Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
I awoke feeling saturated. The first few streaks of the morning’s sunlight penetrated through the matchstick blinds covering the windows and fell on my nude form lying on the bed, as if I were posing for some young artist’s groundbreaking masterpiece. There was no young artist, however, and there was no masterpiece—simply my waking up disgruntled and covered in a film of sweat. I thought of myself as a strawberry that is too ripe to eat, too soggy to enjoy. A quick glance down at my body reaffirmed my belief in this self-prognosis: my abs had disappeared since graduating college, my thighs had gotten a little meatier, and my chest no longer had any definition. Waking up to an unfulfilled semi-boner didn’t help how I felt, either. Too bad, I thought to myself, that I didn’t answer the rooster’s call saturated in cum instead of sweat—too bad I wasn’t coaxed from my nightmares by the nurturing, sensuous kisses of my church’s priest lying next to me in bed, too dirtied by the previous night’s sin to hear my lascivious confessions. But these thoughts were of no help in getting me off or in getting me up from bed, so I pushed them to the back of my mind and began to think about searching for a job yet again.
In the course of one single day—just one—I managed to lose my job, my boyfriend, and my cat. That day was yesterday. Oh, and how could I forget to mention this: I also lost my faith in everything. The whole dramatic event came about because I overslept and missed work again, all because I laid in bed wrapped around Drake’s body. He made me comatose, especially after an evening of delightfully hot barebacking; I couldn’t help but miss work to salvage a few remaining moments with him before going to the store and agonizing over not being with him, being inside of him completely with my starving cock eating its way into the heart of his sexual energy.
It was especially difficult to live through that agony of uncontrollable sexual desire—and hidden hard-ons throbbing against my tight denim Levi’s beneath the veneer desk—because of the whole new fashion adopted by the hot and hip college twinks. Every time I looked up from the computer, I would see a stud with bleached, spiked hair pointing in all directions, sparkling eyes, a skinny waist, and crotch-hugging jeans that showed every feature of his luscious, fresh cock. With my luck, all those cute guys were all probably straight, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t still fantasize about them at the desk and then beat off in the bathroom instead of taking my usual smoke break (although I’d normally be smoking something in my fantasies).
Work drove me absolutely mad! That’s why I could no longer muster the energy to go on time every day, and that’s why I got fired. And since I got fired, Drake left me because he said that I could no longer “afford him.” And along with Drake went my precious cat, Mr. Cuddles, because he stole him when I wasn’t at home. Drake did leave me one thing, however: an insatiable sexual lust, especially for men that I could not have. I have never been a particularly graphic person, but something about the way in which he changed my outlook on life and sex stirred an untapped energy and lust in me.
I looked back down at my lower body when I thought of this desire and watched my cock as it slowly began to grow with each pulse of my racing heartbeat. I couldn’t stop thinking about Drake licking every inch of my cock, his tongue moving like a camper searching for his lost friend in the woods, nor could I stop imagining my flesh pounding against the Priest’s body while my unprotected dick preached the Gospel in his asshole.
As if it were an involuntary reflex, my left hand began to rub the side of my torso and worked its way down my thigh to my steaming hot genitals. At the same time, my right hand pinched my hard, erect nipples until they turned red and began hurt pleasurably, which made my cock get even harder. My other hand had to go in for the kil…
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Monthly Archives: August 2006
A Kilted Ecounter
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
From early life I have always been a keen kilt-wearer. Hill walking in student days underlined the excellence of the kilt to me; it is fantastically comfortable, practical for the outdoor life and, above all, sexy. There is something wonderfully sensual about the feel of the kilt as you stride along a mountain path, the pleats swinging back and forth against your bare legs and theclear air refreshing your naked balls. Fully dressed for the mountains, with climbing boots, heavy-duty shirt, waterproofs and a full rucksack, the contrast of being a kilted true Scotsman at the same time is sublime.
I would often fantasize about meeting a similarly clad man while out on my solo backpacking expeditions, but have yet to do so. I did, however, have one encounter with a kilted lad at a distillery in Morayshire.
