Bridge

He Had Arms To Die For

Bridge

He had arms to die for. That’s what I first noticed. He was wearing a red tank top and black running shorts as he was walking down the Portuguese Bend trail. I was heading back up to the trailhead, the sweat dripping from my brow. I saw the arms, the body of a linebacker and immediately pictured him tackling me and choking me with his cock.

But nothing like that happened. I looked up, smiled and said a quick out-of-breath “howdy.” He smiled with those killer dimples and said a much more energetic hello. It was obvious he was just getting started.

He walked past and his scent left an imprint on my psyche, the deep musk that did not have an ounce of sourness as I expected. Turning around I caught a glimpse of his ass, two mounds that begged for my face to be firmly planted between them.

I headed back to my car imagining my balls a deep shade of blue.