This series is dedicated to the peculiar, the weird, the not-so-missionary of it all. It's the curious little quirks in our sex lives that show up in the oddest of places. Some volumes may seem pretty basic by now as we've expanded our sexual tastes- but nonetheless, we spend the time deliciously celebrating each individual kink as we peruse - the Fetish Library. Please do keep in mind though that these stories aren't meant to be detailed explainers for the how and why of things, that all participants are 18 and over, and situations where consent isn't explicitly given are strictly fantasy.
Soaked Through
Frank was a dad type in his late forties who had been with the surveyors for over twenty years when I was hired as an intern. In fact, when he started working under his father-in-law, I wasn't even born. I'm Darryl aged 20, aimless as fuck.
My mother had watched me drop out of college and move in with strangers, pulling some strings amongst her friend group to get me this gig in hopes I'd be able to afford my own joint and get on the straight and narrow. Surveying wasn't a flashy gig, it wasn't going to make me rich or keep me knee deep in pussy any time soon, but it would at least pay for my mobile bill. My roommates weren't too bad after all, just a couple of blokes in their twenties who liked beer and tits who couldn't remember when to take out the trash.
Anyhow, Frank pulled me from desk duty for a big job- it was surveying this massive plot of land in the country that was getting turned into a fulfillment centre, or a call centre or - who the fuck cares- it was a big site, hour and a half out of the city, potential for overtime. So I was keen on getting out of the city, away from the dogs, the homeless and nosey Karen's wanting to know what we were building. Lady, we're surveyors- we don't build shit. The first couple days were tedious as hell, and the three hours in the truck were spent quietly listening to oldies on AM radio. Out of boredom I just began to notice more and more detail about Frank. He had hairy old dude forearms, strong and veiny with crusty looking hands. I could see how he would have been a good looking dude at my age, and would often wonder what kind of pussy he would have gotten back in the day when shit was far less complicated. I think he had daughters around my age, but he didn't talk much about his family when we were out. Part of me wondered if he'd take a shine to me, introduce me to his family and marry me off to one of his girls. Look, fuck you- I didn't have a father growing up- sometimes I get these fantasies of traditional family shit. I mean, I also have some other fantasies of... fuck you. Where was I.
In any case, it was the third day on site when something happened. Frank had set up his tripod about 700 yards away and seemed to be fucking around and not responding on the walkie. So I pulled out the binoculars and took a look. Dude was out there in the dirt with his overalls bunched around his ankles with his cock in hand taking a piss. The image was wild to me. Sure, we're out in the middle of nowhere, and overalls are a bitch - but there was no reason to be bare assed to take a piss. More importantly, even from 700 yards out with a fine pair of binoculars I could make out that Frank was fucking hung.
Call me a poof or whatever but, fuck you- respect is respect - and when you see a guy you thought you knew pull out a massive hog, you're going to look in awe. Admit it. And this knowledge, especially with an older cat like Frank is just going to spin the imagination. Dude seems like your average boring ass dad, but with a piece like that you've gotta have had some crazy stories, right?
But yeah, it tweaked my brain. It stuck in there yeah? So for the next week, I'd pack a couple beer in the cooler and try to loosen the guy up as we worked. If I was going to make the best of this for the duration of this job, I was going to pull out every sordid detail from this guy I could. It took a little while for him to even accept the beer during work hours, but soon the two of us were blazing in the middle of nowhere. Admittedly, whenever I thought he was taking a piss I'd pull out the binoculars and watch, trying to get a better glimpse of that behemoth.
And after the beers, I guess thats what also did me in.
You see, whenever we'd hit a truck stop on the way back home I'd always go in for a piss with Frank and try to get a better look at that cock. It became a low-key obsession. Problem was the place where we always stopped had these tall dividers between the urinals and Frank was a snug pisser. So the ongoing difficulty also became an obsession.
One Friday I doubled the beer in the cooler and brought along some wild turkey, intending to finally get the guy opening up about shit. He seemed to be in a gruff mood, but after some nudging on site we killed the twelve pack and had started swigging from the bottle. Noticing it was close to quitting time I tried to wean Frank off the booze, knowing we had a long drive ahead of us but the guy kept nipping back when I wasn't looking. I cursed myself for being so shortsighted and resigned to driving us home, but felt I'd finally hit the jackpot when we went to collect the tripods about 1000 yards from the truck and saw Frank unbuckle his overalls.
"Gotta take a wicked piss mate, don't mind me,"
I turned slightly to the side trying not to look too eager, but kept him in my peripheral. I had to piss too but didn't know how to conduct myself here. This was not a familiar situation for me.
"You gonna look boy?"
"Huh?" I began to get nervously excited. Was it going to be this fucking easy?
