Man, the summer couldn’t end soon enough for me- that’s right, END. Mark Twain was right when he said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” Whether natives or transplants (like me), all of us San Franciscans know that while the rest of the country calls an unofficial end to the warm summer season come Labor Day, we get ready for warm and sunny days until Halloween here in the City by the Bay.
In the days leading up to the Labor Day weekend, my brain was 1,000 miles away from me; which is pretty unusual since it’s ordinarily no farther than at the end of my dick. My other half, John, and I have been together for 7 years. Except for a handful of fuck-buds we drag into bed or on our sling from time to time, fucking is basically a two-man operation for us. Him and me- John and Guy… and always hot!
Lately, though, all I could think about was hooking up with some anonymous hungry cocksucker and have him blow me while I kicked back, smoked a few cigarettes and slapped him around a little bit. I didn’t care what he fucking looked like, just as long as what I saw was the top of his head bobbing up and down in my crotch. Hell, I didn’t want to see the motherfucker ever again after I finished myself at the back of his throat.
If I was gonna put an ad on Craigslist, it would read something like this: “Seeking LTR- 45 minutes max.”
Maybe it was working nights the past few months that was getting to me. After finishing work at 5 AM, I stop by my gym on the way home to work out. By the time I get home, it’s going on 7 or 8 in the morning and my other half is already gone or headed out the door. I walk our dog and horse around until I finally roll into bed for the rest of the morning and afternoon. When John gets home from work, I get up, fix us some food and then head back out the door to work myself.
Actually, my brain wasn’t really 1,000 miles away, I realized; it was only about 8 miles away, over in the Presidio and down on Baker Beach.
Normally cold, gray and windy during the summer months, Baker Beach turns sunny and warm as the thick marine layer- so often overhead- retreats far back into the Pacific when September arrives. Once you clamber down the hundred or so sand steps on the cliff to the beach below, you discover two very different scenes.
To your left- on the south end of the beach- families with k**s and young couples spread out their blankets, enjoy picnic lunches and bask in the sun’s golden rays. On the right, a smaller number of devoted nudists lie on towels, blankets and sl**ping bags, mostly homosexual men like me. Further north, the Golden Gate Bridge rises behind a formation of rocks. Behind those rocks, men gather to check each other out, get a little action, or just rub one out taking in the scene.
Everybody knows what’s going on back there, but the rangers leave it alone unless it’s after sunset when the beach is closed. This is San Francisco, after all! Light up in a bar and you’re fucking busted. Give or get a blow-job at a public beach- no problemo!
I skipped the gym and came straight home from work the Saturday morning before Labor Day. As I walked up the hill towards our house, I could see that the sky was brightening ahead of me and that, above, the stars and the moon were beginning to wane. Weather forecasts around here are about as reliable as the MUNI transit system, but the weekend outlook was promising- sunny and warm even out on the coastline. The clear sky above put a spring in my step and a tingle in my cajones. I knew that today would be the day I’d head over to Baker Beach and finally take care of this “itch” I’d had all week.
When I came in the door, the dog ran up to me and I followed him down the hall. I was surprised to find the door to our bedroom was shut when the dog and I got there. I cracked open the door to peek inside, and the dog scampered between my legs and jumped onto the bed where he normally sl**ps.
Pulling back the covers, my other half sat up and tried to shove the dog off the bed. Next to him, our buddy, Grant, sat up, looking groggy.
Grant and his husband, James, had been regular fuck buddies with John before John and I ever met. Grant is a strapping Cajun stud in his mid-50’s and literally tattooed from his neck to his ankles. At 6’-2” and at least 250 pounds, he’s a lumberjack-type of bear and intimidating… until you get your fist up his hairy hole. Even then, you’re never sure when his growls might turn into a bite.
Frankly, being around Grant’s other half was a turn-off for me since the son of a bitch never stopped whining and complaining. Our get-togethers grew less and less frequent over the years and we probably hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year.
As Grant pulled the covers all the way off of himself, his big fat cock was curved and resting about a third of the way down his inked thigh. As he sat up on the side of the bed, I walked over to him and stuck my hand out.
“How ya’ doing, motherfucker?” I asked him with a chuckle.
Grant said, “Listen, Guy, I can explain everything.”
