Subject: Good Morning, Sunshine If you are reading this story then you are using Nifty, which cannot continue to provide this service unless committed readers like yourself help underwrite the costs. Even a $5 donation is useful. If you would like to help Nifty continue its service of providing the finest erotic fiction on the web, follow this link: fty/donate.html This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above. — GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE By anonymous.a It’s a rare occasion that I see a good-looking man on my morning walk. They typically don’t show up until later in the morning, when the millennial boys show up to play disc golf at the park. But once ever so often I will run across a fine, strapping young man out for a morning jog or taking the family pooch for a walk. They sometimes regard me with suspicion, as if they can hear my impure thoughts. And those thoughts are impure as I’m stripping them with my eyes, admiring those fine, flat stomachs, firm pecs, glistening glutes and massive clubs swinging between their legs. In my mind’s eye I beg them to stop and take off their clothes, then I fall to my knees and devour them right there, in front of God and country. I suppose it’s a good thing I keep those thoughts to myself. One such morning I had just arrived at the park and was steeling myself for a long, three-mile walk. I say “steeling” because summers are hot and humid where I live. Getting out of the air-conditioned car to enter the steam bath of an August morning is almost unbearable. But I did it, and after a few minutes my lungs had adjusted to breathing 90 percent water, heh heh. The park where I walk is more of a nature park than the grassy greenspaces you think of when you hear the word “park.” It offers patches of woodlands and small watercourses, all transected by a wide “fitness path” used by walkers, joggers, skaters and bicyclists. The path is a mile and a half long and I usually do two laps. Only a few minutes into my walk I noticed a jogger on the other side of the park heading in my direction. It was a he/him. Judging by the color of his hair — rather the lack of gray — I decided he was a younger man. His body was not athletic; in fact, he had a bit of girth around his waist — too many craft brews watching the game on Saturdays, I surmised. But as he drew closer I realized he was damn fine. He had that boy-next-door look with close-cropped, dark brown hair, a bit of acne scarring one cheek, but a friendly, smiling face. He was wearing an Air Force T-shirt and I surmised he was an airman, maybe a year or two from becoming a tech sergeant. As he passed kocaeli escort I checked out his ass and I was not disappointed. I’m not one of those guys who falls for the perfect, workout-shaped ass. I like the imperfections of real men, and this guy’s ass was … oh, what’s the word? … dumpy. Big, sloppy glutes that I just knew were covered in hair and at this moment, due to the condition of the rest of his body, soaked with sweat. All of it was revealed by his shimmery nylon basketball shorts, almost down to his knees. They rode the contours of his meaty ass and even worked their way into his crack, giving me more than just a snapshot of what lay underneath. Air Force man jogged past me two more times that morning and then he disappeared. I was disappointed but I didn’t think much of it — often, people show up for their morning runs and then walk or ride a bike back home. I continued on my way, having completed a big chunk of my second lap around the trail. I was approaching a spot on the trail I call “the grotto” when my luck for the day turned from average to excellent. The grotto is a tree-lined patch of trail that runs along one of the watercourses. This segment of the park had once been a swamp populated by a dense forest of cypress trees. Flooding problems compelled the city to create the watercourses so the swamps would drain and nearby houses wouldn’t flood during a persistent rain. The cypress trees were gone but now pine trees, oaks and Chinese tallow had taken their place and were growing in thick profusion. Little sunlight penetrated the canopy, making for a cool, dark respite along the trail that, for the most part, was sunny and dry. Because the ground could be mucky, work crews didn’t bring their mowers into this location and much of the underbrush remained. It reminded me of locales in the “Lord of the Rings” movies, which is why I called it “the grotto.” As I was traversing the grotto and enjoying the cool dark of the shade, I began to notice a peculiar silence. Usually the place is alive with the sound of birds chirping and squirrels fussing at passersby, but today it was quiet and that piqued my curiosity. I stopped and scanned the woods for anything out of place, but nothing seemed awry. Sometimes the presence of a larger animal could scare away the birds and send the squirrels into the high branches. Just as I had decided it was all in my imagination, I caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye. I turned back and stared hard. At first I didn’t notice anything, but then I saw it — a darker shape against the underbrush, and a hint of motion, a kind of repetitive, up kocaeli escort bayan and down movement. What was that? It was large, whatever it was, and