Night Adventures With Big John

One of the most inconvenient aspects about living in the city without a car was having to drag one of those folding shopping carts to the grocery store every two weeks for new supplies. The nearest store was approximately six blocks away, so I had to make certain that I got everything I couldn’t get at the local drugstores or bodegas. During one of these journeys, I met Big John for the first time. The route back home was pretty much a straight line for the first five blocks, after which I had to take a short cut through a pleasant local square to get to my street. I noticed someone sitting on a bench, possibly enjoying the last rays of sunlight, from a distance.

Big John was the one. I would have passed him by and said hello at most, but circumstances modified this nearly definite scenario. My cart’s wheel became entangled in a thick piece of plastic and stopped rolling. I attempted to get rid of it immediately, but it was difficult to tilt the cart with one hand while reaching for the wheel with the other.

Big John rushed over to give assistance after witnessing my tragedy. I praised Big John for his generosity and the wheel was free in no time. He assured me not to be concerned and asked if I had a cigarette to spare. I did it since it was the least I could do to express my gratitude. But that’s what I assumed. Later, I discovered that there were other different methods to “thank” Big John, all of which required large amounts of cum from both of us.

He began by introducing himself: his name was John, he was fifty-seven, divorced, and had two children and a grandchild. He works in house remodeling and was remodelling a nearby home at the time. He would usually pass time there before catching his train home. I was intently monitoring him when he offered all of this information. He was a magnificent mother fucker, you guys! He was a little more than six feet tall, with deep green eyes and a cowboy-like all-American countenance; something about his thick brows and classic mustache made him appear much younger than he was, or it was only the consequence of the teen hat he wore backwards.

The way the gray t-shirt displayed his muscular chest and nipples told me he was in good shape, but you had to look beyond the thick red and black checkered jacket to realize that. His ensemble was completed with regular blue pants and large labor boots. Though this quick assessment of the specimen in front of me was enough to send lustful feelings through my body, the words divorced, kids, grandchildren kept me from acting recklessly; overall, the last thing I needed was to deal with the wrath of a strange straight man offended by any kind of sexual harassment simply for being a Good Samaritan.

So I decided to let John lead the discussion and see where it took us. He asked me a few generic questions about myself, if I lived nearby, and whether I wanted him to assist me with my shopping. He went on to say that I appeared to be a decent guy and that he wouldn’t mind having a good talk with a knowledgeable person over a drink. Besides, despite the fact that he was not homosexual, he felt I was an attractive “fellow.” Bingo! He was mine.

When Big John (pushing my grocery cart) and I arrived at my flat, it was already dark. It was good to have someone assist me in climbing the twenty-five steps up. Once inside, I directed Big John to the living area to make himself at home, while I proceeded to the kitchen to go through the groceries. I could see him sitting on the couch and looking for the television remote from the kitchen. He asked if he could turn it on and if I had something stronger to drink than beer for him. My answer to both queries was “yes,” and he turned on the television while I made him a drink. He was seated on one end of the couch, and I was on the other. I took his drink and proposed a toast with mine beer.

He was still wearing his jacket when I informed him it was fine to take it off; he abruptly answered, “OK, as long as I may take off my boots as well.” My pulse beat a little with those unexpected comments, and I quickly added, “Sure thing, as long as you let ME do it.” “Even better,” he said with a chuckle. Needless to say, our heated activity began right then and there. I sat my beer on the table, moved closer to him, grabbed his left leg, and rested his booted foot on my lap; my dick was already getting hard on my pants, but there was no reason to hide it; very patiently, I began undoing the laces, until the boots were loose enough to be ripped off his feet; when they came off, the room was invaded by a strong yet pleasurable man’s scent, his socks kind of sweat from a long

Personally, I’m not a sock man, though I don’t mind toying with them for a while before going barefoot. So I held his socked foot in the air, drew the yellow stain that defined his high arch with my fingertips, smelt the soles, sucked on the covered toes, and joyously tickled them; Big John was enthralled by everything I was doing to his socked foot since it was a first.

