Being a Good Boy

I asked Andrew to write up our meeting in his own words.  This is what he sent:

I have always been more into written porn that visual images, and had been an avid reader of his blog for years. I was such a fan that at one point he had announced on his blog that he was getting new underwear and he was kind enough to send me his used underwear, since it's a fetish of mine. 

When he moved to twitter (and the blog was more sparsely populated) I saw evidence of his skills there. For me, his best writing is rewarding eagerness. 

I was very excited at the prospect of meeting him, and an opportunity arose when I had to travel for work to near where he lives. I contacted him, and we shared pics, and he said he was interested to meet me. I have to admit that I did entice him with my fantasy of being bred, since I’ve always had protected sex and am not on prep. He gently tried to persuade me, but given monkeypox concerns I decided not to take him bare this time. 

I had initially messed up the agreed meeting time, but was fortunate that he was able to make time to meet me. We discussed our interests prior to meeting, which is something I enjoy and helps build up to the event. In particular I told him about new cobra chastity cage that I had been enjoy. Once he knew about it he initially said that he wanted me to wear it for 5 days continuously before we meet, but I felt that would be too much of a challenge since I’d never worn it for more than a few hours, but it did prompt me to get a new ring that made it more comfortable. I ended up wearing cage for two nights in bed before we met. On the night prior to our meet, I could hardly sleep thinking of the upcoming event. In particular I was curious as to how much he would try to persuade me to have him fuck me bare, and bred me, and how much I would be able to resist. I did offer to eat his load which he gladly accepted. 

In preparation he also instructed me to put a dildo in my tight hole, keep it for hours, stretching my hole to make it easier for him to fuck me. He asked if i was meeting anyone else on my trip, and I did admit to having a prior appointment with another guy. He told me the only time I was allowed to cum was with this guy, or with him. 

On the day of the meet he instructed me not to use deodorant, clean out my hole, wear my leather jock, chastity, and harness. Prior to his arrival he also told me to not touch either his or my cock without his permission. When he entered the room I should have my head down, hands behind my back. A last minute instruction was that when he told me to present my ass to him, I was to go head down, ass up and spread my cheeks to show him my hole. Just writing that again makes my cock get rock hard. 

He knocked at the door and I let him in. He immediately started kissing me and pushing me against the door, I was shivering from sexual anxiety. Next he undressed himself, down to underwear and we continued to play. Next he put me on my knees and told me to mouth his big cock in his sexy underwear. That moved to me sucking him, being face-fucked by his long thick cock and retching, which he seemed to particular enjoy. Then he told me to assume the position: my head down, ass up, spread hole open. It was very erotic, opening myself to him. And he is a connoisseur at eating ass. 

Next he moved to fuck me, with me on my front, warming up my ass with his bare cock, then put a condom on, lots of lube, some fingers, and slow gentle entry. I occasionally took poppers to open up for him. Eventually he lay on top of me and fucked me hard and deep, nearly taking his cock out of my now open hole. Piston fucking at its best, I was sweating like a pig under him, despite the cool AC. Then he turned my over and fucked me on my back, where I got to see his handsome face, awesome smile and kiss him. 

Next he made me undress, was fascinated to take off my cage, and we showered together. Then we went back to bed, for lots of kissing. Having read his blog, I knew that he’d very occasionally been fucked before, so I asked if I could eat his hole – wanting to return the favour that he had given me. He also wanted me to eat his cum. So he gave me clear coaching about how he liked his ass eaten, and eventually turned around blew his big load on my face. He then went down and sucked me off, since I was close to the edge, I came within seconds. Just before and after I cum, a spot on the head of my penis gets super-sensitive, so I had to ask him to let it go immediately afterwards.  

Afterwards he sent me pics, and videos that he had taken. I complemented him on his great smile, something that I couldn’t see from his pics or videos, and his very considerate nature. He told me how hot I looked, which makes me feel uncomfortable with my dad bod.

