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Vegas Groping

Gay
2006-05-25

I have this thing for groping hot-looking guys.   You put your hands clasped behind you and wiggle the fingers a little occasionally.   Every once in awhile, someone moves in and puts it right there.
Vegas.   Ahhh.   People come there to party, so anything can happen.    And there's always that line:  "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!".
So I'm standing in line at a store in Vegas to buy a souvenir -- and it's a long line.   I glance behind me and there's this hot-looking guy, with his hair all modern, wearing a T-shirt and those knee-length basketball shorts of a very thin material.    He had that look that I find irresistible.   And he was just the right height.   So I clasp my hands behind me.   And I slowly, slowly, back up, as though I'm distracted and looking at something on the shelf beside me.   Sure enough, after a moment, I feel the material of his shorts rub against my hand.   I wiggle my fingers a little, but say nothing.   He backs off.

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    I leave my hands where they are.    The line moves forward a little.    I step forward.   He steps forward, close.    And I feel the material again against my hand, again.   He's testing, to see if the first time was an accident.    He's the one who pulls away, not me.    A moment later, I feel the material again, and he's right behind me.   This time, I feel a little bulge beneath my fingers.    At last!
I begin to rub him.   To our right is a display, to our left is a candy-stand.    Nobody can see us.    He starts off just a little stiff, but with my rubbing through the thin material of his shorts, it's just moments before I can feel him stiffening.    I feel the outline of his head.   He's cut.

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    I feel the stiffening pole, and I'm rubbing up and down.   He's behind me close, breathing on the back of my neck.    Finally, he's whispering, "That's it!  Yeah.   Stroke it!"   I turn and look in his eyes.    "Do you want to cum here, or out in my car with my lips around it!"   He says "My car!"  "OK", I agree.   So I keep stroking, but I slow down.
Then he says "I have a friend in the car too.    Him too, right?"  I answer "Sure!"
He's quivering, his legs are shaking, and we're 3 from the front.   He says "Better stop.   I have to get this thing down before I walk away from the counter, or everyone will notice. "   So I stop, reluctantly.
I pay, and walk to the door, waiting.    He pays, and walks out.   I follow him to his car, and, sure enough, there's another guy equally hot looking in the car.   
He says "Jake, we're getting in the back for a minute.

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  "   Jake looks puzzled and says "Why?"   My new friend says "This guy here is one of 'that other kind of guy' we talk about sometimes.   He's going to make up for us not having dates tonight. "  
Jake shrugs and joins us in the back seat.   
By the way, each of them is pretty big, and every bit as hot as they seemed with their pants on.   
And it's not true about what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.   I have some stains on my shirt that came home with me.
And maybe, just maybe, I taught Jake a thing or two to keep his friend happy.
.

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