Last time:
“Oh my godd, oh my godd, oh my godd, oh my godd,” he shouted repeatedly and I began to feel it too. He struck some point deep in me that sent a blinding flash of incandescent pleasure through my being and as he bunny fucked me repeatedly, all the while letting out deep, guttural groans, I felt my asshole begin to contract around his masculine prod. For the third time on less than a half hour I squirted my essence, this time all over the bathroom floor and wall in front of me. Gabe let out a roar and his hands left my hips, where he had been holding me to find the deepest penetration, to embrace me to his chest, all the while emptying his lovely balls into my asshole. His hot breath in my neck, as he bit my ear, his hoarse moans, all echoed the incomparable ecstasy that coursed through my body.
At last our breathing calmed. Gabe began to pull out of my asshole and I felt for the first of many, many times, the loss and regret as a man’s cock left the place where it belonged: up my ass.
And that, dear friends, is how I became a cock hound.
Well, now that you know how I came to appreciate dick, you have to know that I spent almost every waking moment since then daydreaming about my next encounter with somebody who would be in possession of that most wonderful of all instruments of pleasure, or how to meet such a person. Or specifically, man.
Gabe and I hooked up a few more times and every time it was a mind-altering experience, as it was the first time. But my need quickly overcame Gabe’s ability to provide me with my fix, and I knew that I would have to start searching further afield. Thanks be to godd for the wonder of the cruising app. That changed my life. I was like a kid in a candy store, but quickly learned that the pool was so limited as to be more or less ankle deep at best. Guys were so picky.
“No face pic, no chat.”
Well, what the fuck’s that about? I’m married and I’m not going to put my picture out there for everybody to see until I more or less knew that my wife wasn’t going to be hearing of my extra-curricular activities. And then some even took exception to my “discreet” status. Self-righteous gays took it upon themselves to question how I could live with myself, being unfaithful to my wife by hooking up with men. As if I didn’t berate myself enough for that simple fact. But I was hooked so there was no going back, regardless of how much I tried to resist the temptation that strutted down every sidewalk and in every mall, sat in every pew and wore every school uniform.
But I quickly realised that there was a serious shortage of the one thing that I craved: a top. Gabe was right, I was a bottom boy and the fact that I could give my wife a good rogering meant I didn’t just want to swop a female hole for a male hole. And the same went for most men. If you’ve ever been through the app cruising experience, you know it goes something like this:
“Hey”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Nm, you?” (Not much, you)
“Same. What you looking for” (duh?)
“Hookup”
“top/btm?”
And this is where it usually went bad. Most men were vers (versatile) at best, which as you know, meant they’d prefer a dick up their poophole but were prepared to get it up to do the fucking because if they didn’t it seriously limited their options. Yeah, believe it or not, most gay men wanted to be fucked. The serious dearth of tops was a problem that soon became apparent to me.
And you’d think that if you found a bisexual or even a straight male that plays with men (there are some) that they’d want to be active but no, they use women for that. When they hook up with men, most of them want something stiff in the rear end—and having experienced the joy of that role, I could only concur that it was preferable.
The games on Grindr were also quite tiresome. The conditions and limitations each guy had, made it possible to sift through possibilities, it’s true, but with such a limited pool of people in any given area, it soon lost its charm.
Being married also proved to be an obstacle in ways that I didn’t anticipate. Besides having to be careful of being outed by not being discreet enough, it also meant that I didn’t have anywhere to hook up safely and comfortably unless my partner could provide the ubiquitous “venue”. So I was generally constrained to meeting guys in toilets or on the odd occasion that things played out as they did in the last chapter with Gabe, venue remained a problem.
Initially I also considered trying to find a regular fuck buddy, but soon realised that this wasn’t a situation that was easily achieved. Most men are simply to horny to remain ‘faithful’ to one buddy and I wasn’t prepared to endanger my wife’s health by exposing myself to trusting somebody just because he said he was safe. I was shocked a few times when, a supposedly ‘safe’ partner would admit that they went with the flow and “mostly didn’t bb” (bareback—fuck without a condom). “Mostly? What good is that? Once is enough and then there’s no going back.
To make matters worse, I was discovering a deeper itch, as I mentioned before. What I mean by that is that I was no longer satisfied to be only fucked; I was silently beginning to yearn to be loved by a man. A strong, silent giant that would make me feel safe and loved, haunted my dreams. He would hold me in his arms and I would know that the world was as it should be. When my dream self saw him I felt complete. I never saw his face, but he was always huge and protective.
