The Yellow Cadillac

I was feeling quite horny and knew it wouldn't be long before I was hungry too, and I didn't expect another check for two days, so I decided to saunter on over to that county park near the campus that had a lot of out-of-the way parking places and was known in my circles as a pickup spot. With luck, I'd pick me up a short-term sugar daddy with munch and lunch on his mind. I was sitting there on a picnic table near the entrance, contemplating the condition of my fingernails, when a big yellow blur whooshed past me and turned off into a wooded area, well away from the main picnic section.

I didn't think much of that for a couple of minutes, until I heard a somewhat irritated voice wafting a question from over that direction.

"Well, are you here for something special, or are you just wasting the day away? If the first, get your little ass over here."

I unfolded myself from the picnic table and strolled through the fringe of trees to the small parking area. When I got to the clearing, I saw a hippie-type guy leaning up against an old yellow Cadillac convertible. He had a craggy face that looked somewhat familiar, except the dark sunglasses hid quite a bit. He had a light beard and mustache and long silky dirty blond hair that reached below his shoulders. He was wearing a T-shirt with his own face and some writing on the front, and there was a guitar case in his backseat. And then it dawned on me. This was a guitarist from a local band that had gone national and still had tunes on the charts. At least that boded well for a free meal possibility.

I stood there and looked at him, and he sat up against his car and looked me up and down, and I didn't quite know what to say.

"Well, up close, I like what I see," he said in a twangy voice. "So, do you want to come around and get in, and I'll give you a ride?"

"A ride?" I asked lamely.

"Yes, a ride." And then he snickered, having become aware of the double entendre he'd created all on his own.

"Why do we need to ride anywhere? We can just do it here, can't we?" I asked.

"This park's too well known. I know where there's another one nearby that's safer."

"OK, why not," I answered. I bleakly walked around to the passenger side, we both got into his car, and he pulled out of the parking area.

"Drag?" he said, as he offered what obviously was more than a cigarette to me. I politely declined the offer.

"Don't worry, I won't keep you long. Gotta gig myself, but I like, you know, like to get off before I go on stage. And after too, for that matter," and he gave another little laugh. "And on stage whenever possible." This one gave him the giggles. I don't know how high he was already, but I kept very quiet so he could concentrate on his driving.

"Do this often?" he asked, as we drove out into the countryside?

"No. No, I don't," I answered.

"Sweet."

He pulled into another, larger county park and drove into the far end of a secluded parking lot, where he turned around the Cadillac around and backed it up to the edge of a little dell.

"Get on out, and come around to the trunk," he said, as he opened his door, got out. Without fanfare, he stripped his jeans and briefs off and threw them in the back seat beside the guitar case. We both walked around to the trunk of the car. He got me between him and the trunk and turned me so that I was facing him.

"Take off the shirt." I did as he asked, and he ran his hands around my torso.

"Nice," he said, as he took the joint out of his mouth and offered it to me again. I declined once again.

"Oh, well, your loss." Then he unbuckled my belt, unfastened my jeans, pulled down my zipper and took my jeans and briefs down and off my legs.

"Oh my, yes; nice, very nice indeed. Lean back on the trunk, please." I did so, and he asked me to hold his smoldering joint and started tonguing my chest and nipples, his silky hair swishing over my torso, producing a not-unpleasant sensation. He worked his way down to my cock and balls and then pushed my legs up into my chest with both hands and started tonguing my asshole. After a while, he stood, releasing my legs, and spit in his hand a couple of times. He worked this into his cock. He lifted my legs again and spread them wide; walked his pelvis into mine; plugged his hardened, but not particularly large; rod into my asshole; and started a slow pumping movement.

After a while, he asked for the joint back and puffed on that while he worked my ass with his dick. He had one of those cocks that started off unimpressive but lengthened and thickened nicely with the proper attention. He came inside me and then slurped his cock out of me and instructed me to put my clothes back on as he walked around to the driver's side. He asked me where I wanted to be driven, and he dropped me off right at my dorm. Before I got out of the car, though, he put his hand on my arm.

"Here's a twenty for the trick. Best fuck I've had in a week. Thanks a lot." And then he handed me a ticket, which had a red band on the side. "Here's a ticket to my concert here Saturday night. The red band on it will get you into the party afterward. Hope to see you there." And then he just drove off and left me there on the curb.

