Decades

So, I was reading HiredStud's answers to the questions from his readers and one I thought was interesting.  The reader asked what decade would you like to have been born in, or grew up in or something to that effect...  And I think what I find interesting about it is that the instinct is to name something in the past.  But what about the future?  Or the present.  I think my answer would be that I'd like to be a millennial. Just because I've stared blankly at some kids in the face and said simply, "I don't get it."  And also because we live in some interesting times and I kinda wonder how the younger generation navigates it.  Not some nostalgic ponderings on youth culture, or the "You're so lucky that things are like x y and z nowadays" but more the fact that I'm admitting some things are severely fucked up and it must really, really suck.

Me time/us time

So let me say this: using Twitter, tumblr and blogs as a hookup tool is pretty ineffective. Grindr and those other proximity apps use one thing to grease the wheels: geographical desirability. I've had a couple guys hit me up on tumblr and they always seem to dodge me when it comes to setting up a time and location. Then just last month, I set up a really long layover in Phoenix to meet a Twitter follower and then I got there he just went to radio silence. Not a problem because I worked the whole fresh meat angle and let up with some nice folks... And I also got time to spend doing the stuff that I like to do. With all the traveling, I wasn't able to sign up for any sports leagues like I usually do. Don't go to concerts cause I'm not sure where I'll be half the time. I became a boring guy.

So in Phoenix, I had a whole day off to just do whatever. Went to the botanical gardens. Went to the contemporary art museum. Bummed I couldn't get tickets for the night show at the gardens but I did go to this nice restaurant that had good reviews on Yelp.

When I get home, my partner echoed some of the same sentiments that I had about my job. He's a lot more perceptive than I give him credit for. I guess when you live with a guy for fifteen years, you know what's up without asking.

So we decided to be more conscientious about spending more time doing the stuff we like to do together. Unfortunately, that doesn't include me watching him fuck the living day lights out of bottom... Yet...

Warped memory

We've played maybe five times over the course of 15 years and the funny thing is... I always have a distinct memory of that swirl of hair in the middle of his chest. But I also always think of him as hairier than he actually is.

Reflection

I can't tell if the lens of time refracts history with greater clarity or renders it unintelligible from truth

Trucker kid/cub

Still can't believe how young this trucker kid is...
That's us in the back of his cab...

Pulse

I've been sexually active since 14, which is well over twenty years ago. But the first time I had a guy cum down my throat was in college. These days, he'd be described as an otter. Italian. Hairy (which was quite rare in those days). And a thick nine inch cock that I barely knew what to do with. I wasn't even sure if he was digging it until I felt the pulse of his cock. His balls drew up in my hand and then that pulse where his cock stiffens even more and makes me gag as my throat is coated with his spunk. Pulse after pulse, he shot a huge load. More than I could keep up with. Maybe it's because he's the first to shoot down my throat like that but I haven't quite felt anything like it since... Despite many years of experience.

Muscular

I'm kinda surprised how muscular some people are. I mean, this guy looks beefy muscular in the pic but in real life, holy crap. I think he's leaner now. His legs are so lean I can feel the muscles expand and contract just millimeters underneath. And his crazy wingspan and those lats, those muscles toward that back underneath the armpits. Crap. He could easily crush me in a bear hug. And there's something incredibly hot about a guy like that totally going weak kneed crazy as I fuck him.

Downer

I finally got it. He told me he had a paper due for class tomorrow but he wasn't concerned. Beautiful cub in his mid twenties, hairy all over.

I'm driving him back to his apartment after a couple hours where we tried to fuck but couldn't make it work out. He's really tight. And also high on meth. He told me in embarrassment to explain why he couldn't get hard. And it made sense because he kept on making noises with his mouth which I'm pretty sure was dry mouth. His mind was sharp though. He only lost one conversation thread momentarily but you wouldn't be able to tell otherwise.

"God, I'm sorry for this cluster fuck of an experience. I really need to stop. I've been doing it a lot more than I should."

He went on. And I don't remember the exact words but what I kept was the bare raw emotion of regret and remorse.

And I finally connected the dots to why he wasn't so stressed out about school. He was a Berkeley student. Got kicked out. I have a feeling it is somehow related to his drug use. And then enrolled in a community college down here in Southern California. He's basically just running at half capacity. He can ace these courses in his sleep (no offense to the JC system - I'm really not being elitist here). And during the idle time, he turns to old habits.

And that's where I'm frustrated. A beautiful mind. Sharp and so full of promise and he's fucking up and only living to half of his potential. Wasn't frustrated about the bad sex. Even in comparison to our first encounter where he wasn't high and even he admitted he's never shot so hard bottoming before. It wasn't the sex but about him. A beautiful guy all around. And I know as sincere as he is during this confession of contrition, how raw and bare that emotion is before me, I know it's gonna be as if it never happened once his body levels out and that allure of the high gets him again. What frustrates me is that he's so beautiful all around and he feels that need for change but I have a feeling we're gonna be in the exact same place in a couple of days, running on a treadmill when he just needs to round the corner.

Bi guys...

Okay, so I get a little defensive and then the eyes start to roll when I see personals ads or app profiles from guys looking to suck off straight guys or from guys that claim to be straight. It just seems to perpetuate internalized homophobia by idealizing heteronormative conventions. Though, top/bottom doesn't bother me because I think everyone is vers to a degree and they're just trying to shortcut sexual compatibility.

But at the same time, I met up with this married guy off of Growlr. He's married to a woman but they have an open relationship and I have to say, there's something about him that made him a little exotic and kinda turned me on. It's that slight difference in lexicon, frame of reference and overall vibe from being socialized gay and just sexually gay. Does that make sense? He says "dude" a lot and he's in his forties but it's not the surfer "dude" nor the "dude" of a guy trying to reclaim youth by adopting the perceived vocabulary of a younger generation. It was a purely legit and natural "dude." Like, I held his face in my hands and stared him in the eyes and quite earnestly said, "Holy fuck, you're hot" to which he replied with a beaming smile, a bit of a chuckle, "Thanks, dude. You're really cute, too." And a hint of a lisp. Just boyish charm being caught off guard that struck me as something kinda straight-ish. And for some reason that irks me. And it irks me that I'm attracted to him for that slight difference that I can't put my finger on.

And these pics don't do him justice. He's a complete beefcake. I mean, I was mesmerized watching his shoulder muscles, the delts and the traps, expand and contract as I sat back and watched his whole body exert itself so that he could bob on my knob. And you gotta love a fat, thick uncut cock that is rock hard while he's servicing a guy.

Knots

He's a leather guy. A switch, maybe, but usually the dom role as, according to him, they're in short supply in San Francisco. Just a quickie nooner, but he was still profusely spewing accolades afterwards of my talents in such a way that made me kinda swagger for the next few hours until he replenished my pumped ego with further compliments over text, contributing to my little strut for a few hours more. It wasn't me. It was just good sexual chemistry. The kind that echoes over and over in your mind to the point where you're not sure if it was real anymore. Did that really just happen or did time feather the rough edges into fantasy? So you reach out to the other guy that was there to confirm.

And for me, I recall that one moment where I was mid-stride in an animalistic frenzy ripping off his clothes, pawing and pinching and grabbing when I got to his shoes and tried to undo the laces. I couldn't. Grunting in frustration, I took a closer look and paused. The laces of his beat-up red hightop Chucks didn't crisscross in a regular pattern but instead were a chaos of knots pulling and straining against each other as you work your way up the ladder of grommet holes, viscerally beautiful and completely appropriate for him. But the moment passed and I grabbed him by the neck and growled, "Get your shoes off, boy." And the look of complete adoration in his eyes as he croaked out a "Yes, sir" in turn made me rock hard. The crisscross of a simple exchange that worked my stomach to knots.

Responsibilities

I was kinda horrified when I realized that I misunderstood what the 19 year-old kid was trying to intimate when he said he wanted to try sucking cock.  I figured he meant that he's fucked around with guys before but just has never sucked anyone.  That wasn't the case.  He's never even kissed anyone.  Guy nor girl.  His answer to what he was into was just a bundle of nervous questions.  He simply didn't know.

He and I had a little circle jerk with another dude, which he sucked for a couple of seconds before stopping because the lube made things taste bad.  And all he could do was ask in earnest, "Am I doing it right?"

I just felt bad that his first time of any sort of sexual contact was with a bunch of craigslist strangers.  So I kept in touch and next time I was in town we got together.  Lots of making out, body contact, led him gently to explore.  We spent a couple hours together as I tried to figure out what he wanted to do without asking him.  Just a silent conversation between our bodies.  And I ended up making him want my cock up his ass and dumped my load up there.  And honestly, the irony about the responsibility totally didn't occur to me until he, quite tentatively, asked me over email if he should get tested.  Oh boy.  I sent him a long email back with rants about how he should never be ashamed to get tested nor afraid to ask and how not to fall into the trap of using testing habits as a proxy gauge of promiscuity.

