By Mark Bentson,

He was drunk.

Barely 6 o’clock in the afternoon, and his body reeked of the alcohol he’d likely been pouring into it since noon or even earlier. Surprising he could stand upright. Cute enough, in the dim lights of the upstairs area of the adult bookstore, he looked rather young. Now up close, my suspicions were confirmed. At 24 or 25, he stood a little over 5-foot-8. His skin was dark, but he wasn’t African American.

I’d only been here a few minutes and hadn’t had enough time for my eyes to adjust to the interior when we were already in a room. My nice 7 inches standing up and his curved 5 inches uncut cock.

“What do you get into?” he asked. His breath was heavy with vodka.

“I’m a top,” I said. “What about you?”

“I like to get fucked.”


That’s all it took. He never sucked me. He just dropped his pants lower and bent over.

His ass was smooth and dark as well. Tan? No. I felt his perfect little ass. A nice amount of meat on it. When I found the pucker, the lube and possibly previous loads there. I lined my cock up and pushed in.

He didn’t make a sound. I just fucked. I fucked hard. I fucked soft. I moved passionately. I motioned with purpose. And then I started getting toward the point where I was finally getting close. But this bending over shit wouldn’t work.

Despite the awkward nature of our pants around our ankles, I told him to move up on the room’s platform mattress and lay down. He wasn’t playing with himself. He just let me do the work. So I mounted him and began to really fuck with purpose.

After a snort of poppers, I went into a zone where my cock just slid in and out of hisass. He had a good amount of friction and it led me to that point of no return. Soon I was grunting. And I began to shoot into his ass. I let it all go. All my cum. I didn’t ask whether he wanted it. I just simply unloaded.

I took a moment to recover. He remained quiet and still.

I unmounted, the cock coming out of his ass. I stood. He scrambled up behind me.

“Thank you very much,” he smiled, his white teeth glistening.

“Where are you from,” I asked.

“India,” he responded.

“Nice,” I said. “My first Indian.”

“Huh?” he said.

“Never mind,” I responded.

I left him. He probably looked for more cock, but I headed home.

  1. Drunk fucking can be hot sometimes, there is just a point that can’t be passed. Keep it below that level and its fucking hot.

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