I had climbed the local big hill in the morning and came down to the distillery at its base just after lunchtime. I had often passed it before and, discovering that I had the time, I decided to do the tourist thing andgo onthe guided tour. Much to my delight, the guide turned out to be a very good-looking kilted student. He was a real cruet – rather small and beautifully proportioned, with longish fair hair and inviting bare knees. His huge and smiling eyes swallowed me up. He introduced himself as Torquil and he gave avery good account of himself as he took us (me and four others) on the twenty- minute tour around the mash tubs, copper stills and bond houses. I took most of all this in, but was more intrigued by Torquil and his kilt. At one point he led us up an open stair. He tripped on the last step and I watched his kilt fan out behind him, but was not able to prove to myself that he was naked beneath it (I so hoped he was).
At the end of the tour, once the other four visitors had left for the shop, Torquil clearly wanted to talk with me. He told me it was now his lunch break and asked if I would like to go for a walk with him, to “get away” for a bit. I agreed and we set off round the back of the distillery and onto a forest track, which led into the pine trees. As we walked, we chatted, shyly at first, but with growing confidence about our own experiences with the kilt. I eventually plucked up the courage to ask the question which had been burning below my sporran from the moment I had first seen Torquil.
“Are you a true Scotsman?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“I don’t believe you,” I teased.
“Why not find out then?” He continued, “But I won’t let you look.” He looked at me in a curiously challenging way. “You’ve got hands.”
I followed his suggestion and crouched down in front of him. I placed my right hand on his knees and as he moved to open his legs more,I slid slowly up his inner thigh, enjoying the fee…
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First Threesome
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
My first, memorable threesome was in that fancy gym in Bangkok where I had recently met who I called my Egyptian magician, who had seduced and initiated me. And the threesome was orchestrated by that Egyptian diplomat as well. He had been eyeing a military attaché from the Israeli embassy on the exercise floor—a man pushing his forties, built close to the ground but with long arms, almost simian in appearance but not unattractive. Ropy muscles, swarthy, quite hirsute, particularly strong-looking legs, arms, and pecs, some interesting battle scars that made him distinctive in a dangerous, mysterious sort of way. He practiced a lot on the rings, and the way his muscles bulged during these exercises was very attracting.
The Egyptian propositioned the Israeli late one evening, who in turn said the one he really had his eye on at the gym was me. The Egyptian said I held myself aloof, but that he had had me, and if the Israeli arranged with the management for the three of us to stay past closing (which was a common occurrence at that gym—it was a male-male pickup joint), the Egyptian thought he could loosen me up for an approach by the Israeli, if the Israeli would accept a threesome. The Egyptian didn’t really tell me any of this until after the fact.
The Egyptian and I were in the sauna, and he was kissing me and playing with my nipples with his hands, in preparation, I thought, for another massage treatment at his house later to end in a fuck. He was quite lithe and limber—not to mention inventive—that Egyptian, and I’d already become addicted to what his long, rather thin cock could do to me. The Israeli entered the sauna and sat on the bench across, but not too far away from us. I thought the Egyptian would break away from me then, as he usually did when another man entered the sauna. But he kept on kissing me and his hand went to rubbing my cock through the towel I had around my waist.
The Israeli was watching us intently, and when the Egyptian’s lips left mine and moved down to my nipples and I arched my chest back for him, I saw the Israeli rubbing his own cock through his towel as well. Off came my towel, and the Egyptian was stroking my cock with his hand. Off came the Israeli’s towel also, and I could see he had a hard on. The Egyptian stroked me and the Israeli stroked himself. His cock was a normal size, but it was heavily veined and had a nice big mushroom head on it. He was running his free hand around on his hairy chest, pinching at his nipples, and his eyes held mine and I could see how badly he wanted me.