Good Boy

I walk in and unexpectedly drop a canvas bag full of sex toys, poppers, restraints and nipple torture devices. Andrew had opened the door and taken a step back, taking a glance at me before remembering my instructions and averted his eyes to the floor, shuffled his feet to stabilize his stance, shoulder width apart and let his head sag to the floor. I couldn’t help it. He’s quite a beauty and I was compelled to drop the bag and get my hands on him as fast as I could. 

"Do you approve, sir?" he asks.

My lips curl up in a smile in a response that I try to suppress. He’s a smaller guy. Gloriously furry all over. Scruffy beard, hairy chest, fuzz on his shoulders and all the way down. Various shades of grey from head to toe. Naked aside from a bulldog harness and leather jock - exactly as I had instructed. It’s a total power play, asking a guy to be vulnernable and naked while I’m completely dressed. Something I thought he’d enjoy having contacted me on twitter to meet up. He’s been a fan of my blog for awhile and really loved my stories, especially the one with a hint of a BDSM element to it. Work was bringing him to LA and he wanted to meet.

I rarely seek out kink scenes. Honestly, I get a little intimidated by guys that are really into it. Also, the fact that some things really turn me on confuses me. I’m usually the guy that gives the shirt off his back for a friend so when I get a hard on seeing a guy bound and squirming on the floor, it freaks me out. When I get harder hearing a guy gag after he tells me he wants me to rape his throat, I get scared. Not to say I’m a novice. A cop once told me I should charge for my services as a Dom after I pissed all over him and savagely fucked my load into him while pulling him by the hair into the fuck. Bondage, fisting, piss play, flogging. I’ve been around the block a couple of times. It’s just that if someone asks me to let go and give into those tendencies, I’m not sure if I can come back from it if requested. So when Andrew asked for a kink scene, I probed a bit further and realized that he had a strong need to please but that need may interfere with some of the limits he had.

I play into that need to please in my response to the question he asked softly to the floor. "Yes. Approved. Good boy!"

And with that, I swoop him into my arms and pull his head back so that our lips meet. I want him to feel how much I approve by my urgent, deep kiss. I bend at the knees and hug him close, lifting him off his feet so that I can carry him and slam him against the wall. Fuck, I love playing with a smaller guy that’s so willing to give up control. I press into him and pin him to the wall as I force my tongue down his throat. 

"I’m a bit nervous, sir" he tells me as my one hand roams his body. The other hand holds his over his head with our fingers interlaced. He’s not kidding. His body is trembling. And as my roaming hand tries to settle his nerves, it instead makes him convulse as it finds sensitive areas all over his body.

He shudders when I nibble at his ears and whisper how he’s such a good boy. My lips barely move next to his ear when I tell him to give in to his nerves and just feel. His neck is sensitive. That or he’s afraid I’ll leave marks. I work my way to his pits and scrape my scruff in there to see how sensitive it is. Then I drink in his musk and feast in his pits as he whines.

My hips instinctively thrusts up into him even though I’m fully clothed. And even through the clothes I can feel the cock cage that he’s wearing underneath that leather jock. Another power play. I asked him to wear it for as long as he could comfortably do so in order to get himself into the sub mindset. I pull back and openly smile when I feel it. My slobber starts to run down his pits almost guiding me to move lower. I dive back down to take a nipple in my mouth, tonguing it roughly before pushing it against my upper teeth. I feel him flinch and shudder whenever I apply extra pressure before releasing it back to just the tongue, flicking at the nub. I finally abandon the tongue and suck on the nip until I can grab the base with my teeth and gradually apply more pressure. His legs tremble as I do. He vocalizes his pain and pleasure with increasing volume. I feel like he’s hitting his limit when I hear him gasp "Too much, sir!" I just tell him with his nipple still between my teeth, "A little more, boy. Good boy! Good boy!" And then I release. When I massage the nipple with my tongue to give it some relief, he moans with relief and thanks me over and over.

