Date: Sat, 27 Aug 2022 21:09:18 -0400 (EDT)
From: doctordestiny@comcast.net
Subject: MICHIGAN MITCH

Please donate to nifty.org. We readers and
writers keep it a thriving site with donations large and small. We are
lucky to have a place to read good and hot stories.

https://donate.nifty.org/



Be glad to hear from you if any of my stories (listed at bottom) excite
you.

doctordestiny@comcast.net... Thanks and happy reading, Dudley.



MICHIGAN MITCH

By Dudley Jarvis-North

I met him several months ago on a daddy dating site and took an instant
shine to him. He was genuine, exuberant and seemed surprisingly mature
for his 24 years. That he had wavy light brown hair framing a handsome
face, dimples, and the deepest brown eyes peering out at the world
didn't hurt. Those eyes were not all happy glow, however.

Behind the initial smiling friendliness was something else -- a pained
and troubled look. I couldn't avoid seeing it. Angst lurking beneath the
surface handsomeness. Being a daddy in every way I wanted to know more,
hug him and make it all better.

We texted for several weeks and he opened up. He said his parents were
conservative Christians, that he had two brothers and a sister. He
revealed that they all viewed him as totally straight and wouldn't
countenance his desire to have sex with men. That must have been a heavy
weight to bear. Home is supposed to be a comfortable place, but his
father was ridiculously strict and his mother ice cold. They drained the
joy out of his young life. I was stopped from prying further.

"Could we change the subject?" he said. "This site is meant to be
fun." I couldn't disagree.

We continued to chat every week. He was on an app that was a bit of a
leap. You see, Mitchell -- he preferred Mitch -- saw himself as basically
straight; he had had girlfriends in high school and hadn't been "with a
guy," to use that quaint expression, until two years ago on his 22nd
birthday.

Mitch was all-boy-athlete, played pickup basketball on Detroit's
playgrounds, went snowmobiling, and even deer hunting with his brothers
in the Michigan woods. His athleticism was tremendously appealing.

He bragged about his prowess on the basketball court, his skill at
defending an opponent, hitting shots from 3-point range. "I play against
black dudes," he bragged. "I watch their faces when I hit a jumper over
their outstretched arms. Total shock. I can play defense, too. Black kids
think that white kids can't play. I love proving them wrong."

One day he texted pictures of himself and his twin brothers at Comerica
Park in Detroit where the baseball Tigers play. The bro's had played
hooky from work, Mitch taking a day off from his job at the Ford Motor
Co. That job paid well enough for him to escape the family home. He
bought a little house for himself outside Detroit.

Mitch talked about his ups and downs, some of which seemed to be caused
by the chip on his shoulder. I decided that one day I would tell him
that, but not today. He had this combativeness that came through in his
texts. He got involved in sparring matches with coworkers. He jousted
with his brothers and his friends. I wondered if this was young
testosterone busting out or something deeper, him acting out as result of
his early home life. He seemed to attract accidents while driving. Not
all were the result of his aggressiveness. A kid had crashed into his
treasured Ford truck. This wouldn't please anyone, but the level of
anger when he reported his misfortunes was over the top. He needed to
vent, so I let him vent.

"I was at a light and this asshole rear-ended me. Why does this shit
always happen to me?" he raged. "At least his car got totaled, but my
truck is in the shop for a week. I should have punched his lights out."


I'm not keen on angry outbursts -- a carryover from a volatile Italian
father -- and tried to calm him down. "Stuff happens, Mitch. Happens to
everyone. C'mon, man, roll with it; don't make yourself crazy. Ya know
the truck will get fixed and you'll forget this whole thing happened."
He listened to my advice. Deep down, being the horndog I am I wondered
how his passionate, chippy nature might play in the bedroom. My fantasy
was that sex with him was going to be blazing hot.

As I got to know Mitch, I also got to know other sides of him, not all of
them endearing. He confided that he struggled to keep up with mortgage
payments and pay off loans on his Ford truck, snowmobile, motorcycle.
That sounds like a young man's problem. It was apparent that he didn't
deny himself expensive toys. He took trips with friends to South Florida,
California, Mexico, which cost plenty. Truth to tell, I thought he
indulged himself too much, was a bit spoiled. In my perverted thoughts, I
fantasized that perhaps a spanking was in order.