Then we talked about he hasn't once had an orgasm with me.  Easy to trigger one on his own manually but with me, for some reason he can't in my presence.  So I thought maybe he's just not really a bottom.  Next time in town, I tested that theory and nope.  He's not a top.  It wasn't just the inexperience.  It was more than that.  He's gonna disappoint quite a few bottoms too because he has a massive eight-plus inch rod.

I still feel, for some reason, as if I owe him this one thing: to find out what makes him cum.  But I think if you ask him, he'd say that I didn't owe him anything.  And that simply talking openly and honestly was exactly just what he needed.

BiMarriedDad

In case you're wondering what the dirty daddy is packing...

Blogging is weird

Well, blogging about your hookups is weird, at least.  I mean, I didn't get it earlier when CoolTop and I chatted about it but you do develop this thing where you're hooking up to blog about it as well as hooking up to have fun.  And then you start to wonder how much you're doing it for the culture which you're blogging about as much as yourself.  It's subtle, but it's there.  Like you get frustrated on a hookup app and then you take a screenshot of the conversation so that you can later come back to it and blog about it.  It goes beyond the natural boasting and sharing among a small group of friends.  Sorta like the cultural anthropologist's dilemma.  How do you get close enough to your subjects without interfering and changing the culture you're trying to observe.  But, oddly, the subject here is your own authentic voice.

Contrasts

I love fucking a bigger guy...
And then flipping him over and fucking the cum out of him...

Random thought

So back in high school I used to run around the hiking trails in woodland fatigues with throwing knives because I had masculinity issues. Now the only daggers I throw are letters assembled into strings of sarcasm aimed at coworkers in chat bubbles while wearing neatly pressed slacks and a slim fit color-blocked shirt that echoes the indigo hue of my wing tips... And I'm completely fine with that.

Okay, I'll bite

I'm not a fan of leaving marks. Maybe it's the cheater aspect and I wouldn't want someone to give me a hickey or whatever. But after making the obligatory innuendo from the term "bite-sized chunks" from my last post I was reminded of this, which happened last week... The top is my handiwork while the bottom was apparently from some pup-play activity. Still not a fan of marks but still a big fan of driving my bottom buds wild, whatever it takes...

Changes...

I'm still around...

The long periods between blog posts were actually because I was busy gettin' busy.  Increased travel schedule, meaning more time in airport hotels, meaning more time fucking around with my fellow travelers.  Probably one of the reasons why guys started blurring together.  But the travels also affected my relationship with my partner and my friends so I've just been spending most of my time back home with friends and family instead of on the computer rehashing what a dirty whore I've been.  Ha!  Not really wearing that badge with shame nor pride.  Just a fact.  Fucking around with thirty guys in thirty days...  kinda qualifies in the whore category, right?  Ha!

Think the blog is gonna change in the upcoming months.  I still need an outlet for this one side of me.  Not sure how it's gonna change.  Just probably going to be more fragmented thoughts than stories. Bite-sized chunks.

Hope you guys are gonna continue the ride with me!

Cheers!

And clear

I got a tumblr notification and my face immediately flushed with embarrassment.  The screename that liked one of my stories is the same screename as one of my favorites from Growlr.  He lives down the street just a little ways, but our schedules never quite meshed so we've only met once.  I'm not sure why I'm embarrassed.  Just being discovered, perhaps?  Discovered as a whore when I make it seem like every person I meet is special and cherished.  Can't both be true?

So I immediately message the guy on Growlr and asked him if he's put two and two together.  Apparently he has.  For several months now and he still wants to meet up again.  And it comforts me a little at the heels of the panic of forgetting in that earlier post.  I really remember remember this guy.  I don't remember the actual details of the sex, but I do remember him.  His boyishly handsome face.  His Pillsbury Doughboy shirt, playfully and ironically apropos to his cubbish figure if that oxymoron makes sense.  And that hunger and lust.  I remember the visit being short.  I remember it being aggressive.  I remember fucking him pretty relentlessly and harshly and him messaging me again and again for more afterward.

And now I will always remember him.  Remember him as the guy that has gotten a deeper glimpse of me every post I put out there, seeing me figuratively a little more and more, and still aching to see more of me in the flesh.

Patchy

It was bound to happen.  Actually, I was on a string of business trips where I only saw home for about four days for a whole month.  In that time, I pretty much averaged fucking a new guy once a day for that entire month.

So he messages me and says, "Wish we can meet again".

Wait.  Did you say "again"?

I didn't remember the first time!  I mean, I remember chatting to this guy.  The pic was familiar.  But I don't remember meeting up at all.  That freaked me out.  I have absolutely no recollection of what this guy looked like in person.

Then he says, "You fucked me good."

Bah!  What's the point of fucking a guy if you can't remember how good it was?!

I searched through my notes.

Nada.

Then I just meditated.  For awhile.  And then it came to me.  Yes.  I remember him now.  And what he does for a living.  And our conversation.  And the fact that he had a really stylish suitcase that was kinda retro in a way.  Big fuzzy bear.  That carries a Coach murse.

But I still don't remember the sex.

The somewhere in between -type

So on the one hand you have that type that rarely hooks up.  You feel honored that they made the exception but a little guilty too 'cause you can't offer anything more.  Then there's the guys that are all about the numbers.  Load collectors, hole counters.  Guys that are already distracted by the next conquest before you're even finished fucking.  Those guys you get an ego boost when they contact you afterward 'cause hey, it's nice to be noticed in a crowd.  Then there's the rest.  Most guys are somewhere in between those two extremes and when it clicks right, you know it immediately.  It's not about what happens next.  The experience is validated right away and all you can do is laugh in the cummy mess you've made.

His Grindr profile said he was curious.  Airport hotel.  Lots of travelers looking for fun and the transitory nature of their stay makes it easy to indulge in activities with no strings attached.  You leave it all behind in a matter of days.  Turns out he's married.  7 years.  No kids ("Thank God," he says but I'm not quite sure why he's thankful.  Too much responsibilities?  Too much chaining him to his lady?  Just hates kids?  I'm not sure).  One of those average height beefy guys that pose in front of a mirror flexing, showing their natural musculature.  It usually makes me laugh, especially with the curious comment.  Kinda makes it seem like they're wrestling with some masculinity issues in defining their sexual identity, even though they don't really relate.

I had to fetch him from downstairs as he was staying at the hotel next door and my place requires a key to go upstairs.  I immediately notice his bouncy gait.  Side to side with a bit of a bounce like he's had too much caffeine and needs to expend some energy.  Bull in a china shop comes to mind.  Looked him in the eye, shook his hand and introduced ourselves.  Fuck I was floored.  Strong grip.  Blue eyes that I could see straight through.  And this raspy baritone vibrato that's so damn distinct.  Sorta like Vin Diesel.  I couldn't get him in bed fast enough.

There, we spent long moments making out like a couple of high school kids.  Long, lingering moments that swayed to and fro like poetry written in cursive.  Long dips below the line evolving into curves of other letters before they finally stop for a little space before resuming again.

I fucked him, wrapped.  Fucked him with our lips locked and his legs wrapped around me pulling me in closer.  Fucked him with my hand wrapped around his cock and our chests mashed together.  Fucked him until the motions of the fuck stroked him in rhythmic waves against the shore.  Fucked him until he sealed us together with his cum.  Fucked him until his spasming ass milked a load out of me.

He laughed.  I laughed.  I was completely drained.

Rolling off, I flung the condom off and landed on the bed on my side.  Rolled him over a little so that he was on his side as well and then pulled him to me until we made a pair of parenthesis.

I dozed off for a second.  Not much, I don't think.  Consciousness just slowly washed over me.  I was still holding him to my chest and my cock, though it never went fully soft, got hard again.  And with just a little bit of cum still oozing from my dick and his previously lubed ass, I started nudging at his hole again.  I was pretty much raw fucking him with half my cock.  With my one hand underneath him pulling him closer to me, my other reached around and found his cock had hardened up again.  And as I whispered random thoughts against the nape of his neck to send shivers down his spine, he shot again.  This time onto the sheets.

Something tells me that this isn't his first time.  The "curious" thing passed awhile ago.  And even though we talked about next time, it never happened.  I don't think we needed it.  Because at that moment, everything aligned perfectly.  And we didn't need any subsequent validation.  That was just fucking good, but we both still sought different fucks the next day.  Just two guys taking full advantage of being away from home.  No strings.

The expert hookup type

I guess an innocent reader would catch the headline and read it as "collecting rain to smell" but I don't think anyone on Grindr would be that innocent.  No mistaking what those raindrops and pig snout emojis meant.  Unapologetically efficient and direct, he sent me body and ass pics within the first couple messages.  Gave me the room number to his hotel in a few following that.  And he had no qualms about telling me I'd be load #4.  And as awkward as some guys are about a hookup, there are others that run the other extreme.

