Sex Histories	Sex Histories Archive

I live in a smallish town in a southern state. There aren't a lot of places to go to, especially during the day. Used to be folks drove out to the nearest Ruth Ann's, but a gay Episcopalian priest started a public campaign against them and our Republican governor-- shocked, he was, despite a rumored gay son-- couldn't help but put a stop to that!

Anyway I heard about the park down by the river only last year from a friend. Not many folks go there, some fishermen and some fishers of men. My first time down there, it was dusk, not the best time it turns out. A runner-- long and lean and sinewy-- and I whacked each other off. It was a good sign and I have returned often.

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The place attracts all kinds, and that's part of its appeal. Married men, blacks and whites, soldiers, country boys, college men, the regulars and the curious. Myself, I'm forty, balding, cut and otherwise very average looking.

The park's just a half-mile from downtown, so it's easy to go there at lunch time. Folks do it in the bushes, which is nice if you like to watch, or go elsewhere. Some straight couples go there to screw, though they stay in their trucks or vans. You see them rocking.

One day last month I was down there during a Sunday. I was cruising this dark-haired college kid, very young and wholesome-looking, dressed in a wrinkled button-down shirt and black denim jeans he cut off and rolled up to the knee. He looked just a little bit like a nerd, but he had no pocket protector.

The cruise takes some time 'cause the kid is skittish, but finally we make a connection. As it turns out, the kid just jacks off while I feel him up. He was wearing a big metal cock ring on a smallish but pretty cut piece. I figure most guys wearing cock rings want their balls played with, so I start playing with his. He encourages me to be hard with those tight nuts. Soon I'm really mauling his nuts and yanking on his tight white titties. He whips out a bottle of poppers and shoves it up his nose. He's moaning so loud I think someone's going to hear it and come along. His hand is moving fast and hard over his dick. I'm thinking I'm pulling so hard on his sack that his dick skin is tight enough to burst if he's not careful. He shoots all over hell, his body rolling up like a shrimp, convulsively. His skin is white and thin-looking, and sure enough, he's the kind that gets that sexual flush: his skin turns a bright red, starting on his chest and snaking halfway down his stomach and then up his neck and over his ears. It's real cute and proof that he loves it. He leaves without saying a word or touching me.

I'm warmed up and I spend some more time looking around. I'm in that cruising groove, where time just disappears and all my worries and the tension at work are gone.

Across a clearing I see another young guy, a cute blond, wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans. He eyeballs me back. He crouches down on his haunches and pulls up a long piece of grass to suck on, all the time staring at me. He saunters across the clearing, walks right up to me and without so much as saying "Hi" he puts his hand on the front of my jeans. I get hard quick. He unzips me and pulls it out, kneels down, and starts to make love to it.

He's the kind of cocksucker who makes a big show, licking it with his tongue stuck out real far, looking up to see that I'm watching him, swallowing it all but one inch and then, after getting most of it good and warm, opening up and taking that last inch-and-a-half then sucking my balls and reaching with his tongue in the crux of my thighs with such concentrated effort that if his tongue had been an inch longer, he'd be lapping my asshole.

I look up for a moment and see, maybe 15 feet away, another guy watching us. It's damn good he's sympathetic, because I sure didn't see him come up or know he was there. He's a good-looking black man, dressed all in white. At first, I thought he was a male nurse or orderly then I realize it's not a uniform. While looking right at him, I moan and roll my head, as if to say, "Don't you wish you had some of this hot shit?"

Without stopping, the blond unzips himself and takes out his dick. It's one of those dicks where the shaft is skinny and the head looks enormous. He whacks off and in four strokes shoots on the grass between my feet. That ends things for him. I haven't come yet, but I'm certainly a notch or two higher than I was before.

After thanks are exchanged, the blond saunters off and the black guy comes over to me. I'm thinking, if he's all in white he's not getting down on his knees. Again without speaking, he unzips and hauls out his dick. It's big and heavy, very big around and veiny, with a thick foreskin over a big head. It's hard but not too hard: the perfect structure for sucking deep in the throat. Only, it bends strongly upwards. That bend is great for sixty-nine. Approached from above, it would slide right down the throat. But it's clear with him in his whites, he's not going to lie down in the grass-and-leaves for a sixty-nine.

I don't kneel; it's the wrong shape for kneeling. I bend at the waist and suck him, with special emphasis on that foreskin. Still, because of the curve, I can only get about half the thing in my mouth, so I use my hands on the rest of it. He doesn't say a thing, just lets out his breath in sharp rasping huffs. He comes in my mouth and I come on the grass.

