Date: Wed, 15 Sep 2004 17:45:21 -0700 (PDT) From: gloryhole junkie Subject: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE'S Tales From The Mall -2 By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE, Denizen of the Public Toilets ghj_4u@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GHJ_MALL_OF_MALES Disclaimer & Warning: These "Mr. gloryholeJunkie's Tales from the Mall" are copyrighted to the author and should not be re-posted, printed or published anywhere else without the author's prior, written consent. These tales are intended strictly for an adult male audience where the reading of such material is allowed. So if you're reading this after soccer practice but before doing your 8th-grade Science Fair project (called, "Ingredients In Semen: A Microscopic Look at My New Sperm"), you better turn off the 'puter, young man, and start prepping those slides! No one is "advised" to haunt mall t-rooms for sex. It's simply not something anyone would tell a fella to run out and "do". It's always something a guy decides upon and figures out on his own. So all that can be "advised" is to think twice about what sex in a mall men's room actually means. For the young dudes, it may mean that men three times your age will be groping, milking and sucking your dick. Do you really WANT that? For older men and dads, it may mean having a spontaneous tryst with a kid who attends your kid's same school. You want to be pumping sperm into a guy who just might show up one of these days at one of your son's sleepovers? And for all guys, there are these things called "security cams" now-a-days in most every store and mall. Cameras that actually, literally, are watching you from the very moment you pull into the mall parking lot. It's not pre-cam "glory" days of mall sex any more. Sure, sex still happens but you got to watch your back (and not cuz some man is pressing his bulge into it). Do you really want to take the risk? Ask yourself that. If you're really horny or get boned up with the mere prospect of "high risk" sex, there is nothing anyone can say to stop you (in fact, you're probably no longer even reading this...you're in your car already!). And, if you actually decide to head to your local mall, its not advised to break any laws while there (so why go, right?)! Yep, you're not advised to blow strangers all afternoon in a mall toilet. And if you're an adult man, you are highly discouraged from 'tapping back' when that shoe under the stall is a Ked's sneaker with "Harry Potter" shoelaces! Can you still go to the mall and not do those things? Then hit the shopping trail! But if you know you won't be able to resist the "call of the public toilets" while licking an ice cream cone in the mall food court, you'll want to maybe just jerk off to these completely true mall tales instead. Preface: A huge thanks to those who have written to the author after reading the first installment of these "Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE'S Tales From The Mall". Although of no real "surprise", its amazing the numbers of guys who have had sex and ejaculated while at the mall. But it only makes sense since the mall is part of the very fabric of contemporary culture. If you can buy underwear, eat Mexican (!!), get a photo made, meet (new) friends, and ride a rollercoaster in some malls, it only follows that dudes will also be blowing a wad of their seed under that same roof. This second mini-collection relates three more mall sexcapades from the author's own life. And because you fellas apparently so loved what I was doing in the first collection, these are three more culled from the ages of eight to thirteen. And as you're about to read, not all mall sex happens in the men's rooms. Guys can be sexual almost anywhere! Heck, look at the hot sex many a married man has right under his own wife's nose (well, not literally right under it...cuz we know most ain't sucking...but you get the drift). And look at the sneaky sex that teens are having. Heck, teen guys are masters at hosting blowjob parties in the basement rec-room without the parents (well, mom, at least) ever knowing. So guys bring these quickie, sneaky sex skills into the "marketplace" when at the mall. Anywhere they can get in a look, a grope or a suck, "guy-sex" can (and will) happen. Mall sex is one of those things that if you're not looking for it, you'll probably "miss" it. And that's the idea. If you're there just to buy some bath bars or a new watch, you're not suppose to detect the three middle-aged "chickenhawks" all cruising your son. Or if you're there only thinking to look at Fubu jeans, you might lose track of the fact that your dad's been in the men's room for over thirty minutes. If you're a soccer mom at the mall, there to buy your nine-year-old daughter new shoes, you're suppose to "forget the time" before heading back to the food court where you're suppose to rendezvous with your fourteen-year-old son and his best buddy. And, yeah, you're not suppose to understand the reason why they're both sitting there with shit-eating grins on their faces as they watch some man with an even bigger shit-eating grin on his face (as he wipes "something" off his mouth) exit the men's room next to the drinking fountains (hmmm, so many "drinking fountains" at the mall...most of them in pants). That's simply "mall life". Not to sound too Kerry-Edwards in this election year (VOTE KERRY!), but there are, oftentimes, what could only be described as "two different malls" when guys and gals go shopping. We guys have what we know to be our mall - and the girls have theirs. Whereas the females think the mall is simply shopping and eating, men think its shopping and eating too (but on a "hole" different level). Women's relationship to the mall is like the one in the brochure or on the mall directory: Cosmetics, pretty sweaters, over-priced costume jewelry and a muffin at the Nordstrom's cafe. But men's relationship to the mall runs in a completely different direction. Sure, some men like fine woolens, the handsome tie, the fifteen-hunfred-dollar massage chair, the do-hickey gadget that's always being hawked in the men's department (a coin bank that's also a cork screw? Wow, buy two!). But unlike women, the mall is also a sexual place for many men. Few women even could fathom the thought of having sex at the mall, let alone...lesbian sex in the Ladies rooms. Yet men by the millions have indulged their penis' shopping needs by having quick homo sex in the men's rooms. So, whereas women think they got the "mall thang" all wrapped up, it's more truthful to say that malls have a particularly special place in the hearts (and loins) of most guys. After all, think of it this way: A college girl can go home again, pass the local mall and reminisce about it being the place where her mom bought her prom dress. But a guy, in going home again, will pass that same mall and reminisce about it being the place where he first got a bj or sucked cock. Yeah, two radically different "rites of passage" at that same mall. And, so, yeah, the mall means a whole lot more to most guys (if truth ever dare speaketh its name). Mr. gloryholeJunkie's Tales From the Mall - 2 By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE, Denizen of the Public Toilets ghj_4u@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GHJ_MALL_OF_MALES Author's NOTE: All three of the following "Mr. gloryholeJunkie's Tales From The Mall" are completely true, as things actually happened, in no particular order and but a very small slice of events from my youth spent in t-rooms. If you were there, you'll recognize places. And if you were there having sex and/or recall certain specific encounters (of a sexual nature, but of course), please feel free to share with me in graphic, yummy detail (I love to hear from men with whom I just might have had sex)! + + + + Old Orchard Shopping Center, Illinois (age 9, "The Photo Shoot") And, again, a Marshall Field & Co. t-room! Although there were times other department store chains had equally wild homo sex in its men's rooms, Fields has to win some award for t-room sex consistency, quality of trade and what could only be described as a "we look the other way" store policy. >From its amazingly, continually "occupato" men's rooms on each floor of its grand and cavernous flagship store on State Street to every restroom in every one of its suburban locations, Field, hands down (your pants) was a full-service department store (in the fullest sense of the term). In fact, one just knows that, like the Catholic Church, t-room sex was not only "ignored" but also rather "encouraged" by Marshall Fields highest level executives. That simply had to be the case because the sex that went on for decades was simply too much, too often and too hot to be anything but something that the department store chain "embraced" for its male customers. The sheer reputation of its men's rooms alone would have had a less "homo-friendly" corporate office reeling in fear. But, nope, not Fields. They seemed to have an unspoken policy that as long as no dead bodies showed up with their head in a toilet, men and boys could do anything they like in their very sexually active men's rooms. Or perhaps, like the Catholic Church, it wasn't even an "unspoken" policy. I would not put it past the corporate bigwigs and each store manager that they had regular secret meetings to discuss the, er, "t-room department" on each floor of every location. To give you a brief example: Before the slick "Down Under" level replaced its once famous (for incredible sales) "Basement Level" of Marshall Field's "Harrods-like" flagship store on State Street, the basement had one of the world's greatest department store t-rooms. It was large and situated in the middle of something of a dead zone on the basement level. One would be in that section and think, "Nothing could be going on...it's like dead down here". But one would enter the men's room and it was almost continually packed with men throughout the business day --especially during office hours, Monday through Friday. Being in the Loop, it was 'the' choice men's room for every married businessman within a two-mile radius. There was always a man masturbating, dicks wagging and cocksucking at the row of urinals while even more men watched while groping themselves at the mirrors. But what made it super wild was the way the stalls were designed. Perhaps sixteen to twenty stalls...facing one another. Yeah, it looked not too unlike an aisle of arcade booths in many adult bookstores. Eight to ten stalls faced one another making cruising so easy and so much fun. One could peep in easily on twenty men - all of them with trousers down and jerking off ready to play. Or one could be in a stall and stand to watch the guys across the aisle in the other stalls (some would