Snapshot: Surreal

Second time we met and he already knew how I liked it.  Me flopped as comfortably as I could on his oddly shaped sectional, like a melting clock on a Salvador Dali painting.  Him with his ass in the air and his face buried in my crotch.  Our bodies at an acute angle and as with any good, sex-starved cocksucker, the pivot point of that angle is centered around my cock.  All about my cock.  Gears are turning and snapping into place in constant intervals.  Head bobbing at even paces.  The fragile system was hinged upon the connection between lips and dick and I'd mess with the metronome, placing my hand on the back of his head.  Letting it rest there for a second while I tried to memorize each buzzed follicle as it pricked hidden valleys across the contours of my hand before I squeezed firmly and forced him an extra half in on the downstroke to make him gag.  The violence visibly rippling out from his throat through his diaphragm.  And then that groan from his throat that I can feel vibrate through my cock before he redoubles his effort to catch up and rip through the missing beats and back to the natural cadence of harmony.

And as precariously hinged as he was to my cock, my eyes were similarly transfixed to his ass as he knelt in front of me and was trying to please me.  Fuck.  Everything about him seemed to point straight down to his ass.  The huge bundles of muscles holding up his neck broadened out to bulging capped shoulders only to taper down to a trim waist and a deep valley across his spine pointing directly to two full perfectly round globes.  Sir Mix-A-Lot would feint.  With his back slightly arched like that and his ass in the air, it was the strangest, most masculine version of an hourglass figure I could imagine.  The naturally broad shoulders.  The soft dusting of straight black fuzz right below his shoulder blades.  And then the soft curls of dark, short hair that peppered over those round globes.  Confetti of little C's all over.

Before I knew it, I was caressing it.  Then manhandling it.  Then mauling it with my paws.  I don't even remember getting off the couch but I had my cock resting on the bed of soft fuzz nestled between his buns.  I grabbed the bottle of some KY gel that was on the coffee table next to a box of baby wipes and rubbed it in.

In a tone so matter-of-fact and completely at odds with the heat emanating from his body and the pounding heartbeat that was echoing loudly through his torso, he cautioned me that he's hasn't been fucked in over a decade.  And that he's never liked it.  But he stayed there.  On his knees.  Talking to the empty space where my body had nested itself and fluffed up the cushions.  And I took that as a cue to make him want it.  He was shaking.  And sweating.  We were both sweating.  And then it was just a blur of want and needs.  I wasn't the gentlest, but I made him cum.  I made him cum hard with my cock inside him and I pulsed my load into his ass shortly after.  It was a bit pink when I pulled out.  I had really teared into him.  I wasn't my most graceful.

And as I knelt there behind him trying to catch my breath, it was his turn to awkwardly rest on his sectional.  Head down in the cushions.  Half slipping off.  And a single drop of my cum oozed from his hole, a surrealist drip that slipped over the curves of his balls and onto the couch which he had also painted with white streaks.

Snapshot: Distractions

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Musings: Stereotypes

Did I just make it up or do Bartenders have a reputation of being kinda slutty?

I'm pretty sure that's why I didn't pursue him much.  He's actually totally hot.  A younger, shorter version of Keith Colburn of the Deadliest Catch (who I actually bumped into in Seattle one time... Keith, that is, not this doppelganger that I'm talking about).  But in reality, this bartender guy is actually just a really genuine and nice guy that doesn't have sex with his partner anymore but rarely gets a chance to hook up.  I'm sure he gets hit on at the bar he manages, but he also doesn't want to get razzed by his subordinates, I'm sure.

This all came out after I got over my preconceived notions of who he was and asked him to meet me at the local bathhouse for a quick nooner.  It wasn't for group sex.  Just needed a cheap place to play.  And I'm glad I asked him to meet me.  Love getting my hands on and manipulating shorter blokes, especially when they're so eager and hot for your cock.  And he didn't mind sucking face after I dove in to rim him and practically did a deep motorboat on his ass for several long minutes.  He didn't recoil from smelling his musk on me.  And I fucked him in five or six acrobatic positions before I grabbed his cock and milked the cum out of him while sawing my raw dick into his ass.