I was pushing the door open to his room within a half an hour of the first message.  Older than I expected, but the pictures were his.  Same slim body.  Same fuzzy chest.  Tiny waist and a big bubble butt that made me start to stiffen up before I even got my hands to my belt buckle.  He was waiting in a dark hotel room with porn playing on his laptop, his phone close by with grindr fired up and lube right next to him.  And he was tiny.  He was kneeling on the ottoman bent over the edge of the bed lining up the next load before I even got started.  And as impersonal as that was, the fact that he was on an ottoman was the opposite.  He knew the bed would be to high and his height made feet flat on the floor awkward.  The ottoman gave his ass the perfect height to line up and just shove in.

I thought the lube would be unnecessary.  I was the fourth guy there, after all, but fuck I needed it.  He has a talented ass, knowing just how to milk a cock.  Tight on the outstroke, looser on the way in.  And walls of heat that just seems to soak in any precum I may given him immediately.  I could easily have lost my load within the first minute, but I grabbed his ass and just marveled at it.  Two perfect globes sucking me in.  I hammered him hard enough for him to beg me to go easy on him just to keep on going and to push even deeper.  Then long dicked in.  Pushed all the way in and pulled all the way out to see if I could drag some cum with it.  He kept it all inside him, the fucker.

I gave him what he wanted.  Another load.  Didn't even kick off my shoes and only had taken off my shirt because it was getting in the way of the fuck.

He messages me later saying that he got a total of 8 that night.  And we continued to chat about our hometowns and the best places to fuck.  Two fellow pigs comparing notes.  It took him awhile to ask, but he wanted me over again.  That night or the next.  Seems like even the most experienced and even the most impersonal sometimes want to extend an experience, extend the strings that bond us together.  Even if it's just ever so slightly.

Not the hookup type

When Sam Smith achingly explains in that reflective tone on the cusp of falsetto that he's not that great at the hookup, I can't help but empathize.  Not because I'm the same way.  Ha!  That's obviously not the case as this blog shows, which even as it encroaches on a quarter thousand entries, it only captures a fraction of my experiences.  But it's not quite sympathy either.  See, I almost approach these encounters with the same hope of possibilities that I do when listening to the radio, or Pandora, or a music blog... Soundcloud...  It's that anticipation in the exploration that I crave and that big payoff when I listen to something new that penetrates the physical layers and strums something deep within beyond the actual, beyond the logical, straight to the emotional.  That moment of discovery that the record industry is trying so desperately trying to commoditize in light of the fracture of record labels.  That moment where something just utterly blows you away.  Yes, you think.  And you play it over and over to scratch that itch and revisit that flood of emotions, good or bad, that's an echo of that time that you found that new thing that just hit the right nerve and it harmonized to set the fuse leading to firecracker explosions of fuck yeah.

But that's just me.  My promiscuity that has resulted to a level of frivolity that not everyone understands.  It fills that space where I'm not looking for another significant other.  But my sexual conquests aren't anonymous disposable napkins either.  To fulfill that elation from discovery, you gotta dig in and know a guy or be perceptive enough to deduce it from his microactions.  Really drill it into a guy while you're drilling into a guy.  Thoroughly fuck him in five different dimensions.

So I get it when you're a Sam Smith.

He works for a university in the financial aid department and finally decided to move out to his own apartment.  We've been chatting off and on for a couple years and finally our schedules worked out.  He knew what was up.  I didn't hide the fact that I was partnered.  And he didn't hide the fact that he has a week off and wouldn't mind breaking in his new apartment.

He poured me a glass of wine when we got there and we talked.  Talked about everything and nothing.  Family, real estate, pets.  Educational institutions.  Technology.  My hand was always present.  On his neck, stroking his back, hovering over his forearms to lightly rake his fuzz in different directions.  He sighs and loses his train of thought every now and then when I do something that awakens something in him.  And as my questions probe to lighten the shadows in the picture I've formed in my mind, my lips formed things other than words.  Not words but symbols, a character he can reach at the crossroads of his mind between the personal and the sensual.  To the point that our lips meet to vocalize a need beyond the words.

And yes, we ended up in his bed where I fucked a load out of him, a load so urgent it rained down onto his pillow and shot his eye.  Cum right in the eye.  Funny that despite over a couple decades of experience, when I'm fucking and stroking a guy I forgot to aim somewhere other than straight at his face when he's about to cum.  You can't help but be distracted when a guy likes naked and emotionally bare before you.

He messages me an adequate number of days after to say he enjoyed the encounter and with as wistful of a sigh that can be expressed over messages in an app he notes that I was the first hookup in a long time.  Almost a year.  And he scratches as the memories of our passionate kisses and my hard cock in his ass to freshen them in his mind.  Then he offers me a place to stay when I'm in town.  I understand the sentiment.  But for me, it's less about shortcutting that path to intimacy, less about resting upon a proven foundation where the chemistry works and isn't awkward and is comfortable, and it's more about reliving that memory of discovery, that moment where I got to bathe in new perspectives and new ideas, new thoughts and interactions.  So yes, I'd love to play again.  But I'm gonna feel like a bit of a fraud as I evade the questions about my promiscuity.  I won't lie but through lies of omission.  Because I feel this intense responsibility to preserve that delight of discovery that first time, both for me and for him.  And next time I'm with him, I'll honor that by being fully present.  'Cause that's what he wants.  That's what he needs.  I see you kiddo.  And because I see you, I hide a part of me behind a (sheer) curtain.

Throat - splat, gulp

You can tell when a guy is close sometimes.  His legs tense up and relax.  Not quite thrusting but flexing to the point where the hand you have on his thigh feels like tightly woven nautical rope.  Impossibly thick strands of dense fiber.  Raw power under your hand before it relaxes into softer flesh.

Then the toes curl.  Wiggle.  Flutter in the air.

I'm with the supershooter cop again.  I don't always write about him when he visits.  But this time stands out because I'm in a quandary.  I really want to see him shoot.  But today, I also want that load flooding my mouth.

He's on the brink.  And I make my decision.

His cock is incredibly wet with that deep throat slime that his cock has dragged out of my mouth so my dry hands easily sop it up as lube as I cheat.  Sucking him off with a little hand action to assist.  And right before he shoots, I pull back just enough to see it shoot.  And with my mouth open, he shoots a hard squirt straight to the back of my throat even though my face is hovering serveral inches above him.  Before it can backwash, I gulp it down and then suck his cock back down again to get the final shots straight down the pipe.

My decision was to be greedy and have both.  Have my cake and eat it too.

Dirty daddy

I felt a little dirty, but also a little special.

The married cub that I play with is showing me pics of his newborn.  And then his two boys.  A beautiful family.  Not surprised at the prolific progeny since his fat seven inch cock shoots a big load. He's a skilled top that knows how to hit it deep.  I know from personal experience.  In fact, as we're talking about his family, I'm trying hard to keep his load in my ass, 'cause I know it's gonna leak down my leg if we don't wrap up our conversation soon.  And I'm wondering if he's feeling it too with my load up his ass as well.

We just flip fucked and loaded each other and here we are having a rather casual conversation about family.  I guess it came about since he no longer works near me.  If we're gonna meet up, we're gonna have to do it at his place now.  He'll be working closer to home and I'd have to sneak over to his house while the kids are at daycare.  A quick nooner.

I think he's pretty comfortable with me now.  We've shared a couple of fuck buds, spit roasting them, double penetration, the works.  I especially love fucking in his cum.  It's been well over a year.  And the raw sexual energy he has with the bottoms we share is completely different than when we play one-on-one.  Instead of fucking a hole, we're trying to turn each other on until one of us finally pants like a bitch in heat begging for dick.  And so I'm thinking about that.  That and how fuckin' hot this guy is.  Greying at the temples.  Pretty soft spoken, a stark contrast to his personality in the bedroom.  An Ohio boy with freckles all over his shoulders and back.  Cute but fucking wild as hell.

And so he lets his guard down and accepts me into his circle a bit.  Kinda special.  But so fuckin' dirty too.  Cause I'm staring at his pics but thinking about his leaking load getting fucked back into me.

Spectacle/s

I pay him a compliment.  Honest.  Sincere.  I just let it hang there as he sits with it and blushes.  I don't follow-it up with anything more.  Just one complimentary sentence.  And I try hard not to fill in the gap of silence with meaningless lyrics but instead letting the melody inbetween the spaces move him.  It's hard.  Hard not to explain or to cover it up with incessant noise that would detract from my intent.  I just want him to know how beautiful he is.

