Mr. Goodjeans

Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

None of this would have happened if my flight out of Dallas/Fort Worth hadn't been delayed. I was royally pissed but there was nothing I could do. It was my own fault, anyway, for not having called ahead or checked the status of the flight on the Net.

What can I say, my brain was fried. I'd just finished my first semester's worth of college finals and was headed home for the Christmas holidays. Life at the big state U. had been just about what I'd expected, well, except for one thing. The classes were hard enough to be interesting, but not so hard that there wasn't plenty of time to goof around. I'd made some friends, gotten roaring drunk once or twice, done some crazy things and lived to tell the tale.

The one thing I hadn't counted on was the extra education I'd gotten from Jeff Brothers, my roommate. We hit it off right away, even though we met for the first time the day we moved in. Jeff was from one of the richer suburbs in Dallas, and had gotten straight As in high school while playing varsity football. To a small-town boy like me he was the ultimate in cool. One day a couple of weeks into the term I was studying in our double room when I heard the door open.

"Hey, Jared."

I looked up from my books. It was Jeff, coming back after taking a shower. His hair was mussed and damp, the golden skin that covered his ripped pecs and abs scrubbed and glowing. We locked eyes. Then he came toward me, a grin on his face, a tent rising in the front of the terrycloth around his waist. Towel and shampoo bottle hit the floor, and then it hit me.

Something had always been missing from my social life in high school, my half-hearted attempts at making out with various girlfriends at the movies or in my car. All along I'd been interested in other guys' bodies, especially their cocks. I'd sneaked peeks in the locker room after gym class, let my eyes flicker across my buddies' crotches. But I'd never dared to look for real. And I'd never been invited to look, the way I was being invited now.

I stared at the stiff, veiny pole between his muscled thighs, capped with a flaring, plum-colored head. His balls swung gently underneath in their sack, lightly furred with hair. He moved closer until the prize was only a few inches from my face.

Jeff's voice was low and husky. "C'mon, guy. I've seen you looking at me. You know you want it."

I looked into his eyes and he nodded encouragement. That was all I needed. My pulse pounded in my ears as I grabbed his hips and stuck my tongue out, catching the drop of clear fluid that hung from the tip of his cock. He sucked his breath in as my lips parted and I took his rod in my mouth.

"Mm, yeah. Suck it."

I tumbled out of the chair and onto my knees, running my tongue into his pisshole and lapping up his salty precum, taking him all the way in until I was inhaling the soapy, faintly musky scent of freshly washed male pubes. After that there was no turning back.

For the rest of the fall semester I'd been Jeff's willing student in Sodomy 101. He was a great teacher, demanding but also considerate, affectionate and fun. He had superb equipment for the job too. His cock wasn't a monster, but it was more than big enough for me. It could get hard in seconds and stay that way for what seemed like hours while it shot loads in my face and, after some persuasion on his part, into a rubber buried in my ass.

Jeff made it clear that, as far as he was concerned, we were just buds with a little something extra. He was into sportfucking, and encouraged me to go and get more experience now that he'd "brought me out," as he put it. I was pretty satisfied with just him. When I tried to tell him that, though, he laughed.

"Jared, you're eighteen and hot," he said. "And a nice guy besides. You could have anyone you want. Trust me, you want to play the field before you settle down."

I was sure missing Jeff now, sitting in this huge, dreary airport, nothing to look forward to except Christmas vacation without him. We hadn't had much quality time lately, what with finals and all, and I was climbing the walls. Just thinking about my hot roommate was making me pop a boner. I slumped in my seat to hide it, which fortunately wasn't too difficult since I was wearing jeans loose enough to show the waistband of my CK boxer briefs. I thought about going into a men's room stall to beat off and get rid of the lump of lead in my crotch. There was plenty of time, since my flight wasn't taking off for another hour and a half.

A plane must have landed at that moment because a crowd of people began streaming past my gate. I watched them go by--there was nothing better to do. A man broke away from the crowd and paused opposite the waiting area where I sat. He took out his cell phone and punched in a number. As he waited for someone to answer he leaned against the wall in a model's stance, one hand on his hip, giving me a great view of his neatly trimmed dark hair and chiseled features.

