buckassed on the town

It's a feeling that wraps around you like a blanket, touching every limb, every surface, and every pore of your body. It's the feeling, the urge, and the overwhelming physical need to be naked … in public places. For me the feeling is always present, if only tempered by a slight ebb and flow of intensity.

Engrossed in my work-a-day world of worsted wool suits, I can lose myself in the notion of stripping down in the men's room or the elevator of a corporate office high rise. Just driving around town in my truck, I can be overwhelmed with the desire to bare all and jack in the cab. Better yet, at a rest stop on the interstate, use the back window as a glory hole through which to stick my cock or display my rounded and naturally bubbled --from running -- white hairless butt. Even sitting in my house watching porn, I often leap up off the sofa to dash outside, cock in hand, and stand out in full view of the neighbors and passers-by.

It's an unequaled rush, only a strong hit of amyl can "egg me on" to more adventuresome buckassed play. A few brews and shooters, or an inhaled dobie further blur one reality and help distill this reality to its very essence, to its naked core.

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It was an otherwise ordinary Friday night, following an otherwise ordinary week at work. As I drove home for the two-day vacation -- my asshole hot with desire, my skin tingling -- I knew I would have to play out my bucknakedness to its extreme if I were ever going to get any sleep or rest.

I had ordered some porn, a two-movie set of public sex in porn movie houses. One of the tapes was a 1972 film, the other a recent remake on videotape. Nineteen seventy-two, the year I graduated from high school. Wonder what the porn was like then? I would not see any male porn until after college four years later. The original was the better of the two, more real than today's "reality" sex scenes, and infinitely sexier because there was a hint of real world reticence about the action early on. That sense of "can I really do it" in the opening scenes was more than offset by the physical free-for-all in the public toilet at the end of the flick.

Having no idea how much of either I could watch before I would have to get out, I sat back with a beer and just let nature -- and the affect of the porn -- take its course. My bobbing seven-plus "incher" became tender to the touch when my mushroom head turned its angry purple-blue and started oozing pre-cum by the finger -- and tongue -- full. But the film was a great escape, and I was intrigued about the remake, so I just fingered my piss slit and slurped pre-cum, then chased it with beer.

The remake was a virtual scene-for-scene redo of the original, minus the charm and minus the excellent casting of the first. Clones aplenty, well hung though they were, had zero real-life appeal, but were hungry and nasty in the sex scenes -- making up for much of their lack of other skills. Cinema comparisons aside, by the end of the second video, my body was quaking for exposure, my cock absolutely and literally bouncing in front of me, my manbutt hole smoldering for a tongue to cool it.

I had gathered