Date: Mon, 10 Jun 2002 21:43:07 -0400
From: skybolt@canoemail.com
Subject: My Day

My Day

	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
account is about. THIS IS A TRUE STORY.

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

It's 12:30 in the afternoon and I am in waiting
for my flight home. I'm in Washington, D.C. on
a business trip. I want to tell you about
something that happened to me less than one
hour ago.

Last night I stayed at the Grand ______
Washington. After a morning meeting, I checked
out of my room and then remembered some calls I
wanted to make. Since I don't carry a cell
phone (when I travel, I don't want ANY extra
weight to lug around) I went to the pay phones
just off the lobby. They were way off to the
side in a mahogany paneled, marble floor
hallway that led to rest rooms at the end.

While I was on the phone a good-looking guy
walked toward me and then past me on his way to
the john. He caught my eye. "Tennis Pro at a
country club," was the first thought that
flashed into my mind. He was late 30s, early
40s. About 6' tall, 185 pounds. His shoulders
and waist were narrow but his hairy forearms
were wide. His facial features were white,
Anglo-Saxon, protestant: narrow face, narrow
nose, thin lips, sandy-colored straight hair.
His eyes were an arrestingly handsome tropical
blue (tinted contacts?). His blond and brown
chest hair poked above the open collar of his
short-sleeved, dark polo shirt. He wore whitish
khakis with light colored athletic shoes. He
had a good-looking body that belied how he had
a great body when he was in his 20s. There was
an atheletic quality about him that was soft on
the edges. Folded under his arm was a section
of the newspaper.

He looked like a suburban guy dressed for a
casual day at work. Nothing about him looked
gay. I thought, "Wouldn't if be great to
experience a man like that."

I had not even heard him approaching. I
happened to turn while I was on the phone
(sidebar: to my wife!) and caught sight. What
got my gaydar up was I caught him looking at me
first. He immediately looked into my eyes. I
peered into his as I have learned to do. I
didn't use to do that. Like most straights, I
used to avoid direct eye contact with unknown
men because it seemed unseemly. He did not
avert his eyes. That did not automatically
signal him as gay or bi. He emitted the
impression he was a strong personality who
didn't back down first. This expensive hotel
was probably full of strong personalities who
didn't back down first. So I averted my eyes as
if I was an indifferent straight. He walked
past me heading, I figured, to a stall for a
good read and a good bowel movement.

I wanted another glimpse of him before he
disappeared into the men's room so I looked at
his back as he pushed open the door. Then he
purposefully glanced in my direction. His
tropical blue eyes caught me looking at him!
His face was impossible to read. He did not
pause or signal me in any way. But my dick sent
me a signal loud and clear: I started to rise
in my trousers.

I talked for another three minutes, ended my
phone call and entered the men's room. It was a
long room with a row of stalls that stretched
far enough to accommodate large gatherings of
Washington gala-goers who need to poop in the
midst of a party. The highly polished marble
floors reflected the lights above. This was a
classy can. Only one stall, way down, second to
the end, was occupied. I took one next to it.
After a minute, his foot made a slight twitch
so I responded in kind. He did it again so I
did, too. When it was obvious the foot movement
was intentional, he bent over in half, perhaps
trying to peer under the stall wall. I could
not see him directly but the floor was so shiny
his reflection was obvious. The closer he got
to the floor the clearer I could see him. He
was a good-looking guy looking for dick. I
tapped my foot to encourage him and he kneeled
on the spotless floor to have a good look up at
me from under the stall partition. I smiled and
stood up half-way off the toilet so he could
see my dick. He must have liked the view. "Do
you have a room?" he asked under his breath,
barely audibly. "I just checked out," I
regretfully answered. "Are you staying here?" I
asked. "No. [pause] Can you get your key back?"
I had to think a moment on that one. "I'll
try," I responded.

We left the men's room at the same time but not
exactly together. He walked a few steps ahead
of me across the beautiful lobby. I enjoyed the
view of his narrow hips and nice round ass. We
had to go up an escalator to get to the lobby
level. Near the top he rotated as if to survey
the lobby opening before him, but he was really
trying to sneak an unobserved peek at me.
Again, I saw those tropical blue eyes looking
at me. He took a seat in a comfortable chair
and I walked a considerable way to reach the
front desk. "I just checked out a few minutes
ago. I may have left my shaver in the room.
Here's the receipt for my room. Could I get a
key so I can go get it?" I asked. No problem.

