I’m out running alone, along the river road. It’s a beautiful warm sunny day out, and I’m feeling great. Wearing a T-shirt and a pair of tight black spandex shorts. I stop to stretch at an overlook, and feel the sweat bead up and run down my tight leg. If only there was someone else there who appreciated the sight.
“Having a good workout?” asks a masculine voice behind me.
“Uh, yeah.” I stand up and turn around. The man is leaning against the overlook railing. He’s older than me, probably early 50s. He has a sparkle in his eyes — I can tell he’s been checking me out since I stopped to work the kinks out. I tingle a bit at the thought.
“Looks like you run a lot. You have some nicely toned legs there.”
“Thank you,” I smile and walk over to the railing next to him. “I get the feeling you’d like a closer look.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“That’s okay, I like people who ask for what they want. Even better if they just ask with their eyes. It’s sexier that way. You, for example. You mention my legs, which means you like the way they look. But I get the feeling that it’s what’s at the tops of my legs that you’re really interested in.” I turn around slowly, placing my firm ass within his reach. “Go ahead, I don’t mind at all. It’s been a while since I’ve felt hands like yours feel me up.”
It takes him a moment to realize I’m serious, and I feel his hands gingerly cup my cheeks. I love the feeling, and lean into his touch. “You feel nice” he moans.
“They feel even better inside the shorts.”
Another moment before I feel his fingers slide inside my waistband and burro their way down between skin and spandex. I can tell he’s aroused from the deepening of his breath. He’s standing closer now, right behind me. His other hand glides over my shorts, along my waist, toward my front. I’m tingling all over now, as his hand supports my cock, aching against its spandex prison. I moan.
After a few moments of his hands lovingly massaging both ass and scrotum, he breathes in my ear: “My car’s over there — and I’d love to get a better look at you.”
Breathless, I nod and he’s leading me to his Blazer. In my fog, I think, that’s nice and private in the back if we do more…
But he lets me in the passenger seat and gets in the other side. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, and helps me pull down my shorts. I swoon: I’m sitting in a strange man’s truck, he’s just pulled off my shorts, and I am about as exposed as I’ve ever been to a man. It’s energizing, and narcotic. I want him to do whatever he wants to me. His hand is massaging my raging hard-on, and he’s watching my reactions. No complaints so far, so he decides to take what he wants. His head goes to my lap and I feel his lips gently take in my head. His tongue begins swirling, and my legs push against the floor. Soon my whole cock is engulfed and I feel it tickle the back of his throat. But this guy keeps going. I can’t believe it. It’s like he’s been walking a desert for years, and my body is the only thing that will quench him. So I surrender. I’m not going to fight him, just going to let him do what he wants — what he craves. I think back to all the blow jobs I’ve received from women. None of them ever compared. Where most were reluctant, going for the quid pro quo, this man was doing it because he loved it. He loved the feel of cock getting hard inside him, he loved the feeling of submitting to another man, and he loved the feeling of cock pulsing and exploding in his mouth.
I couldn’t believe it, I felt the moment rushing up. Not once did any woman get me to this point with her mouth. And I didn’t need to fantasize to get there, either. There was just me, this awesome guy, his succulent mouth trying to get me off, and his hands holding my lap down against the seat. That’s the sexiest part: knowing that I wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he desired. That thought puts me over the top… I give him fair warning, but his mouth stays put. When I start to cum, he shoves his mouth down even farther, the head of my cock slides into his throat, and there he stays until the pulses stop. Even when I’m spent, he brings his lips up my shaft a bit and suckles.
Before I know it, he’s sitting up in his seat and helping me get my shorts back up. “Yep,” he says, “it does feel better inside your shorts.”
I smile, look at him in a haze, and say, “Thank you.”
“Same time next week?”
I nod. I think my runs just got even better.