Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen

“Is this ripe?”

I glanced around to see where the voice had come from. The only person in the produce section other than me was a handsome, muscular, thirty-ish guy in a pair of snug jeans and tight, navy-blue t-shirt that stretched across his broad pecs and clung to his big, round shoulders.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, meekly, not entirely sure that anyone had asked me anything at all.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a random question, but I really have no idea,” replied the cute guy standing near the melons. “My wife asked me to pick up a cantaloupe, and I have no idea which ones are the good ones!”

I stood there for a moment, ready to burst out laughing, but when my eyes met with this poor fellow’s own, droopy, bewildered baby blues, I realized he was genuinely distressed by his predicament. Who was I to pray on his misery?!

I wheeled my cart over and parked it next to his beside the center island that played temporary home to an assortment of cantaloupes, honeydews, and watermelons. “Well, cantaloupe is tricky,” I said as I picked up one of the melons.

Rotating it in my hands, bouncing its weight with a dropping and catching motion of my arm, and giving it a gentle squeeze about its rough, striated texture, I explained, “You see, you want it to be firm. But not too firm. When you squeeze it, it should have roughly the same texture and give as a well-toned ass.”

“Okay, now you’re just messing with me,” the poor naïve husband in the tight blue tee responded.

“No, no really,” I said. “Here, squeeze my ass if you don’t get what I’m saying. I keep myself in shape. It’s pretty firm, but still soft enough…” I could tell I had crossed the line from mildly amusing stranger to obnoxious gay guy. “Sorry,” I cut myself off. “There’s truth to it though.”

I set down the cantaloupe I had been kneeding and throttling and plucked another from the batch. Working it over with the same routine, I deemed it worthy of this handsome gentleman’s purchase and handed it to him. “Here, this one’s good.”

“Thanks a lot.” He took the melon and tossed it in his cart. With a nod of his head he wheeled his buggy away and resumed his systematic hunt across the grocery store for all the items on his wife’s list.

I wanted to feel a little disappointed in myself for frightening the poor boy, but in the end I realized I didn’t actually care that much. He was adorably good looking, and very obviously straight… and married, so it’s not like I had blown an opportunity or anything. At least I gave myself a chuckle out of the experience.

As I started to pull my cart away, I hesitated. Eyeing the supple, juicy, round melons, I decided that a little summertime cantaloupe sounded refreshing, so I grabbed a nice one and tossed it in my cart.

Throughout the rest of my trip up and down the aisles, grabbing all the supplies I’d need for the coming week, my mind began to wander. I fantasized about my innocent young husband; what he looked like under that tight tee; what it would feel like to lay nude with him in a hammock, having him feed me dripping, succulent, crescents of freshly sliced cantaloupe while we petted and nibbled about one another’s supple bodies. Soon, my cock was half-hard and beginning to show the peak of a tent in the front of my linen pants. I had to distract myself wit…

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Copyright © 2006 Sticky Pen

He had become obsessed with me. The party was large and boisterous, and as our eyes met across the room, he gave me a brilliant smile. A short time later, he sat down beside me with people swirling all around us and put his hand on my thigh. He gave me that brilliant smile again. I tipped my glass to show I needed a refill and glided away from him, not wanting to make a scene. Not long after that, he trapped me in an alcove and kissed me on the lips and put a hand on my crotch. He managed to whisper, “I want you; I want you now. I want to feel my cock inside you,” before I broke away and put as much distance as I could between him and me. As soon as I could make my way to the door, I left, and walked back upstairs to my own apartment.

His obsession had disturbed me greatly. I’d been propositioned by men before, but never so blatantly or persistently.

I showered, opened the widow onto the terrace to take advantage of the breeze wafting across the top of the city, and lay down on my bed, naked. I was drowsy, a little drunk, and disturbed. I couldn’t get the man’s handsome face and brilliant smile out of my mind. What could he have seen in me to have formed such an obsession? I wasn’t that way; I didn’t go around advertising myself.

The breeze from the terrace caressed my body, and I found myself gliding one hand around my torso and pinching at my nipples, while slowly stroking my cock with the other hand. Hardening my cock and relaxing myself in my own way as I drifted off to sleep, as I often did on these breezy nights in the city.

I heard a sigh and moan and my eyes popped open. He was standing there in the moonlight from the open terrace door. He was naked, and he was beautiful. And he was fully aroused; the obsessed man from the party. His eyes were captured by the sight of my hand stroking up and down on my cock.

He came down on the bed below me and wrapped a hand around my engorged cock and covered the end of it with his mouth. He rotated my cock in his mouth while his tongue slid over and around its helmet and sucked it with his tongue, flicking the slit at the end of the helmet. Then he swallowed me down to the root and applied even pressure all up and down my cock. In shock, I let him do this to me. And when I recovered and put my hand down to his head to pull him away from me, he took my hands in his and slid them out to each side of the silken bedspread, while he started to pump my cock slowly with his mouth.

I don’t know why, but neither one of us spoke. I had been so close to sleep that I couldn’t be fully sure this wasn’t just a dream, just an extension of my masturbating myself to sleep after having encountered a man who claimed to want me, to want his cock inside me. It was a sensation I’d never had and that sent a chill of fear and anticipation through me.

He took my right hand in his and guided it to my cock. I felt powerless and just let him take the lead. He entwined his fingers in mine and then wrapped both hands around my cock, his hand guiding me in stroking myself. His eyes glittered as he watched me masturbating under his guidance. I sighed and arched my back, feeling so much more aroused than if I had been doing this solo. I—or, rather, we—brought my throbbing tool close to ejaculation, and when he let go of my hand, I was too near to climax to fight him for what he obviously wanted from me.

His mouth once more slid down over my cock. My hands went to entwine themselves in his beautiful blond hair, and his hands slid up my sides and buried themselves in my chest hair. He was rubbing and rolling my nipples when I shot off down his throat, in three strong and satisfying spasms.

He sucked me clean and then sent his lips and tongue on a journey up across my belly and my abs and onto my pecs and nipples. He then moved into the hollow of my neck and, at last, to my mouth. He enveloped me in his arms, there in the dark, the breeze caressing both of our bodies, and our dicks entwined between our bellies. Mine was soft but quickly reloading and his was hard as a rock and gigantic and pushing insistently up my belly, reaching for the cleft between my pecs.

I was struggling to get free, but he was too strong for me. We rolled in the bed, limbs and cocks entwined and dueling, until I was exhausted. He then turned me on my belly and kissed and tongued his way down from my shoulders to the small of my back. He pulled my butt cheeks apart with strong, wide hands, and his tongue and lips went to my tight, virgin asshole. A hand snaked up between my thighs, and I rose my hips a bit while he rolled and gently squeezed and pulled on my balls. My cock was coming alive again, and he pulled that on through between my thighs and alternated kissing and tonguing my hole with kissing and tonguing the helmet on my cock.

His full attention went back to my asshole. His hands were kneading and rolling my butt cheeks, and I found I was grinding my cock into the bedspread, fucking the bedspread. His hands encased my pelvis and he helped me with the grinding. Then he was only helping me with one strong hand, which had run between my legs and fanned out over my lower belly. He used his elbow to help hold my pelvis up from the surface of the bedspread to help me stroke the underside of my cock along the silken cloth.

He started inserting fingers into my moistened and loosened hole. He managed to insert two fingers to where my sphincter muscle picked them up and drew the index finger to…

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