I’m raging hard at this point and I step back and unbuckle my jeans. My cock obscenely pulses against my undies as he drops to the floor and mouthes the mound. He audibly moans when he tastes the precum that has stained by undies from my lust as I was devouring him. I need his throat. Now. I vehemently thrash with the waistband to pull them down and shove his head in my crotch. He teases me with a few licks along the shaft before he tentatively swallows me down, taking me further and further down with each bob. I find the depth of his throat, the spot that will trigger the gag reflex and encourage him to take me in further with slight pressure on the back of his head. A little more and a little more. And then with one shove I push past the spot so that he takes me to the base as his body rejects me and he gags. He pulls off and I wait to see what he does next. Even as he’s trying to recover, he starts to go back down and my cock pulses. It’s that validation that I’ve got the right guy, that eager cocksucker that will take it as much as his body would otherwise resist. The validation that his desire to get used is just as strong as my desire to push him to his limits. I twist my cock just a bit so that his throat can navigate the curve and push it down deep, holding him down with my micro thrusts before letting go and feeling him pull back and gasp. I got even harder. And he could tell.

“Present your ass to me!” I bark.

He immediately gets on the bed, ass up, head on the mattress with his hands spreading his ass wide for me. Love a boy that follows directions well. I had previously coached him over email what to do when I bark those orders. Those hairy mounds were too enticing and I ditched the rest of my clothes and dove head first into those hairy mounds. My tongue swirls around his hole and my hands roam his hairy mounds and back. Probes around and into his hole, willing it to yield to more and more. I’ve worked it in so deep that I can’t breathe, only pulling back for a huge intake of air when I direly need it. And I slowly dive back in, letting him feel my scruff against his cheeks, the hot breath against his hole. My lips seal around his hole and I suck until I feel his ass pucker and then I dart my tongue in, feeling it flower open.

He’s ready. I bag it and lube it up and mount him. Easing it into his tight hole pushing in and retreating until I finally feel him yield. When I finally feel his body yield to the head of my cock, I apply even, steady pressure until I sink to the root. Probably a little too fast, but I couldn’t help it. I collapsed onto his back finally feeling what my body was insisting upon but I held at bay until he could adjust. That feeling of us totally and deeply interconnected.

We fucked for quite awhile before I threw him on his back and invaded his hole again. Pummeling his ass relentlessly. We went well past the hour mark of play before my hand was wrapped around his throat and I could see him grimacing with every thrust. Every withdrawal had his eyebrows turn up in a plea. That torture of desire placed right against the pain of being invaded past the depths you could imagine in a cycle over and over. I could tell he was wrestling with his need to please and his limits and am amazed that he was able to endure for so long. 

We came while he was eating my ass and I teased his cock after freeing it out of the cage, sharing the precum that coated the device. He was ready to blow at any moment. I shot all over his face before I blew him and took his load deep down my throat. We make out to swap our intermingled loads. As we lay there panting from the long, extended session, I was content, even though none of the accessories were retrieved from the bag.

I was completely spent.

Good boy, indeed.

