Date: Fri, 12 Mar 1999 21:41:05 PST From: Pitstop9 Subject: Times Square Times Square by pitstop9 Several years ago I had a great business trip to NYC that proved to be good for a lot of great sex-capades. One of the most memorable was on my last night, when I was to catch a late train back to Boston. While blowing time waiting for the departure, I went to a video arcade on 8th Avenue - one that's since been torn down in the Disney-fication of Times Square. Downstairs was the always-cruisy all-male section. Before long, I caught the eye of a very hot young bearded guy, and we went into booths next to each other. I was about 28 at the time, he about the same. At about 5'10", he was a couple inches shorter than me, and was very well built. After some show and tell through the glory hole (real hot hard dick on him too) he joined me in my booth. Wow -- what a fucking chemistry. We were all over each other. His body was very hard, hairy and hot. Standing up, we kept most of our clothes on. With his levis tucked under his balls, I remember fingering his jockey-covered asshole through a tiny hole in the crotch of his jeans, `til he stopped me, afraid I'd rip the jeans. We were taking our time, really enjoying each other - until he asked me to come home with him. With a train to catch, that was not in the cards -- so we kept on necking, licking, smelling and jacking each other.. `til eventually he asked me again. This time I asked where he lived. In Brooklyn, a fucking hour away. Well forget that. But the more we played, the more I wavered. It sure would be fucking hot to get him naked and really take our time.. This was one of those rare ones you don't want to let go. The more we played, the more I wavered. Finally I agreed, and soon found myself in a very well-lit, virtually deserted subway car riding to Bensonhurst. He and I weren't talking much, just kind of looking at each other from time to time. You know how that can be. you wonder what the fuck you've done. This was going to mean a much later train to Boston, after an hour-long ride back into the city from Brooklyn. And I had to work in the morning. Shit, I thought. Why didn't I just get my rocks off in Times Square? He took me to his parent's apartment (they were away). It was done in a kind of 1960's Italian thing that could have been a set from a John Waters film - big red glass lamps with fringe. He said he was hungry, made himself a huge fucking plate of spaghetti, dumped cold sauce on it out of a jar and ate it while I watched. Finally we started playing again, and immediately any doubts about following him home vanished. We were all over each other again, first with our clothes on like in the arcade, then gradually getting them off - he had one of the best bodies I'd ever seen - big pecs, ripped abs, beautiful hard ass, and all covered with thick dark hair. We rolled around for the better part of two hours, never leaving the living room floor - those two big red lamps looming over us. I think I ended up with rug burns, but other than that it was really safe sex. When we finally shot off all over each other, we lay on the floor together, his head resting on my chest, looking up at me. "Your eyes are like two big blue marbles," he said. How `bout this guy: a fucking poet to boot. But after all that, I couldn't dawdle. I made it back to town and barely caught the 3:30 am train to Boston - getting me there just in time to go to work in the same clothes I'd been wearing the night before. No one was the wiser, and I had a big fucking grin all day.