Mr. nelson, a small town bull
- Thread starter MarkP70
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Liking the story but not sure about the rising aggression and homophobic insults....
I appreciate that they're character driven but I'm sure we're all wondering the same thing ?
Hope you'll take my criticism in the way it's intended; as an observation.
Joe
I appreciate that they're character driven but I'm sure we're all wondering the same thing ?
Hope you'll take my criticism in the way it's intended; as an observation.
Joe
Thanks. That entry was meant to show a homophobic observer who gets "converted" by Mr. Nelson's power. You'll find Mr. Nelson himself to be a total dom daddy, but not at all homophobic. He and Billy are the heroes of the story. Sorry I haven't had time to write lately. I promise to get back to the story soon.
Hope you get back to this soon.
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Hi Mark.
Thank you for answering my concerns (crit) so plainly and without taking offence - non intended.
I'm enjoying your story as I said at the start and I'm very much looking forward to another installment..... when you have time.
Regards, Joe
I love stories about older hung studs. Anybody got more?
Does anyone have any way of getting in touch with markp70? I would like to know what happened to him and if he has any other stories in the hopper.
bump. Anyone have a way of reaching this author?
Bumpppp!!!! Anyone heard anything from MarkP70 ????? He truly is a gifted writer.
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I wish! this is probably my favourite (and most often re-read) story on this site
OMG... Some of the best stuff I've read for a long time. Please keep writing. You've got this, man!!!
Hi All,
I wrote this story and then took a long break from lpsg. I can certainly start it up again. Seems like people really enjoyed reading it.
I wrote this story and then took a long break from lpsg. I can certainly start it up again. Seems like people really enjoyed reading it.
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August 31, 1988
I waited in the bushes for hours last night hoping I'd catch another show, but Mr. Nelson didn't pull his truck into the driveway until after 4:00 AM. I wondered where he had been so late. He reached into the pocket of his trousers to dig out his keys and I was struck yet again by his muscled forearm, bicep, shoulder, and chest. If he were an animal I think he'd be either a bulldog or a boar. Or maybe a donkey with its customarily large penis. But donkeys seem so awkward and nerdy. Mr. Nelson is most definitely not nerdy with his powerful masculinity.
He stepped into his kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a beer, then reached up to a cabinet for a glass. I've become completely obsessed with this middle-aged fire plug of a man. Every movement he makes sends a shock of lust through my body. After downing half the beer in one gulp he opened a drawer under his toaster oven. Then he pulled the wallet out of his back pocket, opened it, and withdrew what must have been twenty or thirty hundred-dollar bills and put them in the drawer. I didn't realize Mr. Nelson had that kind of money lying around. He must be a gambler or something.
He pounded the rest of his beer, turned off the kitchen light and climbed the stairs. I was so disappointed that he hadn't brought home some hot girl or girls to service his enormous cock, but I suppose even Mr. Nelson can't have sex every single night.
He had told me to be at his place early that Saturday morning, so I knocked on his door at the stroke of 8:00 AM. There was no answer after several knocks. I remembered he had insisted on keeping a strict schedule, so I decided to use the key he had given me. Maybe he'd gotten up early and was out at the hardware store or something. I quietly opened his door and stood in the foyer calling upstairs with my high-pitched voice. "Mr. Nelson? Uh, you up, Sir?" I inclined my ear toward his bedroom and then I heard the big man snoring, so I knew he was home. I kept calling as I began to climb the stairs. "Mr. Nelson, I'm here, Sir. Should I come back later?" He kept snoring like a bear. I reached his bedroom door and knocked gingerly. "Sir?" The door was a little ajar. It creaked as I pushed it open. There he lay in bed with only a sheet covering his body. I just stood and watched as his barrel chest heaved with each breath. There was a towel on the floor next to his bed which I instantly recognized as a cum-rag, having several in the drawer of my nightstand. Only his was a large bath towel, not the tiny handkerchief I used, and it was crusted with what must have been a quarter cup of dried semen.
At that point he slowly opened his eyes. "Hey, son," he said in a groggy but warm voice. "Did I oversleep?"
"Sorry, Mr. Nelson. Should I come back later? I didn't want to disturb you, but I have a lot of sanding to do this morning before we paint."
"No, no, I'm glad you're here. Go make me a pot of coffee and we'll get started." He stretched his arms wide, yawned, and tossed the sheet off his body. That's when I saw it up close. His morning wood strained the white fabric of his boxer shorts. His enormous balls hung freely below the hem, the thick hide of his sweaty ballsack clinging to his thighs. His massive erection pushed the elastic band past the button of his hairy belly. As he rolled to his side the weight of the organ dropped past his hip. "Make it strong, son."
