I'm not partial to redheads. They're generally too wholesome, and that's not what I'm after. So it surprises me when I notice this guy. I remind myself I don't like his type, but I find I'm not listening.
His hair is slightly long and shaggy of fiery redness, but it works, has a certain likeable chaos, and I wonder if maybe he plans it, stands in front of the mirror, gets it into place, then messes it up, doing an eggbeater thing with his fingers. I can see him at it. Naked, of course.
I've never had a redhead. Too pale, too pink. Too Midwestern. But he's gorgeous, irresistible. He's with a date and so am I; it's Valentine's Day. (Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to his fiery countenance, his redness. Come to think of it, he does look kind of like Cupid all grown up; I know I have no objection to him shooting me with his arrow.) We're both having dinner, and he's at the next table, facing me and looking over his date's shoulder – as am I. We're both carrying on conversations with our dates, and I wonder if his dick is getting hard. Mine sure is.
He's dressed casually in a white shirt and slacks. His date is white-blond – and elsewhere, I suppose. This encourages me since I'm black-haired with green eyes. I think of the contrast as I eat my dinner, my light skin against his pink. I become animated with Neville, my date, because I want to show myself off to the redhead. I make Neville laugh. I look into his eyes – we're headed for bed after dinner – lean forward and tell him what I'm going to do to him, then let my gaze move past, carry the energy one table down. And then the redhead's date gets up and goes to the john, and I'm left with a clear view. I notice there's a little blue logo on his shirt, and I want to read it. The shirt fits him rather well, and I can see well-defined pecs under the fabric. Every time Neville looks down at his meal, I glance past him; one time the redhead, with great care so I'll take note, slides his hand across the table, off the edge, and down to his crotch. I look at it, then up to his face, pass a few seconds of up-and-down gawking, and then back to Neville, who's saying, "Hey, you listening?"
"Sure," I lie, but I still don't pay attention because the redhead gets up as his date returns. He doesn't look at me; he just heads for the john, and I interrupt Neville. "Gotta pee," I say, hoping he won't notice the bulge in my trousers.
The redhead is at a urinal when I come in. I glance at his dick, which is long, pink. I head for a stall, and when the restroom is empty he joins me. I'm stroking my cock when he opens the door. He's left his fly open; his dick is on the rise. He takes hold, brings it to mine, and rubs the heads together. We play a bit, and precome is soon liberally smeared. Then his hand slips onto my cock, my hand onto his cock, and we pull at one another while I gaze into eyes that are a vibrant blue. He has a freckled complexion like most redheads, and I wonder if he's been kept indoors, cultivated into this magnificent specimen, grown up now, turned out into the world, fresh and eager. Cupid at 23.
It registers in the back of my mind that we're on the clock, but I know I'll think of some excuse if Neville gets pissed, because I need time with this guy. I stop stroking him and get his shorts down, get a look at his red pubes. I chuckle because they seem almost absurd, yet I kneel, get my nose into them and breathe in his scent. I lick the long pink cock, working my way to the tip, and then slide it into my mouth. I look up as I begin to suck and see a grin on the redhead's face, beautiful with teeth, pink tongue skating across his lower lip.
He's a mouthful. I take all I can, but he's an absolute pole. I get a hand into his silky bush, pet him as I feed. Behind us, others come and go, toilets flush and water runs. A guy enters the next stall and takes a shit as I suck cock. Surely he sees four legs in our stall, and I wonder if he's imagining us in our stall – what we're doing, if he'd like a go. Will he wait till we emerge, meanwhile playing his own mind games? Maybe return to his table primed for fucking?
The redhead grabs the sides of my head and holds me still while he begins to thrust. I cradle him with my tongue, and soon we've got a good mouth-fuck going while I work my meat, thinking about getting into him, getting on him riding the shit out of his sweet arse while he spews come all over the floor. Then he pulls out, waving his wet dick at me, and he starts rubbing it against my cheeks and my forehead, poking the head at my eyes. He's getting really worked up, and I know what he needs, but he seems to want to draw things out, torture himself a bit. He starts slapping his cock against me, hips working as if he's fucking rather than flailing. He's breathing hard, and I wonder if this is a regular thing for him, holding back when most of us would take that hot poker and put it where it needs to go.
Suddenly, he grips my shoulders, pulling me up, apparently having gotten to where he needs to be. I stand up, and he rasps, "Fuck me," and hands me a condom. I drop my trousers, suit up, and lube myself with spit; only when I'm ready does he turn and spread his cheeks. And there it is, the pinkest pucker I've ever seen, a rosy little hole that's winking at me, begging. I push in a finger, then two, and he lets out a soft groan, and the guy in the next stall does too. I almost laugh, but I give the redhead a good little reaming while my dick drools in wait. And then I withdraw, get into position, and his eager arse wiggles in anticipation. I watch the dance for a second, and then shove in, everything at once, maximum dick. He lets out a grunt, then a series of loud exhales as I start to fuck him.