This was disturbing to me to say the least. I had always considered myself to be a straight man with a curious side. Then, when I had sucked my first cock and swallowed the delicious cum, and felt a thick tool up my bum, my illusions were shattered. Something deep and primal overcame the protests that I tried to make to justify why I felt the way I did. I didn’t even question whether I might be gay or bisexual. I just knew that I was made to worship dick and that was that.
But this further development cast a quite different shadow over my life and I wasn’t sure what the implications would be for my future. Where would my wife fit in? Did it mean that I would have to leave her? Did it mean that I would have to go through what I was discovering to be the extremely perilous journey of finding a man that would love me and stay faithful to me for the rest of my life, and risk losing what I considered a very good relationship with my wife?
I tried not to think of it too much and sought to plug the leak in my psyche by filling the hungry cavity in my posterior.
It was in an effort to achieve just that, that I had met up with my handsome young stud in chapter 1. After that wonderful experience I had been loath to spoil the memory with him by hooking up with anybody else. For the first time in many months, I had gone several weeks without making an effort to find somebody to scratch my itch. Maybe it was my imagination but I had felt a connection that I hadn’t experienced since my first unexpected hookup with Gabe.
What’s more, the faceless lover in my dreams now had a face, and spoke Afrikaans when he spoke words of love and comfort to me. It puzzled me how I could attach such significance to a man who was clearly so much younger than I was. It was extremely unlikely that he would be capable of, much less interested in playing the dominant or securing role in a relationship with a man 20 years his senior. And it wasn’t as if I was fem or something. I was a normal masculine man.
Oh crap, what’s the point of mulling it over anyway? I had looked for him on Grindr again and again, and had never seen him. I concluded that he must have been passing through on his way to one of the larger cities north or south of where I now lived with my family.
In the meantime life went on as usual. Having recently moved to a new country from South Africa, we were all adjusting. I had the better time of it because I was (or had been) assertively searching out new company in the form of one night stands, none of them which could, by definition, lead to any friendships. Even the one guy that I knew who lived in the same town as us, refused to allow us to be seen together because he thought it was just too risky. Who was I to argue anyway?
But my daughter really struggled. She was shy by nature and the tiny town where we found ourselves had lots of young people, but they only came out at night and frequented the local bar. She rightly felt that it would be suspect if she went to the bar by herself even though it was less than 100m from our front door and even the thought of me taking her out for a drink was enough for her to almost have a stroke.
So she was reduced to either staying at home, or attending a youth type event at the local church with her cousin who lived just down the road from us. I was just too glad that she finally did something to alleviate her chronic boredom, so I encouraged her. Much to my surprise she arrived home later looking decidedly excited and I knew better than to ask, since it would only start a fight. I knew her mother would let me in on the details later.
Of course, I was right. When we turned in for the night I couldn’t contain myself any longer.
“What was Abby so excited about?”
“She really had a good time tonight. She met quite a few nice kids. Apparently not what you’d expect at a church youth group. They were fun and outgoing and not boring at all.”
“I’m really glad. I was worried she would be disappointed and that we would be back to Square One.”
“Me too. But the best news of all is that there seems to be a young guy that caught her interest.”
“Are you serious? I thought she was much too picky to like anybody that wasn’t perfect. Tell me about it.”
“I would if I could. She wouldn’t say much, but I’ve learnt to interpret what she says. When I asked her if she met any nice guys, after all the ‘oh moms’ she did admit that there was maybe one that didn’t totally suck.”
“Coming from her, that’s high praise! Will we meet him?”
“Yeah, sure, as soon as hell freezes over. I’d want to see where this goes before I would ring the wedding bells.”
“I suppose so. She’s just so lonely. I really hope for her sake that she’ll meet a nice guy that she could have some fun with.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
I put the light off and kissed my wife goodnight. I was tempted to make love to her but the face of my dream lover kept on floating into view so I rather surrendered to dreamland to meet up with him.
The next morning my daughter was more cheerful than usual. She hadn’t been entirely happy with our move to a new country. She had left behind all her friends and if you knew Abby, you would know that she didn’t make friends easily. As a result she had been blue for quite some time and to see her a bit more like her old self was encouraging. I knew better than to say something so I just enjoyed the welcome reprieve.
