Several of my buddies take an annual trip, just the guys, leaving the wives at home and taking a week to do all that stupid stuff that wives hate; drinking beer, watching sports, swapping stories, and generally being guys.
This year we decided to go skiing and found an awesome cabin in the woods near a major ski resort. Even better, the resort was near a casino; drinking beer, watching sports, and gambling, it just doesn't get better than that.
Eight guys were able to convince their families to let them go, so we boarded a plane in Phoenix on Saturday morning, and were relaxing in front of the fire, cold brew in hand by Saturday night. As a group, we were all married, ranging in age from 34 to 46, and all with at least one kid. In fact, it was mainly through the kids' school that we had all become friends.
Several guys hit the casino Saturday night, but I figured I had all week to blow my nest egg, so along with a couple of others, I stayed in. Bruce broke out some cards and poker chips and we had a friendly game of low stakes Texas Hold'em. He had picked up a set of XXX playing cards in the airport, and I had a hard time concentrating on the game with all the hot little porn sluts caught in various acts of debauchery on each of the 52 cards.
That night, I had some wild sex dreams and woke up with a raging boner. After lying in bed for several minutes, masturbating slowly, I realized my morning wood wasn't going anywhere without some further attention. I snuck out to the dining room and grabbed the pack of XXX playing cards off the table before heading to the bathroom for a little private stroke session. I dealt several cards on the bathroom counter, yanked my shorts down around my ankles and went to work giving my horny dick a thorough jerking. As I neared the point of no return, the bathroom door opened and Vince stepped in.
Too late to stop, with one last stroke, I shot a huge wad across the bathroom counter, coating the mirror in several spurts of thick, creamy jizz.
"Oh, shit, sorry man," Vince apologized as it slowly registered in his foggy morning brain what his eyes were seeing. "The door was unlocked, I...."
His voice drifted off as he quickly backed out of the door, closing it behind him. I didn't say a thing, caught completely off-guard, embarrassed worse than the time my Mom had caught me jerking off in the shower. At least then, I was only a kid and I was just doing what teenage boys did. I couldn't fathom what Vince must be thinking, but I hoped he would keep his mouth shut. I didn't want to be the butt of the guys jokes all week long.
I didn't get a moment alone with Vince until later in the morning as we shared a ride up the mountain on the ski lift.
"Vince," I began, shakily. "I want to apologize for earlier. That was totally out of line."
"No problem," Vince replied, a wry smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "My fault man; with a house full of guys, I should have knocked before barging into the bathroom."
"I was totally embarrassed," I admitted, my face even now turning a bright shade of red. "I hope you won't say anything to the guys."
"My lips are sealed, buddy-boy," Vince replied. "I know being away from the wife for a few days can make a man miss the carnal pleasures."
"Yea," I answered, glad to see that Vince understood my situation. "Nothing wrong with feeding the ducks, I'm just sorry you had to witness that."
"Actually," Vince began, "I kinda envy you. I've never been able to get off just using my hand."
"What do you mean?" I questioned, instantly regretting opening this can of worms.
"I'm keeping your secret," Vince replied, "So what I say here is with the strictest confidence, right?"
"Absolutely," I answered. "Buddy-buddy confidentiality."
"Marsha is a dynamo in the sack. I mean the sex is fantastic. She's adventurous and pretty damn talented if you know what I mean."
It wasn't hard to imagine. Vince was an ex-college linebacker, built like a Mack truck with all-American good looks and a full head of wavy dark hair. At the summer pool parties all the wives drooled over the silhouette Vince cut in a pair of wet swim trucks. Lucky for the guys, Marsha, Vince's wife, was a complete babe. Tall and blonde, she had a body that was toned from hours of aerobics and a rack straight out of the pages of Playboy magazine. Thinking of Vince and Marsha getting it on was like imagining Ken and Barbie fucking. It was only natural that the all-American couple was having all-world sex.
"Anyway," Vince continued, "Using my hand to get off has just never appealed to me. Maybe it's the Catholic upbringing; you know, hair will grow on your palm or you will go blind. And with the great sex at home, I've just never had the need to masturbate."
Knowing that Vince traveled a lot with his job, I asked, "But what about when you are out of town. Don't you get horny?"
"Fuck yea," Vince chuckled. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess it's the bond formed when a guy catches his poker buddy jerking off in the bathroom."
"Very funny," I said, now generally interested in hearing his confession. "Your secret is safe with me."
"Well," he stuttered, "I have needs just like any guy. When I'm out of town, I mess around."
"On Marsha?" I exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
"Yea. But hold on, I don't actually have sex. I limit my fooling around to oral sex. I know, I know that sounds like total horseshit, but I have never fucked anybody else since I married Marsha."
"So let me get this straight," I began as the lift neared the top of the mountain. "When you're out of town, you find local women willing to suck your dick? Well no fucking wonder you don't like to masturbate."
"I never said women," Vince replied as we unloaded the lift, meeting up with the other guys before I could follow-up on the bomb he just dropped.
* * * * * *
Later in the bar, Vince headed up to buy a round.
"Let me help you carry them," I offered as I followed him to the bar.
As the bartender was pouring our drinks, I couldn't resist, "What did you mean earlier by "I never said women"?"
