Cock-Sucker: Canal Street Pick-Up

I was in a Canal Street Bookshop, crouching to read furtive passages from the Gay Erotica section in the alcove. I was barely aware of the stylish older man standing nearby, who seems to be doing the same thing, dipping in and out of the pages of the garish paperbacks.

Until he speaks to me, indicating the paperback he's browsing 'in this book, there's some wonderful passages describing Gay oral sex, if that's something that you're interested in...' he leaves a calculated pause, '...in fiction.'

I smile up at him. 'That is something I'm very much interested in... in fiction too.' The words come spontaneously, almost too quickly, before I realise what it is I'm saying.

But he just smiles in a way that has me tingling. 'Maybe you'd care to join me for a cappuccino where we can talk about our shared interests, literary and otherwise?'

I realise that he's trying to pick me up. But he's suave and good-looking in a sophisticated way. So, why not?

I allow him to lead me through into the coffee lounge area where we select a corner seat beside the window that looks out over the street. And we make our introductions over drinks that he insists on buying. As we talk about books and favourite writers I discover that he's married to a male partner, but he says they both have powerful sex drives and live an open relationship that allows them both to have other liaisons. The way he pronounces the word the 'liaisons' is as though he's offering me a gift. I do not decline. I was brought up to believe that it's wrong to refuse another's generosity. I'm feeling just a little wary and nervous, but with a familiar flutter of anticipation in my gut.

Greatly daring, I say 'do you have somewhere we can go, to get to know each other better?'

He shrugs, and suggests his car. So we leave dregs of undrunk coffee and step outside. We walk a short distance in silence along to the multistorey carpark, and climb up to the second level where his Audi is parked. He keys it open and we climb inside, he behind the wheel, me in the passenger seat. He looks across at me, smiles reassuringly, unbuckles his pants, draws the zip down all the way, and raises himself to shuffle his pants down into a bundle. He's hairy. His cock is not as fat as I'd have preferred, but it is tall and slender, over tightly bunched testicles. He seems effortlessly cool, as though he's done this before, with other boys.

I glance around. There's no-one else on the level. I dip my head and slip my lips in around the flared glans in a way that makes his gasp. I'm secretly pleased at his reaction, inch more of into my mouth and begin sucking enthusiastically.

At the same time, never allowing his cock to leave my mouth, I unzip myself, pull my own erection out of my pants, and begin masturbating in long slow strokes as I suck, the two sensations fiercely urging me on. I can tell he's not going to last much longer, his hands come down to rest on the back of my head, not so much forcing as encouraging, and he begins to make little uncontrollable fucking motions with his hips, forcing his cock further into my mouth. I fumble in my pocket for a handkerchief and wrap it around the head of my cock -- he won't want my spunk-stains on his upholstery, and I'm close to cumming myself. He grunts, then gives a long-drawn-out sigh, his cock pulses up against the roof of my mouth, I feel the sperm-duct swell, and the first gush of him fills my mouth, then another spasm, and I swallow and suck harder. My own groans as I cum into the soft material of the handkerchief are muffled as I gulp and suck, gulp and suck, gulp and suck.

Eventually his entire body seems to relax, and he eases back into the contoured chair with a sigh of contentment. I continue sucking, and he strokes my hair even as he's losing that fierce rigidity in my mouth.

He smiles as I lift my head up out of his groin, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. 'That was amazing, Tristan. You are so very good.'

I smile back bashfully. How are you supposed to respond? 'My pleasure' I manage, 'absolutely.'

I zip myself up and make a move to open the car door. He says 'wait.'

He reaches into his inside jacket pocket. At first I think he's going to offer me money, but absurdly he pulls out a business card instead, and hands it across to me. 'We -- my husband and me, are having a weekend soirée, there will be other guests, food... you know. It would be wonderful if you could... join us?'

I look down at the embossed card in my hand. 'It would be a pleasure.'

'I might even buy you a copy of that book of Gay Erotica, if you like?'

I'm already excited at the prospect of what he's offering. I get the feeling there will be more than just printed gay erotica on offer!

by

TRISTAN TROTSKY