Later on it became clear what the cause for the good mood was. Apparently a group of the kids she met at the youth group had invited her to go and have drinks with them. I inquired whether it was normal for “church youth” to go drinking and was told that youth is a loose term, since apparently even young adults up to the age of about 25 were inclined to attend. Well, I determined to not look a gift horse in the mouth and encouraged her to enjoy herself. When a group of “kids” swung by later to walk to the pub together, I was having a quick shower so I didn’t see who was there.
Although I had not felt like hooking up with anybody of late, I was beginning to feel the lack of cock. Nobody that is unaccustomed to being fucked regularly will understand the hunger. It will make you do stupid things, like endanger your relationships to take time out to go out and meet somebody who will scratch your never-ending itch.
Since my wife had some scrapping she wanted to do, and I didn’t feel like watching TV I decided that I would go for a walk. Behind our little town is a little hillock with a lovely road that had some biking trails branching off it, and it is there I headed. I didn’t particularly have in mind to pick somebody up but I would be lying if I said that I didn’t fantasize about meeting some rugged New Zealand farmer off for a solitary evening stroll with his sheep dog.
I usually stuck to the main path, as I didn’t know what windy route the smaller trails would take me—and how long the walk would last as a result. But this time I was determined to at least have an outdoor wank if nothing else, as the danger of being discovered would in some small measure make up for the lack of cock that I was experiencing.
It was still early enough to be light. The sun set at about 9pm in the summer and it was only about 7.30pm. There were quite a few people walking in the sweet sunset and I wondered whether it was such a good idea to try and catch a quick jerk in the woods with so many octogenarians on the loose. The only consolation was that I was pretty sure they would avoid the bike paths because they were too steep and rough and I was most likely not going to be disturbed there.
I took the first one because I thought that it would most likely be the longest. I wasn’t in the mood to see anybody. There was a hunger that was eating me up from the back upwards. Where normally a cock would lead the way, there was only a dumb silence—a mute testimony to a dickless cavity. Yeah, I know I sound melodramatic. I am feeling that way.
New Zealand has no snakes, but it has spiders everywhere. In the twilight I had to duck to avoid the webs that festooned the bushes and trees. I was lightly dressed but soon I was working up a sweat from the steady uphill climb. The little trail wound crazily through low hanging bushes and I wondered when I would reach a space where it would be broad enough to stand and whip out my dick.
I was just beginning to lose patience and consider turning around and going home when a twist in the road revealed a neat little nook with a largish rock, which was just big enough for me to sit on. The woods were hushed around me as I sat down and just took in the silence. The bird life wasn’t abundant but at that time the birdsong was beautiful. I felt at peace and relaxed slowly, and as a result I felt that my cock was getting hard. I had thin, soft sweat pants on, so my crotch area had lots of play. The rock was quite low, so as I sat I could feel the hardness of the rock—particularly one rough knot on the surface—tantalize my asshole. I wriggled my hips to try and scratch the itch that I had allowed to develop there over the last few weeks of abstinence.
I was desperate to have something in there so I decided to take my sweats down and at least stick a thumb in to alleviate the desperate hunger that tortured me.
I stood up and looked around carefully to make sure I wasn’t being observed, and then loosened the drawstring. I pulled the elastic away from my abs, taking the waist of my undies with it and looked at my grateful cock that sprang free. Then I slid my jocks and sweats down together, revealing my butt to the cool evening air.
I licked my index finger and leaned forward to gain access to my ravenous hole from the back. While I palmed my cock from the front I bent over and stroked over my hole, making small noises of appreciation and craving. I pulled my hand to my nose and appreciatively sniffed at my finger. The earthy masculine smell I found there made my mouth water. I then sucked at it, savouring the blandness of the ass taste I found. Not being satisfied with the teasing of my forefinger, I slobbered over my thumb, getting it ready to enter my asshole. I knew this was more of a logistical challenge, but I was so frantic to fulfill the promise of the earlier stimulation that I was prepared to give it a go. I mentally kicked myself for not bringing a dildo to shove up my hungry hole.
I leaned back and found my hole with my thumb, straining to push it in at the uncomfortable angle. I groaned with appreciation as it entered me and despite the discomfort of the odd position, it at least felt good.
“That looks good there, mate,” a deep voice with a Kiwi accent commented and I hastily extracted my thumb from my behind and swung round, pulling my pants up as I did so.
