The Man with the Golden Cock
Once upon a time I knew a man with a golden cock. Whatever he did with it was gold, whether he was alone or getting intimate with others. He swung both ways, enjoying the feel of anyone’s lips wrapped around his cock. He didn’t discriminate, though he was picky; they had to be intelligent enough to hold a conversation with him first, though the subject matter was occasionally as shallow as Paris Hilton. This man liked to fuck girls senseless, fuck men stupid; he fucked in groups and solo shows. He sometimes even made sweet sweet love with Al Green on the stereo.
One day the man with the golden cock took me out for dinner and drinks. I had heard about his golden cock, and figured it was all talk, no rock. As we sipped cocktails, I was made bold by the alcohol.
“Whip it out,” I instructed. “Right here. Let’s see this infamous cock of yours.”
“Here?” he smiled. “Why not head back to my place?”
“I want to see it first. Show me.”
He took my hand, kissed it so charmingly, disarmingly, then pressed it soft against his hardness. I could feel it throbbing, hot, waiting for me to release it from bondage.
“Let’s go,” I said, standing up. He placed some bills on the bar, winked at the bartender, then followed me out the front door with his eyes glued to my ass.
When we hit the street he hailed a cab, helped me in. I directed the driver to my place. His hand pinched my knee at that place where you want to squeal, but you’re not sure if it’s in pleasure or pain. He took no other liberties. I ran my fingers up and down his thigh, anxiously awaiting the moment of impact.
At last we closed the door to my apartment, locking us in together. Alone. Darkness. His hands caressed, removed clothing. He steered me towards the bedroom.
“Light!” I said, “I want to see it!”
He flicked on the switch.
“Drop your pants,” I ordered. He did. It was perfect. I knelt, closed my lips over it like I was praying. Listened to him sigh.
When he touched it to my cunt, I screamed. He made me come a dozen times, in forty positions. It was unreal, dehydrating.
In the morning, he was gone, and I wondered if I’d dreamt it all.
