The Guido

I’m looking at him. A big ex-jock of a guy. Deep chest, big round biceps. Dark hair that’s arranged in waves around his ears. Strands of gray betray the fact he’s probably my age, maybe a little bit younger. His muscles might’ve been more defined and tighter a few years back, but even slightly out of shape, he’s a hot slab of Italian beef that probably turns a lot of heads.

He’s standing there, khakis unzipped, chambray shirt undone, exposing his tanned torso. His balls are the size of eggs, nestled between the teeth of his zipper. And the dick. Fuck. It looks heavy. If you picked up that thing and let it fall on a flat surface, it looks as if it’d make a resounding thud. Thwack it down on a butcher’s scale, and the needle would probably fly off. Is he as long as I am? Not by a long shot, but a hungry cocksucker wouldn’t give a fuck with that hooded giant in his face.

In fact, the cocksucker kneeling between us didn’t hesitate a half-second before unhinging his jaw and letting it drop, python-like, to engulf the man’s link. He’s a skinny twenty-something with short hair and a fitted plaid shirt. A true cocksucker. He’s rubbing himself through his jeans, but his focus is on the man’s meat. Getting it wet. Opening for it wide. Sucking it deep. He adjusts his crouching stance so that he’s at the perfect height to take that fat fucker down his gullet. He’s got one knee pointed toward the sky above, and one knee firmly ground into the damp grass and earth beneath his feet. That’s going to leave a stain. The cocksucker doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” grunts the beef. “You like that Guido meat, huh?”

The cocksucker grunts. Opens his lids wide, looks at the man. He might have a mouthful of dick, but the look in those eyes tells us this is prayer time for him.

If that’s what he’s going to call himself, fine. I’ll call him that, too. The Guido’s looking at me. Those dark eyes of his scan up and down my body. He raises a hand to rub the back of his knuckles through my facial scruff. Lets his fist travel down. Tweaks my nipple between his index and middle finger. Lifts my blue T so he can get a better view of my cock. I’m newly trimmed, balls shaved. My dick’s arched out, rock hard. It flatters me he’s so fascinated by my rod; he grabs it, squeezes it, bounces it in the palm of his hand. My head flares from the attention.

“That’s a beauty,” he murmurs. There are cars passing within earshot, but it’s mostly quiet in this little wooded area. He doesn’t have to speak up to be heard. “Look at that,” he says to the anonymous cocksucker, putting one of his meaty paws atop the kid’s head to turn it in my direction. “You need to be paying attention to that one.”

The cocksucker obeys. He looks up at me, worship still in his eyes. Opens wide. Engulfs me in a single swift motion. The slab he’s already swallowed has opened up his throat. I slide right down.

The Guido takes my hand and puts it on his dick. It’s hot and wet from the cocksucker’s slobber. Then he grabs me under the chin, pulls me in, and plants his mouth over mine. His lips are soft and pillowy; when his tongue invades my mouth I taste the distant remnants of coffee. He’s a good kisser. Seems almost unfair that a guy this attractive should be hung and a good kisser, too.

I’m a little off-balance when the kiss ends. I blink a few times, surprised. He grins at me. Looks down at the cocksucker. “Now me again,” he says, grabbing the kid’s head and yanking him back onto his uncut slab.

Back and forth we go with the mouth. That’s all the kid is to us. A mouth. We don’t know his name, don’t know where he’s from, what he does for a living. Don’t care. We just know he can suck. We know he can nurse on dick like a pro. So that’s what we keep giving him. More and more dick. We look at the other while the cocksucker sucks, grinning and playing with each other’s nipples, touching each other’s bodies. Kissing from time to time. The hungry mouth keeps his eyes closed, concentrating on the shaft he’s pleasuring. Waits for the command to switch, or for the pair of hands that pries him from one erection and forces him down on the other.

When the Guido comes, it’s loudly. He growls like an animal as his fist clamps down on the base of his cock. When he pulls out of the mouth, his meat is dark and angry-looking. Just the tip is peeking out of his foreskin. He rests the base of his hand on the kid’s forehead, tips his face skyward. Semen gushes out and spills down on the cocksucker’s face, a great rush of it. Some of it puddles around the kid’s closed eyes, then runs down his temples to his ears. A spurt of it laces his forehead. The final slow ooze of it creams the boy’s mouth, trickles down his flat, waiting tongue into his throat. Then the Guido’s dick rests heavily on the cocksucker’s cheek.

I shoot as well. It sprays out seconds later, landing on the other man’s dick, the kid’s face, the ground. The last spurt plops down onto my sneakers.

We stand there for a moment, not moving, in this erotic tableau. Then the cocksucker pulls down his other knee and lets it rest on the ground. That’ll be a matching stain, I think to myself, as I zip.

The beef has to tuck his thick meat down the leg of his pants when he stuffs it back in there. It leaves a bulge I can see over my shoulder as I take the trail back up to the parking lot. The cocksucker remains kneeling. My last vision of him before he’s obscured by the brush is of him lifting his face to the sun, as if in thanks for what he’s received.