A Roar Above the Winter Traffic

"Wait" I say, "stand with me and feel the energy."

We're on a concrete footbridge astride the huge expressway, watching a torrent of cars bursting under us in the dark. People are rushing homeward from the city at the end of the day. Cars moving at full speed now that the evening rush hour is over, their headlights arcing through the crystal cold as we cross the old bridge on our homeward path.

Our lakeshore walk held a special sweetness this winter night for Rick and me. It's exactly six months since my surgery and I've just received the all clear on my PSA test. No detectable cancer remaining. Yes, they took my prostate along with the cancer, and a lot more with it, including my erection and the cum that had always been so abundant, rich and slippery and -- I thought -- an endlessly renewable resource.

But Rick and I still have each other. He stuck with me through all of this. I just turned 63, he's 61. My heart lurches, trying to hold just how big this is for me: being loved through cancer, loved through treatment, loved through the terror of post-surgery testing -- wondering if the cancer has gone.

Being loved in my new and softer body. Being loved even when all my love and desire doesn't make my cock hard. Being loved through my loss and my grief.

Yet I'm determined that I can still love, too. Right now I love to feel the force of all that humanity in their cars barrelling under the bridge, powering under us, through us, filling us up. Perhaps this big, anonymous love is easier, less intimate. Just the force of nature as it manifests in human beings. The life force that is still alive in me even though my limp cock seems not to have received the memo.

There's something about this night that holds me, tunes me into both life and loss. The bare lakeside trees, their last leaves rustling under our feet. The icy cold sucking life out of all that's around us. And the steely stars not giving a shit, watching these ebbs and flows with a far-off indifference. So much loss.

Maybe that is why I wanted us to stop on the footbridge over the expressway, between the lakeshore and the city, in the cold dark of the winter's night, bundled up and hearts pounding after our evening walk.

And when I say "wait, stand with me," something in him hears my urgency to stop, to wait, to feel this precious crystal night. I slip an arm out of my puffer jacket and sneak it under his leather shell. I revel in his strong back rippling under my fingers. Even through his thick woolen shirt, my fingers know they are caressing his rich chocolate skin. Celebrating his solid breadth and depth. I want more of him. As always.

I feel his entire body expand. Literally widening his hug, pulling me in closer, engulfing me in his mountain presence. Expanding even more as our hearts connect. So grateful to be alive. Together for this moment.

I feel his weight shift. "On the road down there, they all want to go home. Come on, let's go home," he says in a very practical voice. His firm arm pulls me away from the roar and the cold. The image of our apartment flashes up: warm lights welcoming us into our cosy nest, our refuge, our place of peace. I want to go with him. But I am not ready yet.

"No -- stay" says a voice from deep inside me. "Feel the essence. Feel the throb of this human flood, fucking its way right through us. It's the rhythm of life and it passes right between our legs." I turn to face the flow of humanity down on the highway below us, my legs apart. Swing my shoulder bag in front of me, leaning in so it softens the rough concrete of the balustrade against my belly.

He gets it. Disentangles our arms, shifts behind me, let those pecs press against my back, thighs behind mine. Warmth and comfort. Literally backing me.

"Like you have done this whole year," I tilt my head and murmur into his ear. I don't need to say more. We both know he has held me through my eviscerating loss as well as my brush with death. That warm, solid presence, standing by me. Accepting me, soft cock and all. Able to take his own loss -- who wants a limp dick? - without blaming me for what I can no longer do for him. Loving me as I am.

A tear rolls down my face, quickly turning icy. He kisses it away. I feel complete. His arms wrapped around me, his warmth behind me. Below us, the thick flood of humanity wrapped in the metal of speeding cars, energetically bursting through me as they roar under our concrete bridge. Ten lanes of traffic reminding me I'm alive. Each one of their desires a thread running through me.

Until I feel another, closer pulse of desire. Unmistakable, even through his thick sweatpants and mine. He's swelling against me.

"Uuuuh" the groan comes from deep within me. Feeling him swell against my ass. No longer trying to drag me home. Present with me, here on the bridge. Wanting me.

Without any asking, my back begins to arch, my ass pressing against him. I feel his lovely cock growing. Sweet yearning in me. Pressing back, willing him to rise.

Deeper down, my passage clenching, wanting to suck him in.

"You're tangled up in blue" I say and match action to my words to set free his bulging cock from his deep, royal blue boxers. I reach down behind my ass, slipping my fingers easily down against his heavenly smooth belly. Down, sliding easy under the waistband of his sweatpants, fingertips pressing inwards to get past the tighter band of his boxers.