Sights Through the Fog

We’ve settled into a rhythm. The intermittent spurts of fumbling flesh crashing in disjointed movements evened out to gentle melodic waves, frequencies that once fought against each other now harmonize in synchrony. The crest of silence as I’m almost fully withdrawn from his hole, stopped by his tight ring meeting the ridge of my swollen cock head. Then then subsequent build of our low moans while I drive my inches back in with slow and steady pressure. And the trough of the wave when I bottom out deep inside his guts with a thud before the cycle repeats. The previous haze of fervent grappling and limbs lifts as the rhythm presents itself and with clarity, I see him. The young cub, many years my junior on his back. My left hand holds his right ankle firmly. My right hand matches the grip but of his monster of a cock, fat and heavy. Our movements has made him fuck my hand in tandem and I’m acutely aware of the supple layer I touch that glides so easily over the hard iron surface of his sex like liquefaction. His eyebrows furrow into a concentrated question as if he wants to ask how I’ve managed to torture his body into pleasure. The septum piercing and scruff antagonizes his cherubic countenance, topped with hair that curls into sweet innocence. He ovals his full lips to let out a long breath, countered by a long inhale that visibly fills his diaphragm as he tries to even out his labored breathing and accept more of my fuck. And we settle further into the rhythm as the lens refracts and I see more. The hair that evenly coats his entire chest and the faint perspiration that is threatening to bead from our exertions. The shapely calf that bulges into beautiful strength right by my hand. The lens pans out more as the lust fog lifts and the beauty he exudes extends to the room with tastefully soft colors and textures of accent pillows, rugs and furnishings. Modern monochrome is punctuated with whispers of vivid color. The large window that lets in the lazy winter morning light, modestly complementing the suddenly clarity of my gaze with the understated glamour of an infinitely sprawling Los Angeles.

I’m not surprised by the previous fervor that clouded my vision until now. This meeting was three years in the making. He was an earnest 18 living in Miami when he first reached out. Flirtatious spurts of correspondence interspersed with the stress of life, Covid and a cross-country move almost disguised the chemistry with the languid evolution of our check ins. The fire was there though. And when we finally met I couldn’t help but fumble when the flood gates opened. The reality of glasses and clothes were a nuisance in finally getting my paws on him. But as the burst of raw energy finally settled into this rhythm of fucking, I see him. His youth belies his sexual experience and recollecting his shy confession of his love for inter generational sex, I bark out, “That’s it… son. Daddy’s been waiting so long for this. Just let go. I’ve got ya.” And with that, I could feel him relinquish control to the moment and he immediately erupted. The climax built up quickly and suddenly. The first stream of cum jets out violently in a long rope that hit the pillow and slashes across his eye. A quick readjustment from my grip and the second spurt rushes out and hung in the air for a second before gravity claims control and splatters it across the fuzz of his chest. Third and fourth streaks out over the sheets before the subsequent ones dribble over my knuckles and soak his belly and mat his pubes. 

I can't stop.  I continue to pummel his ass while he convulses and rides his orgasm.  He squirms as his body is awakened to every sensation in a sudden boldness.  My body speeds up to a terrifying pace until his still spasming ass milks my cock and robs me of my load and I crash into his body one last time, planting my seed deep inside him, collapsed

As I struggle once again with unsynchronized limbs that do not wish to obey with grace, I try to prop myself up.  Bodies still connected.  I slowly wipe cum from his eye, careful not to get any in.  For a brief moment, I see my younger self in him and I wrestle with wanting to just hold him to me to let him feel my warmth and to flip him over and attack his hole with my tongue and felch out my own load.  Both seem condescendingly inappropriate.  Wanting to neither express diminutives or objectify him or his youth, I instead awkwardly vocalize disjointed thoughts about my love of our newly shared home city all the while thinking that I really do see him deeply even as my turgid member wanes and withdraws.

Night at the Baths: The Load

Brief intro: I was on vacation in Puerto Vallarta for Beef Dip, a week dedicated to the thick boys and their admirers, and was staying a couple blocks away from the local bathhouse.  One of those nights, I snuck out at 3am (the bars don't really close over there) and had a few experiences I wanted to share.  Little vignettes.  Fleeting flirtatious kisses in the dark.  Snapshots, but in a lot less than a thousand words.

---

I somehow extract myself from the dark room.  My cock is spent.  I haven't dropped a load in anyone yet, but came close so many times that the little guy doesn't know what to do anymore.  It’s tired of being teased.