It wasn’t long until he was sitting beside us. I had the Egyptian on one side and the Israeli on the other. The Israeli was kissing me now and had a hand wrapped around my cock, and the Egyptian was running a hand between my chest and the chest and lap of the Israeli. It was…
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Blackmail
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
I was working for a van and storage company. My job was to handle claims, which I was good at; the boss really liked how I handled clients. I had worked for the company for 5 years and each year, because of my good work, I got a sizable raise in salary.We had a couple of office parties each year and families were invited to attend with the boss picking up the tab for the entire party. Drinks, hors d’ouvres and entree’s were all included, always at a very nice restaurant.On one occasion, it was getting late and the boss’ daughter Meg wanted to go home. The boss and his wife had to stay until the bitter end and since I was a little tired, I offered to take Meg home. Little did I know Meg had other plans for me. On our way to her house, Meg started feeling my leg and made a quite obvious pass at me. I, being an all American boy, did not resist the pass and it ended up with the two of us in bed, having wild sex.A month passed by and Meg called to tell me she was pregnant and because I was the only one she had slept with, she knew it was my child. Meg didn’t want to tell her folks but she did want to have the child. I asked her if she wanted to marry me to give the child …
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Egyptian Initiation
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
I now understand that my subconscious was miles ahead of my “surface” brain on knowing what I wanted. Male models apparently are as justly characterized as thick brained as female models are reputed to be. There was no blame to cast; I’d seen the Egyptian doctor (if he really was a doctor) work the young men on the gym floor and in the shower room. There was no reason my surface brain wouldn’t know he was a sexual predator. In the end, I’m really glad it happened, though.
The Egyptian was a magician really—and I was the world’s worst dummy. The first encounter happened without me having a clue about what had happened even when it was over. I was a few years older than those the Egyptian was targeting at the gym—and he was a good twenty years older than I was. He touched me in the sauna, and my cock burbled out juice without warning and certainly without my really realizing we were having any form of sex. He had a mesmerizing voice, and I got horny without the usual arousal mechanisms—no warning really. He was doing this monologue about being circumcised or not in those doctor words of his, as if we were having an academic discussion or a medical consultation, and he had his long, thin fingers on my cock head before I really knew what he was doing. I was so surprised that I shot right off. I was greatly embarrassed, thinking I had probably misjudged his intent and now he’d think I was queer. I left the sauna in a highly confused state.
For his part, he probably just thought I was performing a hard-to-get mating dance. I hadn’t clocked him when he got hold of my cock. I’d just sat there and stared dumbly.
I stewed about the encounter for a week, and although I didn’t think I was attracted to Egyptians, this one was quite handsome and distinguished and sensual looking. The next time we were in the sauna alone, I more or less set myself up for the pass, thinking he probably wouldn’t even make one and I could put my confusion to rest. I stretched out on my back, towel loosely around my waist and stretching down to my knees. He came in and sat on the bench below me and in back of me. In somewhat of a trembling condition, I spread my thighs so that from where he was sitting, he could see up under my towel and check out the goods (if he wanted to). He obviously wanted to and liked what he saw.
An electric jolt went through me and I suddenly knew we were “doing something,” when I felt his strong, long fingers on my foot and he was massaging it—the sole and the toes—and slowly pulling on toes in a sensual way. I went hard. He slowly worked his hand up my calf and knee and under the hem of the towel. That’s when he started murmuring to me how nice my body was—and I was narcissistic enough to melt to his seduction. He’d seen me work out on the gym floor, he said, and he knew I was in TV commercials. His hand slowly went up the inside of my thigh and he was lightly stroking my cock. I shoot off almost immediately again. And, thick lunkhead that I was, I apologized for early ejaculation. This hadn’t happened to me with women. Obviously the new experience with men was just that much more arousing.
Still holding my cock, he said he could teach me some techniques that would help with that problem—he was talking like a doctor and like it would be something I could use with the women I was with. I weakly said I didn’t have a problem with women, but I was talking pretty weakly because my attention was riveted to what he was doing with his hand. He was palming my cock and stroking the pisshole with a thumb, rubbing my ejaculated cum around the head. He was still talking clinically enough that I was fooling myself a bit about what was going on. I said I’d think about it.
