked up the block to my place and, again, knowing how fucked-up this scenario was, I let him in. My apartment is small so we sat side by side on the day-bed. And we talked. I poured him some wine. It appeared he had deep convictions on religious issues. He felt himself to be a descendant of Satan. This scared me. Until he stood and stripped, and I think he did this chiefly because I wasn’t asking for it.

Now, when you’re loaded, odd things happen below the waist. You’re turned on, yes, but your cock may not respond. Not in this case. Once this boy removed his clothing, I felt my cock surge. His body was fantastic ‒ lean, muscled, light hair on the chest and abs, and he even made his pecs jump as he posed for me. Then he turned so I could admire his back. More exactly, his ass, and that ass was gorgeous. I reached out and spread my hands on the hard cheeks. My tongue was hanging out of my mouth. He reached over to grab his glass of wine and told me to kiss it.

I knelt down below him and gripped his muscled thighs in my hands. Then I buried my nose into the smooth, clean ass crack, inhaling the musk, darting my tongue in between. He bent down to give me better access and I could see him take his fat, uncock cock in his hand, fisting it while I lapped at that str8 hustler hole. I couldn’t work my jeans down so my cock just stayed rigid inside. That was fine by me. Especially when Sam used both his hands to reach back and open up that man-cunt.

I don’t know how long I ate him out. Five minutes? Ten? Something like that. Then he abruptly turned and threw himself down on the day-bed, semi-hard meat still in hand. I jumped up to sit by him, smell him, be close to him. The smell of his sweat was now making me crazy. I leaned over to suck his hard nipple. He sat deeper back, holding my head as I nursed. Then ‒ and this stunned me, drunk as I was ‒ he knelt between my legs and took my cock in his mouth. And this dude could suck. It was warm and wet and tight, his tongue circling my dick, his mouth going all the way down lightly, then sucking harder as he pulled back.

I pushed him away after a few minutes. I just didn’t want to cum like that, not with him. It was that ass I wanted to cum on. So we talked a little more and he had a little more wine. And I mentioned how hot it would be for me to watch him getting fucked by a fat, thick cock.

That did it. If I could get a little money, he had a friend. Probably in the park right then, a real stud with a monster dick. They didn’t want much. But, if I paid that small amount, his buddy would come by and I could watch that beautiful ass getting split. I could even take a turn after, if I wanted, or just cum on his crack. Then he opened his mouth and jammed his tongue into mine. I tasted mint and wine, while my hand went to his prick and my mind pretty much exploded. What the fuck, I thought. Your bud is a real stud man? He’ll fuck you hard? He’s as hot as you are?

In ten minutes we walked to the ATM. Then to the park. Sam wasn’t lying about his friend.

(to be continued...)