Supermarket Suck-Off

He comments here fairly frequently. I know he’ll read this entry.

But it’s all good. I’ve got absolutely nothing bad to say about the guy. Quite the contrary. He’s a stud.

There’s a reader of mine who lives fairly close to me. I know this because we’ve exchanged messages on Scruff late at night, when we’re both at home.The GPS locator puts us at a little over a half-mile apart. We’ve talked on a couple of other sites as well. His pics show a handsome, muscular top man. The two of us have traded tips on some of the area bottoms from time to time. Since we live in the same neighborhood, more or less, we’ve talked about some of the local cuties as well—I know about the sexy young guy working the local party store because of his tip, for example. (And he is cute!)

He’s read my blog before I moved here, I think. But we hadn’t gotten together ever, though we’ve known about each other for months and months.

That changed this week.

We were on a website, Monday. I wasn’t planning to stick around indefinitely—I had a few errands I had to run. He said hello, though, so we exchanged a few pleasantries via the site’s messaging system. I’m heading up to the Buy-More, I told him, naming one of the local supermarket chains. Then, semi-jokingly, I added, Come up and find me and I’ll blow you in the parking lot.

As I said, I typed it only semi-jokingly.

So there I was at the market, halfway through my weekly shopping, resting my forearms on my cart in the middle of the dried pasta aisle as I consulted my list to see what else I needed. I looked up, and there was an attractive guy making his way toward me. Wow, I thought to myself, grinning inside. This guy really called my bluff. I like that in a man. “Hey,” I said with a grin, when he came in speaking distance.

“Hey,” he replied. He smiled as well, but kept walking. It was almost as if he didn’t expect me to acknowledge him in public—as if I might say something online like Track me down at the Buy-More and I’ll blow you, but in the flesh I’d just be one of those assholes that only nods and lets him pass by.

I’m not that kind of guy, though.

“I’m glad you came out,” I told him. “It’s great finally to meet you.” We shook hands, and chatted for a minute in the aisle. He said that he’d been between running errands himself when he got my message online, and basically had a reaction of what the hell, let me see if I can find him. I was where I said I’d be, and I look like my online photos, so it wasn’t difficult to track me down.

He was parked at the far end of the lot, he told me. His car was between a line of hedges and a truck. Out of the way, out of sight. I looked at my list. “Give me five or ten minutes,” I told him. “Let me finish getting my groceries and checking out. I’ll meet you down there.”

Easy enough. Ten minutes later I dumped my groceries in my car, drove down to the other end of the lot, and walked around the parked, empty truck to find the guy in his car. We climbed into his back seat and looked at each other. Then my hand went out for his crotch. His dick was hardening beneath the denim. I looked him in the eye. “Take it out,” I told him.

His fingers raced to unbutton his jeans. He tugged them down beneath his nuts, and lifted up his shirt to show me his flat abs and his undeniably sexy body. “Damn,” I said in a whisper. “That is a beautiful dick.”

It was a beauty. I hadn’t seen it clearly erect in his profile photos. In person, though, it was the kind of dick that made me want to suck. His balls eased out and separated as I leaned down to wrap my mouth around the shaft. He sighed softly as my lips made contact. The guy tasted good. He smelled like soap, from the tip of his stiff and dripping prick down to his shaved nuts. He was a lot like me in that he started to pump out the precum almost as soon as his dick started to get attention. Every time he rewarded me with a taste, I’d grunt instinctively, rooting for more like a French pig after truffles.

He had moved the driver’s seat up to give himself leg room. It was broad daylight—just after lunchtime, in fact. While he kept an eye out on the parking lot, I knelt with one leg down on the floor and angled myself so that I was a little more squarely in front of him, and went to work on the dick. I circled it with a couple of fingers and my thumb and let the tight circle slide up and down, following the slickness my spit left behind as I slowly bobbed up and down on his meat. He grunted, and sighed; his fingers riffled through my hair. Then his hand cupped my head and gently pushed me down in a steady rhythm. He wanted it faster. I obliged.

My grip on his dick tightened as I picked up the past. Glob after glob of salty fluid oozed from his dick’s tip as I increased the sensation. Whether or not he realized it, his knees spread further apart to give me more access. “I’m going to come soon,” he told me.

I knew. The man was basically shooting already, with the sheer amount of precum his dick was producing. It only took a few determined strokes of my tight mouth and hand to bring him off, and then he was shooting, pressing down on my skull so that I took him to the base. He held me there as he pumped his load in my mouth. I let it accumulate on my tongue. Then I backed off and swallowed.

And damn. I’ve got to say—that was the best-tasting load I have had in months. The stuff tasted so good that I went down and sucked the remains still dripping out of his slit. Then I kissed his flat stomach, just because it was so pretty.

He laughed, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. “Wow,” he said.

“Was it okay?” I asked.

“More than okay!” he responded, still laughing and recuperating.

“That’s a beautiful dick,” I told him. I watched as he put it away, and wiped off my mouth with the back of my forearm. “I’m hoping you’ll give me more of it, now we’ve formally met.”

He agreed that there’d be more in the future. I adjusted my hard dick in my pants so that it wasn’t quite as visible, and waited as he finished snapping and buckling and getting back to normal. We sat there for a half-second of silence when he was done, then grinned at each other.

“You know I’m going to write about this,” I told him, as we both got out of the back seat.

He knew.

This is exactly how it should be—two guys connect, go at it, and enjoy each other. If nothing else, now my reader knows one thing about me: I don’t bluff. I show up where I say I’m going to show up, and I follow through.

This time with delicious results. And my gallon of ice cream didn’t even have time to melt.