He's appeared in these pages before.  Back then, just a couple of years ago, he was a virgin and I was the oldest guy he's ever been with.  Just barely of legal drinking age and he stopped me with great courage when I moved to fuck him.  He was saving it.  He tells me this now, after I've just fucked the cum out of him.  Despite being quite clumsy with his tight hole, he remarked with astonishment after a couple of strokes in, "No fucking way!"  And then he shot.  Shot hard and far again, drenching the pillows and hitting the headboard.  He normally takes a long time to cum but I fucked it out of him in mere seconds.

But I wasn't his first.  That he gave to a couple that spit roasted him after a he had a particularly hard day at work.  He was just over it all.  And he wanted was to get fucked.  Just wanted to get rid of his virginity.  So he dove headlong into some piggy play.  No more saving it.  Just getting rid of it with a bang in the most spectacular way.  It had become a burden, just like work.

It was a beautiful story told in such stark nakedness that it compelled some empathy.  Not wistful regret or anything like that.  Just a noble spirit sharing a beautifully honest story.  And I thanked him for that with a compliment that ached to rise to the level of sincerity it was sourced from.

A pregnant pause later, he says, "I've lost some weight."

"Stop.  Look at me.  I don't mean it that way.  You really are beautiful.  End of story."

I wish my words were delivered with the amount of finality it was meant to convey but it came out haltingly as I measured in my head what the appropriate combinations of words would make him truly see.  The deep responsibility I felt in making him share my insight cut across the words and chopped everything up.  It just felt like I was saying something expected, something politically correct.

And as my eyes darted around the room for inspiration, they land on his glasses.  Spectacles.  An apt term as I offer him a compelling vision and he's instead enthralled by the spectacle of his clouded lens.

The giggles

One of the inexplicable pet peeves of mine are people that laugh at a joke and say "That's funny."  Or worse yet, "This is funny."  For some reason, the latter sounds like an even more formal way of telling you that your joke was a dud.  It's as if they're acknowledging the attempt at humor but instead of just laughing they're compelled to try and cover up any insincerity behind their laugh with confirmation that "Yes, that was a joke and I got it despite your utter failures in comedic timing."  And related to that are the laughter that comes from people in a way that you can spell it out.  Ha-ha-ha.  Literally ha ha.  Not just new onomatopoeia, a close approximation of the sound but more like a literal phonetic spelling.  That irks me too.

Well, it did until I met him.

He works by the airport.  Partnered.  A fellow cheater.  He couldn't meet up in the evening but could fudge the clock a little to leave a little early on the way into work for a little nookie.

And his body is so sensitive that he giggles.  Anywhere I touch.  Just the hot breath against his neck.  And his ears?  Forget it.  I have to scrape him off the ceiling.  Squirms and giggles.  Ha ha ha.  Stuttering of the ha tumbling out of his mouth in stark contrast to the sexiness I was trying to assert.  But it came from deep within.  Genuine.  Complete abandon.  Hahas from the core.  And I fuckin' loved it.

And his nipples were wired.  Every little thing I did to them made his cock twitch.  So I pressed the boundaries.  Soft touch up his side to the giggles stopped by a hard munch on the nipple as he thrashes.  Giggles and thrashes and sighs in wild abandon until I worked a little bit of spit on my cock and shoved in.  Hard.  Fuck he was tight.  He gripped it hard and yelled out in a mangle of laughter, pain and a moan of pure exhaustion.  I continued to munch on his nips while gripping his shaft and fucking my cock in and out of his tight hole until I felt him cum, setting me off in quick succession.

"Holy fuck," he says afterwards.  And giggles.  Pure and clear.

I was chewing hard on his nips in an attempt to mark them for a few days, to make him spring a stiffy every time he puts on his shirt, every time he walks and his shirt brushes against them just so.  And it worked.  I checked in on him after three days and he still remembers the hour we spent together.  His nips still sore.  A constant reminder.  And as I was reading his reply, I couldn't help but hear that giggle that makes me rethink things.  Not affectation.  Just a deep rooted natural reaction.

Trucker revisited

My cock led the way no matter how hard I tried to stick to my guns and snub the kid.  I reached out to a trucker that had a profile on the apps.  Younger guy.  Didn't realize it was the same guy that I chatted with months prior, the same guy that spun vehement fireballs of disdain for the flake that he pegged me to be, despite the fact that he was the one that disappeared at the appointed time "because his cell phone died." But fuck I wanted him.  Or at least the romanticized notion of what he'd be like in my head.  Turns out I'm glad I did.  In fact, I'm secretly hoping he strokes my ego a bit by dropping a note next time he blows through town.

Roll back to twenty years ago and I was reading this blog from a trucker that posted his exploits on geocities...  or was it the nifty archives.  I don't remember which, but what I did remember was the eloquent prose that drew me in.  And the cowboy motif that peppered his pages like rococo.  The sexualization of the stoic solitary masculine figure spending hours upon hours on vast open landscapes, only to reach out to others in fleeting, momentary encounters of raw, primal sexual instinct.  That struggle of the solitary introvert, tumbling out in majestic paragraphs of personal truths way before what Brokeback Mountain came to the table.  So, I'm completely aware of the fact that I've come to him both with heavy expectations and a filter that skews the truth, wanting some sort of vague prophecy fulfilled or quintessential archetype confirmed.  Regardless of whether the joys I experienced were just a fiction I've created in memory, I'll humble myself to throw myself at him again and again despite the previous misunderstanding.

Yes, the sleeper cab of a big rig is surprisingly huge.  Or maybe it felt especially big given that I'm only 5'8" and he's a good four to five inches shorter than me.  Quintessential cub.  I'm amazed that this kid, just a couple years older than what's deemed appropriate to drink is taking on the responsibility of hauling tons of equipment over miles and miles.  And I feel protective as he fits into my arms snugly.  His knees buckle under him when my fingers spider crawl up his back.  His skin leaps off his body in ripples of bumps as I caress his back.  His body aches for touch.  And perhaps that's the source of his frustrations.  The promise of someone to hold him snatched away by a dying cell phone.

When my fingers dug under his shorts, they found furry mounds that made my cock lurch.  Soft fuzz, not just peppering his globes but a soft pelt.  As smooth as he is above the waist, he was just as inexplicably furry under the waist.  That turned me on so hard that I pulled him even closer than I thought I could and started to devour his neck.  Bending him in impossible angles, we tumble to his bed and I continue to explore his sensitive areas with my tongue.  A flick over the nipple, a twirl.  Nibble.  Suck it in deep and hold with my teeth before simultaneously flicking the tip with my tongue.  The sides of his stomach are equally sensitive.  I play on the bridge of laughter as he squirms under me, never quite crossing but dancing on the cusp.  And his balls are equally sensitive.  A flat lick from his ass to the tip before lapping at the precum that pooled at the tip.  Rolling one in my mouth before lick a smooth part of his balls.  He nearly screamed when I started to chew the area between his balls and thigh, that crevice that just doesn't get enough attention.  His cock was the perfect size for me.  Not too large, but thick.  I had a good time sucking it deep to the back of my throat to let him feel the crown pop in and out of my throat as my tongue fluttered at the base.  I didn't realize I had worked him so close that when I worked my way back up and started making out with him, it only took a couple of tugs before he fired off, sheepishly.  His eyes half lidded in a permanent look of sleepiness, I could see an even deeper sense of satisfaction.

I licked him clean.  I couldn't find a handy towel to use.

And when I collapsed next to him, he curled onto my chest.  Rise and fall to my breath, and a contented sigh escapes his lips.  And he didn't need to break his tendency towards introversion to tell me all I needed to know.  I idly traced patterns of thought across his forearms in answer.  But my mind was also racing 'cause a part of me wanted more.  A part of me wanted to send the kid into the open road with a load buried deep inside him to keep him company, a physical gesture to accompany his thoughts.  And this fleeting memory of connection.

Attention

It was a long while before I realized what was happening.  I had let it all go.  Usually, a part of me is probing and exploring.  Trying to figure out what gets a guy turned on.  And then aggressively exploiting the facts I uncover, whether it's varying degrees of tactile responses as my hands sweeps down a guy's side or the moan from my tongue lapping at just the right angle of a guy's neck or the shiver when my hot breath tickles the nape of his neck as my cock presses against his hole.  Then I fuck the shit out of them.  But this was different.  Before I realized it, I'm the one being explored.  I was just lying there.  Not focusing on them but on me.  Yes.  Them.  Plural.  I was just focused on what I was feeling.  Four hands were idly running up and down my body.  They already knew some triggers.  The nipples.  The back.  And I was helpless between the two of them just soaking up the attention and purring before they looked at each other and with a moment of recognition, that lust in their eyes, they started to passionately make out above me.  And that was the best trigger of all.

