MyJockStrap
05-25-2005, 06:04 PM
Diesel Desire
Last Halloween, I was working at my favorite Davis Square coffee house, when I looked up and saw Elvis. My confusion lasted for several seconds before I realized it was Halloween, and every Halloween, Diesel closes early so the staff can use the space for a party. I had been too engrossed in my latest story to notice the patrons were slowly being replaced by pirates, prisoners, and of course, Elvis. As I packed up my stuff, I realized I had to piss too badly to wait for home, so I quickly made my way to the bathroom. The seemingly never-ending piss I released into the black toilet allowed me plenty of time to look around. Streams of toilet paper were strewn across the floor and reminded me of mischief nights long passed, when I thought I would never escape the costume of my adolescence and tried so hard to prove I, too, could be a good cowboy.
Shaking bad memories and the last drops of piss from my heads, I shoved my cock into my fly and zipped up. I paused to wash my hands but decided against it. The fact is few of us wash our hands after a piss.
I opened the door expecting to find the place nearly empty except for a few early partygoers and a couple of coffee filled patrons wanting to empty their bladders before leaving; instead, I found the place already filled with revelers.
I had only opened the door halfway when a strikingly effective semblance of James Dean stepped toward me. Our eyes locked in reciprocal attraction, as he pressed a bullet to my nostril. I inhaled, and just as the rush began, a flickering light outside the windows distracted me, as if something had flown across the moon. The fading light blacked out the Starbuck’s just as a gypsy woman, with something falling from her pocket, walked in from the street. Leaves blew in at her feet and swirled before a jack-o’-lantern, causing strange shadows to dance across the walls like goblins overtaking the space, as a nun cued for coffee made the sign of the cross and a devil in the corner booth whispered “trick-or-treat.”
I stepped backward as Jimmy Dean stepped toward me. The door had barely closed before our lips locked in a kiss, and we began unfastening, unbuttoning, and unzipping. I grew increasingly heady as his surprisingly soft lips invited me further into a slow passionate kiss. His lips were so unusually soft and inviting I would not let anything break their spell, and I kept my lips pressed to his as I waited for him to remove his pants. As soon as they pooled at his feet, he stepped out of them and placed a foot on the sink, allowing me full and easy access. I dropped to my knees but found a cunt were I expected a cock.
Confusion overtook me, but I was left idling with diesel desire, as my lips burned with forgotten hunger and led me to spread the lips before me with my own. The warmth between them stoked my desire and urged my mouth to action.
Inserting my tongue between her lips, I explored, and as I explored, my desire intensified, and I rushed to lick her everywhere. Fully extending my tongue, I licked from the inside of one thigh to the other, and reaching the other thigh, I returned to her lips and spread them again. My face wet with desire, I pushed my tongue inside her again and pressed my lips to her's with a sloppy French kiss.
A high-pitched unfamiliar pleading filled my ears, urging my tongue to a wider breadth and deeper penetration. My thickening tongue matched my thickening cock as I followed my desire to every crevice of her crotch. My tongue stayed in constant contact with her soft and hard parts, and I licked her with a studied concentration on coverage. I lapped long and slow then fast and furious with a fully flattened tongue. I pained myself to lick her from belly button to asshole and to explore the depths of her labia folds and the circumference of her clit.
My face slicked by saliva and secretions, I massaged her with my stubbly chin. She dropped her hands to my head and attempted to grab fistfuls of hair until I felt her body convulse.
A whisper grew in my ears, and I realized she was repeatedly saying yes until she could repeat it no more and was reduced to a series of expressive moans that escaped her slightly parted lips. My ears echoed with her ecstasy as my mouth filled with a bittersweet saltiness that drove my erect tongue curling inward until I tickled her insides with its tip. This extracted a deeper moan from her—the cessation of which made me begrudgingly withdraw.
Looking up at her, an apology slipped from my lips: “Sorry, it’s been awhile since I’ve done that.”
“You’re almost as good as a woman; you want to do it again?” she replied.
I nodded.
Lowering her hand to my lips, she wet her fingertip then pressed it against the tip of her clit, which responsively swelled beneath her touch as she rubbed: “Like a metronome—”
I replaced her finger with the tip of my tongue and varied my rhythm and touch until I got the feel for what she wanted. I knew I was doing it right when I heard an audible gasp and felt fingernails digging into my scalp.
I held myself in prayerful stillness, except for my tongue, which I slid back and forth over the very tip of her clit. It was less than half the work of what I had done before, but it produced twice the result.
My cock stiffened as a series of increasingly louder moans commanded me not to alter the touch or timing of my grazing tongue. I remained at her service until she uttered a guttural groan and the familiar bittersweet trickled over my taste buds.
My mouth glistening with a pearly desire, I stood before her. We locked eyes momentarily before locking lips in what remains the most tenderly intimate kiss of my memory.
A sudden peal of laughter and the sound of the door opening prompted me to step promplty backward, and as I looked toward the door, I barely caught a glimpse of Jimmy Dean disappearing through the sliver of its closing.
I pushed the door back open, but as I scanned the room, he was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the tapestry of horns and halos, but she was nowhere to be seen.
I hovered in the threshold of the bathroom door in a state of uncertainty. My lips still wet, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and wondered if I was a closet hetero.
With nothing more to do but go home, I made my way through the ghosts and ghouls to collect my backpack. Turning to leave, I ran into Elvis, who was leading a conga line of cowboys through the crowd. I waited for the winding line to make its way past me when I realized I was the only one in the room without a costume.
I pushed my lips to my nose, savored the scent, and stepped toward the door to find what the gypsy woman left in the moonlit street.
