Day At The Park 1

I'm a fantasizing exhibitionist. Nothing excites me more than the thought of showing off my naked body in public places. I often daydream about parading around in the buff downtown during lunch hour or strolling nude through the mall on a Friday night, my fully exposed cock and balls swaying shamelessly to and fro as I sashay my naked, overweight, middle-aged ass past hundreds of bemused, if not shocked, spectators.

Unfortunately, such behavior is against the law. The last thing I want to do is get arrested and jailed, maybe imprisoned, for indecent exposure and then be labeled a sex offender for the rest of my life. So, my forays into outright exhibitionism have been limited to such tame acts as sunbathing at a nude beach, walking naked around a golf course after midnight, and hiking in the nude on a secluded fire road in the nearby mountains.

There was one time, however, when I did work up the nerve to go naked in public. Every year, for seven hours on a Sunday afternoon in late September, city officials in San Francisco, California, close off several blocks in the downtown business district and turn it over to the city's alternative lifestyles community for an open-air festival. After casually perusing the group's website, I concluded that the gala is just an excuse to wander around in public with one's genitalia in full view, without fear of reprisal by local law enforcement authorities. If so, it would be the perfect opportunity for me to prance around naked in broad daylight before a crowd of appreciative onlookers, and so I made plans to attend the Folsom Street Fair.

When the day of the shindig dawned, I was getting ready in a hotel room a few blocks from the entrance to the fair. The picture galleries on the website suggested that the event is one big X-rated costume party, so I decided to wear a costume, too. Mine consisted primarily of a flimsy, see-through G-string. The pink mesh pouch approximated an equilateral triangle. It measured 4-1/2 inches, unstretched, along each side and was barely large enough to hold my flaccid cock and balls. The 1/4-inch pink elastic straps were edged with lace. The waistband was attached to the pouch by two shiny, 3/4-inch-diameter metal rings while the string was sewn to the bottom of the pouch and attached to the waistband by a simple fabric loop. A thin seam running from the bottom of the pouch stopped halfway up the front so as to offer the casual observer an unobstructed view of my circumcised penis. Other than the G-string, I wore a pair of gray calf-length socks with black stripes, a pair of black sneakers with white trim and orange laces, and a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, black with an orange "SF" on the front.

I admired myself in the mirror, being particularly delighted by the way my penis, although completely covered up, was also completely exposed to view. I'm naked but I'm not! I thought excitedly. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from the image in the mirror, donned a worn trench coat and headed off for the fair. Ten minutes later, I arrived at the clothing check area and handed over the coat. Soon I was strolling up Folsom Street in all my virtual naked glory.

At that point I realized that I had failed to understand the true nature of the Folsom Street Fair. I had pictured it as some sort of sprawling, open-air paean to exhibitionism, and it certainly was that. But it was also a whole lot more, as the evidence milling about before my astonished gaze so readily testified.

Everywhere I looked I saw people wearing leather, some a lot of it and others hardly any at all. A great deal of it was fetish wear, like harnesses with metal rings around the nipples, pants with cutouts for the genitals or buttocks, bras with cutouts for the breasts, crotchless panties, cock sleeves, dog collars, studded bracelets and necklaces, hoods, and hats of every shape and size. Those fairgoers not wearing leather were bedecked in a dizzying array of fanciful get-ups that included exotic masks, elaborate headpieces, boas, feathers, and lingerie. Some were wearing nothing but body paint, and a few were wearing nothing at all.

And then I noticed the body art. These folks weren't just sporting tattoos on the biceps or forearms like sailors do, oh no. They were festooned from head to toe with what can only be described as works of art, given the vast array of rich colors and ingenious designs displayed before me. More than once I saw a shaved head or a face covered with tattoos, and it was not unusual to see people whose chests, backs, shoulders, arms and legs were tattooed in toto.

I also saw something I had not expected at all, and that was a plethora of body piercings. It was nothing to see folks with pierced nipples, noses, eyelids and lips, not to mention ears and belly buttons. And what can I say about the pierced genitalia? The very sight of them, especially the cocks, made me shudder and look the other way.

How queer this all is, I thought, and then I realized that a great many of the revelers seemed to be either gay or lesbian. Men kissing men and women kissing women appeared to be the order of the day. I even witnessed men in pairs jerking each other off, and as one would ejaculate his place would be taken by another.

But the most shocking thing of all was the pain and degradation that infused the fair. Queer is one thing, but these folks were also into BDSM. Everywhere I looked people, many of them bound and gagged, were being whipped, mostly on the back and buttocks but sometimes on the breasts and genitals. Masters dragged their slaves about by means of a collar and chain, and many slaves sported butt plugs, cock restraints or chastity gear. I saw one lesbian couple where the slave had large vibrating dildos shoved up her cunt and ass, and her master was inviting passersby to "stimulate" her by means of remote controls. The slave's screams, a mix of agony and ecstasy, provided the crowd with much gaiety.

