Who Screwed Whom?
I headed to the rest stop about 11
pm. There were only a few cars in
the lot; and, as I made my way
down the sidewalk, I had an inkling the men's room would be deserted. I was right.
I stood there jacking, hoping somebody
would cum in; and after 20 minutes, someone did. He was a skinny, emaciated Dude, maybe late 40's, 5-10, graying hair, wearing an ill-fitting
cowboy shirt and jeans which were obviously too large for his diminished
frame. Yeah, the Dude was sleazy
enough for my taste, even if he had seen better days.
I moved over to the adjoining urinal
and stared. As I perused his fat 7
inches, he grabbed me by the scuff of my neck and pushed me down. I opened wide to swallow his sleazy
Rod.
It reeked of sweat and piss. I didn't care, and I lubed my lips
and chin with his slimey Drool.
As I fell into cadence, I grew oblivious to our environs; and, judging
from the moans emanating from the Dude, he felt the same. For the next few moments, we shared the
deepest human bond.
He pulled me up and demanded my Poppers
bottle. He took a few deep hits
and asked if I got fucked. I tried
to conceal my enthusiasm so he wouldn't think I'm the Slut I really am.
"Wanna rubber?"
"Your call," I responded, noncommittally. Next thing I knew he was greasing my
Hole with some unknown Lube and Spit.
He pushed me over and rammed it home—so quickly I had to grab hold of
the urinal to keep from stumbling.
My hands struggled for purchase on the slick porcelain, my palms
collecting pubic hairs and piss.
Desperately I took to my Poppers, as his unanticipated aggressiveness,
in tandem with his depth of penetration, sent shock waves through my
bowel. Again and again he thrust
in and out, and I suppressed a scream as I held on for dear life.
At last he spasmed and gobs of Cum shot
in me in a barrage I thought would never end. The Fucker must have been
abstaining for a month, and I almost blew my wad contemplating all that
scrumptious Baby Batter buggering my Butt.
He pulled out and avowed how great it’d
been and how he hoped I'd got my rocks off, too. I assured him I had. As he walked out I smiled to myself, acknowledging the
reason I’d been so aroused was that I'd suspected he was POZ.
I had planned to confront the Dude; but
then I thought, 'Why
spoil his fun?' He probably surmised he'd put one over on a NEG. But,
for one, I wasn't the Innocent he'd presumed. And, secondly, there was some question about who'd screwed
whom.