London is under a summer heatwave. I’ve been walking home instead of waiting for a bus, using my legs to explore the little known roads and alleys that separate my flat and the Tube station. Recently, I walked past a house with its front door open. An old man — about 60 years old — was working on the door’s latch. He was wearing only a pair of shorts and his body was finely toned and dark from the sun. Although my glimpse of him was short as I walked by, I was immediately taken over by a fantasy:
I would stop on my tracks, return to the door and ask him for the hour. When he acknowledged me, I’d smile and say “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, but I would love to suck your cock.”
With pleasurable surprise, he’d lead me into his cool home, push me down on my knees and feed me his thick cock. I’d suck on it until he spurted his cream down my throat.
And I thought to myself, I could really go back and ask him for it. When would he see me again? What did I have to lose? Even if he rejected me, what harm could come from it? But all those questions and doubts came to me as I wandered home. As soon as I got in, I turned on the shower, lay down at the bottom of the bathtub and masturbated with a finger up my ass and the water gushing over my body.
The next morning, I tried to remember the route past his home. To my surprise, he was there, still working at the door! He seemed older and less sexy, but I was still impressed by his muscles. I didn’t see him again for a while, despite going by his door daily, until a few days ago. He was standing by his door, talking to an elderly neighbour, wearing nothing but white underwear (swimwear?) He had a big cock.