His arse is hot, and I think about that as I ride him, that redness of his, like he's fiery inside. Maybe that's what the red hair means. He squeezes his muscles as I go in, clamping on to me, and it sends a wave up my dick and back into my arse, which fires me all the more. I start to pound him as a result, fleshy slaps echoing through the room, and I don't care who hears us. I'm totally gone, and the guy in the next stall must be too, because I hear the unmistakeable sound of stroking dick, not to mention little groans of ecstasy that are beyond the expected sounds from a man in his position. And then he lets go, and I almost laugh, hearing his noisy climax while my own has yet to arrive. Then he's quiet, listening, I suppose, or mopping up before rejoining the family. I can hear his companion asking, "What took you so long, dear?"
I hear his zipper; the toilet flushes, he exits. There's the sound of him washing his hands, then the swing of the outer door. I want to say something about it to the redhead but don't. Ours is to be a pure relationship: cock and arse. He's got his hands on the tile, his big cock unattended, and I like that. It's all about my dick plowing his arse. I start slamming into him, and I keep on reaming him until the ache starts in my balls, my spine. Everything in me tenses, drawing up, every ounce of energy centred in my crotch, and I can't help but utter a raspy "Oh, shit" as I come. A monumental pulsing begins, and I unleash long streams of jism. It takes what seems like minutes to unload, and afterward my cock is still viable, as if this particular arse can take me above and beyond my limits. I'm gasping for breath, sweat is running down my face and my back, and I'm so blissed out that I'm almost delirious.
The redhead pulls away, turns, rolls the rubber off my cock and discards it, then strokes my meat, cups my balls. "Turn around," he whispers. He takes another condom from his pocket and pulls it onto his rigid prick. "My turn," he says when he's ready.
We change places, and my hands are suddenly on the tile. I think of Neville as the redhead's cock head finds my hole. I see him fidgeting at the table, meal gone, and I hope to hell he doesn't get impatient enough to come looking for me. But then I've got a dick going up my chute, and I don't care anything or anyone except getting fucked, that singular pleasure of a cock going up my rectum. And the redhead has a memorable one, far longer than Neville's, and as it pushes deep into my bowels, I grind back onto it to let him know I want it up there all the way, that I can take the longest of hoses.
And then he's doing it, fucking me full-out, making me wince as he blazes new territory. My dick is hard again, and I get a hand on it because he pounding me so hard the juice is stirring.
His stroke is incredibly long. He uses every inch of that salami, pulling nearly out, then ramming back in, so it's kind of a slow-motion fuck, which is almost funny because up front I'm jerking frantically as a climax teases. I want so badly to go over while he's doing me – there is nothing better than coming with a dick up your arse – and then, as if nature has answered my call, I start squirting juice, powerful shots of cream splattering the tile. The redhead offers a low chuckle as he watches, and then he sucks in a long breath and holds it, and I know he's coming. When he exhales, it's in breathy grunts in time to squirts. Again out fuck-slap echoes through the room.
I've still got a hand on my dick, even though I'm empty. I hold on as he unloads inside me, pumping steadily in his ultra-long strokes. He keeps on even when his breathing has returned to normal, slowing gradually. When he finally pulls out, I turn and watch him strip away the rubber. His prong is flushed red, come smeared over the head. I reach down, run a finger through it, and play around the slippery crown, hating the fact that there are people waiting for us. I think about what his date is in for, feel a jealous pang, and it drives me back down to my knees. I get my face back into those wild red pubes, lick his spent prick, and then go under to his balls where I suck one, then the other. I start thinking maybe he's done, but when I get a finger around back into his hole and start to prod, his prong comes alive. He starts riding my hand and I add a second finger, reaming him while up front I'm slurping nuts and jerking dick. He starts moaning, and I'm pumping like crazy, then he lets out an "Oh, shit," and cream oozes from his cock. His arse muscles clamps on to my fingers, and he works me as I work him, squeezing out the last of it. But, of course, that's not the last of it, at least not for me. When I stand up, he goes down, sucks my prick into his mouth, and we're off again, him doing to me what I did to him, fingers up my arse and me going at it back and front. I have a vague recollection of being on the clock, but a moment later I'm coming again, and time seems to stand still. As I empty I find myself wishing again this didn't have to end.
The redhead finally stands, gives me a smile, and pulls up his shorts, and I do the same. I think about asking for his number but don't. Something tells me it wouldn't fly. He leaves the stall first, washes his hands, and exits. After a few deep breaths, my thoughts are focused again. I exit the stall, wash up, and rejoin Neville.
"Where were you?" he asks.
"Sorry. I ran into someone from work. Couldn't get unstuck. You know how it is."
"Let's go."
My dinner is cold. The redhead is eating ice cream and talking to his date, more into it than before. When we stand, I steal a glance, as does he. I'd do you again in a minute, his face says. My dick twitches. I'd do him right there on the table in front of his date and Neville and the whole damned restaurant. The moment is exhilarating yet painful. Neville takes my arm and we leave. He'll all over me in the car because he's ready for some major fucking, and I'll certainly oblige because it's Valentine's Day, after all, and I like Neville, I honestly do. But he's not what the redhead was. As I drive, I think about those red pubes, and later, as I pump my cock into Neville, I picture pristine pink instead of tawny gold, and I think about that long ropy dick that is probably at that very moment up a willing arse, doing Cupid proud.