Reunion
by Rodder52

 

I hadn’t taken any hygiene precautions that night. I wasn’t expecting to be fucked up the arse. And I certainly wasn’t expecting to renew an acquaintance from fifty years back. Shows how much I know.

It was a transport industry convention. I was there as an associate to the industry as a PR man. Sixty years old and still having to hide uninvited, spontaneous hard-ons, I was in my element in a hotel ballroom full of burly, craggy hard men – the kind of guys who sprout whiskers two minutes after a shave and don’t waste time trying to disguise their strong manly funk with deodorant. There was the odd spangled wife but by eleven o’clock it was mostly men – liquored up and feeling good – biff the jacket and tie, roll up the sleeves and open the shirt.

I love this shit. It’s when the defenses are down and the libido is up and every greeting’s a rough hug or a grab of the arse and – my all time favourite – a “how’re they hangin?” accompanied by a grope of the balls. All good fun of course and proof of how unfaggy we really are. Really.

So there comes Johnno from the firm and he’s got his arm around the shoulders of a daddy-fucker’s dream. He’s an Italian looking guy, shortish and stocky with a bristle of mustache, receding hairline and a dangerous twinkle to his eye. He’s got that tough-guy look of a lifetime of working muscle under a softening layer of fat.

“This guy says he knows you from the old days,” says Johnno.

“Nope,” I say, “No way I’d forget that man.”

Fuck! I’m flirting already.

“I mean the old, old days,” the guy says and his voice is deep and rich and warm like a lungful of cigar smoke through a sip of black coffee. “My name’s Rocco Farina – Little Rocky – you remember?”

My head began to swim and my knees turned to jelly. Did I remember? I had to lay my hand on his strong shoulder to steady myself. I’d been sideswiped by a huge motherfucker flashback.

No wonder I didn’t recognize him. The last time I saw him we were ten-year-old boys – neighbours. Our parents were dirt-poor and kind of neglectful of us kids so Little Rocky and me were left to our own devices.

In those days we didn’t have indoor plumbing and our shared back fence was also the site of the outhouses. An outhouse was a one meter square corrugated-iron room with a toilet seat over a cabinet holding a tar-sealed dunny-can. Squares of torn newspaper were impaled an a spike and a can of sawdust sat at the side to be used to cover number ones. Around the dunnies our families had constructed a trellis covered in wisteria and bauhinia vines to provide extra privacy and help disguise the smell.

For the adults it was a place to be avoided but for us kids it was an ideal setting for play – a fort for cowboys, jungle-house for Tarzan or a private interior for secret games of discovery.

The memory that made me dizzy was of the two of us and the delicious secret rituals we devised for each other in that steaming space inside the buzzing of flies and the smell of piss.

Rocco held my shoulder and looked deep into my eyes. A broad smile tilted his mustache and I knew it was the exact response he was hoping for.

“I think of those days all the time,” he said.

Johnno baled. He thought he was in for boring reminiscence.

“I’ll see you guys.”

Rocco gave me a warm hug, “Come to my room and we can relive some old times,” he said.

In his room all sense of inhibition was gone. “What do you remember,” he said.

“Everything.”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“Yes.”

I was in a kind of a daze as I removed my shoes, loosened my belt, shucked shirt, trousers and underwear while he did the same. We stood naked about a foot apart and drank in the sight of each other’s body. He was hairy all over with the lines of his body creating fur-like contours. His nipples were unnaturally large and poked through the fur as big lascivious islands. The only bare patch was at his crotch, his fat, stiff cock and heavy balls completely shaved.

I felt his eyes roaming over my own completely hairless body, pink and vulnerable compared to his. I was thankful for the size and stiffness of my cock as it seemed to strain forward to reach him. We were both breathing as if on the edge of orgasm but I knew it was because the years had fallen away and we were once again young and lost in the fog of lust.

“You go first,” he said.

I walked around him and explored his body with my hands, felt the plump stiffness of his nipples, the weight of his balls, the bounce of his cock. I stood behind him and ran my middle finger up the crack of his now hairy arse. I knelt and pulled his cheeks apart.

“How does it smell?” he said.

I pressed my nose as hard as I could into the dark purple perforations of his arsehole and inhaled the warm funk.

“It smells good.”

“How does it taste?”

He bent his knees and leaned slightly forward. I forced my tongue into the slippery, tangy hole.

“It tastes good.”

“If you’re my brother, put your finger in.” His breath was catching and there was a tremor in his voice. I pushed a finger in as far as I could and began to work his hole. A moan escaped his lips and he gripped and tortured his nipples.

“We’d better do your turn,” he said.

“Fuck that,” I said and mashed my lips into his. The childish ritual was blown away by the violent urge to fuck. He sucked at my tongue as if he could taste the juice from his arse and reached both hands round to split my buttocks. I was forced slightly off balance as the shorter man lifted me and force one huge banana finger up my arse. My hard cock was rubbing clear juice into the hairs on his belly and it was my turn to moan.

“Oh fuck me,” I said.

He took this as an instruction and tipped me back on the bed, my legs flailing the air as he held his firm grip on my arse-cheeks. It was a wonderful position to receive his rampant cock but he pushed me back onto my shoulders and clamped his mouth over the entire area of my bumhole. He sucked a vacuum seal and forced his tongue into me. The sensation violently stretched my ring and sent spasms of painful pleasure through my belly and balls. He was lost in animal lust as he moaned and probed and worked his way into my body. I was lost in the waves of sensation brought by each assault.

There was no doubt in my mind that he was eating my arse for his own pleasure alone but my own needs so perfectly matched his that all other awareness disappeared. We must have bucked and heaved in this configuration for five minutes. When I finally came down to earth I realized that one hand had been gripping my cock and he’d been working me up and down with that handle which was now a deep angry purple and starting to shoot. A fat rope of cum spurted straight into my face and then another. I was now aware of my painful cock and had to beg him to stop.

He emerged from between my legs with a dazed look on his face. His mustache was matted wit spit and juice from my arse and he was still lost in lust.

“It’s OK ,” I said, “just fuck me from behind.”

I assumed the doggy position and pulled my cheeks apart for him. There was a small amount of resistance before I felt the warm welcome feeling of that big fat cock pumping in my bowels. I relaxed as the steady forceful rhythm became a slow fire up my arse.

I looked back over my shoulder. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, he was abusing his distended nipples with cruel twists of finger and thumb as he rode the plummy head of his cock into my arse.

It felt like coming home.

 

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