When I was seconded to our London office for a few years, I made sure that my apartment was very close to a well-known cruising park in the city. After settling in to my surroundings, I couldn’t wait to embark on my first mission to the famous venue. I had read a great deal about this place and even seen a video that was recorded there by an eminent pornographer. The skanky and gratuitous artlessness of the video left a strong impression on me.
In the video, after the main character arrives in a woodland area in the park after dusk, he has protracted pissing session. Next, the groping, sucking, and fucking that followed was so mesmerising, that I was totally hooked. Everything about the video was spontaneous and unscripted. How the man filming the event actually managed to get the consent of the other participants, was completely spellbinding. When the batteries in his recording device finally ran out of power, however, I wanted to shit my pants with frustration.
Finally being in the vicinity of this fantasy, I was determined to create my own sequel, which the loss of power from his camcorder had robbed from me.
As I arrived in the park the sun was setting. I knew that there would be a full moon that evening, so with any luck, I would be able to see the guys I hoped to engage. I meandered around for a while and then to my amazement, found myself in familiar surroundings. I was totally certain that the wooded area I stumbled across was the one in the video. God knows, I had watched it enough! I had even held in a huge piss in anticipation of my expected sequel. As I hauled my dick out to take a leak, I heard two voices behind me.
Shortly, two guys flanked me and also began to urinate. Looking from left to right I saw two skinheads on either side of me. They were wearing the customary lace up boots, speckled jeans, and hoody tops that one would associate with guys of this sort. Seconds later, one guy moved up to me and placed a knife at my throat.
“Don’t move,” he said, before continuing in a thick London accent, “Tommy, check him to see if the fudge packer’s got dough.”
After Tommy frisked me, also checking my arms and neck for jewellery, he replied, “Harry, the sausage jockey’s clean, his got fuck-all on him that we can nick.”
“Christ, I was hoping that we could score a few pints off the chutney ferret tonight,” Tommy replied, somewhat irritated.
“Me too, mate,” Harry agreed, totally miffed.
“Well… Let’s at least get some compensation and fuck the bum bandit,” Tommy pronounced, crudely grabbing his crotch.
Fortunately, the knife then disappeared, before I was roughly shuffled toward the tree stump I had seen in the video. Harry then lay back on the stump and instructed me to polish his knob. Harry was not the cleanest boy in the world and shortly my head was being mashed into his smelly crotch. As my head got smeared over his genitals the odour was rather pungent. When his dick began to fill with blood and he pulled his hood off the head of his dick, the smell of his ripe foreskin permeated the air, assailing my nostrils. His skanky hands then commandeered my head and my mouth was rapidly being bobbed up and down his musty dick.
From behind, Tommy’s hands lowered my tracksuit bottom before his icky fingers began to occupy with my well lubricated manhole.
“Jesus,” Tommy declared, “this ginger beer (queer) arrived ready for action. The ‘Backdoor Deidre’s’ all greased up.”
“Then fuck the bitch,” Harry instructed.
Presently, my two way incursion was underway. Being humped from both sides was incredible and I was no longer in awe of the video I had seen. My pleasure far exceeded the memory of the footage I had watched so often. As the boys went ballistic I could not have been happier. Their grunts and groans were stupendous as they speared like two randy dogs.
“This oily rag (fag) has got the tightest hole I have ever fucked,” Tommy declared, almost breathless, before he asked, “How good is his north and south (mouth)?” in cockney slang.
“Jesus, mate, this cock sucker’s mouth is like a suction pump,” Harry replied, gasping between grunts.
“Just… tell me when you… want to swap, mate,” Tommy confirmed, haltingly.
Not long after, Harry said, “I’m getting too close, let the bum-boy polish your knob while I cum in his arse.”
After hastily swapping positions, Harry took up station behind me and began hammering my butt.