Date: Tue, 30 Jul 2002 15:36:01 +0100 From: J Smith Subject: Boy on a Bike As a teacher I try, but rarely succeed, to limit my sexual activity to almost nothing during the school terms, trying to ignore the appeal of the lads I teach, and generally go away for all the holidays to Europe or America where I can have as much sex as I want. Despite this policy, some evenings and weekends I drive far, far away from the school where I work (the thought of running into a student of mine is a grim one) looking for a quick fix. Thus I have dozens of anonymous sexual encounters in England each year, but very few are worth writing about. Just before I was due to fly away for my summer trip this year, family duties saw me reluctantly remaining in England for a few days, frustratingly prolonging the sexual drought of the summer term. Fortunately the following encounter took place just a few days ago, and it is written up here more or less exactly as it happened. If you are under 18 you are probably barred from reading past this point, but who am I to moralise on underage sexuality. ============= Boy on a Bike Saturday was a stinking hot day, and I decided to get on my bike and just go wherever I ended up going. Staying at my brother's house is never the most interesting way of passing time, and, looking forward to my summer holiday, I had long had that itch that even excessive wanking can't eliminate. I was wearing thin baggy cotton shorts without underwear, a t-shirt and a cap. I like cycling with my cock free to bounce around; usually the action of my legs against my balls and dick as I cycle is enough to keep me at least semi-hard all the while I'm on a bike, and with the sun out strongly as well, it was quite erotic as I pedalled and freewheeled with no real destination in mind. Sticking mainly to shady lanes to stay out of the sun, I ended up at the outskirts of a very small local town. I stopped for a can of coke at a tiny crowded shop and then carried on again, keeping out of the town itself and bowling round the edge. I came across a small wooded park, nearly deserted despite the holiday weather, flung my bike onto the grass, stripped off my damp t-shirt and lay it in the sun to dry, and then sat for a while in the sun drinking the coke and smoking a cigarette. Perhaps it's years of cruising such parks looking for meeting places and woods and out-of-the-way public toilets, but my sixth sense, the one that kicks in when sex is in the offing, told me that this was a cruising ground. There was a small building some distance away. I could see its roof above some overgrown shrubbery; from where I was it looked like it was approached by one single shady path, with the woodland denser beyond the building. I guessed it was a public toilet, as there seemed nothing else it was particularly likely to be. About two hundred metres to my left was a small car park, and even though there were a lot of trees in the way I could see that there were only three cars there, despite having spaces for 15 or so. I watched to see what, if anything, would happen. My very first experience of man-to-man sex had been when I was shamefully young in just such a toilet. I was 14, horny as fuck and wanking dozens of times a week, dreaming of cock and ass and hot male bodies, and I charged into a public toilet on the south coast of the UK in desperate need of a shit. It was a foul, stinking hole of a place, and I paused just long enough to empty my bowels into the filthy bog, holding my nose while I did, so that I didn't have to breathe in the smell of piss and detergent. But the graffiti on the back of the cubicle door stayed with me for much longer, and immediately I realised that guys came to this bog for sex. A couple of days later I was out on my bike, exploring the coastline on my own as all holidays of my childhood seemed to consist of, and I found another tucked-away public toilet at the back of some sand dunes, the nearest other building a yacht club about half a mile away. Without hesitation I locked my bike and went in. It was empty, but the same type of graffiti was there, amazingly lewd drawings of young men gasping for air as unfeasibly big cocks penetrated their assholes, stories of madly sexy fuck and suck experiences, notices saying "meet here at such and such a time". I dropped my shorts, sat on the bog and read all the stories, nursing a painfully hard erection. When I'd read everything I went into the other two cubicles and did the same, then shot a massive load of jizz all over the floor. The place was still empty when I left, and I cycled away, wondering if I could use the sexiness of these toilets for something hotter. I'd not got more than 50 metres away when another guy on a bike passed me in the opposite direction, and something stabbed in my stomach and told me that he was going to the same bog. I got off my bike to fiddle with the wheel or something, and watched as he came to a halt outside the bog, locked his bike and went in. I gave him 3 minutes to see if he would exit again quickly, then cycled back and locked my bike next to his and, heart thumping, went in. He'd looked about 18 or so, just a kid really, but to me at 14 he seemed like a man. In the toilet I immediately looked at the cubicles, but all the doors