"I knew I should have kept my big mouth shut," Vince began. "But since you asked, I prefer getting head from women, but to be honest, when I'm out of town on business, I don't have the time or the energy to wine, dine, and seduce a woman. I'm not about to pay a hooker. Instead, I post a personal ad on the internet with a picture of my dick and a very specific scenario of what I'm looking for and within a few hours I have a host of willing cocksuckers from which to choose."
"You mean guys respond to your ad, willing to suck your dick?" I asked.
"Not just willing, they are usually begging to swallow my load. Guys are the biggest fucking size queens. I get e-mails from guys actually willing to pay me to suck my dick," Vince replied, a boastful smirk crossing his face. "And I gotta tell you, men make fantastic cocksuckers. Marsha gives great head, but nothing compared to some of the service I've received from these anonymous dudes."
"So you hook-up with fags?" I asked, somewhat appalled, but still fascinated.
"Actually, most of the guys are married, you know, closet queers with regular lives, but with this thing about sucking dick. You'd be surprised how many are out there. My ads are very specific and I prescreen all the replies, usually meeting guys in a local bar or coffee shop before bringing them back to my hotel room. I stay away from the real homos and twinks."
"And it always works?"
"Usually," Vince continued, "Although being out here in the middle of nowhere this week, I haven't had any luck yet."
"You posted an ad this week?" I gasped.
"Yea, I figured I'd give it a shot."
"What internet site do you use?" I asked, trying to understand why I was so enthralled with Vince's seedy sex life.
"Mostly craigslist.org, but there are other ones as well," Vince replied, as he paid the bartender. "I know it sounds strange, but somehow, when it's a dude swallowing my dick, I don't feel as if I'm cheating on Marsha. I never reciprocate and I keep everything totally anonymous. I don't even think of the guy as a guy, just a willing mouth to work a big load from my horny cock. It's no different than you using your hand to relieve yourself."
"Right," I answered, not believing Vince was right at all, but intrigued and somewhat turned on by his confidential admission.
* * * * * *
Trying to fall asleep that night, I kept replaying our conversation in my mind. Craigslist.org huh?; unable to sleep, I broke out my laptop and logged on. The cabin had a wireless network and I was surfing craigslist in no time. I found the men-seeking-men personals for the general area we were staying and tracked down what must have been Vince's posting:
Hung white male looking for a sub cocksucker to worship and swallow – In town the week of March 19 – 26. Looking to meet at a local coffee shop, before returning to my rental and spending several hours fucking your face into submission. If you are not an expert deep-throater, you will be when I finish with you. You should take instruction well and be willing to submit to light bondage and humiliation. I will not reciprocate and am not looking for chit chat or drama.
Me: 6'2", 195, in-shape, aggressive, verbal, 9+" uncut (see attached pic), disease free, safe and sane. You: Regular guy, prefer married or bi, disease free, expert cocksucker, submissive and discreet.
Holy shit, I thought to myself as I reread the posting. The attached picture did not show Vince's face, but the physique looked familiar. He must have used some picture alteration software or something because the dick attached to Vince's body looked otherworldly. It was fucking huge, his big masculine hand barely reaching around its girth as he squeezed his root, the blood engorging his mushroom head and the big veins throbbing angrily down the length of his impressive rod. This guy was hung like a horse.
As I stared at Vince's picture, my cock began to stir between my legs. Maybe Vince was right. Maybe men, including me, were size queens. I had messed around with guys back in college, usually to make a girl I was seeing happy, but I had never been as sexually charged by a naked man as I was looking at Vince's big dick literally leaping off my laptop's screen.
Before I knew what I was doing, I clicked on the anonymous e-mail link and began typing a response to Vince's posting, even as I was slowly stroking the raging boner now tenting my boxers:
Sub cocksucker here, 5'11", 175, married (must be discreet), disease free, looking to give no recip head. Staying in same area and willing to come to you. Can meet tomorrow to drain your load.
Without another thought, I hit the send key and watched as my innocence disappeared into cyberspace. Immediately regretting my actions, I wondered if Vince would even be checking his e-mail tonight. We had all drank pretty heavily and I figured he must be passed out by now.
To my surprise, a responding e-mail came almost immediately. Vince was obviously hornier than I had imagined:
Meet me at 9am at the French Roast on Main Street. If all is a go, I'll bring you back to my place and fuck your throat into submission.
Vince was a real piece of work. I could just imagine this big dicked stud taking complete control and fucking some stranger's throat with reckless abandon. But I had to admit, I couldn't get the image of his big appendage out of my mind. For whatever reason, I pictured myself on my knees sucking his big cock and swallowing his salty load. I quickly shot off a reply:
I know the place. See you there. I'll be wearing a baseball cap backwards.
I shutdown my laptop and rolled over, trying to decide whether I was just messing with Vince or if I really intended to go through with the proposed rendezvous.
* * * * * *
As the guys geared up next morning to go skiing, I noted that Vince had not come out of his room.
Knock, knock, "Vince, you coming with us?" I asked.
"Matt, you and the guys go ahead without me," he replied, "I've got a conference call with work I've got to take this morning. I'll catch up later."