C is about six or seven years older than R and though I don't think they meant to have a daddy-son thing going but you can't help but note the look of adoration in R when he defers decisions over to him and level of brooding respect that C counters with in accounting for his other half's needs.  R is playful.  Excitedly talks about things going on, speeding down channels of discourse before haphazardly mowing down things in his way.  And he has a habit of randomly flopping down on top of me.  Over two hundred pounds of cub meat flopping down on a guy a third lighter.  I was impressed by that.  He had no qualms about it.  And that weight just pinning me down into the bed kinda turns me on.  But it wasn't really meant to be sexy.  At least not at first.  So I wiggle my hands from underneath and then lightly run it up his trunk as his body convulses off me with a "No fair" bellowed out at me.  And C just silently watches.  Bemused expressions with a hint of exasperation as he witnesses the shenanigans. And then as C mocks a tantrum from the edge of the bed, R says, "Come on now, R...  use your words..."

Two gaymer cubs.  A culture I've always lived on the outskirts of.  Aware of but never really a part of despite working in technology.  And then there's me.  Here I am jammed in the middle of the two of them.  Smaller guy just soaking in the attention.

They break from their kiss above me and look down.

"What is it?" C asks, half with legitimate concern and half with embarrassment from being caught in some self-consciousness.

"I'm just here enjoying the view..."  And with that, one takes a dive for my lips while the other for my cock and I'm lost in an overload of sensory reception.

Cubby Canuck

"So, do you have a thing for cubs?" he asks.

I had just grabbed him from behind.  His cute bubble butt in a pair of well worn and graying Aussiebum briefs just beckoned me.  He was scurrying away, trying to clean himself of his own DNA that I fucked out of him just moments before.  Yeah, one of those guys that just can't bear to have cum drying on themselves.  Even if it's their own.

I hugged him tight to my chest.  Big spoon to his little spoon, standing right there just inches away from the reprieve of the bathroom.  And as my one arm hugged him close, the other hand started to rub his small tummy, working the cum into the sparsely fuzziness.  He knew exactly what I was doing and giggled before playfully working himself out of my clutches and then pushing me back.

"Yeah, I have a little soft spot for the cub-types," I say, though immediately after I said it I kinda wondered why this came up.

He grunts.  It's a dismissive grunt tinged with disdain.  "Stop.  Don't you know that all cubs don't really want to be cubs.  They're all dying to be the twinks that they were a few years ago."

I really want to grunt the same condescending way he did.  I highly doubt that generalization.  The term has been coined as a source of empowerment to the point where they're a desired commodity.  And I kinda resented the implication that he was being used as a fetish instead of individually evaluated for compatibility in a discerning way, a method that goes beyond lazy generalizations.  But instead I asked, "So is your boyfriend Asian?"

"Well, yeah, he's Taiwanese but it's not like I've always liked Asians or exclusively seek them out."  Ha!  I didn't go there.  He's the one that did.  I think I successfully turned the tables so that he can empathize with the trap that he set me out on when he asked me the cub thing.

At that point, though, he was a little even more endearing.  For as much as he was extroverting confidence, there was a little bit of insecurity showing through.

Crazy Canuck.  I wasn't hard as a rock after donning the condom, wrecking his hole because of some idealized fantasy in my head.  I was hard like that because of him and the way we gelled together.

I reached out and pulled him to me into a kiss.  Pushing my body against his.  Making sure some of his cum will be smeared all over and impossible to get out.  Okay.  So maybe not a cub fetish exactly but a cum fetish admittedly so.

Next time

"Next time, I want you to breed me," he messages on Growlr.  I'm at once both sprung and frustrated as hell.

Next time?  We don't even live in the same city!

I get that bottoming can be a really intimate thing for some.  But for me, if I'm feeling it then I'm feeling it and bring it on.  I picked up on the last line of his profile.  He likes he balls tugged hard.  No tentative exploration.  Direct manhandling.  So, as we were making out, I tested that and gave him a rather solid yank and he responded favorably.  And then I varied it a little by lightly scratching them with my finger tips, five finger strumming an imaginary instrument in a quick staccato rhythm.  Then a roll against the palm like Japanese beads.  Then, a playful slap.  One that you couldn't ignore.  He reflexively crunched over even while I felt his cock harden in my other hand.  Another tug, keeping them taught why my fingers on my other hand let go of his cock to play that rhythm again.

The dance continued while I positioned myself between his legs, my hard cock insistently throbbing.  The head reached out and made contact in the valley underneath his balls.  No lube.  My hips automatically started thrusting against him.  And as I was randomly indulging in a lazy list of maneuvers for ball play, grinding against his ass, I looked up at him and saw this need and hunger in his eyes.  His brows turned up in a plea.  Full head of perfectly groomed and styled blond hair darkening down his slack jaw of a ginger beard, he was in need.  But when I applied more pressure against his hole, insisting some relief, he shook his head no.

I backed off.

I don't quite remember how he got off.  I just remember contentedly drawing larger and larger figure eights on his tummy.  Using his massive cum load as ink, my digits became a fleshy quill illustrating symbolic characters of our time together.

I was content back then.  But with that message he sent me after I left, now I'm far from satisfied.

Whoops!

Apparently my last post was written in grey font on a grey background.  Ha!
Fixed that.

Cheers!

Weaknesses

My fingers softly danced over the little goosebumps that formed, reading flesh-made braille that started at the small of his back and worked it's way up. And as my lips softly touched his neck, just below the ear, his body spewed out a couple more chapters for my fingers to read. His body shook when my lips worked up to his ear and my tongue danced across the lobe. He nearly jumped out of his skin when I bared my teeth and chewed on his neck like a starving vampire, one hand grasping a handful of wavy locks and yanking down to pull his head back. He was moaning throughout.

"You've found my weakness," he finally managed to utter. It was meant as a whisper but the deep baritone voice boomed loudly against the frail layers of night. It was a voice that matched his body, but not his age. Mid twenties. Well over six feet tall. 6'5" in fact with a slender but masculine build.

I didn't answer him. My mouth was busy for one. Secondly, any answer would have sounded weak reverberating against the boom of his announcement that shook the night.

When I entered him, I was playing with his impressive cock. Thick and meaty and of considerable length, especially if you imagine it uncurled. The unit curved up, but not in the usual way. It curled up and to the side, so that the motion of stroking his cock was natural against the physics of my shoulder. I had rimmed him a bit and was gliding up and down the valley of his mounds with my own insistent cock, using nothing but my drool as lube, until I worked up enough precum to drop his hips a little, reangle my attack and press solidly against his hole. And I was watching his face, watching him hold his breath. And with every gasp he let escape from his lips, I felt his hole open for a microsecond that let my rod slip a little more and more inside him. I felt that gasp. From his quivering hole to his leaking cock, all the while watching his face as he started up at me. Not shy. Unfazed. Looking deep into my eyes as his body let out little gasps of pressure. Pressure and pleasure. Anticipation that tightens up his body and his ass so tight before it boils over to an escape of steam, that gasp of sensory overload that the body can't contain and then just accepts for a fraction of a second, accepting another inch of my cock, accepting the sensations of my hand stroking his cock, and letting out just that tiny breath, that little leak of precum before tightening up again.

After just a moment after bottoming out in his ass, I fucked the hell out of him until he squirted a large, dense load of pearly cum all over himself. It was one of those moments where he was so fucked out he could only laugh.

We both took a chance, and it paid off. He had been at the airport flying standby and got bumped overnight. Rather than spend the whole night trying to get some shut eye on the floor by the gates, I suggested he come by my hotel just a couple blocks down and then catch the shuttle in the morning. I was a gentleman, though. I even offered the pull out sofabed in my room if he didn’t feel comfortable sharing the king-sized bed. He had a great energy, carefree navigation of obstacles with gentle improvisation rather than dour bitterness. Comical moment where I woke him up at 4:30 in the morning and he shrugged it off saying that his clock was still on Arizona time and California is an hour behind. Except, of course, that Arizona doesn't observe daylight savings and we're now on the same time. It was endearing, but I couldn't help but feel like I was taking advantage of a kid in a bit of a pickle. But all I wanted to say to him was that he found my weakness effortlessly too. Just by him being him.

Humiliation

He was gagging on my cock, his hole body making a huge retching noise when I said it.  "Yeah, that's a real man's cock.  Some day, your little inverted boy-cock will be like this."

Jackpot.  His eyes widened and he made a small whine before he suddenly dove to take my cock down his throat to the root, making himself gag but still going for it.  I hit the right nerve.

"Can you even get hard yet, little boy?  You become a man yet?  Do you even know what I'm talking about?  This is what a man needs to make babies.  One day, you'll understand."

He looked up at me, "Please?  Can you show me daddy?"

