Bent Ben

The toilet space is dimly lit -- the windows are almost completely blacked out, and the single bulb in the socket overhead has a low wattage. The result is a murky room full of shadows, pungent with the scent of old urine and cum. There are three sinks and three urinals against the wall on the right, and a row of four stalls hugging the wall on the left. At first glance, it seems that the room is empty -- but no, wait, I can see now where he must be. While three of the stall doors hang open, the door to the booth in the furthest and darkest corner is closed. By flexing my knees slightly, I can see under the partition enough to be sure that there are two feet visible, proof that the man I'm on the trail of is in there, sitting alone.

My libido kicks into hyperdrive. Just a few steps take me to the adjoining third stall. I step inside, and immediately see what I assumed I'd find. The wall is covered with scrawls of obscene drawings and old messages. Pictures of hairy balls dangling between the suggestions of manly legs. Images of pricks in the midst of ejaculating their seed. Times and dates negotiating hoped-for hook-ups, commemorating long-ago fucks. And right in the center of all the graffiti is a nice big glory hole, old and worn, carved into the wooden wall separating my booth from his. I see his naked thighs, the pants pushed down his legs, lying puddled on the floor around his ankles. I step all the way into the stall, and push the time-worn wooden door closed behind me. Sliding the metal latch into place, I turn around to place my ass near the toilet -- then undo my belt, unzip my fly, shove my pants down my legs, and sit on the cold stained seat.

From here, I can easily see the guy's right foot encased in its black leather shoe. Through the glory hole, I have a partial view of his legs and knees. I lean forward and twist my head toward the hole. He's leaning back too far for me to see his face, but the result is that I have a perfect view of his dick. And it is magnificent. His right hand is wrapped around the shaft, and he is slowly pumping his monumental meat. It is enormous. Far larger than I realized while I was watching him play with his little blond doll. The shaft is curved, the head of his prick pointing out and away from his body. The veins in the rod are prominent, and the balls hanging beneath it nestle at the base of a long stretched-out sac. His nuts dangle and dance as he strokes himself, and I can only imagine how they must have gyrated under the beating hand of his blond lover. A few drops of pre-cum are glistening on his cockhead, already swollen and red from the workout it's been given both in the booth outside and here in his stall.

I tap my left foot on the floor to let him know I want him. Once. Twice. And immediately he responds. One tap. Two. My foot slides several inches left, while his slides right toward me. We rub our shoes together. We have made a commitment to each other.

And so I scoot forward and turn toward the hole. I run my index finger back and forth around the base of the hole a couple of times. He stands and turns toward me. I open my mouth wide, and place it around the opening of the hole of glory -- and feel his cock sliding across my lips as he pushes through.

He is careful at first, making sure that I know what I am doing, making sure that I am ready and able to handle the beautiful gift that he has to offer me. He is cut, and the skin of his cock-crown is soft and velvety-sweet to my tongue. I delicately lap his cockhelmet, running the tip of my tongue slowly around and around the blunt head of his meat. Drops of pre-cum continue to dribble out, and I savor each of them like a bead of honey. I wonder if I am tasting the man alone, or whether the essence of the blonde doll is also here, waiting for me to lap it up, waiting for my tastebuds to register it. I bob my head up and down, taking a little more of his manhood into me with each descent. This is familiar territory. This is the world I know and love. The universe contracts to a hole in a wall and a stiff cock pumping into my mouth. My mind is calm, my body vibrates with radiant pleasure. This little toilet stall contains all that I want or need.

Carefully shielding my teeth, I turn my mouth into a suction-pump, providing this man with a hot wet vacuum whose only purpose is to suck him. He presses forward still more, and the end of his cock starts to batter against the back of my throat. He wants me to deep-throat him. I want this, too. I want his thickness in my neck. I know that fighting my gag reflex will only make things more difficult, so I simply -- relax. I mentally will the muscles in my neck to release their tension and embrace the sliding rammer that wants to breach them. I drop my shoulders, bend forward still more to lower the angle of my body, and raise my head to the meat. It smoothly slides inside my throat and I can hear my newest lover groan on the other side of the partition which separates us. I feel like a baby bird being fed a delicious worm -- my body shaking and gobbling as his cockslime seeps across the cavern of my throat and his dick slides deeper still into my body.

