It was a moment I'll cherish forever: standing in that dingy fucking bathroom, holding Nick's massive rubbery cock in my hand while he pissed. The thick tool sprouted from his buttoned-down fly, lay heavily across my sweaty palm and passed between my obliging thumb and index finger with a couple more inches to spare. His helmet drooped over the edge of my hand like the head of a docile snake. I could feel his piss humming along inside his meat and its sharp tang assaulted my nostrils as it shot into the toilet bowl, creating a liquid cacophony. As I watched it, transfixed, my mind backtracked over the events that brought us both here.
I manage a large conference facility-come-hotel on the outskirts of town. Okay, I deputy-manage. Okay, I'm one of four deputy managers, but it's quite a responsible position - looking after up to 250 guests and 12 conference suites on a sprawling estate. We deputies all live on-site in various apartments and buildings; working earlies and late shifts; three days on, three off - you know the routine.
I was on one of my precious evenings off when the phone rang, literally as I laid my hand on the bottle of wine I'd been looking forward to. It was my colleague Samantha, the current duty manager, and the bitch had lost her cool. One of the maintenance crew had rocked up in the bar some time ago, already halfway to shitfaced and hassling the bar staff for drinks. Samantha had had him ejected before he upset the guests and she'd thought that was that. Now she'd heard the guy had helped himself to several bottles of Jack Daniels from the store room and was holed up on the grounds.
"Well he's got taste," I commented in a bored tone.
"David!" Samantha admonished me. "He's going to make a scene and you know who'll get it in the neck. Me! I assumed you'd be more concerned."
"Never assume, Sam. It makes an ass out of you."
"'...and me,'" she finished.
"Yes, I said you."
"DAVID!" she screeched. "Please go and sort him out for me. He's in The Cottage."
The Cottage. The Shit Hole, more like. If only it was as interesting as a public toilet. What it was was a dingy bungalow hidden away on the edge of the property. It was too small and ugly for commercial use, too tacky for any of us staff to make it a home, and too irrelevant to bother demolishing.
The maintenance guy in question was Nick, the young buck of our maintenance team. Ah, Nick... This was the one factor that made me at all interested in the whole sorry drama. What can I tell you about Nick? That he's twenty seven? That his strong, capable body fills out his paint-splattered polo shirts in a way nothing short of divine? That the dusky tan of his skin conjures images of sultry nights on a tropical shore? Or that he's hung like a fucking donkey? Such is my belief anyway. Something can often be seen flopping around in his tracksuit bottoms or causing a scene beneath the zipper of his jeans. One time, when he was down on his knees looking at an oven, I saw something extra large running down the leg of his shorts. And there's just something in his demeanour too, a kind of easy self-certainty which comes, I think, from having the undercarriage of Mr Ed.
So off I went to find him. It was almost Christmas and fucking freezing outside. Dark too. I hussled away from the main buildings and through the trees to The Cottage. It didn't take long to get there, and I found the place lit up like a cruise ship - it seemed every light was on.
The front door was unlocked. I let myself in and tried not to look too closely at the rancid '70s decor - all pine and patterns and clashing colours. Somewhere a radio was playing a soft rock love song.
Nick was in the lounge. He was sprawled on the sofa, one hand cradling a bottle of JD, the other out-flung and clutching his battered phone. Unaware he was no longer alone, he was mumbling along with the song and gently sobbing. Pissed as a fart and broken hearted by the look. God forgive me but I took a second to appraise his package, hulking nicely against his left leg and stretching the worn denim of his work jeans.
"Umm, Nick?" I chanced.
He jumped like a 14-year-old caught masturbating, bless him, but then broke down into a damp, shaking mess. I sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, and after a few moments he revealed to me that he'd just been dumped. His girlfriend had kicked him out this very afternoon and was now ignoring his calls. Nick, of course, had done the only appropriate thing and got hammered.
"Please, Dave," he implored me with the gravity only the pissed can muster. "Talk her round."
So I found his girlfriend's number on his phone and dialled it on mine, hoping she wouldn't ignore an unknown number. Sure enough, I was answered. But Mrs Nick, or Kelly as she is commonly known, was playing hardball. She stubbornly refused all my ploys to get her and Nick chatting. Worse still, she somehow persuaded me to go over and pick up his things!
