Date: Sun, 17 Aug 2003 18:44:18 EDT
From: JockCeman@aol.com
Subject: FuckBuds 1

*****
This is explicit, graphic entertainment. The following erotica involves
sexual situations between CONSENTING, ADULT MALES. Please leave if you object to
erotic ADULT MALES. This is NOT intended to be viewed by minors--no one under
the age of 18/21, so proceeding means you are of legal age in your state or
nation. OR you remain solely responsible for the consequences of your actions if
you are not of legal age in your area. If you have not yet reached that legal
age in your part of the world, then please use your back button to leave now!
*****
If the wives only knew, I thought, crawling inside my taxi.

From my driveway--after running home from work to change, the taxi was taking
me to paradise. Away from hell--before she got home, my brain began
registering that my driver was talking to me in Arabic. Great, I thought
sarcastically. In trying to tell him where I needed to go so he'd understand, my cell
rang with the most wonderful music: His Voice. Geez, it had been two weeks
since hearing those bass tones, three weeks since I saw him in my office
building's lobby and six, fuckin' weeks since I had buried my thick bone in him.

But who's counting....?

The longest dry spell in the ten years we've been fuckbuds... and knowing he
wasn't getting it anywhere else---and definitely not from that one he married,
I knew HE was about to explode. Knowing how horny he is, I, also, knew he
yearned for MY body contact. But too much work, business trips crisscrossing
the world, family obligations, kids, summer vacation before school started, and
a more bitchy wife than mine... has left time stand still for six weeks.
Working and living in a forward area under adverse conditions was the "war" of our
marriages. And all that time of being without his touch, which just happened
to have been the last time I'd gotten laid or cum. You know, the wife!? The
North Pole's warmer, and my yearning for him was growing stronger, and those
feeling started way before this six week hiatus. So by the time we got the
chance to be together, our team was hot, the weather was hot, I was hot-and, I
would imagine, so was he. And so we just told the wives we were going into the
City for a baseball weekend... PERIOD!

In our respective vehicles--on the way to our meeting in the hotel lobby, he
was oblivious to all that shit with his verbal seduction and making me so, so
hard! I was already adding a deep, wet spot to my dark khaki shorts.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm," I groaned, after his deep voice goes to every extreme as
time allotted to describe what he wanted me to do to him. Opening my eyes while
manhandling my dick through my shorts, I noticed the cab driver eyeing me in
the rearview mirror, as I heard my Man groan back.

"Geez, Stud! You know how that moan turns me on. Gotta power off or I'll cum
on the freeway. That's no way to decorate the interior of my new truck..."

Oh, I don't know. Kinda like a dog peeing around a yard marking his
territory, it's a great way to lay down a guy's terf to cum in a new vehicle. Gives a
wonderful aroma to match the newness smell. But I could tell he COULD cum
without even touching that piece of Grade 'A' tube steak. But at the point he
clicked off, I didn't care I hadn't been in his ass all those early weekday
evenings and/or those early Saturday mornings before going with him to Home
Depot. It DID matter, but it didn't, you know?

HE mattered! The sexy, jock-meat he was--with that bike-rider, thick,
black-haired 35-year-young hung-ness, knew damn well how to "play" me. He knew ALL
five feet, eleven inches of my tanned muscles turn to Jell-O when I'm with
him. At a couple years older---but about 15-20 pounds lighter, my tight mat of
soft brown furry chest shivers with fuckbud lust(and love) for him. And he uses
that to his sexual advantage, but I enjoy every horny second of it. What
made him even more of the stud was his screaming awhile back, in the midst of
cumming, that my thick cock can take him any time I'm horny. He told me the hell
with jacking off. My cum was his cum, and visa versa. At the moment he
moaned out those encouraging words, my cock expanded to the walls of his ass and a
jet-stream blasted the hardest and most plentiful that I had ever felt spewed
inside a very hairy ass attached to that hot, six foot, 185 pound, sweaty
frame.

