Check : Gay Porn Free Galleries and Gay links.
2012 hot sites : Fresh Guys SX, Stag Homme and
really ripped boyfriends!
I was an impressionable teenager and prone to fantasies I couldn’t shake.
And, like any teenager, I was raging with hormones. One such fantasy was Mr.
Walker, who lived down the block from us. He was a former Marine in his
thirties, who worked hard to keep himself in tip-top shape. He was a runner, and
I’d frequently see him running around our neighborhood, wearing no more than
skimpy shorts and running shoes without socks. He wasn’t muscle bound by any
stretch of the imagination, but he was finely built and there wasn’t an ounce of
fat on him anywhere. His buzz cut and exercise regime screamed that once a
Marine, always a Marine.
The first thing that started me to fantasizing about Mr. Walker was his wife.
She was a cute little blonde thing who always looked so satisfied with herself
and who popped out a baby every twelve or thirteen months or so. In my
adolescent mind, this suggested to me that every minute Mr. Walker wasn’t out
running, he and Mrs. Walker were in their bed "doing it." The mere image of that
turned me on. As I said, I was suffering from raging hormones then, and I found
myself fantasizing about being in bed with the Walkers—for several weeks about
being in bed with Mrs. Walker, and then for a while with both of them, and
finally, distressingly, I fixated on being in bed with just Mr. Walker.
The Walkers belonged to the same community club my family did, and in the summer
of my sixteenth year, I found myself at the pool the same afternoon the Walker
clan was there. Mr. Walker looked mighty fine poolside in that Speedo of his. He
was in the shower of the men’s locker room soaping himself up when I entered the
shower after my swim. A lump went to my throat. His body was magnificent—all
sinew and muscle in motion and rolling veins lacing his body, having been pushed
to the surface by his muscle and lack of any fat in which to hide. My eyes went
directly to his dick, which was the biggest and thickest I’d ever seen as it
plunged out of a clump of red hair at his groin. I hadn’t thought of Mr. Walker
as a red head; his buzz cut was just too short to tell from that, and the rest
of his body appeared smooth and hairless from a distance. I could see now, when
he was soaping himself all over, that he had tufts of red hair at his pits as
well. My own cock came to quick attention at what I was seeing.
Mr. Walker obviously saw me staring at his package as well as what my own was
doing in response.
"Hey, you’re the kid living up the block from us, aren’t you?" he asked in a
pleasant tone, not bothering to stop soaping around his dangling dick.
"Yeah," I managed to burble out. "I see you running in the neighborhood
sometimes."
"Well, how old are you, kid?" he asked straight out.
I told him.
"When’s your birthday?" he then asked, which seemed a strange question at the
time.
I told him that too.
"Well, on your eighteenth birthday, we’ll meet again," he said. "Until then,
keep yourself clean, ya hear? And you could stand to do some running of your
own." With that, he rinsed off and left me and my boner alone in the locker room
shower.
I started running after that, but I never stopped fantasizing about Mr. Walker.
On my seventeenth birthday, I was out running a woodland trail. I’d gotten
myself in great shape with my running, and I was grateful for that little nudge
Mr. Walker had given me a year earlier. I was doing real well on the
cross-country team now.
As I was steaming down the trail, I heard another runner coming up behind,
someone, incredibly, who was opening it up a lot faster than I was. When he came
up level to me, I saw that it was Mr. Walker in his skimpy shorts and sockless
running shoes.
"How’s it going, Sport?" he called out to me in a voice that showed no signs of
breathlessness. "Happy birthday. Today is your birthday, isn’t it? I remembered
right, didn’t I?"
Besides being breathless from the exertion of running myself, what he was
saying—having kept track of my birthday like this just from a chance encounter
at the swimming pool—bowled me over so that the most I could do was mumble an
affirmation that today, indeed, was my seventeenth birthday.
"I see you took my advice on running," he said with a grin. "Lookin’ good,
Sport. See you on your eighteenth. Keep clean." And then he was off in front of
me, leaving me in his dust as if I weren’t even flat out running myself.
This encounter didn’t cut down on my fantasy time about Mr. Walker for the next
year.
It was my eighteenth birthday, and I was moving up the walk to my house after
school, when a big SUV with smoked windows stopped beside me and the passenger
window rolled down. I came over and looked inside. It was Mr. Walker. He was
wearing a loose, long-sleeved shirt, worn blue jeans, and shiny black boots.
"Happy birthday, Sport," he said with a big grin. "Climb in."
I opened the door and climbed in. As the door shut, he rolled up my window. We
were alone now, in his big SUV with the smoked window.