"It'll all be on the street if you don't!" she snarled.
After hanging up, I related this - tactfully as I could - to Nick, only to have him throw back his head and howl. God only knew how far that carried! I pictured Samantha sitting at her desk, arse clenching, and so I pacified Nick as best I could. Placing my hand on his knee (okay, thigh!) I told him I'd go meet Kelly and appeal to her better nature. I was sure she must have one. Nick quietened and looked up at me hopefully. That was when Kelly phoned back to change plans. She wasn't convinced I'd turn up at their house without Nick in tow, and so she wanted to meet somewhere neutral, where she wouldn't be embarrassed in front of the neighbours should things get out of hand. She gave me the rendezvous details then hung up. My only contribution to the exchange had been 'hello?'.
Great. All I'd wanted was to ogle Nick and I got lumbered with a late night road trip. The things I do for my job. After updating Samantha, I got in my car and went to meet Kelly.
Kelly. What can I tell you about her? Tits and attitude on legs about sums it up. I met her once before when we'd had a weekend emergency and called Nick in on a Sunday. They'd both roared up on flashy motorbikes, him easy going, her with a stick up her arse. We hadn't acknowledged each other.
I arrived at the roadside services a full 20 minutes before Kelly turned up. I spotted her, caught her attention then watched agape as she dragged a bundle of Nick's crap out of her boot and tottered towards me. With little preamble, she dumped the stuff in my car and made to leave. The bitch put my back up, but nevertheless I bit my tongue and did the right thing. I persuaded her to have a cup of tea with me and talk for a bit.
We went into the services and sat at a table in the restaurant. She didn't want a drink so we just talked. It took a while to thaw her but eventually she gave me the story. Apparently Nick had been cheating on her. She'd had no idea until that very afternoon. Someone behind laughed at this and we both turned, poised to strike, but it was just a cute lad sitting alone, amused at himself. He noticed us looking and waved us away. Cute but weird.
I asked Kelly if she was sure she was doing the right thing. She scoffed and painted me a picture then, and Nick didn't come off well. In fact, he sounded quite the pig: inconsiderate, chauvinistic and really quite vain. It was clear she'd loved him enough to see past all that, but she wasn't about to overlook his philandering. That was a kick in the crutch too far, especially after finding out in the worst possible way - the other woman had confronted Kelly at her workplace and threatened her with violence if she didn't let Nick go.
"How do you know she's telling the truth?" I asked. "Maybe she's just a deluded stalker."
Kelly laughed humourlessly. "Oh I know. He has been screwing that slag. She proved that."
"But how?" I pressed, actually interested now. I guessed where this might be going. My spidey senses were tingling.
"Because she knows all about his fucking b-"
The rest of her sentence was lost in a loud clatter. I span around. That twat behind us had jumped up and knocked over his chair. Cute and annoying! I tutted loudly and turned back to Kelly. "Come again?"
She'd regained some dignity in that brief respite and merely said, "Let's just say Nick has certain... attributes that you'd only know about if you slept with him."
I wasn't going to give up that easily. "Ah," I said in a knowing tone. "Birthmark."
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "He's got a big dick, David. Huge! It's probably like twice yours."
Bitch. I arched an eyebrow. "So do a lot of blokes."
She smirked. "You wish. Like it fucking matters anyway. All it does is cause shit for everyone."
There was little else to say. Kelly didn't want to discuss changing her mind. She told me she would drop the rest of Nick's stuff off at the conference centre over the next few days. We left the restaurant together.
Before parting, she turned to me. "Don't worry if he's embarrassing himself at the centre tonight. Let him! He'll never remember it - he never does when he's pissed."
And then she left. Kelly - I'd always liked her.
I returned to work and drove round to The Cottage. Nick would probably be living there for a while so I retrieved his things from my back seat - clothes clean and dirty, footwear, wash kit... all the things he could scrape by with, hurriedly thrown together. I wanted to feel sorry for him for the mess he was in but he really had brought it on himself. So instead I felt sorry for him just because he's hot.
I went inside and to my horror I found Nick sprawled on the floor in the hall. Dead! my mind screamed at me, but he was far from it.
"Need a piss," he drawled when I knelt at his side. "Fell over." He was considerably more drunk than when I'd left.
