Scratching That Itch 1

I was ready. My wife and 19-year-old daughter had decided the family should go for lunch at the local famer’s market and I had been horny as a billy-goat all morning. When I showered, I had flushed my innards until the water ran clean, and had lubed my hungry 47-year-old asshole ready for any pleasant surprises the day might deliver. It took all my will power when I applied the lube not to finger my hole until I came, but I disciplined myself to only smear the necessary and leave the possibility that a helpful stranger might scratch the ever-present itch I always had in my hindquarters. I had Grindr on my phone and was determined to make it as easy as possible for opportunity to find my back door should it have the urge to knock. 

I had changed my status in my Grindr profile to “At Orchard”, and the description to “Have protection, already lubed” as we set off on our adventure. During lunch I had occasionally glanced at my phone, as much to alleviate the annoyance that was beginning to pervade my general experience of being married, as to see if anything interesting was in the offing. I had all but given it up for a bad job when I saw that beautiful little blue “1” that contrasted so enticingly with the mustard coloured scheme of the cruising app that lit up the screen of my Galaxy Note 4. Even as I watched it changed magically to “2”. I tried to keep the delight from showing on my face. After all it might as easily be some horny guy 134km away that merely wanted to swop cock pics, as a more satisfying application for the position of itch-alleviator, which I was more keen on filling. Pardon the pun.

I couldn’t hide my glee when I opened the message and it simply stated, “Meet you in the toilet.” The second bubble said, “Second stall. Door unlatched.” And a picture of a marginally scruffy twenty-something year old with a cute smile. I shot off a pic of my own so he knew who was taking up the offer, and a moment later a “shweet I’m waiting” appeared in a new bubble.

My wife caught the tiny smirk that stole its way onto my otherwise bored demeanor.

“What’s so funny?” she asked with a ‘please share’ tone in her voice. 

“Nothing, just some stupid comment by Charles on Facebook.” I deliberately used our mutual friend’s name because she found him supercilious and irritating and I knew that she wouldn’t want to know what the recently atheist intellectual was saying. True to form her eyebrows just shot into her hairline and she snorted derisively—I knew I was safe from further inquiry.

“I’m going to the loo,” I said, kissed her on the forehead and left her and my daughter chatting about some female shit that would have had me slitting my wrists in five minutes flat if a cute fucker on Grindr wasn’t propositioning me. All the profile said was “25, exploring” which was code for ‘I will fuck anything that moves, man or woman’.

I followed the signs that led to the toilet and lucky they were some way from the main building. My asshole twitched in anticipation as I approached the men’s room. I was scared that I would find the room occupied by others who needed to answer the more mundane call of nature for which the premises were more usually reserved.

I heaved a mental sigh of relief when I saw that the room was deserted except for a pair of boots that conspicuously poked almost all the way out from under the door to stall number two. It was, as promised, unlatched.

When I entered and my footsteps echoed through the empty men’s room, the boots pulled back and the door inched marginally more open. Scared that I might be observed entering an occupied stall, I hastily reversed into the open stall and closed the door behind me. I was startled as two muscular hands grabbed me around the chest and pulled me into a moderately muscular chest that was waiting behind me. A scruffy, stubbly chin started to nuzzle in my neck and I struggled to stifle my groans of delight as a warm tongue found my ear. A husky voice breathed into it.

“I’m going to fuck you so you remember me daddy-o.” The man behind me turned me around and I was confronted by a dazzling grin below the shades on the face of a scruffy-cheeked charmer that looked a year or two younger than his profile stated. I didn’t have a lot of opportunity to take in the sights as he pulled me in and kissed the crap out of me. He was slightly taller and acted the top as he hauled me closer to suck at my tongue and ravage my lips. He had me behind the head with his right hand while he groped at my rapidly hardening crotch with his left. He backed me into the side of the stall, which was fortunately the last one in the line so the wall was solid and tiled. When he had me with my back against the wall he started humping at me with his already bulging crotch. In the meantime he did his best to eat my face off. Fuck knows we would have alerted the whole neighborhood that there was more than just a number two going on in the stall if anybody had chanced to walk in at just that time.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” I whispered. “My wife and daughter are waiting outside in the restaurant.”