Down, into his lovely curly bush, the one he specially doesn't shave for me, the bush I know so well. My nostrils flare at the scent so deeply imprinted in my absolute knowing. Even as I am breathing the chill winter night air, my soul is inhaling his hot manly essence, the muskiness I know is twirling and swirling around those luxurious pubes.

Down go my fingers, spreading over his fat, swollen, warm, beloved cock. I just want to hold it but no, now it is really straining to get up, no time for gentle cupping. Energy flaring up like a wildfire. Time for that deft flip, turning it upwards, freeing that magic wand to grow. The flip I know so well from myself, all those years of bursting out of my boxers, until last year. I'd be bulging in my pants, whipping my hand down and freeing myself to bounce up and harden ...

... with this memory, my hand falters, my heart falters. From the warmth of desire I crash out into the wasteland of my devastating loss: even now, with all his loving heat, my own boxers are barely tightening at all. My balls hang useless.

This is not me.

What's the point of going on when I can't get it up?

His pulsing cock wakes me -- and still it takes a conscious effort to drag myself away from my despair. His swelling is love. His swelling is life. Right there, he's throbbing and pulsing in my hand down his pants. Like dragging a heavy load, I lift my energy up, out of that dark place. Shift my attention away from what's not happening between my own legs.

Remembering why my hand is firmly wrapped around his warm, thick, heavy cock. Remembering to haul it up out of the tangle of blue boxers so he is free to grow. Now his erection is unstoppable, pushing up against my loving palm, pressing, inviting my fingers to wrap around his throbbing desire.

And so my fingers wake up again and eagerly curl around his growing cock. I shudder with deep desire as I feel his shaft solidifying into steel. My palm pays homage as this great gift rears up to its full magnificence. Like coming home, my fingers marvel at the impossible softness of his rich dark purple-black skin wrapping the rock-hard core. The skin I so love to touch, to kiss, to engulf. His hot hardness burns me back into this loving embrace, his solid love. And now his desire heating up.

I stroke a little up and down, spreading some precum. Touching his special places enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath. His teeth nuzzle that special place on my earlobe. He pushes harder, wanting me to jack harder, and I start ...

Then a wilder thought: there is nobody on this bridge. It's dark and cold up here. All these men are driving home in their cars below us, roaring between our legs, going home. What's to stop me taking him into my best kind of home, right here?

"I want you in me."

Simple. Clear. What I want. And in the roar of the traffic, I can tell him louder.

"I WANT YOU IN ME" I shout it now. Roar my desire over the traffic.

I'm reaching round to pulling his ass closer to me. Feeling his hardness against the crack of my ass even through all the layers of clothing. Knowing he is aroused. Yet there's a caution in his hesitation that wasn't there when we were young.

"I want you too" he says in that deep rumbly voice, lips right against my ear. "But maybe back home where it is warm and comfortable...?" His breadth and his depth envelope me, inviting me into a safer refuge. I can see the lights of our cosy apartment winking in my mind's eye.

But there is something rising up my thighs, like sap in the spring. A gathering in my ribs that ignores the winter. A tingling in my fingertips. "I WANT YOU HERE AND NOW - ALL THE WAY IN ME" I roar into the night, into the torrent of humanity fucking its way under the bridge, through between our legs. My heart roars it directly into his chest pressing up against me, into the heart of my beloved. I want you.

I feel him looking from side to side along the footbridge. Noting the pale pools of light around each lamp, the darker patch around us. Calculating. My ass rubbing up against his throbbing hardness. Asking. I swear his cock can hear my depths calling, feel my hole sucking. I know his heart can feel mine.

Something shifts. It's like the belly of the sky hangs fuller, more fertile. Suddenly he swings the flaps of his coat out to provide some shelter, and then yanks my ass naked. Quick, economical, getting my trackpants and boxers and his out of the way.

His warm hands feeling my butt.

It is still firm enough,

I have time to think. I clench and release it for him as his fingers drive down my crack the first time. His hot cock now bare against my ass cheek. And his fingers probing, feeling the heat at my entrance. A first heavenly rub around my ring has me melt inside.

I want him so badly. Push my ass at his glorious cock. Trying to open that mouth and suck him in. Needing him to open me up. His one hand staying and fingering and then the other returns, wet now, pushing in, easily opening my first ring, burning its way in deeper. Being burned, I know, by my welcoming heat surrounding him.

I feel his familiar routine for on-the-go loving. So grateful for saliva, slipping, turning one finger, then replenishing with more warm natural wetness, returning with two then three fingers in me.

Of course I am working him the same way, slobbering onto my palm and reaching behind me to slather his gorgeous rampant cock, getting it ready, loving it up and down, up and down.

Feeling it thicken even more, pulse even harder. Yearning to get all our hands out of the way. All my being focused on his hard cock preparing to come home inside me.