I managed to get him to his feet and together we staggered to the bathroom, which by good fortune was located downstairs. Every two steps forward was countered by a stagger to one side or the other. Nick was heavy and difficult to manoeuvre, but it was a kick having his firm body pressed tightly against mine.
As we lumbered towards the toilet, Nick groaned loudly. "Quick! I'm gonna piss myself!" I positioned him in front of the bowl and held him steady with one arm around his waist.
No time to leave him to do his business then. Oh well!
He fumbled with the buttons of his fly but couldn't muster the dexterity required to open them. Suddenly he became still and turned his mortified face towards me. "Dave, mate - help me!"
I looked down and saw the front of his jeans begin to darken, but I didn't miss a beat. I grasped his denims and yanked, deftly popping the buttons and revealing his white boxers. I grabbed the waistband, pulled it out and down, and a thick coil of cock flopped forwards, spritzing piss as it deployed. My heart swelled at its size - it was truly prodigious even in this sorry state.
Nick seemed to have lapsed further into his drunken stupor. He leaned more fully on me, his arms hung limply and his head knocked painfully against mine. His unmanned dick was disgorging piss all over the rim of the toilet bowl, making even more of a mess of his jeans, and Nick had relinquished all responsibility for it.
And you know what happened next. Think what you will about my motives, but right then I didn't really have much choice. Taking Nick's weight fully in my left arm, I reached out my right hand, took hold of his meat and aimed it. Yeah, yeah - I guess a finger under the helmet would have sufficed, but I'd never touched a straight guy's dick before, that ultimate forbidden fruit, and here I was with carte blanche. So I didn't hold back. I let the full length of his manhood fill my palm and I enjoyed every last second of it.
I turned my head to see how well Nick was processing the turn of events. His eyes seemed to swim in and out of focus, his mouth hung agape idiotically. He appeared on the very edge of consciousness and it took all my strength to keep him upright.
I returned my attention to his dick. It was such a beauty - cut, with a fat head and a silky smooth shaft. I'd never seen something that huge outside of a porn film. It seemed such a pity that Nick only used it for evil deeds rather than the betterment of mankind.
At last his piss tapered. I shook him off and relinquished his cock. Letting go of it would have been a hardship had I not just made up my mind about something.
With Kelly's parting words echoing in my mind, I turned Nick's face to mine. "Come on buddy. Let's get you into bed."
I manage a large conference facility-come-hotel on the outskirts of town. Okay, I deputy-manage. Okay, I'm one of four deputy managers, but it's quite a responsible position - looking after up to 250 guests and 12 conference suites on a sprawling estate. We deputies all live on-site in various apartments and buildings; working earlies and late shifts; three days on, three off - you know the routine.
I was on one of my precious evenings off when the phone rang, literally as I laid my hand on the bottle of wine I'd been looking forward to. It was my colleague Samantha, the current duty manager, and the bitch had lost her cool. One of the maintenance crew had rocked up in the bar some time ago, already halfway to shitfaced and hassling the bar staff for drinks. Samantha had had him ejected before he upset the guests and she'd thought that was that. Now she'd heard the guy had helped himself to several bottles of Jack Daniels from the store room and was holed up on the grounds.
"Well he's got taste," I commented in a bored tone.
"David!" Samantha admonished me. "He's going to make a scene and you know who'll get it in the neck. Me! I assumed you'd be more concerned."
"Never assume, Sam. It makes an ass out of you."
"'...and me,'" she finished.
"Yes, I said you."
"DAVID!" she screeched. "Please go and sort him out for me. He's in The Cottage."
The Cottage. The Shit Hole, more like. If only it was as interesting as a public toilet. What it was was a dingy bungalow hidden away on the edge of the property. It was too small and ugly for commercial use, too tacky for any of us staff to make it a home, and too irrelevant to bother demolishing.
The maintenance guy in question was Nick, the young buck of our maintenance team. Ah, Nick... This was the one factor that made me at all interested in the whole sorry drama. What can I tell you about Nick? That he's twenty seven? That his strong, capable body fills out his paint-splattered polo shirts in a way nothing short of divine? That the dusky tan of his skin conjures images of sultry nights on a tropical shore? Or that he's hung like a fucking donkey? Such is my belief anyway. Something can often be seen flopping around in his tracksuit bottoms or causing a scene beneath the zipper of his jeans. One time, when he was down on his knees looking at an oven, I saw something extra large running down the leg of his shorts. And there's just something in his demeanour too, a kind of easy self-certainty which comes, I think, from having the undercarriage of Mr Ed.