As I stumbled out, a towel in hand (I'm not even sure it's my towel, but regardless) I see a mountain of a man in a jock on all fours.  He's on the edge of the platform right out side the dark area.  He's all man.  And huge.  It's like you take the average gym guy and magnified him one a half times.  Thick, but proportionate and a good foot taller than me.  With his high and tight, he's the live form of an obscene caricature version of a Tom of Finland caricature.  Yes, an exaggerated caricature of an already exaggerated caricature.  He's that one percent of everything that you're amazed that you met in real life.

So I do what anyone would do.  I drop to my knees and worship that glorious fuzzy ginger ass in front of me and my dick is insistent that it's gonna cum this time.  I spend long minutes tasting him, running my tongue from his balls to the top of his hole.  Poking, twirling.  Drawing a crowd of men at this point that start encouraging me to go deeper.  Another guy, the opposite of the ginger god gets on all fours beside him.  This one is darker haired, shorter, tan, wearing a harness.  The contrast between the two of them side by side is glorious.  Another bloke saddles up and starts eating him out too, but I continue with my guy, broad lapping strokes until he's primed for fucking.

I get up.  Eager to get inside him, but there a problem.  Unless there's a long runway and a mini-trampoline spring board at the end of it, there's no way I can vault myself onto this giant slab of beef.

The ginger looks back at me with an expressionless face.  I can't tell if it's encouragement or impatience, if he wants to continue or if he's sizing me up and wanting to pass.  So I weigh my options: either try to wrestle a guy thrice my body size off the platform to the right position so I can fuck or let another guy from the crowd fuck.  I got with the latter and motion for the tallest guy to move in for the kill.  He's over six feet and the parts will all line up with him.  He's a muscular black guy with an impressive cock that I guide to the hole.

As they start fucking, I move over to the harness guy next to him.  The rimmer has since moved on and has left him sopping wet.  Take one last glance over to the boys next to me to make sure they're having fun.  I lock eyes with the other top and then just glide my raging dick in the boy.  No extra lube necessary.  The previous rimmer was obviously an ass connoisseur.

My cock revels in the sensation.  It knows this is the one.  The perfect hole that it can unload into as the hole grips the whole shaft with an inviting warmth.  Long deep strokes all the way in and all the way out.  I want to feel the resistance as my cock invades his channel, that momentary restriction before it yields and invites me in.  And as my cock grows that extra length from the velvet touch of his insides, it explores new depths.  I hit bottom, hold, and push deeper still.  Gyrating my hips to explore the walls.  Undulating my body to feel the depths.  I use the boy's harness to pull him deeper still and I feel myself pushing through the second wall that makes me deeply moan in contentment while the boy yelps with surprise.  I found the spot that I want and I use his harness to destroy it, use that extra leverage to savagely poke at it. a tempo that builds and builds.  The switch has flipped and I no longer feel a need to languidly explore the depths of his body but instead feel the need to fire my load immediately.  My body becomes focused on the one goal: to breed his cunt deep, shoot my load into the inner recesses so that it gets absorbed and doesn't leak out.  With a roar, my dick surges with an extra pulse and releases the pent up load that's been building for hours.  My body involuntarily stabs his guts a few extra times to make sure it's buried deep and then I collapse on his back.  I let the orgasm wash over me as I convulse and spasm uncontrollably.

Cheek to his back, my eyes regain focus and I'm staring directly at the ginger god.  He's sneering at me with disdain.  I know what he's thinking: that should have been his load.  Meanwhile, the harness kid reaches back and interlaces our fingers with a contented sigh and whispers, "Thank you."

Night at the Baths: Darkness

Brief intro: I was on vacation in Puerto Vallarta for Beef Dip, a week dedicated to the thick boys and their admirers, and was staying a couple blocks away from the local bathhouse.  One of those nights, I snuck out at 3am (the bars don't really close over there) and had a few experiences I wanted to share.  Little vignettes.  Fleeting flirtatious kisses in the dark.  Snapshots, but in a lot less than a thousand words.

---

"Vente."