Sooooooo, I took him up on that offer....when the hormones had been so
overpowering and the control button nonexistent. But it was HIS fault, OF COURSE!!
Geez, the way he looked?? I couldn't be responsible for my actions. No way!
I'm responsible for a huge corporation all week, how the hell was I to be
responsible for a man that made me weak everyday---even when I'm not around him,
let alone when I am! He wore those ivory scandals that accentuated his
manicured tanned feet, a form-fitting, sleeveless white muscle shirt that showed off
those vein-bulgin' guns, not to mention, those sexy-hot, dark forest in his
very hairy pits. But, also, those tight, dark khaki shorts really left nothing
to imagination as that jockstrap was barely keeping him "dressing clean,"
very much showing off an ass begging to be fucked. Not only did I have to sit in
our first base side box seats, pushing down through most of the game my
hard-on due to being so horned up from the aroma from his feet and those
naturally-hairy pits, but how hormonal I was getting feeling the heat he was generating
after not being near him for so long.

So you see? I almost HAD to bend him over, my dick was smelling his
bottomless, uninhibited manhole. So like the home runs we just saw, I, too, went
deep. Any red-blood, All-American, horny bi-man would have done the same. Both my
heads were screaming inside that it had been far too long since I had that
ass. It was my duty to seed what is his, right? Or, maybe, breed what is mine!
It's a real man's duty, really, when the urges hit, to fuck any hole
available... I am a sexual human being after all, and after that dry spell, I could
have had a Friday Night Fuck on the pitcher's mound, and I wouldn't have given a
damn.

So during seventh inning stretch, he never made it out of the stadium's noisy
restroom. I pushed him into the handicap stall, and in one rapid motion was
raping that jock hole. He knows when I am THAT sexually turbo-charged--which
is usually 24-7, it's always a good thing he wears a jockstrap as I would
completely obliterated any briefs or boxers he might wear.

Stand and deliver, Stud! And he did...with the help of that wonderful pre-cum
that had managed to trickle down into his crack and the built-up
heat-generating ass sweat combined for excellent lubrication. The kind I like and will
only use if I can. I like it natural... and that instance, my thickness just
slipped in, letting lack of friction piston-thrust his sweet spot, while kissing
his neck and sweaty-wet upper lats. So perfect our motion together, acting
as one while being one. With him leaning against the wall--straddling the
toilet, with my palms on top of his strong shoulders, pushing him back towards me
harder, forcing his mancunt down my throbbing bat to my dense, sweaty pubes,
making him whimper even more in silence. As we both appreciate verbal, loud
sex, our dangerous surroundings prevented him from shouting in ecstasy as all of
a sudden his seven inch manmeat discharged, unmanned, all over the floor and
stool seat. What a grand slam, sending his ass muscle milking my cum over the
edge over and over and over and over...... It HAD been way too long, BELIEVE
ME!!

I backed out of his well-used ass with a loud slurp, already feeling my
juices spewing and overflowing, leaking out along my studpole. If I had the time I
would felch-feasted on that dimpled jock ass. Felt so fuckin' goooood,
though. I needed that! Correction! We BOTH needed that, I thought, as I took my
right middle finger to cleaned off the few drops of pure white cream from the
tip of my cock, and then suckling the droplets of manmilk off my finger. I
taste damn good, thank you very much, living a jock's life of pure health and
fitness. In taking in a deep breath of mansex in that stall, I smiled to myself
thinking some guy's going to have a great time wondering what happened in
there as I looked down at the cum puddle of baby batter my Stud just made. Mansex
at the ball park! Who would have `thunk' it?

As we cleaned up, I was dazed, exhausted, exhilarated, and relieved, my knees
feeling like I just laid, maybe, a-stud-of-a-guy. Here I wasn't the one
fucked and was still staggering bull-legged to the concession stand for a tall
bottle of water, but that's a good enough reason for me for my knees to be more
floundering than salmon going up stream. Can't imagine all that caged cum was
keeping me walking "straighter" all that time?

Of course, nothing short of a department store's towel section would have
stopped all that cream from soaking through my Man's khakis, showing stains
vividly with the most wonderful aroma simmering into the night air. I loved the
way people --especially men, looked at his beautifully sculpted body and ass the
rest of the game especially when we walked to the car through the shadows of
the parking lighting. I'm sure any guy around us interested in my Stud would
have jack-off material for quite awhile. He was well dried, soaked and
stained---but in his assertive, self-assured confidence, HE didn't care. And I
definitely didn't care, as that aroma of cum cumming off him when I walked close to
him turned me on more---if that's possible, with the way the hot humid night
was simmering his sweat to the highest levels of fragrance that made my nose
even more hornier.

