One of the things that my New Yorker friends complain about Los Angeles is how spread out everything is. They like the fact that every now and then they bump into an old friend when they're just out walking about. But despite the fact that LA looks like a monstrous giant has stepped on it, spreading and oozing pockets of population through the grooves of the tread in its sneakers, you'd be amazed at how small it is.
I met Rick stepping out of the local adult bookstore. The video arcades can be hit or miss there. Sometimes I pop in just to check out the scene on my way home from work. He was walking home from the bars in the area (a straight bar, since there isn't a gay bar in a fifteen mile radius of the area) and I could definitely tell he was checking me out while I was walking out of the bookstore, looking me in a way that told me he knew exactly what goes on in that joint. So I was bold and gave him a nod. He quickly turned away, but as I stood next to my car, I saw him glance back to see if I was still there.
I did what any creepy guy would do coming out of an adult bookstore. I got in my car, fired it up, and followed him around the corner. Ever since, we've been hooking up at his place.
Last week, I emailed him asking if he was getting out early from work. He wasn't planning on it, but he was horned up and made arrangements to meet me at 5pm that evening since he knows I usually don't have much time to play. We have a really relaxed way of being around each other. Everytime we meet, it doesn't spiral out of control like two magnets propelled against each other with such force that we collide with the sound of thundering lust. Nor is it so casual that foreplay consists of awkward pauses that skips through the room. Instead, I flop down on the sofa as if I was any other friend that was hanging out. We acknowledge how long it's been since our last encounter before I grab him by the waist and gently pull him towards me. We catch up in the time it takes for him to get to me and and crawl into my lap for a lazy kiss that both deep and tender. A couple more milestones in our lives are quickly summarized when we come up for air and then I silence his lips with a passionate kiss. He's probably the same height and weight as me, but I still think of him as smaller than me. So I hold him tight while he straddles me on the couch and with a little effort, lift him up and carry him into the bedroom.
We've met enough times by now that I know what he likes. He loves the feel of my weight on top of him. He can easily push me off (and he has on occasion, turning the tables on me) but likes to feel overpowered. How do I know? He's rock hard when I nibble on his nips. Even though he yells out curses at me when I make him squirm, he's leaks precum like a faucet. And he lets out a deep moan when I ease up and lightly tease the tips, letting the blood rushes back through the nubs after being tortured. He laughs and calls me a bastard as I work my way down his chest and swallow his shaft. He's about six inches long, with a bit of skin that I like to work my tongue under. I want to make him as hard as I can, cause he's gonna be in a lot of pain at what comes next.
His hole is tight, but his body also tries to swallow me when my cock tickles his hole. He lets out a big breath and seems to envelop my whole body as his contracts. I lock my lips around his and feel his hole respond and he takes in my shaft inch by inch before I hit bottom. And I stop. I revel in feeling myself fully connected and he clutches at me trying to get me further into his hole. But that little moment is all that he gets before I start the onslaught. Our lips release and that's when I start pounding him. My cock hammers into him and tears up his hole. I try to vary positions and angles to make sure he never gets used to the feeling, he never settles into complacency. When his whimpers die down, I claw at his back and dig my nails in. At one point, he takes lets out a low moan that lasts impossibly long considering how I knock the wind out of him at every thrust. At the end of that moan, he's curled his hand into a fist and is hammering my back with it. In response, I bit his shoulder. Hard. Hard enough to leave marks for awhile. But I don't let up. Past experiences has told me that he's probably gone soft at this point. Yet, if I were to stop, he'd be bucking up into me trying to get my cum. Or if slow down and go tender, he'll hop off and ride me hard until I nut. So I don't back while he continually alternates between calling me a bastard and a fucker until he's tired and incoherent. I don't back off until I blow my load deep into him.
Afterwards, we're lying there having some pillow talk. Nothing too deep, but just catching up a bit and we find out that we have a lot of shared friends in common. In fact, we've probably been introduced awhile back and just didn't remember it. But it is there while we both lie exhausted from the time together that I realize that those random connections happen in LA too. You can bump into a friend randomly in LA. The giant may have squashed the connections so thin, but the veins are there and it just takes a little effort and time before they coalesce into something you recognize.