Date: Thu, 12 Jun 2008 20:45:18 +0800 From: webmarten Subject: Father's Day (m/m, ws, spit, bear-twink) Last year I visited my father in Austria, around Father's Day in June. We had fantastic weather during the entire week. I was away from my life between office towers and constructions sites in the big city, and enjoyed the countryside, and the cozy feeling of home. My father was 70 years old that year. On the Father's Day Sunday, we took a drive through the hills north of the Danube, and in less than an hour reached the Czech Republic, where he knew an excellent spot for fishing and "a spot of lunch later on." I had gone into the construction business, but my career as an architect hadn't amounted to much. Like most glamorous professions, the majority of people who pursue it never get awarded prizes or invited to the mayor's office. I was 42 now, and had my own little firm specializing in access facilities for vehicles, meaning we built mostly ramps and underground parking lots. I had only 6 men on my staff, and I myself was often with them on the site working manually. The only glamorous thing about my job as a failed architect were the men I had hired: they were all strong, burly men like me, with hard bodies and plenty of hair on their usually sweat-dripping chests. Two of them lived together, and a third (apart from myself) regularly had sex with them. I was thinking of them -- daydreaming whilst driving towards the huge reservoir north of the Austrian border. We drove through Frymburk and straight on through what in my youth had been derelict little towns 'behind the iron curtain'. Now they were full of Dutch and German tourists, new developments of motels, camping sites, and even a luxury hotel, restaurants, golf courses, drive-in pharmacies and fast food outlets. Only 15 years of freedom had turned the place into an American suburban nightmare. After another few kilometers, past the village of Horni Plana, whose name awoke all kinds of naughty associations and reminiscences of my own childhood, my father announced that he was lost. "Everything's changed here, I don't even see the spot where we used to fish." We tried to find it for a while longer, driving into the forest and Nova Pec, where the lake ends, and turned round again. "We must have passed it, it must be before Horni Plana", he decided, I drove back, but where he remembered his "spot" to be was only a camping site, a small mall with grotesquely modern "Fountain of Europe", financed by the European Union, and new levee to protect the old village further down. A wooden hut on top of the levee had a few bicycles leaning against its broad side and a big sign on the roof: SCHNITZEL STOP. "Let's have lunch here," I said to my dad, "and check if they have a map. Maybe we find it later." It was a bit early for lunch, and only two tables of twelve were occupied. We sat on long wooden benches and ordered beer and the only meal available: schnitzel with salad and chips. It was in any case, my father's favorite food as far as I can remember back. While we waited, we talked of old times, and times to come. About the death of my mother, and how she had hated fishing and never came with him up here to the lake, and about his willingness to go into a nursing home, after he had seen his neighbor being driven away in an ambulance after a nasty fall in the middle of the night. I told him that as soon as he felt too frail, or no safe in his own apartment anymore, I would find him a place in a home close to where I lived. "I will take care of you, dad", I told him. After all, there was only the two of us left. I had been married, some time ago, and my father didn't know that I had sex with burly men with hairy chests. I had always had an eye for cute guys, but in the macho climate I had grown up in, my father being a football player, and then the construction business and whatnot, I never had any contact whatsoever with people who enjoyed alternative lifestyles, or showed that they were different. With the exception of one inconsequential encounter with one of my father's mates when I was seventeen, I never had sex with men until well into my marriage, when I took on the two gay workers at the firm, and caught them sucking each other off in the changing rooms. By then, my marriage was already failing: my wife blamed herself that she couldn't have children. She took more and more drugs for her depression, and in the end she decided she wanted to move back and live with her mother. I let her. The love was gone, and without children, I thought, and my newfound vice, there wasn't much of a point in holding on. My father asked me if I was planning to marry again, and I told him I was still looking. Then he started talking about he beloved football, what with the European Cup coming up, and the chances of this or that team to actually win. It was at that point that I noticed a family sat at the farthest table from us. A woman had her back to me, and facing me was a man, a young girl, and next to hear a tall, blond boy. Family outing on Father's Day I thought, when I saw the girl and the boy pushing a small parcel across the table, and the girl kissing her father on the cheek. The man then turned round to kiss the little girl and shake the boy's hand in an awkwardly and overly manly fashion. He patted the boy on the back, but didn't seem to look him in the eye