Without fanfare, he took my right hand by the wrist and brought it around and
laid it on his basket. I could feel him hard and massive through the worn
material of the blue jeans.
"This can be your eighteenth birthday present, Sport, if you still want it," he
said in a husky voice. "You wanted it two years ago. Do you still want it,
Sport? I won’t go any further unless you want it."
"Yes, oh yes," I managed to say once the frog had been cleared from my throat.
He’d remembered. I knew I should say no and just get out of the car and bury
myself in a safe, normal life. But this had been my fantasy for years.
"Well, then, let’s take a little ride. Buckle yourself up, but you don’t have to
take your hand back, if you don’t want to. Here, let’s give it some air." He
pushed my hand to the top of his thigh and worked his zipper down. Then he went
back to putting the SUV into gear and driving away from the curb. I worked my
hand into the gap in his pants, not believing I was even doing this, imaging it
was happening to someone I was watching from across the room, and his big plump
dick just popped out of his pants. I gently ran my hand up and down and around
it as we drove into the countryside. It had this large, popping vein running up
the underside. It got impossibly large and hard as we drove along, and I was
smearing some precum around the knob of the head when we pulled up to a small
cabin in the woods, well off the main road.
Mr. Walker was actually breathing pretty hard when he came around to my side of
the SUV, pulled me out with a strong hand on my wrist, and guided me to the door
of the cabin. I was wondering if he had been fantasizing about me that past two
years as much as I had been fantasizing about him. He certainly had made a point
of knowing exactly when we could do something about it.
He unlocked and pushed open the door to the cabin, but then he turned and looked
hard into my eyes.
"Last chance, son. We can go back now if you’re scared. I like to do this kind
of special like. This probably won’t be like anything you’d imagined it to be.
Birthdays should be memorable, I think."
I just set my jaw and moved closer to the door. He got the message, and spoke
again, in a softer voice.
"I can see you’ve kept up with the running as I suggested, Sport. But did you
keep clean too? You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?"
"Yes," I answered faltingly, trying to keep my eyes connected with him. "I mean
yes to both. I understand, and I’ve kept clean."
"Good," he said with a satisfied tone. "It’s better, it feels better, if
cleanliness can be assumed—if nothing has to get between skin and skin." While I
contemplated if I’d really understood what he meant, he put the palm of a hand
in the small of my back and guided me to a door. He opened this, and we were
descending stairs to a basement. The door at the bottom of the stairs was
locked, but he unlocked this and pushed me into a small, square room. The walls,
floor, and ceiling were a stark white, and in the very center of the room,
prominently located, was a black leather sling suspended from overhead beams by
strong chains. Half way up each chain was a black leather cuff, now open, padded
on the inside.
I just stood and stared at this. Something inside me was stirring. This was
beyond my fantasy, but I found that it was turning me on. I heard the door close
behind me and the key turn in the lock, but I just couldn’t take my eyes off
that black leather sling. When, at last, I was able to do so, I turned and my
eyes popped open.
Mr. Walker had taken off his shirt and jeans and stood before me, nearly naked.
He was still wearing the black boots that came up above his bulging calf
muscles, but, beyond that, all he was wearing was a black leather harness
criss-crossing his chest, studded with silver studs, and studded black leather
wrist bands and bands around his biceps. His horse-hung cock was at full staff,
and he was wrapping a black leather, studded cock ring tightly around its base
as I watched.
"Strip, Sport," he said in a throaty voice. I just stood there, mesmerized by
the sight of him.
"I said strip, Sport," he said more insistently. "And climb into that sling. I
told you this would be special. But it won’t be any more dangerous than any
other way we might have done it."
I then did as he directed, somewhat self-consciously pulling off my clothes and
hunching over before him, trying to cover my manhood without any real means to
do so.
"Stand up straight, Sport. Push it out. Ah, very nice. Very nice, indeed. It was
well worth the wait. Now, into the sling."
Not knowing quite how to get into the sling, I walked over to it and turned
around, and tried ineffectually to hoist my butt up into the contraption. Mr.
Walker walked over and lifted me with strong hands at my waist, as if I were a
rag doll, and plopped my ass into the sling. He then walked around to above me,
and took, first one wrist, and then the other, and locked them in the black
leather cuffs up the chain. He repeated this below, with my ankles, and there I
was, spread-eagled helplessly in the sling. The bottom edge of the sling cut
into my buttocks just where the small of my back flared out to my butt cheeks,
and the upper edge hit between my shoulder blades.
Mr. Walker walked away from me and the lights went out in the room, to be
replaced by colored lights, beamed from several positions, swirling about the
walls, ceiling, and floor, in undulating waves of blue, green, red, and purple.
New! Free gay sex videos and gay galleries archive!
