UNEXPECTED PLEASURES

UNEXPECTED PLEASURES

I was at Muson Centre for a concert. A friend of mine, a cellist, was part of a performance that was going to play on that day. By the time intermission was called, he hadn’t performed yet. And I was hungry. So I left the venue to go look for where to grab a quick but satisfying bite.

I had no way of knowing, as I stepped into the Lagos City Mall that afternoon, that I would get more than a quick and satisfying bite of food.

I first checked in with KFC but Chicken and Chips wasn’t what I was in the mood for. I wanted something heavy, so I asked to be directed to someplace I could get some such meal. I was directed to an eatery, where I soon settled down to a lunch of basmati rice, asun and dodo, washed down with a bottle of my favorite soft drink, Limca. I was finishing up my meal when my friend called. Intermission was over and he wanted to know if I was back. I assured him that I would get there soon.

I just had to use the restroom first.

I stepped out of the eatery and looked around for someone to ask for directions on how to get to the restroom. I spotted a man slowly pacing the floor. He was tall, heftily-built and dark-skinned. And he was clad in the generic attire of one who was wither a security man or a bouncer. I could have easily asked any other person for directions to the restroom; there were at least half a dozen people milling about between me and him. But he was a fine specimen of human being and I had a desire to talk to him.

“Excuse me please…” I called out as I approached him.

He turned to face me and I was struck anew by his sex appeal. He was well-groomed even in those simple clothes, with a tight-fitting black top that accentuated his well-defined pecs, whose short sleeves stopped just short of his biceps.

“How may I help you?” he said when I walked up to him, and the freshness of his breath hit my face. I was now very impressed with Mr. Man; for someone who had the monotonous routine of walking up and down the floor and standing about in one place, it was interesting to me that he had the self-awareness to observe the good hygiene of a fresh breath.

“Can you direct me to where the restroom is?” I asked.

He pointed this way and that, and soon, I was on my way, pleased by the brief encounter with Mr. Man. I got to the restroom, eased myself in a stall, and then came out to use the sink. I was washing my hands when the door opened and Mr. Man walked in. I felt a catch of pleasure in my heart as I watched his reflection in the mirror make its way to one of the toilet stalls.

I was soon done with the sink and shifted to the hand dryer. As hot air rushed over my outstretched hands, I glanced at the mirror again. Mr. Man had opened the door of the stall he entered and was looking at me, at my reflection in the mirror.

He winked at me and smiled.

His smile had a question.

I smiled back.

My smile had an answer: that I was down for whatever.

He got the message and raised his hand, signaling me forward with his finger.

My heart had begun to beat a rapid tattoo as I walked over to him. He moved back, making space for me to step inside the stall. He flushed the toilet, pulled down the cover over the toilet bowl and then shut the door of the stall.

Then he pulled me to him, brought his head down and claimed my lips. It was a kiss that caught fire at once, passionate and desperate, a kiss that was aware that we were on borrowed time and was determined to mine all the pleasure it could from the moment.

He was pressing his body hard against mine, imprinting my body with every muscle and curve of his own. To be honest, even right then, as I kissed him back, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was positive that I was dreaming, that perhaps I had dozed off in that eatery next to my plate of basmati rice and dodo.

But the insistence of his hands as he roamed my body with them felt too real. The ardour with which his lips and tongue were ravishing my mouth tasted too real. What sort of dream was this real?

I decided to investigate this reality. I finally lifted my hands and began caressing him, touching him here and touching him there. This guy was built like a god. My palms cupped his pecs. Then my hands went down over the hard planes of his abs to settle on his trunk of a waist. God! This body was sensational.

Then I reached further down and cupped his crotch. I had to be sure of how hung he was, and he was alright. He was just the right size of hung.

I unzipped his trousers and broke the kiss. He sat down on the covered toilet bowl and offered his pulsing hard-on up to me. I squatted and took the dick in my hand, running my thumb over the piss-slit to clean out any urine residue, before bending to take him in my mouth.

He gasped the second I enveloped him with my wet warmth. I began to suck him with the single-minded focus of one who wanted to give him pleasure. I rolled my tongue over the mushroom head, bobbed up and down over the shaft, slithered down to his balls, went up to the head and then descended over the shaft again.

I sucked and slurped Mr. Man’s dick, working every inch of the thick shaft with a dedication that must have felt too good for him, because he lost all sense of time and place and began to moan.

The volume of the sound startled me into reach my hands forward to tap a warning on his hips: Keep it down.

My objective in that moment was really to suck him till he comes, and then we could reconnect in the immediate future to go all the way. I mean, surely, there was no way we could have sex in the toilet stall of a mall –

But I was soon disabused on that thought.

Mr. Man clearly had other ideas.