even open their stall doors a bit to show off as they masturbated). You then also had the fellas on either side of you that you could play with under the stall partitions. I don't think one man ever came in there to do any call of nature other than "the call to ejaculate". And it operated like that all day long...and for decades. So you kind of get a sense of Marshall Fields "extremely high tolerance policy" regarding restrooms and its male customers. After all, they knew these same men are the ones who bought the two hundred-dollar ties and let their wives buy the entire suite of Louis Vuitton luggage. One thing about Fields, they weren't stupid. And they had a location in the north suburb of Skokie. It was at Old Orchard Shopping Center, a mall of similar age and styling of Oakbrook Mall in the western suburbs. It was an "outdoor" mall with wide overhangs for inclement weather. I was nine-years-old when my grandparents, who lived in Winnetka, had me stay with them for a week in early summer. There was another very small, "boutique-style" Marshall Fields in the heart of Winnetka's downtown. A location good for "basic luxuries" but that was about it. In fact, that store was probably only placed there because Winnetka was a small suburb loaded with super millionaires and more-than-likely most members of the Fields family itself. I was staying with my grandparents a week or so before a large family wedding. And so while I was with them, it was decided that they would take me to buy a new suit. So they took me to the larger, full-service Fields at the relatively nearby Old Orchard mall. We had lunch, probably chicken salad and parfaits. I remember that after lunch, my grandmother bought a serving platter from Portugal. Then they took me to the Boy's department, where for two hours we tried suits on me. We all agreed on one and the tailor, a nice man who was all smiles, took me to the back in order to make sure it fit properly. Once altered, we'd be able to pick up the suit in three days. No, the tailor neither groped nor fondled me...damnit. Afterwards, as we walked out of the store and into the mall, my grandparents, both very socially connected people, ran into two couples they knew. They all talked and talked as we stood there. It was a lovely afternoon so no wind or rain was going to cut their conversation short. They talked about some upcoming charity event or another and someone's brick patio being put in... I stood there yawning, trying to be polite but I was bored out of my skull. I looked at the men passing, one had a nice bulge in his beige golf slacks and I wanted to suck him. I shifted from foot to foot as the adults gabbed on. I tugged on my grandfather's sleeve and whispered, "I have to go to the bathroom." He looked down, interrupted from something he was saying (and one did not interrupt my grandfather). He knitted his brow and said, always the successful business tycoon, "Then go." As though it could only be that simple - when you're nine! I said, "It's okay?" And he said, "Yes, of course. Just go if you have to go." He wasn't being mean, he was just being the businessman making an "executive decision". I was about to wander off when my grandmother, talking to the two other ladies asked my grandfather, "Where is he going?" And then asked me, "Where are you going, Kevin?" "He's going to the restroom", my grandfather said, more annoyed that his conversation with the two other men was again being diverted to something so mundane. "Will he be okay?", one of the ladies asked my grandmother. My grandmother then asked me, "Will you be okay, sweetheart?" I smiled and nodded and said I'd be fine ('That is, if I can get to a t-room and suck some man's penis I'll be fine', I thought to myself). "We'll be right over there", my grandmother said as she pointed to where a chocolatier's shoppe had set out a few tables for customers. "Why don't we all get some coffee?", my grandmother said to my grandfather and the two couples. They all agreed and I went one way as they headed to two of the small bistro tables. "We'll be right over here", my grandmother said again as she turned. "Okay", I said, turning to look at them again. My heart raced, I was so excited. I was going to find a men's room! I didn't know the mall at all and so I figured I should just go back into the Fields store. It was right there, after all. I went back in and the air conditioning felt good once again. Some woman in the Women's Accessories area smiled at me as she moved scarves around. I walked past her and started my search for a men's room. As I walked through, I got all turned around in a maze of suitcases. I was lost in Luggage as though it were the evergreen labyrinths of Hampton Court. A young salesman, sort of blondish, sort of nice looking, sort of in his early twenties, asked, "Can I help you?" as he was returning from somewhere back to his register. "Um", I said, hating to have to ask salespeople where the restrooms were, "Where's a bathroom?" He looked at his register as he rang up something and said, "Hang on a sec..." Apparently he was punching in his salesman I.D. or something. He then looked up and smiled. "Men's Room? There's one down here but up one level, through furniture is a quieter one." I said thanks not even thinking at the time why he'd even care about how quiet "my" restroom could be. I walked away and found the escalator. Although I was only just out of the third grade, I was already a very proficient little t-roomer. I loved t-room sex - the thrill of meeting new adult strangers, sucking people's big hairy cocks, tasting the milk each squirted into my mouth. Some boys love soccer at that age, I loved men's room sex! On the upper level, I found Furniture. I walked by lamps and couches and expensive bedroom sets. I hardly saw anyone in the entire area except for, yards away, two older salesmen, both in their early-fifties, sitting at facing desks. I saw the sign for the Men's Room and went over to it. I took a sip of water from the drinking fountain next to the door and then went in. Nobody, nobody at all, was in the men's room. I was crestfallen! Here I had some time alone to play with men and not a man was to be had (or sucked)! No bigger nightmare to a t-roomer no matter how young! I peed at a urinal because it was floor mounted and so I didn't have to reach. I then went to the stall closest to the far wall, went in and locked it. There was no gloryhole! Drat. Want to know what a "bad day" is to a nine-year-old men's room cumpig? That's pretty much it. But I saw some writing on the wall and decided to at least stick around to read that. I pulled down my sweat shorts, my new "The Electric Company" underpants and "had a seat". Well, at least the salesman was right. It was indeed a very "quiet" men's room. Why "quiet" would be an attraction to anyone but an old geezer needing to take an hour-long constipated shit, would be anyone's guess. I read the scrawled messages. One read, "Deep throat for cock over 9 inches". Another "note" read, "8" needs to cum B here 6-23". And a third one said, "My son's huge. You should see!" So although no one was around, I knew that many a cock-loving pervert had indeed "passed this way". I sat there a minute more listening to Musak when the outer door opened. Whoever it was, was very quiet (it was the "quiet" men's room after all). He walked directly to the stall to my left, where for just a flash, I could see the very top of his head. He was a tall man. He closed the door and seemingly took a moment to take off a suit or sport jacket, hanging it on the back of his door. I listened as he wiped off his toilet seat and then began to unbuckle his trousers. It was very quiet except for "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" (the Musak version) playing overhead. ( Funny how I've sucked men in t-rooms for thirty-years now to that same tune). I sat there, my feet just scuffing the tiled floor. Nothing at first happened. We sat there and sat there some more. It was obvious the man wasn't "doing" any "business" since it was so...quiet. Then, suddenly, he reached a hand under his stall and made this groping gesture with his hand - like a fist that kept opening and closing. I looked at the man's very large hand as he kept doing it. He then withdrew his hand and we sat there some more. I adjusted my little butt a bit on the seat in order to try to lean down and get a better look at the man's feet and ankles. He looked like a hundred other men I had had sex with in t-rooms - all dark trousers, dress belt and white boxer shorts gathered at man-sized shoes. I looked and could see his pale but hairy calves. He must have then seen my shadow as I shifted about because his hand came underneath the partition again and made the groping gesture again. This time I scooted off my seat and squatted near the divider. His hand quickly went to my genitals, small but very erect. I feared he might stop when he realized he was fondling what (hopefully) was a little boy. But he didn't. Instead, his large fingers gently began to stroke the length of my nine-year-old erection. And then they moved down to feel my smooth nuts. As I squatted, I looked down and watched this man's hand as it explored my genitals and more. His hand caressed me down to underneath my scrotum until he was patting my little butt. He had me by the groin and was patting my naked bottom that way. His fingers then gently slid along my buttcrack and then back to my inner thighs. He then withdrew his hand. But before I could sit again, the man dropped down to his knees pushing his cock beneath the metal partition. It was set high so I could see the man from his kneecaps up his very long, hairy thighs where his uncut erection was bouncing slightly as it pointed at me. I wasted no time and wrapped my small hand around his erection. It was hard and hot but not so thick as to make it hard on a child to play with. I continued to squat and so he resumed playing with me at the same time. It was so much fun and I didn't even know what the man looked like or anything! I leaned down and sucked the salty-sweet head of his penis, maybe down four inches. He then shifted and his face, at a ninety-degree angle came under the partition. With his large hand, he cupped beneath my scrotum and pulled me closer so he could suck my cock. He sucked me and licked my small, smooth scrotum for maybe two minutes before we heard the outer door open again. We each jumped up...quietly...and sat again. The person who came in peed at a urinal and then flushed. Then he washed his hands at the sinks. We could hear him wiping his hands on the wall-mounted crank "towel". But he didn't leave. Instead whomever this person was padded softly and quietly over to the stalls. He looked into the man's first and then into mine. I tried hard to see who