I told Grant that he didn’t have to worry and asked him where James was. I rubbed my knuckles on his bald head and gave his dick a playful yank.
“Grant and James broke up,” my other half said. “He called last night in the mood for some company and I told him to come on over.”
“You pissed?” John asked me.
“No, I’m not pissed,” I answered. “Why would I be pissed?”
In fact, I was completely elated. With James out of the picture, maybe we might start getting together with this hot man again and doing dome fucking and fisting like back in the day.
I told them that I was gonna fix myself a “night cap”, and that by the time I was finished, I expected their asses to be out of the bedroom so I could get some sl**p.
“What’s up with that?” my other half asked me. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Heading out of the room, I answered, “I got something to do this afternoon. And no, I ain’t fucking hungry.”
I didn’t say it, but I thought to myself that I was looking for somebody ELSE who was “fucking hungry”!
By the time I finished my drink, it was going on 8 AM. John and Grant were down in the playroom watching some porn and horsing around. I let the dog hop on the bed and shut the bedroom door. I stripped, set the alarm for 2 that afternoon and got in bed with the dog.
When I got up Saturday afternoon, the sky outside the bedroom window was sunny and clear; the light breeze that came through felt warm. I didn’t even bother to brush my teeth. I pulled on a pair of socks and laced up my Wesco work boots- I hate getting sand on my damn feet!
I went into the hall closet and fished out a big beach towel, and with my semi-hard dick swinging, found John in the kitchen. I took a fresh pack of smokes, rapped it on the counter and opened it up. I pulled a lighter out of the drawer and lit one up.
“I need the keys to the 4-Runner,” I told John.
He pulled them out of his pocket and tossed them to me. I turned around and headed to the front door.
“Where are you going?” he hollered after me. “Don’t you think you ought to put some clothes on, you stupid fuck?”
“Baker Beach!” I replied.
Then I turned around and wrapped the beach towel around my waist. “That make you feel better, lover?” I asked him.
“You’re a dumb shit, Guy,” he snarled at me as I went out the door and got in the car.
Pretty quick, I found a spot in the beach parking lot, which surprised me because the weather was great and it was the beginning of Labor Day weekend. As soon as I got down on the beach and into the north end of it, I snapped off the towel that had been wrapped around my waist.
I skipped over a few rocks and then climbed back behind the formation at the far north end of the beach. Soon, the Golden Gate Bridge towered almost overhead. I passed couples and small groups of men, sucking, stroking and even one pair fucking against a rock. Most, but not all of them were pale, flabby older guys- but hell, every dog enjoys the hunt.
I was definitely getting the “once over” as a looked for a sunny spot to park my ass. My dick was good and stiff and my fat cockhead was nice and purple. Being a fan of the tanning booth at my gym, my darkened skin made the ink on my skin- especially the full-sleeve tattoo on my left arm- stand out. After I passed them by, I wondered what the thought of the hummingbird tattoo I’d just got inked on my hairy ass, with the bird’s long beak disappearing inside my crack. The hair on my ass hadn’t even grown back on that spot yet.
Pretty soon, I got to a long, fairly flat boulder that wasn’t in the shadows so it was pretty warm. A couple of hot guys were already on one end of it. I recognized them from my gym. One was on his back with his knees raised, while the other was on his stomach between his buddy’s legs, blowing him really loud.
I spread out my towel a couple feet away from them and put down my smokes and lighter. I hoisted myself up onto my towel and sat with my legs dangling over the side. I stared at the two of them for awhile. Both of them were really into it, as if I needed any excuse to get any harder.
“Don’t I know you two from somewhere?” I asked.
The guy on his stomach took his face out of his buddy’s crotch long enough to tell me, “Don’t think so, b*o,” and then put his head down and got back to work.
I pulled out a smoke and lit up, then asked, “You guys mind if I smoke?”
The guy on his back getting blowed looked over at me and said, “Suit yourself.”
I leaned over and rested on my elbow, looking him right in the face.
“That must feel soooo damn good, b*****r!” I said, doing my best caveman impersonation.
They just ignored me. I sat back up, and with my smoke dangling from the side of my mouth, started flexing my biceps and showing off like an idiot. “When your buddy’s finished with you, maybe he’ll get on me next, huh?” I asked the pair next to me.
