Last night I posted a confession of the first time I went cruising in the woods. I waxed a little over-eloquent I think, but I enjoyed writing it. Since four people found it juicy I thought I’d post the second time I went.
Unlike the first time, the second time was deliberate. I’d returned to my house confused and giddy from what I’d done — all those cocks around me, the pleasure of their different sizes and textures — not even knowing why I’d done it. As the days passed and I tried to put it behind me though, nevertheless I found a craving welling up in me for more. The park where the cruising grounds were was not far from my house and the anonymity of the darkness under the trees mingled with the intimacy of having those turgid members shoving past my lips became a siren’s song. I found myself trying to think of excuses to go back by those woods.
Whenever I found occasion to drive by I would notice stray men either standing around outside the woods or strolling nonchalantly through the mouths of the trails into it. There were always more vehicles parked there than would account for the usual park-goers, and I became increasingly aware that the number of men who frequented those cruising grounds must be enormous. Even so, it was some time before I returned to indulge my own, growing craving.
It was one night when I had been out drinking with a friend at a nearby pub. I left a little early and was walking home when I found that my feet were carrying me once again out to the cruising grounds. This time, I went straight in to the main path and walked slowly along it.
There were others on the path, strolling with that slow pace that belies their tense expectation, their suspicion of carnal desire. They seemed mere shades, and one spoke to me. I don’t remember his exact words, but I could tell he was a plain, beef-and-potatoes sort. We chatted just enough to know our intent, and he indicated that he wanted to move away from the more populated cruising grounds.
We walked along. I was feeling awkward now as the temerity of what I was going to do flickered around my awareness. Suddenly I said, “you know what? I’ve changed my mind. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m going to give it a miss tonight.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“No,” I replied.
My house was in the direction in which we happened to be walking, past the deeper woods that rambled along the road, so I didn’t turn away or stop. He just kept walking along beside me, and when he entered a little side trail off to our right I was right behind him.
About twenty feet in around a sharp turn in the path he stopped and turned back toward me. I’m sure he was about to say something, but the minute I had stepped off the path I was utterly committed and furiously ripping at his belt.
I wanted his cock. I wanted it in my mouth and down my throat. The desire was a hot acid there in the back of my mouth, a swelling pressure in my chest. I couldn’t get his belt undone or his jeans open quickly enough, and as soon as the fly opened I was on my knees and engulfing his glans with my mouth.
He was already hard, but not too big. I imagine he must have been about six inches or so, and perfectly thick. Afterward I would curse myself for not speaking to him more and setting up something regular as the pleasure his cock was giving me was almost perfect. Large enough to fill my mouth and throat, but small enough that I could get it all in, burying my nose in his pubic hair and breathing in his heady musk.
As I sucked and plunged on his shaft I desperately wanted him to hold my head, try to control my rhythm. I wanted him to need this as much as I did, and I grabbed his hands as I took his dick fully into the back of my throat, guiding them to my head. As I did, I felt his wedding ring, and wondered what his story might be that brought him here to put his cock down my throat. He was surprisingly passive though, and he let his hands drop back to his sides as soon as I took my own away to get a better position by grasping his knees.
Once or maybe twice he tried to pull out and draw me up to my feet, but I was having none of it. I wanted his cum and I wanted it now. Almost in answer he muttered thickly “I’m going to cum soon.” I knew he was saying it so I wouldn’t have to swallow, but why else was I doing this?
Around his wet, sloppy skin I mumbled “it’s ok” and redoubled my efforts.
I’d often read that when people give blowjobs they can feel the pulsing of the member before the cum, but I didn’t feel that. Suddenly the back of my mouth was awash with his thick emission, but I never stopped to taste it. I swallowed it down as quickly as it shot into my throat.
Soon he was growing softer, and I finally let him have his member back, rising to my feet. He asked if I wanted anything in return. I didn’t know what he meant, and he said “well, some guys just want to give head.”
I said, “well, you could go down on me if you want.”
He bent over and starting to suck on me from the side, but it was so lackluster that I couldn’t let him continue. I felt a sudden derision that he would do it out of some sense of fairness and not that driving hunger that had brought me there, and I pushed him away with a “never mind.”
He asked “ are you sure?” but I was already zipped up and walking away on the path toward home.
As I walked, I realized that there was a tingling feeling in my belly and all around my mouth. It felt like an electrical current had been excited where his cock and semen had touched me. It was not unlike that hot sensation one gets after a shot of whiskey but this was living and … well, electrical. I felt energized and invigorated. All the confusion and ambivalence I’d felt after my first experience was gone, and I knew that, if given the opportunity, I would get on my knees again.
It was only a few more weeks before I made that opportunity a reality ... but that's a story for another time.