I've been trying to be a little more honest with myself. And following my fellow bloggers who are far more confident about what they want without equivocating the truth and tediously packaging things within acceptable social constructs of propriety, I've pretty much figured out that I'm a fucking whore that wants to spread his seed as wide as possible, all corners of my known universe, fuck and fill a new hole much preferred over one already encountered. But the odd thing is that high from a new conquest is often severely underwhelming compared to the fan-fucking-tastic chemistry of someone you've already been with. And every now and then, you're slapped in the face with that imbalance, that irrational preference for the let down... And sometimes all in the same day.
Picture this: my hard cock is down the throat of a young music teacher. He's a bit larger than he had advertised in his pictures on Growlr, but I'm not anywhere near disappointed. It's Growlr after all, and that's where I go when I want my fill of a meaty guy. A guy I can really get my hands on. I'm not targeting the chasers on there. That'd be pointless.
His face is flushed trying to work my meat. His cheeks were rosy just sitting around chatting but they are boiling tea kettle red now as he struggles to take it all down to the root repeatedly. And I'm enjoying myself, but... I'm not sure he is. He's extremely self-conscious. Stopping repeatedly to make sure that I'm good and what's more concerning is his persistence in me validating that he's acceptable. "Am I okay?" he asks. He's not talking about his technique. He's talking about his size. And like a self-fulfilled prophecy, I start to lose it. If he wasn't just into oral, I'd be fucking my bone into him by now and enjoying having something of some size under me, but his extreme self-deprecation turned into something more. Something more that I just couldn't give. There's an emotional tenderness that was needed here and when I heard that call, I did the exact opposite of what was needed. I stopped and called it off. The excitement of the hunt, the chase, led to this disastrous dance where we finally realized we were following different rhythms. And the bad thing was that it wasn't his size at all, but a different emotional headspace incompatibility that was leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
Then picture this: An hour later and my cock is buried deep inside a bud I hadn't fucked in a couple of months. He's on his back, legs in the air, arms clutching and scratching at my back. Our lips our locked and we're really getting into it before I move off and nuzzle his neck, right below the ear... and then I start to devour it like a blood-starved vampire when he exclaims, "Oh fuck yes! Now I remember!" The memories of our previous encounters rush back to him and he moves to push all my buttons as I push on his and mere moments later, I'm fucking my cum in him while he shoots big globs between us.
By far, one of the top fucks of the year. But still, I'll give that up every time (almost) in favor of the former scenario: the new guy where I don't know what to expect, that rush of something new usually leading to a result less satisfying.
Apparently, I'm a masochist.