And so I walked along, feeling more and more out of place with each step I took, until I came upon several stages. On one of them, two long boards were nailed together to form an upright "X," and attached to the boards were four leather cuffs, two at the top and two at the bottom. Next to the "X" loomed an imposing fellow. Broad shouldered and tall, he was dressed in black leather boots, pants, and sleeveless shirt. On his head he wore a black leather hood with cutouts for the eyes, nose and mouth. As he stood there with arms crossed, he reminded me of a medieval executioner. I had stopped to examine this strange scene more closely when he beckoned for me to come closer.

"Nice costume," he said, smiling. "Would you like to be the first to try my demonstration?"

"What kind of demonstration is it?" I asked naively.

"It's a masturbation demonstration," he replied. "I strap you in and people come along and jack you off. When you cum, I turn you loose and you go about your day. Sound like fun?"

It most certainly did. The very idea of being naked and on public display before thousands of strangers is what had drawn me to Folsom Street in the first place. The added bonus of being masturbated while on display, of having my pecker stroked by the very strangers I had exposed myself to until I covered their willing fingers with spurts of sticky goo, sent a delicious shiver of anticipation through me. This, I thought, is even better than the exhibitionist experience I had come here for, and so, without thinking, I accepted his kind invitation.

He instructed me to remove my G-string, place it under my cap, and stand in front of the wooden "X." I eagerly complied. Then he fastened the lower restraints around my ankles and the upper ones around my wrists. When he was done, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. There I stood, stark naked and strapped spread-eagle to an upright wooden cross in the middle of an open-air stage, my shaved cock and balls shamelessly exposed to the admiring gaze of the assembled multitude. I couldn't believe my good fortune, and I thrilled to feel my cock rising up in full erection.

Then he produced something that looked like a short plastic penis attached to a belt of some sort. "What's that for?" I started to ask, but before I could get the words out he shoved the penis into my mouth and fastened the belt buckle behind my head. Unable to speak, I could only grunt in protest, which he blithely ignored. Then he propped up a placard in front of the stage and stood to the side. Almost immediately, I could hear guffaws from passersby as they looked at the placard. Within a few minutes, a line had formed of fairgoers eager to help me get my rocks off, or so I thought.

First up was a paunchy, middle-aged white guy with a white handlebar mustache. Except for a leather cowboy hat, sunglasses and leather cowboy boots, he was naked. Grinning, he grabbed my cock and started stroking it. The smooth workings of his fingers as they glided up and down my stiff pecker made me fear I might cum right away and, worse, be released long before I was ready. But no sooner had he started than he stopped. He backed away with a knowing grin, and the next person in line took me in hand. His leather vest hung open at the front, exposing a huge black belly. He sported a leather biker's cap and leather chaps that exposed his naked buttocks. After several expert strokes he, like the guy before him, walked away grinning, leaving me hard and aching for more.

Then things got kinky. Next up was a master, covered from head to toe in leather, and his slave, his body completely hairless and wearing only a leather dog collar, with chain attached, and a leather cock restraint. "Can he suck him?" the master asked my master, for in truth that's what he had become. Upon getting an affirmative response, he shoved his slave's head in the direction of my rampant prick. The slave took me between his lips and began blowing me like he intended to fill his mouth with my sperm, but after only a few sucks his master pulled him away by the chain, leaving me more frustrated than before. "Keep it up, OK?" he sneered as they walked away, slapping my stiff penis so hard it hurt. They were followed by a lesbian master, whose ensemble included a short leather loincloth, and her slave, clad only in three pieces of black duct tape, two thin strips covering her nipples and a slightly wider strip covering her vulva and anus. After making the slave give me a dozen or so mind-blowing licks with her pierced tongue, the master lifted the loincloth to expose her own pierced clitoris and labia. While the slave licked her to orgasm right in front of me, the master taunted me as I thrashed about, now wanting desperately to break free.

And so it went for hours on end. I must have been played with by nearly everyone who attended the fair, straight, gay and lesbian alike, and most of them grinned devilishly as they pulled on my pecker or gave me head. Some people asked my master if they or their slave could lick or finger my anus while they worked on my cock, and every time the answer was "yes." Several bare-breasted women even got on their knees and made me tit-fuck them, but no one would allow me to ejaculate. Apparently my master was keeping a close eye on the proceedings because, whenever I felt my aching penis on the verge of erupting, he held back the next person in line until I had calmed down enough to be stroked or sucked without cumming. And every time I failed to cum, the people waiting in line cheered.

Eventually, the fairgoers grew weary of amusing themselves with my penis, and there was only one person left in line. I hoped and prayed that I would be allowed, at long last, to achieve orgasm, but again I was teased for a few brief moments without being given any relief. Then, after a long day of sexual torment, my master freed my hands. My muscles ached, my cock was numb and I was dying of thirst, but all I could think about was beating off, right then and there. I jerked my sore and throbbing pecker as furiously as I could, and in no time thick ropes of cum exploded over my hand and splatted on the stage to the rousing cheers of passersby. It was the most intense orgasm I have ever experienced, and when it was over I just stood there, completely exhausted.

After he freed my ankles and took the plastic penis out of my mouth, I noticed the sign that everybody else had been reading all day long: Keep It Up/Don't Let It Cum. I looked in the direction of my master and he smiled mischievously. "I told you," he said, "I wouldn't turn you loose until you came. And I didn't."