squatting on the ground. Could it be a bear? We do have bears in these parts, though I had never seen one in the park. This is the kind of setup that leads to Bigfoot encounters, I joked to myself. But I got out my phone, activated the camera and selected “video.” If there was some kind of bear or coyote or something in that dense underbrush, I could shoot a video and post it to my YouTube channel. It might get a million views. There was a path leading through the damp woods and I took it, careful not to step on any twigs or other items that would make noise and possibly alert my quarry. As I drew closer, my phone held out in front of me as if it were a shield, I could see the bank of one of the watercourses, a clearing of sorts, and then … oh my, and then. … It was not a bear or a coyote. It was a man. Air Force man. And he had those slinky shorts pulled down and his piece pulled out. Oh, oh my. It was just as the most salacious corner of my imagination had pictured it, thick as a fencepost, at least 7, maybe 8 inches long, and hard as the afore-mentioned fence post. It had a great big knob at the end that was flared and shiny with lubricant and glowing like an emergency beacon. His balls were pushed up by the waistband of his shorts, and they stood out like ostrich eggs — obviously they weren’t that big, but goddamn they were huge, and furry, and they hung over his shorts like some kind of obscene fruit. He was jacking his cock furiously, his hand going up and down on the shaft so hard that if it had been a stick, it might have caught fire from the friction. I zoomed the video on my phone and made sure I had his entire body in frame. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted as if he were about to say something but had paused to consider his words, and that slightly paunchy belly was jiggling in rhythm with the motion of his fist. He was moving in a subtle thrusting motion, and I wondered who, in his imagination, he was fucking? Was it that young lady with the big titties he met at the bar last night? Or was it Eric, another airman who worked on the flightline with him at the base? My obvious preference would have been me, and as I considered that prospect, my mind composing pictures of Air Force man looming above me as I lay on my back, my legs spread, his giant sausage filling me as his sweat dripped on my face and his breath, reeking of coffee and maybe a cigarette, filling my nose, I felt my dick hardening and growing izmit escort longer in synchronization with his thrusts. He ramped up his groin motions and began to arch his back. I could see his muscles thrumming with anticipation and I knew what was happening — that fire burning at the base of his skull was about to become a conflagration. The cascade of ecstasy would begin, burning down his nerves like a fuse having been lit to explode at the bomb of his cock. And that is exactly what happened. He gave a mighty heave and I thought the bulb at the end of his dick shaft had blown up — a pearlescent string of jizz blew out of his cock and arced in the sunlight to splash into the dark waters of the creek. Another string jetted from his cock and I swore I could hear it as it erupted and splashed into the sluggish water. Then another — the boy had been consumed by need and now he had expended that need. I checked my phone screen and everything was perfect. I knew I would be watching this video time and time again. His muscular contractions subsided into a patter of dripping as he clung fiercely to his cock, strangling every drop of jizz from it until nothing was left to ejaculate. His head titled forward as if in a hinge and sighed so loudly I think anybody passing by on the trail at that moment could have heard him. The fencepost between his legs began to wilt. A single drop of sperm clung to the tip and hung down, a glowing drop of passion illuminated by the morning sun. It fell just as he pulled up his shorts, concealing those luscious egg-shaped testicles and that equally tasty penis. God, how I wished I could have been there to receive his gift of love, have it splash across my face, into my mouth, and run down my chin to coat my chest. I might have had a sympathy ejaculation. I shut off the video, turned off the phone and slipped it back into my pocket. Then, it was time for me to retrace my steps — quietly — back to the walking path and resume my journey. Walking was difficult — I couldn’t hide the Viagra-quality erection in my shorts. A few minutes later he jogged past me once more. Maybe it was my imagination but I noticed a lack of tension in his expression. He was moving easily, almost lazily, as he got in his laps. I thought I could see the shape of his flaccid penis through those silky shorts, bouncing against the cool fabric. I thought I could see a wet spot. And then it was time to go home and watch what the camera had caught. And relieve my own tension. Off I’d go, into the wild blue yonder! — Remember to donate to Nifty at fty/donate.html My new book “Love Thyself” has just been published as an ebook on Amazon. It contains 10 stories about men who have discovered the art of self pleasure, plus a bonus entry: my personal voyage of discovery! You can find it by following this link: zon/dp/B09GSB4JWJ/

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