And then it hit me.  Why the hell was I acting a prude when I'm fucking a dozen different guys over the span of a couple weeks?

Bartenders?  Maybe slutty, maybe not.  Bruce Chang?  Total fucking whore.  'Cause let's review the 24 hours after this hookup: I had to fight off the urge to cum inside the bartender (and trust me, that's hard as hell with a little firecracker like him milking you) 'cause I had plans to meet up an old fuck bud in Hollywood.  When I got to my bud's house that evening, he fucking gave me blue balls.  Fucking dork.  He programmed the wrong name into his phone and was totally surprised when I showed up.  Got a bit awkward so I left after spending an hour or so catching up platonically.  Then, I didn't want to go home so I checked into a bathhouse in the neighborhood (yeah, that's two different ones in one day, now).  But dammit if I wasn't tired and not one of the guys perked any interest...  So I just spent the wee hours of the night trying (emphasis on trying, but kinda hard to do with blaring music and porn sounds coming out of every room) to catch some sleep.  The next morning, I suddenly realize that I was in my other buddy's neighborhood and two seconds later he messaged me on Grindr wondering why I didn't swing by and sleep there (I think he was surprised I showed up in such close proximity).  It's bad when your fuck bud roster is so full you forget about a few of them (but I have to say that's not as bad as programming the wrong trick into your phone and having the wrong fuck bud show up at your door...  just sayin'...).  I would have stopped by this other Hollywood bud's place but I was headed elsewhere.  Where?  To a muscle-bear's house that I've been chasing for a couple months and, as a result of this meeting after the bathhouse, finally got my raw cock up his ass while he squirted a load on me.

To keep up the stereotype, though, I think I need to update the occupation field in my profile to read: Wannabe Bartender.

Snapshot: The other top

It doesn't happen often but that one gaze with the other top where we totally understood where things we were going and silently knew we wanted to try to double-fuck our bottom...  Well, it was also a signal to me somehow, for some indescribable reason... it was the moment I knew that this other top would flip for me.  Not sure what it is.  It's that moment where you know exactly where the other guy is coming from.  It barely lasted a couple of seconds.  But that eye contact was enough to say, "I'm gonna manhandle this kid and make him take both our cocks.  Oh, and you better fuck him hard because you're next and I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll be all fucked out for awhile. Fuck.  Fuckityfuckfuckfuck-fuck."

And it jolts you really suddenly.  Sorta like when you're out and about in a random place full of heteros and you make eye contact with a guy that lasts just a microsecond too long and you get this flash in your pants and your cock stirs because you know that if given the chance, you'd snap together like two magnets and start humping and humping until you're fucking your dicks raw.

Yeah, it was like that.

So four days after the threeway, the other top and I spent over an hour in bed together before I sent him home to his wife and kids with my load up his ass while I ran to the shower to scrub the scent of him off my face (especially the nose) from a really deep rim job and to rinse the taste of his cum out of my mouth before my own partner came home.

When we went to bed that night, I still smelled him on my face, though.  And could smell cum on the sheets.

Snapshot: DP

I waited until the second time he invited me over to play with him and his fuck buddy.  I wanted to make sure that the chemistry was right...  and that physically, his bud had the equipment to pull it off.  The funny thing about it is that I knew he had a hard time taking us on but I just knew he'd want it after I forced the hand.  I knew he'd want to see if he can take two cocks at once.

He's a bit chatty.  An active bottom but not always in the best of ways.  Borderline bossy.  It's all with an eye of an avid porn viewer, reproducing what he's seen regardless of whether or not the reality is as good as the fantasy.  He begs for us to use him, but when we slam it home, he pulls off only to beg to get drilled deep again.  He bucks against us as we fuck, trying to mimic what he sees in the porn flicks despite the fact that he usually bucks us off rather than milk us of our loads.  And when his buddy with a fat 8 inch cock hammered it into him for a good minute or so, I knew I could easily manipulate him to trying to get two dicks in his ass.  Why?  Because I fucking wanted it.  And because I knew the thought of it would make him want to try.  The perceived depravity of it all would pull him through and supersede the doubts of pain and turn physical limits into possibilities.