it was through the hinge line but could only see he wore a light gray suit. I didn't need to wonder if the new man was "okay" because the man in the stall answered that question when he again dropped to his knees, sticking his big uncut penis under again. His left hand stroked his shaft as he knelt there and I could see his wedding ring. I squatted again and we resumed our "play" as this man in a gray suit shifted back and forth as he peeped into each of our stalls. The man in the stall then got up and sat down again. He took a minute or more and then handed a slip of paper to me under the stall. I took it and read it. "Open your door. He's ok". I needed no further prompting. I stood up, my shorts and underpants at my gym shoes and unlocked my door. Standing there was the young salesman from the Luggage department. He made a "Whoa", sound as his eyes looked me up and down. He looked back at the main outer door (as is only natural human behavior...when about to do something really, really naughty). He then gripped his crotch, showing where his big boner sat along his hipline. He smiled and whispered, "You like that?" I answered by touching him and he released his grip allowing me to massage the big super hard thing in his trousers. "Oh man, this is hot", he whispered with a very white-toothed grin. The other man had gotten up and opened his door. He'd put his suit jacket back on and although his trousers were now up, they were fully open. His cock and hairy nuts were exposed as he masturbated. The two acknowledged one another and that's when I noticed they had tags on the lapels of their jackets. One was "Keith something, Sales, Luggage & Cameras" and the other was "Bill something, Furniture Sales". They had to have known one another. And if they didn't on an "Employee's Lounge" basis, they sure did on a "Men's Lounge" basis. Keith, the young blonde man, had something in his other hand, something I also hadn't noticed at first. It was one of those new One-Step Polaroid Instamatics-type cameras. The sort one didn't have to peel off the paper. It was sort of clunky but I had wanted one so bad for my ninth birthday but got a stupid Nikon instead. Keith smiled and put the camera to his eye and snapped a picture of me. As it zipped out of the camera, he asked, "Mind?" I shook my head and he replied, "I didn't think you would. Show us your butt." I turned around and faced the flusher. "Bend over", Keith said as he spread my left buttcheek with his free hand. "That's good". And he snapped another picture. As they came out, he handed the developing pics to his "friend", Bill. Keith then pushed a finger into my exposed little butthole and snapped another picture. "You suck?", he then asked. I turned around and the second I nodded, he unzipped his gray slacks and struggled to pull out his incredible hard, eight-inch cock. It was beautiful, a perfect cut dick. I put it in my mouth and he said, "Stay like that a sec", and he snapped another picture. I sucked him down to his pubes and the fabric of his suit slacks. "Wow, you know how to do that!", he said. "Do him now", he added pushing my head over to Bill's long, uncut cock. As I wrapped my lips around the older man's erection, I heard another clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip as Keith took another picture. I deep throated Bill as he held my head gently and again, clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip as Keith took another photograph. He was now setting them on the floor and on the ledge of the toilet paper holder in my stall as they developed. "Do mine again", Keith said as he handed the camera off to Bill. The Furniture salesman then aimed the lens at the length of the much younger man's big shaft as it rested, almost measuring itself along my cheek. The young salesman's boner went from my chin to above my head! "Suck it more", Keith said as he stuck it back into my mouth. When Bill snapped the last of the ten shots, he handed the camera back to Keith. "This is so cool...this is the hottest!", Keith said, all excited, as he reached into the inner pocket of his suitjacket and pulled out another cartridge of film. Bill watched the other film develop. When they'd be done, he'd show me one and wink and then gather them into a pile in his left hand. Once he slipped in the new cartridge, Keith said, "Suck me off now", I sucked him and held his hips as he fucked them into me. He had a great cock! He snapped another pic and then said to Bill, who was really getting overly excited, "Shoot cum in his mouth". With that he pushed my face back over to the tall older man and I sucked him some more. "I'm going to cum", Bill said more to Keith than to me. "Let's see it, man", Keith replied as he positioned the camera to his eye. "Let's see your mouth more, kid." I turned toward Keith more as Bill pulled my head back from him. He understood the shot that Keith wanted. He held his shaft and placed his uncut cockhead right inside my open mouth. His semen began squirting and shooting out of his wide slit, flooding my mouth and coating my tongue in thick white semen. And again, clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip. And clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip again. And...again... clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip! When Bill was "done" filling my mouth he pulled his penis out and stepped back to allow Keith more room in the open doorway of my stall. "That was so hot, kid!", Keith said. "Did you swallow it?" I opened my mouth wide and proved to him I was a little cumpig. "He swallowed your cum", Keith said to the other man. As he zipped his slacks, Bill laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. I think he liked it, too". "You like cum, kid?", Keith asked. "Yeah", I replied. "A lot!" "Cool...real cool...fuck that's hot", Keith said. He wagged his cock at my lips and said. "If you want some more, put your mouth on it again." I didn't hesitate. I opened my mouth and slurped along the length of the young blondish man's steely hard cock. Between the salt of his palm and his dripping precum. it tasty sort of sweet but salty. He snapped another picture and then said, "I'm going to cum. Let me see my cum in your mouth. Don't swallow too fast." Bill, adjusting his belt said, "Do his just like you did mine, kid." "I'm gunna cum", Keith mumbled as he tried to hold the camera steady to his eye. "Yeah, open you mouth...like that...let me cum in your hot little mouth, okay?" And with that he blasted nutfluids into my mouth, juicing up and flooding my oral cavity in gooey, sweet-salty white stuff - the reproductive milk of a healthy, strapping young salesman. And... clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip. Clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip Clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip Clickzzzzzzzzzziiiiiip Keith pulled out and was winded from both "ejaculatory release" and "tension release" having just done some buddy-system "molestation" in his own work place. He slung the camera strap on his shoulder as he stuffed his very handsome penis into his slacks again and zipped up. "That was fuckin' hot", he said. The two men waited a minute or so, allowing the last prints to finish developing and drying. They looked at them, showing me some as they did. Somehow they divvied the twenty or so shot between them. I watched as each put his "set" away into his inner suit jacket pocket. I was given none and must have had a look on my face, like, "Where's mine?" Without my asking though, Keith looked at me and casually said, "'Don't want your parents finding any on you." Bill was at a sink washing his hands when Keith took the one next to his. They talked saying how hot that was...and then Bill asked, "You going to that party for that Sheila in Housewares later?" Keith, wiping his hands said, "No, can't. That's at like five. I get off at three-thirty and me and my girlfriend are going with friends on their boat tonight." As they exited, I heard Bill's voice trail off saying, "Fun. A boat...you going on Lake Michigan...?" I was in the men's room alone again. And it again was very quiet. Seeing I was gone for over twenty-five minutes, I pulled up my pants and left. As I crossed the Furniture department, Bill, carrying a clipboard and walking with a couple said to me, "Bye now." I wondered what the couple would think if they knew what their salesman had in his breastpocket just inches from them. I rode the escalator down and then found the correct door back to the mall. I saw my grandparents across the way, still sitting at the bistro tables and still talking to the other four people. I approached and my grandmother smiled. "There he is! We were just talking about you, sweetheart. Mrs. Noll wants to hear about how you won that ribbon at school this past semester." Mrs. Noll immediately said, "Yes, sit here next to me and tell me. How exciting, a blue ribbon..." Absolutely no one even seemed to notice I'd been gone so long - except one of the men who looked at me and smiled. But he didn't say anything. We sat there and they ordered me a cold chocolate drink as shoppers passed by. As Mrs. Noll asked questions, I thought, 'So many different realities running concurrently at a mall. Here are these people talking to me about some school competition and in there...in that department store yards away... two different strangers had photos of themselves shooting cum from their big dicks into my mouth.' And I knew what I liked about malls. And, no, it wasn't bistro breaks. + + + + Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, Milan, Italy, (age 13, "My Mall Slutting Goes International") My parents had divorced the summer I was thirteen. For lots of reasons, I stayed with my dad in Chicago while my mother re-married and moved to London. Two weeks before the start of eighth-grade, my mother wanted me to come meet up with her and her new hubby on the tail end of their "honeymoon" in Italy. They had been in Lago Maggiore but returned to Milan where I was to spend a week with them. Although this is a "mall tale", I must interject quickly an "airline tale" before I go any further. At thirteen, I was well hung, developing well and was always - always - horny (and ready for sex). I was on a direct flight to Milan from O'Hare since being thirteen my parents didn't want me to have to change planes. My stepfather bought a first class seat for me since he probably felt guilty about destroying our once happy home (just joking, actually I was glad he came along... but why let him know that when I could get shrimp cocktail at 35,000 feet, right?). It was a crowded flight, we left late, and people were crabby. I was tense, the flight attendant looked like she swallowed bitter semen from the co-pilot...it was just a stressful start to a