Thursday, June 13, 2013

The cowboy

So here I go, going all Pulp Fiction on you guys.  Flashback to a couple hours before I turned the tables on the Playful Dom and I was rolling through a huge apartment complex slower than my speedometer could measure.  As a bystander, I'm pretty sure that people thought the background moved while I sat stationary, looking dumbfounded at the building numbers in front of me.  I was almost convinced that buildings were numbered in base 4 because why else would building 3 be next to 11?  As it was, I was already a bit late for the hookup, not having accounted for morning traffic, and now this crazy numbering scheme was standing between me and the urban cowboy that had an hour before he had to get to work.

I had stumbled across the cowboy's profile earlier, but wasn't quite sure if we'd be a match since he noted himself as a top.  What drew me to his profile was his cover pic of him riding in a rodeo, just coming out the gates to rope...  um...  something.  Who knows?  It didn't matter.  It just flooded me with a yearning from years ago.  I was a bit of a maverick (i.e. freak) in junior high, being quite outspoken about my love of Nirvana and Garth Brooks.  Threw myself into the world of country music in a school dominated by west side gansta rap and I later went as far as to dip Copenhagen long cut...  before I took too much tobacco all at once and made myself sick.  I definitely got a soft spot for a guy in Wranglers and boots.  But what sealed the deal was when the cowboy wrote me first with four words: "Please come fuck me."  I hightailed it over there before he could change his mind, even though he noted that he only had an hour before he had to run to work.

When I finally found building four, I pulled into a spot and fired up my phone to double-check his apartment number.  What I got was a note sent three minutes ago saying he had to cancel because he got called into work early.  

Argh!  Seriously?!?

I couldn't tell if it was legit or if he just got cold feet.  Or maybe he shot his load jerking off in anticipation of the encounter and was just not in the mood anymore.  I decided to go to his apartment and find out.  What could it hurt?  Maybe I could at least get a little grope for driving over.

And I'm glad I did.

He made my cock stir just opening the door with the towel wrapped around his waist.  My height, but broad shouldered and a bit stocky.  Beefy.  A guy settling into his body a bit.  Scruff on his face, fuzzy chest and clear eyes that crinkled a bit when he smiled at my greeting, which was a rather abruptly direct suggestion that we just play for a few seconds. Damn, he just oozed masculinity.

I grabbed him and pulled him to me in a kiss while he tried to pull away and lead me to the bedroom.  We stumbled around a bit, past the boots he had in the corner and belts with buckles the size of Texas hanging on a hat rack.  And he was a damn good kisser too.  He whimpered and moaned softly when I moved from his lips and tried to devour his neck, letting my tongue trace the valleys under his jaw and mouthing the muscles that strained against me, relaxing and contracting as he involuntarily buckled under me.  I let up for a second to yank the towel off him to expose him to me.  I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough, pulling off my shirt so fast my glasses got all tangled up and hopping around like I was walking on hot coals as I tried to pull myself free from my shorts to follow him to the bedroom.

I knew we were short on time, so I just whipped him around and bent him over the bed.  His fuzzy mounds gave me pause.

Here's the thing: it's only been a year or so where I finally got over my mental block and really got into rimming a guy, seriously eating a guy out.  And now I love it.  But I still hesitate.  In a flash, I convinced myself that he just stepped out of the shower, so he'd be pretty clean and there wouldn't be any surprises.  And instead, there was a good surprise.  As I dove in, burying my nose in deep and suffocating myself between his perfect mounds, I could still smell his musk but it just turned me on more than anything else.  Lap, poke, lap, spit, suck... I worked his hole in a frenzy that probably had absolutely no finesse but managed to get me worked up so hard I was dripping precum on the floor.  It was time.  I rolled him over and I moved onto the bed as he scooted himself higher.  Lifting his legs back, staring straight into the eyes of need and hunger, I didn't need anything more to impale him on my meat in one steady push.

Absolutely no finesse.

I was wrapped up in a hunger from years of deprivation and luckily he was in his own world of need, having that itch to bottom and a hard dick that was willing to pound it out of him.  He shot first, globs of cum oozing out of his cock while his body contracted over and over with each spurt as if he was doing crunches in time with his orgasm.  I let myself go for it at that point and shot my load into him quickly after.  I was probably in an out in less than half an hour.  It wasn't quite long enough to get the whole thing out of my system though.  Especially when I smelled him on my face for the whole ride home.  Fuck, I can still taste and smell that sweet ass just talking about it.


Invisibleman46 said...


Weston Liggett said...

the local habit of washing rather than wiping makes this is much more enjoyable activity :)

Bruce Chang said...

Ah. Yeah, I wouldn't like the surprise of toilet paper remnants. Ew.