Other people were in the elevator with us
causing us to instinctively act like strangers.
But in the hallway leading to my room I
asked, "Do you work close by?" "A couple of
blocks away," he flatly stated. Of course, we
were whispering. "Have you come to this hotel
often?" I asked, both trying to break the ice
and get an idea of how he operated, assuming he
cruised the place because of it closeness to
work and executive-type men. It also crossed my
mind he could be a hustler and ask me for
money.  "A few times," was all he said.

As soon as we got into the room, I wanted to
wrap my arms around him and just feel him for a
moment, perhaps start with a kiss before
getting naked on the bed. Although I've had a
couple hundred man sex encounters, less than 10
have been on a bed. I felt mischievous as if we
were about to get away with something. He
looked a bit apprehensive and when I opened my
arms slightly as a gesture toward what I wanted
to do, he just stood there. Something wasn't
right. Oh! I had overlooked locking the door!
So I retreated to the door and secured the dead-
bolt. Security for both of us ^Ö and no need to
have risked providing housekeeping with an
inadvertent, life-altering moment.

As I walked back toward him, he stepped back to
a big club chair, all the while looking right
at me with those handsome eyes. Without a word
he unbuckled his belt, undid his pants and
pushed his thumbs into the waistband of his
boxers. With one push, he dropped them to the
floor and immediately sat down. This man was
direct. Time to get down to business. He didn't
say a word or make any other gesture. His full,
but not erect, dick hung below the hem of his
shirt. His ball sack hung pendulously, too.
That's a sight I love. I wish I had a picture
of that moment.

I wasn't sure what to do so. I kind of got the
feeling he wasn't totally sure that I wasn't a
hustler or safety threat to him. I slipped off
my wedding ring and as I did I whispered, "I'm
married," not really apologizing but I bet it
sounded like I was apologizing for being
married. I spoke so softly he didn't understand
what I said so I had to repeat myself, "I'm
married." Then I wondered why I even mentioned
it the first time or took off my ring.  He
didn't reply. He didn't have a ring or a "tan
line" but his general reserved nature gave me
the impression he was also married and bi.
Maybe his reserve was because he was feeling a
twinge of guilt?

I decided to let him watch me undress. I
slipped off my shoes and socks. As I dropped my
gray trousers and CK boxers and stepped out of
them he masturbated his fine piece of meat. I
pulled my white polo shirt over my head and
took off my watch. He pumped his cock straight
up. It was a great looking one, too. I'm a true
6" (measured from the top) and he was both
longer and thicker than me.

Now totally naked in front of him, he gestured
me over. I didn't know whether to drop to my
knees to inhale his tempting monster or stand
tall for him to work on me. Tropical Blue knew
what he wanted. Without a word and not using
his hands, he leaned toward me and consumed my
cock. Hot and wet, his mouth expertly saturated
my tool. His lips covered his teeth and he
pressed his mouth tightly around my cock. He
took me deep. He pumped his face forward and
backward, the motion performing as smoothly as
the engine of a German sports car. He had been
around this track before. It felt fantastic.
What a face fuck! I stood erect while massaging
strong shoulders with one hand. The fingers on
my other hand ran through his short hair. He
stopped a moment and looked up, his mouth still
next to my cock (what a sight!) and slyly
asked, "Did you think a man would be sucking on
your dick today?" He was being funny. I could
have cum right then.

He asked me if I wanted to sit in the other
club chair. I hadn't thought about it. Since he
was so absorbed in sucking my cock and since
there was virtually no conversation up to that
point except those two questions, I didn't know
what he had in mind. I sat.

He crawled over and continued sucking me. My
prick felt so fantastic my whole body tingled.
My cock swelled to total stiffness. I felt 100%
male. "Lie back," he commanded in a whisper. So
I slumped back in the big chair and it felt
even more fantastic. This handsome stranger was
totally pleasuring me. "How often do you have
sex with men?" he whispered. The abruptness of
the question surprised me a bit but then I
reasoned he wanted to know so as to heighten
the sensation for himself. Maybe he got off on
true stories the same as I do. "About every two
months or so. Not much." He didn't respond so I
volunteered, "I'm married. I only meet up with
guys when I'm traveling on business." I made
myself vulnerable hoping he would feel safe
opening up either confessing he was married,
too, or how much he liked to make it with
married guys. But he made no comments. He
continued to suck fantastically.

I should have been ecstatic. However, if you
have read my other stories you know I like to
experience a man. Cumming is great but I love
to feel a man's male equipment, rub the muscles
in his arms and legs ^Ö especially his back ^Ö
palm his erect nipples, kiss his lips, rake his
beard stubble across my face -- intimate stuff
like that. I like the foreplay as much,
possibly more, than the main event.

