The Transient

3456345634563By Christpher Wyatt

It was almost 1:00 a.m. by the time I made it out of the restaurant one night. I knew I was going to be late and as my roommate had the day off, he let me borrow his car with the proviso that I fill the tank on the way home. Once outside of the city, I exited the freeway into a tourist pocket where the gas was slightly less expensive than most of the other stations around. Of course, it was also not the most pleasant area, set back just enough to be a prime place for drug exchanges, Craigslist quickies or whatever else.

I pumped the gas as quickly as I could, staying aware of my surroundings. The place seemed strangely vacant that night, save for several transient types lurking around. Sure enough, halfway through pumping the gas, one of them headed toward me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, praying the gas would finish before he got across the parking lot.

He was a pale guy, probably in his late 20s and at least half a foot taller than me. He had several week’s growth of facial hair and was thin but obviously muscular — more so than me, anyway. He wore dirty khakis that barely came all the way down over his heavy work boots. He had on a button-up shirt that was open in front and a dirty, white wife-beater with several large holes toward the bottom. Had it not been for the dirt, he looked as though he could have been out of a ‘90s porn movie.

The nozzle to the gas hose finally clicked off, but not before the man was right beside me asking if I had any change.

“Sorry, dude,” I told him.

“You sure, man?” he asked, with a slight edge to his voice that sent a shiver through me. Before I could form a reply, he looked at the car window and, following his gaze, I saw him looking at one of the roomie’s rainbow stickers.

“Oh, hey, you like dick, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “I’ll let ya suck mine for twenty bucks.”

My dick got instantly hard, though my mind could only wonder when he had bathed last and what smells might be lurking below.

“Thanks, but I need to get home,” I said, screwing the gas cap on.

“Yeah?” he asked, grabbing my hard dick through my uniform pants. “This says different.” He squeezed it, stroking it quickly a few times. “I’m eleven inches, man,” he boasted. “You ever see an eleven incher before?”

“Eleven inches?” I echoed.

“Eleven inches,” he repeated, emphasizing it. “Wanna see it?”

I did. Despite every rational thought that was telling me to get in the car and get out of there, I had never seen a dick that large. “Okay,” I said at last, wondering if he would whip it out right there.

“A buck an inch,” he told me.

I looked around quickly, a rush of sexual adrenaline and excitement making me feel almost drunk.

“There’s a place behind that building,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Pull your car over to the bathrooms. I hesitated. This was crazy; he could mug me or stab me or …

He started walking toward the building without even waiting for me. For a split second I thought about getting in the car and just leaving, but the waves of sexual intrigue coursing through me was stronger than my desire to flee.

I parked the car and got out, locking the door and pocketing the keys. I started toward the bathroom when I saw him at the side of the building motioning me to follow him. We walked around the corner to the back of the building where there were several weathered partitions blocking the view from the road, but letting in enough of the fluorescent lights from the parking lot to see fairly clearly.

Without hesitation, he unbuttoned his pants, lowered the zipper and, pushing down his underwear, he whipped out a fairly sizable half-hard uncut cock. He started to stroke it, making it grow inch by inch until, at full mast, I was staring at an honest-to-gawd 11-inch dick. It flared out toward the top, but wasn’t that thick. Fully hard, the foreskin was stretched tightly back revealing a bright red pointed head. He moved closer until it was only an inch or two from touching my stomach.

“You like that?” he asked me with a smirk.

“Pretty impressive,” I answered.

“Okay, pay up,” he demanded.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out several crumpled bills, the only cash I had. As I straightened them out, I quickly realized I only had $10. I offered it to him, but he didn’t take it.

“I said a buck an inch, eleven inches,” he barked angrily, “Where’s the other dollar?”

“It’s all I have on me,” I told him, feeling myself flush at the harshness of his voice.

“Lyin’ faggot,” he said angrily, snatching the cash from my hand.

My heart began to pound with fear at his sudden hostile attitude, and anger at his choice of insults. I started to leave, but before I even took a full step he countered, planting himself right in my path.

“Where you think you’re goin’?” he sneered. “You still owe me a buck.”

“I don’t have — ”

“Well, then, you’re gonna work it off, ain’t ya?”

“What?” I wasn’t even sure I heard him right.

“You fuckin’ deaf as well as a cheat?” he hissed through clenched teeth as he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me roughly into one of the shadowed corners. He grabbed my hand and put it on his cock.”Beat me off,” he ordered.