That was fantasy. In real life I told him that if he ever needed help
financially, I was there for him. That's how much I liked a guy I barely
knew. My offer wasn't purely out of lust. I admired his courage in
leaving home and crappy parents. How many guys do that at 19?

His reaction was what I expected. "Thanks, man, you are too sweet, but I
pay my own way."

Eventually, we exchanged photos. No nudes, just shots in our underwear. I
opened the attachment and salivated at his milky white slender body,
washboard stomach, white cotton boxer briefs embracing his butt and
pouch. He had muscular legs from playing basketball; his skin glowed with
American boy allure.

His body was not all preppy vanilla. A startling and colorful tattoo
snaked its way from his belly button up his side all the way to his
shoulders. It was a ram, the mouth hugging his right nipple, the ornate
horns brushing almost to his neck. I had guessed that he was an Aries
because of his just-do-it energy, openness and bursts of selfish ego. The
ram tattoo confirmed it. What you see is what you get with that sign.

During one texting session, I mentioned that I wrote porn stories on
nifty as a hobby. He hadn't talked with any detail about his sexual
predilections beyond having a fondness for daddies. He was curious, so I
offered to email one.

He loved "The Bass Player," possibly because the hero was
semi-straight, like Mitch, curious about sex with an older man, like
Mitch, anxious to try it, like Mitch. The bassist had passively reclined
on a sofa and let an older man pleasure him, front and back. What did
this portend for sex with him if we ever met? My fantasies ran more
toward reciprocal sex.

One Friday night as I was relaxing after a hard day at work, my cell
phone rang and Mitch's name popped up.

"Dude!" he enthused. "Guess what? I'm in Boston visiting my cousin.
What are you doing? Let's go out for a drink."

Just like that.

"Wait. You're in Boston?" I fumbled for words at this totally
unexpected development. Suddenly, the thought of meeting my fantasy
knight made me anxious. The expectation dilemma. Not that I would be
disappointed in him. The other way around. Was I good-looking enough? In
good enough shape? You know how the buried worm of doubt works.

"Yes, I'm free tonight. I can get a drink with you."

I calmed myself. What was I worrying about?Guys thought me handsome, I
was a fit 5-9, 165 pounds. At 50, I did the gym four times a week,still
occasionally played half-court basketball, flag football. I had Italian
looks -- olive skin, an appealing Robert De Niro wise-guy smirk, except I
had blue eyes, unusual for a guy with roots in Sicily. My graying hair at
the temples and in my mustache and goatee usually appealed to young men.
Plus, Mitch liked daddies.

Again, I marveled at his impulsiveness. Mitch had driven 700 miles on a
whim, he said, something I would never do. Perhaps, I had the thought
that he drove to Boston to see me.

I suggested we meet at Copperfield's, a bar on Lansdowne Street behind
Fenway Park's infamous left field wall. 10 o'clock. After taking a
shower, I was on my way. I chose that bar because it served Labatt's,
Mitch's beer of choice.

On the three-quarter mile walk to Kenmore Square, I had more butterflies
in my stomach than a teenage girl. How ridiculous was that?

I scoured the bar. Good. He hadn't arrived. I needed a drink.

A few sips of VO and water helped. I could always move to beer later.
After a few more sips, there he was walking toward me, looking every bit
as handsome as his pictures. He was wearing tight Levi's and a blue
jeans jacket with patches of the logos of Detroit's sports teams on the
sleeves. He shook my hand vigorously, said hello and smiled, accentuating
his dimples. His wavy hair flopped over his forehead, his thick eyebrows
perfectly topping the brown eyes that were more pronounced than in his
pictures. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Mitch was slightly taller than I, his shoulders much wider than his
narrow waist. When he took off his jacket, he was wearing a white cotton
shirt with buttons down the front. The top four were not buttoned, his
smooth chest peeking out, parts of his tattoo visible.

When he sauntered to the bar for a Labatt's, I peered at his bubble butt
in his snug Levi's. Jeez, he is so beautiful, I could pull down his
pants and take him right there.