Of course, this is completely ridiculous, saying this to a guy a dozen years my senior.  Good looking guy.  Married.  Kids.  Has one small tattoo back when he was a wild youngster but now he's settled down.  In life.  And in his body.  A little beefy, not messy at all.  Just a guy that's eased into his body.  Still very much easy on the eyes, especially with those piercing grey eyes and those blonde eyebrows that turn up when they plead with you.

We're both at airport hotels right next to each other and I had walked over.  Was just about to head up the elevators before he snuck in a small fact.  He's curious about being submissive and likes to be humiliated.  That was all he noted and he seemed to want to retract it, but couldn't.  And I couldn't press for more information because I was practically already walking into his room.

So I spent the next hour making him give himself a rug burn, crawling about the room.  I made him lie down on the floor while I sat on the couch, made him just lie there for inspection as I used his as an ottoman.  Making him undress me with just his teeth.  Slapped him hard to correct him when he spoke out of turn.  Spat in his face when he dared to do it again and to address me without respect.  And smacked his balls hard enough for him to double over.

And he loved my cock.  He couldn't get enough.  But when I uttered those words, belittling him for his small endowments, he went wild.  I finally hit that sweet spot.  Submission and humilation comes in so many forms so I had to test the waters to find out what he really wanted.  And he ate it up.  He's a father and in all fairness, he's not that small when he's hard.  I have no business telling him how to breed and his cum is potent enough to produce offspring but still.  He loved me pressing against that little bit of insecurity.  And pushing it to comical proportions.

He had told me no anal, but with his plead for me to show him how, I ate his ass real good and then worked my cock between his ass cheeks.  Teasing him with the head of my cock while continuing the verbal assault.  I had him in a trance and worked the head of my cock in before he snapped to and jerked away.  He wanted it.  But he was afraid.  His ass didn't fight me until the last minute.  Tight, but willing.  More willing than even some of the experienced bottoms.

The tortured raspy voice that tried to vocalize his concern was a mix of confused emotions.  He wanted it bad.

But I was a good guy.  I didn't want to press him to places he'd regret.  And in just a few minutes after, I shot my load all over his face and scooped some up to jerk him off, which didn't take much at all.

And as I was coming down from the encounter, about to pass out on his bed while he curled up into the fetal position at my side, I thought about how much work it was to test the boundaries and gauge his reactions and I wondered how much it was really me at his service, trying to make him satisfied instead of the other way around.

The twerker cheats

So, I fucked the twerker one day a couple weeks ago and then he texts me the following day saying that he can't play anymore 'cause his open relationship is now a closed relationship.  Well, going to be a closed relationship starting the following Monday.  He wants me to ditch his number and it's good bye.  I didn't let it drop.  I asked him if we could play one more time even though I wasn't free that weekend.

Well, that day finally came this past weekend.  I made him cum handsfree again right before I shot my load deep inside him.

He's officially a cheater now.  And he hasn't talked about ending our little trysts.  In fact, he just texted me seeing if I'm free this weekend.

Ha!

25 year flip fuck

I was at a hotel by work for the night when I logged into Grindr and saw a guy that looked familiar.  Older guy, fuzzy faced and a sinister smile.  One of those smiles that you crack after silently sharing a dirty joke in the middle of polite society, getting away with some naughty but not breaking the rules of propriety.

We didn't get to meet because even though he was in the same hotel, he was there for some sort of seminar with a business partner.  So we just chatted off and on and then that night I finally asked something that could either make me look like a fool or would blow him away if I was correct.

His little screen name mentioned his name and his love of the arts, which is what prompted me to ask.  He looked pretty similar to what I remember as one of the first guys I've ever played with.  My sexual partners at that point were in the single digits.  I could count them on one hand, I'm sure at that point.  Hell, I was only fourteen.  Maybe fifteen.  But I remembered his name.  One of those details that are etched into your mind being one of your first times where everything was fresh and amazing.  Overexposed vivid colors burned into your skull.  The guy I was thinking of I met at a coffee shop in West Hollywood while I was waiting for my friends at the bar next door.  Just people watching.  That is, until he came in.  Leather jacket.  Full beard before it was trendy, before bear was a ubiquitous term of coveted desire.  I was sexually precocious.  I mean, I used to bypass the regular porn rags for titles like Bound and Leather and always seemed to get sprung passing by a Tom of Finland sketch.  So this guy immediately caught my eye.  And I caught his as he did a double-take when he passed by.  We had exchanged numbers... it must have been numbers.  pagers and mobile phones weren't quite as popular just yet.  And then I ended up spending a night at his place the following weekend.

So, I asked.

"Hey, weird question, but did you have an art studio in Reseda back in the early nineties and drive a beat up truck...  And live in the studio on a bed on the floor.  Do art with a dot motif...?"

He was blown away.  That was indeed him.  But he wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked if he remembered me.  I'll come to find out later that he didn't.  He came back to the hotel a couple days later and we took two hours to catch up and I finally got it out of him.  He completely doesn't remember.  Kinda funny but his Grindr profile noted he's still into younger guys.  And he's still a top.  I don't think I look too much different from then, but I do know my body type is different.  I was a really skinny kid so I'm kinda toned and beefed up now.  And I'm more top than anything else these days.  I wasn't sure we'd still be sexually compatible, but in his words, "I'm not too worried about that."

I spent awhile inwardly laughing at how much he's remained the same.  Still a bit of the scattered bohemian type with kid-like tendencies of being completely enraptured and excited over things as well as incessantly distracted.  Even now, in his sixties.  I think I tripped him up a bit as I confidently picked him up and walked him over to the bed, bear hug from the back so that he can feel my hardon pressing into him before I tossed him on bed.  Then I undressed him and played with his body, gently caressing him until I felt like he was properly relaxed.  And with our eyes locked, I worked my raw cock up inside him in an agonizingly slow roll of the hips as I felt his hole spasm and relax around my cock.

"No way.  How the hell are you doing this?  How can it be so easy for you?"

I answered by slamming the remaining inch into him with a hard thud, making him groan and clench down and roll his eyes back all at the same time.

Unfortunately, with a guy that tight, I didn't last long.  I felt every time his hole involuntarily squeezed around my cock and instead of having that push me out, I pushed all the way.  Long strokes for him to feel my length.  Small strokes to reach as far into him as I could.  And when I felt like I hit that point of no return, I flipped the switched and just used his hole, folding him over and crumpling him on top of himself as I hammered my load into him.

"I can't believe it was so easy for you to get inside me."

And I smiled that sinister smile, sharing that inside moment.  A look reminiscent of his profile pic, as I realized I just finished up the flip fuck that was almost twenty-five years in the making.

Another traveller, another repeat, another good one - the layover

It feels kinda creepy sometimes, the fact that you can "favorite" a guy and see how close you are to him.  I had Growlr open and was checking out my favorites list when I saw that the KiwiGeekCub was suddenly less than a thousand miles away from me.  After a few messages back and forth, it turns out that he was going to be on layover the exact day that I have a room by the airport where he's going to be trying to kill four hours between flights.  A small window with trying to getting out and back into the airport, but we decided to make it a go and try for it.

And I'm glad we did.  We spent over an hour with my raw cock inside him until I fucked a load out of him.  I was a little confused where at one point, he told me that he didn't have any condoms and lube since he was travelling.  I distinctly remember fucking my load into him last time.  You don't meet that many guys from New Zealand so those encounters tend to stick out.  That, and the fact that I love manipulating and throwing around a smaller cub type like him.  And that foreskin on that that thick cock of his!  Grr!  So I told him that I had the supplies requested but was kinda wondering how it will go.

I sent him on his way with a load deep up his ass.  And I'm getting kinda chubbed up right now imagining my load leaking down his leg as we walks through the airport to get to his gate.

Again, he follows

"Damn, that was better than last time," he said.  But then he immediately realized his mistake.  The excitement in his eyes immediately turned to dreadful regret as he stammered out a retraction.  "I mean, well, it was - last time was so awesome too but, I don't know.  It's like - you know?"

His eyes softened when I laughed out accordance.  I knew what he meant.  I might have, at that point, held him to me.  Or maybe I playfully swatted his ass.  Some sort of non-verbal gesture to acknowledge what was exchanged and silence any doubts before we just wallow in the elations of what had just transpired.

A Texan, here on business, that has appeared in these pages before, dubbed as TheFollower.  The first guy that's found me online from this blog and met me in real life.  He followed the tracks I've left by commenting on another blog and has been reading my posts off and on for three years now.  A guy that's into Asian doms and has found that level of diversity lacking in his home territory.

