Date: Wed, 22 Sep 2021 13:11:25 +0000 (UTC)
From: anonymous.a
Subject: Good Morning, Sunshine

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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.

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GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE

By anonymous.a

It's a rare occasion that I see a good-looking man on my morning walk.

They typically don't show up until later in the morning, when the
millennial boys show up to play disc golf at the park. But once ever so
often I will run across a fine, strapping young man out for a morning jog
or taking the family pooch for a walk.

They sometimes regard me with suspicion, as if they can hear my impure
thoughts. And those thoughts are impure as I'm stripping them with my eyes,
admiring those fine, flat stomachs, firm pecs, glistening glutes and
massive clubs swinging between their legs. In my mind's eye I beg them to
stop and take off their clothes, then I fall to my knees and devour them
right there, in front of God and country.

I suppose it's a good thing I keep those thoughts to myself.

One such morning I had just arrived at the park and was steeling myself for
a long, three-mile walk. I say "steeling" because summers are hot and humid
where I live. Getting out of the air-conditioned car to enter the steam
bath of an August morning is almost unbearable. But I did it, and after a
few minutes my lungs had adjusted to breathing 90 percent water, heh heh.

The park where I walk is more of a nature park than the grassy greenspaces
you think of when you hear the word "park." It offers patches of woodlands
and small watercourses, all transected by a wide "fitness path" used by
walkers, joggers, skaters and bicyclists. The path is a mile and a half
long and I usually do two laps.

Only a few minutes into my walk I noticed a jogger on the other side of the
park heading in my direction. It was a he/him. Judging by the color of his
hair -- rather the lack of gray -- I decided he was a younger man. His body
was not athletic; in fact, he had a bit of girth around his waist -- too
many craft brews watching the game on Saturdays, I surmised. But as he drew
closer I realized he was damn fine. He had that boy-next-door look with
close-cropped, dark brown hair, a bit of acne scarring one cheek, but a
friendly, smiling face. He was wearing an Air Force T-shirt and I surmised
he was an airman, maybe a year or two from becoming a tech sergeant.

As he passed I checked out his ass and I was not disappointed. I'm not one
of those guys who falls for the perfect, workout-shaped ass. I like the
imperfections of real men, and this guy's ass was ... oh, what's the word?
... dumpy. Big, sloppy glutes that I just knew were covered in hair and at
this moment, due to the condition of the rest of his body, soaked with
sweat. All of it was revealed by his shimmery nylon basketball shorts,
almost down to his knees. They rode the contours of his meaty ass and even
worked their way into his crack, giving me more than just a snapshot of
what lay underneath.

Air Force man jogged past me two more times that morning and then he
disappeared. I was disappointed but I didn't think much of it -- often,
people show up for their morning runs and then walk or ride a bike back
home. I continued on my way, having completed a big chunk of my second lap
around the trail.

I was approaching a spot on the trail I call "the grotto" when my luck for
the day turned from average to excellent.

The grotto is a tree-lined patch of trail that runs along one of the
watercourses. This segment of the park had once been a swamp populated by a
dense forest of cypress trees. Flooding problems compelled the city to
create the watercourses so the swamps would drain and nearby houses
wouldn't flood during a persistent rain. The cypress trees were gone but
now pine trees, oaks and Chinese tallow had taken their place and were
growing in thick profusion. Little sunlight penetrated the canopy, making
for a cool, dark respite along the trail that, for the most part, was sunny
and dry. Because the ground could be mucky, work crews didn't bring their
mowers into this location and much of the underbrush remained. It reminded
me of locales in the "Lord of the Rings" movies, which is why I called it
"the grotto."

As I was traversing the grotto and enjoying the cool dark of the shade, I
began to notice a peculiar silence. Usually the place is alive with the
sound of birds chirping and squirrels fussing at passersby, but today it
was quiet and that piqued my curiosity. I stopped and scanned the woods for
anything out of place, but nothing seemed awry. Sometimes the presence of a
larger animal could scare away the birds and send the squirrels into the
high branches.

Just as I had decided it was all in my imagination, I caught a glimpse of
movement from the corner of my eye.

I turned back and stared hard. At first I didn't notice anything, but then
I saw it -- a darker shape against the underbrush, and a hint of motion, a
kind of repetitive, up and down movement. What was that? It was large,
whatever it was, and squatting on the ground. Could it be a bear? We do
have bears in these parts, though I had never seen one in the park.