Mitch brought a beer for me -- he's a gentleman, I thought -- and
clinked my bottle in a gesture of masculine friendliness."So tell me
about yourself," he asked. "I'm intrigued that you are an editor at a
newspaper, that you worked for a sports section in a sports-crazed city
like Boston. That's so cool. You must have been in Fenway Park dozens of
times. What's it like?"

"Hundreds of times," I answered. "Actually, I was at Game 6 of the
1975 World Series -- the Carlton Fisk home run game -- did you watch that
on TV?" A sobering thought popped up: Mitch hadn't even been born yet.
I had to wrap my head around that.

"I've seen hundreds of Sox games in that ballpark. And not just Sox
games, I said. "The Patriots played there, too. I saw an AFC East
championship game at Fenway." Mitch looked puzzled. He didn't know what
the AFL was -- the American Football League had been swallowed up by the
NFL in the 1967 merger long before Mitch was born. I explained that
history.

I remembered that he and his brothers also attended baseball games.

"Comerica Park in Detroit is kind of boring," Mitch said. "Can't
point to any special defining features. Fenway has that left field wall
-- the Green Monster."

"Yeah, Fenway is a little like a fun house; that wall is 37 feet high
and the park is misshapen. It was built in 1912 to fit into the
neighborhood streets. Left field is shallow and right and center field
are deep. The place has all these angles that give outfielders fits.
Unlike many other parks, the fans are close to the field and it's really
loud. Boston fans are the loudest in sports."

"I can believe that," he said. "I've watched Sox-Yankees games on Fox
Sports. Intense. Oh, almost forgot to tell you. I have two tickets for
tomorrow's Red Sox-Tigers game. You and I are going."

Oh? Just like that. He was taking me to a Sox game. He assumed I didn't
have plans, which is OK. I would have broken them to be with him. He's
so take-charge, I thought. That was making my dick hard.

"Sounds great, thank you." I stared at his adorable face. More round
than long, pink cheeks, prominent cheekbones. His nose was just right,
straight and not too big, not too small, great smile. He oozed cuteness
but also sexiness in the way he walked, head held high, striding
confidently. When he went to take a pee, my eyes were fixed on his butt
and prominent bulge.

After four beers, he said, "Ya know, sexy man, you are much more
handsome than your photos. I bet all the guys tell you that."

"Really?" I was taken aback but recovered nicely. "I don't usually
hear that from guys as cute as you." He smiled his beautiful smile. So
much for being anxious that he wouldn't like me.

A thought popped into my head. It was now or maybe never. How many times
would he be driving from Detroit to Boston to see a baseball game?

"Want to head to my condo?"

I braced for an "I can't" or an "I'd like to, but my cousin will
worry."

"Yes," he said. "That sounds great," and we were on our way. We
hopped on a Green Line trolley at Kenmore Station for the two stops to
Copley Square, a few blocks from my condominium.

As we climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, me leading the way, he
pawed my ass and told me it was hot. "You're nice and firm, Pete. I
can't wait to see you naked."

Once we were inside, before I could make a move, he pushed me onto the
sofa, climbed on top of me and kissed me really hard on the lips,
sticking his tongue in my mouth. I hadn't expected a nominally straight
guy to make out with me, but make out we did. I tasted the flavor of beer
on his lips. He smelled delicious as I brushed my nose against his neck.
Mitch smacked his lips on mine and lapped my face with his tongue. This
lasted several minutes. My face was wet with his spittle.

With our lips still touching, he took off my shirt, pulled my T-shirt
over my head, throwing them on the floor. His own shirt was next, showing
off his defined chest and that stunning tattoo. I ran my fingers over the
ram's head -- vibrant green, blue and yellow -- and glued my lips to his
right nipple. When I bit down gently, hegasped.

Thanks be he didn't wear cologne. I sniffed manly sweat. He directed my
head onto the other nipple. "None of my girlfriends ever touched my
nips, much less licked them," he said. "That sensation went right to my
dick."

After several minutes of licking, sucking and biting on his nipples, my
mouth headed downward to his treasure trail of dark brown hair. There was
more than I expected, considering his upper body was smooth. He stood up
as I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his Levi's.