“Naughty daddy! I like that,” he mumbled into my mouth and sank to the floor to undo the sweats I had worn to ensure quick access. He undid the drawstring and rapidly pulled the soft pants and my undies down.

“Nice, next time I want you to do me,” he cooed, and took my already weeping 7 incher into his hand and pulled the foreskin back. He took a deep sniff.

“And next time, don’t wash,” he instructed and took the whole thing into his mouth to the hilt. I almost shot my load then and there so I pushed him off and pulled him to his feet.

“Not today. Today you fuck me so get your cock out so I can put the protection on”. 

I fiddled in my shirt pocket for the condom and tore it open with my teeth. I looked downwards and took a quick breath. A thick sausage was outlined all the way to his hipbone and I guessed it would pop its head out of the waist of his pants if left to its own devices. The young stud didn’t waste any time and undid his bulging jeans. He wasn’t wearing any underpants and sure enough a thick uncut dick swung into view flinging a crystal rope of precum across the floor, clearly relieved to be shot of its confinement. It was my turn to give in to my need for cock and I sunk to my knees and slurped the beauty into my mouth. He hissed his approval and put his hand behind my head to guide his cock down my throat.

“O fok,” he said in Afrikaans and my eyes, which up to now had been closed in enjoyment, shot open.

“Jy’s Afrikaans,” (you're Afrikaans.) I whispered the obvious, looking up at his ecstatic face behind the impressive boner that blocked my view. I stood up and grabbed his head and buried my tongue down his throat. To find a fellow Afrikaner with his cock down my gullet, in the toilet of an NZ farming shop, was Christmas in April and I though I might just be in love.

“Fok dis awesome; boerepiel in kiwi” he breathed into my mouth and we did our best to consume each other on the spot in a mutual tribal welcome. There is nothing as beautiful as an Afrikaans man and the Afrikaans word for cock (piel) is the most beautiful word in ANY language. 

He pulled back and shifted his shades, which had up to now done their job of hiding his eyes, to the top of his head into the unkempt mess that passed for a hairstyle. Just the way I preferred it. I disliked prize ponies and he was all boy, for sure. His eyes were a clear blue and the impaled me in his cocky gaze.

“Ons het nie baie tyd nie,” (we don’t have much time) I repeated into his mouth and still snogging fit to suffocate a horse, blindly tried to apply the condom—which had up to now been waiting patiently in my hand—to his dripping boner. He pulled my head in again and sucked painfully at my tongue and my cock, which was doing its best to paint his half-down jeans with precum, lurched with appreciation. He released my tongue and focused his attention on helping me to apply the condom to his beautiful dick. He briefly looked up and smiled into my star struck eyes. 

“Jy’s fokken sexy, pappa,” he whispered. (You're fucking sexy, daddy). “Ek kan nie wag om jou te spyker nie”. (I can’t wait to nail you)

I pinched the tip of the condom that he was sliding down the turgid length of his heavy cock (with difficulty I might add, as the thickness was impressive). I looked forward to welcoming that member into the holy sanctum of my innards. I couldn’t resist and sunk to my knees again and turned him around and bent him over forward. His ass, in front of me, was plump and round and hairy and as I parted his cheeks, the swirl of fur around the pink rosebud held fragrant man-musk that wafted out and made my head spin with naked lust and caused my mouth to water. I leaned forward and dove in to sample the delights of his ass with satisfaction. He was generous with his bounty and relaxed his sphincter so my tongue could play in the folds of his entrance. The bouquet of earthy flavours and smells played havoc with my senses. But we had more important matters to attend to. There was, before anything, the matter of an itch to scratch.

My young stud turned around and helped me to my feet. He could surely smell his ass all over my face when he kissed me again. Then he took me by the shoulder and swung me firmly around and placed his sheathed cock at the portal to my anus. He fiddled briefly as he found the entrance and then shoved hard. Good thing I’d been generous with the lube!