He was only a few years older than me, but I could tell this was no college student. His Western shirt was starched and spiffy and showed off his broad shoulders, one of which had a backpack slung over it. What really caught my eye though was lower down. His long legs were encased in a pair of jeans that fit like they had been made for him. The leather belt with a silver buckle that held them up showed off his narrow waist and hips. The folds and creases in the denim formed a perfect basket between his lean thighs. Tan work boots on his feet completed the picture.

I couldn't take my eyes off him. This guy wasn't like anyone I had ever seen or known. It wasn't just that he looked awesome in his Wranglers. Mr. Goodjeans had a confidence, a swagger that said he knew what he wanted out of life and how to get it.

He kept talking, cutting his business deal or whatever. After a while, still talking on his phone, he slipped the backpack off and placed it on the floor, squatted down and pulled a laptop out. His asscheeks strained against his jeans and sent my pulse another few notches higher. It was amazing how sexy someone could be with all his clothes on. I was rock hard. I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees, trying to hide my unwanted growth.

He plugged the laptop into a nearby wall outlet, then stood and turned back toward me, waiting for his machine to boot up. By now I had every wrinkle and fold of the material covering his crotch memorized. The furrows in the cloth shifted and changed with his every move, and disappeared as a big hand pressed the cloth down and smoothed it out.

His hand? What was it doing in the picture? My heart skipped a beat. He was playing with himself, right here in the middle of a crowded airport terminal. I stared, fascinated, as he took hold of his cock with thumb and forefinger and moved slowly down its length. Then he changed direction and stroked upward, stretching the fabric tight around the cylinder hidden underneath.

I looked up. On top of all his other assets, he had a pair of beautiful dark eyes. They were staring straight into mine.

His lips curved upward in a smile. A pair of dimples appeared in his cheeks, lightly furred with stubble.

The eye contact lasted only a few seconds but it felt like forever. Jeff had told me about how gay guys cruised each other but it had never happened to me, or at least I'd never known it until now. For sure I'd never been cruised by anyone who looked like this. I freaked. I ducked my head down, my face burning, my breathing coming in quick, shallow gasps, my heart racing a mile a minute.

Minutes ticked by before I got the courage to look up again. My heart sank. Mr. Goodjeans was off the phone and was busy stowing his computer, unplugging it, closing the case and shoving it back into his backpack. I was too late. He'd given up. In another moment he'd walk out of my life forever.

I hung my head. Why was life so fucking unfair? The great semester I'd had at college, the hot sex I'd had with Jeff, counted for less than nothing. A living wet dream had come on to me and I'd been too chicken to let him know I was on his wavelength. I felt like crying.

I sighed and shifted in my seat, feeling the wet spot in my shorts from all the precum I'd leaked. Going to the snack bar and getting a Coke would kill a few minutes and take my mind off the man who'd gotten away. I got up, my legs stiff, and started to walk out of the waiting area. I glanced toward the opposite wall without much interest, and stopped dead in my tracks.

Mr. Goodjeans was still standing there, arms crossed, looking at me. As I stared back at him with my mouth open like a total idiot, he gave a tiny nod and flicked his eyes to one side. Then he started down the main terminal corridor. Still I stood, unable to move, unable to do anything. Unbelievable.

He sensed that I wasn't behind him and stopped. This time his head jerked in a way that even a doofus like me could understand. Was I coming or not?

I was. I hurried after him, keeping my eyes glued to the V-shape of his torso in his starched shirt, the nylon backpack slung casually over his left shoulder. His small, perfect ass swiveled in those Wranglers, hypnotizing me. Part of me still couldn't believe anyone who looked like him would want a college freshman in baggy jeans and sneakers coming untied. I wasn't about to ask questions though.

He walked fast and I panted as I tried to keep up. He whipped his head around once in a while to make sure I was still following. It was late and there weren't many people around, so there was no danger of losing him.

We were heading toward the long pedestrian tunnel that connected this terminal to the next one. Just as the automatic walkways that ran up each side of the tunnel came into view he suddenly turned and disappeared. I reached the spot a few seconds later and followed him in.

It was a men's room, smaller than the ones near the gates. There were three urinals against the wall opposite the sinks, separated by slats jutting from the wall, and three stalls next to them, the last one larger for the handicapped. We were the only ones in the place.