This is the kind of setup that leads to Bigfoot encounters, I joked to
myself. But I got out my phone, activated the camera and selected "video."
If there was some kind of bear or coyote or something in that dense
underbrush, I could shoot a video and post it to my YouTube channel. It
might get a million views.

There was a path leading through the damp woods and I took it, careful not
to step on any twigs or other items that would make noise and possibly
alert my quarry. As I drew closer, my phone held out in front of me as if
it were a shield, I could see the bank of one of the watercourses, a
clearing of sorts, and then ... oh my, and then. ...

It was not a bear or a coyote. It was a man.

Air Force man.

And he had those slinky shorts pulled down and his piece pulled out.

Oh, oh my.

It was just as the most salacious corner of my imagination had pictured it,
thick as a fencepost, at least 7, maybe 8 inches long, and hard as the
afore-mentioned fence post. It had a great big knob at the end that was
flared and shiny with lubricant and glowing like an emergency beacon. His
balls were pushed up by the waistband of his shorts, and they stood out
like ostrich eggs -- obviously they weren't that big, but goddamn they were
huge, and furry, and they hung over his shorts like some kind of obscene
fruit. He was jacking his cock furiously, his hand going up and down on the
shaft so hard that if it had been a stick, it might have caught fire from
the friction.

I zoomed the video on my phone and made sure I had his entire body in
frame. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted
as if he were about to say something but had paused to consider his words,
and that slightly paunchy belly was jiggling in rhythm with the motion of
his fist. He was moving in a subtle thrusting motion, and I wondered who,
in his imagination, he was fucking? Was it that young lady with the big
titties he met at the bar last night? Or was it Eric, another airman who
worked on the flightline with him at the base? My obvious preference would
have been me, and as I considered that prospect, my mind composing pictures
of Air Force man looming above me as I lay on my back, my legs spread, his
giant sausage filling me as his sweat dripped on my face and his breath,
reeking of coffee and maybe a cigarette, filling my nose, I felt my dick
hardening and growing longer in synchronization with his thrusts.

He ramped up his groin motions and began to arch his back. I could see his
muscles thrumming with anticipation and I knew what was happening -- that
fire burning at the base of his skull was about to become a
conflagration. The cascade of ecstasy would begin, burning down his nerves
like a fuse having been lit to explode at the bomb of his cock.

And that is exactly what happened.

He gave a mighty heave and I thought the bulb at the end of his dick shaft
had blown up -- a pearlescent string of jizz blew out of his cock and arced
in the sunlight to splash into the dark waters of the creek. Another string
jetted from his cock and I swore I could hear it as it erupted and splashed
into the sluggish water. Then another -- the boy had been consumed by need
and now he had expended that need. I checked my phone screen and everything
was perfect. I knew I would be watching this video time and time again.

His muscular contractions subsided into a patter of dripping as he clung
fiercely to his cock, strangling every drop of jizz from it until nothing
was left to ejaculate. His head titled forward as if in a hinge and sighed
so loudly I think anybody passing by on the trail at that moment could have
heard him. The fencepost between his legs began to wilt. A single drop of
sperm clung to the tip and hung down, a glowing drop of passion illuminated
by the morning sun. It fell just as he pulled up his shorts, concealing
those luscious egg-shaped testicles and that equally tasty penis. God, how
I wished I could have been there to receive his gift of love, have it
splash across my face, into my mouth, and run down my chin to coat my
chest. I might have had a sympathy ejaculation.

I shut off the video, turned off the phone and slipped it back into my
pocket. Then, it was time for me to retrace my steps -- quietly -- back to
the walking path and resume my journey. Walking was difficult -- I couldn't
hide the Viagra-quality erection in my shorts.

A few minutes later he jogged past me once more. Maybe it was my
imagination but I noticed a lack of tension in his expression. He was
moving easily, almost lazily, as he got in his laps. I thought I could see
the shape of his flaccid penis through those silky shorts, bouncing against
the cool fabric.

I thought I could see a wet spot.

And then it was time to go home and watch what the camera had caught.

And relieve my own tension.

Off I'd go, into the wild blue yonder!

---

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