While he sucked me, he wrapped one hand around
the base of my cock. Other than that he didn't
touch me. As terrific as he was making me feel,
I wanted more. I sat up and reached between his
legs for his hard penis. I discovered his other
hand. My finger tips touched his little head
and pretty quickly he pushed away my hand. I
got the message ^Ö don't touch. Fine. I moved my
hand up under his shirt and groped for his
nipples. His thick chest hair was luxuriantly
untrimmed. I ran my fingers through his hair,
cupped his chest muscles and then played with
his erect nipples. He did not respond and a
minute later I again reached for his cock. Just
like before he pushed me off, but when he
said, "I could cum" I knew he was struggling to
keep from shooting his load early.

Instead of resuming the face fuck, he jacked
me. What a hand this man had! He grasped me as
firmly as if I was a tennis racket and he was
playing a career-making match. I leaned back in
the chair and he worked my cock with his hand.
He stared directly into my eyes. The hand
sensations were as intense as his blow
job. "When was the last time you had sex?"
Tropical Blue asked. "Two or three months ago.
I'm ready for you." I responded. "What was it
like?" he asked luridly. At that moment I
couldn't remember the last time I came with a
man, so I told him about an encounter that
popped into my head. "He was a soldier. We were
in an airport. He was an army soldier. We stood
next to each other at a urinal. He had quit
peeing and was stroking his meat at the urinal.
This was before 9/11 and he wasn't in uniform.
We went off to a more secluded bathroom. He was
hungry for the baby-making tool between my
legs. He sat on the toilet and pulled up his
feet to the seat." I wanted to tell him a story
he could enjoy. "The soldier tore at my zipper
and whipped out my cum shooter. He devoured my
cock." "How old was he?" he asked. "Early 20s.
Maybe mid-20s. No, he was young. Early 20s."
Tropical Blue didn't respond so I quit trying
to tell the story.

I moaned softly, "You make me feel so good. I
could cum now." He picked up the pace. "I don't
want the feeling to end. I'm holding back. You
make me feel great. I don't want it to end."
That was the first time he smiled. He stopped
stroking me, leaned back and said in a playful
way, "Make yourself cum." He put my hand on my
dick. I stroked a few times. He stared
piercingly into my eyes. "Do you suck?" he
asked. Not too much, I said truthfully. "Since
I'm married I'm careful. I don't want to bring
anything home." I paused a moment. That was a
signal in my mind that I kept myself clean and
he didn't have to worry about me infecting him
with anything. I thought that would melt him. I
was hoping to get him to the bed so we could
roll under the covers, even if for a few
minutes. "Have you ever been fucked in the
ass?" I asked. "No," he replied quickly. "I
have. Just once. It felt great. Hurt like a
bastard but then felt great." He smiled
slightly for the second time. But he didn't say
or do anything.

I asked him to take off his shirt so I could
see his naked chest. He did. "You are a great
looking guy," I stated with admiration. I
rubbed my hands over his firm shoulders,
muscular back and hairy arms. He seemed to
enjoy it but did not touch me in return. "I
want to see your great looking dick," I said
kind of coyly. He moved his body from kneeling
in my crotch to sitting on the floor
perpendicular to my feet. His hands moved away
 from his manhood and I got a million dollar
view of his 7 or 8 inch, thick, well-veined,
darkish-colored man meat. I touched it and he
recoiled. "It's super sensitive," he explained.
His hand quickly returned to his dripping
drill. "I'd like to see you cum," I offered. He
liked that suggestion. He stroked his handsome
meat vigorously. Then suddenly he stood up,
took a step back and turned sideways to me. His
big, thick cock jutted forward in profile. He
spit into his hands and went to work on it. I
stood, too, and massaged his back with one hand
as he stroked with a tight grasp. His body
began quivering and I knew the end was near.
Like a dog who makes awkward movements when he
has to go really bad but knows better than to
whiz on the carpet, he made a few small,
awkward steps. Then he figured out what to do.
He planted his feet firmly and stroked his
proud member aloft of the carpet. He gripped
tighter, tensed his shoulders and let it fly
freely. His jet streams sailed a healthy
distance. They were thick. Manly. Something to
be proud of. The whitish colored fluid spurted
confidently forward. He had taken his shot. He
achieved exactly what he wanted. He reached his
goal. He made it. Satisfaction and success.

