I was psyched to be able to go out to San Francisco on business.  I work for a
design company in Houston, and last Tuesday, my boss came into my office
(cubicle, actually) and asked me what I was doing for the weekend.  He's actually
a pretty hot guy, although totally straight, so I was intrigued by the question. 
When I said, "Nothing much," he said, "Then you're going to San Francisco to talk
to some prospective clients." I left on Thursday afternoon, had dinner with the
prospective clients on Thursday night, got the deal in place by noon on Friday,
and found my business was over.  My boss was so happy when I called him to tell
him that I iced the deal that he told me to stay the weekend.  "I'm sure you'll
find someone...I mean something...to do in San Francisco for a weekend."  I
laughed over the phone, but hoped that he was right. Friday afternoon, I changed
out of my businesswear and put on a ribbed white tank top that shows off my pecs
and my hairy chest at their best and a pair of blue cotton shorts that have been
washed about 1000 times and leave very little to the imagination.  I took a cab
from my Nob Hill hotel (the Fairmont, if you must know) to the corner of Market
and Castro.  I planned to do a little shopping in some of the great shops that
line Castro and are filled with great clothes, greeting cards and other fun
stuff. I had shopped for about an hour and a half when I decided to take an ice
cream break. There's a Ben & Jerry's on Castro and I love chocolate chip cookie
dough ice cream, so I stopped in for a quick scoop or two.  After I got my cone,
I starting walking away from the ice cream shop toward Market Street.  I had
taken only a few steps when a stud to beat all studs appeared on the sidewalk in
front of me. He was about six feet tall, had curly medium brown hair, crystal
green eyes and a tan that made him seem like he was glowing.  He was wearing an
old ripped Gold's Gym t-shirt and rugby shorts.  On his shoulder, he carried a
gym bag.  He wasn't sweating, so I guessed that he was on his way to the gym
rather than on his way home.  As he walked toward me, I could see his thighs
bulge with muscle with each step.  His legs had a light fuzz on them, but through
the holes in his shirt, I could see that he was as smooth as they come. As he
came closer to me, I couldn't help but break into a huge smile.  His picture
could have been the definition of "STUD" in Webster's Dictionary.  I must have
had a silly grin on my face, because I caught his eye and he immediately started
chuckling.  We didn't speak as he passed me, but I know that I sighed while he
passed. I had taken about four or five steps passed him, when, for no conscious
reason, I turned around and looked in his direction as I continued to walk away
from him.  Almost as if he sensed my turning, he turned too.  Our eyes met again
and we both smiled, but kept walking.  Ten steps later, I couldn't take him
walking away any more, and I turned around again.  He was standing in front of
Ben & Jerry's and staring my way.  We both were grinning by now, but my heart
leapt to my throat when he started walking in my direction. I finally got my feet
to move and met him where we had passed.  He held out his hand as he said, "Hi. 
My name's Michael.  What's yours?"  His voice was boyish, but strong and clear;
he sounded like Scott Wolfe when he spoke. My voice cracked as I took his hand in
mine and said, "I'm Jason.  Nice to meet you Michael."  I had stood dumbfounded
for a minute holding Michael's right hand in mine when I realized that he was
smiling at me staring at him. "How's that ice cream, Jason?" I remembered the
cone in my hand and was quick enough to say, "Melting, but very good. It's from
Ben & Jerry's." "Oh, man, I love B&J's.  What flavor is it?" "Chocolate chip
cookie dough." "Never had that before.  Mind if I have a lick?" I almost fainted.
 "Of course." When I held out the cone, rather than taking it from me, he grabbed
my arm below the wrist and moved my hand, and the ice cream cone in it, toward
his mouth.  As he sunk his tongue deeply into the rapidly melting ice cream, he
looked closely at my eyes.  Some melted ice cream oozed out the side of the cone
down the back of my wrist, but before I could unwrap myself and wipe my hand off,
Michael had slowly licked the melted ice cream off the back of my hand. As his
hot tongue touched my skin, I shivered and shut my eyes.  Only when I stopped
looking at Michael did I realize what was happening to my body.  I had broken out
in a light sweat, I was breathing heavily, and all six inches of my cock was
straining inside my Calvins. When I opened my eyes, Michael was still smiling.