I have to admit, I tested a couple of times to his commitment to being a sub.  From asking him to add me to his room so that I could get my own key from the front desk to making him wait for me fully naked on the bed for me when I got there, dicking around the lobby for a bit for the anticipation to build and get him fully sprung before I barged into his room, to face fucking him deep and slow until he gagged several times and teared up, to spitting in his face while holding him down to take my assault on his ass, to wrapping both hands around his throat until he turned read while I fucked him so hard my balls ached from slamming against his ass.  It was a rough fuck with nothing but his deep throat spittle as lube.  At one point, I fucked him so hard that we inched closer to the edge of the bed and we toppled over, him still impaled on my cock.  And the sight of him folded over onto himself on his shoulders supporting both our weight was so fucking hot that I just used one leg to stabilize us while I just continued to piledrive my cock into his ass.

Sweat, spit, all different types of fluid were being unleashed onto him and he took it all with wild abandon.  All except my nut.  He was pinned facedown on the bed when I slammed into him and my balls started to tingle and I came.  Or maybe I almost came.  I just know I didn't fully nut but I felt like I came.  And my cock softened a little but I was still wanting to fuck.  And we did.  It didn't take too much longer before I made him cum and then I lapped it up and snowballed it into him before jerking out the remainder of my load onto him and it was then, that I was fully spent.  Sweating, heart-pounding, feeling totally out of shape and spent.  I had to rest a bit before my body could muster the energy to match my volition to move.  Knees wobbly and weak.  Yeah, it was a great fuck.  And yeah, it was as comparable to last time in terms of energy.  Perhaps it surpassed the previous encounter in terms of energy and fulfillment.

I guided him with me over to Sawtelle to grab some grub, exposing him to a little bit of the food diversity available in the local area.  And when I placed my hand on his lap, just inside his inner thigh, I felt his cock twitch and harden to steel underneath the smooth, soft denimn of his designer jeans.  Hard flesh pressing against the soft fabric.  Symbol of eagerness.  I have little doubt in my mind that the next time will even surpass this.

The circle jerk

I had a little over a couple of hours in the hotel before I had to hit the road and get to work.  Nothing was panning out on the apps.  Either long delays between responses or no replies back at all.  I figured it was better use of my time that I let them come to me instead.  Why hunt when you can just set out bait and wait.  So I placed an ad on Craigslist and I used a tactic that seems to work when I'm short on time.  I was very specific on what I looked like but also equally vague on what I was looking for.  Basically noted that I'm a top, but just looking to get together with a guy and jerk off and let it lead to where ever from there.  Fully explicit on my stats.  Noted that I'm Asian up front in case there were any hangups on race...  or the opposite, in case they have a fetish for it.  But I've noticed that the casual tone of the get together seems to bring in a lot more responses and a lot more responses from people that actually commit to meeting.  I think it's the demographic that attracts people to Craigslist.  The people browsing there instead of the apps are either just looking for good jerk off material, are curious, or have really specific things that they're looking for that a proximity app just doesn't provide.  So with the ad I put up, I get the curious guys that are okay with something starting off casual with just a stroke bud, but it also turns off the guys that are just wanting to exchange pics and nasty chat 'cause stroking off is pretty mundane.  And since I provided a pic and was pretty explicit about what I looked like, I also got those that were looking for more and liked what they saw.

Waited a good 15 minutes before the responses started to come in.  Some guys totally didn't read the ad and were just drawn to my dick pic, asking questions that were already answered in the ad.  I half-hardheartedly replied to those.  Among the responses, three of them looked promising.  One from a guy about half an hour out.  White guy about my page and nicely and naturally fuzzy all over.  A good lookin' otter from what I could tell.  Considered himself straight but curious.  Then another guy that was half my age (yikes!) at 19 and just down the street from me.  Also a newbie and curious.  He sent a face pic and he was a good-lookin' kid with dark Mediterranean features.  Then finally, a guy that lived between the two of them.  Latin guy with a girlfriend that wanted to get into some oral and maybe more.  I rolled the dice and invited them all over saying that I had invited a guy over during the wait between messages but that they were welcome to come over for a circle jerk.  Gave them the room number and address just for good measure in case they needed that nudge.

To my surprise, all three showed up.

The first was to arrive was the Latin guy.  Kinda bouncy swagger that seemed more like affectation than natural gestures.  Cute as fuck though.  My height.  Shaved head.  And when he dropped his over-sized shirt and shorts, he had zero body fat.  Tattoo on his chest that he had cropped out of his pic to be less identifiable, a tattoo that snaked up his neck.  We aggressively groped each and and almost simultaneously grabbed each other's ass cheek and grinned.

"Fuck, you have a nice ass."

"You, too!" I replied.

We groped each other pretty hard until he worked himself to solid eight inches of beef, with the foreskin practically fully pulled back.  Wasn't expecting that from the pic.  Bad camera angle.  I was expecting a handful but not that beauty.

Just before we were going to go at it, a knock on the door.  It was the otter.  I opened the door and without a word, just a grin and a head nod beckoning him in, I went back to the Latin boy, eager to pick up where we left off.  But the vibe changed.  As much as I knew that we'd be on the bed fucking if it weren't for the knock, I knew that him subbing out for me in front of another guy wasn't going to happen.

The otter was cute.  Kinda a older skater punk type guy wearing vans and Dickies and a couple of layers on top despite being hot and humid out.  And appropriate with the look, also stank of cigarettes.

And he was completely out of his element.  Fidgety and confused, walking in on two buck naked guys groping each other.  He awkwardly stood there trying to decide what to do, his face tormented in a scowl of bewilderment and absolute desire.  His hunger won out and he joined the little pack, stripping down to his wife beater.  I noted the chain around his neck with some patron saint on it.  Cop maybe?  Fireman?  Quick thought before I grabbed the hem of his ribbed white tank and yanked on it with a grunt of exasperation, silently ordering him to ditch it.

The guy was nicely fuzzy.  Perfect density in a regular pattern all over.  And his unit chubbed up quite quickly.  Not fully hard, but still matched my length at about seven inches or so.  7  Cut.  Completely straight shaft.

The Latin guy and I made room for him and pulled him closer, taking turns tugging on each guy before I let them have at each other while I got behind the Latin guy and made an audible smack with my rod against his ass.  I knew the otter would be turned on by it.  Living porn.  Reached around and pulled him closer to me and mock fucked him while he tugged on the otter.  And that's the first time he stopped him.

"Slow down.  Sorry.  Just really sensitive."

We had only been playing with each other for maybe five minutes.  Another two minutes and he stopped my hand while I was tugging him asking me to slow down.  Too late though.  The otter started shooting.  Hands free.  Four solid squirts that we let fly into the air and to land onto the carpet with a thud.  Then the Latin grabbed the shooting cock and stroked.  Three more volleys even more powerful than the last, shooting a good four or five feet out before landing on the floor.  And then he kept on oozing.  Down his hand.

"Fuck, man.  Nice load," Says the Latin in a deep breathy whisper.

He sheepishly withdrew withdrew while the Latin guy and I looked at each other and started to grope with renewed frenzy.  The otter wasn't quite sure what to do.  He awkwardly watched then stopped, cleaned up, watched a little more, and then made a hasty exit.

When the otter guy left, I grabbed Latin dude's ass.  He knew what was up.  I pushed him back into bed and used the hotel lotion to lube up his ass and my cock.  I was teasing his hole, trying to work him up to loosening up for me when we heard another knock on the door.

"That's the other guy..." I said, regretfully stopping to get the door.

"Another guy?!" he asked.  He was only expecting one other guy.  "I think we should stick to jerking."

Damn.  Ha!  I'm patient though.  I get to this town often and I'm sure we're gonna reconnect.

I let Mediterranean kid in and he was all apologetic.

"Sorry, I'm late.  I'm just down the street but the GPS took me to the wrong place and-" I interrupted him silently by yanking on his clothes.  I was on a time crunch afterall.  We can talk about it later.  Felt kinda sleazy since he was being pretty bashful and shy, chatting in a conversationally gossipy tone while I'm pawing at him.

Nice kid with a decent body.  Not worked out, just natural.  Natural bush, naturally hairy crack.  Beautiful cock that lengthened to a downward curve.  He ended up making me look rather small.  In fact, all three guys were pretty big.  Young, but mature looking.  But also pretty new to everything.  He had previously told me it'd be his first time playing with another guy.  The Latin dude and I both picked up on how...  pliable he was.  But I was pretty protective of him.  I didn't want to push him into anything he'd regret later.  I'm pretty sure that if I had more time and if I didn't put a stop to it, we'd be spit roasting him and pumping him with a couple of raw loads.  But we stuck to jerking off.  Both Latin dude and I paying the kid a lot of attention, feeling up his ass, licking his nips.  We used the mini bottles of lotion as lube.

I ended up shooting first.  The Latin dude shortly after.  And the kid was nowhere near close.  But he kept grabbing onto us though.  He didn't want it to end.  And then he sheepishly looked up at Latin dude and asked, "Could I put it in my mouth?  Just for a quick second?"

With a chuck, the Latin guy said, "Have at it."