The next week, he overheard me being told that my regular masseur wouldn’t be there that afternoon—I always worked out, showered, and then was rubbed down. The Egyptian then asked me while we were still out on the floor exercising whether I’d like to come back to his apartment after we worked out and he’d give me the massage I was missing. I was all aflutter, still not positive where this was leading, when we got to his place. He did have a massage room with a padded table and all. And he massaged my back and legs and arms with oil—doing a better job than my regular masseur did. He told me to roll over on my back, and when I did so, I saw that he now was naked. He was tall and lithe, but very well muscled, and he had a thin but very long dong. It wasn’t hard at all, so I rationalized that I was pretty safe.
He was massaging my front with oil and my cock was standing up straight—and I was very embarrassed, not being able to control it and still figuring there was an outside chance he wasn’t trying to do me, that this was all a misunderstanding on my part. When he got to my pelvis, he slowly jerked me off. I made some embarrassed comments about being sorry I’d gotten hard, and he could just try to ignore that, but he was soothing me with words to the effect that the Egyptian massage method included an “evacuation of the pent-up essences” and it was all very normal in the Egyptian context. But even then he was starting to teach me control. He’d pump me up and then hold off until I cooled. My cock and his hands were so oiled that there was little friction at all in what he was doing. At last he let me ejaculate and cleaned it up with a towel. He then massaged all of the muscles on my front side real well again and I got drowsy.
He came around to above my head and he was massaging my temples and really putting me to sleep. He put his hands on my upper sides and pulled me up on the table until my head dropped off the end of the table and he was still working my temples. Then I felt his cock at my lips and he was pushing in, suddenly very hard. I was shocked because he had hardened up almost instantaneously (something I later learned was in his bag of tricks). He didn’t push far in, but I sort of spit it out and told him, rather frightened, that I’d never sucked a man before—that, in fact, I’d never had any form of sex with a man until now.
He went all impressed and joyful at the news that he had a virgin on his hands. While I had been wondering what was going on, he had just thought I was into a foreplay game. He asked me if I’d let him initiate me. He begged me to let him prepare me for future encounters. He entreated me that I’d never have anyone as gentle and skilled as him if I had any inkling I wanted to be with men. He flattered me by wondering how anyone who looked like me could have gotten this far without going bi. He showed me a picture of his wife (really was his wife, I found out later) and assured me that many men took pleasure both ways. Something inside me told me I didn’t want to deny myself any opportunities to full sensuality, and I gulped and asked him if he really would be gentle. (I didn’t think to ask him why I wasn’t going to be fucking him instead, if I was all that hot.) To prove he would be gentle and careful, his cock did go back into my mouth, but only a little ways, and rotated around. He said we wouldn’t have to get much into that for now. (My guess is that he wanted to get his dick up my ass before I thought bett…
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Two Gays and Hot Blonde
These two horny bisexual fellas teamed up with a cute sexy blonde to have some hardcore fun and share cumshots. They switched positions and combinations shamelessly fucking each other, sucking cocks, licking juicy holes and going through a series of explosive mind-blowing orgasms.
Ferris Wheel
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
Bright lights and frenzied sounds surrounded me as I handed my $3.50 to the man behind the counter. In return, I received a huge mound of pink cotton candy swirled around a thin wooden stick. I walked away from the concession stand to explore the barrage of sensory delights, taking occasional bites from the cotton candy that melted onto my tongue the very second that contact was made. The sugary sweet snack added to my heightened senses. It was the opening night of the state fair, and I planned to take full advantage of all of the flashy entertainment offered.
I ambled around the fair with my cotton candy in hand, using my tickets to see the random freak show installations along the trail. Most of them involved Paleozoic creatures that had been found hidden deep in the jungles of the Amazon and Congo. These supposed prehistoric creatures didn’t seem to be any different from your everyday lizard or large snake, but I was willing to suspend reality for a while and thoroughly enjoy myself. Fairs, carnivals, and circuses have fascinated me since I was a child. I’ve never grown tired of them, despite the high number of them that I’ve attended and my increasing age.
