Something Dirty

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Something Dirty

I turned off Concord onto Virgil. Funny, I’d lived in the area for 45 years, all my life, and I never knew about the trailer park wedged back here against the river. Sunny day, still in the 50s, warm for November in Minnesota. My senses were heightened. I felt the sun through the windows, heard the leaves crunch under the tires, smelled a faint scent of someone burning brush. The GPS said I’d arrived. I nosed the Camry to the curb and shut down the car. It was the trailer on my right, light brown on the bottom, white on the top, a little run down, but no more so than those that surrounded it.

My heart was racing. I could still leave. Just start the car, turn around and go home, back to my upper-middle-class wife, upper-middle-class life, back to my unfulfilled fantasies. My right hand reached for the start button, then stopped. No, I was going to do this. I took my cell phone and my wallet and locked them in the glove compartment. I didn’t want anything with my identity on me. I got out, locked the car, buttoned the key in my back pants pocket, walked to the door of the trailer and knocked. The door opened.

He was as advertised online. I’m 5’11”, 170 pounds. Typical Minnesota, I guess, light brown hair, fair skinned. He was two or three inches taller, probably 25 pounds heavier, dark hair with some grey in it, Mediterranean skin, heavy stubble on his face, thick chest hair in the V of his t-shirt. My age or thereabouts. The door opened directly into what I guess passes for a living room in a trailer. A cheap rug covering a fake wood floor, a plaid couch on the far wall, and end table to one side. On the table, I saw condoms and a tube of KY Jelly.

“Get in,” he said, stepping to one side.

I can still leave, I thought. Just walk away.

I stepped into the trailer. He shut the door behind me. I heard him lock it. All the shades were drawn. There was one floor lamp in the corner, dimly lighting the room.

“Now strip,” he said.

Fear. Fear and panic. Just leave. Turn around, unlock the door and walk out. Fear. Fear and panic. And excitement. I started to turn toward the door, stopped. Took another step into the room. And started to unbutton my shirt.


Had I always known? I don’t know. Known what? That I was gay? I mean I’m not. Or not just gay. I like girls fine. Had a serious girl in high school, slept with her a lot, loved the sex. A couple more in college. Then I married Helen. And she’s a good-looking woman, keeps herself in shape, none of the hang-ups guys complain about. I mean she’ll still go down on me and everything and we still get it on a least a few times a month. It’s just that somewhere maybe ten years back sex stopped feeling…what? Exciting? No, that’s not quite it. It stopped feeling dirty. I wanted to feel dirty.

So I’d do the usual. ümraniye escort Online porn, the kinkier shit. Anal, bondage, beat off to that kind of thing, and for a while I guess that did it for me. Then one day I stumbled onto this FemDom video. A cuckhold thing. The woman was almost a dead ringer for Helen, I guess that’s what first caught my eye, so I’m watching, and she’s making her husband watch this big black guy bone her and that’s getting me really hard.

And then suddenly she’s got her husband on her knees and she’s making him suck this guy’s cock and I shoot the biggest load I’ve shot in 15 years. I mean this is fucking dirty. So more of that kind of thing. A lot more. And the more of it I watch the more I realize that I want to be the guy on his knees.

Big jump from porn to real life, though.

I found one of those gay cruising sites, has a map of the area, pictures of guys looking for action. Swapped messages with several guys, even set up a few meets, then chickened out. But I was spending more and more time on that site, thinking about this more and more. Yesterday, I see a new picture on the map. Big meaty semi-erect cock hanging out of a hairy bush, only a mile or two from my place. I see the little blue circle that means he’s online. And then a message pops up from him. Two words:

Available now?

I was, actually, but the abruptness of it shocked me.



I was mesmerized by the picture of the cock. The size of it. The hairiness. This wasn’t one of those prissy shaved things. This was dirty.

What time?


I paused. Hey, go ahead, I thought. You can always chicken out again.

OK. Where?

He sent the address. Then this:

You’re going to do whatever I want. If you aren’t good with that, then don’t show up.

I paused again.


And now here I was, in some stranger’s trailer, taking off my clothes.


I finished unbuttoning my Oxford (light blue, LL Bean), slipped it off and dropped I on the floor. I hesitated for a second.

“I said strip,” the man said.

I stepped out of my loafers. I wasn’t wearing socks. I unbuckled my belt. I opened the button on my khakis and pulled down the zipper. I let them go and they fell to the floor. I pulled my navy boxer briefs down and stepped out of them. I was nude.

The man stepped over to the end table, opened the small drawer and pulled out a pair of hand cuffs.

“Turn around and put your hands behind you,” he said.

Fear and panic and excitement. This was crazy. Every rational part of my brain was screaming LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE.

I turned. I overlapped by hands behind my back. He snapped the cuffs in place.

“Now turn back.”

I did.

“Get on your knees.”

I did.

He pulled the t-shirt pendik escort over his head.