"Am I doing it, okay?"  I'm not sure if it was just insecurity being his first time or the fact that Latin dude was only half chubbed up.  I mean, he did just shoot just moments before...

"Man, it feels really great."

And the kid looked up and beamed with pride...  Even though, after the Latin dude left, the Mediterranean kid grinned at me and noted that the hotel lotion tastes really, really bad.

Reconnecting, outside work

TheEnigma came to my hotel again.  Apparently, he prefers being sleazy in a hotel.  Or perhaps he just kinda freaked out when I spent the night that one time.  I mean, I we fucked a lot that one time I spent the night and with the way he keeps on calling me "his top" and the way he loves playing with the ring on my hand, I had thought he enjoys a bit of the intimacy and romanticizes it a bit.  Or maybe he fetishizes being the "other" guy.  Either way, he prefers coming to my hotel now instead of me dropping by his place.

I answered the door naked and he laughed and said, "Nice!"  Not in the sexy-i'm-so-turned-on way, but more of a fratty bro sharing a joke kinda way.  And honestly, I kinda knew I'd get that reaction and purposely did it.  Kinda drew inspiration from another blog I'm reading full of these bro-types.  He scrambles into the room in the bumbling, bouncy but heavy-footed masculine way and tossed him around a bit as I locked lips with him and tore at his clothes until we fell onto the bed.  There, I fucked him mercilessly as I held onto his cock and just when he was about to cum, his eyes came back into focus and the made an attempt to grab my hand.  Not to stop me from jerking him off but to guide the shot so he doesn't hit his face.  The connection broke for a sec and that momentary lapse from the sexy to the utilitarian stopped him from shooting all over like he normally does.  Still shot far.  Hit the pillow even.  But I could tell it was different than when he cums with abandon.  Gotta work on that...

Afterwards, we made small chit chat and somehow we got into the topic of our favorite food trucks.  And it turns out, we actually worked at the same company for a year without realizing it.  Different floors, different crew, but still the same building and everything.  Small word.  Completely blew us away.  And then at the heels of that discovery, he asked to meet again the next night.  I figured that totally confirmed my original thought that he's into that fetishizing intimacy thing but then the next day he cancelled.  So I'm still not sure.  And he's still TheEnigma.

"Breakthroughs"

I used to tell people that Spin magazine made me gay.  I was fourteen, sprawled out on my bed, blasting music from my old 70s stereo sound system (complete with a phono and 8-track) MacGyvered to thump some noise out of four speakers so that the sound waves would attack me from all four corners of my small room, a cocoon of solace for my teenaged angst.  This was before the  ubiquity of multi-channel surround sound and receivers that could process that (well, at least to a price point for a kid in my neighborhood could afford).  I'm listening to my favorite jam of the day.  Not sure what it was.  Nirvana?  Garth Brooks?  Gn'R?  EMF?  But it's one of those cases where I was listening to the same thing over and over again and discovering a new nuance each time.  Then I go further and start reading up on people, tracing influences, reading magazines back to back.  I got to the classifieds of Spin magazine and my eye catches an ad that asks in big bold letters: Are you gay?  And it was right then where that cognitive dissonance dissipated and though I knew the definition, all the antipathy clouded analysis and prevented me from seeing it but it was right then where I thought, "Holy, fuck.  I _AM_ gay!"  Turns out the ad was from the LA Gay and Lesbian Center as part of their queer youth outreach program and they connected me with other kids locally and abroad who were also figuring things out.

But this highlights my tendency to indulge in something routine and fully immerse myself to unfold the details and then go deeper and get lost in tangents that lead to different discoveries.  So now you're left with these weird patchy details about my encounters with my regulars.  Some of these guys I've played with well over a dozen times and you've only heard of him once.  And other times I can't wait to tell you every detail.

With MusclePussy, it's the same scene every time.  He leaves the door unlocked for me and he's waiting for me naked in bed, grabbing his cock without stroking himself, 'cause he's rock hard in anticipation and so severely horny that just a half stroke can push him over the edge.  The door to his room is only cracked open just a bit, so I undress in the living room.  In those few moments over a few years of the same routine, I've come to find out a few things.  Idly looking at things while I tear off my clothes.  He cooks.  Fond of tomatoes and avocados which make sense, given his incredibly lean, muscular frame.  He's really fit.  Over 6 feet based on how his long legs fold over my shoulders.  And in that position, I just feel taut power when my hand runs over the ripples on his stomach.  Beautiful chest.  Shoulder caps that look like protective football gear, but made of flesh and pure muscle.  But as healthy as he is, he really hates to clean.  And that seems especially odd since he works in the medical field based on the mail I see lying around.  And yeah, I used the name on the mail to confirm.

But I can't figure out if he's out.  He's extremely paranoid about his neighbors hearing him through the thin walls.  And the foul things that come out of his mouth tend to skew towards a heteronormative lexicon.  He loves calling his ass a pussy.  And that fuckin' ass-pussy!  He trembles with just the slight touch of his ass.  He leaps out of his skin just feeling the heat of my body against his ass.  He's tight as fuck too.  So tight, I'm expecting him to push me off and scream in pain, but instead he pulls me in and starts babbling, completely overwhelmed in sensation that he has to let go of his cock before he just tightens into a ball and explode like the big bang.

This last time, I'm contemplating how often he gets action and how deeply closeted he is while I'm fucking him.  I have a condom on, but I still feel him because how fucking tight he is.  And how damn warm he is from the inside.  And I'm just trying to process how he can be so damn turned on every single time.  Hard as ever before I even get into his room.  And I'm thinking, he'd be such a good top.  Any bottom would love to feel that piece of steel hammering it into them.  But it's probably not topping that gets him that hard.  It's bottoming.  He's completely wired to it.

And just as I'm thinking that, my cock gets even harder still and I'm fucking him in full strokes now, all the way in and all the way out.  And the condom breaks as I tear through his ass on one of the strokes in.  His ass tightened even harder because he was cumming.  Overload of sensation, now.  I feel the raw heat of warm moist hole now, without a barrier, and it envelops me completely as he spasms all around, from the inside out.  Before I can even react, I'm pulsing into his ass as well.  All that happening all at once brought me way over the edge.  And I'm sure I could have pulled out, possibly in time.  But in full on selfish cum mode, I just fucked it into him hard.  Several hard thrusts that made a loud voilent slap that undid all the pains at trying to keep himself from vocalizing his own orgasm.

"Did you cum?" he whispers.  Always eager to please.  Always afraid he'd cum too quick before I was close.  Fuck, I'm not sure how he missed how violently I spasmed against him and fucked my load deep inside him.

I didn't tell him what happened.  I'm such an ass.  So the same scene played out as before.  Same results, technically.  Pretty big differences.  And I learned a few more little tidbits about him.  And also made an interesting discovery about me.

When your fuckbuds know each other...

I saw it before I smelled it.  Don't worry, it was a good smell.  I was pumping pretty hard and fast into TheTwerker.  Full strokes.  All the way in and all the way out and on the outstroke I saw some white foam around my cock.  Could it be?  Nah!  But yup.  There it was, the distinct smell of another man's cum wafting up to my nose that made me drill TheTwerker even harder.

Let me backtrack.

I gotta say, my chest swelled up with pride a little when I got the text from GeekyCub.  Apparently, he and TheTwerker know each other.  Usually, fuck buds don't mention other fuck buds in conversation so I knew something was going on.  Maybe they were planning a group thing or something.  But no.  Apparently, TheTwerker was just talking to him about how he got thoroughly railed the other day.  In a good way.  One of those "holy crap that was a good fuck session" that makes you wanna just tell someone... anyone!  For me, that's usually you, dear readers.  But for TheTwerker, he blabbed to GeekyCub and then shared a pic of the top.  Yup.  That top was me.  Ha!

So I did what anyone would do.  I got us all three together.

When I took over fucking TheTwerker, GeekyCub had deflated a bit so I figured he was just nervous or something.  It's happened before when we shared a bottom.  Little did I know that it was the complete opposite.  He was so turned on that he came inside TheTwerker just moments after he got his dick buried to the hilt.  We were spit roasting the guy when just moments later GeekyCub pulled back and I took over.  I should have felt it.  In fact, I did feel it but sorta dismissed it.  There's nothing quite like fucking a cum-lubed hole.

I pulled out and asked GeekyCub to lay down.  TheTwerker climbed on top and started to make out with him when I re-entered.  And moments later, I saw that TheTwerker had problems keeping up with the make out session.  Spasms.  Yup.  He's cumming.  Handsfree with me behind him fucking that load out of him.

I felt a little bit of pressure to finish up at this point and after a couple position changes, I ripped my load into TheTwerker with a growl.  GeekyCub and I showered up and when I got back to my car, I find that only forty minutes have passed since I first left my car to knock on the door.

We need a rematch.  Forty minutes?!