Mr. Old School
By Sid Drennan
Thu, 03 Oct 2013
- 354 reads
"Testing, testing, one, two, three, testing, testing" I said into the old dude's business I was holding in my grip like an MC's microphone. He let out a long sigh. "Are you gonna suck it or not?" he asked testily. We were sitting (or rather he was sitting. I was crouched on my knees) in a cramped, sleazy little "dressing room" in a midtown bathhouse. Apparantly the old dude didn't have much of a sense of humor in such environs. "Just chill your shit old man," I told him. "You should be proud to have such a strapping fine young lad as myself before you willing to blow your old tool." "Ha!" he harrumphed. "I bet there's plenty of young punks lurking around in here that would trade places with you in a New York minute." he snorted. "Yeah, my ass there are" I sneered as I noticed the deep throb of pulse in his feverish hardness I was still griping tightly in my hand. Wow, if I didn't know better I would say our little bitchy banter was turning Mr. Old School here right the fuck on. At least I I knew it was me.
"Well?" he said. "I don't have all day, boy. I gotta be picking up my wife and daughter at the mall in less than..." he glanced quickly at his watch (which other than his hairy middle aged paunch was the only thing he was wearing at the moment) "fuck... an hour. So...goddamn start already." Gently I squeezed him and gave just a little milking tug. Just enough to keep the fish on the line, you understand. "So," I said looking up at him in the dim light. "You're married. With children. Probably even grandchildren, too I'll betcha. And while we're kinda on the subject just how old are you Pops?" I asked. He sighed. "Not that old, kid. I'm fifty fucking three." Wowza, I thought. No, not that old but he was old enough he could be my Dad or even better yet one of his friends -but let the record show he most definitely was not. But it was a cool thought none-the-less. "So you come here often?" I asked, still milking him ever so slightly and switching gears in the conversation. I noticed for an old fuck he was hard as the proverbial Chinese arithmetic and as nervous and sweaty as the proverbial whore in church, too. This shit was going to be fun.
"Mmm...when I can" he said with a bit of shakiness in his voice. "Not often. Just...ok, fuck it, yes this is my first time" he said exhaling the last part out quickly. "Uhm, when you say 'first time' I assume you mean it's your first time in a gay bathouse?" I asked, feeling I was honing in on something. This was getting more and more interesting. "No," he sighed as if caught in a trap. "My first time with a guy." Ah, bingo! And so the plot thickened.
"Well now" I said in as throaty of a voice I could muster as I gave him a good squeeze and a little twist. I heard him let out a small guttural groan. "Then I count it an honor to be your first. So why the long delay? Why do you want to have a first time with a guy at the grand old age of fifty fucking three? Is it one of those mid life 'bucket list' kind of things? Like buying a motorcycle or going skydiving?" I asked. "Inqeering minds want to know!" I added quickly just for shits and grins. "Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that" he answered with that shake in his voice I had groan (literally if you know what I mean) to love. "But please. Can we just do this already?" he then asked almost pleading. "I've been waiting years for this and I...I really do have to go soon. They'll wonder why I'm running late and I don't want to answer any questions." I could feel the anxiousness in both his voice and body. So I just smiled up at him, winked, and gave him one more good squeeze before I lowered down and began. Yeah, Mr. Old School. It was time for both of us.
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