So when his fuck bud hammered it home too hard and he pulled off, I used that moment to flop on the bed and order him to ride me.  I knew what angle would work so that I could hold anchor while his bud, who was still there at the foot of the bed, moved into the space I left to crawl in and push his cock on through.  When the bottom climbed on top and sank all the way down to the root, I looked over his shoulder to the other top and our eyes connected.  And I didn't break gaze until I knew he and I were silently of the same mind, spreading the ass of the bottom and forcing the bottom to bend over and flop on top of me.  I held the bottom close, distracting him with a deep kiss as the other top climbed up on the bed and greased himself up a bit more.

And then I felt the bottom tense up.  He realized our intentions and started to pull away but I held him close and in place.  Forehead to forehead, I whispered, "I gotcha."  I'm not sure if it was meant as a reassuring statement or one to call him out on the desires I know he harbors.  I then grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back into a kiss while I felt the resistance in his body give way.

For a second.  Then the second dick was invading his ass and he tensed up again.

"C'mon boy.  You got this," I growled and when he felt me keep him in place he resigned himself.  His body slackened, he gave himself over to the fuck.  And I felt the other top's cock slide up over mine.  Harder and faster as the other top built up speed.  Not graceful, just savage.  Raw lust from the other fuck bud just doing what feels good.  Hard enough to get out of control and flop out.

And just as quickly, the moment was gone.  He needed a break.

Still that fantasy was enough to get the bottom to shoot a massive load a few minutes later, adding to a huge load from the other top that covered as much of the sheets as the bottom himself.  And chasing that fantasy was enough for him to overlook the impracticality and beg me over email before I got home to double-fuck him again...  but not heed his calls to take a break.

Snapshot: Intimate ginger pocketcub

I fell asleep for a sec.  Just a sec.  And I think I lulled him to sleep to when I made him curl up onto me and placed his head on my chest.  We were half naked on his couch watching one of the Lord of the Rings movies and I could feel the day's growth scratching at my chest with every rise and fall of each breath I took.  That heat of his body on top of mine starting a thin layer of sweat that sealed us together.  It was entirely comfortable.  Natural.  It just fit.  And when I looked down, to see if he indeed had fell asleep, I saw a face that was totally at peace.  The day's worry wiped from his forehead. The lips slightly curled into a smile, hinting at the joy in something he was imagining.  And I couldn't help but feel that I was somehow interconnected to that joy.  It was a warmth that wasn't measured in Fahrenheit but in heartbeats.

He was gone.  In la-la land.  Totally at peace, abandoning all defenses and lying there in my arms.  It was then that it felt the most intimate.  It wasn't when I drilled him with questions to figure him out and finding out about his recent health issues that he described in such precise fascinating objective detail that ironically felt the most emotional.  It wasn't when I was drilling my meat into every hole that he had and explored every surface of his body to find each trigger point to exploit until fat globs of cum flew out of his incredibly fat mushroom headed cock...  a mushroom head to compare all others to... archetypal even.  Instead, it was then.  Just him letting go and allowing himself to be vulnerable in my arms and soaking up the warmth I had to give.

And completely at odds at how we originally met.  We met at a bar that I might have written about earlier.  He's the guy that I went to fuck when my bud Megathick and I met at a bar and went our separate ways to play before reuniting in bed.  It was sleazy.  It was fairly anonymous.  But it was still passionate.  And when I was in his town again, I looked him up for a repeat.  I found his profile on Growlr and was surprised to find that he proclaimed himself not the hooking up type.  And so it was then, with his little stocky mini-man build resting on top of me, that I finally understood what he craved.  Not a hard cock fucking into his prostate, not a flick of a tongue over his sensitive nips or a hand sliding down his sensitive side.  It was something else.

And I finally saw him.  The raw him.  Totally exposed.

This is him.

And he is fucking beautiful.