5 Jul 2013

Stories : Running Under the Hazy Southern Moon

Category: Stories

I walked back to my condo on Peachtree Street after a great dinner with friends.  We decided to turn the dinner into a wine tasting with all four of us ordering a different wine from the list.  After gulping down three reds and one white, I was happy as a cat in the hot summer sun.  So, I decided to walk home only ten blocks, instead of catching a ride with one of my dinner mates.  The sidewalk was steamy and a bit hazy underneath the moonlight while folks moved quickly to get inside where the air conditioning could cool them down.  On one lonely block I saw coming towards me a runner out for a late night jog.  He was wearing a tight one-piece track outfit which did not hide his valuable jewels.  His locks were long and banded back into a full ponytail that captured his dark wet face.

He approached seemingly oblivious to my slow, lazy walking gait.  I could not take my eyes off his powerful body and muscular legs that moved in high, quick steps which made his middle leg bounce heavily in his nylon running suit.  It must have been the wine talking that made me whistle when he passed by me or perhaps it was the manly, sexy sweat essence I smelled.  Whatever put me in that hazy trance also had me turning around in my tracks to catch a glimpse of his full booty which had me in some sort of hypnotic spell.  I just could not continue to move forward to my condo as he turned and smiled back at my glazed over stare.  To my surprise, he turned around at the end of that block and headed back in my direction.  I needed to turn around and keep moving but could not until he passed me again and suddenly stopped bending over to catch his breath.

Jeez, I was just a few feet behind him and his ass crack was wet with sweat as I clumsily bumped into him.  I tried to apologize for running up on his fat booty like that, but he stood up and let me know that he did not roll like that.  He told me if I wanted to apologize correctly that I should follow him around the corner to the alley and drop to my knees.  I smiled in my trance-like state and followed his perfect body around the corner into a dimly lit alleyway.

I could barely see his next move as this stallion of a man began to unharness his arms from the top of his jump suit, peeling it down below his belly button.  Clearly concealed in this urban cave-like space complete with empty boxes piled high, one trash bin and other scattered debris I chose not to focus on, my sense of smell was heightened making my dick grow tall and hard like a stalagmite craving to be deep inside this runners snare.  His scent was salty with a fresh hint of grassy-lemon which reminded me of L’Eau D’Issey Miyake cologne.  One of my all-time favorite scents in the last decade or so.

Before I dropped to my knees, he grabbed my head and forced it on his left nipple.  I sucked on it, nibbling to make him moan as I enjoyed the salty taste.  It helped to rid my buds of that too sweet dessert I had just consumed.  He pushed me over to the other well-formed pec as my tongue caressed the dip between both solid, manly tits.  After a few minutes, we heard something in the alley which sounded like a feral street cat.  I started to growl like a tomcat that was letting all the alley creatures know this was my catch, so back off.

He laughed in response, pushing me to my knees.  In one awkward move, I grabbed his sweaty track suit and pulled it all the way down his legs to tangle him up at the knees.  Just in case he had second thoughts on our outdoors venue for gritty summer sex.  His fat meaty dick popped me in the eye hard and firmer than when he was running, announcing abruptly that he was all in for the attack on my wet, smooth tonsils.  Wrapping my hand around the base, I realized his dick was fat and long. I let my tongue lap up the sweaty remnants of his late night run.  I slobbered on it from base to head until he forced his dickhead deep down my throat.  I choked a bit while he held my head tight against his soft curly pubic hairs.  I enjoyed breathing deep through my nose and getting high on the smell of a sweaty man’s crotch.  He pulled out just as my choking spit splattered all over my shirt.