at all. The girl sat down again, and I watched here cling to what I presumed was her father. He had his arm around her, and there ensued a conversion between them and the mother, which excluded the handsome youth, who was instead looking disinterestedly around, until he saw me. He could have been 15 or 25, it's hard to tell these days: some teenagers look so mature. But there was something in his look that made me think he must be older. There was no shyness or hesitation, instead he had a confident glance, the look of a handsome, self-aware and maybe successful young man who has his entire life ahead of him. A young man who can take his pick of the women (or men), who knows that many of them adore him and would give anything to have him; a young man who has never yet known failure, or disappointment, or grief. And now, his confident young gaze rested on me. I was confused for a few seconds: I thought he was looking at the waitress behind me. So for a few seconds too long, I looked straight at him, checking him out, while my father kept rambling on about his former teammates and what had become of them, and that one of his mates' grandson was now captain of the Austrian national team, etc. A few seconds too long I looked at the boy, before I realized he was not looking past me at the young waitress, but straight at me, and that he hadn't averted his gaze for almost half a minute. And that we has now smiling, a fantastically broad smile that spanned his entire lean face from ear to ear. His right hand gripped a glass of beer, but the left hand was under the table. I could see it resting in his lap. He was wearing skimpy red shorts, and had two or three fingers were reaching inside the seam. He was sitting too far away to make it out clearly, but when I looked up, he knew very well that I had been starting at his crotch, and he smiled at me again, before being interrupted by his mother and then turning his attention to her, and answering a few questions. The food arrived, and I put the young stud out of my mind. Or at least I tried to. He was obviously teasing me. The strange thing was that he had a very familiar look about him. I was sure I had seen him before, and my father's talking about football made me think that he might be a hockey player -- I sport I much preferred to football -- maybe on the Czech team, which I was bound to have seen play in the major league. I tried to remember the faces of the team's members one by one, but was distracted again by the stud looking in my direction. He had now loosened his shorts and as I looked closely, I saw his balls were hanging out, while his hand was squeezing his cock under the red fabric of the shorts. With one finger, he tipped his balls, and made them swing like a a pendulum. My gaze was fixed on his frivolous display, and again he caught me staring when I looked up. His face was very square, not at all the typical look around this area. It was clean cut, with no sign of a beard or shaving. His hair was dark blond and cropped short. His mouth was over proportionally big, with luscious lips. Must be a good cocksucker, I caught myself thinking. He was wearing a T-shirt with English writing on it, a bit too big to show his body, but I could see his strong, veined biceps, and when he now moved his hand eating, the muscles of his lower arm and hand were clearly visible. He was really well built, much better than your average hockey player, and still the familiarity puzzled me. Not only did I know his face, I was sure I had seen those arms and that body before. My father and I had finished our meals, and so had the family. We had just ordered more drinks, another beer for my father and juice for myself, when the stud got up and said something to the woman. He had rearranged his balls, but for anyone looking, one could see that he still had a hard on hiding behind those ostentatious red shorts. We walked towards me, and for a moment I thought he was coming to speak to me. Maybe I did know him from somewhere, and he was coming to talk to me. Maybe I had met him in a bar? Was he someone's friend I had met at a party? These thoughts were ridiculous: I didn't go to bars, nor to parties. I was far too old to be socially acquainted -- innocently acquainted I mean -- with a stud barely out of puberty. But whilst he did look at me all the way from his table, he then walked right past. When he did, his right hand briefly touched my shoulder. As a young man, I had never had such confidence, and to this day, I do not understand how people bring up the courage to display their sexual desires so uninhibited. That boy knew what he wanted. And obviously, what he wanted was middle-aged, rugged, hairy men. I excused myself and told my father I had to go check something at the car. I got up, and walked behind the wooden shack, past the kitchen door, towards the toilets on the back side where I had seen the stud turn a corner. When I reached it, a hand grabbed mine, and Red Pants pulled me towards him. His other hand grabbed my neck and pressed my face towards his. His tongue was in my mouth before I could protest. We were shielded from view by a wooden wall in front of the toilet entrance, and would have heard anyone approaching from the only accessible side. He kissed me longingly, and with the hand not around my neck, he now guided my right hand towards his crotch. A