ten-hour flight. The only "bright" spot was that my seat was next to a very handsome businessman also from Chicago and also traveling to Milan alone. We barely spoke the first two hours of the flight. But when it came time to flip down the table for dinner, he helped me figure out my seat position (I'd had it on slight recline) and we started to chat. He was so handsome. I still vividly remember his face (and more). His suit jacket was hanging in the closet and yet he barely even loosened his tie throughout the entire flight. I was in sweat pants and a tee shirt to give you some contrast. During dinner, he started talking to me about his wife and his kids and the fact he generally hated to fly since he traveled hundreds of thousands of miles annually. He asked what school I went to, if I was traveling alone, why I was going to Milan. It was just a thirteen-year-old boy talking to a forty-year-old man. But after the dinner items had been removed, the flight attendant handed out large blue woolen blankets and sleep masks. It was time to sleep now, children. The cabin lights went dim and all the passengers began to click off their overhead lamp. The first-class seat was immensely comfortable, leather and over-sized. The man helped me put my seat into a full recline since I guess I was taking too long to figure it out. The first class flight attendant then "disappeared" to somewhere closer to the nose of the plane (probably 'time to fuck the pilot over the Atlantic' - after all, it is called a cock pit). What I did notice though - and I thought it was a little odd even at the time - was that the businessman, as he reclined fully next to me, with mask over his eyes - flipped up our arm rests. I suppose he may have wanted just a little more room to spread his legs as he slept although the seats were so roomy, I didn't know why. , But I was a horny kid and figured it could make things easier. We both had blankets and after maybe just fifteen minutes, his right knee hits mine. He's still "asleep", his head back some. I think he just accidentally knocked my knee. But a minute later he does it again. At thirteen, I knew plenty about men and so went with wherever this man wanted it to go. I let my left hand graze his right hip and he doesn't move or even flinch so I move it up more beneath his blanket. He smiles but has on the airline eye mask. I reach further and am rewarded with his rock hard erection straining away at the fabric of his fine suit. Although, "asleep", he lets me have a good feel and I begin to massage this man's bulge. No one can see, it being dark and under the blankets (and no one would even suspect some man and a teen boy would be playing like that anyway). I tug at his zipper but can't quite do it without getting too obvious. I retract my hand and sit there with a woody tenting my sweats and the blanket. Maybe thirty-seconds later, I can see he's trying to very discreetly unzip his trousers and when his little smile returns, I know he has. So my hand returns to his crotch and finds he not only unzipped but had also "released" the TWA peanuts from the fly of his boxer shorts. And when I say "peanuts" I only mean the "warm nuts" since there was nothing peanuty about this man's erection as I wrapped my adolescent fist around it. Super thick, he was uncut and so the skin of his meaty erection had some movement as I milked him very slowly beneath the covers. The man spreads his legs wider and I reach into his fly even deeper to feel his big, loose, hairy nuts - just a great cock between the legs of this traveling family man. Even at thirteen, I was addicted to sucking off men but I didn't want to do that because it was an international flight and if "caught" by the bitchy flight attendant, I was afraid Milan might refuse my passport once reaching Customs. Hey, I was thirteen. So I don't know what further "to do" at that point. I pulled my hand away again and there was silence punctuated only by a man across the wide aisle who was snoring. I'm annoyed at myself for not having the nerve to lean over and blow this man next to me. Suddenly, I feel the man's hand creep along my leg and right onto my tenting boner. His large hand gives it a good long squeeze. I sit there and shift slightly more to my left to allow him even better access. If you looked at his head, and his overall body position, you'd have thought he was asleep. But he wasn't. He was masturbating the teenaged boy beside him. He had an easier time because of my sweats. He reached his hand right into the elastic waistband and into my underpants. He cupped my nuts, gripped my big boner and then sort of gave a tug to my sweats as if indicating I should pull them down some. So I did. I tried to look as relaxed and nonchalant as he as I lifted my small bubblebutt off the leather seat and quickly pulled down my sweats to below my nuts. Immediately he reached over again and slowly, luxuriously started giving me a handjob. I reached over and he shifted slightly allowing me to return the favor. We sat like that for almost an hour. A married businessman playing with the boner of a teen and a teen playing with a married businessman's super thick uncut erection. All under the blankets on Flt. 645 to Milan. And you could tell he was getting off on playing with young teen boner. He purposefully rubbed and ran his fingers over my pubes feeling the light dusting of hair there. His fingers would tap or drum on my smooth scrotum as if telling me he knew they were young and just capable of making sperm. And the entire time he's wearing the mask. I couldn't take any more mutual masturbation after an hour and had to shoot up a load of adolescent sperm. He obviously sensed that and gripped my boner as if telling me to hold off. I tried. He leaned forward and took out the now-empty clear plastic cup in which the flight attendant had served his gin & tonic. He barely fumbled much as he returned his hand to the beneath the blankets and held the mouth of my cup to the head of my cock. He wanted me to squirt into it obviously. So I did. I tried hard to aim my very erect cock into the cup, but I know some semen hit the backside of the blanket as well. He waited until my orgasm was complete and then slowly, very slowly moved his hand holding the cup, away and to above the blanket again. Its then he lifted the mask off one eye and looked at my milky seed in the clear cup. Without even looking at me, he stuck a finger into it and licked it off, like it was cake batter. He then put the cup to his lips and let the thick goo - my thick goo - flow into his mouth. Here was this married businessman sitting on a plane six miles up in the air eating kid sperm out of a disposable beverage cup! (Makes you really think about the "World", doesn't it?). He ate it and even smacked his lips, slurping up some thick semen that clung to his lower lip and the rim of the cup. He then licked around the inside of the cup, turning it and turn it, making sure he'd gotten every drop (and yeah, making sure any "proof" of what he'd done was eliminated too, I'm sure). I sat there watching and thinking this man was the coolest married dad on the planet. But he wasn't done. He put the cup under his blanket, between his legs where he pumped off his own load into it. He pulled it out from under the covers and handed it to me. Looking at me with just one eye, he smiled. He wanted to serve me up what he made, same as he sampled mine. I took the cup and gulped his very thick white breeder milk into my mouth. He watched as though he never ever saw a teen boy eat cum before - or maybe just his cum before. I mimicked what he'd done and lapped the cup clean. He took the cup from me and set it down along side of him again. I watched him stuff his cock back into his trousers and zip up - all beneath the camouflage of covers, of course. I didn't have to do much, I just lifted up and pulled up my jockey shorts with my sweat pants. I then had to pee and got up. Some lady was in line and someone else was in the other w/c. I stood in the dimly lit cabin waiting my turn. When I returned to my seat, the man had his mask off, his seat up and his light on. I scooted back into my seat and buckled up. He said nothing except, "You're a good kid." We barely chatted after that. He got all friendly again, even fatherly, when we were approaching Milan. He helped me get my bag from the overhead container and said that if I needed any help in Baggage or Customs just to ask him. We exited and stood next to one another at the baggage carousel where just by looking, you'd never guess what this man and this boy had swapped while on that flight. We barely looked like we knew one another. I didn't need any help going through Customs and just on the other side stood my mom and her new husband. We got in a taxi queue and, two persons ahead of us, was the man. He didn't even turn around. When he got in his taxi though - maybe feeling guilty he didn't (or couldn't) say goodbye to the kid with whom he had swapped semen, he did look right at me as we continued to wait for a cab and smiled as he nodded. It was as much as a married businessman could do, I suppose, to acknowledge the young teen whose semen was still on his breath. So that's how my trip to Milan started (gives you an indication of what kind of thirteen-year-old I was). We're in Milan and the first evening, we go to the hotel and eat dinner in its 3-star restaurant. I go to bed in my own room and fall directly to sleep. Bright and early the following morning, we head to see the "Last Supper" before going to the Cathedral. At that point, about noon, I want to go off on my own. I'm not bored, just horny. My mother isn't thrilled nor does she understand why I'd want to go off on my own. My stepfather incorrectly explains to her to let me go off on my own for a couple of hours because apparently I must have some underlying anger issues in trying to adjust to her quick remarriage. He's completely wrong but let them think that if it lets me go off alone to cruise for mancock. My mother gave me money to shop and more if I got lost and needed to take a taxi back to the hotel. We planned to meet up again at two o'clock in order to go over to Teatro alla Scala, just a couple of blocks away. Linking Piazza del Duomo to the Piazza della Scala is Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, so after parting from my mom and stepfather, I headed directly over to it. I had spotted some "suits" going over there so I was like a puppy on a boner. Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, built in the 1860/70s, it is often considered to be the earliest "mall". To call it a "mall" is rather an understatement. Its stores are a collection of elegant buildings along intersecting "streets" beneath an elaborate, Belle Epoch glass and iron roof. Wearing dress-up casual gray trousers - no belt (purposefully) - and a simple white poplin shirt, I entered Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II from Piazza del Duomo and was immediately taken with the coolness. It was almost as if there were a breeze wafting through. And high above, some even pecking around on the mosaic floors, were pigeons. But I wasn't looking at stinkin' birds. I was there looking for sex with strange men - strange Milanese men. I was gunna have sex with men not of my national origin (bydamnit)! Even at thirteen I could spot a "tourist" from the local men. The local businessmen, of which there were many there, just oozed charisma and dressed like a million bucks. I wandered along looking at men who all looked at me - ah, the Italian men! Unlike in America, Italian men, straight, gay, married or not, are up for some flirting with another guy, especially a well-built teen boy. It's not so much just that they're sexdawgs (what's the Italian for that? Canesexuale?) but they appreciate all sorts of Beauty. I looked for the men's rooms and the one I found was being cleaned. Arg! I wandered around some more and heard some men shouting. In the center of the mall, where the two "roads" or arms crossed, there were perhaps twenty men watching a soccer match on a television. I gravitated over to them not because I was into soccer but because collectively they emanated this potently sexual energy. I stood among them and looked at the scores being displayed. As I stood there, as is very "Italian" the back of two of the men's hands brushed along my butt and along my crotch. I couldn't tell if it was sexual or just the fact they were all standing thisclose...no, t'clo's, to one another (as is the euro way). I figured it had to just be customary proximity since men couldn't possibly be feeling up some teen boy in the very middle of this mall at noontime. Or could they? Hmmm... Although they seemed sexually excited - aroused, energized, even some playing some fidgety pocketpool as they stared at the game and me and the game and each other - I walked away after just a few minutes since apparently none of these men were going to unzip while they followed some "stupid" televised soccer game. Instead I walked over to another area to "shop" some more, bulge-watching the entire way. Further down one arm of the cruciform mall, an area which, because it wasn't in the beeline axis from Piazza del Duomo to the Piazza della Scala, was much scarcer of people and therefore much quieter. I was getting frustrated and annoyed that here I was among all these men and yet there was no place to have quick sex with them (well, maybe the men's room but it was still closed for cleaning. As it was taking so long, I figured the ladies must have had a lot of semen to mop up...which would be a good sign). I was thirsty and went up to a man selling icy cold oranginas from a cart. When I went to dig for money, though, some man I didn't even see before was standing right along side me and gently pushes my arm down, signaling for me to put my money away. He doesn't even say anything, just gestures for me to keep my money. I look at him and he's saying something to the vendor in Italian and they grin and laugh some. I'm confused until the vendor hands me an orangina. Then, I'm even more confused. I don't take it right way, knowing I hadn't paid for it. But he says, first in Italian and then recognizing I didn't speak any, in English, "This man...here...he buy for you." I looked at the man who stood beside me, a man in his early fifties, wearing gray slacks and a gray sportcoat. I take the soda and thank him. "Grazie", I manage to say as I smiled. He smiled big and then looked at the vendor who said something else to him in Italian. I said, "Ciao" and wandered off. I thought it very nice...that the mall's chickenhawks had finally zoned on me. Yeah, I knew what they were. A mall chickenhawk is a mall chickenhawk no matter the language. Men looking for teen meat all have that same look in their eye, that same over-eager excitement in their step, as they cruise for some really young boner. But I played along and went to a very quiet corner of the mall. It had a recessed area divided by large columns and was cool. I sat on the high ledge of a base of a columnar section and took a sip of my orangina, hoping not to spill any on my crisp white shirt. And sure enough, the chickenhawks, like the cooing pigeons all around, began to perch. Not just the man who bought his quarry a sody-pop, but three other "strangers out of nowhere" began to circle. They were all men between forty and sixty probably. And so cute the way they think boys can't tell what they're after. Yeah just different adult men who all just have to hover around, sit near and start small talk with a hunky little teen. It's funny because when you're a cock slut, you learn early that one barely needs linguistic skills to play with men. Body language is the language of "amore", after all - no matter how deviant and perverted that amore may be. And heck, one learns not to worry about a language "barrier" - men got hands, they don't care. They'd rather you save your mouth for other things anyway! And I loved being chickenhawk "feed" - really did. I let men feel me up, suck out sperm from my big dick, shove cocks and squirt cum into my mouth and butt - do anything they wanted to me in some malls. Besides the purely sexual, there's something powerful - like "Sforza" family powerful - about being a thirteen-year-old boy with all these middle-aged men's hands on you. Heck, Sex itself is powerful and when additionally you know you're getting all these men to break every taboo, every "norm", every law as they clamor to do downright depraved things with you, swap sperm with you, fuck your butt, pump seed down your throat ...a kid realizes real early how Sex is loaded with Power. So I just sit there and let them go in for the kill (after all, I suppose, that's part of their thrill). I'm watching the nice man who thought a way into a boy's pants is through sugary sweets when, instead, another chickenhawk "attacks" from behind. I see it first in the eyes of the chcikenhawk who had bought me the orangina - this look of grave concern. Not concern for me but, rather, concern for himself that some other lucky mall man might get into my pants (or throat) before he got in his shot (and, heck, he was the one out a thousand lire...that soda bought at least a grope of my crotch, he's probably thinking). I turn and look behind me. Some man had been "loitering", yeah, even "lurking" back there in this cool, dark, marble niche. It seemed like it might have been an entrance at one time to somewhere but was now permanently sealed off. But it made for a terrific place where a boy such as myself might find himself molested. This man came around the column and nodded. He watched my adam's apple as I gulped some soda and he made a "whew" sort of sound as he watched. He looked up and down, obviously seeing the other men who were perching nearby. He seemed to know them - or at least knew them by sight because their presence didn't concern this man at all. He stood only a couple of feet from me looking straight head and then at me. He was in his late thirties, rather good looking, wore a very dark blue suit and a green, yellow and white striped tie. He looked very dapper and suave in this mall pervert sort of way. He didn't look at me at first all that much as he stood like a tin soldier at my shoulder. Then he said, "Boungiorno, ragazzo." The second I replied, "Buongiorno", he sat right beside me...and I mean right beside me, his hip pressing along mine. Since I replied, I suppose he figured I was open for some sexual action with him (which is only understandable, of course). He starts a schpeel in Italian and doesn't even notice I don't understand a word he's saying. That's when orangina man takes his opportunity and walks straight up to us. He says to me in very bad English, "He not know", and he laughs. The blue suit man knits his brow and turns to me and in much better English says, "You're not Italian?" I shake my head. "English?", he asks. "No", I reply. "Americano", the man who had bought me the soda says to the blue suit man. "Ahhhhh", the blue suit man says with a grin. "I like American boys...so big down there." With that he looks directly at my crotch. So does the orangina man. I smile and spread my legs a little wider, just a little, bringing no attention to the huddle, which was slowly forming around me. "You do?", I asked. "Umhaaaa", the blue suit man says. He then stretched out his legs and looked at his own crotch, which caused me and orangina man, to look. Running down his pantleg was this thick tube of cock - erect cock. He caught me looking and said, "It's very, very big...you like?" I nod and am parched despite having beverage in hand. "All the American boys like it", he said with this evil yet utterly seductively handsome expression on his face. Orangina man says something to him in Italian and whatever they started to laugh about caused blue suit man to quickly grope himself. A third man, older than the other two, perhaps sixty, strides up at this point and says hello to the men. None of them moved. He apparently knows them. He then says, "Ciao" to me. Quickly the man in horse-hung man in the blue suit says, "He is American." The third man, very dashing, whitish hair, pale blue eyes, smiles at me like a kindly father...or grandfather...and says, "Ah, gli Stati Uniti...the United States...my daughter e, come sedici?...her husband live in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." I smile and tell him I know where it is. "The Liberty Bell!", he announces with a smile. When he saw me laughing, he leaned in and tweaked my chin, "Such a...come sedici? Bello! A beautiful boy." As he talked, a fourth man hovered nearby. He seemed afraid to join the group so he just smiled and paced around a bit perhaps twenty feet from where my "new special friends" and I sat. He paced until the man in the blue suit flagged him over. Seeing that, he casually came over and said "Buongiorno, tutti" to everyone. The four men made small talk and laughed. The blue suit man even turned his body to me and said, "They are talking about the soccer tallies...the scores...but I know you're not here for that, am I right?" As he spoke, his bold confidence provided by the location (he seemed to know and was comfortable with the cool dark recess behind us very, very well), the bodies of the other men surround us and blocking us from view...and his lust...he actually reached his hand into the back waistband of my pants. Like a pro whose done it before...numerous times, this man had his entire hand down my pants (inside of my underpants) and a finger stroking along my bare buttcrack. He took my left