I had a hot foot virgin in my hands, and I was going to do all I could to make that night unforgettable for him. I tossed his left leg up in the air, over my head, and behind my back, fighting the need to rip those socks off his foot and start enjoying on his raw flesh; I pulled his right leg into play and repeated the foot adoring routine on Big John’s right foot. This time, his reaction was more severe; he began to whimper whenever I simply touched his foot, while working on a raging hard on that indicated I would have major business ahead of me.

It was incredibly hot the entire time. With both of his feet already tamed and still in socks (softly tickling the right one), I decided to test the straight’s old man buttons to see how far he was prepared to go; I ordered BJ to remove his shirt while I lightly tickled his large bulge with my free hand. He didn’t say anything and simply performed what I requested. He was still in good shape for his age and married situation, with no six packs but gorgeous nipples just waiting to be toyed with and a flat stomach that gave him chills every time a tongue ran over them. BJ was a mad sex fucker, and he was all mine right now.

Taking advantage of this crazed moment, I worked some more in his stomach while squeezing his firm nipples, causing him to slightly open his mouth in ecstasy; I reached his half-opened mouth and forced my tongue inside; he did not resist and kissed me back passionately, saying he couldn’t remember the last time he had somebody’s lips against his. Was I lucky, or what? At this point, I was certain of one thing: this phony straight man was willing to have anything done to his body, and I was more than eager to be the one to investigate it.

That is exactly what I did. I returned to his right socked foot, which I was still softly tickling, and totally removed the sock without hesitation.

I was given the opportunity to see an outstanding example of a man’s feet, with five perfectly aligned toes linked to delectable balls that led to a sole as smooth and pink as a baby’s, powerful high arches that mingled with one of the most luscious heels I’ve ever eaten. It was difficult to imagine that those man’s exquisite feet had never been touched in fifty-seven years; was it his fault? Maybe. But he did have a wife: what is it with these women?

Over the years, I’ve had several married and divorced men in my bed, and playing with their feet has always pushed them over the brink; it’s as easy as that! But returning to BJ’s feet: he claims that I was the first person to ever play with them. I decided he deserved the best care possible. I pulled both of his feet to my lap this time and told him to completely remove his trousers. In the meantime, I took off his left sock.

Those boxers had to go, too, and I wasn’t ashamed to do it. With BJ completely nude on my couch, I offered relocating the “party” to my bedroom, where we would be more comfortable; I told him I would bring the bottle of bourbon, and he again showed no reluctance. Guys, what a look; I was drooling just thinking about that man nude on my bed, eager to be manhandled without any restraints. I guess I lost count of time, but I did everything humanly imaginable to his feet for what seemed like hours, periodically teasing his stiff dick just to keep him on the edge.

I couldn’t get enough of those feet; the more I sniffed, felt, tasted, and tickled them, the more I wanted to, and the more he stroked his stiff cock. But that erect prick had been neglected for far too long, and it was past time to show BJ what a hungry man’s mouth was capable of. BJ’s dick was just stunning, an uncut nine inches of meat with a mushroom head that was also virgin because his wife refused to give blowjobs. Well, I wasn’t his ex-wife!

I placed his completely erect cock up to my nose at first, taking my time to inspect his balls; they were just like the rest of him: huge, musky scent, pink, and accessible. Concentrating on them felt like the correct thing to do, so I did. I’m not sure how any man can stand having his balls messed with for such an extended period of time, but BJ did.

I raped his balls for quite some time, and all he did was groan like a bitch in heat. That basically meant that his dick was mine to take, and I took full advantage of the opportunity. I shoved his hard dick as far into my mouth as I could, struggling for breath at moments but refusing to let it go. His dick head was extremely sensitive, and every time I slurped on it, he was surprised and almost sobbed. I had him precisely where I wanted him.

For the longest time, I alternated between working on his feet, balls, and dick, leaving his armpits alone, yet that particular gift was enough to have him discharge a load all over his chest. Suffice it to say, I kept doing that for a bit, and BJ and I busted out laughing a few of times. He returned to my house twice after that, although the stories are different.