We had exchanged pictures via text, but no nudes. I was glad I waited for
the Big Reveal. Through his white boxer-briefs, I felt the outline of his
dick and its mushroom cap. I was not surprised that he was circumcised.
Almost every white boy his age is. After I gripped his penis, I couldn't
resist. I shimmied his briefs down and out popped a perfectly shaped 6
1/2 inches of hard pink delight atop two good-sized balls, the whole
package framed by a thicket of brown pubic hair, darker than the hair on
his head. His pink crown was thicker than the shaft, an impressive topper
indeed.

Before I took him in my mouth, I twisted his body for a glimpse of his
ass.

There I got another surprise that took my breath away -- a thick column
of dark hair sticking out of the crease and climbing up to the small of
his back. His white butt was perfectly shaped and firm. As much as I
wanted to taste his dick, I couldn't resist his ass.

I pulled his Levi's down to his knees and started slowly, running my
mouth and tongue down his crack, nosing him, sniffing his moistness
before pulling his cheeks apart and tongue-stabbing his hairy pucker. His
hole was hot in both senses of that word -- my tongue could feel its
heat; his ass tasted exactly as a young man's should taste -- sweet,
clean, with a hint of butt sweat. "Jeezus," he moaned, upon discovering
this new pleasure. "I've never had that done to me. That's called
rimming, right?"

As I lapped at his hole, I chuckled to myself that none of his
girlfriends probably even noticed how beautiful his ass is, much less
kissed and licked it as I was doing.

Luckily, his body had no trace of Axe or whatever young guys use in the
shower to ruin their natural smell. My tongue went deeper.

"Gawd, that feels awesome," he crowed. "I had no fucking idea."

After several minutes of grazing, I pushed myself up, my head touching
the back of his head and whispered that I was going to take his ass.

"Mitch, do you know what we are going to do next? I hope you are ready.
I promise I'll be gentle."

The best laid plans of top men can go awry fast, as I learned in an
instant.

"We'll see about that," he snapped. Before I could react, he pushed me
face down onto the sofa and lay on top of me, surprising me with his
strength. I could feel his dick digging into my butt.

"In case ya didn't know, I love to fuck and I've wanted your daddy ass
from the moment I saw the pictures of you in your briefs. When you got us
a beer, I had a really good look at it. It looks perfect to fuck."

Pushing into me from behind, Mitch told me to lift up my pelvis. He
reached around, unbuckled my belt, and unbuttoned my jeans. He pulled off
my sneakers and threw them aside. My Levis followed.

"Now that's hot," he said as he pulled the straps of my white Bike
jockstrap and patted my ass. "I was hoping you being Italian and all
meant you were hairy back there. I was right."

After pulling off my jock -- he smacked my ass -- he pulled my hands
behind my back and used my jock to bind them. I hadn't been fucked in a
long time, so I had a queasy feeling in my stomach.

He laid his penis onto my shackled hands and told me to grip his cock. I
felt the cap and measured its thickness with my fingers. The head was
large; the shaft perhaps six inches long or slightly more and thicker
than average. It was going to hurt.

"Rub my dick," he commanded. "You know where it's going."

He seems far more experienced with guys than I thought. I was expecting
I'd have to teach what to do. That was unnecessary.

His precum dripped out of his piss slit and onto my hands. He fingered
some off the tip of his dick, reached around and placed his finger on my
lips. "Taste it," he commanded. "I have a lot. You're gonna love it.
You do, don't you?"

"I do, Mitch. It tastes sweet."

After rubbing his dick inside my hands for a few minutes, his cream on my
hands, he untied the jock so that with my hands free he could turn me on
my back. He gripped my hips, flipped me around, and there I was looking
up at his lovely face. His knees were jammed onto my shoulders. He rubbed
my lips with his helmet as more oozed out. I wanted to lick it off his
dick, but every time I moved my mouth, he pulled his dick away. The
little bastard was going to tease me and make me wait.

"You seem awfully smitten with my dick," he bragged, in a tremendous
understatement. "How badly do you want it?"

I really didn't want to play word games, but if that was what it took, I
would.