So off I went to find him. It was almost Christmas and fucking freezing outside. Dark too. I hussled away from the main buildings and through the trees to The Cottage. It didn't take long to get there, and I found the place lit up like a cruise ship - it seemed every light was on.
The front door was unlocked. I let myself in and tried not to look too closely at the rancid '70s decor - all pine and patterns and clashing colours. Somewhere a radio was playing a soft rock love song.
Nick was in the lounge. He was sprawled on the sofa, one hand cradling a bottle of JD, the other out-flung and clutching his battered phone. Unaware he was no longer alone, he was mumbling along with the song and gently sobbing. Pissed as a fart and broken hearted by the look. God forgive me but I took a second to appraise his package, hulking nicely against his left leg and stretching the worn denim of his work jeans.
"Umm, Nick?" I chanced.
He jumped like a 14-year-old caught masturbating, bless him, but then broke down into a damp, shaking mess. I sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, and after a few moments he revealed to me that he'd just been dumped. His girlfriend had kicked him out this very afternoon and was now ignoring his calls. Nick, of course, had done the only appropriate thing and got hammered.
"Please, Dave," he implored me with the gravity only the pissed can muster. "Talk her round."
So I found his girlfriend's number on his phone and dialled it on mine, hoping she wouldn't ignore an unknown number. Sure enough, I was answered. But Mrs Nick, or Kelly as she is commonly known, was playing hardball. She stubbornly refused all my ploys to get her and Nick chatting. Worse still, she somehow persuaded me to go over and pick up his things!
"It'll all be on the street if you don't!" she snarled.
After hanging up, I related this - tactfully as I could - to Nick, only to have him throw back his head and howl. God only knew how far that carried! I pictured Samantha sitting at her desk, arse clenching, and so I pacified Nick as best I could. Placing my hand on his knee (okay, thigh!) I told him I'd go meet Kelly and appeal to her better nature. I was sure she must have one. Nick quietened and looked up at me hopefully. That was when Kelly phoned back to change plans. She wasn't convinced I'd turn up at their house without Nick in tow, and so she wanted to meet somewhere neutral, where she wouldn't be embarrassed in front of the neighbours should things get out of hand. She gave me the rendezvous details then hung up. My only contribution to the exchange had been 'hello?'.
Great. All I'd wanted was to ogle Nick and I got lumbered with a late night road trip. The things I do for my job. After updating Samantha, I got in my car and went to meet Kelly.
Kelly. What can I tell you about her? Tits and attitude on legs about sums it up. I met her once before when we'd had a weekend emergency and called Nick in on a Sunday. They'd both roared up on flashy motorbikes, him easy going, her with a stick up her arse. We hadn't acknowledged each other.
I arrived at the roadside services a full 20 minutes before Kelly turned up. I spotted her, caught her attention then watched agape as she dragged a bundle of Nick's crap out of her boot and tottered towards me. With little preamble, she dumped the stuff in my car and made to leave. The bitch put my back up, but nevertheless I bit my tongue and did the right thing. I persuaded her to have a cup of tea with me and talk for a bit.
We went into the services and sat at a table in the restaurant. She didn't want a drink so we just talked. It took a while to thaw her but eventually she gave me the story. Apparently Nick had been cheating on her. She'd had no idea until that very afternoon. Someone behind laughed at this and we both turned, poised to strike, but it was just a cute lad sitting alone, amused at himself. He noticed us looking and waved us away. Cute but weird.
I asked Kelly if she was sure she was doing the right thing. She scoffed and painted me a picture then, and Nick didn't come off well. In fact, he sounded quite the pig: inconsiderate, chauvinistic and really quite vain. It was clear she'd loved him enough to see past all that, but she wasn't about to overlook his philandering. That was a kick in the crutch too far, especially after finding out in the worst possible way - the other woman had confronted Kelly at her workplace and threatened her with violence if she didn't let Nick go.
