Honcho

I was in a club and at that moment the music was a thumping techno beat backed by a loud and rolling keyboard playing electronic noise. Lights flashed and strobed all around as sweaty strangers bumped against each other as they undulated and danced. I know this probably sounds familiar, like you heard it before, or it happened to you before. Maybe it’s an average story and nothing special. I guess I think back on it because it happened to me and I love replaying the memory.

He was near the bar dressed in a navy jacket with a blue shirt, no tie and two buttons open, doing his best to look like he was cool and did not care about anything. It was working, at least for me. He was hot, bald with a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, and he looked vaguely Latino. He was one of those guys who looked skinny and scrawny at first glance, but you knew that under his clothes he was muscled up despite his frame and looked chiseled like Bruce Lee. He put off that vibe that said, Just for a hook up. I thought he was hot and I had no problem with that.

I managed to catch his eye. He apparently liked what he saw, and he knew I understood what he wanted. He stepped up to me and said nothing. We went to the edge of the floor and moved and ground against each other with the rest of the crowd. No at a word was said. The dancing was just a formality.

As I turned, undulating my body, I caught sight of my friend Taffy a little further on the floor. At that moment the nameless techno electronica gave way to t.A.T.u.’s ‘Malchik Gay’, which happens to be her favorite song. She sees me and that I am with someone and gives a high sign. Taffy has hooked up with a big butchy looking girl, the kind that she likes to be with. I wave back. Each knows the other has scored, but my friend will not be leaving the club with us, although Taffy’s could possibly come home. She is looking for a relationship. I’ve been burned too many times, so for now I just want to play.

The music changes again. ‘Fireflies’. Neither my hot stud nor myself are in the mood for slow dancing. He suggest we go to the bar, the first thing said. There he orders us shots of something called Prairie Fire. It’s hot, cinnamon and burning. The jury is still out on if it tasted good or not. I have not had it again since. Although he ordered us two more and I drank the second one down as well.

He whispers in my ear, not trying to be romantic, but sly. There is a place he knows in the club that’s out of the way enough and private. He wanted to know if I thought that would be okay.

“Yes.”

We go to the spot he knows. There is a scaffold hidden by a tarp. We climb up the steps to a platform. As he suggested no one can see us. Only someone who knew it was there would even know to find it.

We kissed, hot and passionately, each groping at the other. It is the only thing that makes it feel the slightest bit romantic. Hands between us I work the buttons of his shirt. I reach in and feel his sweaty and muscled chest. His hands go lower. He undoes my belt, and then opens my pants. I sigh and rub his chest, kissing him again as he reaches in and fishes out my cock.

I pant into his mouth, eyes closed as he slowly strokes my stiffening shaft. “That’s nice, baby,” he tells me, finally something coherent.

“Yeah,” I whisper back. I kissed his ear and then his neck. As I grind my side against him as he jacks me I feel that his own cock is already hard, and very big.

“Go on,” he says.

I slipped down, feeling my cock slide through his hand. Then I opened his zipper and reached in with my fingers to coax his own out. It is nice and thick, beautiful veins. He is at least seven inches, and getting his balls out was too much of a hassle. He was uncut, which I love as much as Taffy loves plump dykes. I tugged the foreskin back to reveal a round and fat head glistening with precum.

“Mmmmm, yeah, baby,” he sighs.

I gave him a few more strokes, playing the skin back and forth over the head. Then I licked into his slit a couple of times, and cleaned the head to get the taste of his sticky and somewhat bland precum. It had a real strong aftertaste though, and I knew that his full load would taste a lot better.

I went to town, feeling his hands on my shoulders, gently massaging. God he tasted good. His musk was an aroma that even the liberal splash of cologne he had put on could not hide.

“Yeah, baby,” he hissed. He bucked himself against my face, the fabric of his pants scratching at my cheeks.

My body was alive with sensation. There was a funky remix of The Doors song ‘Strange Days’ playing, and that seemed to fit what I was feeling just fine. My cock was rock hard, and I could feel a long tear of precum of my own slowly drip out of my own slit.

I put a hand at the base of his shaft to hold it steady to that I could suck harder. I could tell from the little bit of juice in my mouth and the way he was breathing it wouldn’t be much longer. It didn’t bother me that it was quick, because sometimes it’s more thrilling that way, especially with an anonymous stranger.

He let out a harsh breath and gave a slight, “Yes.” Then I felt him go ridged, his buttocks clenching. As he put a gentle hand on top of my head and began to groan I knew it was time to get ready to swallow.

I was totally with the flow. The first spurt of his cum went down so smoothly I almost missed the fact that he was getting off. It coated my tongue as I drew my head back and his second spurt was leaking out of the corner of my mouth. I moved my tongue and scooped it in as a third spurt hit the back of my throat. At last I could finally taste it. It was hot and spicy, just like the shots we had drank.

I worked my mouth up and down the shaft of his cock until his unseen balls were finally empty. When he was done I stood up and he urged me to turn around. I put my jeans covered ass against his dying cock. He put a hand between my shoulders and guided me to bend forward like I was going to take him. Then he reached beneath me and took my cock in hand. He worked it in long and rough strokes until I finally came, my sperm splattering against the tarp that hid the scaffold.

We straightened ourselves up and adjusted our clothes. Then back down the steps and out to the dance floor. Taffy was dancing cheek to cheek with her plump dyke as Aerosmith’s ‘What It Takes’ played on the house speakers. He stepped out into the crowd and soon disappeared. I spent the rest of the night slow dancing with a cute guy named Stan, who like I, was a third wheel, waiting for the friend he had come with and his friend’s “date” decide they were ready to leave.

THE END

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