The breath left my lungs in a whoosh, and I could barely contain my shocked groan just as we heard the door of the rest room open and the squeak of rubber soles disturb the silence. In alarm I looked to my right, while trying to control my whimpers at the force with which he’d entered me and saw that the latch on our cubicle was still not done. If the newcomer decided he wanted to use our booth we would be caught like deer in the headlights.

The waves of white-hot pain that radiated out of my traumatized anus had a moment to subside as we heard the telltale sounds of a zipper being pulled down, the fiddling and thunder of a strong stream against porcelain. All the while my penetrator held me to his chest in a possessive bear hug. I felt the thud of his alarmed heart against my back and his warm, wet mouth in my neck that counteracted the droop-producing effect of his sudden penetration and near-discovery. He reached around and forced my face towards him to initiate a heart-stopping kiss that produced the desired effect on my asshole, which relaxed and welcomed the virile intruder into my grateful insides.

The squeak of the tennis shoes retreated towards the door and as we heard it close my friend started to explore my intestines with intent. He didn’t release the firm grip he had around my chest so when he thrust, it felt as if he was going to pop out of my mouth. I was in heaven, and let out a long satisfied groan that was interrupted with rhythmical hiccups in time to his pounding.

My cock was slinging ropes of precum all over the stall wall in time to his sledgehammering, so I stepped out of my sweats to make sure that I didn’t get any on them to give away my activities later. He was clearly working up quite a head of steam and I could tell that he was getting there fast. The sensation of his thick, sheathed cock against the perimeter of my anus was also doing the trick for me and combined with his perfectly aimed punches at my prostate, I was ready to join him in a well-timed culmination on the fuck express. Being held in his arms, pushed up against the wall with my face turned around to meet his drooling and huffing mouth, while being pounded with his long, thick sausage, was about the sexiest thing I had ever experienced. At once I felt vulnerable and secured, desired and dominated, consumed like a piece of meat and still treasured in the arms of my violator. I was in heaven. And when he sped up his assault with increased urgency and groaned from deep in his gut and impaled me, literally lifting me off the floor with his explosion, the geyser that had been building up inside of me erupted all over the tiled wall of the toilet stall. He held me breathless against his chest in his arms and once again I could feel his heart thumping against my back in time to my own as he filled the condom to capacity and our mutual throbbing paid testimony to the receding waves of pleasure that bound us together in a mute and breathless celebration of masculine bonding.

Slowly he put me down and kissed me again passionately over my shoulder. He bent his knees a bit and I felt him slowly slide out of me with a genuine feeling of loss and regret. 

“Ons moet gou maak, my mense gaan wonder waar ek is,” I whispered. (We must hurry, my people are going to wonder where I am). 

To my surprise, he went down on his knees and cleaned my flaccid cock tenderly with his mouth, and licked up some cum that had spattered against my leg when I shot. Then he stood up and carefully worked the condom off his soft dick and tied the end in a knot and tossed it in the toilet. Watching him, I had wiped my ass with some toilet paper, but because I had cleaned so carefully, there was no mess and because of the condom, no cum. I pulled my sweats up and with a last peck on his soft, sexy lips, slipped out of the stall. He waited in the cubicle while I quickly washed my hands, face and neck to make sure I didn’t smell of saliva, dried my face with some paper towel, and slipped out of the rest room.

“What took you so long, love?” my wife asked, a worried frown on her face.

“I don’t know, darling, something didn’t agree with me. My tummy’s quite upset.”

“I hope you’re not coming down with something,” she said. “Your neck and face are quite flushed…”

“Me too,” I concurred, feeling the twitching of my contacting asshole in my sweats, silently weeping for the studly boerepiel (Afrikaner prick) that had so recently joined us together in a bond of carnal Afrikaner brotherhood. Just then the object of my quickie walked out of the men’s room and out of the front door, without so much as a backward glance. I was grateful and weirdly heartbroken.

“Totsiens,” I though silently to my virile young Afrikaner lover. (Until we see each other again). But of course we would never see each other again. All I would have to remember him by would be the emptiness in my asshole. The itch was well and truly scratched but I became aware, as always, of the deeper itch that was growing inside me. 

That one wouldn’t be so easy to appease.

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