The quality of being resourceful can be used for the greater good, or downright degenerate behaviour, and I’m unsure which box to tick for this post.
The Country Boy and I were experiencing separation anxiety amid family Christmas commitments and we wanted to meet, if only to do something that wasn’t out of obligation at this time of year. I was also experiencing insecurity about being (unintentionally) made to feel like the piece of arse on the side and was catastrophising that this and my current increased working hours at the temp gig would lead to our downfall. He has never done anything except be respectful, flexible and attentive and I spent some periods of time engaged in internal dialogue to stop catastrophising and chill the fuck out.
We found an early evening to catch up near his part of town and my period arrived a few hours before I left the office. He said tentatively he was still keen to meet if I was, I replied tentatively I was still keen if he was, and we became caught in a game of phone tag indecision. I broke the deuce and said I’d be at a park at the appointed time and he was welcome to join me. Cramps aid decision making, it seems. Once we sorted out that we intended to see each other face to face in whatever capacity, we were both suddenly determined to make it happen.
I arrived first at the unfamiliar location and conducted a reconnaissance around the swampy bushland fringe. We’d have been carried away by mosquitoes if we spent more than a few minutes there so I disregarded that option.The only useful structure in sight was a piece of children’s playground equipment. I was busy feeling dually excited and disgusted at myself for surveying its possibilities seriously when the Country Boy arrived. Necessity won and we decided to have a go because it’s only a piece of children’s playground equipment when children are using it, surely.
We climbed the metal stairs to a square wooden platform, nicely surrounded by rails to meet modern occupational health and safety standards (and privacy standards for perverts) and discussed how on earth we might use its unconventional features. I was in a state of physical discomfort and not inclined towards blood sports, so I said if he pulled his pants down then I’d be inspired with some ideas in seconds. I don’t know if he’s naturally obedient or my idea made eminent sense, but his pants hit the deck while my brain was still spinning for inspiration.
For someone who dislikes hospitals, accidents and injuries, my idea was on the stupid side after reflection. I grabbed the side rails and kneeled at the top of the slide, facing the opposite way to which one would normally traverse down. I then suggested he slide his cock in my mouth as I rocked back and forwards using the rails. Only afterwards did I consider that if my arms had given way, I’d have slid down feet first, face down and ended up a mangled heap at the bottom on my belly. But optimism and determined biceps won out and we engaged in some simple oral sex in the cooling breeze.
We hadn’t discussed who’d keep a look out for visitors, but the crunchy gravel-covered car park gave us ample warning and we remained undisturbed. After no more than two or three minutes, I thought I’d felt the Country Boy’s cock becoming pre-ejaculation hard and I could taste a generous amount of pre-come in my mouth. Then more. And more, until I thought he needed to stop as I couldn’t swallow with my mouth so full. He said afterwards that the contrast of the chilled night air and my warm, wet mouth excited him too much to hold on, and he didn’t want to stop even though he’d reached climax.
Such flattery will get him anywhere, although I’m not sure it’ll be on the slide again as I felt a bit icky looking at it on the way out.