hand and placed it on his extremely hard trousersnake. It felt like he had a steel rod in his silk trousers. He smirked as I felt it. "You like, Fabrizio knows young boys like it..." The three other men had stopped talking and were looking about casually as they watched the blue suit man play with me very discreetly. You'd have hardly known what it was he was doing to me from ten paces. He just looked perhaps like a father sitting with his arm around his son's back. Or the way Italian men gather, like any fivesome of locals talkings. But these four Milanese chickenhawks now knew they had made a..."GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL"! It wasn't soccer but it was still the preferred sport of men at malls. The blue suit man grinned and whispered something in Italian. I recall thinking that the ladies must be bowled over by this guy's charms...although he had his hand down an adolescent boy's pants (could prove to be the monkey-wrench in his dating women, come to think of it). I squirm my small, smooth but muscled butt to allow him better access in his attempt to finger my rosebud. Heck, the man wants to fingerfuck a kid, let him fingerfuck a kid, you know? He then whispers, "You follow". And he stood up, his huge tenting erection only slightly masked by the very dark color of his suit. "Come...you come now." I looked at the three other men who smiled and nodded, as if telling me to follow, that I'd come to no harm...well, that I'd come...but to no harm. "You follow...him", the orangina man instructed as he pointed to the dark recessed area behind the columns. There were two ways to get into that area and we sat at one. I looked over the shoulders of the men and seeing that no one was anywhere near this end of the mall, I stood up and the man with a daughter in Philly grinned as he clapped once, "Good! That's a good boy!" I had a boner in my own slacks and the men were quick to notice. I went around the enormous pillar and there stood Fabrizio in a shadow groping and squeezing his trousersnake. "I know you come...the young boys want this...", he said as he again lewdly pawed and squeezed the erection in his slacks. And right behind me were the three other men. The one who was tentative held back some, acting as lookout. Apparently these men had done this before and were going through their paces. Immediately, I had two hands squeezing the boner in my slacks. It was orangina man and the handsome sixty-year-old. They made me turn to face them as they each lewdly groped my bulge, the orangina man making haste to open my pants as well. As he did, Fabrizio again shoved his hand down the back of my underwear and this time went straight for my teenaged butthole. And right in went his thick middle finger. He had done this to boys before, you could just tell. He leaned into me and whispered, "We all make love to you now". Make love? Gosh, how sweet but at thirteen, I'll just take the molesting sex, please, sirs! I found out that "making love" when spoken to a thirteen-year-old boy behind the column at a public mall while two other men are masturbating him...basically "translates" to molesting sex. So I was okay with it! Fabrizio unzipped his fly and pokes his huge thing into my butt, right between my buttocks but through my cotton underwear. The heat and sweat and mild cologne of the man sent me into erotic throes. I looked at his hairy wrists as he reached around me to help the other two get my pants open. Orangina man and Philly man are hot to feel themselves some teen studlet boner. They're smiling at me as they open my pants, unzip me and as they then both shoved their hands into the front of my jockey shorts. In a flash, orangina man crouches and is sucking my cock. He was finally getting his dividend for his investment of a thousand lire. Philly man "helps" Fabrizio get my pants shucked down just far enough so Fabrizio could sodomize me with his ten inch uncut Italian rod of "amore" - all within yards of a bustling crowd of men watching soccer while apparently their wives shopped. Yes, it was amazingly sexy and torrid and dangerous. Just the way mall sex oughta be. And sodomize me is exactly what the big-dicked man did. He wasted no time. He was an Italian stud, after all. No namby-pambying around the world's finest stallions when in heat. He ramrodded his erection into me where I thought I was going to pass out. It was like a fire poker had entered my tight butthole and skewered itself up into my abdomen. Unreal! I lost breath but stayed with these men...wanted to be a good junior high sextoy for them, after all (and in so doing, do America PROUD!). The Philly man, all turned on but also concerned, but more turned on, whispers, with a lewd yet grandfatherly grin, "He is big, no?". I think I managed a grunted, "Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaah" as Fabrizio shoved more into me. I thought, by the way it felt, it was already all in me but I was wrong. That initial penetrating fuck pushed just the first four inches into me. And the second shove of his hips sent another three inches up my kid-canal. And a third shove fucked the final three inches in. It's then he leaned into my ear and whispered, with a lewd chuckle, "Fabrizio is big...I told you that...but you can take all of Fabrizio...awwwwww...all inside of you...." Orangina man was sucking away and licking at my big scrotum and Philly man held my shaft and ran his other hand under my shirt. Philly man leans down and orangina man lets him have a very quick suck of my cock. But apparently my cock was orangina man's now and he allowed him only a momentary taste. Philly man stood erect again (well, up again) and kisses both my cheeks, He then waved for the fourth man to step over. As he did, he exchanged places with him at the colonnade as lookout. The fourth man was nice looking, had a crocodile valise under his arm as he stood right next to me, his erection pressing my thigh as he watched Fabrizio and orangina man have their way with my body. I reach and grope him. He smiles but nervously. I grope him some more, seems he has big meat in his slacks (WE'RE IN ITALY, KEVIN!"). He lets me pull the tab of his zipper down but then takes over and whips out his cock. Again, thick and uncut and oozing with precum. Precum just dripping out of his cock and onto my hand and the marble floor ("Watch your step...no that wasn't a banana peel!"). I can't bend easily, what with nearly a foot of Fabrizio up my butt and orangina man's lips permanently attached to my thirteen-year old boner. But I manage to lean forward enough - and he lifted himself up on tippy toes a bit - for my mouth to wrap itself around his very handsome cock. I taste all this stranger-in-Milan's leaking salty-sweet precum as it liberally flowed into my mouth and down my throat. I then felt hot milky liquid shoot up my butt and run out. Fabrizio, some mall version of the "Italian Lover", had blown his nut up my teenaged ass. He gripped me tightly and mumbled stuff in Italian as he made sure to unload his big scrotum fully before withdrawing. Just knowing I had this handsome stranger's reproductive fluids in me made me have to shoot of my own. I stood up straight and shot ropes and ropes of my thirteen-year-old's jizz into the happily grunting and chugging throat of orangina man. I was wildly ejaculating like some...some...teenager into the mouth of my beverage provider. Hey, he'd 'given drink to the thirsty' and thus was only deserving of the same. He slurped up my American teen goo like it was gold. As I spazzed out boymilk into him, the other hung but more reticent man swapped places with Fabrizio, (who hung around to watch while quickly zipping up), and he, too, stuck his cock up my cum-soggy butthole. I was being fucked behind a pillar like a street...or mallwalker. It was great - men of Milan getting off in my foreign teenaged spoogehole (is there a 6-month Visa for that???). He was a quiet guy but fucked like a demon. The man gripped my slender hips and bucked his hips and big uncut cock into me like he was doing a bad disco move (bad dance move but great fuck move). It took him only a couple of minutes to ejaculate into me, adding his thick "alfreddo" sauce to my kidcunt. He held onto me like he wanted to pump more seed into me - the most seed he could muster up. Fabrizio laughed and slapped the man's shoulder saying, "Basta! Basta!" But the man hadn't had enough and he ground his hips and cock into me some more, as if wanting to make sure that I knew that he had been in me and left his deposit. He pulled out and stuffed his long cock into his slacks and zipped up. Orangina man stood in front of me and kissed my lips and then either cheek and then my nose. "So good. Molte, molte bene!" He had me shuffle around so my small butt faced him and he gently spread my smooth buttcheeks. He then dove in nose and slurping mouth first as he ate out the loads the men had shot into me. Orangina man licked up and down my reddened rosebud and slurped down ejaculate he found running down my smooth inner thighs. He cleaned me good and then stood up again. I groped the bulge inside his slacks and he smiled. "You want?", he said with a grin. I squatted and orangina man unzipped as Fabrizio and the other man who had fucked me chuckled and watched. Fabrizio unzipped his dark blue trousers again and also pushed his very thick, uncut, flaccid cock to my lips. In a few moments it was big and hard as he watched my lips suckle on the older orangina man's juicy penis. Philly man comes over to see better what I'm doing. He switches lookout position again with the other man. I reach and grope Philly man's bulge. He stands there and chuckles something in Italian to the other two using my mouth. I'm behind some vast column blowing three Milanese mall chickenhawks - and wishing more men would come down this arm of the mall and turn the corner into this cool, dim niche. After maybe five minutes of sucking, Fabrizio grabs my hair and holds still as he pumps seed down my throat. I could literally feel his thick shaft pumping out the fucksauce. That got the two others into high gear and Philly man pulled my chin gently to his cockhead. He looked down at me and smiled. "Want to be my good boy?", he asked as he started to ejaculate into my mouth. He shot a copious amount of very tasty salty-sweet, watery cum - the cum of a sixty-year-old father. I drank and drank from his uncut cock, nursing on the heavy foreskin, even sucking semen from its skin. I then turned my head to finish off orangina man but instead over my right shoulder stood another man suddenly. I turned more and looked up to see it was the vendor who had sold orangina man the orangina which he then gave to me. His penis was enormous - super thick, I doubt my hand could have wrapped itself around its girth. I