Date: Tue, 21 May 2002 21:18:21 -0400
From: skybolt@canoemail.com
Subject: College Dad

``````````````

	Ever since I was a teenager, I have
been sexually attracted to men, but years ago I
chose to marry and raise children. I like being
married. I love my wife and I enjoy sex with
her. But (and here comes a big but) I still
have feelings for men. I know there are other
bi-sexual men who feel the same way because
every now and then I meet one. That's what this
story is about. THIS IS A TRUE STORY.

``````````````

College Dad

	After my son was accepted at a huge
state university, his attendance that summer at
a mid-week orientation day was mandatory. It
was a four hour drive so I went along to spend
some quality time with him and to learn about
the school and his new world. We spent
orientation morning together on tours but in
the afternoon he had an agenda that required
him to crisscross campus and meet professors in
various departments. He wanted to go
alone. "Sure. Do what you have to do," I
said. "I'll find something to do." I headed to
the student center for a sandwich and perhaps
something else to fill me up.
	Even though this was not the university
I attended, I "knew" the bathrooms in the
student center were guaranteed to have peek
holes and maybe glory holes. I used to enjoy
spending furtive time in college cans. In fact,
my first male sexual encounter was in a college
toilet stall when the chubby twenty-something
guy next to me pushed a note through the
doorknob-size hole in the stall wall. The note
read, "Do you want me to put my big one
through?" I nervously scrawled a timid "yes"
although I wanted it so bad I would have jumped
through that hole to get at it. They say you
never forget your first feel of hard, smooth,
warm cock. I never will. Here's a newsflash -- I
was 32 when it happened! I had been married 11
years. I resisted that long because I thought
that if I denied my feelings for men they would
wither away. The feelings, of course, did not.
I went back to college for knowledge and dick.
I figure I fondled 100+ cocks in the restrooms
of my college. It was amazing adult ed. Someday
I'll write about those heart-racing experiences.
	Here I was in this university, in this
student center. I had a choice between going
into the men's room on the main floor and
dropping down a level to the one in the
basement. My experience has been that the
basement ones get more recreational traffic. I
went down. I was not disappointed. The restroom
was full of students and fathers.
	The space was divided into two long
rooms. One contained sinks and hand drying
machines. The other had urinals and 20 toilet
stalls. I have also learned that the action
stalls are always at the end. But in this case,
which end? One end had the 3 last stalls
occupied and the other end had only one stall
occupied. I chose the crowded end and BINGO!
when I stepped in the fourth stall, closed the
door and turned around, I saw a peep hole into
the adjoining occupied stall.
	After I did the toilet paper thing on
the seat, I dropped my jeans and got
comfortable. Immediately, I came under the
glare of an eyeball which filled the pencil-
diameter window. My neighbor peered anxiously
to see who had moved into the `hood. I leaned
back and stroked my dick a few times, although
that was redundant. I already sprouted a 6"
hard-on. I wanted to give him a view of his new
neighbor's stuff.
	Right here, let me give you my vital
stats: at that time -- four years ago -- I was
5'11" and a slender 155 pounds. I had a flat
stomach and small ass. My hair was short and
thinning but still dark. I was gray at the
temples. I looked good in the way men look
better as they get older. Twice I have been
mistaken in public for Mark Harmon (once, on an
empty airport shuttle bus, a flight attendant
took a step aboard, saw me sitting in the back
corner, and exclaimed to her co-workers, "Mark
Harmon's here! He's on the bus!" Too bad I
don't see the resemblance.). Actually that
still describes me today except that I weigh 5
pounds more than when this orientation day
story happened. Then I was 43. Today I'm 47.
	This was like fishing. My neighbor
wanted to bite the bait. He tapped his white
and orange athletic shoe in that not-so-subtle
international signal that wordlessly
screamed, "I want your dick!" I leaned forward
and the eyeball disappeared. Being a good
neighbor he gave me the opportunity to check
him out. I saw he was a skinny college boy.
