Rough Rider: Getting Started

How's it hanging? I'm Glen. If you haven't met me or heard of me, that's only because I haven't been through your town yet. I ride a Harley, just cruising here and there around the country. They call me the Rough Rider. Why? Stick around and I might just show you.

So, a little about me. If you're asking my age, it's like this: not so young as not to know better, but not so old as not to care anymore. I guess you could say I have dark hair and dark eyes; I keep my head and face cut real short and neat. I'm tall enough to handle myself. How do I stay in such good shape? Well, I look for a gym, whenever I'm passing through a place; that's usually where I give my introductions, and it's not long afterwards that I'm being well received. Oh, yeah, I've got a few tattoos, two you can see and one you can't, unless I let you; and if you be real nice and welcoming when I come by, I might just let you.
So what's it like below the belt? I ain't bragging, but... well, here's a for instance. I was laying there, pressing about one-ten, when this cute kid walks over. He couldn't have been more than eighteen, with nice smooth pecs and toned runner's legs. He had on some gray gym shorts with a little bulge forming in the front. Like I said, it don't take long before I'm made to feel real welcome. He was toweling himself and smiling. man, his eyes were some blue.

"How's it going?" he asked.
"Great," I grunted. I figured I'd done enough pressing, so I racked the weights. Sitting on the end of the seat, I got a good view of that bulge and started feeling a little itchy myself. It'd been a week since my last appointment, and I figured I was due for another. Riding a bike has a way of doing that to you. I mean, after you think you've had enough for awhile, that old leather starts to working you up again.

"I'm Mike," he said.
"Glen."
"I've gotta close up the place, and it looks like we're the only two left in here. Guess that means the showers are free."
"I could use one," I said.
I followed Mike to the stalls, an open area with a big frosted glass window to let light in. Gazing upon those tight cheeks quivering under his shorts, I could feel my tool starting to ratchet up.

When he peeled his off, that lean smooth frame made me remember how good this was going to be. His member was already bouncing in the air, and I could tell how nervous he was, giggling and all, as he let the water stream down his torso and drip off his fuzzy balls. The smile left his face though, as he gazed down and his mouth fell open.

"So, Mike. You need me to wash your back for you?"
His eyes widened as they met mine. I could almost hear his heart pounding.

"If you want," he said with a gulp.
"Oh, I want."
As I turned him toward the wall, he began breathing more heavily.
"Relax, Mike," I said, running my hands up and down his back, then cupping those beautiful cheeks. "You just need a little soap down here."
I took a daub from the dispenser, rubbed my hands together, then inserted a finger slowly. He gasped and lifted himself onto his toes.
"Just let me open you up a bit," I said, twirling my finger around, then slipping in another. His fingers were clawing the wall tile by now.
"Is it gonna hurt?" he whispered.

"Well, that's up to you, Mike. You see, they call me the Rough Rider. But that's only at the first. Afterwards, it gets easier."
I planted my feet, gripped his hips and pressed the head between those taut muscles. He was tight alright, but that's how I like them. His groaning resonated nicely all over the room. What a beautiful sound, like playing a musical instrument. I gave him a good thrust, and he cried out. Reaching around, I gripped his cock and let it slide through my hand with each stroke. A nice six-incher, young and lean. Don't do much sucking, but this one would make a nice sweet snack for later.

I could feel his hole tightening; but the more it squeezed and puckered, the deeper I got. Now I had him pressed against the slippery wall, letting his stiffness slide against the tile for awhile.
"If you can stand it a little longer," I spoke into his ear, "it gets easier as it gets deeper."
"It feels so big," he moaned. "I'm not sure I can take it all."
"Just relax," I said, massaging his rib cage.

Now I was feeling my own build up and increased the speed. I pulled him away from the wall, gripped his cock and started yanking it. He was hopping, grabbing at the arm around his chest.
"On the floor, Mike."
"What? Oh, no."
"Yeah, Mike. Down there."

Now this is why they call me the Rough Rider. No soft cushiony bed for me. The rougher the surface, the better. The concrete was soaked and hard, as I layed him into a big puddle. With his legs spread and his hair gripped between my fingers, I slammed him again and again and again. His body slapped the concrete, sending sprays of water everywhere.

"Ohhh! Ohhh!" His cries were like music to my ears. I pounded that gorgeous ass like it was bread dough. I let out a growl, when my load shot into him. Propped on my hands, I lay spread across his smooth nakeness, catching my breath for a minute. When I slipped it out, he let out a soft moan. I stood over him, looking at him sprawled on the wet floor.

"Good boy, Mike. You know how to treat a stranger just right."
Another warm and friendly welcome for the Rough Rider.