He held my head, staying my blow job and gently removed his dick from my mouth. I momentarily thought I’d done something wrong or that he’d finally realized that we were doing something really reckless.

But no. He leaned forward and kissed me. Then he stood and moved behind me, undoing my trousers and pulling them down with my undies, before positioning me so that I was bent over the WC. Then he dropped down behind and sent a bolt of pleasure up my spine when he dug into my cakes with his mouth. As he started working my asshole with his tongue, I was at first worried; I mean, it wasn’t like I left my house that morning properly douched for the eventuality of sex in a restroom. But the harder he teased and sucked and licked and slathered my ass, the harder it was for me to focus on anything but the sheer pleasure of his rimming.

Then he let go, and I heard a rustling sound. I looked back to see Mr. Man unwrapping a condom. Not even Gold Circle; it was one of those flavoured condoms.

Dude came prepared!

I turned back around as he positioned his dick against my ass. I braced myself against the WC as he gently guided his dick inside me with a skill that was impressive. He was very clearly experienced, gradual and skilled. By the time he began pounding me, I was a believer of his ministry.

He alternated between a ferocious bang and a slowed sensual pace. This was not a restroom quickie. This was the kind of fuck you enjoyed. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want him to cum anytime soon. With each thrust, I was ticking off all the boxes he’d cleared.

Good looks: check!

Awesome breath: check!

Great body: check!

Amazing kisser: check and check!

Preparedness: check!

Stamina: check!

Skill: check, check, check!!!

Soon, I sensed his climax approaching, as he increased his tempo, pounding faster, his breath becoming quicker and more ragged. I started wanking myself, fast, to match his thrusts.

Moments later, we came. As we kissed, I could feel how hard he still was.

I touched the dick.

Yup, still very hard.

He chuckled. “I would have loved to fuck you again,” he said in a low tone. “But we’re not in a comfortable place.”

I was even surprised no one had come into urinate in all this time.

“Well, we can always have a sequel some other time,” I responded.

“Of course,” he agreed.

He asked for my number. I gave it to him.

As we dressed, he whispered into my ear, “Thank you very much.”

Moments later, I was hurrying out of the city mall back to Muson, hoping I hadn’t missed my friend’s performance.

Written by JBoy

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Previous For Jamel Myles
Next “I Feel Ashamed Of Donald Duke.” Eunice Atuejide Slams Fellow Presidential Aspirant Over His Statement On LGBT Rights

About author

You might also like

Editor's Desk 5 Comments

Opinion: Coming Out Can Be Lonely

Queer people learn all the lessons our heterosexual counterparts learn and then some; not because we want to be burdened with extra work, but simply as a consequence of our

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Our Stories 12 Comments

A Boy And The Bouncer

Let me tell you people a short story. There was a Saturday a couple of months ago, during which I attended a book club meet. This book club is a

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Our Stories 79 Comments

That Piece About Gay People Being More Biphobic Than Straight People

Originally published on gaystarnews.com The first time I ever heard the word bisexual, I was 15. My friend’s mother, who I adored, said: ‘I can understand people being gay, but

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

14 Comments

  1. The promised one
    September 03, 06:50 Reply

    Hmmmm. Jboy, would you please tell us how exactly you guys knew you were community members. Just asking for my heart.
    I have just two guys at the bank @work who will not stop hailing & cutting eye for me or better still being funny but I keep on telling my village people not to deceive and kito my there.

  2. Stan Ralph
    September 03, 15:15 Reply

    I’m already getting to cloud 9 reading this..don’t know it worked out for ya but I love everybit of this story..have a neighbour that always look me lustfully from his balcony each time I’m heading for work..really don’t know how to get him down. ..cos he is really a glass of fine red wine with a drop of whisky

  3. Jason
    September 03, 15:21 Reply

    Please, you should be specific with your stories, so we’ll how how to create our own fantasy on our head.
    For instance I don’t know if this a fiction or not. 💁💁💁

    • Pink Panther
      September 03, 16:31 Reply

      How about you check the category the story is published to find out if it’s fiction or nonfiction

  4. Malik
    September 03, 17:42 Reply

    No way! This is not fiction??? My gawd!!

  5. the real me
    September 04, 05:28 Reply

    am a bit curious how they knew they were from the same community? come on now the guy just ask for direction

    • Pink Panther
      September 04, 05:33 Reply

      LOL. There’s this thing called gaydar. People just tend to tune in to the gay in another person.

  6. Richard Moore
    September 04, 08:21 Reply

    This is fiction, right? Please tell me it is because where are those bathroom stall quickies when I need one? 😭😭😭

  7. Cally
    September 04, 23:02 Reply

    Oh my gosh!! Could read on and on. Nice 👍 I was melt away.

    • Pankar
      September 15, 20:06 Reply

      It was Mr mans gaydar on full alert

Leave a Reply