Date: Fri, 07 Jan 2005 15:26:59 +0000
From: wbkdms@hotmail.com
Subject: German Final

This is an actual retelling of events which happened to me some 17 years
ago.  If you are under 18, or offended by the thought of two men having
sexual relations, you shouldn't be reading this, and go away now.
Otherwise, have fun.

			       German Final

It was finals week my first semester of college, and my German language
final was at 8:30am.  I wasn't happy about it, and it being my first final,
I was nervous as hell.  I decided to pump out a load before the final.
Luckily, the final was in a lecture hall immediately upstairs from one of
my favorite spots on campus, a large men's room with plenty of graffiti,
most of it gay.

I'd known I was gay (or bi as I thought) for some time, and the
pornographic nature of the graffiti, combined with my 19 yr old hormones,
could get me going in no time flat.

This men's room was at the bottom of a flight of stairs.  To get to it, you 
had to go through a large steel door at the top of a stairwell and then 
another two steel doors at the bottom.  All the doors scraped and squealed 
when they were opened, and the stairwell echoed like a son-of-a-bitch, so 
there was plenty of warning to stop your activities.

Anyway at about 8am I made my way to the lecture hall and down to the 
gent's.  I always took the furthest stall, because that had more than the 
ordinary amount of graffiti.  I was in luck and the place was empty.

I was reading, and just getting into a good rhythm, when I heard the door at 
the top of the stairs, followed by slow deliberate steps.  This always got 
me even hotter.  The risk of being caught was damn near overwhelming, and I 
had to let go of my cock to keep from shooting right then and there.

I should say at this point that up until this day, I'd never actually had 
any contact with another man.  But I digress...

The sound of the second and third doors scraping across the tile floors made 
my cock pulse without being touched.  I sat reading the walls, and listened 
as the footsteps approached.  I was a little surprised as the sounds got 
increasingly closer until they stopped outside my stall.  The shadowy figure 
then stepped back and entered the stall adjacent to mine.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I heard him slowly lower his zipper, 
and the rustling of his clothes as he pushed his pants down around his 
ankles.  Lastly the slight creak of the seat as he lowered his body onto the 
bowl.  I looked down and could just see the toe of his right sneaker under 
the stall wall next to me.

I could barely breathe.  My mind was completely obsessed by the unknown 
figure in the next stall.  As I sat, I saw his shadow on the floor as he 
leaned in toward the partition wall.  I then realized that there was a small 
hole (no bigger than a fountain pen) in the granite partition between us.  
He was watching me through that hole.  My mind reeled, and as if in a trance 
I slowly started stroking again.  I don't know how I didn't blow my load 
right then.

As I caressed my tool, which seemed at least twice it's normal size, I began 
to hear him breathing against the partition.  Not loud or fast, but the slow 
ragged breaths of a guy in heat.  I couldn't believe how turned on I was, or 
that I was lasting as long as I was.  He tapped his toes twice.

I leaned back somewhat, and turned slightly so that he could get a better 
look.  Then his right hand appeared briefly under the wall between us.  I 
was an automaton.  I slid off the bowl, and thrust my body under the 
partition knees first, sitting on my feet which were still bound together by 
the jeans around my ankles.

He gently spread my legs and pulled until my flat 19 year old abs touched 
the partition wall.  At this point, I could see nothing of my lower body 
beyond my ribs, but the heat of his hands and the cold of the tile floor 
were shutting out any thoughts of sight anyway.

He slowly caressed my thighs and abdomen, his warm hands tracing the 
definition of my muscles, making me shiver with delight.  Then, slowly, he 
lowered his mouth onto my twitching organ.  I let out a soft groan as his 
soft, steamy lips descended in one slow movement down the length of my 7" 
shaft all the way to my balls.

My upper body collapsed over my feet in a helpless back-bend of pleasure as 
he started to slowly pump my meat with his lips and throat.  Memory is a 
wonderful thing, and stretches the experience of my first blow-job into a 
day-long orgiastic experience of pleasure, but I'm sure I couldn't have 
lasted long.  Within a much shorter time, than I would have liked, his 
velvet mouth coaxed a thick load of man-cream from my fleshy rod.

I bucked and screamed, my cries echoing in the large tiled room, for several 
minutes, as he kept my root buried deep in his throat.  He wouldn't let up 
until he had drained every ounce of nectar from me.  When he finally 
released my now tender tool, he helped me slide back into my stall.

I stood on watery legs, and thanked him.  I told him I'd have loved to 
return the favor, but I was now, I was sure, running late for my final.  I 
left our love-den, and raced up the stairs and across the hallway to my 
final.  I was given the test materials, and found a seat.  No more than a 
minute later, another guy came into the final, and sat down two seats away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar sneaker tap its toes twice.  I 
may have failed my final, but I will never forget that morning.