Last Halloween, I was working at my favorite Davis Square coffee house, when I looked up and saw Elvis. My confusion lasted for several seconds before I realized it was Halloween, and every Halloween, Diesel closes early so the staff can use the space for a party. I had been too engrossed in my latest story to notice the patrons were slowly being replaced by pirates, prisoners, and of course, Elvis. As I packed up my stuff, I realized I had to piss too badly to wait for home, so I quickly made my way to the bathroom. The seemingly never-ending piss I released into the black toilet allowed me plenty of time to look around. Streams of toilet paper were strewn across the floor and reminded me of mischief nights long passed, when I thought I would never escape the costume of my adolescence and tried so hard to prove I, too, could be a good cowboy.
Shaking bad memories and the last drops of piss from my heads, I shoved my cock into my fly and zipped up. I paused to wash my hands but decided against it. The fact is few of us wash our hands after a piss.
I opened the door expecting to find the place nearly empty except for a few early partygoers and a couple of coffee filled patrons wanting to empty their bladders before leaving; instead, I found the place already filled with revelers.
I had only opened the door halfway when a strikingly effective semblance of James Dean stepped toward me. Our eyes locked in reciprocal attraction, as he pressed a bullet to my nostril. I inhaled, and just as the rush began, a flickering light outside the windows distracted me, as if something had flown across the moon. The fading light blacked out the Starbuck’s just as a gypsy woman, with something falling from her pocket, walked in from the street. Leaves blew in at her feet and swirled before a jack-o’-lantern, causing strange shadows to dance across the walls like goblins overtaking the space, as a nun cued for coffee made the sign of the cross and a devil in the corner booth whispered “trick-or-treat.”
I stepped backward as Jimmy Dean stepped toward me. The door had barely closed before our lips locked in a kiss, and we began unfastening, unbuttoning, and unzipping. I grew increasingly heady as his surprisingly soft lips invited me further into a slow passionate kiss. His lips were so unusually soft and inviting I would not let anything break their spell, and I kept my lips pressed to his as I waited for him to remove his pants. As soon as they pooled at his feet, he stepped out of them and placed a foot on the sink, allowing me full and easy access. I dropped to my knees but found a cunt were I expected a cock.
Confusion overtook me, but I was left idling with diesel desire, as my lips burned with forgotten hunger and led me to spread the lips before me with my own. The warmth between them stoked my desire and urged my mouth to action.
Inserting my tongue between her lips, I explored, and as I explored, my desire intensified, and I rushed to lick her everywhere. Fully extending my tongue, I licked from the inside of one thigh to the other, and reaching the other thigh, I returned to her lips and spread them again. My face wet with desire, I pushed my tongue inside her again and pressed my lips to her's with a sloppy French kiss.
A high-pitched unfamiliar pleading filled my ears, urging my tongue to a wider breadth and deeper penetration. My thickening tongue matched my thickening cock as I followed my desire to every crevice of her crotch. My tongue stayed in constant contact with her soft and hard parts, and I licked her with a studied concentration on coverage. I lapped long and slow then fast and furious with a fully flattened tongue. I pained myself to lick her from belly button to asshole and to explore the depths of her labia folds and the circumference of her clit.
My face slicked by saliva and secretions, I massaged her with my stubbly chin. She dropped her hands to my head and attempted to grab fistfuls of hair until I felt her body convulse.
A whisper grew in my ears, and I realized she was repeatedly saying yes until she could repeat it no more and was reduced to a series of expressive moans that escaped her slightly parted lips. My ears echoed with her ecstasy as my mouth filled with a bittersweet saltiness that drove my erect tongue curling inward until I tickled her insides with its tip. This extracted a deeper moan from her—the cessation of which made me begrudgingly withdraw.
Looking up at her, an apology slipped from my lips: “Sorry, it’s been awhile since I’ve done that.”
“You’re almost as good as a woman; you want to do it again?” she replied.
I nodded.
Lowering her hand to my lips, she wet her fingertip then pressed it against the tip of her clit, which responsively swelled beneath her touch as she rubbed: “Like a metronome—”
I replaced her finger with the tip of my tongue and varied my rhythm and touch until I got the feel for what she wanted. I knew I was doing it right when I heard an audible gasp and felt fingernails digging into my scalp.
I held myself in prayerful stillness, except for my tongue, which I slid back and forth over the very tip of her clit. It was less than half the work of what I had done before, but it produced twice the result.
My cock stiffened as a series of increasingly louder moans commanded me not to alter the touch or timing of my grazing tongue. I remained at her service until she uttered a guttural groan and the familiar bittersweet trickled over my taste buds.
My mouth glistening with a pearly desire, I stood before her. We locked eyes momentarily before locking lips in what remains the most tenderly intimate kiss of my memory.
A sudden peal of laughter and the sound of the door opening prompted me to step promplty backward, and as I looked toward the door, I barely caught a glimpse of Jimmy Dean disappearing through the sliver of its closing.
I pushed the door back open, but as I scanned the room, he was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the tapestry of horns and halos, but she was nowhere to be seen.
I hovered in the threshold of the bathroom door in a state of uncertainty. My lips still wet, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and wondered if I was a closet hetero.
With nothing more to do but go home, I made my way through the ghosts and ghouls to collect my backpack. Turning to leave, I ran into Elvis, who was leading a conga line of cowboys through the crowd. I waited for the winding line to make its way past me when I realized I was the only one in the room without a costume.
I pushed my lips to my nose, savored the scent, and stepped toward the door to find what the gypsy woman left in the moonlit street.