I worked in this big theme park while going back to school in my early thirties. The park had a retro section, which included an old cinema that served as a theatre where they held live shows, an amusement arcade that played quaint "rocking and rolling" music, and a diner that served 1950s American nostalgia burgers, fries, and milkshakes. I was the night security guard. The park was still relatively busy after closing as people came in to clean and reset for the next day.
When the park closed for the evening, the garden crew did whatever they needed to do like trim hedges, cut the lawns, or tidy up the flower pots after which a group came in to pick-up trash, in addition to washing and scrubbing everything down. After they left others would come in for more specialised work, such as maintenance or such in restaurants, snack or gift shops, and rides. Some were advanced engineering projects; some were just grunt donkey work.
In my area at the big theatre, the crew as well as the actors would work after hours. This area was able to close itself off from the rest of the park by use of a big inner gate where there was a small security hut which I manned. The diner would become, in the evenings, a canteen to serve the large crew and actors of the theatre and all its related shops. It was run by a single guy who would serve until midnight, then close and clean the diner getting everything ready for the day crew to feed all the crowds. I'd let workers from the other sections of the park pass through the gate to grab a burger, coffee, or tea up until midnight, then I would lock the inner gate and just patrol the area. After midnight in the theatre section of the park, it was usually just myself and the guy in the diner, Raffaello.
Raffaello was in his mid-twenties. He was darkly tanned with a fit athletic build. He had long black hair and was simply beautiful to look at. I once asked him why someone who looked like a hot Italian model worked at a lousy diner at night. He told me that it paid well and allowed him to lie naked on the beach while everyone else was at work during the day.
But there was a problem with Raffaello.
I was, I thought, a straight guy. There was this girl from school I would meet up with and we'd fuck up a storm -- "hot sweaty, nasty sex", as she put it. She had run off with some rich dude and afterwards I just banged around from girl to girl. I nibbled and fucked lots of hot sweet pussy, thinking I was the straightest muthafucker around. On the occasions where I'd do a threesome with a bro, I really got off watching him fuck...but I just figured that straight guys got off watching folks fuck. I'll admit to a few sessions with other guys -but only jacking off together, jerking one out with bros in a circle jerk while watching some hot as fuck porno. Maybe a couple times, I got some really good DL head from gay dudes in bathrooms at parties.
But then, there was Raffaello. I just wanted to fuck the shit out of that slim little dude. I wanted to pound the fuck out of his perfect round ass. I wanted to fuck this dude really badly.
After everyone had left, I would go over to the diner for a coffee. Raffaello would let me serve myself while he cleaned. We would usually talk as he worked in the kitchen behind the pass. To my pleasure, I'd usually find him in shorts and shirtless, only an apron covering his smooth hard chest. His long hair tied up into a little knob on the back of his head. His arms with their tattoos were completely exposed and flexed with every move. I would sit on one of the stools and look over the pass into the kitchen to watch him stretching and flexing as he scrubbed everything down. Every once in a while, it became too much watching his darkly tanned half-naked body as I sat there. Sometimes he'd have his back turned to me, and his shorts would hang low on his hips, exposing the cleft and bit of the curve of his cheeks. I'd watch as glistening sweat ran down his back, past the apron strings, and down into the dark crevice. I always wondered what his sweat tasted like --I figured it was salty, but what other chemicals were in there enticing me to taste him. And then it would get to the point I'd grab a few napkins from the dispenser and tell him good-bye, then find a dark spot in the alleyway to jerk one off thinking about his hot tight body. I always came when I thought of my big cock pounding his ass like a tight pussy, feeling his hot tight chute around my pole and him begging me to fuck him harder.
I had a really good imagination.
Every few months, the theatre would overhaul the shows which would entail complete scenery change-outs and new decorations all around the area. It would be chaos until about two or three in the morning for a couple days with people coming in and out of the park and all the late deliveries. I would, of course, miss my talks with Raffaello. By the time everyone had left, he had finished up and had gone home.
After those busy nights, the next time I was in the diner I was running behind because of an electrical problem in the theatre. It was after one when I was finally able to walk over.
"Nick! I thought you had forgotten me!" Raffaello shouted as the bell rang when I walked in. He ran out of the kitchen, taking off his apron and throwing it onto a stool, before giving me a little hug and patting my chest. I could feel the heat of his body, and smell his cologne and sweaty body.
I wanted to push him over a barstool and take him right there.
"How about some coffee? I've just made a bit."
I sat down; and still shirtless, he served me a mug of coffee. His nipples were almost the shade of the coffee in the mug. I shifted in the stool. He replaced the pot, then came back to me. He leaned on the counter near me, smiling as I drank my brew.
"It is crazy around here with these changes. Even I have to clean and polish everything...how do you say, deeply and absolutely. Tonight is the stove. I have to get back to it. Good to see you. Stay and drink your coffee, talk to me while I work." He clinked on a radio, a faint thudding sound of dance music began to play.
He walked back to the kitchen, forgetting his apron. I got up and grabbed it, walking back behind the counter. Raffaello had climbed up a small ladder to clean the stove hood.
"You forgot your apron," I said through the pass to him.
"It's okay. I am so hot anyway." He stood on the ladder with shorts damp from sweat clinging to his tight round ass. "It is hot, no?" he asked, as his arm reached up exposing his dark hairy pits.
"Uh, yes, very," I stuttered as I watched his body move, flexing and twisting as he worked.
He was moving his hips in time with the tune on the radio. He was humming the tune and bobbing his head as he wiped at the hood. Every muscle of his torso was visible and moving with the rhythm of the tune. His round ass shook with every move as his hips swayed, teasing me.
My uniform trousers felt tighter. I wanted to ease down my zipper and work my cock as I watched his hot young body move in near nakedness. I could now see through the damp thin shorts he was wearing a jockstrap. My hand was in my pocket rubbing against my cock as it pressed hard against my zipper. I could make out the very straps that pulled tight across the round bubble cheeks of his ass. He looked like a work of erotic art.
"You must not be feeling well tonight. You aren't talking much to me," he said, turning to me.
But I couldn't take my eyes off of that perfect round ass being displayed in front of me. I tried to look away, but I think he realised what I was doing. He turned away from me and he began to stretch his body, rolling his ass in little twerking movements in time to the sound coming from the radio. He reached around and pretended to scratch near the waistband of his shorts, audibly popping the tight elastic band. His hand reached under and pushed them down a bit, just exposing more of the roundness of his ass. He looked around at me with a wide grin on his face.
"I need some help. You come help me, Nick?"
"Uhm, yeah, What can I do?"
"Steady me on the ladder, while I reach up there," he said, as he pointed up to a high spot on the stove hood.
