I went out tonight. Late. Not to the city, the bars, or the clubs. I had something different in mind tonight. An itch I needed to scratch. I jumped the train to the West End and took a slow walk towards the park. I’d been before, once, but I was still nervous. Nervous and excited.
The lust was in me, rising, choking me. I needed to get it out of me, to release it into the wild.
Sometimes it was overwhelming. Sometimes I couldn’t think or see straight for the blood pumping. My cock would get hard of its own accord, with no stimulus, announcing its desire. All I could do was follow.
Often it led me to the pub, to enjoy the thrill of the hunt. Dowsing with my cock for the ideal catch. I’d buy a drink and sit and watch, waiting to see who took the bait. Trade glances, lock eyes, see the hunger, and act.
The lust wanted something faster, filthier tonight, so I wandered to the park.
Not the main park. A pavilion. Off the beaten track, hidden, occulted. The trees were thick either side of a path that wound around it. This lent the place a vaulted feel. A temple of foliage, and inside, a hushed reverence.
My heart pounded, my cheeks flushed. Nervousness, anticipation and desire rising, inexorable, nowhere to go but my face. For now. My cock was hard in my jeans, an awkward angle, rubbing as I walked. My exposed head pressed against the denim and the hard stitching of the fly as I walked. I got harder with every step.
I glanced this way and that, walking with a casual, practiced gait. Patient. No streetlights here. I had to wait for night vision to kick in. My eyes adjusting to the darkness, I could start to make out details. From the corner of my vision I spotted two celebrants behind a tree. One on his knees, the other standing, head back in pleasure. I kept walking.
Now the detail started to swim. Accustomed to the darkness, all at once the place seemed alive. Here, over there, behind that fence, beside that tree. Men, on their own, in twos, threes. Looking, licking, sucking, fucking.
I decided to take a piss, to relieve some of the pressure.
I stood beside a thick oak and undid my flies. My cock bounced forward, relieved to be free, desperate for me to use it. I pressed down on it, taking control. It acquiesced. Soft enough to let me piss, but still hard enough that it felt fat in my hand. I let forth a stream against the bark, a loud spattering noise followed. Head back, I enjoyed it.
Someone else enjoyed it too.
Off to my left, I noticed eyes watching me. A large, thickset guy stood, cock in hand, stroking himself as I drained mine. Eyes filled with lust caught some light and glittered. In response, my cock jumped hard again. I walked towards him, proud and bouncing, and stood there.
He reached and pulled me towards him, kissing me hard. He smelled of beer. Our tongues twisted, beards brushing. His hand on the back of my neck, mine on his ass, grabbing his cheeks through his jeans.
