eSensual Story: Swinging on Neon Fiberglass by Valerie Brundage
Thursday, 1 October 2015
A hot male/male erotic story with exhibitionism in a public place.
SWINGING ON NEON FIBERGLASS
By Valerie Brundage
I began jogging exclusively in Harry's Stretch Municipal Park since Spring. Off the main thoroughfare, a good mile down the community bike path it was far enough from State so the other guys in the frat guys didn't yell at me and fuck with me, throwing red cups or jockstraps.
All they did was make fun of me.
I preferred to run by myself in the mornings. I wore black yoga pants to give my legs some breathing room to stretch. The pants' tightness kept everything in place when I ran, so I preferred not to wear a jockstrap either. The other guys would think I was a faggot if they saw me in yoga pants. But the nylon spandex felt good on my balls and cock, and it was seldom that I got excited and hard and actually tented in them. But gym shorts--too damn loose.
And the feeling of the fabric on my thighs turned me on. The dew was still burning off the grass and the bright neon playground equipment was still empty through here--damp with a gentle haze.
No pre-school kids or moms were out yet either. The benches by the sandpit and around the yellow and orange play equipment by lunchtime would be swarming with strollers, nannies, teenage babysitters and lonely teens.
As the morning faded from the empty green fields of Harry's Stretch, I ran sweating, puffing, breathing in gulps and tingling like after any good workout.
Like I'd just had a good fuck. If only I had a girlfriend at the moment. Bonnie was all excuses and knees, and I never really felt like I was fucking her so much as wrestling with a polecat. No caress and no satisfaction. We hadn't broken up so much as just stopped calling each other the last few months.
I'd have to jerk off later, if I got some time alone back at the frat.
Getting winded I circled around the playground looking for a place to stretch. There was a long patch ahead beyond the playground area, and another guy, alone, standing by a stroller at the sidewalk. I went to an orange fiberglass bench and flopped down near him.
I adjusted my yoga pants and looked at him and the stroller. He was messing with the bundle but I barely saw any details.
He whispered to himself, to the baby. I guessed he was 35 or 40, with thinning hair. Just another father doing the day duty. He had a handsome face and despite a slightly worn-out look had an athletic build still trying to assert itself.
But he'd been putting on some pounds, looked like. He had on a short-sleeved oxford shirt, like he'd go to work later, and jeans.
He glanced at me and smiled and sat down next to me on bench.
And we were quiet, as I took a drink from my water bottle and caught my breath.
I adjusted my pants. I wanted to reach in and adjust my cock, and I'd done so a couple times here in the park, out of sight of anyone else. But not now with him there.
"Heh. I used to dress like that," I overheard.
"Hmm?" I turned. The father smiled, looking down at my pants. My stomach, exposed over the waistband of my pants, was moist with sweat.
"The yoga pants. I used to work out in them."
"Yes," I said. "They stretch when you need them."
"I used to run," he continued. "I mean, really run. In meets." He raised his legs, miming a peddling motion. "Now I run after..."
The baby. I smiled. It was quiet. Early. His wife was no doubt at work. He came here to get out of her house.
"I like it early before the park fills up."
"Me too. Otherwise the girls all stare," I joked.
The father looked at me, longer. I had the impression he was checking me out. About to ask me a tough question. His legs were straight out, heels poked in the white sand. They were svelt, runner's legs, still.
"No kidding, who wants that," he finally said. "I'm Don."
We shook. "Jim. Hi back." His handshake was hard.
"I live over-- forget it." He laughed to herself. "You in a frat?"
"No. Not yet, at least. Crashing one this quarter."
"You really want to be in one?"
I'd been thinking about joining for the last year. "Not sure. It's so much peer pressure, right? People think you're a certain way, all rich or stuck up or..."
"Yeah. I loved it, but there were things that suck about it." He shrugged it off. "Anyway."
"I still have a quarter to decide."
Another pause. Then:
"I have a question. The girls, you know?"
"The girls? I don't see any girls."
He smiled. "Do they appreciate you working out like this?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think the girls judge guys by their looks. Not like guys judge girls."
"I think you're right. So, you're doing it for you."
"Never know when it's going to come in handy." I flexed my arm. "Fight them off."
"Yes." The baby was quiet. Don continued. "Okay, another question."
"The yoga pants. Do they make--"
"Yes?" I felt a slight shiver pass through my loins.
"Do they excite you sometimes?"
I tried not to smile this time. "Excite me how?"
I put my hands on my hips. A casual gesture. But also with the flavor of a masculine, territorial stance. The cool air was drying the thin layer of sweat on my stomach and my back, and I felt a shiver pass through me, which I don't think Don noticed.
I said, "I like how tight they are. I think putting pressure on my leg muscles, you know, my thighs, helps the workout."
"Exactly. That's why I like them. But the other guys would make fun of me."
