Tracey Parker is a gay cruising fanatic who travels around the world and to Squirt.org members This time, Tracey transports us for some en Français fuckery in the streets of Paris and the Tuileries Garden for some hot gay cruising action. Check it out below.
It was early in the evening when I caught my first glimpse of the full moon shining brightly over the Seine in Paris.
I was walking alongside the water on a chilly spring night, kept warm by a wool trench coat my friend had lent me and a belly full of red wine. The coat was more stylish than anything I owned, and I was getting used to how it made me feel. The coat and the scene around me made me feel like a different person living a different life.
I thought about everything I had done that day—the art I had seen and the food I had eaten. It seemed like so much to pack into such a short period of time, and here I was, pondering it all.
Suddenly, a handsome guy passed between me and the river, and I could think of nothing else.
His tight blue jeans hugged his long, sturdy legs. He wore a black leather jacket and kept his hands warm inside its pockets, a scarf wrapped around his neck. There was something about the way he walked that made me want to emulate everything about him. I wanted to move like him; I wanted to be him.
Unconsciously, I began following him, although it was nothing more than walking a little faster in the same direction I had already been going. I had no destination and no plans for the evening.
We approached a bridge over the river; if I hadn’t been following him, I would have crossed just to get a better view of the water. Instead, he moved over to the far side of the wide walkway and entered the Tuileries Garden.
There were fewer people inside the gardens than outside, but still enough for me to remain anonymous. It was darker, too, but everything was illuminated naturally by the magnificent full moon. It was an incredible space. Far off in every direction, statues and bushes loomed, and up close, I could see blooming flowers. It didn’t take long for me to put two and two together and wonder if there was cruising here. Could this beautiful guy be leading me to a sexual paradise full of lustful delights?
Very quickly, I began to take liberties with my gaze. My stares went from quick, discreet glimpses to long, drawn-out, lustful looks. He passed under a statue of a young, bare-chested Hermes riding a winged white horse. I began to imagine what the object of my affection looked like without a shirt. I imagined he looked like the Hermes statue, and I began to refer to him in my mind as Hermes.
We continued walking through the gardens past towering statues of Pegasus, then an old man lying down surrounded by Egyptian sphinxes, then Hannibal.
As we got deeper into the gardens, I began to see other men dressed in dark clothes, walking around alone, looking straight at me. I looked back at them but kept my attention on Hermes ahead of me. He had such an innocent look on his face, which contrasted beautifully with his edgy fashion sense and the reality of seeing him here. I had to taste him. I had come all this way.
We were walking down a path with green hedges on either side, and in the middle stood a turquoise bronze statue of Venus. She had a voluptuous body, thick in areas I had learned to be self-conscious of. Seeing her in this garden, surrounded by skinny, muscular men, gave me a confidence I had never been able to find elsewhere. Venus is the goddess of connection and desire. I stared at Hermes through my own eyes, but I think it may have been her staring at him so daringly. He stared right back, and I knew that soon he would be mine.
We began to approach one another, and then he nodded his head toward some bushes close by, signaling for us to go that way. I followed him, as I had been doing for the past thirty minutes. There was no sex happening in the open; there were only men prowling slowly and undressing one another with intense glances.
But the tallest bushes actually contained caves within them. Hermes led me inside one, and we were completely hidden from the moonlight. I could barely see him at first. By the time my eyes adjusted to the darkness, he already had his belt unbuckled. I stood in front of him and felt the heat radiating off his body.
I began to unbutton his shirt, feeling his chiseled abdomen that looked reminiscent of the statues I had just been admiring. I placed my mouth on his stomach and watched as my breath left a wet condensation between his fine black body hairs.
After his belt was unbuckled, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the ground. His legs were covered with goosebumps from the cold, or perhaps from the warm knots of desire forming inside his body.
Black hairs burst outside of his white underwear in all directions. I opened my mouth and placed it on top of his bulge, inhaling his sweaty crotch, feeling my brain change shape as if it were experiencing aromatherapy.
I placed my palms onto the muscular legs I had been eyeing along the river. I gripped the threads of his underwear with my teeth and pulled them down, exposing his thick, veined cock to the cold air. I touched it with my hand and listened to the sounds he made as I caressed his most sensitive places.
I grabbed his cock with both hands and took his pink knob into my mouth. It had a musky, sticky taste that made me so excited.
I sucked on him until the taste faded and it was just a slippery organ I used to get him to move the way I wanted—finally, after having followed him hoping for something so unlikely, and somehow receiving it thanks to the generosity of Venus, who watched over us from behind.
I sucked him until I heard him speak for the first time, first in French, followed by a long pause, and then in awkward English. He was asking me to stand up. I let his cock fall out of my mouth, stood up, and stared straight into his eyes.
I let my hands fall to my sides as he began taking off my pants. He let them fall to the ground and then told me to turn around so that my back faced him. He gently slipped my overcoat off my shoulders and let it fall into his hands; the cold breeze mixed with the air of our small space, which was becoming warmer as we got to know each other better.
He touched my hole with his cock and began to slowly insert himself inside me. Through the bushes, I stared at the voluptuous Venus and gave myself her name, just as I had done with Hermes, my top.
I breathed through the pain and watched my breath in the cold, dark air. I heard him spitting on his finger, wetting my hole, his cock stubbornly working its way inside until he finally opened me up and dropped into me like a nail into a dry piece of wood.
I grasped onto a branch of the hedge as he continued to open me up, thrusting himself in and out, moving a little further each time. Like everything in France, it was just a little different than what I was used to. It was like my first time all over again. I wasn’t comfortable with it, but I knew I would remember it forever.
I felt him moving faster and faster, and I felt his body sweating despite the cold. Then I felt him come inside me and slowly begin to wind down. He let himself fall out of me, and I felt the cold air blow across my gaping hole.
After we pulled our pants up, he placed my overcoat onto my shoulders, and I decided to walk through the park like that, without putting my arms into the sleeves. It seemed like something the person I had become would do.
We finally introduced ourselves and shared our real names. I told him what I was doing here. He told me he was from another part of France that I can’t remember and that he had lived here for two years. We exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up the next day. We disappeared into the night. I spent a little more time checking out the scene,