slender, long cock was pounding madly, hungrily under the fabric. Our mouths parted for a second and he said something in Czech. I didn't understand, and he felt that. He kissed me again, and when he next let go of me, said in English "I am so horny." He then moved my hand from his crotch up north under his T-shirt, said "I like strong men." My hand explored his stone-hard abs, one, two three four ridges of fatless, hard abs. I reached his nipples, and broke our embrace to tease the right nipple with my tongue, while pulling the other first gently, then harder, with my hand. He loved it and gave an audible sigh. While I was working on his nipples, left and right, with my lips, tongue, teeth and fingers, so hard that both turned red, he had freed his long cock from the shorts and was stroking it vigorously. Then he placed both hands on my head on pushed down in a sign that he wanted me to suck him. I fell eagerly on my knees and took in the magnificent sight: his tool was maybe 19, 20 cm long, not too thick, totally straight, without blemish, rock-hard, and oozing precum. I stuck out my tongue and before getting to work on the rod, I tasted the two drops of transparent liquid forming on the tip of the head. The taste was sweet and fragrant. But he didn't let me enjoy it too long, eagerly pushing his hard prick into my mouth. In the past few years, thanks to the fat cocks of my construction buddies, I had learned to suck cock very professionally. I had learned as an adult, from scratch, and it had taken quite a while before I had been able to deep-throat a man. I had prided myself on my skill, but this stud's cock was a bit too long even for me. I tried to swallow it with the first gulp, but it took me over a minute of trying before I could swallow it in its entire gorgeous length. It was fantastic, even though I gagged a few times. It was then that I noticed his pubic hair was trimmed: cut short and trimmed at the top edge in a straight line, forming a tiny black triangle just atop the base of his rod. At that exact instant, I realized who the boy was. I looked up at his face, and he pulled me up to kiss me again, long and wet. His tongue was excessively nimble, and seemed to delight in the feel of my stubble. His inserted his hand between the buttons of my shirt, and gave a sigh of pleasure when he found a mat of thick black hair on my chest. "I love hairy", he said, exactly when I said "You are ...". He placed a hand over my mouth. We kissed again, and then he said: "I am only Czech boy, on father's day". He then pushed open the toilet door behind him, and pulled me in. "Come here daddy", he said. He must have picked up all these corny phrases from the porn movies, I thought. What a way to learn English! I turned the key in the lock. We were now in a four by six meter room, with a urinal, a toilet bowl, and a wash basin. My Czech stud was on the floor, unpacking my cock. It is much shorter, but considerably fatter, a fact that had always bothered me, for I preferred long slim cocks, but it seemed to please the guys I got to fuck a great deal. You see, a long and thin cock only hurts when it pushes in too far, but doesn't give that wonderful feeling of "being filled up". I wasn't one for getting fucked anyway, but from the limited gay experience I have now accumulated, it seems that my sort of "stocky dick" is quite in demand with the bottom crowd. So it was with my Czech stud. He went for it like a ravenous beast. He had taken off his T-shirt to expose his his beautifully sculpted, hairless torso, and was now struggling to pull his shorts over his sneakers without removing them. All the while he sucked on my cock like a pro, taking it in deep, resting there until he needed to breath, then licking it all over with this tongue. I seemed to remember his style of cock-sucking. I had seen him do it before, but not to men like me: to younger, hairless boys his age. I unbuttoned my shirt and looked down at the young Adonis clinging with all his might to my dick. A sea of black hair on my chest, over my stomach, and then the expression of bliss on the boy's face. It was all too perfect. He stood up, and took one step back, leaning against the wall. I wanted to kneel and suck him again, but he said no. "Just look" he said. He lent back and stroked his dick, as I stroked mine. At first I thought he meant "look at me", and wanted me to watch him touching himself. But it soon became clear that he wanted to watch me. He stretched out his hand to touch my chest, and moved his hand around in the thick black forest. "I love hairy chest", he said again, "so thick hair". He didn't stop pumping his cock, then closed his eyes, gripped his tool very hard, pumping vigorously. I realized he was about to come, and knelt down quickly. A massive load of cum flew over my head and splattered down on the floor, I tried to catch a second one, but it flew over my shoulder. I pushed his hand away and just in time captured a third fat wad with my mouth. He jerked a few more times with his member pulsating on my lips. I swallowed the rest of his cum. We rested a few seconds: he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. There was a knock at the door, and the handle was pushed down; that startled us. We waited a few seconds until we heard the person moving into the other unisex toilet next to ours. We heard the sound of a zipper