I was faced with a ruggedly handsome red headed man with sharp, humorous eyes and luscious lips framed by his full, ginger beard. He stood about three meters away from me. He had managed to walk into the clearing without alerting me. He wore a short sleeved, open necked shirt that allowed the ginger fur on his chest to bubble out, and shorts above woolly socks that ended just below his knees. His feet sported rough work shoes and the exposed part of his legs was similarly furry. A wicked smile slid naughtily off to the left.
I struggled to redo the drawstring of my sweats, embarrassment colouring my face and ears. For some obscure reason I turned my back on him, hiding my fumblings from him although I had just given him a view of my hairy hole with my thumb up it.
“No, mate, don’t do that,” he admonished and stepped up to me, placing his hairy hand on my hip, and I could feel a hard, oblong object prod my one ass cheek.
“You’re a real picture out here in the woods with your pretty rear end in the breeze. Let me help you to scratch that itch of yours. I have just the ticket.”
He stepped directly behind me and put the rough palm of his huge work-hardened hand on my behind, easily cupping the melon-shaped glute in it.
“Godd, no, this is so embarrassing, I’ve got to get back home,” I replied, my face flooding with shame once again.
“No worries, mate, every man knows what it feels like to need some attention from something stiff. Let me help you out—I wager you’ll like what I’ve brought along with me for the job,” he said and lightly slid his cock across the smooth material of the sweats that covered my rear. He was right. It felt from this angle as if it was particularly suited to satisfying my hunger and I felt my resolve weaken and my embarrassment abate somewhat.
“Why don’t you check out my tackle and see if it meets with your approval?” he murmured languidly and turned me around and looked me lazily in the eyes. There was a bit of late golden afternoon sunlight that stippled through the forest above us and it caught him in the face. He had golden eyes, with flecks of green and navy that peppered the irises and drew me into their depths. He took my hand and led it to his crotch. He pushed the back of itinto his groin and rubbed it up and down the pole that nestled there like a truncheon.
“Ya like to kiss, pretty boy?” he asked in the same mesmerizing tone and I could only nod mutely. His words, laced as they were with his Kiwi accent were like an incantation designed to produce a horny stupor.
“Mind if I take a quick peck? Ya got real pretty lips for a man.”
I shook my head from side to side, drowning in the golden depths of his eyes, and his breath, which had the faint smell of beer, rustled the beard around his mouth. He was a full head taller than me and as he leaned forward to kiss me, the locks of bright red hair that weren’t restrained by the green woolen cap that perched on his head, fell forward to tickle my cheek. His gaze held mine as he inched closer, the epitome of masculine beauty and strength, until his lips touched mine.
“So, glad I took this wee detour, are you?” he breathed into my mouth. He cradled my chin in his big hand guided himself towards me like a ship docking into a berth.
I moaned my ‘yes’ as his lips touched mine. As I breathed in I could smell his beard, like straw and forest, and as he opened his mouth and his soft lips melded with mine, I tasted his beer breath and the sweet indefinable taste of a sexy, self assured man.
We traded spit for a while and he took charge of my mouth and kissed me so thoroughly that I felt my knees buckle. He caught me in his strong arm and scooped me towards him.
“Ya like a strong man, don’t ya, mate? I can see that ya really appreciate a sturdy farm lad. Wait until ya see my equipment.”
He pushed me gently to my knees. I was at face height with his work-soiled shorts and I caught a whiff of his farm-freshness.
“Go ahead, be my guest, he won’t bite,” he joked and put his hand behind my head, pulling me in to connect with his bulging groin area. I lifted a hand and slid it in the bottom of his work shorts and felt my way up towards his trouser snake, which was straining to escape the confines of his underpants. I worked my hand in the leg of the undergarment and found his balls filling out the confines of his underpants very substantially. I played with them in his shorts for a bit, blindly appreciating the heavy hairiness.
“Let’s get to it mate, I fancy feeling your hot mouth on my knob. Ya don’t mind, do ya?”
He gently pushed my head back and swiftly loosened the top and remaining buttons of his shorts and pushed them down, stepping out of them in short order. A healthy bush of electric red pubic hair was visible above the line of his workman’s undies.
I didn’t hesitate to pull down the elastic and out lunged the biggest, veiniest, pale horse dick I had ever had the privilege to encounter. I caught my breath and just put my hand under the thick trunk to bring it to face level, since gravity was winning the fight to stay upright. The pout formed by the thick foreskin around the rose-coloured tip, collected clear precum that begged to be sipped. I complied.