I enjoy anything that makes me feel youthful once again. Once I hit my mid-twenties, I started to feel much older. The state fair, then, was a good way for me to recapture a sense of vivacity, of being young, of experiencing things from a naïve perspective once again. I really needed to feel that way, too, because my boyfriend left me only a week ago. There’s nothing like a bad breakup and tumultuous relationship to make you feel your age.
After I had seen all of the freakish exhibitions, including a man covered in tattoos with a brick permanently implanted in his chest, I headed towards the funhouse. As I made my way through the hall of mirrors, I noticed a straight couple discreetly making out in a corner. They probably didn’t notice, but their reflection appeared on a number of distorted mirrors in the room, much to the amusement of some young kids that were also there.
I giggled as I stared at myself in the funhouse mirrors. Some of them really depicted how I felt about my body, such as the one where your body is crushed like a soda can, or the one where it appears that you’re much fatter. I found a normal one and stared at myself—dark brown hair, nice frame that was slightly getting pudgier, well dressed. I still had youthful looks, and being at the fair made me feel youthful inside, too. The next few mirrors I especially liked because they expanded the mid-section of my body, and my bulge looked huge and menacing in them. It turned me on to see it, especially since my ex-boyfriend and I hadn’t had sex for a month before the break-up. I noticed that I started to get a semi-erect, so I stopped staring and left the funhouse.
After the funhouse, I went up to one of those booths where you throw darts at balloons filled with water. I managed to hit all of the balloons. The guy running the booth gave me a queer look, and a smile flashed from beneath the mustache on his face.
“You’re pretty good at that,” he said. “You deserve a special prize.”
As I’ve said, I’m pretty familiar with fairs. I could tell that he was going to give me some kind of gag prize, which I was totally fine with, since that was part of the appeal of the fair.
“Here you go, pretty boy,” he said, pulling a little pink dildo. We both laughed at the absurdity of the prize. “I save this for my special customers,” he whispered, winking at me.
I walked away chuckling to myself, hiding my prize in a bag of goodies that I had already bought. I decided that since it had been a long time since I rode the Ferris wheel, I would go for a spin. The air was fresh that evening and a breeze blew in from the north. It would be a perfect night for a Ferris wheel excursion.
I situated myself into the little gondola and sat, awaiting the turning of the gears that would send me high up into the air. The wheel suddenly started up and a feeling of complete freedom and solitude seized me. Only a few others were also on the Ferris wheel, so the gondolas around me were empty. After a few twirls through the air, an odd grinding noise could be heard from the center of the gears. Without notice, the wheel jerked to a halt, and I was left suspended at the very top.
The ride didn’t move for about 5 minutes, and a few of the others that were on it began to question what the problem was and get worried. I wasn’t too worried, however; I was happy to just be free. I had the …
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It Began with a Camping Trip
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
Ronnie and I attended the same university and were both 18. We had been friends since we were twelve. Ronnie and I were so close that we often knew what the other was thinking. There were times when I dared not to think it. But, I loved him–as a friend with my head, as a close buddy with my heart, but also in a different way. I discovered that I liked men and I really liked Ronnie. In the summer, as we sat in our shorts, cross-legged, playing cards or checkers, I’d try to secretly peek up from his thighs as the pink head of his cock poked through the bottom of his cut-offs. It happened quite a bit, so I always wondered if he did that on purpose. Maybe it was his strategy for winning the game. He probably figured that my concentration would be elsewhere! I kept that sight of him stored in my mind for inspiration as I emptied my balls in bed at night while I tried to imagine what his naked body looked like. As open-minded as he was, it still seemed a risk too big for me to take to tell him how I felt. Life without his touch was hard enough, but life without him around was unthinkable.
