Sunday, April 7, 2013
New bud: sporty spice
Sometimes I think that the hardest thing for me to do is find a gay platonic friend. I always sabotage myself with hidden motives, picking out guys that could easily bring my cock to full attention or letting the connection die out with guys that can't (not just superficially, but also having that joie de vivre that makes me wanna bone a dude). But as I was standing there with my lips locked onto his, water pelting us from the showerhead above, I gave up on shielding myself with false categories and freed myself from the little convenient, invisible cages that I pretend help me make sense in navigating the world. I just let him melt into my arms.
We originally met on Growlr. Of all things, he showed up on my screen as being a few hundred feet away because he was out on a date. What caught my eye was that he was into sports. Not just a Lakers or Dodgers fan, but a guy that actually played pickup games and such. It ran the gamut. Flag football and slow-pitch softball, both of which I don't get because the strategy is so much different than the traditional games you watch. And then, of course, beach volleyball. So we started making plans to meet up for a few games. It never happened but I got a kick out of asking him about his dates. A young army brat here. A club hookup. A guy that was an asshole, but they still fucked anyway. The conversation naturally devolved into show-me-yours-and-i'll-show-you-mine. We unlocked our private pics and fuck he's hot. My height, cute face. A fuzzy body that makes me want to play slip and slide on and an ass that makes my mouth water. A couple days later:
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, you are Asian, right?"
"Yeah. Made in America from Asian parts, but yes."
"But you have a HUGE fuckin' dick!"
"Ha! Don't believe the myth!"
"Actually, I don't think it's really that big. Last I measured was in college and it was only about 6.5"
"But I'm the same size and yours looks bigger!"
"Well, I guess it just photographs well. Must be good camera tricks. Or I'm lame and can't measure right."
Two days later
"Now I'm confused," I messaged.
"Are you a bottom?"
It wasn't a dismissive statement. At least I didn't take it that way. Instead, I took it as an invitation to get into his shorts. So when I had the place to myself, I spontaneously messaged him to invite him over. I was kinda surprised that he agreed. So much so that I wasn't even quite prepared for it. I hadn't even showered or brushed my teeth yet. But as to not delay, he suggested we shower together. I was easily persuaded And a little surprised. Even with all the sexting and playful flirting banter, I somehow managed to still convince myself that we were only interested in each other as platonic friends. How's that for delusional. But when he got to my place, there was no mistaking that sexual tension. We tried to keep it casual but within five minutes I had him naked and in my arms. Literally in my arms. He's a couple inches shorter than me and I picked him up and pinned him against the wall while he wrapped his legs around me. Once I was in his magnetic field, we locked together hard.
We managed to break apart at some point to get in the shower, but I don't remember how. I just remember being there with him. Sucking each other, feeling each other, lathering each other up, my cock sinking deep inside him. The water cascading down on us wasn't a distraction. It acted more like warm glue keeping us locked together rather than repelling us and splitting us apart. Yes, it made my hands slip and slide across his body but it enabled me to feel a different texture across his fuzzy chest... a surprise, a sensation that made me want to consume him.
I think the idea was to shower up so that we could properly enjoy each other in the bedroom but we had too much fun and lost our loads underneath the water just as the shower started to turn cold. He had one hand on the wall, supporting himself, as I held both his hips and fucked my cock into him in a steady rhythm when his knees suddenly buckled. Water was splashing up and out in beautiful arcs like a kid stomping on puddles. I was enjoying that playful and somewhat violent image, enjoying the slight sting of the wet collision when he suddenly mumbled something and turned around, trying to regain his motor functions as he shot his load. The sight brought me over the edge and with a couple of tugs, I quickly followed suit. When he left, I was on an amazing high where it didn't matter what happened next because either way, we shared something really nice and it doesn't matter what I call him... a friend? a fuck buddy? a trick? I have a hunch that it's not the last I'll see of him and how we relate to each other will continue to beautifully evolve, morph beyond the simple conventions I have in my mind, destroying the neat little categories I place people in. But I'll still try to pin him into one, creating a new and complex and completely worthless category that holds just one person... and I welcome his challenge to let it all go.