I put an arm on his shoulder. He didn't resist
but he didn't encourage me either. So I got
practical. I went into the bathroom and brought
back a towel and draped it over his cum on the
carpet. We both knew it was over. His interest
in my dick had passed. I joked that I was going
to save my cum until I got home and then give
it to my wife while thinking of him. His
demeanor changed. For the first time he spoke
at a normal volume and for the first time he
flashed an unguarded smile as he said, "Thanks
for making my lunch break great!"


````````

Wait, it doesn't end here! My day is not over.
This is incredible.

It's now 8:21 pm on the same day. I wrote most
of the above before I got on the plane, a
little while on the plane and now I just
finished it. But here's an amazing thing.

We boarded a half hour before takeoff and I
turned on my computer and continued writing
what I remembered about Tropical Blue. I had a
window seat. So as to not arouse or disturb my
neighbor, I turned my laptop a bit so it could
not be easily read by the man next to me.
Besides, from the start he was engrossed in
reading through a stack of resumes so I didn't
pay much attention to him. We didn't talk the
whole flight, other than a couple of friendly
comments to him and the woman seated in our row
just beyond him (they were not traveling
together) when we boarded. I wrote for about 10
minute and reliving the sex was making me horny
enough to pull a boner. I was wearing trousers,
so, unlike jeans, the fabric wasn't much help
in holding me down. (Remember, I had not cum
yet.)

I wasn't trying to show off or anything ^Ö
that's not my style. And besides, I had the
tray table down and the computer not only on it
but pulled towards me. Someone would have to be
looking pretty closely to notice the rise in my
pants.

Here are a couple of other significant facts:
Being crammed into coach, it doesn't matter if
a person has long legs or short, it's hard to
comfortably arrange them. Even though I'm only
5'11", 160 pounds, I'm most comfortable when my
legs are open, especially in the summer when my
ball sack sometimes sticks to my thighs. I've
sat that way so often I just naturally sit like
that without being conscious of it. Another
quirk: I have to have part of my arm on the arm
rest. I know some people can sit for hours with
their arms folded or hands in their laps. Not
me. I have to rest my arms on something.

When we were ready for takeoff, the flight
attendant reminded me to return my tray to the
upright and locked position. I shifted the
computer into my lap to conceal my maleness and
I pulled out my computer bag to retrieve a book
and to stow my computer. During the time it
took to do all that my trousers deflated.

I read my book. However, the plane was warm and
the sun flooded in on me. I didn't want to go
to sleep but I felt so tired I put the book in
my lap, closed my eyes and leaned against the
wall. I was like this for a few minutes when it
started.

Let me describe the gentleman next to me. I sat
down first so I got to look him over pretty
good as he took his seat. He wore a wedding
ring. He was my height and about my age (I'm
47). He wasn't fat but he had a beer belly that
exceeded my taste. I'm not saying anorexic
turns me on but I prefer men who are trim, like
Tropical Blue. A gut hanging over the belt is a
turn off. Also he was wearing corduroy jeans
(in the summer!) and an old plaid shirt,
unbuttoned, over a white t-shirt. I prefer the
look of businessmen and "casual Fridays,"
again, like Tropical Blue. The wavy salt and
pepper hair was kind of nice, though. His face
was average looking and not unattractive.

While I was semi-dozing, his leg brushed
against mine. That can happen to anybody. But I
didn't move mine away in a reflex action. I
left it planted where it was, at the edge of my
territory, in line with the arm rest. When his
leg brushed against mine, it remained for a
long moment and then he moved it away. However,
he brushed against me again and this time, same
as before, I didn't move. My leg stayed in
place as if it was bolted to the floor just
like the seats. He retreated. My eyes were
closed so I don't know if he was shifting to
get comfortable or what. But then his leg
brushed up against mine a third time and this
time it stayed. He made contact at the knee
cap. I didn't move and I continued to "sleep."
A couple of minutes passed and he got bolder.
He shifted his leg so that the side of his shin
was in line with my shin. The contact was light
at first but after a couple more minutes he
applied a bit more pressure. I thought of Edgar
Allen Poe's "The Tell Tale Heart," in which the
character moves slower than a clock hand to
enter the room of the sleeping old man.

By now the plane was in the air and we were
flying, too. His leg was pressed against mine
long enough and squarely enough I could feel
his warmth. That's when he went for broke and
gently rested his arm on the armrest right next
to mine. We touched. I did not react in any
fashion; especially I did not readjust my
position by pulling away. After a few minutes
he made full arm and shoulder contact. Again, I
could feel his warmth. At this point, I made
like I was waking up a bit to look out the