Since I hadn't yet ridden in his new truck, one thing I noticed right away
was the cab seating stretched the full length with no emergency brake separating
us that would have made it HARDer to play with each other. The truck bed,
itself, might have been more spacious-somewhere under moonlit skies, but I didn't
give a fuck at that point. I couldn't wait to feast on him. So right away in
getting in the cab, I slid towards the middle of the seat, bridging the gap
between us, as his hand was in my lap beginning to feel pre-cum wetness through
my khakis.

This beautiful man... My Man... was now in real contact. No crowds, no
outside distraction-except concentrating on his driving, there was no barriers or
people's disapproval from my being able to touch this specimen of realness. Got
to say-at that moment, life was good! Monday will be hell, but this very
early Saturday morning was heaven.

Wooooof! Thank goodness, he's all-man, and doesn't cut or trim any of his
dark body hair, including his pits. Whether it's his pubes or pits, I could bury
myself in either. When we have a chance to workout together the distraction
and the aroma was always too much for my senses to take and concentrate. When
he exposes those streaming, wet pits, my thick cock's mushroom head felt like
it's on a one-way trip to exploding. That's what was happening in his
truck. Unless he has to for work, he goes deodorant-less, which I know pisses his
wife off. It occurred to me, though, he must have taken a shower in his
office bathroom before getting ready as his natural manliness was adding to our
testosterone, along with the newly-made pre-cum and fresh sweat all combining
together for one helluva delicious aroma of manscent. The confines of the truck
cab with the windows rolled up and no air conditioner could have been a locker
room the way the aroma was freely mingling with its newness. There was NO
trace in the air of colognes or break-through deodorants. It was all-Man!

The challenge was, though, my tongue was burning for a taste, and he was
driving a potentially-deadly moving instrument at about 50-60 miles a hour on
mostly freeway. I thought if he got into my tongue bath so much we'd have an
accident, then hopefully we'd die together...which wouldn't be such a bad way to
go. So while he drove to the hotel, I watched that right pit as he maneuvered
my tight shirt halfway up my hairy abs. I always knew he was multi-talented:
He can drive AND rub my hardness through shorts that were, now, riding up my
beefy, hairy quads.

"Geez, I can feel your cock pumping, " he observed, boring a hole at me
through the partial darkness, like he was shocked that I would be in that
"condition" around him. Even in that light, his soft-midnight blue eyes glowed and
twinkled their reputation for being bedroom eyes.

"Not like you're goin' to feel it pumpin' you later," I moaned into his right
ear as I went diving into his hairs that copiously overflowed his right pit.


They tasted wonderful. Fresh manscent, fresh, sweaty, hairy pits. At that
point, I so glad he was a heavy sweater as it was like tasting fresh rain or
sticking my tongue into newly-fallen snow. Like our cum, fresh, pure protein
and white! But his pits were like going into a locker room that had been
closed for days. Stagnate air sealing in the hot aromas of man. Literally,
testosterone and masculinity were reeking.

"Mmmmmmmmmm.." His manly groan made my shorts grow tighter. "Feels fuckin'
good, stud. Been too long."

Through the vague night lighting of other vehicles and incidental street
lights, I could see his ruggedly-solid, handsome face through the shadows. His
dark 5:00 shadow already looking like delicious array of stubble to bury my
face into. I knew full well how he gets into our kissing, let alone when my
tongue goes unplugged over his beefy bod. I thought about the way his passionate
ways of closing his eyes and feeling the moment. I mean, HE does!! Very few
people I know live in the moment. He does, and no where is that more apparent
than when we have sex. Everything else is "out there"-work, family, etc.---
it's not a part of the space and breath he and I share. Those pressures are
cutoff and there is just us...as it should be! It's not just a matter of us
blowing a nut, so much as we--in each other, are with the person we want to
take a vacation with, if only for a few hours. Or in the case of these weekends,
a couple days together of hot, primal masculinity and fuckin' like fish.

At that moment, he took the steering wheel in his left hand and raised up
that muscular right arm for diving into that deep, hairy hollow of Man. He
wanted me there, too. And shhheeeet! My heart skipped a beat, literally, as my
breath caught in my throat. I could have spewed, again, right there. It was
soooooo wet, talk about reeking in masculinity. He is such a turn-on, anyway, but
his pits are a feast I could spend all night in, licking them and cumming in
them. And, later--while fucking him, to be able to feast on those two hairy
forest of manscent. That just gets my cock even harder now thinking about what
was to cum.