At last his fingers slide out of me with a firmness, an assurance that I am ready, wet enough, open enough. I trust him. And I feel that greater bulb of his glorious wet cockhead pressing at my entrance.

I want to rush, to be split open - but oh, delicious man! He rests a big hand on my hip, slows us, pauses, savours my entrance with his tip. Slips it in, then out again, then in again.

Shallow strokes. He is slightly crouched, I am hitched up a bit on my toes, legs spread, waiting, inviting. Each time his lovely cockhead enters me my entire channel sucks him inward with all my being. Well toned muscle gripping and grabbing his well toned cock.

My own soft cock buried in the cloth of my sling bag, cushioned just comfortably enough. Most of my being further back, aching for him to come in deeper. And at the same time loving this pause, with just his warm wet tip in me, testing me, teasing me, flipping my opening ass-mouth like lips over his hot bulb. Heating me up. Feeding on my hunger.

I love him for holding me like this. All his warmth behind me. All his love. All his potential. All his potency. All the power of anonymous people flooding the highway in front of me. The hot heavy belly of the sky inviting us to go all the way.

The hot throb of his cock just so --

there.

So solid, so powerful, so patient. His energy already pulsing through that exquisite bridge of my ass-lips around his cockhead, radiant streams upward, through me and way beyond into those stars that feel like they are licking my nipples. Suspended in ecstatic expectation.

And then, at last, his long slow thickness simply fucks its way into me, inexorable, laying an infinite pipe all the way into my molten core. Pausing, retreating just a half inch - only to resume that endless loving invasion. Careful to spread that slickness deeply, now that his lovely cock is reaching further than his wayfinder fingers had opened me.

I feel fuller and fuller and I love it. My stretching rings sing a hymn to his love, to hope, to possibility. That energy that was gathering in the tips of my toes, the electricity tingling in my scalp begins to spread. It's on the move, gathering as he begins to really fuck me. The fire spreading from my ass joyously radiates up to me those electric sparks from my extremities. His heat and mine are building now.

The traffic roars. His hot breath burns the back of my neck. His hips are slamming into me now, his balls slapping against my thighs, my soft cock swelling against the linen, enjoying the fiery rub each time his thrusts bounce me up against the parapet of the bridge.

Like a gathering storm, the traffic roar swirls under us. His love begins to bellow in my ear. His cock reams my ass. And to my surprise and joy, my own heat ramps up more steeply than it has for ages, swelling, quickening, expanding throughout my body.

Could it really be? It's been so long since a full orgasm ripped through me. My soft cock is swollen enough now to love the friction as his hard thrusts bump me up and down, rubbing my limpness against the cloth. More of that stampeding sensation is coming up from my balls, pulsing in my ass as it grabs every inch of his glorious cock, milking it and in turn being set on fire by his hot thrusts. That age-old buildup starting in me draining out of my toes and my fingers and my scalp, rushing towards my core. Accelerated by feeling his peak building the way I know and love.

And now it is unmistakable: my orgasm really is on its way. We move faster. My ass grips and releases, grips and releases as he strains to reach my deepest core. The roaring permeates every cell of our bodies. His thrusts rough now, the concrete parapet just sharp enough against my chest to rouse my nipples right through my winter wool.

A crescendo building, coming from everywhere at once -- my ass being reamed, my soft swollen cock being rubbed against the rough linen, his hips slamming into me, the roaring coming from him and from me and the traffic, inside and outside and all over, erupting, his lovely cum shooting and bursting into me, his delicious cock rampant, tearing me apart, filling and spearing and cumming and tumbling me into my own release like sparks erupting, ripping all the flares from all the corners of the world, all the corners of my body, all the poles of the compass of our love, penetrating and exploding and streaming in joy.

We laugh and we roar and we cry as our bodies shudder together, every cell bursting apart. Eventually, slowly, cascading back into our bodies. Laughing and panting.

My heels hit the ground again. I notice the roughness of the concrete parapet. The stars wink on. The traffic roars.

His magnificent cock subsides, abates with the passing of our storm. Slips out of me, leaving my entire interminable ass channel alive with that freshly fucked, reamed, well used feeling. His cum sliding deliciously down my thigh. A pool of light from the dim lamp at the end of the bridge showing us the way home.

Such a deep sigh. My body a prayer of gratitude for this love, this heat, his rampant fountaining cock and my own smaller softer miracle.

Even as my body purrs, my brain finally re-registers that we are on a public bridge over ten lanes of highway and four lanes of railway, on a winter's night, not far from home. A train clatters under us. The wet trail down my thigh brings a chill.

It's time to pull up our sweatpants, snuggle into one last bridgetop hug, and swing our legs into the crisp walk through the cold night to our warm nest, and a hot bath filled with our love and gratitude.