"You're getting ice cream all over you.  I just live a couple of blocks from
here.  Do you want to go wash up?" I couldn't believe my luck!  "Of course.  I'd
LOVE to go wash up.  I mean, I would like to get this sticky feeling off my
hands." "Come on, then.  Follow me." I walked beside Michael down Castro until we
turned off onto one of the smaller streets. We introduced ourselves further, and
I learned that Michael was a personal trainer and massage therapist at one of the
downtown hotels.  He had just taken the electric trolley down Market Street after
finishing work.  We walked up stairs to his second floor apartment in silence.
When we walked in the door, he turned to face me, leaned slightly down and kissed
me lightly on the lips.  He looked at me, smiled, and said, "I've wanted to do
that ever since you smiled at me on Castro." "I hope that's not ALL you want to
do," I joked. With that, he took me in his arms and buried his tongue deep into
my mouth.  As we kissed deeper and deeper, I could feel my cock stretching once
again in my shorts.  With Michael's body pressed next to mine, I could feel his
cock straining, too.  It felt enormous pressed against my groin and abs.  I took
my right hand from Michael's back and moved it slowly to his ass.  I squeezed his
ass a few times and then ran my hand under the elastic band at the back of his
rugby shorts.  All I felt was his bare ass and the two elastic straps of his
jock.  This was more than I could take.  I sunk to my knees, pulling his shorts
with me on my way down.  Before he could say anything, I was kissing his package
through the stretched mesh pouch and kneading his asscheeks in my hands. As I bit
and chewed at the jockstrap, I caught a whiff of Michael's man-scent from his
crotch.  Near the point of abandon, I yanked his jockstrap to the floor and
looked at what was imprisoned inside. Michael's dick was as beautiful as the rest
of him.  It was eight inches long, cut, and more than my hand could encircle in
circumference.  He had a triangle of short hair protecting his meat, but his
ballsack was completely hairless.  Hanging in that sack were two egg-sized
beauties that hung down halfway the length of his dick.  I immediately went to
work on his dickhead, squeezing his balls in my hands lightly while I licked at
his pisshole and sucked around the crown of his dick. I saw him pull his shirt
off to reveal a flawless body. By then, my dick couldn't stand my shorts anymore,
and with Michael's dick in my mouth, I pulled my shorts down to my knees, and
started stroking my own dick in rhythm with my sucking of Michael's.  As
Michael's balls drew up close to the base of his cock, he pushed my head away
from his meat and sat down beside me on the floor.  He pulled my t-shirt off and
started running his hands through the hair on my chest.  I reached over and
tweaked his nipples, which caused him to shudder with pleasure.  Our mouths met
again, and we kissed tenderly at first, and then more and more passionately until
I began to feel as though I'd never be able to feel complete again without his
lips on mine. Then, Michael kissed down my neck and chest, briefly stopping at my
nipples before taking my dick in his hot mouth.  I laid on my back and pulled him
on top of me.  In spite of the fact that I am a couple of inches shorter than
him, we fit perfectly for a hot 69 session.  I took his dick in my mouth again,
and we matched each others' rhythms as we mouth-fucked our way toward climax.  
As his tongue moved up and down my shaft, I could feel the pressure building in
my groin.  Michael sucked faster and harder, and I reciprocated.  His balls once
again drew up close to his body, and even in my mouth, I could feel his dick
tense further. Finally, with our fingers pressing ever more urgently into the
flesh of each others' asses, we simultaneously tensed and shot our loads.  I shot
seven times what must have been half a cup of cum, but I was nothing compared to
Michael.  His load filled my mouth and I couldn't swallow fast enough.  It ran
down the sides of my face and dripped onto the floor.  It tasted salty and
masculine, just like the odor from Michael's jockstrap that had turned me wild. 
I swallowed all I could and then wiped the rest up with my t-shirt. Michael
kissed my resting dick, followed the path he had taken down, up my chest, and
ended at my lips once again.  We kissed softly, but long, exchanging the flavor
of each other for half an hour.  Finally, we fell asleep in each others' arms. I
woke up a few hours later and slipped out of Michael's apartment.  But not before
I left him my number at the Fairmont Hotel.  Later that night, he called, but
what happened then will have to wait for another time...