TaciturnBadger
Well-Known Member
SSBHM, ~Gay, Erotica - A man spots someone in a crowded bar
Authors Note: Just a little story I've had floating around in my head for a while. I know this isn't a predominantly gay site, but perhaps a few will enjoy it.
P.S. - sorry about the paragraph formatting. That's a bit much to fix on my smartphone, since my computer's down.
He's absolutely gorgeous. The friends I'm with won't think so. They think I'm nuts. But I know what gets my blood pumping.
Across the bar, luckily mostly free from smoke, he sits, half-perched on a stool. He has to perch, since the poor stool can't hope to fully support all of his bulk. And by bulk, I don't mean some giant construction worker; this man could only have been described as fat. Massively so. My rather well-trained eyes put him right between four hundred and forty to forty-five pounds, and about five foot nine, possibly eight. Not too short, but without a doubt the type of person whose belt was longer than they were tall.
This ponderous paunch billowed out over lusciously soft thighs, the fabric of his pants straining against the soft flesh, hinting at the existence of a roll near the knees - oh, to be those trousers, if only for a moment! - each of which I would have wagered large sums of money on the fact that they passed forty inches in girth. Thighs bigger around than myself by almost a foot, well, now, that was just..
"Hey! It's your shot."
Damnable game of billiards! I quickly mapped out a shot, not paying attention at all at the results, my eyes glued to this enchanting vision of perfection.
I traveled back up his belly, starting at the bottom, the apron resting oh-so delectably against those cloud-like legs, a good foot and a half up to the belt, straining against the bulging softness of his stomach and forming rolls both over and under the leather I wished very much to nibble on. Resting above his paunch was his chest, two soft pillows flowing over the side and under his arms, and - was it my imagination? - but I swore I saw the hint of a nipple brushing against his shirt.
It took all my concentration to not sport a very aroused erection as I watched.
And, oh, the beard! Full but well-kept, flecks of grey streaking through the dark hair underneath, the grey finding less foothold on the face than on his head, where it had mostly taken over. It made him look powerful, dignified, perfect; the way a lustful fantasy should be. His smile kept the dim bar lit, his companions laughing in his presence. He was obviously the center of their attention as well as mine. I tried to peer through the darkness, to find the glint of a wedding ring, something to put his potential availability out of my mind. I realized that I was staring, possibly openly gawking, but I couldn't make myself care. All that existed in the bar now was him and me.
I played out the rest of the game, losing horribly and passing the cue over to the next player, still paying attention only to this man. He seemed uninterested in the females of his party, or was that just me making things up I wanted to hear? He turned to look my way, and - there it was, a moment in time frozen in my brain, clear and undeniable yet subtle enough to miss if you weren't looking for it - a wink.
I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a moment. Glancing around, I checked for anyone else that flirty and mischievous wink could have gone to, and finding none. But, then, I thought - he must have seen you staring all night, perhaps he's straight and merely having you on for his amusement? But then, none of his friends were looking my way..
This was getting to be too much. I had to splash some water on my face, clear my head, think. The little bathroom was empty, and in seconds the icy cold water was splashing my face, stinging and refreshing at the same time, shocking my brain back to reality.
I stood at the sink for some time, eyes closed, feeling the air move across the chilly trails of the water drops and forcing myself to think about nothing. It took me a second to realize the bathroom door had opened, and there was someone else with me.
I opened my eyes, looking through the mirror as though it provided a layer of anonymity, and there he stood, all of him, filling the mirror and flooding my thoughts again.
"Sorry," I managed not to stammer, "I'm done, I'll get out of your way."
I realized then that there was no room to go around either side without rubbing very well against him. I knew if that were to happen, there would be no hope of keeping my arousal hidden. As it was, i had to make a subtle shift to prevent some uncomfortable pinching.
He seemed to be watching for a signal of some sort, and I suppose that was it. Suddenly, he was up against me, his bulk shuffling me back, pinning me to the wall with his glorious heavy warm softness.
That was it - no chance of stopping a raging erection, the likes of which I had never had before, twitching and clamoring fiercely against my jeans and his breathtakingly mammoth belly. I watched, aroused beyond words and stunned, unsure of what to say or do. He placed his hands, those fingers wonderfully thick and round like sausages, on the wall on either side of my head, giving me a perfect view of his round arms, gently curving into what was just the vaguest suggestion of an elbow dimple, and - sadly - taking some of his weight off my front. My cock struggled against my jeans like a caged animal, ravenous for his heft.
He glanced down, my face turning crimson. There was no way he could not have felt my manhood. I'm not one to brag, but seven and a half inches long and just as big around, pressing into his stomach so, was not easily dismissed as 'keys' or a 'lighter.'
"Hmm," he said, the first word more of a hum of approval. "Very nice. And that certainly explains you staring at me all night."
