It's different this time. Actually, it's different every time. Sometimes I'm there to fuck him hard and rough, focused on dropping a load. Other times I'm there to see how long he'll last before I let myself cum. Maintenance fuck then. Leisurely fuck other times. Exploratory fuck others still. But this was different; the things I could count on were different. I could always count on him leaving the door open, him being in his room with the lights out and the bedroom door closed, him being rock hard before I even get there and harder still every time I call his hole a "pussy." What really was constant throughout was the air of anonymity as he masked himself in darkness and spoke in a hushed but fervent manner that promoted this clandestine quality. I fucked the darkness as much as I fucked him.
But this time was different.
The feigned anonymity was there for mere fantasy. You can easily infer his name from the mail on the table. He's a chiropractor with a holistic approach, opting for organic foods and cooking using his home-grown herb garden, and has strong familial ties based on his excuses when opportunities for a tryst are missed. All this, unfolded from the string of emails and the twenty-second segments of each visit as I disrobe in the living room and make my way to his bedroom, all completely obvious when viewed in a time-lapse. Just observation. No facebook, no Google, no other technology required.
When I opened the door to his place this time, his bedroom door was wide open and his bathroom light was on as he bathed in its spotlight. He was on his back in bed, knees bent and parted with both feet flat on the bed. His hands grasped his cock tightly, pointing it straight up into the air. His proud, angry red cock an attention whore, pulling my eyes to the valley between the twin peaks of his knees, while his knees cast long shadows that beckoned me in. His muscles shone tight all over, stretching over limbs and accentuated by the single light source. I could almost see every fiber strain, tiring out my eyes in turn trying to take it all in.
I was still in a daze when I kicked off my shoes and ripped off my clothes to hop in bed with him. So much so, I didn't think to question him on whether lotion was a good lube-substitute given that he demanded to play safe, I didn't think to slap his hand away when he guided my cock inside him as if I couldn't navigate his body and read his signals to make the entry feel good, didn't snap out of my daze as he referred to his hole as a organ I really knew nothing about. With the light blazing on him, I feel like I peeked behind the curtain a bit but was far from let down. The mystery just shifted from him to me. I just couldn't understand how this sculpted specimen of man wanted me so bad as to coo, "My pussy's been needing this so bad... misses it."
I was in deep, jabbing in short strides to try to get deeper still before pulling all the way out and long dicking him to feel my length. I tried to wrestle his cock out of his hand but he resisted, confessing that he was so close that just me touching it would make him pop. So he held on to it, not stroking but just held it trying not to acquiesce to his urgent need to cum. His legs started to tremble and tighten and I used that as leverage to hike his legs higher and lean back to fuck up into him. But my body couldn't take it either. Seeing him there in the light was more beauty than I could handle so I had to stop. His tight hole was milking me way too fast, even with the rubber. I slowed down and then pulled his knees closer to his chest, throwing my weight into him and pushing him deeper into the pillows. No matter how slow I went, I was already over the edge and I could barely manage a few grunts out before I started to push deep and unload. He instantly started to shoot and I kept on fucking to revel in the sensations of a spasming ass around my cock.
As I was walking back to my car, a shameful mere half-hour after I arrived as if I were some virgin that just couldn't keep it together from the first taste of pleasures of the flesh, I reflected on that extra glimpse I saw of him. It just spurred on many more unanswered questions. And as much as I can admire the beauty up close in my face, zoomed in to admire the individuality, strength and flaws of each loop and stitch of a hand-knit sweater, that brief peek makes me want to step back and see the whole thing... to own it all. To know it fully. So that I can fold it neatly and tuck it away in a well-known corner of my storage unit of secrets, thereby packaging it back in the dark of mystery.