Writer and Rough Sleeping Stud Bond over Mutual Love of Crack

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SEATTLE, WASHINGTON — I was on a cross-country train trip. I’d spent the morning exploring the city, so I took the afternoon to chill at the hostel and do laundry. The laundry room was off the hallway and behind a door, quiet and private. I didn’t have many clothes left, so I stripped down to just my shorts and threw it all in. I was composing a magnetic poem on the metal door when this guy walked in. We exchanged hellos. He was short and stocky, late 30s, handsome and bearish.

I went to the common room to wait for the washer to finish and when I got back to the laundry room he was still there, only he’d stripped down to a pair of blue scrub pants. He had a beautiful, hairy chest, bald head, and goatee — imagine Michael Chiklis crossed with Jeremy Piven.

We got to talking. He’d struck me as ‘street’, but I was surprised to learn that he was currently homeless. He looked healthy and well kept. He was from Seattle and had some places where he could crash, but when he had the money, he liked to treat himself to a room at the hostel. He said he had a crack problem, but was currently clean.

Conversation flowed effortlessly and as we talked, he’d touch his body — running his hands across his chest and belly, quickly pinching his dick. The blue scrub pants had an open fly (tied together at the waist) from which the pouch of his white briefs peaked out. The pouch seemed to swell and recede, swell and recede as we talked. This kind of flirtation was new to me, but I attempted sending out my own signals — eyeing him shamelessly, casually feeling my own thin, smooth body.

When my clothes finished drying, I folded them slowly. Finally, I rolled up my last pair of socks. We were talking and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his scrubs and briefs, casually lowering them to show his thatch of dark pubes. He let them snap back up. I’d thrown a total boner, pressed horizontally against my pelvis under my camo shorts. I let it throb there for him to see.

He looked at it, looked at me. I looked right back and a moment passed that was as close to telepathy as anything I’ve experienced. He nodded and smiled, I did the same and he said one word: Yeah.

‘Yeah,’ I said back.

‘You’re hot,’ he said. He walked toward me and felt my cock. I felt his body. He was afraid of getting caught in the laundry room, so we agreed to meet up an hour later in the lobby. He showed up that evening dressed in big denim shorts, a clean white t-shirt and a white, rolled-up bandanna wrapped around his forehead.

We got food at McDonald’s. He was pushy toward the register person, making all these specifications, and I briefly wondered what I was getting myself into. Then we walked around town. We passed a man. The two of them made eye contact, and he got very quiet. ‘He’s carrying,’ he said. I asked him how he knew. Had he seem that guy before? ‘No, I can just tell,’ he said.

We talked about sex. ‘Have you always had sex appeal?’ he asked me. I said I didn’t know. ‘I kept giving out signals, and you were giving them right back to me,’ he said.

He said he liked rough sex, gang bangs, a whole group of guys fucking some girl while they cheer each other on. He liked the image of a red, gaping, fucked asshole drooling cum. He said he’d sucked off a lot of his straight friends, that they always balked when he first suggested eating their ass, but they always ended up loving it.

I started to get blue balls from all this talk. He took me to a place under a bridge where we could get it on, but there were cops around. I suggested the hostel bathrooms, which had locks.

I went in first and started the shower to drown out any sound. He showed up a couple minutes later with a straight porn magazine he’d bought earlier that day. As I paged through it, he got down on his knees and took out my hard cock. He sucked it like a Hoover — it was truly one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had. I turned around and he buried his face into my ass. I was jacking off, and he had his tongue deep in my hole. I reached a peak before I could stop myself and started shooting cum. He turned me around quick so he could catch some in his mouth. I could tell he was bummed he hadn’t gotten to eat it all. But I was still hard — it was a pre-orgasm.

I went down on his fat dick, holding on to his hairy ass cheeks. Why didn’t I eat his ass? I regret that. I stood and we kissed, really intense tongue mashing. We jacked each other off and came like that.

This is a true encounter, but you can check out Natty’s white hot collection of (fictional) sex stories, College Dive Bar, 1 AM, from Go Deeper Press, and his own site and NSFW tumblr BROB8.

Published on 25 December 2015