For a microsecond, I struggle to conjure up collegiate memories to translate Spanish to English to fully understand.  I have four languages rattling in my brain including English, none of which I know very well.  It's odd but with my parents' native tongue, I go directly from spoken word to comprehension but for the others, they have to take a pitstop to English before my brain absorbs meaning.

That microsecond hesitation is not lost on him and he chuckles and reaches out for my hand.  Come.  It is such a basic word but honestly, despite being in Mexico, I heard just a spattering of Spanish here so I was caught off guard.

I'm literally contemplating my absurd, disrespectful attitude and expectation as his hand is just dangling there, waiting for me to shit or get off the pot.  He has the advantage.  He's in the blackout room and I'm standing in the entrance bathed in a dim red light.  My eyes haven't adjusted yet and under different circumstances, I'd yell, "Oh no you don't, Pennywise!"  Then I'd run for the hills, especially if the only part I can see is his arm.  Forget it if he's holding out a red balloon.

But as absurd as it sounds, the disembodied voice beckoning me and mocking me for my hesitation is rather alluring.  It's the stream of half naked men that are brushing by, entering or leaving the blackout room.  And the occasional moans.  And the slurps.  And then rhythmic sounds of flesh meeting flesh.  Most of the men leaving are drenched in sweat.   Some of them don't even bother covering up with their towels, their spent cocks dripping or still proudly erect leading the way out in search of more bodies to conquer, their asses still sloppy from sloppy spit lube and cum.  It's a good crowd, a good mix.  Svelte figures brush by to enter into the dark depths.  Beefy men. Tall and short. Harnesses on some and other shy types sporting briefs.

I take his hand and he leads me into the darkness that swallows us.  The darkness that shrouds is immediate, a heavy blanket tucked in.  It's the weight of the air of the confined space.  Bodies writhing and deep breathing all trapped by the dense black, like a stopper on a chemical beaker trapping the fumes of the sex within, the weighted top of the elixir from desire decanted.  Whereas the rest of the bathhouse is rather pedestrian in comparison, the dark is the catalyst that sparks inert bodies into action and the byproduct of this kinetic reaction is that heavy air that hugs me.  It's palpable.

With complete, immediate trust, I shuffle in and accept my guide's hand further into the depths.  Without them touching me, I can feel bodies all around but I'm expertly navigated through the maze of flesh until he finds a suitable spot.  And with just a short pause, I close the gap between us, pull him in a deep embrace and kiss him deep.  There's no grace, no subtlety.  It's just pure need and lust bleeding onto me from the surrounding energy.  We're exactly the same height so the move is easy and natural.  Just two magnetized puzzle pieces fitting snugly and electrically bonded.

I feel the warmth of his hand behind my neck spread through me and he pulls me in deeper, closer.  My hands roam the wide expanse of his back before using my fingers to press into the muscles that straddle his spine, walking my finger tips up and in, hitting the pressure points that make him break from the kiss and throw his head back in a sigh.  I use the moment to devour his neck, kissing, licking, and then chewing on him, as I feel his body give way and go limp in my arms.  My tongue tracing the fibers of his sinewy muscles, memorizing the valleys, finding the pulsing arteries and veins in between.

I continue to explore.  My nose nuzzles the valley above his collarbone before descending over to the right to breath in his scent from his pits.  Then down to where his bath towel is loosely tied around his waist.  I vigorously shake my head to bury my nose under the terrycloth and the mere move makes it drop away and expose his rigid inches that spring and bounce in front of my face.  One more quick inhale to breathe more of him in and I engulf his cock with my mouth in one swoop.  I can feel his foreskin glide with my movements, a pliant sheath that shimmies over his rigidity. I don't spend much time feeling his meat ooze juices before I lap at his balls.  My attempts to tongue his taint are frustrated until I grab his hips and spin him around.  He naturally braces himself against the wall with two palms as I tongue it and then move up to his hole.

