Date: Sat, 15 Aug 2009 17:55:41 +0000 (GMT)
From: nickwib@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Heading West 3

I had been telling Chad about my night in the old rest area, now closed,
alas, and he had told me how he had met the same couple, the bear and the
boy, and thought the boy could be blind.

Wow. It could be, I was thinking. What could that relationship be? Hardly
Father/Son.  Uncle?  Other relation?  SM?  It didn't seem like that; surely
there would have been something more ritualistic in the way he guided the
boy, his hand on the boy's neck.  What else then...?

You are driving very fast, Chad said.

I looked at the speedometer. 108 mph.  I slowed and glanced in the rear
mirror.  No cops in sight.  Thank God, next time I will lose my license. We
drove in silence for a while.

What were you doing in LA?  Chad asked. We had met on a Pan Am flight from
LA to London.

Working, you know that.

Yes, but what else?

We had agreed to tell each other the truth.  Isn't it time I asked you
something?

I asked first.



Well, I had gone over to fix a problem.  It was easy.  All done by Friday,
and I had a flight booked home for Monday.

It was Wednesday we met.  How come?

I have to go back a bit.  On the flight over I sat next to a guy and we got
talking.  He was married and lived somewhere near the airport.  He was a
dull but we talked.  He played tennis.  So do I.  They had a court. He
asked if I would like a game.  He gave me their number.  He seemed eager
for me to call.  Saturday morning I had nothing on, I decided to call him.
He sounded delighted, they had a group of friends over.  Why didn't I come
join them? He had told his wife about me. They would be happy to welcome
me.

I have no racket, I usually borrow one.

No problem, we have plenty.

What the hell, nothing else to do, I agreed.

There it was, just as I imagined, big house, manicured garden, pool and
tennis court. Right under the flight paths.

We played.  Then lunch.  There were a dozen others there, the ladies had
each brought a dish and were watching like reptiles for my reactions.
After enthusing over this one and that one, I had had enough.  I am sorry,
I must get back, I said.  Oh, no!  Oh, no!  Business calls, I insisted.
Come back anytime. Great to meet you.  Thanks, great to meet you too.

It was only mid afternoon.  I hadn't changed from my tennis shorts and
shirt.  It was hot.  God, was I glad to be out of there.  I cruised along
the coast road and turned north.  On the right I noticed a bar, oldie
worldly, with a wooden door and a bay window made of small bottled glass
panes.  Need a cold beer.  I pulled over.

It was bright and hot outside.  I was damp with sweat.  I pushed the door
open and was hit by the cold air.  Great.  I could see a long bar
stretching ahead but the place seemed empty.  It took my eyes a couple of
moments to adjust.  Then I saw a man on a stool the other end, and a barman
with his elbows on the counter, they were obviously talking. They looked my
way.

I walked down towards them.  The guy on the stool was big.  He was colored,
I mean he wasn't black, but he wasn't white, sort of milk chocolate, and a
big bear of a guy. He was bald shaven. He was leant forward to the bar and
his ass enveloped the stool, a couple of great firm cheeks overlapped the
back.  His thighs were enormous.  I passed behind him.  He was wearing blue
jumper pants and I could see a deep, dark valley descending below his
T-shirt and into his waistband.  I let the back of my hand brush,
accidentally, against those mounds of firm flesh.

I went the other side of him and stood at the bar.

The barman looked at me.  Cold beer, please, I said.

All ours is cold.  You must be English.

How did you guess?

He poured my beer in a frosted glass.  Ah, that was good.

Some corn, the dark guy said to him, and gave me a look like asking if I
wanted some too.  I smiled.

The barman moved away down the bar to a popcorn machine, filled a bowl and
sent it skidding down the bar towards us.  He must have done that often as
it came straight centre down the bar and settled some two feet or so from
the guy who leant over to it.  As he reached towards to bowl, his thigh
swung out and rested on mine.  He pulled the bowl between us and settled
back but his thigh still rested on mine.  He looked at me and smiled.

Two can play this game, I thought and turned his way to reach the bowl
letting my crotch rest against his thigh.

Where you from? He asked.  London.

His right hand dropped beside his stool and I felt his fingers crawling up
my leg.

Where you staying?  Beverly Wiltshire.

His hand was moving more firmly, exploring my ass, squeezing, rubbing, his
fingers working into the seam between my cheeks.

Staying long?  A few days more.

His hand was at my waistband, trying to get in.  I undid my top button and
pulled the zipper down six inches or so, I didn't want my shorts falling to
my ankles.

Work or holiday?  Work, but it's over.

His hand was now inside my shorts with his fingers spreading me and working
into my crack.  I leant forward like I wanted more corn while he found his
way in.  He began to probe my hole.  He took his hand out and put his
fingers in his mouth and then back down my shorts.  Now I could feel him
entering me.  I pushed back against his hand as he inched his way into
me. Where the hell was this leading?  The barman was still down there doing
something with glasses.

There was a thick, bulging line snaking along his thigh, ending in the
outline of a perfect head with a dark patch spreading from the tip. I ran
the tips of my fingers along the line as he probed me deeper.  I tightened
my ass muscle and then relaxed and tightened again, sucking on his finger
with my hole.  I glanced along the bar, the barman was still busy with
glasses so I bent over and put my mouth just below the head and breathed
onto it.  I felt it jump against my lips and there was a warm scent of
oozing juice.

Feel like a visit, I have a place a couple of miles up the coast?

I am with you.

Where's your car?

Just outside.

I'm the red one over the road.  Make a U turn and follow me. My name's
Erik.

Mine's Nick.

He got up.  I zipped up and went for my pocket to pay for the beer.

That's OK, he said, on the house.

As he left, he waved at the barman.  The barman gave him a thumb up.  I
followed. As I passed his vacant stool, I put my palm on it and felt the
warmth flow up my arm. The barman winked at me.

Erik crossed the road.  I don't know much about cars but his was a neat
piece of kit.  Who was this guy?

He waited until I got behind him then off he went, me following.  We turned
right up the coast.  As I kept the bright red car in view, I was thinking
about his big, strong thighs, his great firm ass, his bulge, and his big
belly.  He was handsome, nice face, dark eyes, big warm mouth, soft
voice. But, more than that, he was one pure sex bear.

Soon we would arrive and he would put those big arms round me, his thick
lips on mine, I would feel his firm warm tongue snaking around inside my
mouth, and his hands working my ass.

He would undo my shorts, pull off my shirt, drop his pants, and lift his
T-shirt over his head and I would catch the scent of damp dark hair under
his arms. His big brown cock would spring up, he would lift me easily to
the end of a bed, spread my legs in the air, then bend towards me, his face
brushing my balls, his lips between my cheeks, I could almost feel his warm
breath and his long wet tongue probing its way...

Holy shit!  He had stopped at a lights and I damn near went straight into
the back of him.  Concentrate, Nick, for heaven's sake!



And then? Chad asked.

This is where we turn off; the hotel is a mile or so up here.

I hope you booked a double bed, Chad said.

He was in luck.


Nick nickwib@yahoo.co.uk