Now, I like college dick just fine but at this
moment, maybe because my son was somewhere on
campus, I wasn't overly excited about trying to
find a place to sneak off to with an 18 year
old. Actually, what I think I was really afraid
of was rejection. I reckoned that when the kid
inevitably found out that underneath the jeans
and sneakers he was salivating over was a
middle-aged man old enough have bought Beatles
records new, he would bolt. I toe tapped a
couple of times in polite response but then
decided I wasn't interested. When I stopped, he
redoubled his effort and kept it up for what
must have been for him an excruciating couple
of minutes. His foot wiggled all over the
place, even under the stall wall into my
space. But I did not respond. In frustration he
pulled up his pants, opened his door, casually
walked slowly past the crack in my door and
peered in. I could tell his eyes went first to
my dick and then up to my face. He paused a
half second and quickly disappeared. For all he
knew I was his new English professor for the
coming semester.
	The men's room was busy. Another
college boy immediately entered the newly
emptied stall and very nearly the same mating
dance happened. I didn't respond to him,
either. He left, too. The next guy to come and
go paid no attention to me. Fine.
	What was I waiting for? I didn't know.
But after about 20 minutes the traffic thinned
out and, looking under the stall, I could tell
the very first stall was empty (remember I was
in number four). I got up, washed my hands and
went back in to lay claim to the king of the
hill stall, number one.
	Instead of a pencil-sized hole, this
one had a hole as big as a Marks-a-Lot. The boy
in stall number two was reading a newspaper. As
I sat down he eyed me and quickly got up and
left. (That could give a guy a complex!)
	But a few minutes after he departed,
another boy came in and made himself at home.
He wore tennis shoes without socks. I saw khaki
shorts pushed to the floor. This time I had the
home field advantage and I got first crack at
the peek hole. I saw a melon-colored, short
sleeve, knit golf shirt. What was really cool
was that the young man instantly pulled his
shirt up to his chin and exposed his hairless
chest, flat stomach and nipples. He looked
solid, beefy, but in no way fat. This was
enticing. He rubbed his stomach a couple of
times with his left hand. His gold wedding band
was impossible to miss. This married kid was
cruising for some man action. This was hot.
Then his hand slid up out of sight. This guy
must have figured out that because of the size
and height of the peep hole my vision was
limited. Maybe he had sat on my throne before.
Regardless, even though he was seated on the
john, he compensated by leaning against the
stall wall away from the hole and sliding down
a bit. I could now clearly see that he was
massaging his dark nipples. Unfortunately I
could not see his face. But I decided that even
if he was headless, with his good looking body
and flagrant sex appeal I could make it work. I
wanted his meat.
	On a piece of toilet paper I
wrote: "Interested? Would you like to go
somewhere?" and passed it and my pen under the
wall. When he passed it back I let my finger
tips play with his for a moment. He seemed to
like it. This boy was no stranger to bathroom
sex. Excellent.
	He wrote: "Sure. Do you have a place?"
I did not but I wrote back, "Yes. Follow me."
	I pulled up, tucked in and zipped up.
He didn't make a move. I opened my stall door,
stepped out and peered into the crack of his
door. What a surprise!
	He was still leaning back against the
stall wall and stretched out on the toilet like
you do when you are on a plane in a small coach
seat and want to get some sleep. One hand was
rubbing a hard nipple and the other was jacking
his good looking cock. But the best part was,
he was not a boy, he was a college dad just
like me!
	I stepped into the other room to wash
my hands. I knew he would follow. And he did.
College Dad was a good looking suburbanite. He
looked like a lot of my neighbors. That was
hot. He had the muscular but trim build of an
avid tennis and golf player. There were other
guys in the sink room but it was so long and
they were far enough away it was like we were
alone and could talk. "You look good. Nice
dick. Let's go someplace," I whispered.
	"Sure. Where?" he whispered back.
	"Let's get out of here first. Follow
me."
	The area outside the men's room was
near the base of a huge staircase that went up
all four levels of the building. There were
lots of people. In the crowd we could talk a
little louder and still have privacy. "Where
to?" College Dad asked. I wasn't sure.
	Earlier, exploring, I walked upstairs
to see what was what. On the third floor were
offices and meeting rooms but no people. All of
the orientation day commotion was on the lowest
levels. "Let's go to the men's room on the
third floor," I said. I didn't even know if
there was one. But it was time to be decisive
so I made a decision. "OK," he said, "but I
have to go tell my wife and son I'm going
someplace. I'll have to tell them where I'll
meet them. They're waiting for me."
