It's a dark night and warm, the middle of July after a sweltering day. It's the kind of night one could go about naked and be comfortable - more so than if wearing even the skimpiest of clothes. My kind of night. I'm Dan, and I love to cruise rest stops in very large, very rural state of Montana. I don't see a lot of action from it, because, well... Montana. I see enough to make it interesting, and I see plenty of cock through the few peep holes left around the state. It's not like some of the cruisier places I've been, but I've found a rhythm that works for me. Nights like tonight, I let my freak flag fly loud and proud. I'm driving the 90 miles one-way to one of the last vestiges of actual cruising: a rest area that still has only two restrooms, one male, one lady. Only one stall and one urinal, but the traffic is light and it's just the right size. Both North- and Southbound stops have tiny peep holes, only large enough for just that - a peep. With the windows down, the breeze generated from the drive cools my body as I drive (as per usual) naked and stroking. I love to show off, and I take the opportunity to turn on my overheads whenever a vehicle is approaching or, better yet, when one is coming up to pass. This is why I drive 5 mph under the posted speed limit. Most Montanans, and our many tourists, typically drive the allotted 5 mph OVER the limit that is allowed by law. I only do that when I am on my way to actully meet someone. Otherwise, I take my sweet time, smell the fresh evening air, and listen to my tires hum along the pavement. Did I mention the ever-present bottle of lube and dildo? The dildo is shoved inside my stretched cunt and I've been edging for several hours now. On the straighter stretches of road, I ride my toy like it's a real dick, bouncing up and down on it while I brace myself against the floor board and arm rest. I do love nights like this. As I pull into the Southbound stop, only a couple truckers. This North/South stretch isn't really popular for truckers. Most of them are locals doing regular routes, and play though they might, the chance of getting seen stops most of them. I've seen a few of these trucks on the East/West route from time to time, and trust me, when they feel free to act they do so = with impunity! Makes my cunt quiver, thinking about it. Besides the truckers are two vehicles I recognize as regulars. Homeless folks, camping out. Harmless, except the trouble they cause occasionally when they get too curious or too familiar. Any break in the monotony, though... Deciding there's no need to rush in and see if/who is at at the stalls, I take a moment to a bowl. is legal here, now. Thank the Gods of Cock for that. Though not everything I is legal... A partier from way back in the 90's, I tie by sex and together like a fisherman ties his knot. Not to be confused with the other knot. I sit back, still nude and stroking, now smoking; first I burn the rest of the from the drive, then a cigarette, and top it off with several deep inhales from the only dick I'm guaranteed to get tonight - my one. In the 40 minutes or so this takes, only four cars have gone by on the highway, none of them even slowed at the rest area sign. Typical. Going inside is important. It's not how you come out that matters, it's how you enter. I throw on my jock, my loose fitting shorts with one-too-many well-placed tears, my sharpie, a few cigarettes, both dicks (silicone and ), lube, lighter, cell phone and battery pack (porn and camera), and a pen. Always. Especially the pen - in order to leave a little jaunty message telling those pissing that yes, the person in the stall is hungry (and thirsty). Upon entry I head directly to the stall and unload my burden, keeping the legal bits in my shorts. The layout is the same on both sides: entry is around a small head-height wall that makes an L off the main structure. Directly across from the entry is the sink and mirror, to it's right, a baby-chafing station. To the left of the sink on the same wall is the urinal with a short partition between itself and the sink. In the corner of the same wall, diagonal from the entrance, is the only stall. I bring WD-40 occasionally to keep the squeaks at bay. I have noticed over the years: I'm not the only one. In the stall, at just almost the correct height (both stops) there is a peep hole. This one is slightly smaller than the other side, but gets more action. The light switch is inside the door, and a tinted skylight is overhead. This building is old, and has wooden panels set high in the walls on the two sides perpendicular to the entry which can be removed to help with airflow. Also very helpful for hearing what's happening outside. At the urinal, I write a quick hello. Nothing fancy, your typical date/time/show hard combination. Then I strip to my jock. Some nights, I turn off the lights. Tonight I feel like leaving them on. I carry my clothes and shoes to the stall, and set them towards the front so the pile is easy to see upon entry. I double check everything... yup. This'll work. I grab my sharpie and head back to the mirror. I have a true fondness for sharpies. I love to write controlling things on myself, especially in public toilets. I'm a bit of a toilet myself, and proud of my kinks. At 40, I better be comfortable with myself. It took a lot to get here. My catchphrase, though, is currently "SHAMELESS GAY," which I write in big block letters across my chest. Having done it so many times, I have the spacing fairly precise. I feel this compliments the only actual tattoo I have: a bio-hazard symbol between my shoulder blades. Not overly large, just... present. If you know, you know. I wander about, fucking myself with my dildo a bit more. I like to stick it to different surfaces in the bathroom, in the hopes of getting caught. Has yet to happen, although one time I had a dildo on the back of the toilet and I leaned back, kissing it off. I heard a "thud" but looked around and didn't see anything on the floor. Unbeknownst to me, it had bounced and then rolled directly midway underneath the urinal, hollering: "look at me! Look at MEEEEEEE!!!" Of course, that was just after sunrise a couple of years ago, and the maintenance worker had just shown up - I could hear him unlock the mop closet at the rear of the building. He opened the door and yelled, "What the fuck?! Get your dildo off the floor!" Of course, I responded very genuinely, "What dildo," and proceeded to look about