New Year’s Kilt Lifting

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It was New Year’s Eve, 2002. I was up in Glasgow, where I’d lived until I was 18. We get together ever year, myself and a load of the old school crowd, to get pissed up and see in the New Year. It’s a tradition, and one I’ve not missed out on despite moving to Liverpool.

As usual, I turned up as soon after Christmas as I could manage. Each year the folks who are still local offer crash-space to the out of towners. This year I’d ended up crashing with a guy called Tom. I sort of knew him, but we’d not been in the same circles at school. He’d been a jock, I’d not. We’d spent six or seven New Years together and not spoken much, but my usual bed had fallen through due to the couple I stayed with having kids and stuff.

Tom was clean shaven, red haired. Still well built, despite being in his late 20’s and having a desk-job. He had a quirky grin, and I was pleased to discover that he shared my liking for recreational cannabis use. We’d spent the tail- end of 2002 getting smashed and stoned and chatting. He had a different immediate-circle of friends to mine, and I met a lot of them in a drunken haze. I noticed they were all men, but thought nothing much of it.

There’d been a few incidents as well. The first morning I was there, I came out of the spare room at his flat to have an early morning piss in my boxers, and walked in on Tom emptying his bladder. I backed straight out as soon as I realised, but I also got a good look at his prick – it was fat, and half awake with early Morning Glory, with thick frizzy red pubes round it. He had his sleeping trousers hooked underneath it, his balls looked firm under their dense, dark red fur. I stood outside in the hall, listening to him piss, my throat dry, trying to apologise for walking in. He thought it was funny. He said he’d need to get the lock on the toilet door fixed some time. He came out and stood in the hall, and we kept chatting while I took a whizz, planning a day of drinking. I had a real problem because I had a half-lob on, and it took me twice as long as usual to piss. If Tom hadn’t been in the hall, I would have jerked off there and then.

There was also an incident with some porn; it was the 30th December, we were back from the pub drunk and still drinking whiskey. About three in the morning the others went home, and because the television was shit Tom suggested sticking a video on his old VHS machine. I picked something at random and it turned out not to be “Braveheart” but a fuck-flick instead. Not a bad one. Tom and I watched it and took the mickey, but even drunk as I was I noticed that Tom kept talking about the cocks, not the cunts, on the screen.

After half an hour he stood up unsteadily and said he was off to have a wank, slurring his words badly and barely able to stay upright. He stood there for what I thought was a little bit too long, as if waiting for me to say something, then he staggered off to his room. I stayed sarıyer escort where I was and watched the rest of the porno, having a pull on his sofa. I felt dirty and horny, and half wanted him to come in and find me at it. The porno ended, after I’d spunked into a handful of tissue, but I was too wasted to do much about it. Then the static on the screen ended and I was very surprised to see a guy being fucked in the face by two male coppers. My dick twitched again, and I sat up. The straight porno was taped over a gay porno. There was only five minutes of it, but I rewound the tape and watched it again, and soon had another raging boner, which I relieved hot and fast, and came as the cops on the screen were hosing their prisoner in the face with their own jizz.

I rewound the tape and went to bed, wondering about that hot gay porn. The next day was New Years Eve, and we were meeting the rest of the gang. Tom, more for a laugh than anything else, was wearing a kilt, complete with sporran and white socks. We all took the mickey out of him a bit. As the night went on, we got drunker and one of the girls asked him if he was a “proper Scotsman” and he just turned round, leant over and flipped the back of his kilt up showing his naked, slightly hairy arse to her! I was looking right over when it happened and I got my second look at his prick and his ball-sack. The girl was all shocked and giggly, but when Tom stood up he looked right over to see what my reaction was and for a moment we held eye contact and then we got on with the party.

The party broke up about one because of a row between our hosts; it was impossible to get a taxi, so Tom and I had to walk the two-miles or so to Tom’s building. There was a lot of good-natured shouting, and it was obvious parties were going on elsewhere still. We were both a little the worse for wear, and ended up supporting each other as we reeled home. I could smell the sweat, beer and smoke smell of Tom, and it was driving me wild.

We got about half-way there when Tom said he had to piss again. We staggered into an alley behind a row of houses, and Tom supported himself against the wall with one arm while he fumbled at his kilt with the other. I took a step or two to the side and unzipped, but Tom was having trouble. I took a deep breath and said “You need a hand there Tom?” meaning did he need a hand with his kilt. He said “Fuck yeah, give me a hand mate” and pulled his kilt up with his free hand. It took me a moment, drunk as I was, to realise he wanted me to hold his cock for him. He had his eyes closed, and with my own prick still in my hand I reached out for his.

It seemed red hot, smooth skinned, heavy in my hand. I was breathing fast – almost panting. As I lifted it up, he started to pee, and I could feel the entire dick thrumming as he did so. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. He spurted once, twice sefaköy escort and then a third jet of hot steaming piss. Then he finished. I was mesmerised and I felt his meat filling up with blood as it slowly hardened in my hand. I realised what was happening and I looked up to see Tom, much less drunk than I thought, grinning his cheeky grin at me.