As he picks up his pace, I learn how to adjust to him. He is teaching me how to pleasure him, and I am a more-than-willing learner. The head of his cock pops in and out of my throat, allowing me to catch air just as I must have it. My tongue cushions his thick shaft, and does all it can to caress the heavy pole as it rides in and out of my skull. We find and fall into a rhythm that eases us both further and further into a state of ecstasy. We become a machine of flesh and bone and cock and head that gains increasing speed as it rumbles forward.

He is humping the wall now, his body smacking against the old wooden divider as he tries to push ever-deeper into my neck. My hands and forearms are pressed against my side of the wall, my body desperate to touch more of him. I plaster myself against the wood, press my mouth as hard as I can against the glory hole, and wish that I could eliminate the wall that stands between us, the wood that keeps my middle-aged body from his. His rhythm has continued to pick up, and he is full-scale fucking the wall now. His crotch slams against the divider over and over, and if there is anybody in the hall outside they will easily hear us before they open the double-doors and enter our shadowy playpen.

This man know how to fuck. I mean, he KNOWS how to fuck. As he pounds against the wall, he knows exactly how and when to twist his hips, change the angle of his body, pull back and slam forward, give and then deny me the meat I am swallowing. I reach down and start to stroke my own prick, hard and throbbing between my legs. The last rational corner of my mind tells me to hold on, tells me not to stroke too much, not to dump the load that I have brought with me for "Bent Ben" -- but rationality is fading, and I know that I am going to lose the battle to delay the orgasm this man makes me want so badly. My stroking hand, his fucking dick, my sucking mouth, are locked in that consuming rhythm. They are telegraphing their needs to each other on telepathic lines of lust. I must have his babies in me. I must give mine to him.

Our climaxes hit us simultaneously. My scream is muffled by his cock, shoved fully down my neck and pumping jet after jet of his children into me. My cock explodes in my hand, showering the old dividing wall with pulse after pulse of my volcanic sperm. I can feel my juices spewing out my dick, and I know that they smacking against and running down the drawings and messages imprinted on the much-abused wood. It is probably the best orgasm of my life.

For another few minutes I stay pressed against this beautiful dirty wall, the final spurts and drops of his cream draining into me. My breathing gradually returns to normal, and I nurse on the velvety tip of his mancock. My tongue digs into the slit at the end, trying to dredge out every drop of cockhoney that his balls will yield. I pull back and run the tip of his prick around the full circle of my lips, painting myself with the glaze of his drooling cum. I cup his balls in my hand, feeling the soft pouch that carries his sperm resting on my palms. I slide one hand into the crevice between his legs and feel the heat of his body warm me.

But all too soon, he pulls back, and the rubbery tube of his manhood slides from my mouth. I stay in place, breathing hard, as I listen to him stand up, pull up his pants, zip up his fly, and unlatch his door. I listen to him step out of our womb, listen to him walk to one of the sinks, turn on a faucet, and start to wash.

I am waiting for him to leave. But I don't hear a door open, and the room is filled with silence. Slowly, I sit back on my toilet seat. I slide an index finger across the cum I have spilt on the wall, and lift what I have caught up to my mouth. I put another layer of spermy glaze on my lips. I stick my finger into my mouth and taste myself. I savor the milk. Then I stand, dress myself, take a deep breath, unlatch my door, and step out into the larger room.

He is standing there, his ass leaning against the front rim of one of the sinks, watching my stall door. He is waiting for me to emerge. And at last, I can see him fully and head-on.

I would know him anywhere. I would know Ben anywhere.

We smile at each other, and he opens his arms. I step into them, press my body against his, and our lips meet in a kiss that quickly consumes. The glazed cum on my lips seals us together, and we can both taste our mingled sperm as it glues us together. Our tongues wrap themselves around each other, our mouths are wide open and we pour our saliva and our respect and our desire for more into each other. He grabs my head in his hands as I wrap my arms in a vice-grip around him, and we pump the breath from our bodies into each other.

Minutes later, we separate and lean back just enough to look into each other's eyes.

"You're here early," he says.

"You're here even earlier," I reply.

"Yeah, well, I had to do a run to the airport this morning to pick up Timmy, and so we just came straight here afterwards."

"Oh. Timmy, eh? So I guess we're going to have some company today?"

And we both grin as we press our groins against each other.

"Come on out front," he says. "I'll get you a drink. We have lots to talk about. And as a special treat, I'll introduce you to Timmy. He reads my blog too, and I think the two of you are going to get along great."