They were in their own world.
Shortly, this dumpy old guy wearing nothing but a pair of flip flops showed up. Pointing to the spot next to me, he asked “May I?”, meaning hop up and sit next to me.
“Sure, Pops,” I told him. He was having a little trouble hoisting himself up. I got up and grabbed him under his skinny shoulders, pulling him onto the boulder.
Looking at the guys going at it next to me, he asked me in this girlish kind of voice, “Are they friends of yours?”
“No, I just know them from the gym,” I said real loud.
With that, they got up, gave me a mean look and scrambled away. I laughed my ass off as they disappeared.
The old guy tapped on my box of Marlboros. In his high squeaky voice, he asked, “Mind if I take one?”
“Hell no, I don’t mind,” I said, cracking the box open and offering him one. After I lit his up, I took one myself and fired up.
He crossed one knee over the other, sorta like a woman would do when she crosses her legs after catching you staring up her skirt. He folded one arm across his sagging pink belly, putting his hand under his other elbow with his other arm sticking up beside his face and his the cigarette between his fingers.
He reminded me of something my redneck Dad used to tell me before I “came out” to him: “If you hold your smoke above your shoulders, or your beer can above your belt, YOU’RE A SISSY!”
Dad would have definitely thought this guy was a sissy. It didn’t bother me, though. Some of the hungriest cocksuckers are sissies, after all.
I didn’t say shit the whole time the guy was sitting next to me smoking his cigarette. I just stuck my smoke in my mouth and beat my meat, stopping every once in a while to spit a big wad in my hand and rub it on my dick. Finally, he crushed out his smoke and turned to face me. His lower lip was trembling.
“You here for dick, old man?” I barked at him, clenching my spit-covered rod in my fist and starting to milk pre-cum out of my slit.
He started to stammer at me, but I just spun around, put my knees up and leaned back on my elbows. “Suck it!” I yelled at him.
I pulled my fist off my cock and he took it in his skinny white fingers. He jerked it a couple of times and then leaned over sideways and swallowed my joint.
I flicked away my smoke and put my hand on the back of his head, holding his face all the way down so my hairy balls were right under his chin, and then let him go as he was starting to gag.
I reached over for another smoke and after I lit up, I gave him a stiff smack up the side of his head.
“Do me, motherfucker,” I told him with my smoke in my mouth.
Even though he was sucking me like a pro, and giving my fuzzy balls a nice tongue bath when he needed a break from my boner, I kept slapping him around and telling him what to do. No sooner did I flick one spent smoke into the distance, then I’d light up another.
“Take it easy with those teeth, motherfucker,” I grumbled at one point, even though his mouth was gliding over my shaft nice and smooth and it felt really good.
He sat up and reached in his mouth, pulling out a partial set of dentures. He handed it to me.
“Yes, master,” he whimpered, and then went back to work on my choad.
“Get that tongue inside my piss slit,” I yelled at him, making both hands into a fist around the base of my cock and milking more pre-cum out of the crevice in my dick head. He made like he was frenching the tip of my cock and moaned.
He had been going at me pretty good- I was fucking loving the way his tongue explored every vein on my dick- when I noticed a gold band on his ring finger. I slapped both sides of his face and pulled him off my cock.
“You married, cocksucker?” I asked him. “Are you a fucking pussy licker?”
He looked at me kind of surprised, like maybe I’d found out some kind of secret. As he was staring at me, I slapped him across the face again.
I jumped off the rock and pulled him back onto the sand with me.
“Don’t hurt me,” he mumbled.
I took both of his hands and spit a big wad into each of his palms. I turned around and grabbed my smokes from the rock slab and lit up again. I squatted down a little bit, told him to work that spit into my hole and clean my slot like he eats out his old woman. I put my hands up against the rock and right away, his tongue got busy inside my crack.
I hadn’t showered since the day before, but that didn’t bother him. His skinny fingers were clenching my muscled ass and spreading my cheeks. I could feel it every time he got to the shaved part on my hairy butt- where my new hummingbird tattoo had just been inked- and his tongue followed that sap-sucker’s beak into my slot. He’d flick his tongue in there and then slurp my nasty hole like he was a puppy dog.
