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Hanover Trip October 1994, A True Story

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Being a free lancer takes me all over the province of Ontario. Not driving a car means endless bus-trips occupied with the reading of a novel or newspapers, playing crosswords, listening to my portable cd player, snoozing, or any other of a variety of monotonous things that one does on long bus trips to occupy one's self. Although my home and apartment was in Toronto, I was staying, at the time, in Brantford and was travelling back and forth, on a weekly basis from there, to Hanover, a small agricultural village in North-Western Ontario. Now Brantford is about as backward and provincial a town as you can find in Ontario, but compared to Hanover, it was a "major urban centre". The trip was three-and-a-half hours, each way, every week. Between living in Brantford and visiting Hanover, life had become an exercise in frustration trying to find someone to share an intimate sexual experience, or for that matter, even jack off with. Often, I'd snooze on the bus and then wake up at some point with my generously endowed, fat cock screaming for release in my jeans, needing a piss. The snow-covered landscape would be cruising by and the other passengers would be in various states of sleep or boredom. I'd always sit near the back of the bus, so I could slip into the can, pretty much un-noticed drop my jeans and jockeys slowly and admire my big, hard cock in the mirror, covering the wall, behind the can. Then, I'd watch myself piss. That was always a challenge, hanging on to the wall of the bus while it rocked and heaved along the rural highway and pushing my cock downward to take aim. It always felt so good to get that relief. But the best always followed as I spit in my hand, leaned back on the wall opposite the mirror, and watched myself as if I were somebody else, and gently stroked my slippery cock, massaged my balls, and fingered my tight ass until I blew a thick load that would always shoot the three feet across the can and hit the mirror. I always considered myself lucky that I could shoot a big load like a firehose. It turns me on, and if someone is there to watch it, I always get admiring comments. This chilly October day, I woke up at 6:00 am to get the 7:15 bus out of Hanover after having stayed in a bed and breakfast house for two nights while I'd been in the boring village. This town is so small, there isn't even a bus station. You have to buy your ticket at one of the fast-food chains on the highway into town, and get the bus in their parking lot. I had my coffee, hashbrowns, orange juice and some sloppy bakery item filled with a chunk of nameless protein, the morning paper from my dream town, (Toronto), and my baggage. There were a lot of people getting on the bus that morning. Mostly Mennonites on their way to Toronto Hospitals or some such thing, who'd left their horses and buggies in the parking lot at the restaurant. A few senior citizens on shopping trips, and a couple of kids. About 25 in all. I thought, "oh goody, another long trip with a cacophony of bored, screaming kids and adults trying to get them to shut up". I was bitter about it. Considering it to be my lot in life, I got on the bus and went to the back. Two seats in front of the loo. The rest of the passengers all seemed to be crammed up to the front. "Good", I thought, "pretty much alone back here". The nearest people were on the opposite side to me, four sets of seats forward. Just as the door was closing, a guy came running up to the bus, and the driver let him in. He made his way toward the back, and as he went to pass me and go all the way to the back, he did a double take on me. "Interesting", I thought, "must have the 'gaydar' on, or something". So he sat in the triple-seat at the back right outside the loo, and I noticed that if I sat across my two seats, with my back against the window, I could see the top of his head. I sort of lay back and set into my paper, really thinking nothing more of it. But at the same time, the fact that he'd seemed to cruise me lingered in the back of my mind. One hour into the trip, and the kids had all snoozed off, the seniors were into their novels or mumbling to each other. The row of white caps on the Mennonite women's heads looked starkly ahead to the front of the bus. I heard a stirring behind me and I peeked over the back of me seat to see my "friend" get up and head into the can. I thought I'd time him. Maybe he does what I do in there too. Five minutes later and he still hadn't come out. Then I noticed in the seat behind me, there was a crack between the window and the wall of the can about a half centimetre wide. "Interesting", I thought, "I wonder if he'd notice I changed seats when he comes out?" Deciding to risk it, I quietly moved one seat back and lay back against the window. If I turned my head to the left and closed my right eye, I could see the reflection in the