I get a message on Scruff as I was working. A guy saying 'hey' and 'what's up?'
I said I was on-line, looking for a load, "if I am being honest", I added. He liked that.
His screen name was 'Sir' and is a total top. So when he asked where I wanted the load, I was smart enough to answer, "that's not up to me, Sir". He liked that even more.
He was working too, but at a bar. It was 12:30p, how many people could be in a fucking gay bar a little after noon? Apparently one. The customer must be a sad sack or bar-fly. But the bartender said we could use the men's room for me to suck him off.
I had some time, so I agreed. I told him I'd be there in 30. It'd take me 20, but I knew I needed gas, so the moral of this story is never be on fumes - you don't know when you'll have an immediate sex opportunity.
31, 6'2", a slim 165. Buzzed head - he looked like a slightly emaciated skinhead. His profile picture didn't do him any justice, something I'd tell him after we finished. He was much more handsome in real life.
When I got to the bar, there were now three customers. I missed him sending me a message saying to 'forget it' as he was now busy. I was already outside the bar - fuck it, I was going in. Two of the three customers finished their "lunch" by slamming them back and leaving - which left the one other customer.
With no words, the bartender walked to the bathroom. I followed about a minute later, which I'm sure was obvious to the remaining customer. If he was a regular, he'd probably seen this played out before. I highly doubt this was the first and only time this has happened.
The bathroom had a stall with a door. No bartender to be seen, so I pushed open the stall door and there he stood - massaging his already exposed cock. It was a nice size, but still soft - hard to say where it would go.
I shut and locked the door, dropped my pants and sat on the toilet. I leaned in and took his cock in my mouth. He liked it. I worked it up - all 7.5". Think inches, but still 7.5.
The cock went deep in my throat. I was aggressive at sucking, but he took my head into his hands for control. I have to remember who is a top and who is a pushy bottom. I rather not be that guy, but some claim to be tops really have no idea, but this guy did.
We were there for about five minutes and he warned he was getting close. At this point I assumed it would be all mouth action, but he pushed me off his dick and asked me where I wanted the load. I, again, deferred to him, but he wasn't having any of that.
"Where do YOU want the load?" "Up my ass", came the reply. He got a shit-eating grin on his face and in a second I was standing, pants still around the ankles and bent over the toilet.
While still taking a hit of poppers, he jammed his prick into my hole. I believe he had fucking skills, just not space or time to use them.
The man fucked me for another five minutes and asked, through his now shallow breath, "where do you want this load?" Again, I said, up my ass. He came back with, "are you sure?". At that point, I reached behind me and found his belt loops, as his pants were not pulled down. I grabbed a hold of those and pulled him into me.
That was all it took. The man unloaded and unloaded and unloaded into my ass. I could feel it - the twitching, the heat.
As his breathing started to regulate, the door opened. He signaled for me to be quiet, but anyone could have seen two sets of feet, both facing the same direction, in that stall. The positioning of the feel would have easily indicated someone standing right behind someone else....so close, in fact, that they'd still be in them......which he was.
The bartender did not go soft. ...or at least, that soft.
Wouldn't you know it, the new occupant had to be the only person in a gay bar in the middle of the day who'd wash and blow dry his hands after peeing. C'mon, you know most in a dump like that wouldn't - or wouldn't even know they should.
The bartender says he has to move because that was not the same customer that was out there. He slips out of my ass and before he has a chance to see if he needs to tidy up, I go down on him for a minute. He seems grateful.
But he stuffs his softening cock back into his pants, no underwear and heads out. I stay put for a minute and actually wash my hands.
I go back to the bar where my ginger ale is now watered down by the melted ice. I get a look from both patrons, but barely an acknowledgment from the bartender.
He got what he wanted. I got what I needed.
If he sees me on-line again and reaches out, that's great, but I won't stalk or bother him at all.