were open, and then I saw him standing at the urinal in the corner, looking like he was pissing, but there was no noise of piss hitting porcelain. His head turned to look at me, and then slowly back to the wall as he continued his "piss". Brazenly I stood a couple of metres away from him at the long trough and dug out my half hard dick. I had no other idea of what to do. I'd started growing early, and at 14 had more or less the same dick that I have today at 27. The guys at school thought it was large even when soft, but I have since found out that 7 inches is about what most other guys have got; 7 inches on a 14-year-old was more unusual maybe. Since I had never seen another hard cock I had nothing to compare it with, and standing at that porcelain trough in that bog that day I was able to make my first comparison. The guy was also wearing shorts, and was hardly bothering to hide the fact that he was slowly stroking a bone-hard erection. Emboldened by this, and madly excited, I let my dick grow to full mast, which took all of 3 seconds, and then let my hands drop so he could see it. Within 20 seconds he had sidled up to me and grasped my cock in his own hand, offering me his. I nearly fainted from the contact. He jacked me slowly and I came before I had even touched him. My second load in about ten minutes, but I stayed rock hard and he smiled. 'How old are you?' he whispered. '17,' I lied. He knew I was lying. I helped him shed his own load in the trough and then he was gone, and I never saw him again. I stayed there and wanked off a third time looking at our jizz in the trough. Sex and toilets have been linked in my mind ever since. I watched the cars in the car park for a while and smoked another cigarette. Two of the three left more or less together and I did not see who got into them. Then one more arrived and a woman got out with a dog. Then another one arrived with two girls in, then the original one left with a family in it. Perhaps I had been mistaken about this park and this bog, or perhaps it was just too hot for cruisers. I wondered about strolling over to the bog to see if there was any sign that it was used as a cottage. But the sun was hot and I was enjoying the feel of it on my chest, and it was just as sexy to stay there half-hard and semi-naked than it was to go tramping into a pissy public bog. After a third cigarette I decided this was not a cottage. Not one man had entered of left the building during the forty-five minutes or so I had been there, and I lay down in the grass and dozed off. I think it was probably only about ten minutes later that the sound of a bike whizzing by woke me up, and I sat up and watched as a young guy in long shorts and no shirt tooled around on his bike for a while on his own. I was reminded instantly of me at his age, about 16, using my bike to trawl all the public bogs I knew, hoping to maintain my strike rate of about 1 score for every 5 visits. His chest was tight and smooth, and gloriously brown. His hair was the light mousy brown that nearly everyone in the UK has, but in the sun it glinted like it was golden. I watched him. He came to a stop some way away from me and stretched his arms above his head, revealing a couple of deep lush pits of dark hair. I watched him very closely from behind my sunglasses; his shorts were baggy, and it seemed, like me, that he wore no underwear, as I thought I could see his package bouncing slightly as he ran his bike along a raised edge of a shrub bed then bounced back to the ground at the end. I thought back to when I was 16: still not completely comfortable with the rules of cottaging, I was sure that I would have waited until I knew someone was inside before I went in. The last thing you want as a young guy is to draw attention to yourself by hanging round actually inside a bog for hours on end. So I stood up and, leaving my t-shirt next to my bike, I locked the bike, lit up a cigarette and strolled the short distance to the bog. He watched me all the way. Inside I pushed my sunglasses into my hair and looked around in the sudden gloom: definitely a cottage. There were two cubicles that had a glory hole in the partition wall big enough to pass a grapefruit through. It was utterly deserted, as it had been for the last hour. I stood at one end of the three-man urinal trough, dug out my cock, and waited. He was about two minutes behind me. I felt him pass behind me as he stood up at the other end of the urinal, not more than four feet away. He didn't look at me but untugged the drawstring on his baggies and pulled out his dick, pointed it at the wall and pissed long and hard for about 30 seconds. I didn't flinch. I was certain he wasn't here just for a piss. He was tall, about 5-11, and slim as only teenage boys can be. I could see his piss streaming from the end of an uncircumcised cock, but I didn't need to see his cockhead to know that he was uncut, as he sprayed his piss slightly in the way that all uncut men do if they piss without pulling back the skin. I couldn't see the rest of his dick because his hands hid it, but I watched, entranced, as he stroked the very last drops of pee from his shaft with half a dozen long tight slow strokes. Waggling his cock, he was satisfied that he was drip-free, and then we