I’d tried to suppress my feelings for him. But it was difficult because the mere sight of him would always make me hard. Everything that we did together only fueled my desires. When I tossed him the Frisbee, I’d marvel at his muscles in motion. When we were body surfing, we’d drag ourselves back on the beach to bask in the warmth of the sun. I’d have to lie on my stomach, for obvious reasons, while he’d lie on his back with his eyes closed. I used that time to let my eyes drink him in. I stared intently at the tiny goose bumps on his deeply tanned chest. I got caught up in the motion of the heaving of his chest as he breathed. I could see the blood pulsing through the veins in his neck, his baby fine hair wafting gently in the breeze, the pores in his skin and the fullness of his lips. His face looked so serene and inviting. I yearned to lie on top of him, to melt over him like butter in the sun.
It wasn’t until our camping trip, that I finally got the chance to see all of him as I yearned to. We were on a day hike heading for a secluded pool to sunbathe on the rocks when we saw the sign. “NO NUDITY ALLOWED,” it warned. Since we were two rebels against any kind of rule, we just looked at eachother and grinned.
We had to cross a long, wide pool, with reeds and shrubs on one side and our destination, the high sandstone cliffs, on the other. We decided to cross the pool to the rocks against the cliffs. We had no idea how deep the water was and did not want to get our clothes and belongings wet, so we stripped naked and wrapped everything up in our towels. We waded out until it became so deep that we had to hold everything above our heads and bounced off the bottom. We looked like waiters carrying trays of food. Finally we reached our secluded destination and climbed out of the cool water and lay down on the warm rocks. Since we were nude, we rolled on our sides and talked.
After a while Ronnie got out our ever-present magnetic game board to play some Chinese checkers. I on the other hand wanted to play with Ronnie’s cock, but at least I was able to let my eyes wander down to it. It was previously shriveled by the coolness of the water, but by the warm rays of the sun it had now begun to grow heavy. If he knew I was staring he didn’t let on, and after a while he drew one leg up, placing his foot on his knee. His balls shifted in their loose sack. Gravity pulled them down. They rolled forward. God, this had to be an invitation of some kind, but it was so subtle I couldn’t be sure.
Too quickly the afternoon slipped by and the time had come to head back to camp. We slipped back into the water, crossed to the other side where we dressed. Both of us had developed dark tans over the summer, but being naked in the sun was a new experience so we got sun burned in new areas of our bodies. Our shorts chafed against our tender skin all the way back, but it was a small price to be paying for all the beautiful sites we had seen that afternoon.
We’d found an out-of-the-way place to pitch our tent, so it came as no surprise when Ronnie said his sunburn hurt too much to wear anything. He suggested that we get naked. I agreed and we again shucked our clothes. As darkness set in, we lit a small fire, ate dinner, and rolled out our sleeping bags. The night air felt warm and refreshing, and made me feel acutely aware of our nakedness. Since we were not yet ready to sleep, we stretched out on top of our bags for a little conversation and a few hands of cards. The vision of Ronnie’s body was much like the afternoon, except now the flickering fire highlighted his light pink groin while the rest of his tanned body blended into the darkness. We were going to play Strip Poker, but since we were already naked, that didn’t make much sense. We would have to think of something else to wager. I dealt the cards. When it was Ronnie’s turn to bid, he started to bite on his lip in a way that I understood all to well. He was going to take a while. While he studied his cards, I studied his Ronnie. He was hypnotic.
“You going to bid or what?”
“Huh?”
“We’re playing poker. Remember? You were taking so long my mind started to wander.”
“Yeah, I noticed your eyes wandering too!”
I hadn’t expected those words. I thought my glances would appear quite innocent, but they weren’t said with disgust or anger.
There was, in fact, the hint of a smile on his lips and a look of mischievousness in his eyes. I was more relieved than hopeful, but still, maybe I’d misread him all these years. We finished the game and didn’t want to play any more cards.
“So what do you want to do now?” he asked. I always hated that question. Only one thing ever came immediately to mind.
“It doesn’t really matter,” I answered. I could dream about it, wish for it, but I couldn’t bring myself to initiate it. “I’m kinda beat from the all the walking we did today.”
“Me too,” Ronnie chimed in. “I could really use one of your backrubs. That’s if you’ve got the energy for it.”