Mr. Goodjeans stood at the far urinal. He lifted his head and gave me the eye as I walked in. I stopped, still breathing hard, as much from nervousness as from the fast walk. I'd never done this before. His head jerked for what seemed like the hundredth time since I'd seen him.

My brain might have been unsure but my body knew what to do. My sneakered feet took me to the pisser next to him, my hands unzipped my own jeans and fished my cock out of the fly of my boxers. I stared down at it as I milked the shaft, squeezing a drop of precum out the end.

"Nice."

The sound of his voice broke the fog in my brain. I raised my head and looked into his eyes. They bored into mine. Then I looked at what he was holding with one big, sinewy hand.

"Holy shit." It slipped out before I could stop myself.

Jeff had nice equipment but what this guy had was prime manmeat, at least an inch longer than my roommate's, thick, cut and sticking straight out of his unbuttoned fly, capped with a perfect mushroom head. Mr. Goodjeans grinned at my reaction. He moved his hand, making his rod bob up and down.

"Want to suck it?"

I nodded.

"Handicapped stall. On the toilet. Don't lock the door."

I hurried to obey. He waited a moment after I was inside, then followed me in, shutting and latching the door behind him, putting his backpack on the floor.

"Get your feet up."

I didn't understand. "What?"

"Feet up. Hurry!"

I bent my knees quickly at his command, and none too soon, because just as I wrapped my legs around the toilet bowl we heard someone come in. I finally got it--if anyone saw two pairs of feet under the wall it would be a dead giveaway. The door to the stall fit snugly so no one could see us otherwise, unless they stood on tiptoe and looked over. If we kept quiet, we were safe--and there was room in here to play.

I looked up at my partner in crime. He raised his eyebrows and put a finger to his lips. His dick, which had gone a bit soft, was hanging out of his jeans--he hadn't bothered to put it back. The sight of his manflesh against the faded blue denim, framed by the silver buttons of his fly glinting through dark pubic hair--he looked good enough to eat.

So I ate. I leaned forward, grabbed his ass with both hands to steady myself, and took him in my mouth. I heard him gasp, though he tried to stifle it. What we were doing was incredibly risky, but that only made the whole scene hotter. He must have felt the same since his rod quickly grew to full size. I slid back and forth on his prick while the other guy pissed and flushed. When he went over to the sink to wash his hands I took Mr. Goodjeans down to the root, burying my nose in his pubes, feeling rough cloth and cold metal against my face, drinking in the musky scent of man mixed with good cologne.

Finally whoever it was left. A hand grabbed my hair and my head was jerked off the cock I was sucking, back and up.

"You want to get us both arrested?"

I didn't bother to answer, but dove for his cock again. Mr. Goodjeans let me blow him a while longer before pushing me away.

"Horny little bastard, aren't you?"

"You're the hottest guy I've ever seen." I meant what I said.

He smiled. "Sweet talker, though. Cute too. Stand up and lose those baggy things."

There was still no one in the john except us. I stood up on stiff legs and dropped trou. My own cock was tenting the front of my boxers and sprang up as I pulled them down.

"Nice cock." He bent down and took me in his mouth, which was a nice surprise. After a few strokes he straightened up. "Turn around and get your knees up on the seat. Don't fall in."

I obeyed him, feeling ridiculous perched on the toilet seat with my jeans and boxers in a tangle around my ankles, my bare butt in the air, the hard plastic hurting my knees. He must have liked what he saw, though, because I heard him murmur, "Sweet ass." A hand stroked one cheek, sending a shiver through me.

"Want to get fucked?"

I wheeled my head around to look at him. "What, here?" I was scared to death, but thrilled.

He flashed his grin again. "Why not? You're a daredevil, I can tell." He bent and rummaged in a pocket of his backpack, and pulled out a square foil-wrapped object. "Glad I had this." I watched as he undid the rest of the buttons on his fly and peeled his jeans down his hairy thighs. He wasn't wearing any underwear. His balls hung heavy in their sack, as outsize as his dick. Mingled fear and lust coursed through me as he tore open the packet and unrolled the rubber onto his shaft. Was he really planning to shove that thing inside me? Jeff had taught me to take his cock but this guy's was way bigger. In a minute I'd find out how well I'd learned my lessons.

