Saturday Rushing

One of the things that has always fascinated me about the late 1970s and early 1980s was the enthusiastic amount of sex going on between strangers, not exclusively though generally among men. The idea of just getting off and getting others off, without any inhibitions, made a deep impression on me at the time, as did the often tragic results of that lifestyle.

Regret at missing that party isn't quite the right perspective, but the idea of just getting off with someone, completely unknown to him, always remained in the background of my desires. And as it turns out, the people doing this are men, many of them with talents and skills far beyond my fantasies.

Some recent travelling led to purchasing a bottle of Rush, whose possession, at least, is not illegal where I live - much the same way that none of the games played with other men are illegal either.

I had enjoyed Rush with several girlfriends in past decades, and while they tended to enjoy it most when getting pounded as deeply and hard as possible, my preference was tit fucking and getting sucked. Or alone, watching porn and enjoying one of the other effects of Rush, as I fingered myself.

After returning home, and explaining what it was, my wife was completely uninterested in experimenting with it, though she did suck my cock and play between my legs a couple of times as I enjoyed myself with another nostalgic scent from the past. However, a certain pull existed, especially after my wife's disinterest in discovering what makes Rush so fantastic.

After several fairly unfulfilling trips to the glory hole bringing the little brown bottle along, I finally came full circle between the late 1970s and the present.

I entered the gloryhole booth, with the slider closed on my side, but the presence of someone on the other side was plain. I spent a few moments getting everything ready - coat off, pants comfortably open, Rush and coins above the selector panel, all the minor details before not having to think about anything except cock.

As usual, a bit of smoking and drinking had put me in the right frame of mind, with the added layer of knowing that finally, what likely happened would be fulfilling a decades old curiosity. This time, my hard cock would go through the hole, to simply experience what it would be like to have a stranger play with cock, the only contact being my erect cock itself.

After putting some money in, and cruising through the selections, I started stroking myself, as the reality of what I wanted started pushed me along. I slid open the panel a bit, and bending for a decent angle, I was rewarded with the sight of a fairly hard cock being stroked. This led in turn to more serious playing with my stiff cock, then opening the slider about half way. By now, we both knew what game we were playing, and when the slider was pulled completely out of the way, the lust on both sides became overwhelming.

It was at this point I stood, turned, and then put my cock through. This was the first time I had ever done that, simply putting myself completely within the grasp of a stranger who was as horny as I, my erect cock to do with as he pleased. If anything would happen at all, of course.

At the first touch of his fingers causing the now familiar magic sensation to spread throughout my being, I tried to reach for the bottle of Rush, and found it almost impossible to grasp between my fingers. At this point, I was completely torn between sinking deeper into the bliss he was creating, or trying to finally experience what it would be like to have sex with a man using Rush. Stretching with one hand, the next problem was actually opening the bottle with both hands and breathing in, as the space between my body and the wall was minimal.

By twisting a bit, without really pulling back, it was possible to get the bottle open, and to breathe in deeply.

Rush filled my lungs, and then started to fill my cock - indescribable feelings of utter sexual perfection, my cock swelling with the pleasure of a stranger's touch, a man knowing exactly how good it felt to have a hard cock played with. Holding my breath as long as possible, my mind began being carried away on a flood of abandoned horniness.

The sensations grew ever more liquid, and I leaned against the wall while breathing out, perfection drawing me on, a glorious sensation of pleasure. Only a small part of me wondered whether my cock was being sucked, or rubbing against his cock, or just being stroked - and it didn't matter in the least, as my whole body was lost in ecstasy, except even such lazy contemplation of what was happening added to the golden haze of male bliss. This was irresistible, overwhelming. Time was slowing to a primal beat, the beating of the pleasure coming from my growing cock, getting off with a stranger, another man, experiencing a style of gay sex of the past, the fantasies pale shadows of the reality.

