Morning Tug

I'm about to have a pull, to my favourite straight guy gone bad porn. 

“No, mate, I’m into girls. Oh, what, what are you doing, that feels good. You promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Just relax, I’ll show you what to do.”

These are the sorts of things you can do when you take a break from work. Of course, it can’t be all wanking, all the time, but this morning it can be.

Of course, first things first, you have to, you know, set the mood, so,

I was sitting on the balcony on my balcony smoking a J, getting myself more in the mood, when a delivery van pulled up over the road. It double parked behind the diagonally parked cars. Out got a hot wog boy, Hi-Viz jacket gloves, athletic, he had the stance of a boxer, as he jumped from the van.  Jeans that fit him snuggly down his thoroughbred legs. He adjusted himself as soon as his feet hit the bitumen, it was a good handful. He looked like he had a big sausage on him. 

He had to fish around in the back of his van for ages to find the parcel he was looking for. His jacket and t-shirt rode up his back with each stretch inside the van he made, showing pristine white undies, like every American porn movie you have seen in the last 30 years, olive skin, a ripped back, smooth and tanned. Like every bottom Italian boy who just love wiggling their arses around… until two big strong hands take hold of them, taking hold of their undies elastic, pulling the white cotton material down over their round butt cheeks...

Italian boy's cocks grow so big because their mother's pat them until they are eighteen. Did you know that?

I think I need me a bit of wog boy, it is long overdue. Hairy arsed, horse-meat cock, which he grabs at with gay abandon, as he gets his hairy bubble butt filled. Pushing back, with every yank of his wiener. Wog boys like it hard up the wazoo, I've found, so many of them, it must be the Mediterranean diet. All that bravdo and then they turn into horny little bitches in the sack. It’s a part of their charm.

"Fuck me, please fuck me, fill my arse with your cock."

The delivery guy looks up and smiles. He was still saying fuck me, fuck me, in my head. I wink, I couldn't help myself. He smiles even more. Yeah, sure, I had my hand down my track pants by that stage, but he couldn’t see that.

What can I say, the pot had kicked in. “You’re looking good,” I say.

“What are you like?” he replies quick as a flash.

“All of that, and more.”

He stops and looks up. “I bet you are?”

“I am. It’s true.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

“What are you talking about, you are looking at it?”

“Someone pays you to sit on your balcony in the sun.”

“Sure. Why not?”

We both say together, “It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.” Coincidently.

“Indeed, it is,” I say.

“Sugar daddy?” he says.

“Nah, self funded.”

“Well, how do we apply for the position?”

“We have certain, um, procedures you have to go through.”

“I bet you do.”

“Nothing that will hurt you? Well, not permanently, you understand.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“They?”

“Yeah, a boy knows what,” he makes parenthesis in the air with his fingers. “They want.”

“What can I say, I’m just sitting here perving on delivery guys.”

“I know your type.”

“How well?”

“Ha ha, not as well as I’m sure you’d like me to.”

“I like…”

He got a huge smile on his face. “As I said, what are you like?”

“Oh, come on, stay for the banter, stay for the full meal.”

He smiled and shook his head.

Then he was gone, out of sight.

I finished my j, stubbing it out in the large succulent. Then I head back inside. Now, where is my remote control.