For some reason, my words were failing me at the moment. I settled for a nod.
One of his hands moved, and suddenly he was leaning into me. My breath caught, my pants were on fire, and then I felt his hand, soft yet with a firm grip, close around my shaft, pushing it against his own fat, slowly stroking up and down..
It couldn't have taken but seconds, and then I was grunting, knees feeling weak, running out of breath with each pulse, the jets longer and harder than I had ever experienced before in my life. This wasn't a typical wank-off climax, three or four short pumps and done, no - each of these was volcanic, a single jet lasting several seconds, and there were many, his perfectly pillowed fingers continuing to stroke and rub against his belly even as my boxers and his hand were filling with my cum, grateful for him pinning me against the wall, otherwise I surely would have fallen with the way my knees were quaking, jiggling like the softness he was stroking me against, making this orgasm the most drawn-out and mind-blowing I'd ever have.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, he stopped. I did nothing but pant and wait for my pulse, my breathing, my legs to return to return to some semblance of normal. Carefully, he extricated his hand from my pants, licking a fingertip clean before moving to the sink for a quick rinse. The removal of his stabilizing heft left me stumbling for balance for a second, my eyes still watching him to ensure that really had just happened.
"You've made a bit of a mess, there," he said, pointing at my crotch, still hard, throbbing, and sensitive to every subtle hint at motion.
I tried to think of a way to clean myself up with the meager supplies in the bathroom, but couldn't arrive at any reasonable solution. Not with the amount of love juice that was rapidly seeping into the fabric. I shrugged, dropped my trousers, and stuffed the boxers deep into the trash can, covered by layers of paper towels, and gave myself a good wiping down before dressing again.
Thinking about it, I'd probably been in the bathroom for just over five minutes. But they would be etched into my memory forever.
I tried to think of some witty pickup line, something suave to say, but failed completely. Why, brain, why do you pick now to have a blank moment?
"I hope that didn't drain you dry," he said, picking up the opening. "Because I think you need to come back to my place so we can have some proper fun," he finished with a wink.
Ohh, that naughty wink and smile. There's no way I'm walking out of this bathroom without a hard-on.
"I couldn't agree more," was all I could croak out.
I'll leave the rest of the night's events to your imagination, but suffice it to say both of us were sore, exhausted, and walking stiffly the next day. And we still can't keep our hands off each other. So one of these days, you very well might stumble across us in some semi-secluded area, doing very naughty things.
Authors Note: Just a little story I've had floating around in my head for a while. I know this isn't a predominantly gay site, but perhaps a few will enjoy it.
P.S. - sorry about the paragraph formatting. That's a bit much to fix on my smartphone, since my computer's down.
The Bar
By TaciturnBadger
By TaciturnBadger
He's absolutely gorgeous. The friends I'm with won't think so. They think I'm nuts. But I know what gets my blood pumping.
Across the bar, luckily mostly free from smoke, he sits, half-perched on a stool. He has to perch, since the poor stool can't hope to fully support all of his bulk. And by bulk, I don't mean some giant construction worker; this man could only have been described as fat. Massively so. My rather well-trained eyes put him right between four hundred and forty to forty-five pounds, and about five foot nine, possibly eight. Not too short, but without a doubt the type of person whose belt was longer than they were tall.
This ponderous paunch billowed out over lusciously soft thighs, the fabric of his pants straining against the soft flesh, hinting at the existence of a roll near the knees - oh, to be those trousers, if only for a moment! - each of which I would have wagered large sums of money on the fact that they passed forty inches in girth. Thighs bigger around than myself by almost a foot, well, now, that was just..
"Hey! It's your shot."
Damnable game of billiards! I quickly mapped out a shot, not paying attention at all at the results, my eyes glued to this enchanting vision of perfection.
I traveled back up his belly, starting at the bottom, the apron resting oh-so delectably against those cloud-like legs, a good foot and a half up to the belt, straining against the bulging softness of his stomach and forming rolls both over and under the leather I wished very much to nibble on. Resting above his paunch was his chest, two soft pillows flowing over the side and under his arms, and - was it my imagination? - but I swore I saw the hint of a nipple brushing against his shirt.
It took all my concentration to not sport a very aroused erection as I watched.
And, oh, the beard! Full but well-kept, flecks of grey streaking through the dark hair underneath, the grey finding less foothold on the face than on his head, where it had mostly taken over. It made him look powerful, dignified, perfect; the way a lustful fantasy should be. His smile kept the dim bar lit, his companions laughing in his presence. He was obviously the center of their attention as well as mine. I tried to peer through the darkness, to find the glint of a wedding ring, something to put his potential availability out of my mind. I realized that I was staring, possibly openly gawking, but I couldn't make myself care. All that existed in the bar now was him and me.