reached the moment of truth. He would leave, or he would stay. He stayed. I pushed a finger hard into the base of my cock and quickly it produced a strong erection, my 7-inch boner standing up as rigidly as it had when I was 16. I dropped my hand slightly and imperceptibly altered the angle of my body so he could see it if he turned his head away from the wall. He kept his eyes straight down at his own cock, and was continuing his tight slow strokes. After about a minute his head turned slightly towards me and then back again. I stayed there, openly jacking my boner. He turned and looked again, this time for longer, then a third time he turned his body and made brief eye-contact with me. He dropped his hands and revealed a neat 6-incher, thick and deep brown, head covered by slack skin, a hairless ballsac hanging in front of the fabric of his shorts. It stood up at about 45 degrees away from his stomach, throbbing slightly. It was all the encouragement I needed. I moved over to him and ran my hand down his naked back, nestling my fingers in the waistband of his shorts just above his ass crack. Without looking me in the face he reached over and grasped my cock, holding it tightly in his grip. I blew gently over his neck and in his ear, and ran my other hand down his chest until I held his meat firmly in my fist. It was thicker than my cock, but not as long. I toyed with his balls slightly as he continued to grip hard on my erection, and I blew again over his ear and cheek. He turned his head and our mouths engaged, tongues entwined, slowly at first, then more urgently. This was going to be good. I grabbed his hand and led him to one of the cubicles. Inside, we both stepped out of our shorts, and hung them on the peg. Standing there naked but for trainers I marvelled at his slim young masculinity, and thought about asking him his age. Then I decided not. If he turned out to be under 16, so be it; I didn't want to know. He was only there for one thing, and I thought about all the times I had been his age and had lied about my age so as not to scare older guys off. We hugged tightly as our chests and cocks ground together, my hands grasping his gorgeous ass cheeks, my tongue probing his mouth. I let a finger run down his crack, and he gasped. He was a little fuck bunny; I just knew it. I broke away from him and turned his body round, knelt down and then pushed my face into his ass. It was sweet and sweaty and clean and boyish, but musky and deliciously sexy at the same time. He moaned and bent over slightly to allow me better access. I parted his cheeks and swirled my tongue over his little rose bud, then pushed my tongue firmly at his ring. His voice rose noticeably as my tongue penetrated his sacred spot, and he started to jack himself slowly as I rimmed deeper. 16-year-olds, if that's what he was, can't last for ever, and I didn't want this to end too soon, so I stood up behind him and kissed the back of his neck as I pushed a finger into his ass where my tongue had been seconds before. He moaned again, and wriggled his ass around my finger. I let my other fingers reach through his legs and tickle his balls, and he laughed quietly. 'Fuck, you are good,' he whispered. Then after another couple of minutes during which I finger-fucked his tight ring and reached round his body to jack his cock with my other hand, he struggled slightly and broke away, smiling coyly. He reached into the pocket of his shorts on the back of the door and pulled out a condom. He passed it to me, nervously. I smiled at him and tore the packet open with my teeth, and looked him in the eye as I unrolled the rubber along my shaft. He delved into his shorts again and gave me a sachet of lube, and I quickly poured some on my dick and rubbed the rest into his ring. 'You're sure?' I whispered. 'Fuck, yeah,' he replied. I sat on the bog with my sheathed, slicked erection pointing up, and he backed onto me slowly, placing his ring against my cockhead, then pausing. I held his slim hips and marvelled at the broad smoothness of his back and the flawless white globes of his slim boy ass. He reached round to hold my dick steady as he slowly sat down on it. I felt his ring pop open as my cockhead entered him, then I was astonished at the speed with which he sat down fully on the rest of the shaft. In under 30 seconds he was sitting on my lap with my entire length buried in his chute. It was heaven. Then he sat up again and pulled off completely, turned round to face me and sat again with his dick against my stomach this time. I jacked his dick slowly as he just sat unmoving, impaled completely on my rod. He kissed the crown of my head and I tongued his armpits with relish. At this point the door creaked open and we heard someone come in and go to the urinal. Utterly silent, we stayed exactly where we were, now aware that a massive hole in the partition wall would allow the intruder, should he have gone into the neighbouring cubicle, not just to see what we were doing but to bloody well join in as well. My young friend silently unwound some bog roll and held it against the wall covering over the hole, and it was a couple of minutes before we heard the solitary pisser leave the bog. We were both still rock hard. He smiled at me, whispering, 'don't