Pothead with Smelly Socks and Jungle Fever Does It Doggy Style with Foot Fetishist in Centrally Located Public Park
BRUSSELS, BELGIUM — I strolled toward the Parc Royal around 2 A.M., descended into ‘the cock pit’ to find no living souls, just a fox who was grunting, moaning and sniffing to mark its territory. It was raining so I figured nobody bothered to come out. I sat down, and kept a safe distance from the fired up animal.
After half an hour or so, I got up to go check the other side of the park, and found the area thriving with cruisers. I had taken a position behind my favorite tree when some guy came standing in front of me, grabbing my crotch pretty aggressively. My first reaction was to hold his wrist very tightly and yell out a firm, ‘No!’ This must have had a pretty severe effect on the dude, as he started rambling on about the code of ethics of the cruising scene, and how everybody was there for the same reason. No need to be rude. Clearly, rejection wasn’t a concept he was too familiar with.
As I turned my back to the blinding streetlights, I now saw he was terribly cute. For starters, he had a smiling mouth with a flawless set of pearly-white teeth and a cute mustache that was trimmed to perfection right above it. His cruising outfit — baseball cap, black tracksuit and beige sneakers — might imply he was a scruffy sixty-five-year-old trying to come across as a fit, virile stud. But actually, he was just that.
Aroused by my no-nonsense approach, he led me to his favorite spot in the park where, according to him, we wouldn’t be bothered. I followed him to a place I had never been fucked before. He instructed me to take off all my clothes, spread them out on the ground and sit in dog position. I did, but kept my top and shoes on. I neurotically placed my bottle of Rush poppers into position. He saw this and told me, right before he’d cum, I should hand him the bottle.
I imagined him having a gigantic dick, so I started panicking slightly when I discovered I hadn’t brought any lube. Spit alone wouldn’t cut it this time. He handed me a little bag of gel, and ordered me to apply it. He didn’t like his hands to get all sticky, and he didn’t like the chemical smell. I wet my cunt and then started smearing the gel around his dick. He had a modestly-sized cock, so I could relax and wait on my hands and knees between the plants.
He took off his pants and performed some acrobatics from behind. In squatting position, he was flexing and bending and shoving his rock hard penis down my irrigated canal. This went on for quite some time, until a bunch of drunken teenagers passed by, and we had to hide. He was cussing about how they made him lose his hard-on. I wasn’t leaving without making him empty his balls in the most spectacular manner possible.
He positioned me on the carpet of clothing. This time he wanted me to lay on my back, legs up in the air, with him grabbing both my feet. In his authoritative voice, he ordered me to untie my shoelaces and take off my tennis shoes and socks. I had been wearing the same pair of socks for a whole nine days. He wanted to eat dirty feet. While keeping both of my big toes in his mouth, I reached for my bottle of poppers. I started sniffing them like a crazy lady. I felt like the Terri Wylder of park sex. Why on earth do I, right before some sexy dude is about to shoot his load all over me, have to visualize Terri Wylder getting humped on a forklift?
I sighed and moaned and grunted and worked him up even more by calling him a dirty bastard… And then we came. After we each had one orgasm, we wiped off the fluids, brushed off the dirt and put our clothes back on. He thanked me kindly, said he had really enjoyed it, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the night.