Two weeks had passed since Karen and Peter McCall spent a long weekend in Chicago. Allen had not seen or spoken to Mr. Smith since his encounter with his neighbor in the park. It had also been two weeks since he had dressed as Jennifer, and he badly wanted to.

The phone rang, and Allen's mother picked up the red wall phone's receiver. His sister, Marsha, who attended Southern State University, was on the other end, and his mother sounded excited. Allen walked into the kitchen and saw her mother with the phone cord wrapped around her, and she giggled. She mouthed to him, "Marsha".

The young man opened the refrigerator, peeked inside, and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. Allen sat at the counter when his dad walked into the kitchen and glanced at his wife, then at his son. Before Allen drank the orange juice, Mr. McCall took the bottle, poured himself a glass, and handed another to his son. The pair waited patiently while the petite blonde finished her call. She hung up the phone, clapped her hands excitedly, and dashed to her husband to kiss him.

"Marsha is getting married!" Karen McCall.

"Hey, that's great! To whom?" Peter McCall asked.

"Matt!" Karen screwed her face at her husband.

Peter McCall smiled and took a drink of his juice. Allen finished his glass in one gulp and set the glass in the sink, while his mother returned to the phone and dialed frantically. Mr. McCall picked up the Saturday morning paper from the counter and read the headlines.

"Where are you headed, sport?" Allen's dad asked.

"I was going to ride my bike to the park. I'm supposed to meet Scott there and then go to the mall."

"Ok. Have a good time," his dad said, and picked up the newspaper's sports section.

Allen rode the half hour on his 10-speed bike to Weisser Park. He had no plans to meet his best friend, Scott, there, but hoped Mr. Smith might come to the park where they had sex. Near the shelter house was a picnic table; Allen left his bike and sat on the table to study the park. The park was empty except for an older man walking a dog. He tossed the worn canvas messenger bag he carried on the wooden table and waited.

He sat there for a while when a late-model car pulled into the parking lot. A man exited the car, glanced over at him and smiled, and walked toward the shelter house. When he entered the men's bathroom, the man briefly stopped to turn and smile again at him. Allen sat there and waited to see if Mr. Smith's pickup would pull into the parking lot.

After a few moments, the man reappeared in the doorway and looked around; then he approached Allen. The man was in his late thirties, tall, a bit pudgy, and balding; he was dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt. He walked over to the picnic table where Allen was, and he sat down on the bench facing the parking lot but away from Allen.

"Wow, nice day."

"Yeah. I guess so," the teen said.

"The park is pretty empty this time of day."

"Yeah," Allen replied and looked around.

The man stretched, then turned to look at Allen. He gave a sly smile, stood up, and returned to the bathroom, where he once again briefly stopped at the doorway. Allen felt that the man waited for him to follow; the teen snatched his bag up and walked into the bathroom.

When he entered, he found the man standing in front of a urinal and facing the wall. He glanced over to Allen, then turned to face him; the man's cock was out, and he held it in one hand. He entered a stall to stand to one side, where he slowly stroked his cock and stared at him.

Allen glanced backward at the door and hesitantly stepped into the stall with the man. The man closed the door, and Allen fell back against the metal stall wall, where he dropped his bag. The man moved closer, and Allen reached out to tentatively grip the man's dick. The man leaned his head backwards and closed his eyes.

Allen grew bolder and shifted his fingers to get a better grip. The man's cock grew larger. Allen licked his palm and stroked the man's dick. The man pulled his t-shirt up with one hand and gripped Allen's shoulder with the other. Allen stared at the cock's head for a moment and pushed his lips down and around it. The man made a slight moan as he felt Allen start to suck.

The man reached out and stroked the teen's long, blonde hair. He said something, but Allen was concentrating on sucking the man's cock and didn't hear him. The man's dick was not as big as Tom's cock, but it was still much bigger than his. The man dropped his shirt and slipped his hand into Allen's tank top to caress his nipples. He reflexively jerked and closed his smooth legs, cupping his hard member.

He reached down and slipped his hand into his orange basketball shorts and into his white satin panties he wore, and felt his dick's precum leaked out. With two fingers, he began to pump his swollen cock. It had grown to its maximum size, and his fluid saturated his sister's underwear. The man's hand drifted from his hair down his back to cup his ass cheeks. He squeezed and gripped each one before returning to push his head down further onto his rod.

Allen released the man's cock with a pop from his mouth and stroked it briefly. The man shook his head "No", so he engulfed the cock again. His spit ran down the length of the shaft and into the man's Hanes underwear. With his free hand, the youth slightly squeezed the man's balls and held the shaft so he could quickly slide his mouth up and down on it. He stopped briefly to wet his other hand's palm, then continued to jerk himself.

The man suddenly pushed Allen's head down hard and threw his hips forward. A stream of thin cum shot out and hit the back of Allen's throat, momentarily gagging him. He could not breathe, and he struggled, but the man's grip was too strong and held him in place. The man slammed his hips a few more times into the young man's face and stopped to breathe hard.