“Yeah, I can handle that.” I always could. ‘Backrub’ always translated to ‘body massage’. It was the one intimacy that was allowed between us; a line we both walked up to without hesitation, but never crossed.
“I’ve got some lotion with my stuff. Could you rub some in? I think I overdid it in the sun today.” “Sure, get comfortable. I’ll be right back.” As I returned to Ronnie, I couldn’t help but think that tonight was going to be a night for the truth. We were both naked. He had caught me stealing peeks at his cock all day but was still willing to let me give him a massage. This was either a demonstration of his trust, or of his desire.
When I returned, I stood over him. I’d seen this sight so many times in my dreams. I knelt down and touched him. It was no dream. I squeezed some lotion into my hands and warmed it. Starting at the calluses on the bottom of his feet, I began working my way up his legs. His body relax…
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White twink fucked by bigcocked black guy
Sexy white boy sucking 13-inch black cock and getting assfucked from behind
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A Biker Uses Me in the Mud
Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen
Some years back I joined a motorcycle club, which included a few members who had left a real motorcycle gang (most of the other members were hard-core wannabes). The club did lots of group rides, and one year we went on a huge charity ride that ended at a fairground, where we were going to camp overnight. Unfortunately, it had been raining all day, and the field where we were supposed to park was one giant mud puddle. At least 1,000 other bikes had arrived before us, and the field was well churned when we got there. Some of the Harley guys refused to go anywhere near the parking field, but the rest of us pulled right in, having a little fun goosing the throttle and spraying the guy behind us. We always carried blocks of wood to put our side stands on, so we were O.K. to park, but decided to check the bikes periodically through the night to make sure they didn’t fall over in the mud. I pulled the 2am slot with Mike, which was O.K., because we both expected to still be up drinking and partying then. It was a warm summer night, the bands were good, and the beer and tequila were flowing freely. After the 1am check, Danno and Hump reported that some of the wood blocks were starting to settle, and that they had lifted a few of the bikes up and moved the blocks. Both of them had mud all over their chaps and vests. A little after 2, Mike and I headed over to check the bikes again. The last band of the night was still playing, but things were starting to wind down, and at least half the crowd was already passed out or on the verge of it. A few of the tents were rather obviously the scene of some action, and we heard one particularly vocal biker slut telling everyone how much she loved getting fucked. The mud was about ankle-deep almost everywhere, and just walking in it got it all up the insides of your legs, halfway to your knees. I was wearing a tight pair of leather pants and my fringed Bon Jovi leather jacket, and Mike was in chaps and jeans, a leather vest over his bare torso. Mud has always been a turn-on for me, and by the time we got to the bikes, I was pretty hard. The second bike we checked needed to be re-set, so I lifted it and Mike squatted down in the mud and dug the block out, and then moved it a foot to a new location. I was straddling the bike, which meant that the crotch of my pants was stretched tight. As Mike was finishing and I was setting the bike down, he looked up and couldn’t help but see my hard-on. He didn’t say anything, but gave me a funny look. The next bike also needed to be moved, but this time Mike told me to dig the block out of the mud. That was fine with me, because I was a little embarrassed at my obvious arousal – I’d never let these guys suspect that I was bi. Since I kinda liked the idea of getting a little muddy, I got down on my knees beside the bike and dug the block out, but this time Mike just stood beside the bike, so his crotch was right in front of my face. I tried hard not to look, but when I was finished moving the block and looked up to tell him to set the bike down on it, his crotch was just inches from my face. And it was no accident; he had a big bulge in those jeans. I felt my cock stiffen some more. I got up to move to the next bike, and now my erection was obscenely obvious. I avoided any eye contact, and didn’t say anything, as I was too embarrassed, but also intensely horny. Mike was a well-built guy, and acted as one of the club’s “enforcers”. He’d snap me like a twig if I did the wrong thing.
Of course the next bike had to be moved too. I didn’t wait for him to say anything; I got down on my knees in the mud and waited for him to lift the side stand. The bike didn’t move. I waited for what seemed like an eternity before looking up at him. His cock was fully erect now, and so long that the head of it disappeared into the t…
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