By Bradley Baddley
So, in any event, I went over to Alphonso’s house which was sort of the Flaming Tubes clubhouse. It was an ordinary looking house on a tree lined street in the shadow of downtown Denver. Sue Johnson told me it was quite the “gay neighborhood,” and nobody minded a bit when Alphonso made him cut the lawn and trim the shrubbery wearing nothing but his tight little jockstrap. I told Sue that sounded really hot and I would love to help with the landscaping sometime … in my shortest little cheerleader skirt, bending over to tie my shoelaces when the mailman came by … or even when the police came by, because that is a hot fantasy – bending over and flashing my tight little ano with meat and potatoes hanging as the po-po roll by in their big sexy police car … I could just say “whoops!, it was an accident sir,” and would they maybe threaten to arrest me for public indecency? … or instead maybe just smile and wave? … or even stop, roll down the window and make an indecent overture? … it could really be hot … hot with a capital H …
The gloryhole box I heard so much about was down in the basement where there was also a pool table and a refrigerator with a built in beer keg. As if the greasy bikers weren’t drunk enough already in their long underwear union suits with the cheesy Flaming Tubes logo on the back. A “motley crew” indeed, boyzé! (Do you like the way I put the little accent thing-a-ma-jingy on the letter é? … I do … )
There were about ten of the pseudo bikers, and I say “pseudo” because something tells me these dudes would up and run if some real authentic dirty bikers showed up … and this was really a “walk on the wild side” for yours truly because I never did anything close to this sucio back in Chesterfield, Missouri. I never dreamed I would ever do anything like climb in a plywood box so ten bikers could take turns sticking their shafts, schlongs, and pork swords through a 2″ diameter hole and expect me to suck every one of them off … (Do you like the way I put the Spanish and French words in italics? … a little extra spice in my dirty little tale? … I like it a lot, so I’m going to keep doing it. Once I start doing something I like, it’s hard for me to stop. My high school English teacher said I have an “obsessive personality.” That’s why I keep doing things like putting sexy foreign words in italics …)
The gloryhole box was a rather rough looking affair and it smelled of disinfectant and Hawaiian Breeze air freshener. Sue Johnson said it was his job to keep it clean, and he made sure to clean off the semen stains and stale beer. The Flaming Tubes would often set their beer mugs down on top of the box when they were getting their big Polish kielbasas serviced, and then next you thing know, the mug gets knocked over and nothing smells worse than stale beer, except maybe stale urine … and speaking of urine, Sue said “be ready for anything,” because the Vulgarians would often piss in the box in lieu of walking upstairs to the restroom facilities … personally, I prefer the taste of semen but “when in Rome do as the Romans do.”
I was pleasantly surprised when Sue Johnson said he would be getting in the box with me. That sounded really cozy. Especially when I found out Sue would sit down first, and then let me impale my tight little ano on his fat meat thermometer. What a set-up … and that’s how it went – Sue sat down, and then I sat down on his dick which put my mouth about an inch away from the inside of the hole … and it wasn’t like I could move back or anything with Sue now humping me up the butthole. The bikers were haw, haw, hawing it up as they shut the door and locked it. It was dark inside, and I think Sue really had a crush on my butt cheeks, because he started fucking my ass really hard … like my head was hitting the top of the box on the upstrokes … it was really cramped inside the box and even though I have a touch of claustrophobia, I didn’t mind so much, because Sue was hacer el amor to my well lubed asshole …
The first cock came through the hole and I wrapped my lips around the throbbing shaft and sucked like I was trying to suck the chrome off the proverbial hubcap. “Suck it bitch!” cried the anonymous scooter jockey from outside the box, but he didn’t really have to ask me twice or anything, because it was a wondrous wiener, long and thick, and I was truly enjoying the “box sex” with Sue Johnson giving it to me up the butt at the same time … an aggressive top, the dude outside the box was fucking my mouth, in and out, and in and out, and then before I knew it, there was a waterfall of sticky semen squirting all over my face … I took his dick out of my mouth when he came, because there was no way I was going to swallow ten loads, and there was a whole lot more dick coming … and Sue Johnson, he slowed down the humping a little, but he was still rock hard inside my anus, kissing my neck saying “I love you, Becky,” like he really meant it … what a romantic cornholer!
A truly hot experience, and that was definitely the most dick I have ever sucked at one sitting. Ten fat meat popsicles in the boca plus Sue Johnson up the turdcutter. By the time they were done, I was soaked in semen, and then for laughs they all started pissing through the hole. Sue and I were absolutely drenched in sticky semen and smelly piss. When Alphonso finally unlocked the door and let us out, I was exhausted and ready for a shower. The inside of the box was a mess and the Flaming Tubes were all drunk as skunks, reciting obscene limericks and chug-a-lugging beer. Trudy didn’t stick around for the festivities so I was stuck without wheels, but Sue Johnson gave me a ride back to my hotel room …
My epic journey to L.A. had taken a truly gay turn in the Mile High City, but it was time for me to get back on the road. I could still taste Sue Johnson’s vanilla lipstick as I showered. I wasn’t in a big hurry to get to Cali or anything like that, and I was totally ready for my next big adventure …
To Be Continued …