opened really wide and he took my head into his hands and started screwing my mouth real easy. He put more in and more and I imagine I pleasantly surprised him by being able to manage so much of his fifty-something mancock. I sucked him while Fabrizio unzipped again and whacked his cock against the back of my head. He wanted more! I turned my head but before I could suck Fabrizio again, orangina man intercepted the pass because he had something to "feed" me. He held my ears as he ejaculated into my mouth. He breathed heavily as he enjoyed his orgasm and then, as though he knew the others weren't "done, he "served" my head (like some muskmelon) to Fabrizio's cock once again. Fabrizio, perhaps seeing how I could suck the super thick vendor's cock, figured he had to out-do him (the Italian macho thing, I suppose). He didn't want to be out-done by the vendor's cock. Fabrizio, this third time pumping into one of my orifices, almost is like raping my throat. He's no longer being the huge-dicked "charmer", instead he'd pounding and plowing my adolescent throat like an angry jackrabbit. I choked because he grabbed my neck so violently. In fact, it made the vendor and orangina man grip his wrists at the same time to try to get him to let go a bit. But Fabrizio was strong and he held me as he violently came in my throat once again. His body tensed and almost froze up as his testicles unloaded their potable product. Finally he was done and let up, more to the two other men's relief than my own. Orangina man squatted down and whispered, "You alright? Right?" I smiled and licked my lips. "Good, good!", he chuckled as he stood up again. Vendor man had given me a second to catch my breath but wanted me to finish the job. He tapped my shoulder and, smiling, he waved his super huge cock at me. I opened my mouth and he pushed his penis back into it. Fabrizio was zipped up again and he wandered off and down a couple of steps. And at the same time, vendor man was ready to shoot a seventh load (in just twenty or so minutes) of Milanese mancum into me. He shot and his huge fat nuts slapped my smooth chin as he did so. He was a gusher - felt like he blasted a bucket of semen into my mouth. It was as if he were washing out my mouth in daddymilk! I drank and gulped and slurped and guzzled but was glad I'd worn the crisp white shirt because between these five men, I knew I had semen on it. He smiled as he watched me eat down his juices. Then he pulled back a step, and zipped up letting his vendor's apron fall over his crotch once again. He said something in Italian to orangina man and then patted my shoulder before walking away and down the same steps Fabrizio had taken. I stood up and wanted to see if anybody was around the column. Philly man was still there acting as lookout (but just looking like an older man standing at the mall). I stood beside him as orangina man joined us. I looked down the concourse and saw the vendor reopen his kiosk just as two women approached it. I didn't see any sign of Fabrizio or the other man. And no one else - male - was coming down this way. Orangina man tugged my shirtsleeve to have me go back around the column. I did and he lewdly massaged my cock through my trousers. Philly man was standing lookout but moved so he could both watch the concourse and us. He smoked as he watched and smiled. Orangina man groped and felt and played with my teenaged bulge for all it was worth. He unzipped me again and shoved his big hairy hand into the fly. "You move", he said. "Here...to Italia, no?" I shook my head and said, "I'm on vacation with my family." "Si, si, si", he said as he looked at where his hand was stroking my boner. "Ma...but you move to Milano...you move here...live with Peppito...I buy you things. You move here." I laughed and he looked at me as he continued to jack me, "I have nice apartment...you stay with me?" I shook my head regretfully. "I can't", I said. Philly man stepped up at that point and said, as he too started to milk my dick, "We want you to stay here...with us...here in Milano." He laughed knowing it would never happen. "You stay with Peppito for a while and then with me...we two take care of this for you," he said as he playfully gripped my very hard, big and bouncing thirteen-year-old erection. "We bring you here many times...many other men, no?" I smiled and thought to myself, "Does this offer come with a pony, too?" Philly man quickly bent at the waist and took a fast taste of my penis. He stood straight and kissed my cheeks once again as he ran his sixty-year-old hand along the length of my boner. As he did so, he also grabbed my hand and smiled as he "made" me return the favor. For an older man he was as erect as a horny kid. He then went back to the column and looking out immediately said, "Polizia!" Orangina man hastily put my boner back into my trousers. "Close up", he said as he looked at my open zipper. I did so quickly as orangina man, Peppito, returned to stand beside his "friend", Philly man. I was left behind the column as I went the other way, near a narrow opening to the large niched area. I slipped through and was back in a busier part of the mall. I looked back, down the shorter concourse and saw two very elaborately dressed policemen talking in a very friendly manner to Philly man and Peppito. The one policeman even had his leg up on a step as the four men talked. I figured it best to go the opposite way. I still had time to kill before I had to meet my mother and stepfather in front of La Scala. I figured I'd wait until I saw the two policemen leave before trying the public toilets again. Instead I went into various stores. I finally went into a jewelry shop. As a pretty woman greeted me from behind the counter, I saw the back of a very handsome figure. Working on a wristwatch was Fabrizio. I don't even know if he saw me (or if he did, he wasn't talking). + + + + Author's Note: This final (for this second installment anyway) true account occurred at the very, shall we say, "sexually busy" mall men's room at Yorktown Mall. It was such a busy and notorious t-room that, coincidentally, as I was writing this, a reader, responding to the first installment, wrote to tell me how as a kid, he also loved to have sex in this same exact restroom! Small world as they say. Well, not so small when you think of the continual action guys of all ages brought to this particular suburban mall sexroom, I mean, restroom. Yorktown Mall, Lombard, Illinois (ages 11, "The Barbershop Limbo") Okay, now for another true tale - this one from a t-room which was truly a world-contender for the All-time Busiest, Wildest, Perviest and Most Wonderful Award (Suburban Mall Division, Class A). The men's room on the second level of Yorktown Mall. It was the actual "mall" men's room and not one in one of the department stores. At the time, there was no "food court" at Yorktown (they "remodeled" or retrofitted one into the place only much later). So the public restrooms were placed down a more "out of the way" sort of hallway on the second level of the mall. It wasn't quite a hallway, it was more of a mini concourse really, lined with "guy"-related smaller shops - one of those "Tobacco & Beer Steins" shops on the corner of the hallway & the main mall concourse, and a photo finishing place and I think, a workman's shoe place (special order shoes for the big lugs working construction and things like that). At the very end of this mini concourse or hallway were the mall restrooms. Ah, but one vitally important shop was right before one reached the restrooms. The shop at the very end of the hallway was a six-chair barbershop. Why, I think it was even called "Yorktown Barber Shop". It was all inside, of course, (being in the mall) but was built out to look like a real or small town barbershop - its exterior festooned with electric barber pole and a large picture window overlooking the hallway. I'm not sure if they had a direct view of the men's room but if any guy passed their window, the knew they were, could only, be going to the men's room. I don't know if the barbers were all Italian-American or not, as they are in many places but my guess it that definitely the man at the first chair (next to window), who was the primary owner, was. He seemed to be, most likely, Italo-American. Late fifties, dark graying hair, pleasant "dad demeanor". There were about six barber chairs, all in a row in this rather large, classic 50s-style barber shop. Each chair was set up with its own stuff; an enormous mirror running the length of the wall behind them. I went to this shop for the first time when I was eleven-years-old, (and more often later - but that's another series!). I recall being given a haircut by a man in his late forties, very handsome in a swarthy south side way. He had the big barber's apron around my neck, it draped over my arms and hands. I kept my hands gripped to the arms of the chair as he cut and cut and cut. I didn't even know an eleven-year-old boy had that much hair. I remember his name was "Nick" and I remember he'd keep brushing his big, meaty bulge against my hand. When I didn't move my small hand, he got bolder and would crush his bulge into my hand, rubbing it in a bit to make sure I knew what a big man "Nick" was. