My Cousin and Me. Part two.
Now I fast forward fifty years, yes, that’s right. I had a life of driving trucks all over Europe. Enjoying my love of rubber, and exploring my bi-side, however and whenever I could. And that was easy, as most toilets had a glory hole. That was an amazing discovery, in itself. I loved it, and would make a bee line for a location I knew had parking for a truck, and had toilets nearby. I now know that I am not the only one, but finding a like-minded friend was difficult, and that age-old question of, “Why the rubber”? cropped up time and again.
My love of that fabulous material, rubber, in all its forms, has grown, till it has almost become all consuming, and have been lucky enough to have bought quite a bit, down through the years. I now carry a rubber glove in every pocket, of every garment I wear, from dressing gown to jackets and pants. I have under wear, aprons, and even rubber socks with toes in. Every time I go out, I carry my mackintosh with me, and cannot resist touching the item, gloves, mack, boots, whenever I can. If you think I’ve got it bad, then you are right. I can’t bear the thought of being without rubber, in all its forms, and I have to say, plastic does nothing for me at all. I have also taken to shaving my pubic area. To touch the clean shaved area with an item of rubber, whatever it might be, is absolute ecstasy.
And so on with the tale.
Tom and his wife visited us, at our home in the west country. They made several visits before the time of the fast forward. Nothing was ever said, none of those episodes were ever mentioned, and we had a super time together, we got on very well. I wanted to tell Tom about my life on the road, and the fun I’d had, but we were never alone long enough. I wanted to entice him to do it all again, because it was Tom that led me down that path. I agree that the seeds were planted at birth, but he was the catalyst. He turned on the tap.
Then one day, we were sitting in the beer garden of a riverside pub. The garden is down a level, below the street level of the pub, and as described, right by the river. And, as is the norm these days, after a drink, I have to visit the toilet, before I can leave the premises. I stood up and announced my intention. To my surprise, Tom stood as well saying that he was going with me. We climbed the steps up to the pub, and went inside. The place was empty, mainly due to the time, it being late in the afternoon, and too early for the evening customers. What customers there were, were either down in the garden, or upstairs in the main bar
The layout of the toilet room was such that there were three urinals on the left, the three hand wash basins were straight ahead, and there were two cubicles on the right side. Not a big area by any means. Both Tom and I stood to the urinals to pee. I always pull out all my tackle when I pee, so I was holding my cock and balls, whilst I performed the most basic of tasks.
Tom had finished before me. He went to the wash basins to wash his hands. The layout of the toilet room meant there was a corner space where the urinals ended on the left wall, and the sinks began on the wall at the end of the room. Tom was standing in the space left where the builders couldn’t put another urinal, nor another sink. Standing there he could see right along the front of the urinals. I was still standing pointing Percy at the porcelain, and Tom was watching. As I peed, I stroked my balls, gently scratching with my fingernails. My thumb was on the top of my penis, in the join, at the base, and my fingertips down, on the sides of my balls. Gently touching my cleanly shaven handful. If this didn’t go any further, then I was enjoying this moment to the full. Knowing I was being watched made it all the more exciting.
It was now or never. I finished peeing. I gave “it” a few quick strokes to get the drops out, then started to stroke it a lot slower. Strokes that changed the meaning from bodily functions to pleasure. I could see with my peripheral vision that he was still watching. This was it. It certainly was now or never. What I was contemplating could fuck things up forever. Shall I, or shall I not. He could leave at any time. He could just walk out. He could say, “See you by the river”. He could get really uppity, asking me,” What’s your game?” I had to do it. My heart was beating like a steam hammer.
I turned towards him. I was still stroking my cock, as I started heading for the sinks, and him. What was going to happen? He was alternately looking at my cock and my face. To say his eyes were sticking out on stalks would be an understatement. With a couple of steps I had arrived at the sink, right by him.
Now he was staring at my hand, still massaging my cock. I could see he was trying to work out what was happening. Possibly still trying to come to a decision of his own. I couldn’t tell. He looked me in the eye, so I uttered those immortal words, “Show me yours.”
