LARGETONY Blog

I had a bit of an education the other day after work. Well, maybe not really an education, becuase it was something I already knew about. It was just something I had never experience first hand. So I guess you could call it field study.

Those of you who do not live in the South or in rural areas may not be aware of roadside vendors. You can be driving along and there is somebody with their truck pulled over on the shoulder with a cardboard hand-lettered sign advertising peaches or beef jerky or whatever it is they home grow or produce. So I was tooling down the road and saw a sign for “Fresh Maters.” (That fresh tomatoes for you city folk). The seller was tiny, stooped man who was as leathery as an old boot. I would say that he was chewing tobacco, but he seemed to have no teeth. He had set up shop in the bed of his pickup that was parked at a tiny little picnic/ pull off area. If you have ever had a tomato from a farmer’s market, or just out of your neighbor’s yard, you know that it’s almost as good as sex. I love tomatoes, but I hardly ever buy them becuase the ones at the grocery store always seem like they are just fiberglass and water in the shape of a tomato. The moment I saw the sign, I could already taste a nice little dinner of tuna with fresh tomatoes. The perfect thing for on a hot summer evening. Granny would love it, too.

So I decided to check it out. He had some good stuff. Got a couple of ripe ones and a huge near ripe one for later. That sucker is taking up quite a space on the kitchen window sill right now. Surprisingly, he didn’t have anything else besides “maters.” I was hoping for some cucumbers, too. So I got what I needed and headed back to my truck. I needed to take a piss, so luckily there was a litte restroom for the picnic area. I wouldn’t have to go hiding in the woods to whizz. I put my sack of homegrowns on the front seat along with my cell phone (okay, I’m not completely country) and trotted over to the public John.

Inside, it was dimly lit from sunlight diffused from the dirty frosted windows that sat high on the wall and it smelled like the walls were bathed in urine (and I guess to some degree they really were). There was grafitti and a cracked mirror over a rust-stained sink that, ironically, probably had not seen water in years. Yep, it was like any other nasty little picnic area/rest stop toilet. At least I thought so until I went into one of the two stalls. That’s where the education began.

I closed the door, pulled up the lid (just barely touching it becuase I have germ-a-phobe tendancies), dug into my britches to let myself out…and that’s when I noticed it. Right there, just next to my left hip was an honest-to God glory hole. Holy fucking moley! I had seen one in porno movies before. I had read about them in one-handed fiction, but I had never actually seen one. This was reeally kind of wild to me. I honestly had wondered before if they were just urban legend or just some device to fuel fantasies. But then I thought pretty much the same thing about guys who violate themselves on traffic cones…never believed it until I saw it in a movie. But here was a real life glory hole in here in the mountains of Tennessee. Who’s brave enough to come out here and try to suck off some fag-bashing redneck?? But then Biscuit Boy popped into my head. “I’ll bet he hangs out here,” I thought to myself.

So, I went ahead and went about my business (just number one, for clarification sake. You think I’m gonna sit down in a place like this??). I’d only been in the place half a minute or so and while I’m draining the beast somebody else comes in. Oh shit. What if it’s one of those good ol’ boys? He might think I’m on the prowl. Either he’ll get pissed and cause trouble, or his stick his stuff through the hole at me. I wasn’t too keen on either scenario. The guy did go into other stall and next thing I know, the hole is filled…not with his dick…with his eye. Does that eye belong to the roadside grocer? His cheek was pressed up against the stall and his eye was rolling around the hole trying to spy something. It made me think of that character in the Harry Potter books who has one eye that rolls around and can see like 360. I was in midstream and I couldn’t tuck and run, so I tried to be invisible. As invisble as you can be when you’re 6’3″ and holding your cock.

I had just finished up and was shaking off the dew. “Let me see it,” came a voice on the other side of the faceless eyeball. It wasn’t the old man’s voice. (Thank God!) Still, I froze. I didn’t turn toward the eyeball, but I didn’t turn away either. I just stood there. Something in me overrode that part of me that would pack up the cargo and fly out. That “something” was the exhibitionist in me.

I have been accused at times about being a show off when it comes to my dick. And I think that’s unfair. I don’t wear clothes that show it off. I don’t go around trying to get stares. I mean, yeah, you can see that I’m packing sometimes, but it’s not cause I’m trying to put on a show, I just happen to take up a bit of space down there. But if somebody notices and wants to look…then I can’t say that I try to hide it. I would liken it to an actor who keeps his Oscar in a box. It’s not diplayed on his mantle, but if someone askes to see it, he will proudly pull it out. I’m not a showoff. I’m a bit of an exhibitionist. It’s a subtle difference, but a difference, none the less.

Naturally, since I have exhibitionist tendancies it excited me that he wanted to see it. He asked again, “Come on, dude. Let me see.” I was still holding on to it so I could feel it thicken and lurch a bit. I didn’t jack it but I probably did start to squeeze it a bit, cause it kept growing. The nervous excitement was really giving me a small high. I was turned a little bit away from the hole, but he could sort of see around my leg the more the old boy stood out. “You look big. Show me.”

I figured, what the hell? Nobody can see me but him (I’m not so much an exhibitionist that I’m willing to go to jail for public exposure). So I turned toward the hole and let go. It bobbed a bit from the pressure and then stood stock still and hard.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiit,” was all he said. That thrilled me. The best thing you can say about my cock is to say almost nothing.

His eye disappeared and was replaced by lips and tongue. I assume it was the lips and tongue that belonged to the same face as the eyeball. He made sort of kissing motions with his mouth. I froze again. The rest of my body went as rigid as my dong. “Put it through, man,” the mouth ordered. I didn;t know what to do….well, I knew what to do, I just didn’t know that I could….er, should.

“I’m really good, dude,” the mouth made a second appearance. My mind went into overdrive processing this one…Should I do it? The angel and devil sitting on my shoulders were duking it out…Go ahead, Tony. You haven’t been with a guy in nine months. You deserve it… But you don’t even know he is…That’s the beauty of it. No strings…Maybe I want strings….You want strings with someone who sucks every cock in a public john?… You’re rock hard, and that won’t change until you bust a nut. You may as well bust it on his face instead of your fist…It’s really kind of dirty, doing it like this….That’s why it’s exciting.

The ping-pong match continued in my brain until the Tony with the horns said, “You can get off and get out and he will never know who you were.” That cinched it, the devil had defeated himself and the one with the halo had won. For me, a big part of the fun of sex is knowing at least something about who I’m with. Even if it’s just a one-night stand, we would have at least spent a half-hour, minimum, “getting to know each other” at a bar or something. Plus, it’s only common courtesy to know your name before I gag you.

I gave him a quick “Sorry,” and wrestled myself back into my pants as best I could. I felt a little rude for just ending it like that, but it wasn’t like I made the first move. I managed to button, but not zip, so I pulled my shirt tail down over my lumpiness and jetted back to my truck. I was just pulling away when I saw him come out of the John. I would guess he was in his early 20′s, not bad looking with a small build and smoking a cigarette. He headed back to the picnic area without looking my way. I guess he was just gonna wait for the next “mater” buyer and try his luck with a cucumber.

This entry was posted on Friday, July 29th, 2005 at 8:15 pm and is filed under dating and sex. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.