	"What balls," I thought. "Meet me in
the third floor men's room," I said again. He
disappeared into the crowd and I climbed the
stairs. I wondered if he would chicken out.
	The third floor facilities were bright
and clean but had only 3 stalls and someone was
seated in the one closest to the door. I was
too revved to let that stop me. My little head
was calling the shots. I took the farthest
stall, which was extra big for handicap access.
I walked in but left the door ajar. A minute
later I heard the main door squeak open and I
knew College Dad had arrived. I pushed open my
stall door a bit and he walked in.
	The guy looked great. No denying he was
in his 40s, but you know what, this guy had a
wholesome, clean-cut, athletic sex appeal. We
both wanted man sex so bad we made our moves
despite the other guy two stalls down.
Silently, we looked at each other for a moment
and then wordlessly we embraced. Wrapping my
arms around another man's muscular back is a
great feeling. Almost as good as feeling a man
hug me. We kissed and his tongue pushed through
my lips as if it was a piece of road building
equipment knocking a highway through a
mountain. His mouth was hot and his tongue
insistent. We kissed passionately. Then he
loosened his grasp and gently pushed me back a
step. He undid his buckle, unsnapped his khaki
shorts and pushed them to his feet. I, of
course, grabbed at his basket of plenty. With
both hands he snatched the front hem of his
melon-colored knit golf shirt and pulled the
front over his head. He didn't take it off but
left his arms in and pulled it behind his head
as if he was on the "shirts" team. He was hot
for making something happen.
	I knew this was going to get noisy. The
thought of the other guy made me uneasy. I
didn't want some innocent guy to get so
offended by male animal sex sounds that, like a
good citizen protecting the morals of college
students, he felt compelled to teach us a
lesson. I didn't want him to go to the security
office and report wild man-on-man sex in sector
3. I whispered directly into College Dad's ear,
one decibel above audible, that we should cool
it until Mr. I Gotta Take a Dump leaves. He
frowned. We could have stood there waiting him
out but I didn't want to be doubled up in a
stall when Mr. Dump looked into the gigantic
mirror while washing his hands; he might have
noticed the improper use of one stall by two
men and hurried off to report us to the
authorities. So I stated I was leaving the
restroom and would return when the guy left.
With that I groped his manly package through
his tight white briefs and left.
	Outside the door, I stood at a pay
phone forever, about 6 minutes. My dick ached.
I feared College Dad would give up and leave.
My heart raced. I wanted what was behind that
door in a melon-colored golf shirt. What a
shame Mr. Dump was constipated. FINALLY he
walked out and swilled a long drink from the
water cooler. I waited as long as I could. I
nonchalantly re-entered. The door to the
oversized handicap stall was still unlocked and
College Dad was waiting for me. With his shorts
bunched at his feet and his shirt still behind
his head, he sat on the toilet. His handsome
dick poked straight up. He had been stroking
it. He locked his eyes onto mine and beamed. I
stepped right in front of him. He hugged my
legs.
	Quickly, I undid my buckle and dropped
my blue jeans to the floor. He pulled down my
boxers, grabbed my cock and stuffed it into his
mouth. Not one for foreplay, him. His hot mouth
engulfed me like a pizza oven. He licked my
dick to stiffness, which didn't take long. What
a great feeling, feeling my semi-soft penis
roll around in his mouth before hardening into
a stick of dynamite. With a sudden push, he
pushed me back away from him while
simultaneously pulling his mouth off my pud.
Even though we were alone, he didn't say a
word. He reached down and pulled his shorts and
briefs off right over his tennis shoes. He
tossed them onto the coat hook on the back of
the stall door. The melon-colored shirt came
off, too, and landed atop the shorts. He was
now naked except for the sockless shoes. Man,
he looked great. His body was firm, tanned and
toned. He wasn't a kid, obviously, but he
wasn't blubbery either. I'm guessing he was
about 5'10" and 170 pounds. His face was shaven
but since it was afternoon his daily stubble
had sprouted a bit, just like mine. Still on
the toilet, he pulled me close. His stubbly
cheek rubbed along the side of my cock. Nothing
like being loved by a man. Whiskers on cock is
a great feeling, too. I took off my shirt but
left my jeans at my feet.
