The spring season in Chicago is always full of surprises, and this spring was no different. There had been a great deal of rain and chilly gray days with only a few warm sunny afternoons spattered here and there. It was the middle of June, and the sunny warm weather had hit again, and this time it seemed here to stay. The flowers were a riot of color and fragrance, due to all the previous rain, and the temperature had climbed to the low 80s in the bright and constant sun.
Throughout the season, I had tried to take advantage of the few warm days we had to try and get a jump on my tan, but it seemed as if I was fighting a losing battle. The early afternoon appeared to have a new life all its own as the sun-warmed breeze flowed through my window and filled my senses with its moist touch and fragrance. Even though it was the middle of the week and I certainly had work I could do, my long winter's pallor was calling out for color. It was the perfect day, so I had to answer the call. There were no pressing deadlines, so my work could wait another day or so.
I threw on a pair of shorts, my jogging shoes, and a tank top. Since the middle of April, I had kept my backpack filled with a beach towel, bath towel, lotions, condoms, wet wipes, bag of trail mix, portable CD player, and a small assortment of tunes, so all I had to do was grab a bottle of water and be on my way-but to where? The Belmont Rocks used to be the spot to catch a tan and a man, but over the past few years, the Rocks had begun to be replaced by the new hot spot, Hollywood Beach, which was farther north at the end of Lake Shore Drive. I didn't want to travel that far north, but I wanted to get out of the neighborhood, and that nixed the Rocks.
I had heard of a legend that told of a section of Lincoln Park near the Lagoon that used to be a popular spot to pick up play with a variety of attractive men. My friend, who told me about this legend and had a flair for the dramatic, once said that at one time, many years ago, the bushes around that lagoon were just "packed with playful fairies." Little did I know just how true his flippant statement would turn out to be! I hopped on the Clark Street bus and was on my way to check out a legend.
I got off the bus at Lincoln Park, just north of the Zoo, and headed for the Lagoon. My friend had said to look for a section of the lagoon where the bushes and shrubs along the shore were overgrown and wild. I spent over a half-hour strolling along the Lagoon's shore, but found all the bushes and plantings cut short and nicely manicured. I discovered some areas that had more trees and bushes than others did, along with various monuments and stone bridges, but nothing that looked like it was the place spoken of in the old legend. I certainly wasn't getting an even tan this way, so I decided to choose a fairly private grassy area against an old stone wall and surrounded by trees. It was a beautiful spot even if it wasn't the one that I had hoped to find. I spread out my beach towel and situated myself on it facing the wall. I opted not to listen to my tunes, as the sounds of spring were so soothing.
I had removed my tank top, and I could feel the sun's rays on my chest and abs. My strong thighs and shins were heating up, as well. I had put something in my shoulder length hair to bring out the subtle honey-blond highlights in my warm auburn hair. I flipped my hair back to expose it more fully to the sun's rays and laid my head on the rolled bath towel. A light layer of perspiration began to form on my skin, and I ran my hand over my chest and through the forest of warm brown hair that covered it. My thumbs and forefingers gently coaxed both my nipples to life. My body was warming up rather quickly in this sunny private glen. A drop of racing sweat tickled a trail from the trimmed hairs in my armpit, along my side to the ground as I ran my hand through the soft, short hairs on my gym-hardened abdominal muscles. I spread my legs open until I could feel the soft warm breeze travel up the legs of my shorts. I had chosen not to wear any underwear for this excursion, so I felt my testicles jump and shift in response to the fresh touch of summer.
I played the fingertips of both my hands back and forth under the band of my shorts. As I plunged my right hand into the warm, moist island of fur hiding beneath the cloth of my shorts, I returned to caressing my chest and nipples with my left. My more-than-ample manhood was not as relaxed as I was and had already begun its ascension up my right thigh. My hand met my thick shaft as it traveled down to grasp my throbbing balls. My left hand decided to join the party in my shorts and freed my steadily growing cock from a fold in the cloth, allowing it to fall with a light slap against my belly. My fleshy friend continued to grow until his head was pushed beyond the confines of the waistband on my shorts and past my belly button.
During this intimate encounter with my inner man, my eyes had been closed and my senses heightened by the magic of this summer afternoon. I could not only feel every wonderful sensation that my manipulations were administrating, but it was as if I could hear every bird chirping and every blade of grass waving in the breeze. As I was slowly stroking my rock-hard cock in one hand and rolling my balls in the other, I opened my eyes to the bright day in order to take it all in. It was then that I saw it.
At first I thought it was a bird sort of fluttering by the stone wall. There was a section of the wall that was overgrown with tall grasses and weeds that had not been trimmed down yet. And there it was. I pushed my protesting cock back into my shorts and sat up to get a better look. Whatever was moving in those weeds was pink. I don't know much about the birds of the Midwest, but I don't think there are any bright pink ones. As I shaded my eyes against the now golden mid-afternoon sun, I saw a splash of bright blue flutter as well. I figured that it must be someone's escaped parrot and decided to investigate.
The heavy member in my shorts had calmed down but was still leading the way as I walked over to the section of high, dried grasses and weeds along the old stone wall and what I assumed to be a parrot in need of rescue. As I approached, the pink and blue creature seemed to disappear deeper into the weeds. How could that be? I then noticed that the overgrown weeds were concealing an arched opening in the moss-covered stone wall. The weeds and grasses were thicker than I thought and it was with considerable effort that I pushed through them into a short, but dark, cool and damp tunnel of stone.