And this is where I lose the guise of will and self-determination.  My nose is nestled between two perfect mounds of flesh as I drink in the scents of masculinity and sex.  My tongue snakes out and I taste it.  Other men.  Other men have salivated over this hole, other men have shot their load inside, other men have sweat over him.  There are other men.  And that taste that jolts that revelation shocks and attracts me.  I can't get enough of it.  My tongue probes and digs for more.  Whereas before we were having a personal conversation with our bodies in the context of others, the others have now pulled me, dominated my senses, amassed me into their collective and I completely surrendered.  I suddenly felt the other hands that were there all along, roaming my body, pushing my head deeper into his ass.  Intoxicated, I surrendered to the will of the darkness and I am no longer my own.

Pieces and fragments.

I fucked him.  I remembered how my balls ached to shoot the moment I hit bottom, but I don't remember fucking him.  I sucked other cocks, but I don't remember sucking them.  I remember someone shoving into my ass while I was fucking, the searing invasion shooting up my ass and through me, surging my dick deeper into the bottom so that he yelped for me.  I remember two mouths on my wired nips and my knees buckling, collapsing my body into the arms of another.  I remember not saying a thing but through the collective mind a new language formed so that everyone knew exactly what buttons to push, what knobs to turn so that my cock just constantly dripped precum.  More puzzle pieces snapped into place into a shifting canvas of intricate black.

No, it wasn't everyone.  It was the one.  The darkness.  The catalyst that melded as I dissolved into the oceanic lust.

Night at the Baths: Masking

Brief intro: I was on vacation in Puerto Vallarta for Beef Dip, a week dedicated to the thick boys and their admirers, and was staying a couple blocks away from the local bathhouse.  One of those nights, I snuck out at 3am (the bars don't really close over there) and had a few experiences I wanted to share.  Little vignettes.  Fleeting flirtatious kisses in the dark.  Snapshots, but in a lot less than a thousand words.

Years ago, I worked closely with a graphic designer and he was a master at masking.  He had a great eye for compelling images and would take a really busy photograph with tons of elements vying for your eye and attention, plop another canvas on top of it to cover it up entirely, and punch holes to give you little glimpses of the image underneath.  You'd marvel at the simplicity of the canvas on top, supple geometric color blocked stencils only to get drawn further into the depths as your eyes tuned into the peekaboo image underneath.  It made me think how folks are that way sometimes: a beautifully crafted facade but with windows showing a hint of the complexity underneath.  Sometimes, though, it shows a little too much clutter of what's inside.

I'm at Spartacus, the popular bathhouse in Puerto Vallarta and I'm resting my head against some beautifully fuzzy pecs.  The sweat on my body starting to cool off on one side while the rest of me starts to stick to him.  The heat from our bodies and our previous exertions vaguely secreting glue that seals us together.  I'm idly tracing patterns on his furry coat as my fingers dance over the hills and valleys of his abs.  The dude is built like an ox.  Shaved head, muscular.  He's the one you cast in the porn scene of the daddy ranch hand throwing a twink stable boy over his shoulder to go fuck on a bale of hay.

The attraction was mutual and immediate.  We have rooms right across from each other and we had just left our rooms at the same time, locked up, turned around and locked eyes.  That's all it took.  I pushed him against the wall next to his door and were fervently making out in seconds.  My hands roamed around I couldn't grip a thing due to muscle under my fingers.  Fumbled into the room and from the aggressive tussling from both sides, it became apparent that we both preferred the top bunk.  I gave bottoming a go, though, even after my jaw dropped when I saw his thick nine inches.  I wanted him bad, but after a few minutes being distracted by the noisy bed, the tightness of my hole, and the sweat from our fumbling, we decided to call it quits.  Make no mistake, we fucked.  He went deep and I'm sure my ass was a ruined, puffy mess, but you know when you're not going to cum and it's just not working out.

So I'm resting up, waiting for my breathing to even out.  My ear is sealed on his chest, idly playing with the fuzz that covers his body, and I can hear his heart thumping as I ask, "So Canada, eh?"  I tried to make the question as Canadian as possible but my hearing is all warped from the position I'm in that I can't tell if I was successful.