and then piss splashing into the urinal. I realized I had to piss too. I rose, and turned away from my Czech stud towards the toilet bowl, holding my dick and trying to get it to soften so that I could piss. Rather than moving away and letting me piss, the stud sat down on the toilet in front of me and took my cock in his mouth. "No," I said, "I need to piss", forgetting that the person in the other toilet could have heard me. The lean young stud just nodded, sat there, played with his balls. I still didn't understand what he wanted. I tried to push him aside when I felt my piss coming, but he grabbed my waist and just held his face in front of my cock, opening his mouth. The odorless beer-piss gushed out in a forceful stream, into the boy's mouth (he swallowed an entire mouthful), then over his face, his shoulders and neck, and then he grabbed my cock and directed the stream over his chest and abs, whilst rubbing them with his other hand. When he felt the pressure ease, he put my cock in his mouth again, collected another full mouthful, and swallowed it. He was completely wet all over. I was already wondering how he would explain that to his parents, when he stood up, and turned his back to me, then pushed his arse up against my cock. In a loud and firm voice he said: "Now fuck me, daddy bear!" I spat in my palm and reached around his waist to wet my other palm on his piss-wet torso, then rubbed my spit and piss on to my cock to lubricate it. I placed the tip of my cock at his sphincter and prepared to enter him slowly, fully aware that the thickness of my cock had hurt a number of guys before. But he surprised me by falling back on my dick and pushing up all the way, first gasping, then wiggling a bit and giving a long sigh of pleasure. "Aaaaaaaaaah! Fuck me now", he said. So I pounded away. Hard and brutally. He seemed to like it that way, for whenever I slowed down or tried gentler strokes, he immediately moved his own body, pressing back on my cock to signal he wanted more and harder. So I went for it. But I was by that time too fucking horny to last long. The thought of his perfect cock in my mouth, and the image of him taking mouth after mouth of my piss, it was all too much! I banged him a minute or two, took a rest during which he turned around and let me suck his cock again for a while, with the taste of piss all over it, then we kissed again, mixing my piss in his mouth and the rest of his cum in my mouth. He turned round again, grabbed the toilet bowl and stuck out his firm bubble but. I knelt down and starting eating away at his shithole, stuck my tongue up as far as I could, then got up and replaced it with my cock. The boy gasped again, then groaned and moaned his way to another orgasm. When I was close, I pulled out, he turned round, and stroked his cock. I took his cock in my hand and continued at the same pace, while he had taken my exploding cock in his mouth. I shot an enormous wad of cum into his mouth! He couldn't swallow it all. Simultaneously, he shot another load into my hand. I raised it and licked his cum off my fingers, then wiped my cum off his chin. He grabbed my hand and cleaned it with his tongue, licking off every last drop. A few seconds he sat there, exhausted, drenched in piss and cum. Then he got up, held my hairy face between his hands, and kiss me longingly. His hands found their way around my waist and he pressed me towards him, then he rubbed his hard torso forcefully against my hairy chest. It almost hurt, so hard did he press against me, and he must have ripped out a few hairs. Finally, unable to breath, he let go. "Where you live?" he said. "Vienna," I answered. "Oh good, I come Vienna often. Give me your card, I come to visit." After buttoning my shirt, I pulled a card from my wallet. He had his shorts back on, and his T-shirt rolled up and stuck in the back. His torso still glistened with sweat, cum and piss. "What's your name," I asked, after he had read my card and put it in the small key pocket of his shorts. "How do I find YOU?". He smiled. "My real name is Filip," he said, then gave me the name of a website. At that moment, the images of him having sex with countless other young hunts came back to me. I had seen him in lots and lots of videos. I had just fucked and piss on one of the most Eastern European porn stars around. I wanted to ask him how he would go back to his parents all wet with piss and cum, but he had already opened the toilet door. He turned round to give me another kiss on the lips, then ran away from the hut down the green grass of the levee towards the reservoir lake, and with a big splash, jumped in. I checked myself in the mirror, buttoned up my shirt and walked back to my father, who had two empty beer glasses in front of him and a third on in his hand. He was talking to an older man who had arrived and joined him at the long table. "You took your time", he said when I approached "I had another beer here while you were gone," he said. "That's alright Dad, I'll have another one too." "Where have you been then, you are all sweaty?" "Oh, nothing dad, a kid there had trouble with his motorcycle, and I helped him fix it. Trouble with his exhaust." I raised my glass: "Happy Father's Day, Dad." As a took a big, refreshing sip of beer, off to the left, in the corner of my eye, I saw a boy in the reservoir, swimming with powerful strokes.