window, of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Although I couldn't see very clearly at all, something was moving rapidly in a repititous manner. "Holy shit!", I thought, "this guy's a guy after my own heart!". My cock rose to attention and strained into a stark outline in my jeans. Within seconds, I felt the pre-cum warming up the head of my cock and softening the fabric of my jockeys. I had to undo my fly to release the pressure, my cock had gotten so hard. I reached in and adjusted my dick and caught a generous amount of precum on my fingers as I did so. I peered more deeply into the window's reflection and licked the smooth, salty liquid from my finger tips. The reflection's movement stopped suddenly, and then I saw an image of his face in the window as he looked to his left, startled. It was as if he'd had the feeling he were being watched. I heard the fumbling of a jeans zipper and the rattle of a belt buckle, and I buried myself in my book just in time to hear the washroom door open. He slid quickly back into his seat. I couldn't wait any more to shoot another "Greyhound load" into my reflection in the bathroom mirror, so I untucked my shirt in order to cover the outline of my cock as it pushed out my underwear from my open jean's fly. I got up to go back and there was my man pressed back against the window of the triple seat. Tall, straight medium brown hair cascading across his forhead, high European cheekbones and stubborn chin, large blue doe-shaped eyes fringed with very long dark eyelashes and a wide, generous set of dark lips. He looked about 22 years old. His plaid flannel shirt was undone to reveal a hard, bare and buff chest with large caramel coloured nipples standing at attention as he gently rotated and teased one of them with his left hand. The hard hills and valleys of his washboard stomach gently rose up and down as they disappeared behind a soft line of dark hair which eased its way down to the inviting forest below. The soft, light scent of his morning shower wafted to my nostrils like a warm spring day. I stood there admiringly, in disbelief of his foolish courage. This guy had no qualms at all about being half naked at the back of a bus almost full of people, in fact he seemed to be rather proud of it. I gazed at the beautiful young man, breathing in the heady smell of him as he gently stroked his 8" hard cock, gently gliding the foreskin up and down over the engorged head as his pre-cum sparkled and flowed over the tip of his cock. The precum alternately filled and flowed out of his foreskin in a gentle, sensuous stream. The apricot-sized balls bulged out over the opening in his fly and the soft, skin of his ball sack massaged their contents. I glanced at his face. His bright blue eyes glimmered at me invitingly as the long dark eyelashes gently signalled down at his cock and then back at me. The broad, friendly, engaging smile he flashed at me, with a row of perfect white teeth let me know he admired me and wanted me to admire him back. He quietly chuckled under his breath and swung his cock back and forth against his hip bones causing it to make a humorous slapping sound. I looked forward to the front of the bus to check for any potential observers and, confident that everyone looked settled, slid into the seat beside him. I undid the top button of my jeans, and as I did so, he slid his jeans and underwear down his long, smooth, muscular legs to his knees. He thrust his cock toward my face, and I moved toward it with my mouth wet in anticipation of the delicacy it was about to enjoy. I started by using my tongue to get under his foreskin and bathe it of the soft slippery liquid that had been flowing copiously only seconds before. The taste and feel of it in my mouth caused me to feel a moment of passionate connection to the beautiful creature. I was about to open my mouth and see if I could fit the rest of his amazing cock in my mouth when he grabbed my hair and pulled me up to his face. He rammed his tongue into my mouth to share the taste of himself that was still there. Moments later, he heaved a deep sigh and began licking my lips gently with his tongue. Reaching down to his cock he gathered up more pre-cum on his finger, brought it to our loosely engaged lips and gently brushed it over our mouths and tongues. The erotic lubricant slowly disappeared as we kissed for the next several minutes and the taste of it filled our mouths. He pushed me back against the seat, bent over my groin and pulled the large, wet spot of precum on my jockeys into his mouth. He sucked on the fabric to get it all out, then gently lifting the elastic from my briefs over the end of my cock, he slid it down and followed it with his generous soft mouth. I didn't feel his mouth on my cock until the head of it was all the way back in his throat. In one slow, amazingly controlled movement, his entire mouth surrounded my shaft softly as his throat squeezed on my large cock head. It was as if time had stopped just then. He stay there for about thirty seconds, his tongue stroking the entire length of my cock as his throat massaged the head. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I looked over the top of the seat in front of us to check on the passengers, and seeing that everything was in order, I didn't hesitate at all in pushing my hips up to signal him I was about to cum. He rocked his head from side to side gently to encourage me. I froze my hips, tensed my leg and ass muscles, pushed back on the seat behind me with my arms and he froze this mouth and throat at the same time. In the utter stillness of our bodies, the heat and softness of his mouth and throat were enough to cause me to shoot deeply into his depths. An incredibly huge orgasm shot into him....it was the biggest I have known. His throat muscles began contracting gently as he pushed my load down into his depths. Eventually, he sat up, smiled at me gently and appealingly and leaned in to kiss me again. We parted for a second as he looked down to his cock where his left hand had been all along. When I looked, I noticed he was pinching his foreskin over the head of his soft smooth cock. He released the foreskin and a flood of cum filled his hand. He had cum while blowing me, and had saved it for us to share. He raised his hand to our faces and we both licked it up, leaving it on our tongues as we did so. We kissed deeply while letting the smooth, sweet fluid roll around our mouths. The beautiful boy's cum mixed with each others mouth juices, and we shared a bouquet of taste and deep emotional sensations that only two men can understand or share. Some time later, we talked and he told me he had just moved to the area from Halifax, and that he was living with his sister. He was on his way to Toronto to experience a weekend of slut-dom in the big city for the first time. I had some friends in Halifax, and I dropped their names. I had been a nightclub entertainer about a year before and I told him the name of the club our group had worked in and asked him if he'd seen the show when we were there. Then his face turned to a mask of stunned recognition as he remembered me. He looked away out the window and began to cry silently. I had not expected this reaction at all. It was very disconcerting and I was shocked by his reaction. I turned his tear-stained face back to me and my heart sank sickeningly as I looked at the young face with its contradictory look of elation and tears. I said I really couldn't understand what would have brought about this reaction, and he said that he couldn't have expected me to. I said, "well, what's your name, then?" He told me his name was Mark and he'd been an admirer of mine for a long time. In a few moments it all made sense. When in Halifax, I had found a one hundred and a fifty dollar bill in my personal stage equipment case after the show. They were tightly rolled up with a note around them, attached with scotch tape. I read the note and it said, "You're the most beautiful man I have ever seen and I'm afraid you would reject me if I asked you out, so here's some money. Whether you choose to meet me to give it back to me, or whether you choose to meet me and keep it for spending the night with me doesn't matter. I just have to meet you. I will be at the bar after the show. I'm wearing a blue plaid shirt and black jeans. Your admirer, Mark". I went to the bar after the show and he was not there. Being a nightclub entertainer, getting bizarre notes of admiration is a regular occurance. I don't often feel I deserve them, but I take them in stride as part of the work and don't let them go to my head. I could neither return the money nor speak to the person who'd given it to me, so I considered it an outrageous tip and went on with my life. I asked him why he had not met me and he told me he had chickened out at the last minute because it had occurred to him that I would return the money and laugh in his face. I told him I would never have done such an ugly thing to any person and it was unfortunate I didn't have the money any more, because I would gladly give it to him now. Then I offered to make it up to him by changing my plans from going back to Brantford for the weekend, instead, going to Toronto where he could stay with me. I offered to show him the town, let him go and enjoy his weekend of slutdom and be there for him when he needed to crash out. He smiled broadly, flashing his beautiful teeth and then planted a deep passionate kiss on me. I laughed and told him he was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. We then, celebrated in the can on the bus, as we watched each other whack off in the mirror and blow two enormous loads on the glass. What happened for the weekend is another several stories, but suffice it to say that if Mark paying attention to me, and only me, for three days is his version of being a slut - then he needs to look up the definition of the word in the dictionary.

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