Cruising Casa de Campo... any summer Thursday

It is nine-thirty on a Thursday at the end of June, the sky clear and a light breeze moving the tops of the pines. The sun is warm but not yet harsh. I park in the dirt lot beside the lakeside restaurant, three scattered cars with drivers inside waiting, windows down, eyes following me as I pass. I get out of the car and smell the mix of pine, dry earth, and the damp smell rising from the reservoir.

I head into the path that skirts the lake. It is early; there is the odd retiree walking a dog, a woman jogging, but I know where to go. I turn left where the path narrows and the trees close in, toward the tunnels and the clearings hidden among the brush. The cicadas are already singing. My heart starts beating faster.

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First encounter — The clearing of the three

A few minutes after I leave the path, it opens into a clearing surrounded by rockroses and young pines. There are three men there in their sixties. The first is sitting on a large flat stone, his trousers fallen to his ankles, his legs open. His cock is hard, thick, his hairy belly covered in gray. His skin is brown, weathered from so many mornings outdoors. The second is kneeling between his legs, his head moving up and down rhythmically, sucking diligently, the sound of his mouth wet and continuous. The third is leaning against the trunk of a pine, one hand inside his trousers, moving slowly. All three look at me when I appear.

The one by the tree gestures to me with his head. He is tall, wiry, with strong veined arms, tanned skin covered in gray hair. He must be about sixty-five. He has short white hair and a firm jaw. He moves away from the tree and takes a step toward me. Without a word, he puts his hand at my waist and pulls my shorts down to my thighs. The cool air hits my skin. His hand is rough, calloused, and he pushes me downward firmly but without roughness. He makes me kneel on the pine needles, feeling the dry points digging into the skin of my bare knees. The earth is warm from the morning sun.

The man takes out his cock. It is long, straight, the head pink and exposed, with a thick vein running along the left side. He smells of morning sweat, skin, that clean smell of a man who showered hours ago but is already beginning to sweat. He brings my head closer and I put it in my mouth without hurry, feeling how it fills me. The head gently hits the back of my throat. His hand rests on the back of my neck, large and heavy, guiding me. Deep moans rumble in his chest.

While I suck, the one who was kneeling and sucking his companion gets up, comes up behind me and pushes me forward, making me put my hands on the ground. My buttocks are exposed. I feel his hands spreading my cheeks, rough fingers opening me. He spits on my ass, the saliva hot and thick, and then buries his face. His tongue is hard, broad, and starts licking my asshole with circular movements, first outside, then pointing the tip inward, opening me little...