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I hadn’t seen my pal Mark since graduating from high school five years ago. I figured we could reconnect at our 5th year reunion. He practically had to be there, having been the student body president for our senior year.
I spotted Mark across the room when I walked in. We both continued circulating, and while our eyes met once in a while, it almost seemed we were avoiding each other. Finally I saw Mark heading toward the rest rooms, and I decided that would be a good time to close in on him.
Upon entering the Men’s Room, I saw Mark standing at one of the two urinals. No other guys were present. As Mark stoically looked at the wall in front of him, I stepped up to the vacant urinal. I quickly unzipped, and pulled out my own big circumcised hose. I said “I’d recognize that big, nasty looking pecker that’s jutting out of your fly anywhere, man! I’ve always wanted to tell you, Badcock, your dick is the ugliest piece of man-meat I’ve ever seen. What’s a bar-room brawler of a cock like that doing in a high-class joint like this?”
Mark replied, “Coming from you, Q, I won’t take that too seriously. I’d offer to shake hands, but it seems our hands are otherwise engaged right now.”
You see, Mark Owen Babcock [his friends called him “Mob”, but I always thought of him as “Badcock”] and I met way back in Jr. High. My name being Quincy Lee Baxter everyone called me “Q”. In the last-name alphabetized plan of the school system, we undressed side by side in the boy’s locker room.
I had always been fascinated with Mark’s cock, and secretly thought it was one UGLY male unit. Of course I didn’t say anything back then, as you’re not supposed to be checking out another guy’s equipment. Anyway, with Mark’s tool, the shaft was sort of bent to the left, and the head was sort of a strange bullet shape, turned up at the end [like the prow of a ship], and appeared to be quite loosely circumcised, with skin bunched up behind his glans. Also, it didn’t dangle down between his legs [like mine, and most of the other guys’ units did], but rather jutted out from his groin, always looking like it was in the process of becoming erect, but wasn’t quite there yet.
Anyway, here we were years later, in our early twenties. Once again, I was eyeing his big, ugly powerhouse of a schlong, as we stood side by side taking a piss. Mark asked me, “Well Q, did you come to the reunion just to insult my manhood, or are you enjoying yourself?”
“Well Mark,” I answered, “You’re about the only person of interest here. In fact, I am ready to blow this joint. Our classmates seem to be playing the same old games they played five years ago. I’m hoping maybe you and I can get together for a visit casino oyna when you’re done with all this reunion bullshit.”
“You know, Q, that would be great. Why don’t we split now, maybe get out on the beach for a while or something? I’ve had enough of this reunion crap myself. It’s been a long afternoon.”
Coincidentally, we both had rooms in the hotel where the reunion was taking place, which was right on the beach. We first went to my room, where Mark had a quick drink while I stripped off my clothes, and put on some beach trunks. I noticed Mark watching me change clothes, but thought nothing of it.
We then went two floors up to Mark’s room, and reversed the process … me having a drink while he changed clothes. While watching him undress [Hell, we were old locker room buddies, so nudity was a common situation between us], I noticed he stuck his hand into his boxers for a second before he stripped them off. I remembered that he always stuck a hand inside his jockstrap before he peeled that nut-strangler off and headed to the showers. Curious, watching this same action happen in his hotel room, I asked: “Are you playing with that monster of yours, or just scratching your balls?”
Unexpectedly, Mark blushed and muttered “Uh, yeah, something like that.” As we left his room, he grabbed a couple of big, fat cigars out of his suitcase. He said he was alone alot working, lived alone too, and didn’t give a damn about political correctness. As a red-blooded American male of legal age, he enjoyed a good cigar. I agreed, and we lit our stogies as we left the hotel.
Out on the beach we walked quite a ways as the sun was setting. Talked of my brief marriage and divorce, and his job as a desert biologist. “Kept him busy and isolated” he said … leaving no time for any real relationships.
As we walked back towards the hotel in the gathering darkness, he stepped towards a large rock and said “I need to piss”. I followed, and once again noticed Mark sticking his hand into his trunks BEFORE pulling his tool out. As we stood there draining our snakes he asked, “Q, how about dinner from room service? I don’t feel like spending any more time with the reunion bunch, but I’d like your company.”
After dinner we sat enjoying another cigar and some brandy. We talked and talked, and finally the only topic left was sex. He was really curious about my sexual escapades, but real reticent when I would question him about his own personal life.
He finally threw me a real curve ball when he said: “Q, I’ve always wanted to ask you this, but never had the balls. I’ve got to get it off my chest, no matter what your take on this subject is. I just can’t go on any longer in canlı casino the mind-funk I’ve lived in for years. How does it feel to be, um, you know, uh normal . . . um what I really mean is how does it feel to be circumcised?”