I let go of his dick, and he let his kilt fall, but it didn’t hang down properly at all – it was obvious that his prick was still hardening and pressing against his sporran. He looked down at my open trousers and said “Well, you’ve seen mine three times now, can I see yours?”

Almost in a daze, I pulled by trousers open properly, and slipped my cock out. It was getting harder, despite the beer. He reached out one finger and touched my foreskin and I gasped and shuddered. I couldn’t tell if it was the last drops of piss or the first drops of precum dripping from the slit at the end.

Then Tom engulfed my growing erection with his whole hand and he stepped up close and whispered in my ear, his breath hot and tingling, saying “You want to get back to the flat, mate?”

I didn’t need to be asked twice! I did myself up, and we walked quickly back. Tom’s kilt made it obvious all the way back that he was hard as a rock, and my own trousers seemed tight and confining. We got as far as the stairwell/fire-escape.

As soon as we were in the building, Tom grabbed me and kissed me on the mouth, his tongue snaking across my lips and teasing my teeth. I could taste whiskey and tobacco, and I let him suck my tongue into his mouth so I could taste it better. His hands were on the small of my back pulling me close, our crotches grinding against each other. After a moment, I pulled free gasping for air, and I pushed him back onto his arse on the stairs. He laughed.

I dropped down, and I didn’t bother lifting the kilt, I just dived underneath it. The smell was overpowering, and the itchy material against my ears was the best aphrodisiac I needed. I pushed his legs apart and he was more than happy to co-operate. It was dark in there, but I easily found what I wanted, and ran my tongue over his hairy ballsack, tasting his sweat. We must have looked a right sight, him lying back on the concrete stairs and me squatting between his legs with my head up his skirt!

I bit his soft skin, tugging some of the frizzy ball-hair in my teeth, supporting myself on my hands. I could feel his hard iron rod bouncing against my face, and smell the sweet stink of spunk. He opened his legs wider and put one boot on my shoulder, giving me better access. I pulled back for a second, then my tongue was tasting the tip of his cock for the first time. I nearly came there and then. I could hear him keeping up a tipsy monologue saying “Jesus yeah, get it man, get it all” and all the other shite you say when you want your şerifali escort dick sucked. I didn’t need to be told twice, I’d been fantasising about this for three solid days!

I took the whole plum-head of his cock in my gob, all in one go. there’d be time for finesse later. He tasted of salt and cum already, and I used my teeth to nip at his taut foreskin. He swore, and I felt his hands on my head through the rough kilt cloth.

i worked down one side, then back up, his helmet squashed against the inside of my cheeck, then downthe other side, all the time whipping my tongue and nibbling with my teeth. He started to move his hips, thrusting gently, not wanting to choke me, and I moved with his rhthym for a few moments, each thrust bringing a new hot meat taste sensation. When I couldn’t take it any more, I got my hands under his arse and next time he thrust I pulled him upright. I was kneeling, he was standing against the concrete wall, and I had his dick buried in my gob, sucking and licking for all I was worth. I pulled him towards me by his hips, taking as much in my face as I could, and I could hear him saying “fuck fuck fuck” over and over again. We moved faster, and I let his cock out of my mouth, soaked in spit.

One of my hands went under the back of the kilt to his sweaty arse, and I started to probe at his crack with two figners. My other hand I spat on, and grabbed his balls as I licked and lapped at the underside of his hard prick, balancing ust barely. I wanted him to cum in my face like the porno I’d watched last night.

He tried to stop it, but I wouldn’t let him. I think he wanted to get back to the flat so we could fuck properly, or maybe he just wanted me bent over the bannister on the fire-escape, but I knew there’d be a chance for tht later and I knew I wanted a hot load to see in the New Year with.

I pulled my hand from his arse and two of the finger sinto my mouth for a second, releasing his dick with my lips but sliding the hand from his heavy, hairy bollocks onto the slick shaft instead. As soon as they were wet, I set them to work at his back passage, slipping them in as I wanked his painfully hard, painfully hot shaft harder and harder, slobbering my lust all over it. I was still under the tented kilt, and then I heard Tom suddenly yell “Happy Fucking New Year!” and I got a seconds warning before his balls exploded, like he’d bust a nut. I could feel the spuming seed splashing the inside of the kilt, then my hands and my face, and I didn’t waste any more than I had to, desperatly licking it, smearing my face against his still-hard shaft, grunting and gobbling for all I was worth.

Tom practically collapsed, his knees weak, and I had to support him again up the stairs with his sticky spunk still in my eyebrows and on my cheeks. Christ knows what would have happened if we’d bumped into one of his neighbours! Not only did I have spunk on my face and shirt, but it was matted in his thick red leg hair as well, and I had shit on my fingers.

We got back into the flat without anyone seeing us, though, and my New Year continued to be seen-in with a damn fine seeing-to that we managed to continue for the next day or two, not leaving the flat. But that’s for another time.

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