The twenty saved me from writing home for a quick bridge to my next regular check, and come Saturday, I ran across the ticket to that crazy guy's concert, so I thought why the hell not check out that scene.

The featured band really was quite good. They had a large crowd in the university's soccer stadium, and it was even being filmed for national sale as a video. The rocker who had fucked me had a great, raspy, character-laden voice, and he played a mean guitar. I was also impressed with his backup singer, a statuesque brunette in a halter top and flowing crinkly skirt. She played a hand harp as well as sang. The drummer was an evening's entertainment all himself. Stripped to the waist, and sweating from the exertion, he was a massive, muscle-bound Jamaican, with flowing dreadlocks that flew all around him as he made love to his drums. The spots were on him more than on anyone else that evening.

Caught up in the euphoria of the concert, I decided to see what my special red-banded ticket would get me. I really wanted to see that brunette up close. My wish about that was granted, because when I was ushered back to the rocker's dressing room, she and he were in a lip lock and fondle exercise over on one of a pair of couches that faced each other in an alcove. The room was thick with the smoke from various drugs, and a small crowd was freely handing around a foaming drink in big plastic cups. The rocker saw me and waved me over. I sat across from him and the striking brunette. They offered me a joint, but I turned it down, just as I had the other day. I did take a drink and down it, though, which likely was a mistake.

I think I had been slipped a Mickey of some sort, because it wasn't long before I got groggy and my connection with all that was going on around me kept going in and out. I started to disappear, while the brunette appeared wrapped up in whatever conversation I could muster to avoid telling her I was here because her colleague had had me for a snack a few days earlier. She must have fancied me herself, because after my first blackout, I found her on my sofa, sticking her tongue in my ear and playing with my chest and belly. My shirt had disappeared somewhere. I didn't stay aware long, and the next time I put in an appearance, the brunette was still there, toying with me, but my rocker friend was now on the other side of me.

My pants were down around my ankles, and the rocker and brunette were kissing each other across my body and each of them had a hand on my hardened cock. Surprisingly enough, the room still seemed to be full of boisterous people. Next I was aware; the brunette was sitting astride my lap with my cock up her cunt. Her skirt still flowed around us, but her big tits were flapping against my chest and her long hair was whipping my face. The music, which had a good beat, was louder than the crowd now, and, good musician that she was, she was keeping great time with the beat in her bucking in my lap. As far as I remembered, the rocker was puffing a weed and playing with both the brunette's tits and my nipples as they bounced against each other.

In the next scene that I was awake enough to witness, the brunette was still fucking herself with my hard cock, but now the rocker was under me. I was sitting in his lap now, my butt nuzzled into his pelvis and his hard penis up my ass.

I don't know how all of that came to a climax, but it must have satisfied them, because they gave me a ride home in the rocker's yellow Cadillac convertible. For the brief time I was awake, I found that I sort of was sitting sideways on the back seat of the Caddie, at least the back part of my bare butt was in the brunette's lap. She was sitting in regular fashion on the passenger side of the backseat and must have been sitting on a cushion, because we were sitting pretty high up out of the seat. I was leaning back against the side of the car, and she seemed to be playing my torso like her harp and spending a lot of time on my still-hard—or hard once again, as far as I knew—cock and my balls, while I weighed and squeezed her big jugs.

My left leg was draped up onto the back of the seat and my right leg was draped over into the front seat and my calf rested on the rocker's shoulder. He was driving while trying to suck my toes. What was most interesting, though, was that the Jamaican drummer was kneeling between my spread legs. He had a club of a dick disappearing in my asshole and reappearing from my asshole in a heavy rock rhythm, while he drummed a beat to set his pumping with his fingers on my belly. His beautiful, glistening chocolate chest was heaving and rocking back and forth, and his head was spinning, keeping his long dreadlocks twirling in the air in time with the thrusts of his pelvis into my ass. It was really a wonderful sight for the short time I was aware of it. I'm sort of sorry I missed most of the performance—and especially the climax.

They were nice enough to get me to safety on the front steps of my dorm, where my roommate found me I don't know how long thereafter. By the next morning, the memory of what all had happened was beginning to drain from me, so I sat right down and wrote out as much as I could dredge back up. I wasn't going to do anything with this as far as getting it published or anything, but it was one hell of an experience, and I didn't want to forget it altogether. I bet I would have always remembered that old yellow Cadillac, though.