I moved to stroking his cock fast with my right hand while he let out loud moans.  I think he needed me to apologize, fast and furious, since we did not want to get caught by the meddling Midtown cops.  I obliged and let him face fuck me hard.  The wine helped me relax and open my throat to his deep thrusts.  His head started growing fatter and I could taste that salty pre-cum oozing out the wide slit.  Suddenly, he removed his long dick and started beating it hard like he was sprinting to the finish line. As he crossed over the line, breathless instructions were spit out for me to open wide and lap up his tangy, pulsing stream of creamy cum.  I enjoyed this better than any old fanciful dessert. So much so, I cleaned his dick up by sucking it dry. Not leaving behind a drop.  His legs were tired as he pulled up his track suit; however, he was a gentleman and helped me up off my knees.  He turned around and smacked that hot ass as he took off to continue his moonlit run.  I ran to my condo with an oozing wet hard-on that impatiently forced me into the main lobby bathroom, jacking off a huge load with firepower distance.  It echoed off the urinal porcelain so loud I thought the concierge might hear it and creep in on me.  But that’s another story on the cooler tiled bathroom floor.

David W. Bradburn   aka dwb42461

15 comments for Stories : Running Under the Hazy Southern Moon

  • very hot story.i enjoy it we me n my partner r both work up in a sweat makes our session more fulfilling 4 both of us

  • For the guys this sets off, great. Enjoy!

    For me, it was dicey from the moment someone was walking home alone from bars after after dark. That’s NEVER smart. Man or woman.

    Then I couldn’t get past the:
    – random unsafe sex
    – with some guy
    – who rammed his cock down my throat
    – in an alley
    – all because I liked his cologne.

  • Dave the stories you tell. Is this one true?

  • wow, with a story that long, sounds like you realy need to meet someone in real life and get something more serious going on.

  • This reads like one of my mother’s old Harlequin Romance Novels.

    “His locks were long…” lol!

    “His scent was salty with a fresh hint of grassy-lemon which reminded me of L’Eau D’Issey Miyake cologne. One of my all-time favorite scents in the last decade or so.”

    Really? You’re on your knees, blowing a guy in an alley, where the police might show up at any moment and you have time to give a review of your favorite “designer” cologne?

    Only a true nelly queen would do this, which just ruins the idea that this is a sexy story.

    It is well done for what it is, but not much of a turn on. Well perhaps a woman would like it.

  • To Hunter0500 – Atlanta is an urban environment and folks walk lots to get home from dinner. We are fortunate to have great restaurants close by our condos within walking distance. I have lived in the ATL for almost 18 years and have never felt unsafe walking on Peachtree Street in Midtown. Now granted you may not want to walk alone in certain parts of our big city but most restaurants and bars are not located there. Get out and see the world and never let fear stop you from enjoying life. I have traveled lots in my life to cities all across the country and enjoyed those I could walk around in no matter what time of day to see what they have to offer. Whether it be San Fran, New York City, D.C., Seattle, L.A., New Orleans, or on the beaches in southern Florida, life is to be lived and enjoyed not in fear or without some risk. Challenge yourself and you’ll see you have nothing to fear but fear itself!!

    To John – I am not a “nelly queen” and for those who are they have every right to enjoy what all their 5 senses bring to there fabulous lives!! I can see you don’t like my writing style, but don’t bring into your review of it a stereotypical gay slur which most likely is not who people really are. In my life, I have seen “nelly queens” whip some ass if need be and I bet a drag queen would kick off her heals and beat you down for calling him out like that. Life’s too short to worry about living it for the approval of others!! David W. Bradburn

  • very hot story. Was this true?
    loved it

  • Cum on guys, it isn’t like he was dictating this during the encounter so the details about the cologne etc are fine. Even if those thoughts were running thru his head (in the fictional encounter), that can all happen in a split second…certainly in a shorter time period than it takes to write it. Plus it is a fantasy, we all do risky things in fantasies that we may/may not do in real life. Get over it guys.

  • Memories!! Only thing hotter is sex in the dumpster W/2 HOT AS FUCK “Sanitation Engineers.” Talk about mansmells, it’s fuckin’ ripe all over as the 2 dudes switch-hit on my insatiably greedy, angry power bottom (you all know the type). Just as I was demanding more in my monster hole, the dude fucking me spotted the rancid jar of Miracle Whip laying inches away. No need for any additional lube, before I knew what happened, the jar disappeared into my bottomless pit.

    Hope you liked me 3 minute story.