Skating along the edge of unstoppable orgasm, the rush started to recede, and now was the point to decide whether to try to open the bottle again, or just enjoy myself. While still lost in slow motion thoughts, the decision was made for me, as he pulled back, then pushed gently against me. As I moved back, he moved the slider, and at that point, I knew the game was over, at least with him. This was not really disappointing, since that willingness to put myself completely in the hands of an unknown man was not without risk. Rush obliterates inhibitions in a wave of glorious sexual release, and that is not always the best path.

As I left, more amused at fate than anything else, it didn't occur to me that this would just be the beginning of rushed Saturday fun.

The visit to the gloryhole was over by noon, but around 2pm, my bi friend e-mailed, saying she was planning to stay home, cooking various dishes for a brunch tomorrow, and if I had time, and didn't mind if she went to sleep at 9pm, to stop by. It wasn't quite clear if her boyfriend was going to be home or not, but I truly enjoy her company and conversation, especially since these days, it tends to be too infrequent. Particularly in regards to recent tales of her adventures, which from one perspective, started in my basement.

I arrived around 8pm, and after having me hang my coat and take off my boots in the entrance area, we went inside, and promptly opened the bottle of plum wine I had brought. She kept working in the kitchen while I dealt with the fact that the cork broke off, the bottle being have been bought a while ago, for whenever we would next have the chance to enjoy its sweet and heavy taste. After maybe a half hour, her partner came up to say goodbye, going out to spend the night drinking with friends. He was using the streetcar, meaning he could drink as much as he wanted, since the city has a basic late night service on weekends.

She kept cooking for the next hour or so, while we pretty much finished the bottle of wine. The discussion wandered at times, but I almost couldn't help laughing when she talked about the most frustrating thing of the past 10 or so days - that both of the men she has met through the Internet have not cum with her. Whether in a quick encounter, like she had had that noon in a car, or over 48 hours in a hotel room with the married man with a girlfriend, neither man had cum, and she was very unhappy about it.

In part, because she considers herself far too talented and sexy to leave a man unsatisfied (or able to restrain himself), and in part, because she wants sex, and the concern of both men to show that they are interested in more than sex struck her as missing the point. She is not interested in anything but good sex with men (or women, but that is another Saturday story) she finds attractive herself. Her self-respect includes getting the other person off even if she doesn't cum (rare as that should happen, in her view), an attitude we both share deeply, with the difference that a man can't spend a quarter of hour orgasming in waves of liquid bliss.

As we kept talking, I finally decided to tell another person a bit about my interests and experiences. Opening a second bottle of wine, I started to offer my own story. We were sitting on a comfortable couch, her feet were on the cushions, covered with dark, fuzzy socks to her calf, wearing a comfortable and low hung corduroy skirt which reached almost as far as her socks. A large loose belt simply emphasized how nicely the skirt hung of the curve of her hips. A fairly thin black sweater, shoulders bare, emphasized the simple narrow straps of her dark undershirt. Like my wife, she rarely wears a bra. Bras are certainly necessary enough for a woman in many situations, or beyond a certain size, but a woman without a bra is real in a way that too few women apparently trust.

She wasn't wearing any make up either, and her soft hair was loose. The secret of her unbelievably soft hair was olive oil, she had told me several months ago. It is by far the softest hair I have ever felt in my life, even though she changes colors even few months.

Picking up my glass, I began by explaining that this story would not be the easy to tell out loud, and that it would be difficult to go through it without keeping the proper frame of mind.

The beginning was about the movie complex which my wife had first noticed a couple of years ago, immediately leading to the first interruption. 'You mean the huge 'Erotic' sign on the highway?,' she asked intently. I was a bit surprised, and answered yes. She said that she and her second Internet connection had almost decided to visit there around noon, but instead found a car a more convenient place to have sex. After describing the complex, she was incredibly disappointed, especially when I did say that the space was very suited to sex, being designed that way by someone with a broad understanding of how people can enjoy themselves.