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but you know how you just know when a group of men have a good thing - a really good thing going? But you don't even quite know what that really good thing is...really? They were all married men, none under the age of forty, maybe forty-five even. The first chair guy was the oldest, but, still, only in his late fifties (or he took a lot of Geritol!). They'd have a baseball game on the television set as it was always a rather full house. Men sat on the row of chairs across from them waiting their turn (unless you made a specific appointment, it operated something like the Post Office, you got whichever barber was done first). So yeah, they were a successful, very successful, barbershop but that still wasn't quite the really good thing... I sat in "Nick's" chair as he happily scooted all around me, cutting my hair the entire time but never failing to push his ample package onto the backside of my covered hands and arms. And, yeah, it was more than a barber's brush or "accidental", it was lewd and lascivious behavior with a minor...and pinking shears! Other than asking how short I wanted it, after my mom had left to go shopping, I don't even think "Nick" said anything else to me throughout the haircut and "minor molestation". I think, in fact, the only other thing he said to me was, "You're done, kid!" The rest of the time the barbers talked to one another, shouted at some game score periodically and would all watch as someone or another passed their big picture window. It was almost as though they had some "secret code talk" amongst themselves every so often. Or an inside-joke going on. As the first chair owner would say something like "Sausage man making another round!" and the barbers would smirk and chuckle but then go onto something else like "Viv and me are goin' to Vegas next weekend...want me ta place five hundred on a game?" So after that first haircut there, I hopped down but didn't have any money to pay. Nick said that was okay, he understood my mother was going to return so I could just take a seat. I sat in the vinyl waiting-chair closest to the register and was sort of nervous and sort of bored. My mother always got "lost" in merchandise when shopping. "There's a magazine for you there", the first chair barber said to me as he cut some man's hair. He pointed to a low coffeetable loaded with magazines. I looked through them and there were Newsweeks mixed in with tons of Sports Illustrateds and a few Highlights magazines and then I saw three Playboys and two Hustlers. I wasn't actually going to take a Hustler but two of the barbers watching immediately said, almost at the same time, "Wait, wait, wait...", in nervous but jolly tones. One even stopped his haircut and came around. He grabbed a Highlights and said, "Better you read this one..." He then went back to his position and said to the first chair barber, teasingly, "You gotta get some of those into a special basket or sumthing, Tony!" So I sat back down with Highlights magazine and realized I had to pee. Or more realistically, I wanted to go into the men's room to look at penises at the urinals. But I hadn't paid and my mom wasn't back yet. I sat there and must have looked tense because Nick said, "Hey, you, you need something?" He asked in the concerned way a dad would ask. "I have to go to the washroom", I said. Almost at once, three of the barbers pointed to where they were - out the door, to the left just a bit at the end of the hallway. Seeing I didn't know what to do, Nick said, "You go, we trust ya." I smiled and set the Highlights magazine down. I went out their always-open glass door and to my left. Just a few steps away was the door to the mall men's room. Inside were sinks, then urinals and in the back, three stalls. A young guy, in his twenties was at a urinal. He looked like he was just peeing and was pressed to his urinal so I skipped him and went to the stalls. Only the middle stall was occupied so I took the free one along the far wall. As I wiped the bowl and flushed, the man next to me, cruising but perhaps seeing kid's sneakers, left. He probably thought any little kid who was in those shoes couldn't possibly be there for anything but a poop. Some men are stupid. So I pulled down my pants and underpants and sat on the commode. There was a small, very small peephole into the next (now empty) but no gloryhole. And it wasn't even much of a peephole really. One couldn't actually see much unless the guy might stand up to masturbate. And since the partition was set up off the floor rather high, the peephole told you nothing a guy's feet couldn't. I sat there "alone" for only two minutes at the very most. Soon the outer door opened and someone's footsteps came directly over to the stalls, and took the middle one next to me. I could see under the stall that the man wore dress type slacks and sort of shiny but slighty worn black shoes. He quickly pulled down his pants and sat down. Immediately he started tapping his foot. I tapped my right white Ked's sneaker in response. He tapped again, very expressively, as if he was the "daddy shoe" saying hello to the "son shoe". I was in half-tap again when he suddenly drops to his knees, I see his hairy thighs, white boxers, slacks, belt and this big, uncut boner. The partition wasn't "obviously" or "obscenely" high off the tiled floor - I mean not so high as to get people not into sex complaining. But it was set high enough for great and rather easy "understall" blowjobs. I imagine the work crew that installed them knew what they were doing. I loved sucking men's penises by age eleven and so I got on the floor and started sucking and sucking this wonderful penis being "given" to me to play with. I was like a hungry little calf nursing on a big man udder beneath the metal divider. I sucked and sucked, tasting the man's precum as it coated his shaft. He smelled great and soon was squirting a big helping of milky seed into my mouth. I sucked as I swallowed it all. He then pulled back and sat again. He wiped his cock with some toilet paper, stood up, pulled up his trousers and left. I was only sitting on my commode for maybe a minute when another person came in and went straight for that same stall. I looked down and saw another pair of dress slacks and sort of shiny but slighty worn black shoes. I chalked it up to just being what "dads" wore. I didn't really think a whole lot more about it. The man did the same thing, quickly unbuckled and sat down. He tapped but didn't even wait for a reply. He knelt and his muscular thighs were impressive - all muscled and covered in black hair. His public hair was thick and framed the most enormous erections and scrotums I have, till this day, yet to see again. He was huge! You see men with such a cock in Internet pics occasionally - those guys with erections that even its owner can't wrap a fist around. It was uncut, loads of foreskin where the wide head popped out from. It was so big that it seemed nothing was in the men's room except for this cock and an eleven-year-old boy who was about to suck on it. I reached under and almost fainted. I had had a lot of sex with adult men before by age eleven but had never seen or felt a more enormous and erect mancock. And his scrotum was hanging low, huge and hairy. (And, no, he wasn't a "pumper" - it was all natural horse meat). I sucked him best I could. His being so huge made it a little difficult even for me who was able to deep-throat big adult cock from the age of seven or so. But this man didn't seem to mind. He seemed to be enjoying my sucking on him just the same, although I doubt I even got five inches of his super thick eleven (?) inches into my mouth. He fired off hot semen into my mouth in less than five minutes, he shot and squirted and sprayed it into my mouth. It was so yummy. I loved cum even at that age. I felt his cock after he shot his was in my mouth and although he was still hard as a rock, he pulled up and then stood up. He reached down and I could see his hairy wrist and wristwatch as he pulled up his slacks. He left and I sat there. I was about to get up and go back to the Barber Shop, fearing that they might think I ran off, when a third man entered the middle stall. A BUSY PLACE - always was - all day long. I sat there and this man pulled down his slacks and sat down. I peered under the metal partition and saw he had on sort of shiny but slighty worn black shoes. Again, I just figured, "these suburban dads have no flair for fashion". He wraps the fingers of his left hand under the bottom of the partition. I do the same and he drops. He holds his belt buckle making sure it doesn't clunk. He's on his knees, and again, this third man has rather muscular, hairy thighs. His cock is nowhere as huge as the last man but he's very hard and its bouncing in its excitement. It's hairy and veiny and the big head of it is all taut and shiny because its so erect. I again get on the floor and suck him under the stall. I can't see anything of him but his thighs, underwear but he holds my head as he fucks my throat. Very deliberate, clean strokes - in and out of my throat. I suck and he's fucking, a very cooperative effort to get him to blow his load. And he does. Maybe five minutes in to it, he grips my head a little and starts to profusely ejaculate into my mouth. Very salty, viscous cum out of this man's scrotum. Delicious stuff (better than a Twinkie in my lunchbox)! He taps the side of my face and then sits. He wipes his penis off, stands up, pulls up his trousers, takes his time zipping and buckling up (probably making sure his shirt was all neatly tucked back in). And exits. It's rather cool doing so many men right in a row because you become an "observer" of the human behavior. Funny how so many men go through the same identical routine or steps. But there's also a greatly perverse and erotic sense to seeing so many men use you like you're a cum dump in a public toilet-brothel. So he leaves and now I know I have to get back to the Barber Shop. I'm sort of scared though because I fear they'll know I was in the bathroom so long. I dreaded that moment when I had to re-enter the brightly-lit shop across the hallway, you know? But it had to be done. I pulled up my little pants and unlatched my door. As I passed the urinals again, the same young dude was standing at the same urinal. Only this time when I passed and he saw me at the sinks beside him, obviously having seen or heard what I was doing in the stalls, he jerked off at his urinal right in front of me. He was like two feet back from his urinal and smiling at me weird as he jerked off furiously. I looked at him while I washed my hands, thinking to myself, "One, you should have shown that to me on my way IN. And two, I'd love to catch your sperm, sir, but I have to get back to my mom." I was late, really late, but could not resist when he waved me over. He was insistent as he waved me to stand next to him while the room was empty. I came over to him (being the ever-obedient cumchild) and he grabbed me by the nape of my neck and "forced" his cockhead into my mouth where he immediately fired off volley after volley of rich, white, warm "young dude proteins"! I coughed it was so warm and tangy (and unexpected). He then pushed me away from him - more afraid to be caught than angry - and jammed his dick back into his jeans. I went back to the sinks and washed my hands again. The dude guy passed me, went out the door first, didn't even hold it for me. I opened the door and saw the picture window of the barbershop. I could see my mom wasn't there yet. I slowly approached and saw the first barber cutting someone's hair. The place was busy and I thought I could just sneak in again, take my seat again and go "unnoticed". Instead, Nick says, announcing, "Kid, your mom was here but we said you were in the washroom so she paid and said she'd meet you down the hall at Woolworths." As I sat there and looked at the men's - the barber's - shoes. All six of them had on basically the same sort of shiny but slighty worn black shoes. As I smiled and left, I wondered which of them had the enormous cock and scrotum. To this day, just the scent of a real barber's shop, that scent of barber's talc makes me pop a boner. By Mr. gloryholeJUNKIE, Denizen of the Public Toilets ghj_4u@yahoo.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GHJ_MALL_OF_MALES