He was a really horny bastard and he knew it. Not one for convention or fashion he just did his own thing and wore what he liked… and he looked brilliant. He loved his leather. Not the fetish stuff with peepholes, hoods, chains and the like (although I’m sure he knew there was a time and place even for that) but a simple leather jacket and leather trousers.
He wasn’t old and he wasn’t that young. In fact, he wasn’t that good-looking but there seemed to be an aura about him. Perhaps it was all in my head but I liked the way he looked and he fitted his leatherwear superbly; nothing baggy or saggy just everything tight and smooth that revealed a firm arse and large well-stuffed pouch.
That bulge, and the rumour of what lay beneath the leather, was legendary and, as it turned out, true but only a very few got to ‘meet and greet’ his sensational sex missile. When it came to weapons of mass destruction his was one of the biggest and it had to be kept behind all that taut animal skin to protect the public from attack… or so the speculation went. I think many guys dreamt of spending a night with him but, and again I’m quoting the rumour-mill, those that did often wished they hadn’t. When that thing entered you… nothing could or would ever be the same again. I was one such person and that one night was to change my life.
He’d stuffed my squealing, screaming, begging butt for most of the night but as I was tied to the bed I couldn’t escape. My pleading only drove him on harder, longer and deeper. He justified it by continually telling me it was what I had wanted and had dreamed about and he wasn’t going to spoil my fantasy by stopping at the first hurdle. Inwardly and outwardly I struggled. I had wanted it to happen, God how I’d wanted it to happen, and yes I had pursued him for months begging him for an opportunity to prove myself. He’d warned me what would occur but in my self-deluding arrogance I dismissed it as rumour and rubbish. In my own head believing that, not only could I take what he had but, if I couldn’t and was I was in pain or trouble he would stop instantly . No. That night I learned that the world doesn’t revolve around me and that there are always other considerations. I learned a painful lesson.
I’m looking at him now. He’s sat in the bar with a beer, reading a book and looking dangerously sexy. I watch as on two separate occasions young guys approach him but after a brief chat he has smiled but shaken his head. Now I see him quickly glance my way. He smiles and nods but I’m feeling guilty that he’s caught me staring at him and avert my gaze. I try looking elsewhere and immerse myself in reading the free mag that has been left on a nearby seat but I still keep slyly look in his direction. Again he sees me. Hell, there is certainly something about him that I both hate and…
His voice is right next to my ear. “Come with me,” he whispers and I do.