In the Casa de Campo (1994)

That summer I used to go out many afternoons and, escaping the unbearable heat of the city center, I would drive my little Fiat Uno to the cruising area of Casa de Campo. I left the car parked in the clearing in front of the cable car station and wandered through the oak groves, enjoying the views: spectacular views of the city in the background and no less entertaining views of guys and queens fornicating freely among the underbrush.

Despite the obvious recreational activity of the place, it was quite discreet to the eyes of anyone who might pass by on the road without noticing. Therefore, many married men with heterosexual lives frequented it, those who usually ask for discretion and never admit to their bisexuality.

That afternoon I recognized, among the row of parked cars, Jorge's BMW. He was a somewhat mature hunk, as tall as I was but all muscle and… with a legendary-sized cock, a bit too big to handle comfortably. On the other hand, Jorge was (like me) rather passive; the first time I saw him, we had hooked up, but we hadn’t gone further than mutual masturbation. Since he was an educated and quite nice guy, we introduced ourselves and chatted for a while. He was married and had three young children. From that day on, when we crossed paths there, we greeted each other and sometimes chatted while smoking a cigarette.

I was scanning the landscape lost in thought when I saw a brand new Nissan Patrol coming down the road, but so dirty from mud and splashes that its original color was hardly discernible. It parked a short distance from my own car and its driver got out: A middle-aged man, dark-skinned and bearded, rather tall and solidly built without being fat. He was wearing a black t-shirt, work pants, and military boots.

“Interesting and attractive,” I thought. “This one has land!” It must be remembered by the young ones that thirty years ago, owning an SUV or whatever you want to call it was not as common as it is now in Madrid, sometimes being a sign of status for those from or frequenting rural areas. This was combined with the rustic, manly but elegant appearance of the subject. So I decided to discreetly follow him.

I observed that he followed a path among the oaks that descended gently into a ravine. Since I knew that terrain, I decided to take a small detour to encounter him by chance and then throw him some flirty remarks. But when I wanted to pick up his trail again, he had disappeared. Frustrated, I was going back up the path when I heard the crack of a branch behind me.

I stopped abruptly: The hunk from the Patrol was staring at me from behind the trunk he had just urinated on, displaying in all its glory a still-dripping cock. I stood there fascinated while he began to stroke himself and gestured for me to come closer. I quickly responded to the call.

The man was not shy and knew exactly what he wanted: “Suck it!” he ordered in a commanding voice. I obeyed, and soon I was with my pants down and my knees on the ground, tasting that bittersweet fruit protruding robustly from a thick bush of black hair. I tried to apply myself to the task because I wanted to give him the utmost pleasure, yet I felt he was struggling to get hard, as if something or someone was distracting him. I didn't get discouraged; little by little, thanks to my good efforts, his cock was gaining consistency in my mouth while, bending forward, he reached out to caress my ass until he got to my hole, slipping in one slicked finger and then two. I then felt someone approaching behind me. Alarmed, I let go of what I had in my lips and turned my head. It was Jorge, my BMW friend, who with his fly open and hard cock, was coming to the call of my seducer.

“Fuck him!” said the latter. At that, I got scared: “He won't be able to, I have a tight ass and his cock is too big,” I whispered. Jorge didn't speak, but he looked extremely excited. “Well, you just put up with it a bit, faggot!” “Come on, give it to him!” Like a little lamb on the way to the slaughterhouse, I obeyed the Patrol's instructions. He leaned his back against the trunk of the oak tree, I rested my head and mouth on his cock while presenting my ass high for Jorge’s disposal. At that moment, Jorge and I were just two toys, two puppets performing a porn scene for Patrol's amusement.

I won't idealize what happened. It was complete torture until the end when, panting, Jorge came inside me while Patrol finished his task on my face, mixing his cum with my tears. Then he tucked his cock back into his briefs, zipped up, and disappeared up the hill without saying goodbye.

We stayed there for a while, regaining our composure. “Sorry if I hurt you, I don't know what happened to me, I couldn't resist,” said Jorge, somewhat embarrassed. “Don't worry, dude, you’re as much to blame as I am.” We lit a cigarette. “And I don’t regret it: This man has managed to bring out the animal inside us.”

Sometimes, some of us need a man to bring out the animal within us.