PrismaticPathogens

At the local boat ramp and watering hole. “Have any luck yet?”, the young ginger redneck with a mullet asked. His smooth bare chest lightly glimmering with some pheromones, and salt water. His larger buddy wearing his fishing shirt with the vents. This young master knew exactly how to word, situation. He knows how much I need his alpha dick. Or both their ducks, one in each end. Maybe the shirted boy, is already his designated bitch, for the afternoon. I just wish I were in their boat. Swallowing their cocks on command. Drinking their urine. Tasting their sun-kissed nutsacks.

Every moment possible, my eyes were wandering his sweaty tight body. In the mirror, while he flexed, and posed. All the while I steadily worked on my lower body. A steady pattern of using all those machines, also lended itself to watching him. Each time he raised his shirt, I could feel myself lose myself. Each time he laid down upon the bench, I stared blankly at his thighs, his happy trail peeking through his clothing showing me, his torso, and then, he pulls his legs up. I cannot tell you how many times, in that gym today I prayed that he would leave his sweat upon the machines next to mine. So I can smell his sweat. So I can taste it, maybe. I would tongue fuck his ass, anytime, anyplace, anywhere. Drop to my knees and swallow his dick, of course. But, the most promising and satisfying part of the entire three hour workout, was how obviously a desperate faggot, I truly must be. I am sure he gets stared at, in other places. I am sure he gets touched, by whomever he wants to touch him. I am sure he does like to spit on faggots. Maybe, even piss upon them, one could hope. I think Sunday must be my favorite day at the gym. For all the wrong reasons.

Finally got my new cock cage. . .