Restarting from that point, she was quite amused at my describing the failure of trying to remain unknown while being monitored at the theater entrance with a camera. I explained how the complex was divided between gay and straight sections, and what sorts of spaces there were - the large L-shaped benches in the lockable rooms, the stage with a see-through mirror behind it, the room of mirrors, a room with a pole, and other variations, including a gloryhole. She was amazed that such a place was available, and frustrated that she was hearing about it now, instead of a few hours ago.

Drinking some more wine, I began to get into more intimate detail, including how when I first went to the gay section, already quite horny, I saw three men jacking each other off, which was intensely interesting, though also something which led to a certain confusion - sex in public isn't exactly the same as inviting anyone to stare, though there is nothing to stop it. So, continuing onwards, I told her about wandering around, then returning to the gay section, watching porn, getting hard, and then stroking myself, lost in lust.

I was hard telling her this, that being about the only way to be able to overcome my reluctance to describe such a personal experience. I explained how when stroking myself I had grown completely unconcerned, as everyone in there was sharing the same experience, she interrupted again, interested in this aspect. I explained that the other men there were equally aroused, thus there wasn't any reason to care, since sex was the obvious point. She seemed delighted at the idea, since she is generally worried about being 'discovered.' The concept of a place for sex, with private rooms, at minimal cost, appealed to her in a way that surprised me, leading me to wonder why I had never mentioned it to her before. Especially since I had been on the verge of doing so, a couple of different times last summer.

Getting back to the thread of my story, I described how a stranger had moved seats, then touched my cock, and how we began to get passionate in the dark. She was interested in details, and I told her as many as possible. Including how no words had been spoken, or how we were rubbing cock to cock in the theater as our tongues travelled over the other's skin. The lack of any words appeared to be hard for her to grasp, as she asked about it specifically - I simply noted that by the time a man is stroking his erect cock, words are generally redundant when someone starts to touch or suck.

However, I still hesitated a bit before describing how we first kissed, and how fantastically he could kiss. She didn't really react, which surprised me a bit. However, she interrupted yet again after mentioning that he was an older man, in his 50s. She explained that both men she had met were in their 50s, and that her sister couldn't understand why she was interested in that age. She was glad to see that now I understood one of the reasons for her attraction. I in turn asked her, haltingly, about the differences between kissing a man or a woman. She found it amusing that I seemed so embarrassed about the subject, explaining that my upbringing and nationality probably played a role in dealing with a question that she considered unremarkable.

I also explained how we became so sweaty, a layer of slipperiness that made our rubbing incredibly delicious, when she bounced up, saying 'come with me,' and we went to the entranceway, where her handbags were. She took out a white T-shirt from one hanging on the railing. I knew that she savored the scent of those she had fucked, but standing there, holding the proof, was exciting. I moved closer, and also smelled - not really all that interesting to me, but she was still breathing deeply. I moved to stand behind her, my fairly stiff cock pressing against her ass, telling her how sexy it was to know a woman like her, then nuzzling her neck as she moved against me. She broke away fairly quickly, then put the shirt back in the purse, leading me by the hand back to the couch.

Returning to my tale at her urging, I described how we went to a room, got naked except for our socks - a concept which took a bit to penetrate her awareness, after getting past the amusing image of it. Since it had been summer, the slipperiness between our bodies was explainable, but still unbelievably enticing, as we continued to kiss, rubbing ourselves. I told her about him sucking me, and how I had licked his balls and shaft, though not quite sucking him.

Which led to another quick interruption, because she wondered why I had stopped just on the edge of really sucking him off. This actually surprised me, as normally, she is quite concerned about diseases, and I explained that if there was a definition of high risk sex, sucking an unknown man off without a condom, who himself sucked strangers off without a condom, would definitely be included in that category. After thinking about it, she basically saw the point. I also explained how I gone to a public health office to be tested, with the expected clean results. Risk is one thing, but realistically, sex generally does not lead to a fatal disease.

