"No, I wrestle still.privately," he smiled, eyes widening. "You wrestle still? Shit, what am I saying, you're out of college." "Oh, well, gee, shit, thanks," I laughed weakly. "Hardly, you look fit, you keep in shape," he said comfortingly, eyeing me up and down. "Uh, no, no, I uh.I like.I mean, shit, college, fuck, that was in the '80s, I'm an old man." I was a wrestler myself in college a couple years ago. "Uh, no, no, it's, uh, it's fine, Gregg, thanks.and uh.I'm sorry about.ummm." I babbled, nodding toward the laptop that I couldn't get to because he was standing in front of it that I just wanted to slam shut. I'm so sorry you had to wait so long, phone support should've talked you through that process." His back was toward me as he tilted his head up to see them briefl, then down again. I was lost in the reverie of imagining all that and didn't notice my screensaver had kicked on, flashing images of smooth and sleek gay men completely dominating older studs in a variety of wrestling holds, some while naked, some in singlets, some in shorts, and all of them sexy as shit, up to and including naked studs, powerful and sweaty, face fucking their victims or boning them deep, the bottom's faces etched in pain and pleasure. I definitely wanted what I imagined to be a huge cock down my throat and/or in my butt. I licked my lips, brazenly feeling my cock in my jeans as he worked, his long fingers playing over the wires he wore a short-sleeved shirt and his arms were powerful, sleek, hairless, smooth. He bent over the router, jiggling and wiggling wires and such. It was perfectly shaped, seemingly rock hard, muscular, in his slacks that hugged his butt and long, strong-looking legs.
He stepped into my office and I stepped back to watch him work, but mostly watch the best looking young ass I'd seen in ages. "Uh, this way.Gregg," I said, walking toward my small home office. "I'm here for you.now, where's the router?" "I understand," he said calmly, putting a big hand on my shoulder, the fingers tight, warm, comforting, as he looked down into my eyes, he being around 6-3 to my 5-7. "Just that Christ, it's been five fucking days without the Internet, and I know it's not your fault, you guys have been flat out, but shit." "Yeah, thanks, great," I groused, releasing his hand and waving him inside.
I swore I saw the outline of his cock in his brown work slacks. I gulped, looking at it, and beyond that, his crotch. I was still annoyed that it took so long for someone to help me, but as I shook his hand, my dick twitched the young stud's fingers were huge, long, slender, strong, and dwarfed my hand. "My name's Gregg, I'll be servicing you today." Benson?" he asked, offering me his hand as I nodded, accepting it. I opened it and blinked: There stood a deliciously handsome, well built young black man in cable uniform with a smile and a work order. I clicked off the material on my screen and stuffed my cock back into my jeans and answered the door. The doorbell rang, and I was almost pissed, yet relieved the cable guy was finally here. I was working my way through those, popping my dick out of my jeans and having at it, working my routine of approaching climax, stopping to lick up the precum oozing from my dick head and then starting in again. I had a shitload of photos and clips saved as well, gorgeous young hunks facesitting older dudes in their sculpted asses, smothering them in their huge, smooth balls, crushing their skulls in their thick, muscular thighs. I called up some gay wrestling stories I had saved, really smoking hot stuff about older men being dominated in various holds by young, smooth-skinned studs, my own personal fantasy. I'd been without Internet for days since a big storm blew through town electricity had returned but not the Net, and as a mature gay man who loved his porn, it was maddening. Crushed by the Cable Guy by gayandsqueezed ©