The only problem was that my dick kept banging into the rock I was leaning against. I was afraid my willy was going to get all scratched up. Man was I fucking hard! So I turned around with my shoulders against the rock and fed him my dick again.
No sooner did I get my shaft planted in his mouth and start face fucking him again than I saw this dark-skinned k** standing a few feet way, watching us. When I caught his gaze, I was amazed by his big brown eyes. His mouth kinda hung open and he had thick pouty lips. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was an Afro-Latino mix. His loose string-tee hung over his shoulders and his board shorts sagged over his waist.
I reached up for another smoke while the old man slobbered over my dick.
“What are you doing here, k**?” I snapped at him, taking my smoke from my mouth and pushing the old man’s head deeper onto my rod. “You looking for dick?”
When he just looked at me sheepishly, I ordered him to pull off his shirt. I could see heads poking out around the rocks as the k** lifted his tee over his firm stomach and above his rounded, muscular shoulders.
“Where you go to school?” I asked him and he looked kind of surprised.
“Community College,” he nervously spit out.
I told the fucker blowing me to grab the k**’s shorts, pull them down and get on his dick. When the waistband of the k**s shorts passed his pecker, a big dark boner popped out, surrounded by tight curly hair. My sow-bellied old friend worked the k**’s shorts over his sneakers and devoured and stiff young dick, laying his head between his legs and pulling his dick down.
“You had dick in your mouth before, son?” I asked the boy.
“No, sir,” he said.
I grabbed the shiny black hair on the back of his head and fed him my cock. When he gagged on my rod, I took him off me and told him to take a drag on my smoke. He coughed real hard, and then I put him back on my shaft.
“That taste good, son?” I asked him. His brown eyes looked up at me while I had a hank of his hair in my hand. His nose was running. I stuck the butt of my cigarette back in my mouth and kept face fucking him and massaging my balls.
Then I slapped that little fucker real hard.
He pulled back and asked me, “What for?” He sounded like he was going to cry.
“It’s your first dick,” I told him. “Not your last, but you’ll remember this one.”
The k**s started shaking and I looked down as he blew his load into the old fucker’s mouth. Man, it was dripping out that cunt licker’s mouth but he took every drop. When I blew, the k** tried to act like he was ready for it, but it just kept flowing over his lips. The old man got up and ran his lips up and down my shaft. He licked up every little bit that ran down the k**’s jaw and onto his neck.
I was spent. The k** fell on the ground and the old man in his flip flops hurried away. I hadn’t realized it, but a few men had gathered around, including the two buds I recognized from the gym. Their dicks were dripping and going soft.
As the sun sank, the shadows from the rock formations grew longer and it started to cool off. I told the k** to put his clothes back on and wrapped my towel back around my waist. I grabbed my smokes and lit up again, parking it in my jaw.
As I led him back to the beach, I asked him, “How’d you get here?”
He told me that he took the bus- that it only ran every hour from the Mission where he lived.
We headed up the sand stairs and I told him to get in the 4-Runner. I took off my towel, folded it, and sat it on the driver’s seat.
“Let me take you home, k**,” I told him as I sat my naked ass on the seat and fired up the engine. He wrapped his hand around my cock and stroked me all the way back downtown while I smoked and swore.
When we got to 18th and Valencia, I pulled over and told him to get out of the car. He looked at me with my hard dick in his hand.
“It’s only three more blocks to my house, sir,” he said.
I tossed my smoke out of the window.
“I don’t wanna know where you live, son,” I told him. “You let me in on that, I just might be around again.”
He got out of the 4-Runner and slammed the door shut. I lit another cigarette and leaned over to the open window on the passenger side.
“Something wrong, son?” I asked, smiling.
“I don’t fucking know your name!” he blurted out.
“Guy Maddix,” I told him, smiling. “And don’t come looking for me; I’m closer than you think!”
After I got home, my other half was waiting for me. It was about 5 in the evening and we could either eat or fuck.
“You need a shower, guy,” he told me. “You stink.”
I told him, “Take it or leave it, lover.”
We fucked, and then I was back on the night shift.
May 28, 20012
Not a lot to share with this one, but here’s a link to pics of my other half, John: