• 2 months ago

One night in Minneapolis I went to the Brass Rail (a real cruisey hookup bar) and struck up a conversation with a cute group of guys in the corner by the play room. I told them I was from out of town and was a first timer there.

“NEW MEAT, NEW MEAT, GRAB THE RAIL!” they began chanting over and over.

I grabbed the rail rakishly and the largest man in the group, Brutus, bent me over the rail and pulled my winter pants down (it was -15° out be I had checked my parka and galoshes in at the door).

I looked back to see him lubing up a very bulbous 8″ wrist thick cock. I reached for a pocket in my vest for my trusty Pig Sweat Poppers and began to take a huff but just then Brutus pushed my head down violently and I dropped my bottle of poppers over the rail. I would need to do this without my super powers.

Brutus nearly broke my O-Ring gasket as he slid that meaty hog in but I did as I was told. As Brutus began to shudder and unleash his macho mudslide I looked back politely but what I saw shocked me: a line of 15-25 Minneapolisonians ready to welcome the newcomer penally, me, Corvallus Bronson Winslow III.

After I walked the 3 miles back to my hotel I got inside and decided I’d carried all those men’s loads long enough, I sat on the toilet and instead of liquid their loads came out frozen like one of those Vanilla jello pudding pops that Nigger Bill Cosby used to eat.

Just an old story I wanted to share.