  • I was the voyeur behind the trash can and accidently bumped it, making the noise you heard. I saw you put your lady-like hands into his sweaty ass cleavage and force his massive, pulsating black meat into your salivating mouth and bury your face in his kinky pubes. You hovered awhile as he kept his immense hands on the back of your head. He pumped you several times, and then you took each cum reservoir and aggressively bathed it with your slippery tongue. He moaned. I could see you had him on the edge. His ass cleavage was as taut as his jewel cases. That black cock was a horse cock which grew even longer and fatter with your actions. No, you didn’t take all of his load because I saw you take your fingers and put it into that grimy, brick alley cum spill and lick it off your fingers. That got me so hot, I immediately popped out my rock-hard ten inches, manhandled it, and spilled my seed over the tiny pool of cum you left. I wondered what you did when you got home, and now I know.

  • David W. Bradburn:

    Whether you think you are or are not; of course a nelly queen isn’t going to admit to being one. As for stereotyping; Nobody sits around making stereotypes up, they are based on facts and experiences, which those being stereotypes do not like facing about themselves. The practice of accusing someone of stereotyping is too often used as a lame defence by those who fit a stereotype (boo-hoo!) it does not make the stereotype any less factual. I meant no gay slur. I am gay and the fact that you are also gay had nothing to do with it. I was only stating an opinion, based on what I read and how it was written, so your “gay slur” defence is also lame.

    Your bit about drag queens etc., is just silly. I have no fear of speaking my mind to drag queens, nelly queens, or even straight guys twice my size for that matter. I can handle myself just fine and will never edit or forfeit my honest opinion for anyone’s bleeding heart sake. If you can’t stand another’s opinion of what you offer publicly then you shouldn’t offer it publicly.

    Man up missy.

  • You pulled the story after my comment. I would love to have read comments on what I wrote. Alas, my porn writing career is doomed.

  • @David W. Bradburn.

    I have nothing to fear, but being stupid. Being risky, picking up random guys, being out alone late at night … that’s not “nothing to fear but fear itself”. It’s being stupid, risky, unsafe … and looking for a truly life changing moment…for the worse.

  • Wow!!!! I thoroughly enjoyed it. Some of you are being so over crtical of his writing that I feel you are missing the point, arousing sexual fiction. I have never known anybody that can’t enjoy erotica on some level. I challenge any of you to say you weren’t aroused. David keep up the great work. I can’t wait to get my hands on your book.

  • Hi John, as a writer I have to do all kinds of research to make my fiction as real as possible, of course it still is fictional, my writing that is. So, I turned to the Merriam dictionary to make sure I was using the term “stereotype” with my response to you correctly. And this is what I found out:

    1. a plate cast from a printing surface

    2. something conforming to a fixed or general pattern; especially a standardized mental picture that is held in common by members of a group and that represents an oversimplified opinion, prejudiced attitude, or uncritical judgment.

    The word is French in etymology and it does seem to fit what I was trying to say to you. It is not based on fact, but is based on oversimplified opinions, prejudices or some unfounded judgments not necessarily found in the real world. I like to try and meet people without a certain preconceived notion about them which usually is determined by their physical appearance or the way they carry themselves. If we as gay folks still make unfounded determinations about our gay and lesbian sisters and brothers, then we do much harm to ourselves and it also shows the lack of acceptance and love for our own gayness. That’s all I was trying to say about your term “nelly queen.” What one person’s nelly may be another person’s butch and vice versa. Do you understand what I’m saying. You cannot lump one subset of gay folks all together and see them as unique contributors to our world. This has been seen, most often, in the U.S. by racial stereotyping. I believe the young 17 year old Treyvon Martin would still be alive today if he had not been stereotyped as a problem thug or intruder by George Zimmerman. If that had been a white teenager in a hoodie walking through the neighborhood, do you think Zimmerman would have stopped, got out of his vehicle in the rain, and followed him, starting the altercation and ending in a shooting death of a black teen who was carrying nothing but Skittles and an Arizona tea. This type of stereotyping, no matter who it is aimed at, or what group of folks it is meant to demean, is very dangerous and needs to stop. David W. Bradburn

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