Don unbuttoned his jeans fly and opened up his pants to show me his underwear. He was wearing leopard-patterned spandex, with a stretchy red and black stripe design. "I got them on now. Gotta say, it still feels good, even though I'm not running."
He opened his pants just enough to also show me the bulge in his spandex underwear. He was erect, or most of the way there. Fuck. Whatever. "See? The fabric feels good, too. That smooth and slick feeling."
"Yeah," I stammered. "I get a problem when I get hard, can't really hide my boner when I'm running." I became intensely aware then of the feeling of my tight yoga pants on my cock, my balls and my hips. I was getting hard, too.
"That's why it's good to sit down, so it can take care of itself."
Don rubbed his cock through his spandex undergarment. I couldn't help it. I adjusted my cock in my pants so it was pointing up, and had room to grow.
"The cold feels good." He blew out, a puff visible in the air and he tucked himself back in.
I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
"I like the cold, too." Should I show him how much? Right now? I wondered how he'd react when he saw I wasn't wearing any underwear at all.
I had the distinct feeling he was trying to seduce me.
Fuck it. "When you first asked about being excited, I thought you meant this." My hand went to my waistband and I pulled the elastic pants down to flash my cock at him.
I was hard, and growing. My cock arched up on its own accord, pointing into the morning air.
"Yeah, you like the yoga pants, all right, bro." Don looked at me. I didn't move. Exposed. Show me yours, I'll show you mine. "Mine doesn't compare to yours," he finally said.
He spread his fly open wider, and pulled down his undergarment, and showed me his cock.
He was hard all right. Not quite as long, and wider in girth. He had more hair, too, and it was a new, amazing, beautiful erection. "See? I think you have more to hide if you get a rod-on in public."
Something about dudes--we loved showing off our cocks. I pulled my pants back up, self-conscious about my growing erection. Show over. "Damn, Jim," he said, "you're getting me horny." He glanced around the park, and he wasn't covering himself up. "Too bad there are no chicks around to blow us, eh?"
He wiggled his pants down farther. Now his jeans and spandex were at his knees. "Feels good to get out."
He looked around. He was ready for something. My cock was aching in my pants.
"What are we doing?" I blurted out. Did I say it out loud or only think it? I looked at him with new eyes, a new feeling coursed through me. "I've never seen you here before."
"I live nearby, I never seen you either."
Don said, "And I get excited too, when I need to."
"You like to show me your cock?"
"I prefer yours."
"I'm not gay," I said.
"Oh, god. Neither am I, Jim. I'm a father, for crissake."
I kissed him on the lips. No more words. I'd gotten so hot I just wanted to feel closer for a minute. Feel the heat of skin. There was no one around. No wives, no frat boys--just a conversation--
And then I was interrupted.
Don's hand was on my stomach, on the skin above my waistband, moving lower.
"Sorry," Don grunted.
"You just surprised me," I whispered. And kissed him on the lips again. I pulled my waistband down again and he laced his fingers onto the meat between my legs. My breath caught, the electric jolt sending a shiver through my groin.
My hardness pleased him, and his hand pleased my hardness. He took hold.
His expert grip won me over. I got harder by the second. Slowly.... I felt a creamy emission of sexual anticipation dot the head of my cock--
He seemed safe, perfect. Like he touched something he always touched and he was allowed, it wouldn't break, and maybe he'd never touch it again. My legs automatically spread wider, the pants dropping down my thighs.
No one else in the playground or the lawn. Don's hand began to stroke me faster. Long strokes, all the way down to my balls, then up to cup my head.
"Fuck, man, that's nice."
The child in the stroller--I hadn't seen her or even heard her make a noise. As if it weren't even there. Not a worry now. Stay asleep.
I leaned back against the fiberglass and let Don jerk me off.
I loved the attention. My cock was as hard as a rock, and I began to throb towards orgasm, feeling the warmth gather in my balls. This'll be over soon. Thoughts of being fondled by another dude had crossed my mind, but I never did try it. At the college everyone was percolating with hormones, the girls in the dorm wanting to experiment with each other, the guys fucking everything that moved.
I was so cautious with girls, afraid to get turned down or slapped. Bonnie had been my only fumbling experience so far, and I wished I could find someone I could trust to explore my sexuality. Hell, I barely talked to my best-friend housemates, too worried if I told them too much about my failed attempts.
Still, I ran with no underwear, I loved the feel of the nylon yoga pants on my cock. Liked to pull them down in pubic. Trying to own my own sexuality even though I worried too much about finding someone to help me there.
Now everything felt different.
My cock began take over my body--casually jerking here in the park, here on the neon fiberglass, with no one watching and no promises.
I realized--this husband 15 years older than me--he had done this before. Mine wasn't the first cock he'd grabbed.
The first guy he'd seduced in this park.