"Yes.  From Montreal.  I just got here today," he says, with an additional French accent twist.

"There's so many Canadians here this week!"

"Yes, we are all escaping the winter.  I always come this time of year, but not for Beef Dip.  It's usually just a coincidence."

I picked up on his intent.  He's generally not into bigger, thicker guys.  I've always found the body-positive nature of bear events and how they're kinda having a bit of an en vogue moment attracts a really diverse crowd, though.

He felt the need to emphasize his meaning.

"I've gone to the events and parties before," he continues. "But the guys are just so..." And here he scrunches up his face and belts out the next word with such vehemence I'm knocked off his chest. "... ugly!"

His body is absolute beauty.  The smile?  Adorable.  The French-Canadian accent?  Sexy as fuck.  The chemistry? Amazing!  But when I dug further and he dropped that statement, I started analyzing the details under the masking.  I immediately reflected on little things I chose to ignore: how he blamed me for having to stop because I was too tight, how controlling he was in a rather privileged way as a top.  And this.  And that.  I had to get off the bed and back up.  I just needed to shake off that word because my thoughts started to turn a bit ugly itself.  I was starting to spiral down into judgements that may or may not be accurate.  Peeked a little too closely into the fine lines and I needed to step back and admire the overlay.  Sometimes it's better to just adjust to the wide angle lens and just soak in the beauty of the totality... or at least just admire from afar.

The vaults of my mind

Sometimes it feels like I'm extraordinarily sensitive to stimuli. My mind wanders often. Something perceived triggers a memory that pinballs to the next and gets battered around five other memories until I've lost the original launch. No worries as I've racked enough points for a few extra plays and something pulls the trigger to propel a ball to start the cycle anew.

I'm watching Bombshell, totally along for the ride the writer creates in this disdain for the culture at Fox News when I suddenly realize that I've fucked a TV executive in his office while office drones went about their day around us. I wasn't his employee so there wasn't any quid pro quo elements of abuse in powers, no icky use of leverage to subjugate another aside from the profane obscenities in hushed tones that came out of my mouth as I face-fucked the guy. I was trying my hardest to coat my cock with that deep throat slime so I can ease up his fuck chute with raw cock to deliver a pent up load. We were fuck buds that happened to work right across the street from each other so we met up at his office when the mood struck us and the work was light.

Then there was that time I fucked the movie exec in his private office during the Christmas lull. Oh and that time I fucked the fireman in the living quarters of the station in the middle of the day. And the time I lured my fuck bud cop to my apartment while he was still working the beat so that I could suck a load out of him while he was still in uniform. I still remember how I was on my knees getting my face pounded and then reaching out to steady myself only to have my hand land on his holster. My hand recoiled quickly as if I touched hot iron. Oh and then there was the time that "straight" investment banker and I met in the stairwell to blow each other...

What started this chain of thoughts? That's right. Sexual harassment. No, never wielded corporate status to gain sexual favors though I obviously skirted propriety in terms of fucking on the job and at job sites. Honestly, it wasn't even sport fucking, wasn't even trying to get more spaces on the sexual bingo card. Just me connecting with men I liked wherever it may have been.

And that's when the rollercoaster of emotions wash over me as I go from fondly remembering the encounters to reflecting on why they're just distant a memory in my life. One guy took a promotion in New York, one retired, one I lost touch because I had to move, the other withdrew to try to be more "straight". Such great connections now just a fond memory, a memory that is never mentioned aloud but is locked up in the vaults of my mind. That's where it all ends up. It always flows to that negative space between the two flippers of the pinball machine as a ball rolls through, trapped in the inner thought ramps of storage.

That is, until some external stimulus drops a credit to free up and launch the ball. But the game is still self-contained in a controlled space off in the corner that nobody really sees.