I stuck my tongue out and licked the tip of the majestic monster.
“Ya like what ya see?” my red headed lover asked redundantly, as I opened wide and feasted on the best present since my gift to myself of an 8 inch dildo for my birthday. I vainly tried to nod and suck at the same time so I pulled my head back and for the first time expressed a preference.
“Please don’t waste any time. Fuck me.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself. Get up and bend over so I can do the honours.”
I didn’t delay. I spat on my hand and leaned back to work some into my hole. He did the same from his side. I was a bit scared that he would split me open with that ginger pole. It was bigger than any real cock I’d had up me but I was determined to do the beauty justice.
My top positioned his flagpole at my rear and after finding the hole, pushed. I felt as if I would split in half, but I had long since realised that I was built for this, so I focused on pushing back and sure enough it slid in with a satisfying feeling of fullness and a satisfied groan from my penetrator.
“Fuck, mate, you’re a pro at taking it up the chute. Never fucked a man before but you might just swing me!”
He pulled out and I felt my intestines resume their normal position in the absence of the ginger baseball bat that vacated the premises. I needn’t have worried: he pushed it back and the stretch in the walls of my anus was deeply gratifying. And to boot, I had a talker.
“Ay, fuck, mate, ya have a really hot bugger-hole. Ya like, this farm boy to give ya a good rogering?”
“Yeah, give it to me, you fucking hunk,” I found myself responding. He had his right hand on my shoulder to pull me into him and his left around my waist, holding onto my cock, which was slippery with my precum.
“Yah have a tasty cunt, to be sure, sexy man. Ya were made for this, to be used by a strong man like meself,” he said while picking up the pace. He had a steady rhythm going and I knew that I might be here until dark or later.
“Slowly does it, no good in spilling the beans before the time is right, now, is it?” he confirmed my glorious suspicions. I had found that many tops couldn’t keep it up before cumming too soon, by far, and I had to bring myself off manually.
“I’m going to fuck the spunk right out of your pretty little pussy, trust me,” he answered my unasked question.
“No need for ya to be putting a hand to your little pricklet.”
The long, thick love-truncheon slid in and out, in and out, with a determination that promised an explosive climax. I had my hand against the bole of a thick tree that stood at the edge of the small clearing.
He’d been quiet for a while in concentration, so I found myself saying, “Do you like fucking a man, handsome farm-boy?”
“Ya look good from this angle, with my tool disappearing up your pooper, city boy,” he managed through his efforts, which seemed to be testing the limits of even his farm-fitness. But I was mistaken, as he picked up the pace and seemed to go deeper into me, finding spots that I never knew existed.
I felt the inexorable tinglings of my orgasm begin to crawl up my thighs, and couldn’t contain myself anymore.
“Oh, fuck, farm-boy, I’m going to shoot all over this tree,” I all but shouted.
“Well, then it's time to flood your city-boy guts with my wholesome milk, now isn’t it?”
His thrusting increased in urgency and depth, and suddenly it felt like my balls wanted to climb out of my cock. His pole hit my prostate like a jackhammer and I absently wondered how a straight man knew how to do that. His vocalisations lost coherence and he started to growl deep in his throat and with a last, superhuman thrust that punctuated the peak of my preparation for ejaculation, we squirted our juices simultaneously.
“Take-that-city-boy,” he said in rhythm to his last thrusts and pulled me back into his embrace and kissed and then bit my neck. I didn’t care about marks at this point and welcomed the pain of the love-bites in a symphony of ecstasy.
All at once he rapidly pulled out and flung me around and pushed me up against the tree, attacking my lips with a hunger and desperation of a starved man.
“By godd, sexy city-boy, you’ve shown me the error of me ways,” he whispered into my mouth. He sucked my tongue and we slurped at each other’s mouths and faces with an unfettered desperation.
“You’ve unleashed a man-hunger in me loins,” he growled and ravished my mouth with his bearded lips.
“Next time, I want you to show me what it feels like to play receiver. Give me your phone.”
I did as he asked and he typed his name and number into my device. Then he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and turned me around again and wiped me clean. Then he proceeded to clean himself up, pull his pants up, and with a wink, disappeared into the forest. I wondered whether I would see him again. I could call him if I wanted to.
I had a feeling I would.