After he spent his load, the man released the teen's head and pulled his wet cock from his mouth. Allen gagged and gasped for breath. The balding man- quickly pushed his cock into his pants and zipped them up. He opened the stall door and fled the shelter house bathroom. Allen remained in the stall, his hand still on his hard cock and the man's cum in his mouth.

Allen was in a bit of a shock at being left alone so quickly. He wiped his mouth, and tucked his hard cock into his satin panties. He stepped out of the stall and went to the long mirror on the wall. With a comb kept in his tube sock, he untangled his hair and tried to smooth it out.

A man walked into the restroom and began to use the urinal. Allen pretended to fix his hair but studied the man in the mirror. He was a stout, dark skinned Latin, with thick black hair and a thin mustache, dressed in some type of uniform; a name patch "Santos" stitched on the right breast. The man finished up, washed his hands at the sink, then reached for the paper dispenser, when he noticed Allen.

Santos was momentarily surprised. His eyes traveled up the smooth, lightly tanned legs to the orange shorts and the white tank top that surrounded a slim waist. She flipped and played with her long, blonde hair, and he noticed her staring at him in the mirror. "What was this tiny, white girl doing in the men's room?" he wondered. His eyes widened.

"Ah...a little maricón," he said.

Allen continued to touch his hair, but never moved his blue eyes off the man who inspected him. He smiled briefly at the man, but then pretended to examine his lips as if he wore lipstick. Allen, then, turned about to examine his bottom and smoothed the orange shorts over them. His eyes left his image and raised to Santos.

Santos went over to the door and scanned the parking lot. He did not see any other cars or people. He stepped back into the restroom to leer at the teen before him.

"I am not a puta, little one."

Allen walked over to the man, reached out and stroked his cock through his pants. The man stared at him lustfully and caught his arm, and pulled him close. Allen was frightened and caught his breath. Santos crushed his mouth against the teen's with a hard and long kiss; his tongue darted into Allen's mouth and caressed it.

"Is that what you wanted?" Santos declared.

Allen was frozen. He looked into the brown eyes and couldn't believe this man had just kissed him. His breath quickened, his nostrils flared in excitement, while his dick strained against his panties and shorts. He tried to say something.

"¿Qué? Me 'polla' is not in your mouth," he laughed.

He reached out to fondle the teen's cock and balls. "¿Te gusta cuando toco tu pajarito?" Santos whispered to Allen.

Allen shuddered as he felt the man's hands cradle his dick and balls; he mewed softly, then leaned against the wall. He tried to stand, but his legs could not hold him up. Santos slowly lowered him to his knees. Allen heard a zip and gazed up to see the Latin man pull his cock from his work pants.

Without ceremony, he held Allen's head and pushed his cock into Allen's mouth to pin him against the wall. Santos thrusted his cock over and over again into the youth's hot mouth. If he wanted to dress and act like a white slut, Santos would give him all the cock he wanted. The worker groaned with pleasure as Allen sucked his cock.

Allen opened his mouth fully to the man. He enjoyed the taste of cock he discovered, the precum was only the beginning, he knew. He licked and sucked and stroked the man's cock...he felt the full balls tighten and was rewarded. Globs of cum erupted from the dick into his mouth. The taste was much more salty than the man's he sucked earlier. Drips ran from his mouth down his chin and onto his shirt.

Santos cried out in pleasure and leaned against the wall with one hand. The pretty, "maricón" had made him cum quickly. He pulled his cock out of his mouth and slapped the cute face with it a couple of times. He stuffed it into his pants and zipped them up.

"Maybe I'll bring my amigos next time," he chuckled and walked out the door.

Allen caught his breath and stood up shakily. He stumbled over to the sink and rinsed out his mouth, and tried to clean his shirt off. Once more, he combed his hair and straightened his clothes. He left the shelter's restroom and headed towards his bike. On the way out of the park, a police car passed him, circled the empty parking lot, and then drove away.

Allen fantasized about the encounter until he got to his house and made it safely upstairs. After he locked his door, he stripped down to his sister's white panties. He lay on his bed and thought about men with cocks touching him, fondling him and stroking him. He poured a bit of baby oil onto his dick and messaged it it his hand, not stroking but gently rubbing with all fingers together. His breath quickened, and he bit his lip.

"Oh, Santos! Oh Tom! Oh, Scott!, Oh my, Matt!" he whispered.

Matt was his sister's boyfriend. He was tall and handsome, with blonde hair and light blue eyes; he was the type of guy girls giggled at when he walked past them. He pictured Matt's large, imaginary cock above him pushing toward his open mouth. Allen couldn't help himself; he shot his load. Cum shot from his dick and onto his chest in spurts, the fingers of his free hand gripped the sheets and his toes curled in ecstasy.

"Ooh, Matt," he whimpered.