Later that week, I left work a little early and stopped at the river before going home. There was a young guy with red kinky hair matted down around his skull, a cheap flannel shirt, and cheap jeans. Boy, was he a redhead with that translucent skin that redheads have. He was cautious. For a while, we stood near each other and I could see him shaking. Finally, I said hello and he asked if I was a cop. I said no.

I haven't mentioned it but right at the edge of this park, someone had moved and left there an old-fashioned diner. The diner was split in two pieces. What apparently was the kitchen part was well boarded up. But the other half, where the counter and booths were, had on opening on one side. It was maybe five feet off the ground but you could crawl into it.

So the redhead suggests we go up in it. We kissed a little and I opened his jeans and sucked on him a bit. It wasn't a remarkable dick but nice enough and the guy moaned and grabbed my shoulders and all, letting me know he liked it, so that was plenty for me. But since he was standing up, he could be seen through the windows of the diner. Some of the cushions from the booths had been removed and were laid together on the floor. We lay down, opened up our trousers more, and had a sweet sixty-nine. When he came, he didn't jerk around or anything. It was just as sweet and gentle as his cocksucking. I tried to be as gentle but when I come, the earth moves, all the time. I hope I didn't hurt him.

The next day, I called in sick and went down to the river early, about 9:30. To my surprise, there was at least one guy there. He was tall and slim, bald with a red fringe that he grew long and pulled back into a small ponytail. We talked later and it turned out he's a cook at a local popular fern-bar restaurant. Troy loved to suck. He was gentle and varied and persistent. He was so gentle that I just hung for 45 minutes on the verge of spilling but he wouldn't push it over the edge. It was torture, but wonderful torture. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed a hold of his head, using the base of his ponytail for a good grip, and started fucking his face. Still, he loosened his lips, and though I got higher once I was in control, I couldn't quite push it over the edge. I pulled out, putting my left thumb in his mouth. He sucked my thumb as nicely as he had my dick, while I whacked my dick with his spit. Then I switched, the thumb out, the dick in. This time, I held it at the base and ground the sensitive underside down on Troy's tongue. In a few moments, it was my turn to spasm and convulse, shooting wads in Troy's mouth. We talked a bit afterwards and he was a nice guy.

The following Saturday, I tore through work as fast as I could and went down to the river. I was standing at the far bend of one of the main paths. This short, dark guy who I think was Puerto Rican came up and stood in front of me, looking away from me down the path. A compact tight little guy with a great melon ass, which I could see well enough through his well-worn black sweat pants. Above the pants, he wore one of those jackets military guys get when they're in the Orient.

At first, I thought it was strange that he was standing in front of me but looking away. Then he took a half step back towards me and then another half step. Then he put his hand behind his back and felt me up through my jeans. Gazing at his beautiful butt, I was already well and truly hard before he touched it. He played with it, running his hands over the length of it. He opened my fly, pulled it out, and then pushed his sweat pants down over his butt and backed up on my dick. Just as I was getting it in and reaching around him to feel his tight abdomen and chest, some troll came bounding up the path.

After the troll disappeared around a far turn, we tried it again. This time I got in and reached around to feel the guy's dick. It was a heavy dick-- long, and thicker in the second half than it was in the first half; a nice piece of meat. Around the corner comes another troll!

He says, "Sure are lots of people here." I say, "Yeah, either there's no one here you're interested in or there are too many people to get anything on." After a bit I get a brainstorm. I suggest we go to my office. I know there's nobody there yet and my office door locks in case anybody shows up later on. He follows me in his car.

In my office, we take off our jackets and pants and I proceed to fuck him all over the office: bent over the desk, on the carpet on his back, and on his hands and knees. I discover that his ears are the magic button. Breath in them, lick them, and he just shivers and moans with uncontrollable desire. This guy didn't seem to feel anything when I licked his nipples. Well, his ears are his second magic button because he's really focused on his asshole, which is making love to my dick while his heavy dick is dripping pre-jizz like mad. We finish doggy-style. He shoots a heavy load on the carpet and I whip my dick out of his hot hole-- reluctantly-- and shoot a big wet load over his back and butt. He just stays there a bit, on his hands and knees, shaking and coming down a bit. I go to my desk, get some paper toweling, wipe his butt and back and then the floor. We get dressed and promise to see each other again.

Author Profile:  Boyd McDonald

Born in 1925 in South Dakota, Boyd McDonald entered Harvard as a high-school dropout after serving in the army in World War II. Jobs with Time, IBM, and several Wall Street firms preceded Boyd's career as a chronicler of gay sex. He was the founder and editor of Straight to Hell (alternatively the Manhattan Review of Cocksucking), and later published a number of anthologies of true sex histories. Boyd died in September 1993, two months after completing his final book, Scum.