"How do you know she's telling the truth?" I asked. "Maybe she's just a deluded stalker."
Kelly laughed humourlessly. "Oh I know. He has been screwing that slag. She proved that."
"But how?" I pressed, actually interested now. I guessed where this might be going. My spidey senses were tingling.
"Because she knows all about his fucking b-"
The rest of her sentence was lost in a loud clatter. I span around. That twat behind us had jumped up and knocked over his chair. Cute and annoying! I tutted loudly and turned back to Kelly. "Come again?"
She'd regained some dignity in that brief respite and merely said, "Let's just say Nick has certain... attributes that you'd only know about if you slept with him."
I wasn't going to give up that easily. "Ah," I said in a knowing tone. "Birthmark."
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "He's got a big dick, David. Huge! It's probably like twice yours."
Bitch. I arched an eyebrow. "So do a lot of blokes."
She smirked. "You wish. Like it fucking matters anyway. All it does is cause shit for everyone."
There was little else to say. Kelly didn't want to discuss changing her mind. She told me she would drop the rest of Nick's stuff off at the conference centre over the next few days. We left the restaurant together.
Before parting, she turned to me. "Don't worry if he's embarrassing himself at the centre tonight. Let him! He'll never remember it - he never does when he's pissed."
And then she left. Kelly - I'd always liked her.
I returned to work and drove round to The Cottage. Nick would probably be living there for a while so I retrieved his things from my back seat - clothes clean and dirty, footwear, wash kit... all the things he could scrape by with, hurriedly thrown together. I wanted to feel sorry for him for the mess he was in but he really had brought it on himself. So instead I felt sorry for him just because he's hot.
I went inside and to my horror I found Nick sprawled on the floor in the hall. Dead! my mind screamed at me, but he was far from it.
"Need a piss," he drawled when I knelt at his side. "Fell over." He was considerably more drunk than when I'd left.
I managed to get him to his feet and together we staggered to the bathroom, which by good fortune was located downstairs. Every two steps forward was countered by a stagger to one side or the other. Nick was heavy and difficult to manoeuvre, but it was a kick having his firm body pressed tightly against mine.
As we lumbered towards the toilet, Nick groaned loudly. "Quick! I'm gonna piss myself!" I positioned him in front of the bowl and held him steady with one arm around his waist.
No time to leave him to do his business then. Oh well!
He fumbled with the buttons of his fly but couldn't muster the dexterity required to open them. Suddenly he became still and turned his mortified face towards me. "Dave, mate - help me!"
I looked down and saw the front of his jeans begin to darken, but I didn't miss a beat. I grasped his denims and yanked, deftly popping the buttons and revealing his white boxers. I grabbed the waistband, pulled it out and down, and a thick coil of cock flopped forwards, spritzing piss as it deployed. My heart swelled at its size - it was truly prodigious even in this sorry state.
Nick seemed to have lapsed further into his drunken stupor. He leaned more fully on me, his arms hung limply and his head knocked painfully against mine. His unmanned dick was disgorging piss all over the rim of the toilet bowl, making even more of a mess of his jeans, and Nick had relinquished all responsibility for it.
And you know what happened next. Think what you will about my motives, but right then I didn't really have much choice. Taking Nick's weight fully in my left arm, I reached out my right hand, took hold of his meat and aimed it. Yeah, yeah - I guess a finger under the helmet would have sufficed, but I'd never touched a straight guy's dick before, that ultimate forbidden fruit, and here I was with carte blanche. So I didn't hold back. I let the full length of his manhood fill my palm and I enjoyed every last second of it.
I turned my head to see how well Nick was processing the turn of events. His eyes seemed to swim in and out of focus, his mouth hung agape idiotically. He appeared on the very edge of consciousness and it took all my strength to keep him upright.
I returned my attention to his dick. It was such a beauty - cut, with a fat head and a silky smooth shaft. I'd never seen something that huge outside of a porn film. It seemed such a pity that Nick only used it for evil deeds rather than the betterment of mankind.
At last his piss tapered. I shook him off and relinquished his cock. Letting go of it would have been a hardship had I not just made up my mind about something.
With Kelly's parting words echoing in my mind, I turned Nick's face to mine. "Come on buddy. Let's get you into bed."
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