He rose from his bed facing away from me. When he came to standing I could see that he had the muscular ass of a quarterback. His legs reminded me of an illustration of a centaur in the book of Greek myths my mom had got me in grade school. Mr. Nelson's hair was a mixture of dark brown and grey. A whiff of his body odor reached my nostrils and sent a jolt of hormones to my crotch. He turned toward me and walked toward his bathrobe which was draped over a chair. His prodigious cock and balls swung left and right like a scythe.
When I realized that I had been standing there staring as him with my mouth agape, I quickly spun around and headed back downstairs to make his coffee. "Make it strong," I repeated his words to myself. His heavy footsteps took him to the bathroom where I would soon be sanding and painting. He farted healthily as he let loose a firehose piss stream that echoed through the house.
My supervisor had shown me how to make excellent coffee. I was excited to show Mr. Nelson my new skill. I really wanted to please him.
(more soon!)
I waited in the bushes for hours last night hoping I'd catch another show, but Mr. Nelson didn't pull his truck into the driveway until after 4:00 AM. I wondered where he had been so late. He reached into the pocket of his trousers to dig out his keys and I was struck yet again by his muscled forearm, bicep, shoulder, and chest. If he were an animal I think he'd be either a bulldog or a boar. Or maybe a donkey with its customarily large penis. But donkeys seem so awkward and nerdy. Mr. Nelson is most definitely not nerdy with his powerful masculinity.
He stepped into his kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a beer, then reached up to a cabinet for a glass. I've become completely obsessed with this middle-aged fire plug of a man. Every movement he makes sends a shock of lust through my body. After downing half the beer in one gulp he opened a drawer under his toaster oven. Then he pulled the wallet out of his back pocket, opened it, and withdrew what must have been twenty or thirty hundred-dollar bills and put them in the drawer. I didn't realize Mr. Nelson had that kind of money lying around. He must be a gambler or something.
He pounded the rest of his beer, turned off the kitchen light and climbed the stairs. I was so disappointed that he hadn't brought home some hot girl or girls to service his enormous cock, but I suppose even Mr. Nelson can't have sex every single night.
He had told me to be at his place early that Saturday morning, so I knocked on his door at the stroke of 8:00 AM. There was no answer after several knocks. I remembered he had insisted on keeping a strict schedule, so I decided to use the key he had given me. Maybe he'd gotten up early and was out at the hardware store or something. I quietly opened his door and stood in the foyer calling upstairs with my high-pitched voice. "Mr. Nelson? Uh, you up, Sir?" I inclined my ear toward his bedroom and then I heard the big man snoring, so I knew he was home. I kept calling as I began to climb the stairs. "Mr. Nelson, I'm here, Sir. Should I come back later?" He kept snoring like a bear. I reached his bedroom door and knocked gingerly. "Sir?" The door was a little ajar. It creaked as I pushed it open. There he lay in bed with only a sheet covering his body. I just stood and watched as his barrel chest heaved with each breath. There was a towel on the floor next to his bed which I instantly recognized as a cum-rag, having several in the drawer of my nightstand. Only his was a large bath towel, not the tiny handkerchief I used, and it was crusted with what must have been a quarter cup of dried semen.
At that point he slowly opened his eyes. "Hey, son," he said in a groggy but warm voice. "Did I oversleep?"
"Sorry, Mr. Nelson. Should I come back later? I didn't want to disturb you, but I have a lot of sanding to do this morning before we paint."
"No, no, I'm glad you're here. Go make me a pot of coffee and we'll get started." He stretched his arms wide, yawned, and tossed the sheet off his body. That's when I saw it up close. His morning wood strained the white fabric of his boxer shorts. His enormous balls hung freely below the hem, the thick hide of his sweaty ballsack clinging to his thighs. His massive erection pushed the elastic band past the button of his hairy belly. As he rolled to his side the weight of the organ dropped past his hip. "Make it strong, son."
He rose from his bed facing away from me. When he came to standing I could see that he had the muscular ass of a quarterback. His legs reminded me of an illustration of a centaur in the book of Greek myths my mom had got me in grade school. Mr. Nelson's hair was a mixture of dark brown and grey. A whiff of his body odor reached my nostrils and sent a jolt of hormones to my crotch. He turned toward me and walked toward his bathrobe which was draped over a chair. His prodigious cock and balls swung left and right like a scythe.
When I realized that I had been standing there staring as him with my mouth agape, I quickly spun around and headed back downstairs to make his coffee. "Make it strong," I repeated his words to myself. His heavy footsteps took him to the bathroom where I would soon be sanding and painting. He farted healthily as he let loose a firehose piss stream that echoed through the house.
My supervisor had shown me how to make excellent coffee. I was excited to show Mr. Nelson my new skill. I really wanted to please him.
(more soon!)