By this point, the storytelling had been considerably different than I had imagined, deciding it best to pretty much end by telling her about one of the most surprising parts of the whole time with him, which was 'fucking' him. She seemed less than puzzled when I described how pure the feeling was to have him bent beneath me, my cock between his thighs and against his hard cock, just riding him, not caring about anything but the pleasure we were creating - part of which came from him being beneath me, as I kept my hands on him, slamming him against me. He was mine, and I was completely trapped by it. She said she understood completely, if perhaps not quite from the same perspective. But I also explained that the mixture of maleness and gentleness was also unexpected, just another part of an entire experience that had been pure ecstasy.

The wine bottle was now as finished as my story, and she was sitting somewhat slumped, with a band of her tattoed belly appearing in the space between her skirt and top. Her face was framed in her flowing hair, and her eyes seemed to smolder, a banked fire after her early afternoon exercise.

I offered to rub her feet and toes, which she has regularly declined for months, since it causes all sorts of irresistible thoughts to take over her mind. However, with minimal encouragement, and the promise that truly, I just wanted to rub her feet, she stretched out, and the massaging started.

Shortly, she began to relax, and as we found the proper balance, she began to basically melt under my touch. The way she melts is a major attraction of doing such things to her willing body. After a few minutes, she switched feet, and then I began to take off her sock. She somewhat feebly protested, and when I noted that really, she didn't want me to stop, she grinned and let me remove it. Switching feet again, now taking off her second sock, she was gently moaning at what I was doing to her, from playing with her toes to rubbing her heel to running my fingers along her arch.

She shifted, saying in a small but intense voice, 'Please rub my back.' I readily agreed, and began enjoying myself. A woman who appreciates a good back rub is always a treat, and she is more appreciative than most, even when sex is not the result. As time went on, my hand did reach other areas of her body, but none outside of the normal bounds of back rubbing. Her skirt was not tight, and running my hands under her panties to reach the base of her spine and the top of her ass was just part of what I would have done if she was laying down, instead of leaning against me. The gentle kissing and nibbling around her ears, neck, and shoulders was perhaps not part of a standard back rub, but we are good friends, and at this point, I couldn't resist a small addition, especially to smell and taste her luscious skin.

After more than a quarter of hour of most enjoyable effort on my part, her sweater and undershirt compressed to a thin ribbon of fabric, she moved away, sighing that I should stop. As she turned to lean against the couch back, I began to lightly run my fingers over her content face, and then across her still exposed midriff, making it quiver enticingly at each gentle motion. We began to kiss lazily, and my hand slowly went from her waist to her breast, and then to her truly stiff nipple. She has large breasts with large nipples, the sort that never getting really hard compared to smaller sized ones, but her nipple was harder than I had ever felt it, even after the times I have sucked it deeply into my mouth.

However, time was passing, and since it was now after 12:45am, it seemed best to simply avoid any complications involved in doing what we both clearly had in mind. We slowly separated, with the occasional kiss being impossible to prevent. But this was a familiar temptation, one we both had practice in indulging it as well as restraining ourselves from it. We rose, and began to prepare to say goodnight.

In the entrance way, my shoes and coat now on, the game seemed to be following its normal course, until it took a turn in a direction leading to 20 of the most exquisite sexual minutes of my life.

Beginning to kiss again, we broke apart slightly, and started gripping and squeezing the other, both determined to pursue some goal, but unknowing what. The 'game' ended with us both laughing, not really knowing what the whole point had been. She stood back, her skirt low, breathing huskily, both of us totally aroused, but also aware that the evening had reached its practical end.

I then jokingly suggested she should at least go up the stairs, promising that I wouldn't bother her as she went past me, so I could enjoy watching her hot ass bounce up the steps. Or she could stop at the fourth step, which was close to eye level when leaving the house. In response, she put her hands flat on the table in the small hallway, swaying her ass seductively as we leaned against it, her breasts swinging freely.