Maybe he lifted, maybe it was just manual labor, but he had a thick chest and shoulders, a bit of a gut, all heavily matted with dark hair.

He opened his jeans and pulled them down. He wasn’t wearing any shorts. That cock from the picture flopped out. I’ve measured mine, of course. Every guy has. And it’s a perfectly normal six and a half. His was only half erect already longer by at least a couple inches, and thicker. A large, hairy ballsack hanging underneath.

He took half a step forward, one hand holding the base of his cock so it pointed out. The head poked against my lips.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

I parted my lips a little. He slapped my face.

“I said open it.”

I opened my mouth wide.

And he shoved his cock in it.

It was big. It was warm, it was slightly salty with sweat. And I felt it swelling on my tongue, quickly taking up all the room in my mouth. And my head was full of a single thought.

There. Is. Another. Man’s. Cock. In. My. Mouth.

I couldn’t decide if that was a good thought or a bad one. But it was a dirty one. This is what I wanted.

He let go of the base of his cock and took my head in both his hands. He started to rock his hips slowly, easing his cock in and out of my mouth as it got more and more erect until it was fully hard. Eight inches? Nine? I didn’t know. I just knew that only a little more than half of it was in my mouth when it hit the back of my throat.

He started to thrust his hips, the head of his cock ramming into the entrance to my throat harder each time. Then, at the end of one thrust, he didn’t pull back. He held my head and pushed. I wanted to reach out, push against him, but my hands were locked behind me. I tried to pull my head back but I had no leverage.

“Don’t fight me bitch,” he said. “You’ll lose.”

He pulled my head forward a little, tilted it up, kept pushing, and I felt his cock start to wedge its way into my throat, down my throat, until my nose was buried in his pubic thatch and his balls were flattened against my chin.

I was struggling to breath, gagging. Finally he eased the cock back, almost all the way out of my mouth. I retched, spit flooding out of my mouth and down my chest.

He rammed his cock back in, forcing it back into my throat. Then out. Then back in again. With each thrust, I’d gasp in some air and more spit would run down my chin. With each thrust I learned the angle and to relax a bit until soon he was fucking my face like a pussy, my nose rammed into his public bone and his scrotum flattened against spit-slickened chin.

How long? I don’t know. I was faint, breathless. And I also realized my own cock was now rock hard and aching to by touched.

Then bostancı escort he pulled out, grabbed the hair on the back of my head and pulled me toward the coach as I shuffled along on my knees to keep up. He shoved my face down into the cushion, leaving me with my ass in the air.

I heard him step to the side, heard a condom wrapper, heard the cap on the KY pop. I knew what was next.

He moved behind me. He kicked my knees further apart.

“Spread your cheeks for me.”

I grabbed them with my cuffed hands and pulled them apart.

I felt lubricant dribble into the crack of my ass, felt one finger, then two, roughly work it into my hole.

A pause. Movement, the feeling of him kneeling behind me and rubbing the head of his engorged cock up an down the crack of my ass until it wedged against the opening of my hole. Then pressure. Then pain. I flinched forward and he slapped the cheek of my ass hard.

“Hold still bitch. And beg for it.”

More pressure, more pain. Another slap. A harder one.


Something broke inside of me. I wanted it. Wanted the pain, wanted all of it.

“Fuck me! Make me your bitch! Ram that cock up my ass!”

As I begged, he pushed harder. I felt the head of his cock snap through my rectum and lodge inside. Then the pressure and a burning, splitting feeling and he pushed in, the rest of his shaft penetrating me. Finally, feeling his gut against my ass as he forced in the last millimeter.

He pulled most of the way out, then rammed home again. A little less pain. And again, and still less pain, and again, and no pain at all as he pounded and pounded and pounded, his gut slapping against my ass with each thrust, me gasping each time as it forced the air from my lungs. As he fucked me, my cock ground against the fabric of the sofa, inching closer and closer to orgasm.

Finally, after a particularly vicious thrust, he pulled all the way out and stoop up, grabbing me again by my hair and pulling me up.

“Back on your knees bitch!”

He pulled off the condom and stroked.

“Open your mouth and put out your tongue.”

I sank back on my haunches and opened as wide as I could, my tongue hanging all the way out in anticipation of this new communion.

The first jet of cum hit my lips and tongue. He rammed his cock back into my throat, wedging my face hard against him. I felt his cock pulse and spasm as jet after jet of cum pumped into my throat and down to my gut. My own cock erupted into release as he emptied his balls into me, my load spurting out onto the floor.

When he was done, he pulled his cock out of my mouth, trailing a string of spit and cum down my lips and chin. He yanked me to my feet and took off the cuffs.

He stepped into his jeans and then took a few steps into his kitchen while I dressed, pulling a can of Bud Light out, opening it and taking a long swallow.

I stepped toward the door, not sure what to say, so I said nothing.

As I opened the door he said “Noon Friday bitch. Don’t be late. I’m having friends over.”

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