	College Dad went to town. His hot mouth
and tongue slathered my 6" cock pole from tip
to base. Then he started sucking. He had a kind
of twisting motion to his mouth as he thrust
forward on me. I moaned, "Blow me. This feels
great. Lick it, man. Suck it." My hands
massaged his naked shoulder blades. The firm
back muscles felt powerful. As he leaned into
me my palms pulled his shoulders toward me. I
lightened the pressure and he pulled his
shoulders back as he retreated to my dick's
cap. We got a pumping rhythm going with his
upper torso toward me, away from me, toward
me... This man loved my tool. I loved his face
fucking. But I wanted to touch him in his
crotch. I bent over and grabbed his prick. His
hand was already on it. He was jacking himself
while he face balled me. He pushed my hand
aside.
	He was totally silent. I continued to
involuntarily moan and I whispered, "Oh, man,
keep sucking. Suck it, fucker. Love my dick."
To heighten my pleasure I wanted to feel his
manliness. I reached again for his shaft. I
couldn't see it because he was leaning forward
into me but I felt his rigid 6-1/2" standing tall
in his hand. Again he flicked my hand aside. I
wanted to feel him intimately so I again
reached blindly between his legs. This time I
passed his busy cock and groped his balls. His
nut sack hung nicely over the water. I wanted
more, so I extended my forefinger and probed
for his asshole.
	I quickly found it. His hot, moist man
tunnel was easy to penetrate -- it was gaping
open! This father was stretched! My forefinger
pushed way up into his ass. I could have put in
more fingers but I decided to love his asshole
like a pussy, with a slow hand. As I massaged
his prostrate I thought, "College Dad is a
bottom to some suburban top. He likes to get
his ass pounded. Oh, daddy, maybe a lot of
suburban tops fuck your butt." The image of a
group of clean-cut suburban men like me hosting
secret fuck parties sent my sperm catapulting
 from my nuts to my much loved pole. "I'm
cumming!" I shouted breathlessly. I gave him an
opportunity to take my male meat out of his
mouth if he wanted. He pulled me closer, which
shoved my sperm shooter deeper into his
talented throat. I let loose streams of juice.
It pulsed and pulsed out of me.
	My sticky nectar really got him going.
He revved up the beat on his meat. He furiously
pumped his man rod. His eyes were shut tight.
He was in a different galaxy. I wish I knew
what he was thinking about so that I could help
him over the edge. Now he moaned. And
moaned! "Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhh!"
I knew I was in front of a volcano. I took a
step to the left. He had released me from his
mouth and I stood up straight. As I did so I
pulled my finger out of his clenched ass. I
paused a moment, ready to push it back in if he
indicated he wanted it, but this guy was
intensely into something in his head. His eyes
pinched closed. His lips pressed tightly
together. His face strained. His back and chest
muscles tightened in dynamic tension. And then
with another "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he blew. The
first blast of his thick daddy liquid arced
forward. Subsequent eruptions traveled less far
but still past his shoes, except for the last
involuntary sperm push. It loped onto the
toilet seat in front of him.
	Dazed, we both took a minute to
recover. Silently, we cleaned ourselves like
big lions after a satisfying kill, except we
used toilet paper. As we dressed together in
the stall I asked him if he did this
often. "Did what?" he asked. "Do you get to
have man-sex often?" He looked at me and
smiled. "Not too often," he said and I knew he
was lying. I again thought of the suburban dads
like him and me and how they probably took
turns balling each other. Maybe they went
camping together or fishing. Maybe they played
tennis together or golf. I got an image of a
happy foursome telling their wives they were
going out to play. I wanted an arrangement like
that. I wanted to join his foursome.
	We washed up at sinks a couple down
 from each other. Looked into each others eyes
once again but this time via the mirror and
just about simultaneously said, "Thanks." And
then we left to go find our sons.

```````````````````
I hope you liked my true story. If you're
married, I'd love to hear one of yours. I
prefer married guys. Write me at
skybolt@canoemail.com. My "Open House" story
generated 18 e-mails right off. Thanks, guys.
I'll post more of my bi-experiences if you like.