I was stunned by the question, and said “Listen, Badcock, I’ve seen your dick AND your dick-head hundreds of times, and I’d say that you damn well know what it feels like to have a cut cock!”
“Actually, I’m not circumcised. Evidently you notice that I always stick my hand in my pants before pulling my pecker out … what I’m doing is pushing my foreskin back behind my cock-head, where it’ll stay for a few minutes. I’ve always been embarrassed as hell about being the only uncut guy around.”
“Man, Mark … you’ve got nothing to be uptight about! I know your feelings though, my folks didn’t have me cut until the summer before Jr. High. Up until then, I had the stigma of an uncut cock too. I mean it wouldn’t be bad to be uncut if all the guys around you were the same way. But Christ! MY foreskin wouldn’t stay retracted like yours does, and every time I was in the changing room at the pool, or even just using a urinal, I heard all the jokes about anteaters, elephant’s trunks, etc. So believe me, buddy, I understand what you’re talking about! It was brutal! But to answer your question, Mark, I was glad when I finally got circumcised, and have been happy about it ever since.”
“You know, Mark, you’re a good looking, popular guy. You shouldn’t be concerned with this bull-shit now that we’re no longer in the fish-bowl of the boy’s locker room! Hell, we’re men now! You’re well hung, too. And certainly you’re not the ONLY uncut guy on the planet. If you’re really that fixated about it, although there is no reason why you should be, go see a urologist, and get yourself circumcised!”
“Well, Q, I’ve always been uptight about it. I feel different, isolated … you’ve all been initiated into the tribe, and I feel as if I am an outsider. I see guys like you with their nice, clean cut cocks, with those big mushroom heads, and I know my own dick-head is there inside my jockstrap or boxers or whatever I’m wearing, covered with smegma and hiding under a foreskin. I can’t imagine any girl or guy being attracted to me. I live alone, and have solo-sex. I’m celibate, man, and I’m still a fucking virgin!!!”
Then Mark really shocked me. “My whole life, I just wanted to be one of the guys, a member of the tribe. Somewhere along the way, I think I’ve become so fixated on the look of a cleanly cut cock, that’s all I’m interested in now. I’m afraid to approach a guy though, as I know when he sees my foreskin, he’ll laugh, be offended, or whatever.”
Mark had kaçak casino been pacing the room. When he neared where I sat, I grabbed his arm to stop the pacing. My hands flew to his crotch, opened his fly, and dug out his big, ugly schlong. For the first time, I saw it with the foreskin covering his pecker-head. I pulled him towards my face, and inhaled the earthy male scent of his pubes.
I slowly explored inside his loose foreskin with my tongue, getting my first taste of cock-cheese. It was my first time ever handling another guy’s penis, cut or uncut. I pushed the foreskin back, exposing that ugly, prow-shaped head, and stroked the shaft of that big dick that I had thought about so often. I put a lip-lock on his cock-head, as I continued stroking his now stiffening rod. I was driving him wild flicking his ultra-sensitive frenulum with my tongue.
His crotch-rocket was now rock-hard and throbbing. I noticed that fucker still had a dog-leg to the left even when fully erect, and just hung there in horizontal space, heavy and menacing looking. By this time Badcock was frenzied from my ministrations, and he jammed his 7 inches of red-hot man-meat all the way into my mouth. I revelled in the fact I had him out of control so quickly, which I attributed to the fact that I was popping his cherry.
Instinctivly, he bucked his hips one last time, jamming his stiff rod far down my throat, and his hot, gooey jism flooded my oral cavity. I swallowed as much of Mark’s fuck-sauce as I could, and the rest dribbled out the corners of my mouth.
Mark soon came down from his testosterone-induced high, and quietly told me “Well Q, you’d better get out of those fucking clothes before I rip them off of you.”
I quickly stripped, and even though it was delivered by a sexual neophyte, he gave me the best blow-job of my life. Mark couldn’t get enough of my 6 1/2 inch circumcised tool, and what he lacked in experience, he made up for in style and enthusiasm.
We were up the rest of the night, doing every sexual thing two males can do to each other.
That was two years ago. Mark is still a desert biologist, living out in the wilds. However, thanks to a small inheritance, I was able to quit my job, and I moved in with him as his live-in lover.
We can’t get enough of each other. He loves the big mushroom head on my circumcised cock, while I love playing with his foreskin. When he is mad at me, he threatens to “go get cut”.
I know he still has insecurities about his penis, and I tell him “Go ahead and get circumcised if that’s what you really want. Nothing wrong with being cut!”
He says “Someday you’ll be surprised when you rip open my fly, and my foreskin is gone!” I would certainly be surprised. We’ll see if it comes to pass.
In the meantime, when we’re not busy going down on each other’s schlong, we still enjoy a cigar once or twice a day.
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