I reached out my left hand and placed it on the bulge in his pants. It was hard. He was excited, and so was I. Pleased to see me? He started to move. I was now terrified he would flee. He would have had to physically push past me to escape. I would be devastated, more than that, I would just die inside. If it all went wrong, I could never pull it back from this cliff edge, it could really screw my life up.
He moved his hands to his zipper. I moved my hand away to give him space. I t seemed to take forever for him to pull the zip down, to fumble around inside, and eventually pull out his penis. I was surprised, and delighted to see he had also exposed his balls. This was it. We had come this far. Could we seal the deal, here and now? There was just one more step to take. I reached out my hand again, and this time I placed it on his cock.
After fifty years of waiting and longing, I actually had Tom’s penis in my hand again. We had made it. I hadn’t been wrong about dear old Tom. It was he that had opened the door to my bi-sexual side. My life long yearning to meet, and greet other men, and now the wheel had turned a full circle, to bring Tom back into my loving hands. I didn’t hardly dare to breathe, in case I suddenly awoke from this marvellous dream.
I felt as if I had to capitalise on this stolen moment, but there could be no mistakes now. We had but a minute or two, and I had to get this right. The urgency of the time was telling me to wank away for all I was worth, but experience told me to be cool. I held his cock just below the helmet, and very gently pulled it upwards, to stretch and tighten his scrotum. I stroked his balls with the tips of my fingers. Then one stroke down and up, with my left hand, pause again and continue to circle with the fingertips of my right hand. Down, and up again. I could see his eyes becoming glazed, as he felt the ecstasy, caused by my caresses.
Tom had taken a very gentle hold on me. He had placed his thumb on the base of my cock, and his fingers down the side of my scrotum, similar to what I had done to myself, just a few moments ago, and was gently massaging me. We stood like this for no more than a couple of minutes. I caught hold of his hand and said, “Come in here.”
He followed me into the cubicle. I stood back while he pushed the door closed. I told him to drop his pants, and I sat down on the toilet seat. Again, it could have been a savage wank, but no, I wanted this to be the crowning glory of the event. I took a pair of rubber gloves out of my jacket pockets. I started to stroke his balls with them, and at the same time I licked the end of his member. I only did this for a few seconds, then took him into my mouth. Even then I did not rush. Just very gently slipped my mouth up and down his shaft, letting my tongue do its work, whilst still caressing his balls. I was all too aware of the time passing. I had made my mind up to stop, when Tom whispered, “It’s cumming.”
I put my hand, holding the rubber glove, round his cock and started to wank him. The other hand with the other rubber glove, I placed underneath his balls, and began to massage them. I could feel the rubber glove touching my lips with every upward stroke. It took just a second or two for Tom to cum. I could feel the tension in his body as every nerve ending was stretched to breaking point. His back arched, every muscle in his body was tensed out. I could feel the kiss of the rubber glove as it touched my lips, and I could feel the thrusts as he came in my mouth, filling it. I caressed his balls as I swallowed his cum, and kept licking and sucking his cock till I thought it was clean, squeezing every drop out. I released him and told him we had to go. The story was that I had to go to the toilet, and he waited for me. Not the whole truth, but not a lie either. As we were making our way back towards the steps, Tom remarked that “it’s good to see you’re still in love with rubber”. There wasn’t time for me to tell him of my life woven around that fabulous material.
When we got back to the women, they joked about one of us having fallen in. We joined in the fun, with the remark that it would be ”too much information.” For the rest of the holiday, there were no ‘knowing winks,’ or ‘dubious looks’, nothing at all to raise suspicion. We never mentioned it. We just got on with the vacation. And Tom?
Well; He owes me one. And he and I need to have a chat sometime. Hopefully soon. I want to tell him about my life, and to hear about his, before it’s too late. Nice to have you back ‘cuz’.
Me; I still carry rubber gloves in my pockets, wherever I go, and am just as likely to pull one out to caress myself, whenever the opportunity arises, and it is surprising how often it does. Sometimes you just have to grasp the moment.
I had a phone call today from Tom. He told me that he and his wife will be visiting us again next July 2019, after a gap of several years, when I was thinking I had actually blown it. Maybe not. Watch this space.
Stories and fantasies about rainwear.
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