window. He shifted a little so that his leg,
arm and shoulder weren't pressed so hard
against me, but he didn't totally withdraw. Nor
did I move away.

I didn't look at him. I didn't try to talk to
him. I just closed my eyes again. Immediately,
he shifted back into place and pressed full
against me, both arm and leg. This continued
for at least 30 minutes because I think I
really fell asleep. When I looked at my watch
it was 25 minutes later than I thought it would
be. Also, when I brought my arm up to see the
watch, he moved a bit and lightened the contact
but he didn't pull away. He just rearranged
himself a bit.

I decided to not sleep anymore and to read my
book. He now had the tray down and his resumes
spread over it. I don't know what job he was
hiring for but I saw "biologist" on the two
closest to me. I guessed he was a scientist, a
scientist with an erection. I could tell. His
dick was going south down his left leg (side
closer to me) and it looked like it could be a
fun thing to play with.

It was the middle of the afternoon. There was
no way to play with him. The plane was packed.
People were wide awake. Spreading a blanket
over two laps would be too obvious, even for
Barney Fife. Plus in flight security is wound
so tight, I wouldn't even think of going into a
lavatory with someone else. I'm a sexual
daredevil but not stupid.

The most amazing thing is even though I was
wide awake reading my book and he was reading
his resumes, we continued the touching for over
an hour.

It was about then he stacked up his papers,
picked them up, stowed his tray, got up,
dropped the papers onto his seat and left for
the lavatory. I looked at him to see if he was
crazy enough to think I would follow. He did
not look at me at all. Not even a glance. I was
not invited.

He stayed in there a good while. It's not like
I was timing him but he seemed to take longer
than it should have taken. When he returned he
resumed the leg and arm touching but not as
aggressively. I enjoyed the warm body contact
and I think he did, too. I also think he shot
his nut in the lavatory. He calmed down.
Perhaps the beast was satiated. The sly
touching continued in a minimal way until the
moment we touched the ground. At that point he
pulled away. We were "home" and there is no
messing around at home.

As we deplaned, he did not glance back at me
for even a quick peek. This dalliance at 35,000
feet was over. It was time to go home to his
family.

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

The story is not over yet! I had to pee. Late
this afternoon, in the airport terminal, I went
into a bathroom in which I have had sexual
dalliances of my own. I went to the back part
of the men's room where there is a peek hole
between two stalls. One was occupied. (If you
would like to know which airport and which
concourse this men's room is on, just e-mail
me. I'll let you know but I don't want to put
it in "print" and wreck up a good thing.)

No he wasn't the leg warmer. I could tell that
by his shoes. It was another guy looking for
some male-on-male excitement. The way the peek
hole was created, it didn't line up for a clear
dick shot into the next stall. It's off kilter.
I couldn't see his equipment and he couldn't
see mine. I could see his eye lashes as he
tried to get himself into a position in which
he could see my cock.

I peed. I finished my business, zipped up and
as I exited, I walked past his stall and peered
in. There wasn't anyone around to see me
looking in so I was in no rush. The man in the
cruisey stall looked up at me and checked me
out as I checked him out  through the narrow
gap where the door meets the door frame. He was
a red-haired man in his 50s. By his uniform I
could readily tell he worked for one of the
airlines and I figured out where he worked. He
was a rather heavy man and his pinkish-white
dick truly was a thick piece of meat. He stoked
it enticingly. He motioned for me to enter the
stall.

I could have. I didn't have any fear of being
caught in there. In fact, I have had sex
several times in that stall. But I just didn't
feel like playing with this man's cock.
Tropical Blue was still on my mind. I didn't
want to obliterate the feelings of his memory
by allowing this large red-haired gentleman to
overwrite them. I shrugged as if "nice dick but
this is too dangerous for me." I left and
headed to my house. I was feeling randy for
getting home and balling my wife.

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

My day is not over yet. There is more still!
When I got home, around 5:30 pm, my wife was in
an amorous mood. The kids weren't home and the
dog had been walked. We made love. I won't bore
you with the details of the love making but my
day went from Tropical Blue slobbering all over
my cock, to the scientist on the plane enjoying
a pseudo-sexual experience, to the big red-
haired airline employee who wanted a quickie
with me, to my wife squeezing my private part
deep inside her private part. What a day!

Ferris Bueller, eat your heart out. Your day
off was nothing like this!

# # #

Gentlemen, this is a true story. It all
happened today. I wrote this quickly so I can
remember it and you can enjoy reading it. I
welcome your comments at Skybolt@canoemail.com.