Fetish: Food - “Eating Joey’s sweet, fresh dough isn’t as fattening as it sounds.”
When a good looking middle aged guy stumbles into a pretzel shop one cold winter afternoon, it occurs to him that slipping from his high protein diet isn’t the worst thing. The young guy making the fresh pretzels is so hot he gets an erection, and he decides to buy as many pretzels as he can carry. That night, while the middle aged guy tries to sleep, he winds up jerking off with images of the pretzel boy’s flour covered hands pressed against his ass. So the next day he returns to the pretzel shop, in spite of an impending snow storm, to order more pretzels. When the pretzel boy asks him to lock the front door so he can change his clothes right there in the shop, he closes the door and smiles as wide as he can. It doesn’t take long for the pretzel boy’s soft piece of dough to grow big and strong, and it takes less time for him to shove his long, hard pretzel into the middle aged guy’s tight, hot oven.
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Excerpt:
On Saturday night he’d tossed and turned, thinking about the pretzel guy’s soft eyes and small impish mouth (reminded him of a soft little beagle puppy). He even felt guilty because the guy seemed so young. The way his thick, juicy cock would taste dipped in pretzel salt; how his strong hands might leave white flour handprints on Joel’s hips after he’d slapped his ass hard a few times. He tried jerking off around two am; pulled out the biggest dildo he owned, lifted his legs, spread them wide and buried it as far up his hole as it would go, but even that couldn’t take his mind off rolling around in raw pretzel dough while the hot young pretzel boy nailed him to the wooden counter. So when he finally walked into the pretzel shop again on Sunday afternoon it’s no wonder his heart was racing and he wasn’t sure where to put his hands.
“Hey man,” said the pretzel guy, “back for more so soon. Good thing you came along when you did because I was just thinking of closing up early because of the snow.” A dark brown knitted ski cap covered most his head while clumps of dark hair hugged his ears and the back of his neck; he hadn’t shaved that morning and rough stubble now appeared in his soft face. Even with the awful hat he remained fine-looking and sexy. Far from being prissy and over-groomed like so many young guys (gay or straight) he saw nowadays.
“Ah, well, I was hungry last night,” Joel lied. “I think this snow works up my appetite. I’ll take another dozen and another hot sausage wrap, please.” The pretzel guy was wearing shorts, of all things. Baggy navy shorts with white stitching that stopped just above the knee…the kind you might wear on a summer afternoon at the beach. Of course you could still see the outline of his cock, but more than that, you could now see that he had firm calves covered with an even layer of dark brown fleece.
The guy smiled. He noticed Joel staring at his shorts. “It gets really hot in here with the ovens, and all,” he said, “I can’t imagine this place in the summertime.”
“You might have to just walk around in your underwear then,” Joel said. It just popped out of his mouth without warning; the moment he heard his own words he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. He didn’t even know if this young man was gay. How could he have said such a…
“Maybe a pair of boxers,” he said, and then laughed. “Would you mind locking the door and pulling down the shade. I think I am going to close early on account of the snow, and I don’t want anyone else coming in.”
While Joel locked the door and pulled the shade the young guy turned and opened the oven. It looked like one of those massive stainless jobs you see in pizza parlors. “This one last batch is almost ready; one dozen especially for you direct from the hot oven.”
“Take your time,” Joel said, “I’m in no hurry.” He was starting to feel a bit peculiar now; the guy seemed to be hesitating, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. There were at least a dozen pretzels on the warming shelves the guy could have given him. Oh, poor Joel, all those years of being part of a monogamous relationship seemed to have robbed him of his spontaneity. In his heart he knew he’d only gone back there to stare and imagine about what it would be like to have sex with a hot young guy like that. Another more aggressive gay man Joel’s age would have been openly staring at the young guy’s crotch; his hand would have been in his own pocket pulling semi-erect cock; his eyes would have been sending messages suggesting “I want to get into your pants, man”. But Joel simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
Good thing the young guy had enough spontaneity for them both. “Do you mind if I change back into my sweats while you wait for the pretzels? I don’t wanna go out in the snow wearing shorts,” he said.
“Ah, well…”
But before Joel could even finish the young guy had slipped the navy shorts down his legs and stepped out of them right in the middle of the kitchen floor. He only wore white running shoes and those low, ankle length white socks that used to be for girls; a white t-shirt covered him from the waist up. From the waist down he stood completely naked as though the bakery were now a locker room; his thick cock bounced and flopped against a pair of bull sized balls covered with black fur. Joel was watching from the corner of his eye, still pretending it meant nothing; just another day in his life where a good looking young guy stripped down to practically nothing right before his forty year old eyes.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and stared at the ceiling. It was one of those awful drop ceilings or some such, rectangular Styrofoam blocks placed tidily between thin aluminum frames. Thin threads of smoke began to rise from the large oven; it occurred to Joel the last batch of pretzels might be burning. He shot a glance toward the oven; the young guy jerked his body for a second, and then ran toward the oven. “Damn,” he shouted, reaching for a thin wooden tray with a long handle (like a pizza spatula) so that he could pull the burning pretzels out quickly. From the back his ass was small and round; covered with the same thin layer of dark fleece that canvassed his strong legs.
“Man,” the young guy shouted to Joel, “Could you come back here and lend me a hand?”
“Well, I guess…” Joel wasn’t sure what to expect next; a fine state of affairs for a Sunday afternoon.
“I just need you to open the lid of that trash can while I dump these burnt pretzels inside. And then place the lid back on tightly. I don’t want the whole place smelling like burnt pretzels.”
Joel crossed through a small opening that led to the other side of the white Formica counter; they’d hardly burned at all…you really couldn’t smell a thing other than toasted pretzel dough at best. But he did as he was told and opened the lid of the trash can so the young guy could dump them without getting burned. Why it truly wasn’t safe walking half naked around all those hot ovens without some sort of protection.
“Here we go,” said the young guy, lifting his arms dramatically and dropping the pretzels into the trash. His legs were spread like a gladiator, the white t-shirt raised when he lifted his arms; his waist small and tight; a pencil thin line of dark hair ran dead center through his naval and led upward toward his chest. He was semi-erect by then, and growing rapidly by the moment. “I could use your help with one more thing while your back here,” said the guy, and then added, “My name is Joe, by the way.”
“Ah, I’m Joel. Nice to meet you, Joe.” Joel then extended his hand to be polite, but when naughty young Joe took it he squeezed hard for a moment and then slowly guided it down to the dark hairy bush between his legs.
“Ah, well…” But when he looked directly into young Joe’s eyes he couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he gently cupped both huge balls in the palm of his right hand and reached for Joe’s full erection with his left. He’d never held such a huge, thick cock in his life; and on a guy who appeared so small and average. It was warm and smooth; the way he’d imagined it would be in his dream. Joe arched his back and pulled off the white t-shirt, which left him standing there naked save for the sneakers and knitted hat. The age difference could have been awkward; though older, Joel preferred to be submissive with men, and, he’d never been with someone as young as Joe. But thankfully young Joe seemed to know what he wanted.
He cupped Joel’s head in his palms and said, “You know what to do, man.”
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Author Bio: Ryan Field is a thirty-five year old freelance writer who lives and works in both New Hope, PA and Los Angeles, CA. His work has appeared in many collections and anthologies over the years and he’s currently working on a novel.