Besides the usual urban sounds of early morning, the only other audibles in
the cab was me lapping up the freshly-made man-sweat and him enjoying my
feasting.

"Mmmmmm... eeeeeat meee, you fuuucker."

Just the moans and groans of me satisfying my man was enough to make my
pre-cum spew my shorts wetter. But, damn! The aroma was getting even better in
the cab as I kept lapping like the thirsty dog I am. When it comes to his
sweaty hair and hot bod, you bet I'm a thirsty horn dog! I was lapping loudly, I
must say, as I stuck my right arm down across his muscular quads, making sure
my arm hairs grazed his fur, and started to man handle his rod. He let out
this low, guttural groan that vibrated the cab, but seemed to descend deeper when
I flushed my face clear into his pit and found his big balls through his
shorts and pulled outward.

"Oooooohh, fuuuuuuck, stud! That feels soooooo awesome."

He didn't have to say a word. I could tell, though his voice is so
beautifully bass and masculine that I love him saying anything to me including "breed
me." I was glad he didn't say that then and there, or I would have steered the
wheel off into some residential neighborhood and fucked him silly. But since
I wasn't watching where we were going---and glad he DID keep his eyes open
this time, next thing I sensed him slowing the truck down long enough to roll the
window down to stick his arm out to grab the parking validation ticket from
the machine. In pulling his arm back in, my lap-warming hand reached for the
ticket and stuck it in my back pocket to have one of those cute bellboys
validate us later. Yeah, I'm sure there'd be a number of those bellboys I'd -or
we'd- like to validate... HARD! Mmmmm...maybe my Man and I could split a bellboy
later, laughing to myself as I rubbed my ass hole while I was back there.
Geez, I ached to be fucked...

At that moment, without missing a beat, while he slowly pulled up into the
dark parking lot to locate a parking place, I dived head first into his soaked
lap and began to gnaw on his thick cock head now aching the shorts to full
attention. The aroma between his legs was absolutely breathtaking. It made me
woozy with his lust. So much so that while my left hand was playing hard with
his right beefy nip through his tight, sweaty shirt, I was literally biting his
cockhead. He moaned again, this time more seductively, trying his best to
concentrate while keeping his foot down on the pedal as he slowly sped down and
around a number of tiers before he located a parking spot.

With turning off the truck, most of his body didn't move. The silence of the
very early morning surroundings of a mostly darkened parking garage gave him
permission to finally enjoy the sensation of my teeth and partial suction
generating the ultimate in pleasure. I couldn't really look up, but sensed he had
laid his head back against the headrest. And THEN I felt his onslaught of
lust as both his hands were on top of my sweaty head pushing me further and
harder into his lap to the point of feeling like I was going suffocate. Again, what
a helluva way to go embedded in his awesome smelling lap and death my cock.
At that, the gyration of his thick quads began dry-fucking my mouth and face,
grinding hard his fabric-laden, swollen cock. With that, I moaned into his
lap creating a light vibration on just the cockhead.

"Oooooh, shit, fuuuucker...."

I thought he was going to cum, but in one swoop he was out of the cap,
leaving me hanging, but him very hard and a wet spot on his truck seat. I bolted in
a flash out my side of the cab. Turning to secure his ride with a press of a
button and a couple high pitch beeps, he raced me through the subterranean,
somewhat-lit parking, to see who'd be first to the express elevator. We were
on a mission. To see which muscular, masculine bud was best and quickest, of
course.

I'm the best.

Okay, so he's the quickest. At least those 'old' quarterback/cross-country
legs of his still work. I know what's between them works well, and those heavy
tree trunks work well when flung over my shoulders or as used as leverage to
grind his piston... his hot thickness... into my mancunt. So there are a lot
of things he does well, though --like fucking me, that he does enjoyably
slower, thank goodness.

*****
Any resemblance to these characters--living or dead--is completely
coincidental.   And these studs are living in an IDEAL world (partly
because they're married men, but monogamous to their fuckbuds).  If / when
you play, play often, but please play safe.
Copyright 2003. JockCeman. All Rights Reserved
*****