I didn’t move; my brain was spinning too fast, hurling insults at myself for being dumb enough to get myself into this situation. He pressed his mouth to my ear and in a matter-of-fact voice told me, you can either beat my dick or I’ll drop you and fuck your mouth. Which is it?”

Almost instinctively my hand started to stroke his long cock. He watched my hand move at a slow pace as I worked the top part of his dick just under the head. He let out several soft moans, his eyes narrowing slightly as he began reacting to my hand. He steadied himself, looking me in the eyes. “Yeah … you like my big dick, don’t ya, fag-boy.” As he spoke, I felt the side of my hand suddenly become slippery. I looked down to see him leaking a good amount of precum. “Fuck yeah,” he continued. “You like my huge cock, faggot?”

Though it made me cringe each time he called me a faggot, his dick would pulse and twitch in my grip as he said the word. I started to move my hand all the way down and back up, making long, slow strokes; each full stroke made him moan and start pushing his dick forward. Each time the head of it pressed into my stomach. “Tell me you like my dick, queer.” Again, I felt his dick pulse as he spoke.

“I like your dick,” I muttered.

He moved forward, pressing himself against me, his dick pressing up my stomach as I continued to stroke it. He began humping his hips against me as his hands grabbed hold of my hips. He smelled of BO and his breath reeked of cigarettes and cheap beer. He started making a growling, grunting noise with each breath, his cock now fucking my hand at a pace that made it almost impossible to keep up with.

Despite the fear of getting caught and the smell of his unwashed clothes as he now pressed against me, my cock was rock hard and leaking like mad in my pants. He had pressed himself flat against me, forcing my back against the cold cinderblock wall. Both my hands were covered in his precum and wrapped around his cock shaft as he fucked them in a steady rhythm.

He buried his face against my neck and began licking and sucking on my bare flesh like a hungry vampire searching for a vein. What he found was one of my hot spots and as I gasped, he began working it with both his tongue and his teeth, biting and suctioning as he rammed his leaking, uncut cock harder and faster through my hands.

When he came, it was with no warning. The first shot of his cum was crushed between us, the second covered the palm of my hand, and the rest of it covered everything: our shirts, our pants, my hand. He had both his arms wrapped around me, holding on as tightly as he could, his dick still thrusting and his body convulsing as his orgasm seemed to go on forever.

As his breathing returned to normal and his dick started to soften in my hand, I felt his body tense. He stepped back, grabbing his long semi-hard cock and shoved it into his pants. “Fuckin’ queer,” he sneered under his breath as he rounded the corner, leaving me standing in the dark.

I made my way to my car as quickly as I could. As I closed and locked the door I saw him standing in front of the bathrooms smoking. The smell of his breath and strong BO was still on me, and my hand was still wet with his cum. We stared at each other through the windshield as my anger begin to rise — anger at being made to feel afraid, at being called a faggot and a queer, and at his smug, self-righteous attitude, and even more that I was so fucking turned on by the bastard!

I quickly unzipped my pants and pulled my rock hard cock out of the opening. The cum still on my hand mixed with the slippery precum coating my dick and I began jerking myself off as hard and fast as possible. We never lost eye contact, staring one another down. He knew what I was doing, and with a half smile, he lifted the bottom of his shirt, exposing his tight muscular chest and large brown nipples. He rubbed his stomach with his other hand, while his cigarette still dangled from his upturned lips.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I felt the first flash of orgasm. “Fuckin’ whore! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as my ass rose off the seat, locked in one of the most intense orgasms I had ever had. My jizz flew everywhere like a sprinkler: the steering wheel, my pants, shirt, the floor and even the inside of the windshield. I felt like I couldn’t stop coming as I continued to stroke my throbbing cock until 30 seconds later I was coming again.

I sat there gasping for air and covered in cum. The smell I had found almost intoxicating moments before — the smell of him — was now an overwhelming stench making me sick to my stomach. I started the car, not even waiting to zip up. As I started to pull out of the parking lot I took one last look back at him. He was still in the same spot, now with a new cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked at me, grabbed his crotch with one hand and flipped me the bird with the other.

“Fuck you!” I yelled through the closed window, peeling out of the lot.

The next morning I woke to a knock on my door. I sat up gagging on the smell surrounding me. I opened the door to my roommate giving me a sour look. “What the fuck,” he asked sharply, “is all over the inside of my car?”

Oops.

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