It was nearly two weeks since my overnight with Bart. The episode was very much on my mind when I awoke at six thirty that morning with a hard-on as stubborn as any I'd had back in my twenties.
I lay in bed for most of an hour patiently waiting for it to go down. Eventually giving up, I decided it was time for some coffee.
It was unrepentant, lewdly bobbing and waggling under my belly as I plodded to the kitchen to start a pot.
Standing idly by until enough had run through to pour off a partial cup, I reached up for one only to painfully blunt the damn thing against the top drawer of the lower cabinet. It hurt like a son of a bitch.
I stepped back to take a look, just to make sure there was no damage...to the drawer, I mean. My rock hard cock remained obliviously unfazed by the blow. I filled my mug half way just to have something to sip on while the coffee maker finished and lumbered off to my den.
I set my mug on the end table and settled back into my sofa to gather my wits. The rigid thing landed on my belly and the head came to rest up next to my navel.
It's persistence began to annoy me. Bart's job as a geological surveyor had him away on business for at least another week so I knew there was no relief to be found with him.
Wrapping the damn thing in my fist I began to pump it. Before long it exploded in eight blasts.
The first one managed to reach my face. Next I arced two up past my right shoulder, partially spattering the wall behind me.
The remaining five streaked only my chest and belly and the final throes of my orgasm merely oozed what was left down onto my fist. I grabbed a Kleenex and cleaned it off.
It started to deflate as I stood to grab some more tissues and begin cleaning the wall. I was relieved. Then, when I saw the Jackson Pollock masterpiece I'd created behind me, the damn thing started to throb and erect yet again.
Accepting my defeat I ran a couple of fingers through the streaks beginning to mat my belly hair and sucked them clean. I then left for the kitchen to dampen a dish towel and give the wall a proper scrub down.
At some point while doing that I realized its appetite for stimulation had been sated...it was dangling flaccid. When I finished I ran the damp cloth over my torso as well.
Barely thirty minutes later I found myself once again recalling the potent ass fuck Bart had given me on his post hole digger of a cock two weeks before...in detail.
I couldn't stop thinking about the weight of his big body on me. It made the scrub brush coarseness of his dense body hair feel so good co-mingling with my much finer and softer hirsuteness.
The next thing I knew I was looking down at my cock head resting back up on my belly.
"Dammit! This is ridiculous!" I thought.
I finished off the pot and decided to go out for breakfast. Maybe being out in public would shame it into submission.
After a quick shower I put on a pair of my baggiest slacks and the sport shirt with the longest tail I could find, which I left out. I never do that.
Whenever I see guys my age with their shirttail out in public I always think they're trying to reclaim some long-faded youth. It never occurred to me they might be trying to conceal unruly hard-ons. I had to laugh.
After breakfast it was nine thirty. I sat in my car...and adjusted my stiff cock to arc out over my left thigh. It appeared no mere hand, including my own, was going to give the damn thing what it was after. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and tried to devise a plan.
I thought of the adult bookstore on a desolate stretch of interstate about an hour south of town. Rarely had I done such things in the past, but there was no sense going an hour north into the city at that early hour. I took off to see if some relief might be found there.
When I arrived I saw no cars and only two semis parked outside. I thought with any luck maybe one of the two truckers who drove them might be gay, or at least bi. I parked, got out and nervously shuffled up to the front door.
Instinctively I looked over my shoulder before pulling it open. Something about those places always made me feel dirty.
I hadn't been separated from my job long enough yet to stop worrying that some college official might inadvertently drive by, spotting me vanish through the doorway of this den of iniquity. Seeing none I quickly stepped inside.
My eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting and I saw a man aged thirty-something, about Bart's size, browsing the anal section of the straight shelves. His hands were huge and his cowboy boots were noticeably bigger than my size twelve loafers.
My dick liked what I saw. However, my better judgement told me that a wrong step with a man his size could get me seriously injured at my age.
I looked for the other one. He was nowhere to be seen on the straight side so I ambled over to the gay shelves.
When I located the bear DVDs a black fellow in his early forties who looked like he'd stepped right off the cover of Bear magazine strolled up, seemingly out of nowhere, and stood beside me.
He was a little shorter than me, maybe five feet nine or ten inches, bearded, about 200 pounds and a little stocky. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded jeans and Coleman lace-up work boots. He checked me out, too.
After clearing his throat he walked off, heading to the counter and making sure I saw him buy some tokens. With a look over his shoulder at me, he vanished through the curtain that hung in the doorway to the hall containing the private viewing booths.
He was handsome and looked promising. I gave him time to get situated, then bought a few tokens myself and went to look for him.
My white sport shirt glowed bright purple under the black lights that dimly illuminated the hall. The doors were all open. I slowly walked forward, fishing to see if I got a nibble from him.
"Over here, big daddy," I heard a deep voice rumble out in a southern drawl about half way down.
I felt a tinge of guilt for what I was doing, but the words 'big daddy' had exactly the eager ring to them I was listening for. Experience has taught me that men who openly regard me that way usually make very accommodating and energetic bottoms, which was exactly what I needed in that particular moment.
I scanned the doorways for the one it had come from. A Coleman boot slipped out into view from one slightly behind and to my right. I backed up a couple of steps and peered in. It was him.
The booths were smaller than I remembered...and I was a good thirty pounds lighter than the last time I'd been there. He sat inside and smiled up at me, tucking his feet under him and drawing his knees together.
"I need a mouth...you game?" I nervously asked in a hushed tone.
"You read my mind," he softly affirmed.
I stepped in, straddling his legs, and pulled the door closed behind me. It was a damn tight fit and it made contact with my big haunches as it latched shut.
"Unbutton your shirt," he nearly whispered, "I got to get my hands on that belly!"
I followed his instruction and my shirt fell away to my sides. His hands were on it in a flash and he moaned like a bitch in heat as he groped me, darting his tongue into my deep navel.
"Round...firm," he sighed.
The massaging action of his fingers felt great. As he satisfied his curiosity with it my eyes closed and my cock strained in my slacks. He slid a hand down and traced it over the length of my hard-on.
"You got a nice dick, daddy," he said, sounding like an addict who had just scored.
He started fumbling with my belt buckle. The confines were so shallow given my nearly 270 pounds of bulk that the underside of my belly pressed on his forehead to practically pin the back of his head to the wall.