My breathing got heavy. Don was also stroking his own cock, his hand lovingly fucking himself, his jeans now down at his feet.
"It's beautiful, Jim."
Damn, the guy had moves. His hand felt so good on my cock, he was giving me a handjob better than I could give myself.
I leaned back on the bright orange bench, spreading my ass wider. Cock up, even more open than before. Don regular and loving pumping was going to get results.
Fuck, I wonder if I can make him cum.
His face was near mine, breathing quicker. Short of breath, the last chance to make him cum, too, to grab life, release his spark, open my mind to a new impossible sexy idea. Taken over by the power of cock.
And I took that as a dare, to get to know him a little better.
I knelt down in front of him, in front of the bench. The monkey bars and the white-bark birches in small circles blocked the view from the street.
My knees pushed in the sand. Don's hand fell off me away. His cock was oven-hot. Dark, swollen. Hard. Tight and sweet. I put him in my mouth.
So sweet, he tasted like god it's a cliché, I thought, like honey. Like sweat and sugar. A hint of earth and of sticky dirty honey.
His dark skin, the pink head and the stalk, the details. Fuck, the truth of it.
Don sat, barely moving. I sucked on him like a popsicle. Tongue playing with each crevice, trying to eat and chew and lick up and down. It was wonderful. I heard a bird whistle above, or perhaps just a branch whipping in the breeze. It was a faint prehistoric noise. And then on my knees there, I felt myself cumming.
Oh, god, yes; I grabbed myself, the sensation of this man's hard cock in my mouth sent me over the edge. Cock into cock, I took hold of my member and rubbed up and down, coaxed that sperm out and I came, oh yes, spurting a rope of the thick seed all over the ground, onto my hand, dripping, everywhere.
I spasmed then lowered my fuck-mouth onto Don's hard-on.
I nearly blacked out, losing my balance. Then I felt Don coming. His hands were suddenly on the back of my head, holding me there.
Breathing. His thighs stiffened, and he blasted his cock-shot into my mouth. The hot glob filled my mouth, turning me on.
My cock stiffened instantly, like it was suddenly ready for more.
Slowly, I came back up for air, and sat back down, pulling my yoga pants back up.
"Fuck," I finally said.
"Yeah, no kidding." Don began to adjust his pants. His cock was wet and spent, flopped like a wet fish on his thigh. Strangely attractive.
"I didn't think--"
"Shh," Don said. I shh'd. Then he added, "It was great, whatever it was."
"Yeah." I still wasn't sure what had come over me. I didn't want to queer the feeling by saying too much.
"So hey," Don said. "You come here often?"
"You come here often?"
"Oh, at different times." Don pulled up his pants, apparently embarrassed now.
"No, no. No harm done."
"I was just on my regular walk," I said.
And Don leaned over and hit me lightly on the shoulder. A friendly masculine gesture, that might, in other circumstances, been a goodbye kiss. "All good."
I still tasted cum. I stood up. "So, I got another lap to do. I should get going." I adjusted my pants, got my cock back in place.
"Sure. Good for you for keeping it up."
He stood and went to his stroller, and rolled it away with a slight bounce that betrayed the weight of the bundle inside it. It danced on the concrete like an empty shopping basket on wheels.
I stood there, still a little wobbly, my knees not back to speed. I watched him disappear, across the park.
* * *
Two days later, before noon in St. Mount Park, a father with a stroller took a seat on one of the fiberglass benches by the swings and jungle bars.
The area around the play equipment and by the benches at the sidewalk was covered in new rubber bark, the kind that was soft on feet and on knees.
It was early, just after breakfast and before lunchtime when most nannies and stay-at-home parents took a stroll with their kids. For now the man, in his late-30s, was alone. But probably willing to pass the time with anyone who might pass by and be willing to sit for awhile.
I ran over and stopped in front of him. Stretched a bit and then sat down on the neon fiberglass bench near him.
It was a cold this morning.
"Hi. Nice morning. I haven't seen you around here."
"I come here sometimes, you know. Just to get out of the house," he said. "Wife's at work."
He was okay looking. Probably pretty handsome back when he was in college. "I like this run," I told him. "Not a lot of girls to look at. But no one bothers me. It's this outfit," I pointed to my sweat pants.
"Really?" he said. "How that?"
"These are yoga pants. You know, for chicks. The guys fuck with me, but the fabric feels really good when I'm working out."
He smiled and nodded; it looked like he understood. And soon, I'd be sure he would.
Monday, 22 January 2018 | Shadow
There are probably many of us that think about the one that got away. We think about what we should have done if we only knew what we know now, what could have been if we had only been brave enough to reach out and take that person in our arms, what we would do if we had another chance. It's a thought that can drive you mad, almost as mad as a sexual desire left unfulfilled for 10 years. So what happens when the one that got away happens to walk right up to you during your high school reunion and says "Hi"? Grace is about to show you.