worry, this place is safe. I use it all the time, and I've never seen any bother.' I thought about what he said. "I use it all the time". He was exactly like me, this boy, the me of over ten years ago, the me that went from bog to bog looking for reasonably attractive guys to fuck me. In the two years between first discovering what public bogs could do for my sex life and my being roughly the age of the young cyclist that I was embedded in right now, I must have been shagged 30 times by guys I never saw again. All unable to believe their luck that a 15yo boy wanted it up the ass, or that I took man-sized cocks in my boy-sized ass without a whimper. Well, I had a dildo almost from when I started wanking. First just things I found round the house, candles, courgettes, anything really, then quickly I dared to buy one, one rainy afternoon in a seedy shop in London, and the guy behind the counter smiled at me and said, 'your first one, love? Enjoy yourself.' I wondered how many guys had felt the wonders of this fabulous young ass, and whether this young lad had a dildo of his own that was as vital a part of his wanking kit as his dick and hand. I smiled back at him and began to rock his hips on my crotch. Pretty quickly we were fucking quite competently for such a confined space. With his feet on the floor he lifted off me and sat down quicker and quicker, his ring never losing hold of the very end of my dick, while I met his downwards actions with up-thrusts of my own. Sweat trickled down both our chests. I looked at his thighs, they were taut and hard as he bore his own weight, the muscles tensing with each stroke. His dick was granite hard and his balls tight up at the root of his cock, his eyes squeezed shut as he pleasured himself on my erection. He wasn't going to last long. I noticed he deliberately didn't touch his own cock, and batted my hand away if I went anywhere near it. He wanted to fuck, not to be forced into his orgasm earlier than was necessary. The clever boy. I didn't learn that lesson till I was older than him. God he was gorgeous; the tight pressure of his ring round my dick was going to have me filling that rubber before too long. I watched avidly as we fucked and as his thighs and calves went through a punishing workout. He was tiring; he was going to cum. I pulled him off my dick before he shot. He looked surprised, but I turned him round so that he was facing the back of the door, and he leaned right over against the door with his legs spread. I grabbed his hips and thrust back in with one easy slide. I stood behind him and pummelled my cock at his little boy ring, gazing at the magic sight of my dick disappearing into this perfect young body. He was moaning and whimpering quietly, his head banging softly against the door below our shorts. Faster. His legs started to tremble. Faster still. Harder. His groaning got louder and I prayed nobody would come into the bog now. His ass gripped like a wrench as I knew I was going to tip myself over the edge. Somehow I found another gear and pumped harder and faster than I ever had before as I felt the flush of orgasm begin deep in my thighs. He grabbed his cock and started jacking frantically. I leaned over and kissed his back, then pulled him sharply upright as with one last deep thrust I began to unload deep within him. Grabbing on to him so tightly because I was worried I was going to fall over, I grunted deeply with each orgasmic ecstatic thrust into this miraculous ass. The boy began to yell but I didn't care, the orgasm was washing through me. His hand pumped at a thousand miles an hour and he roared as he shot a huge wad up the back of the door, some of it reaching our shorts, more of it hitting lower down, all of it slithering down the shoddy paintwork. He kept jacking as his orgasm subsided, more streams of cum dripping out of his foreskin onto the floor. I kissed his neck and tongued his ear, and he wiggled his ass on my still rock hard cock. It was a moment or two before we could separate. Powerful orgasms can't be pushed aside like quick anonymous jack-offs and after a couple of minutes of our breathing returning to normal, I eventually began to pull my dick from his grip. I smiled slightly as I saw the size of the load of jizz in the rubber, and showed it to him. He smiled back, and I dropped it down the bog. The boy had no spunk on his body but for his hands, and he wiped them on his shorts and then stepped straight back into them. I followed suit and we kissed briefly, all the passion and need gone now. The boy whispered, 'thanks. That was the best for ages.' We stepped over the spunky mess on the floor and both left the bog together, against all the rules of cottage etiquette, but it didn't seem to matter. There was nobody else around. I asked him if he wanted a smoke; thinking I could chat to him for a while, maybe arrange to fuck him again. He took the cigarette but left quickly on his bike, his dick swinging in his shorts as before. He didn't turn back and wave. He was probably off to another bog. I know I would have been at his age. ===================== jsmith381@hotmail.com Any comments? Any other teachers out there who have to segregate terms and holidays? Any other cottage addicts? Emails welcome; all will receive replies.