Mr. Goodjeans caught my eye as he brought up one hand to his mouth. "Don't have any lube. This'll have to do." He lathered up the latex with his spit, then reached for my ass. The next moment one big finger snaked into my asshole. My head snapped back, my eyes closed and my mouth opened in a soft moan. I'd forgotten how good it could feel.

"Like that, eh?" His finger slipped out and I felt something a lot bigger and blunter against my hole. Before I could react one big paw clamped down over my mouth, I felt a hard shove in back and his cock broke through and slid up into me in one huge thrust. My scream was a choked gurgle, stifled by his hand. He bent down toward me, his breath tickling my ear.

"Stay quiet. Someone just came in."

I managed to nod, even though I was about to pass out from the sudden pain and lack of oxygen, unable to get a good breath because of his hand over my face. Dimly I could hear sounds and knew he was right. My breath whistled fast and harsh through my nostrils. My arms ached from bracing myself against the tiled wall.

As we stayed frozen in that position my body adjusted to the invader. The pain receded and I felt a warm fullness in my gut, the feeling I'd learned to enjoy and beg for. Mr. Goodjeans slid his hand off my mouth. I gulped in air, my asshole clenching and unclenching, squeezing and relaxing around the hard pole spearing me.

He began to move, pulling out and thrusting in, fucking me even though we could be discovered at any moment. By some miracle whoever had come in didn't hear us. As soon as he was gone he stepped up the pace. Soon he was plowing my hole, practically shoving me off the toilet every time he banged his cock home.

He bent down, reached around and grabbed my own stiff prick and began to jack it in time with his thrusts. I could feel his hot breath on my ear. I turned my head toward his face and our mouths met. That sent me over the edge. Animal noises welled up from my throat, muffled by his mouth on mine as my dick unloaded into his hand. I broke away, gasping, looked down and saw the sticky liquid ooze between his fingers and drip into the water below.

Mr. Goodjeans straightened and grabbed my body, smearing my own cum over my skin. His hips drilled me like a machine. I grunted as he shoved his rod all the way in one more time and held it there. He emitted a strangled groan, and I felt his pole throb as he emptied himself into the rubber inside me.

He fell forward against my back, drawing great heaving breaths, but stayed there only a moment. Now that we were done he didn't waste any time. He pulled out of me, stripped off the rubber and tossed it into the bowl, cleaned himself up and stuffed himself back into his jeans. He picked up his backpack, turned and unlatched the door.

"Flush the toilet," he said, and left.

It took me longer to put myself back together, my body stiff from the pounding it had taken in that uncomfortable position. When I stepped out of the stall the men's room was empty. I felt a hollow ache inside. That was it? He'd used me like a sex toy and taken off. Was this what Jeff meant by playing the field?

I washed my hands, smoothed my hair and wandered out into the corridor, feeling lonely and blue, exactly like I had an hour ago, except that every muscle ached and my butthole burned. Then I stopped, startled.

Mr. Goodjeans was leaning against the wall, exactly like he'd been doing by the gate. His grin said "gotcha."

"What took you so long?"

"You're still here."

"What, you thought I was going to run off? I don't even know your name. Mine's Andy, by the way." He stuck out his hand.

"Jared, Jared Mohler," I said, as I shook it, still stunned but beginning to be happy. He wanted to talk to me. Un-fucking-believable.

"Don't you have to catch a plane? I'll walk you back to your gate."

So we walked back, chatting about this and that. Andy turned out to be a cool guy. As I'd figured, he was a working man, moving up in the business world. He'd graduated from the big U. himself just a couple years ago and things were going well. He was everything I wanted to be someday.

We got there just as they were starting to board. Andy shook my hand one more time and wished me a safe journey. I was beginning to get depressed again when he reached into the pocket of the Wranglers that had first caught my eye. He took his wallet out and gave me a business card.

"Give a holler when you get back into town, Jared."

"Sure." I was on Cloud Nine. Was I going to have a story for Jeff when I saw him.

"Take care," Andy said. I watched him walk away, getting as long a look as I could. It was a while before I even thought to glance at the card he had given me.

"Andrew Goodwin, Systems Analyst," it said.

I chuckled. "Andrew Goodjeans," I said out loud.

"Final boarding call," the gate agent said. I shoved the card in my pocket and turned to board the plane for home.