I was in yet another town on yet another assignment. Being a great engineer has its downside. The pay is great, but being called out of town on a moment’s notice gets old fast. It’s a burden I’ve had to bear for a few years now. Every few weeks or so I had to travel to some podunk town for who knows how long and fix some idiot’s problem. And its always an emergency, like the world was going to end if they weren’t back up and running… yesterday.
I think of myself as a handsome guy. Fit, amiable, intelligent and hard-working. But it’s hard to meet anyone – let alone develop a relationship with anyone when I’m not around. Women were something I had to put on a back-burner. At least until I worked my way into a more stable position within my company. In the meantime, I’d have to settle for the occasional late-night hook-up at the local pub in whatever area I was in.
My travel expenses include a daily allowance for food and hotel, which I take advantage of by eating cheap and staying at flee-bag motels. The difference adds up to a tidy sum. Something I use for a nice vacation at the end of the year. Usually in Costa Rica, where I can buy all the beautiful women I want – for cheap. I considered it my year-end bonus.
This town was among the worst I’ve ever been. I was allotted a premium hotel, but I don’t think there was one if I wanted it. The room I found was dirt cheap – a hole-in-the-wall that deserved the adjective. Though it was a bit further from the plant, I’d make a lot of extra pay on this assignment. It was the traffic that killed me.
Day after day, I’d endure the long drive to my motel, hoping I’d get a promotion soon and get this shit behind me. I lived on my GPS with hopes of averting accidents and construction to get me ‘home’ all the sooner so I could take a nice bath and settle in to watch some porn. I’ve found that the cheaper the hotel, the better the porn. Another benefit.
This one day, the traffic was at its worse. GPS showed nothing but a long red line between where I was and where I needed to go. And the reroutes were even longer. I was exhausted from a longer than usual day and decided to pull into the nearest bar and have a beer or two to wait for the traffic to thin out. It was too early to meet any women, but being stuck in a bar was better than being stuck on the road any day.
As the traffic inched, I saw a bar on my right. It was called ‘El Toro”. I don’t know a lot of Spanish, but knew it read ‘The Bull’. It looked sleazy as hell, but anything was better than sitting in that compact rental any longer. I pulled into the drive and headed inside.
As expected, the place was as sleazy inside as it looked outside. It was small, too dark and the floors hadn’t looked swept in years. I didn’t think there was a single stool at the bar that didn’t have foam blistering out a tear in it, and only half the myriad of neon beer signs on the walls was working. The place was empty but for one or two other patrons at the other end of the bar, and a group of four guys noisily playing pool at a coin-operated six-foot table.
Everyone looked to be Mexican and it was confirmed by the accents of what little conversations I overhead. I wondered if I should have held out for a better-looking establishment. I decided to stay and ordered a draft from the tender. “Si, Senor,” he said and grabbed a glass to fill for me.
At a buck-and-a-half per beer, I ordered another. A couple of beers later and caught up on the news of the day on my phone, I needed to take a piss. I hate drinking beer because it makes me piss. A lot. I couldn’t leave yet. The traffic was still heavy and didn’t want to be caught in it with my cock swelling with urine. What a nightmare that would have been! I ordered another beer and headed toward the john. Another beer would only make me piss more, but at least rush-hour would be over and it would be smooth sailing home.
The bathroom looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, if ever. There were the tell-tale spots on the floor from poor aim and the smell of urine was just this side of bearable. There was a dirty sink, overflowing trash can, a single stall with its door hanging on a single hinge and two urinals – but no privacy wall between them. I didn’t even remember the last time I saw multiple urinals without a wall between them. ‘El Toro’ was living up to its name: ‘The Bull-shit’.
I approached the urinal and pulled my zipper down and took out my wiener for a good pee when the door opened. I assumed it was another patron had the same need as me. I was pissing away as I tried to ignore the guy next to me. I remembered him at the pool table. He was taller than me and in much better shape. A very muscular guy and good-looking guy. I remember thinking that he likely had his pick of ‘chiquitas’ at his disposal.
What happened next surprised me. He not only pulled his zipper down – but unbuttoned his pants and tugged them down to mid-hip. I thought THIS is why they started using privacy walls!. With no wall to hide the view, it was getting increasingly difficult to not have my eyes wander. I’m not gay nor did I have any latent tendencies, but dang! With his cock exposed like that, I couldn’t help but be in awe of it! Porn star material there. A superb example of what a man’s dick should look like.
I’d thought I was well-endowed, but this guy put mine to shame. I had finished peeing but decided to pretend I wasn’t done. Even though it was only through quick side-glances, I wanted to stay a bit longer and secretly marvel at his cock. It was flaccid but still huge. I wondered what he looked like fully erect.
His stream of piss had died down to a trickle. He pulled back on the shaft of his dick to pump out the last drops of urine when I sensed that he was looking directly at me. Crap! My side-glance lasted a bit too long and he noticed. My eyes darted forward again, trying to look innocent when he said to me “You like what you see, eh?”.
My face went flush. I could feel it burn with embarrassment. I clumsily fumbled trying to put my dick back into my pants.
“You no piss, senor, you jus look. You look at my polla. You like my polla?” he said as he backed away from the urinal and turned to face me.
I was in abject terror as I zipped up. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to stare. I just… let me…”
He cut me off and said “Here, take a goot look, senor,” He said while taking his dick and waving it. “You want to look at my polla? My deeck? Here. Look! Ees okay.”
I turned toward him with the intent to head out the door. Hell, out of the bar and into my car and get the hell out of there. But I paused long enough to soak in the sight of him waving his cock at me. That beautiful example of manhood swaying to and fro was hypnotizing. That was a mistake. The pause was just long enough to provide him some tacit approval of his forwardness.
“You no pee. You jus look,” he said. “Maybe you won a betta look eh? I think you do.” The last words were said through clenched teeth.
With that, he reached for my head, grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled me down to my knees. Hard. My knees smacked against the grimy tile floor while the roots of my hair screamed in pain. It happened so fast. He pulled my head back and brought his cock to my face. I could feel my nose wet with the last remains of his piss. “You look gut at my polla now. You see? You like?” he said while taking another fistful of my hair and shoving his cock against my face. His balls were grinding against my mouth as he laughed. “Look goot, puta. You un puta, no? Si, you un puta!”
Again, I paused a shade too long before struggling to back away. I’ve never seen a cock so close to me before, let alone grind against my face. Without even realizing it, I allowed it. If only for a second. It was like a fleeting moment I wanted to enjoy while still having plausible deniability that I actually wanted it – let alone had strangely enjoyed it. I snapped out of it and pushed hard against his legs, sacrificing the pain of my hair until he finally let go, slamming myself hard against the wall.
I struggled to my feet and bolted out the door hearing him laughing behind me and saying “Coom back, puta. I no done yet. I have moor for you. Coom back.”
I slammed a twenty on the bar and ran out the door and back into the safety of my car. I was grateful that he hadn’t followed me. Hell, I was grateful no one else needed to use the bathroom and witness that guy grinding his dick against my face.
The whole way home – and for a week afterward – I couldn’t get the experience out of my head. It wasn’t so much being accosted like that. Hell, I was essentially staring at his dick and probably deserved having it shoved against my face for it. My dilemma was all about my pauses, all those pauses that lasted a bit too long. I was done peeing but stayed. My side-glances were increasingly elongated.
And when I turned to the door, I paused too long to take in the sight of him wagging his dick for me. And most curiously, why did I pause to feel his dick grinding against my face before struggling to free myself? What did it all mean? Was I really gay? The idea haunted me. And I think it haunted me even more that I found myself wanting to go back to ‘El Toro’.