"Mitch, your dick is beautiful, you are beautiful, your precum tastes
awesome. I want to suck it more than I've ever wanted anything."

I had hit him with enough compliments to proceed.

"Open," he barked, pinched my nose and pushed his dick past my lips,
all 6 inches snaking into my mouth.

I bathed his penis in saliva, pursing my lips, opening my throat. More
precum dribbled out. He wasn't kidding about having a lot. He pushed his
dick all the way to my tonsils and abruptly pulled out. He repeated that
motion 10 times. I could have sucked him for hours, especially as his
precum kept seeping out.

"Isn't my dick the best dick you ever sucked?" Could he be more Aries,
I thought. He had changed from confident to bold braggart. It was turning
me on. "Your dick is a mouthful," I answered, ignoring whether it was
the best one I ever tasted.

He reached behind his back and grabbed my dick, pulling the foreskin over
the head and back down again.

"I love that you're not circumcised," he said. "I've seen uncut guys
in porn movies, but touching yours is a first for me. When I read in your
profile that you were uncut, I got very excited."

"What can i say, Mitch? Many Italian guys my age escaped the blade."

"Well, ya know, my dick is pretty nice, too, don't ya think?"

"Mitch, your dick is perfect. I wouldn't change a thing about it; now
will you put it back in my mouth?"

He laughed, grabbed the back of my head and pulled me onto his dick.

This time he wasn't as gentle as the first round, rabbit fucking my
mouth and hitting my throat as I used my powers to please him. "You know
how to suck a guy," he moaned. "I'm pretty close. Do you want my
Michigan white boy cum in your mouth?"

I was unable to say yes so I nodded a yes. I breathed through my nose and
let him fuck my throat. Then it happened -- spasms of cum were hitting
the back of my mouth. One, two, three, four strong jets. My mouth filled
rapidly. More bursts of his sweet and sour creamy load filled my mouth --
so much of it that my cheeks bulged and I had to concentrate not to lose
any, but I didn't want to swallow just yet. I wanted to taste it for a
while, savor it. He stared at me wondering what I was going to do. As my
Adam's apple jiggled, I let his cum slide down my throat and into my
belly.

"Fuck. That was incredible watching you swallow my cum." His dick was
still hard. "See what you do to me? That was the best orgasm I've had
in my whole life."

"So that's what Michigan white boy cum tastes like?" We both laughed.

My pubic hair was wet with my own cum, so I grabbed my T-shirt and wiped
myself dry.

We headed to the bedroom naked and settled on my bed. Enough light from a
street lamp filtered through the blinds to let me ogle his lithe body,
his tattoo, his still-hard dick. I wrapped my arms around him; after a
while we changed positions and he held me -- I love when that happens --
as we contemplated sleep. But he had one more thing to say.

He moved his lips to my ear, rubbed my ass and said, "You make me so
damned horny, Daddy. Getting sucked off was amazing, but we haven't yet
done the thing I thought about constantly as I drove 700 miles to Boston.
Ya know, I'll probably wake up horny in the middle of the night, so
don't freak out when my dick pushes against your hole.

"I need to know where you keep the lube."

(to be continued)



Other stories I've posted are:

ENCOUNTERS:

The Bass Player (Sept. 13, 2017)

The Pact (Sept. 13, 2017)

James (Jan. 26, 2018)

At the Underwear Rack (2 parts, April 23, 2019)

Aleksandr (two parts, Aug. 19 and 21, 2020)

URINATION:

Drink It (2 parts, Sept. 24, 2018)

Lesson at Rock River (Nov. 6, 2018)

ADULT YOUTH:

Aaron's Basement (two parts, Jan. 12, 2018)

AUTHORITARIAN:

Taken in the Woods (May 28, 2018)

Forced Reenactment (four parts, Nov. 12, Dec. 14, 2020)

The Punishment that Wasn't (Feb. 9, April 2, 2020)

Shane the Barber (Aug. 11, 2021)

CAMPING:

Camping with Josh (4 parts, Sept. 24, 2018)

HIGH SCHOOL:

William the Great (3 parts, Jan. 16, 2019)

INCEST:

How Did My Bro know? (March 16 2020)

Greek Reunion (3 parts, July 17 2021)