me, mildly flabbergasted. "That giant one on the floor!" he shouted. Really, ,I thought, he could be a bit more discreet. "And put some shoes on, for Christ's sake! These floors are nasty!" Needless to say, to keep up the act I left the dildo, even doing a little ad-lib on my way out the stall: "Oh my, that IS a large dildo! However could I have missed that?" However, I digress. But its thoughts like this that ramble about at 3:30am when I'm naked and bored. OF course, I have the camera set up to see me under the stall. I've grown bored with the dildo-placement exercise, and move to one of my favorite kinks: cleaning the urinal. I just hate urinal cakes. I had the previous maintenance guy trained; those things are kinda pricey and I kept throwing them away - sometimes nightly. After about 6 weeks, he stopped. I think he realized the urinals were much cleaner when he didn't put them in. And its true, they shine. It's my way of giving back. I hear a vehicle pull up. I remain in position, motionless for a kiss. I hear the dreaded voice of a lady, but also the timbre of a male. I decide to play it safe and, holding my dildo inside of me, scurry to the stall and shut the door. In he walks. I wait for him to get his cock out before I take a peep. The eye against the hole is noticeable - it become dark where there had just been light. I like to make sure my motion is visible but still discreet; I wait until I know they're looking at the tip of their cock, which puts my peephole in their periphery. Twink, what a cock. I don't care what anyone says, the largest dicks I've seen are on white men, then Latinos, then . This was a white twink for sure. Uncut, too. My favorite. I let my eye move up his stomach, which was smooth and defined. I thanked the Gay Gods that he'd opted to lift his shirt much higher than necessary. I could tell he was young-ish. No older than 35 at a guess. It was at this point that I realized he hadn't started pissing yet, but he'd been stroking his dick ever so slightly. I smiled, this had potential! I let my eye rove further up to his face: pockmarked by acne from his teens, no facial hair, and a nearly shaved head. And then we make eye contact. I notice that his dick does that thing dicks do when they're stimulated: it jumped. So do I. Only slightly, though. I am a professional. He starts stroking openly now, and I pour a fresh smattering of lube into my hand, joining him. I do this for effect: the noise is very distinct. Only a guy stroking his lubed-up cock sounds like that. He grins, steps back, and motions with his head towards the stall door. I let him in. It is then that I recognize him! Oh my God... it's the guy from the Not Even Once videos! He was only in it because he was the cellmate to one of the guys squealing on camera like a stuck pig. One of the things he was squealing about was how his cellmate was "not a nice person." We all knew what that meant at the treatment center where I viewed the videos. Oh yes, it was more than obvious. Funny, all I could think of at that time was two things: 1) you're obviously gay, why are you complaining about dick every night, and; 2) I wonder how big the cellmate's cock is? Well, now I know. Girth-y and uncut. I bet the little homo on the video was a "tight" bottom. Well, I know how to ride hogs like this. He comes in with an impish grin, reads my chest, and his eyes light up. Yes, here is the fag he really wants. Then he grabs me by the back of the head and thrusts his cock balls-deep into my mouth in one fluid motion. I react immediately, swallowing every inch, the feel of his large veins along his shaft and his throbbing head making my mouth (and hole) wet as fuck. I start thrusting my dildo hard into my hole while I look up at him, engorged on his cock. Ah-ha! He hadn't noticed the dildo when he came in! He does now, and grabs me by my arm pits to stand me up, turns me around, and pulls the full length of the dildo out of my hole with no warning or care. It makes a funny "plop" sound as my gaping hole slaps shut behind it. It's not more than a half second before his cock is inside me, throbbing. A good nine inches or I'm a novice. He drives it hard and deep, leans into my ear, and starts telling me how he loves fucking dumb little toilet sluts like me. "I bet you even soda piss, don't you gay?" he asks. I can only reply with a murmured assent; I don't know his relation to the lady and I don't wish to draw attention. "You wanna get fucked and used by a bunch of straight guys, don't you, queer?" Oh fuck, yes! He thrusts, harder, deeper. It actually pleases a bit, but I love the heat and intensity. He quickens even more, and I know he's bout to lose himself inside me. "You want my cum, don't you gay?" Yes, God yes. I nod my head, afraid to give voice lest I out in joy. I look back and say the only words I'd say to him: "Plant your seed deep inside my cunt, please!" A few grunts, and he pushes all the way to his balls. I feel his shaft throbbing inside of me with each squirt, and a rarity for me: I felt his first squirt of jizz hit the tissues inside my hole. He holds me there, draining himself inside me, and I am in heaven. To myself I think he is done, she is waiting, he must go. But I am wrong. He slides out of me, turns me roughly around, spits in my face, and sits me on the toilet. "Open," he says. Of course, gladly! I couldn't have scripted this better! I let him start to drizzle a bit on my face, then I swallow his softening cock to the balls and use my tongue to induce the rest of his piss. At first I can tell he is mad, he thinks he won't be able to piss. No, I know how to make it happen. It's all about placement down the throat, and use of the tongue. He starts to release his warm, salty piss down my throat. I swallow it all, straight down the hatch. I can tell from the texture and taste that he is a partier like me. Now I'm really excited, not only will this be great for my spank-bank, but this is a free high! His piss is gonna give me on helluva rush in about 20 minutes. Sated, he buckles his pants and zips his fly, looking at me. That's when he did something I doubt he has done much of in his life... he compliments me. "Good job, gay. You know your dick." Yes, Sir, I do. Alone out here almost every time I cruise, wandering the large and empty space of my home, I sometimes for get that fact. Tonight, however, I am reminded not by my own reflections of the play, but by a rare compliment from a connoisseur