I played out the rest of the game, losing horribly and passing the cue over to the next player, still paying attention only to this man. He seemed uninterested in the females of his party, or was that just me making things up I wanted to hear? He turned to look my way, and - there it was, a moment in time frozen in my brain, clear and undeniable yet subtle enough to miss if you weren't looking for it - a wink.
I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a moment. Glancing around, I checked for anyone else that flirty and mischievous wink could have gone to, and finding none. But, then, I thought - he must have seen you staring all night, perhaps he's straight and merely having you on for his amusement? But then, none of his friends were looking my way..
This was getting to be too much. I had to splash some water on my face, clear my head, think. The little bathroom was empty, and in seconds the icy cold water was splashing my face, stinging and refreshing at the same time, shocking my brain back to reality.
I stood at the sink for some time, eyes closed, feeling the air move across the chilly trails of the water drops and forcing myself to think about nothing. It took me a second to realize the bathroom door had opened, and there was someone else with me.
I opened my eyes, looking through the mirror as though it provided a layer of anonymity, and there he stood, all of him, filling the mirror and flooding my thoughts again.
"Sorry," I managed not to stammer, "I'm done, I'll get out of your way."
I realized then that there was no room to go around either side without rubbing very well against him. I knew if that were to happen, there would be no hope of keeping my arousal hidden. As it was, i had to make a subtle shift to prevent some uncomfortable pinching.
He seemed to be watching for a signal of some sort, and I suppose that was it. Suddenly, he was up against me, his bulk shuffling me back, pinning me to the wall with his glorious heavy warm softness.
That was it - no chance of stopping a raging erection, the likes of which I had never had before, twitching and clamoring fiercely against my jeans and his breathtakingly mammoth belly. I watched, aroused beyond words and stunned, unsure of what to say or do. He placed his hands, those fingers wonderfully thick and round like sausages, on the wall on either side of my head, giving me a perfect view of his round arms, gently curving into what was just the vaguest suggestion of an elbow dimple, and - sadly - taking some of his weight off my front. My cock struggled against my jeans like a caged animal, ravenous for his heft.
He glanced down, my face turning crimson. There was no way he could not have felt my manhood. I'm not one to brag, but seven and a half inches long and just as big around, pressing into his stomach so, was not easily dismissed as 'keys' or a 'lighter.'
"Hmm," he said, the first word more of a hum of approval. "Very nice. And that certainly explains you staring at me all night."
For some reason, my words were failing me at the moment. I settled for a nod.
One of his hands moved, and suddenly he was leaning into me. My breath caught, my pants were on fire, and then I felt his hand, soft yet with a firm grip, close around my shaft, pushing it against his own fat, slowly stroking up and down..
It couldn't have taken but seconds, and then I was grunting, knees feeling weak, running out of breath with each pulse, the jets longer and harder than I had ever experienced before in my life. This wasn't a typical wank-off climax, three or four short pumps and done, no - each of these was volcanic, a single jet lasting several seconds, and there were many, his perfectly pillowed fingers continuing to stroke and rub against his belly even as my boxers and his hand were filling with my cum, grateful for him pinning me against the wall, otherwise I surely would have fallen with the way my knees were quaking, jiggling like the softness he was stroking me against, making this orgasm the most drawn-out and mind-blowing I'd ever have.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, he stopped. I did nothing but pant and wait for my pulse, my breathing, my legs to return to return to some semblance of normal. Carefully, he extricated his hand from my pants, licking a fingertip clean before moving to the sink for a quick rinse. The removal of his stabilizing heft left me stumbling for balance for a second, my eyes still watching him to ensure that really had just happened.
"You've made a bit of a mess, there," he said, pointing at my crotch, still hard, throbbing, and sensitive to every subtle hint at motion.
I tried to think of a way to clean myself up with the meager supplies in the bathroom, but couldn't arrive at any reasonable solution. Not with the amount of love juice that was rapidly seeping into the fabric. I shrugged, dropped my trousers, and stuffed the boxers deep into the trash can, covered by layers of paper towels, and gave myself a good wiping down before dressing again.
Thinking about it, I'd probably been in the bathroom for just over five minutes. But they would be etched into my memory forever.
I tried to think of some witty pickup line, something suave to say, but failed completely. Why, brain, why do you pick now to have a blank moment?
"I hope that didn't drain you dry," he said, picking up the opening. "Because I think you need to come back to my place so we can have some proper fun," he finished with a wink.
Ohh, that naughty wink and smile. There's no way I'm walking out of this bathroom without a hard-on.
"I couldn't agree more," was all I could croak out.
I'll leave the rest of the night's events to your imagination, but suffice it to say both of us were sore, exhausted, and walking stiffly the next day. And we still can't keep our hands off each other. So one of these days, you very well might stumble across us in some semi-secluded area, doing very naughty things.
