Ben 2

He fumbles with the keypad at his garage.  He’s searching for it, knows it’s there.  He just takes a second.

“To the right.  I think you have to open it,” I suggest lightly.

“Can you tell I don’t usually go in here?”

And with that, he flips the cover open and his hands trace an easy pattern across the keypad and enters in the digits that start a sudden, jarring mechanical whirl of an engine that contrasts significantly from the graceful dance of fingertips that triggered it.  An awkward pause as the door lifts with clatter and clash that is probably so mundane in the suburban surrounds but nevertheless causes alarm for the clandestine nature of the activities we have planned behind the door.

Ben casually strolls inside though, flicks on the light, and find the button to close the door again.

It’s a tight fit.  A one car garage with what I’m assuming is his husband’s car inside it, since he doesn’t use this garage much.  We work our way to the back, squeezing by the tight aisle between the car and the shelving against the wall.  Boxes sit in deliberately casual stacks along the shelf, varying sizes and heights that define a miniature city skyline that we tiptoe along until we settle upon a clearing.

And there, I look up and he has that quiet, piercing look again.  The one that draws you in.  And we inch together until we can delay no more and rush the final gap in an extreme embrace.  Lips lock and he forces the breath out of me as he draws me to him, hugs me close.  Soft, supple lips dissonant to the fervor in which we devour each other.  Definitely not a passive guy.  Active.  Aggressive.

I reach behind him, low.  Sliding underneath the elastic band of his shorts, each hand grabs a mound of ass and I’m impressed with what I feel.  The pics made him look beautiful, but my hands feel something that a picture can’t describe.  Each orb was perfectly round.  The quintessential bubble butt, an even layer of soft skin enveloping two perfectly round, firm mounds.

I rush it a bit more to yank those shorts down to see what my hands felt.  His cock obstructed a clean yank and as I looked down, I realized why.  The kinky bastard was wearing a cock ring all throughout our conversation in the coffee shop.  That explains the extra bounce as he walked and flopped in front of the gardeners.

I take him down my throat in one swallow.  A thick slab of meat that rivaled my own in terms of length.  I explore with my tongue, have it dance across the shaft.  Take the head to the back of my throat and partways down.  I suck in hard to let him feel my whole throat work his shaft.  I oval and form a ring with my lips.  I try all my tricks.  I even cheat and use my hand.  But with each moan, I could tell that none of these would easily get him off.

I grab his hips and start to turn them and notice a slight resistance before his legs, handcuffed by the shorts around his ankles, shuffle to allow me access to his ass.  He smells fresh of the shower, yet masculine.  There’s a faint musk.  And I dive in while he squirms.  This, I can tell, he truly enjoys, but he holds back.  And it’s funny how each ass is different.  His, I can trace the ring with my tongue.  It’s pronounced.  I can chew on it.  It drives him wild but I tell he’s not completely comfortable.  I’m pretty sure I know why.  He hasn’t completely prepped for ass play and that lack of confidence causes a barrier.

I rise back to my feet and make out with him, making him take in his musk that’s on my face and taste himself on my tongue.  He doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t flinch.  I can tell: he’s quite the liberated pig.

All too soon, he shoves my pants down to free my cock of the confines of my jeans.  He takes me into his throat with some skill, but it’s me that holds back this time.

It’s incredibly rare for me to be able to cum from oral alone.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps I’m too distracted with nothing to do.  The curve of my dick doesn’t allow for good face fucking except in very specific positions and it seems way too unnatural for me to sit back and just enjoy the sensations that a guy can pleasure me with.  I immediately think ahead of a guy’s ass.  And just those glimpses of an ass as a guy’s head bobs on my cock is enough for me to want to hold off until I can shoot my load deep inside a different hole.

But Ben persists.  He works hard for my load.  And that same nature that draws people in makes me give in and want to give it to him. I grip the sides of his head.  Slow him down to a rhythm where I can feel each muscle movement along my cock.  And when I feel an orgasm just in the horizon, I double-down on my grip and fuck him in deliberate strokes.  Ignoring any gagging or letting it add to my journey dominating his throat.  And with just a groan of a warning, I blast my pent up load down his throat.

I black out a little in the afterglow until his suckling makes me so sensitive I’m on the verge of losing bladder control.  And I chuckle.  Looking at him.  I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll see of him.  And it isn’t…

Ben 1

His voice is intriguingly soft yet authoritative, complimenting his kind eyes that aren't afraid of making gentle eye content. I feel like I have to lean across the table sometimes to fully get what he's saying at times. A voice that draws you in. And though I can't read lips, my eyes lower to watch his lips sensually form words that reverberate through the air to lick my ears. Who knew that the light chit chat typical of LA (work, traffic, housing, occasionally weather but that becomes even more mundane as it doesn't change dramatically that often) could be so enticing, especially as my eyes lower even more to his full zip hoodie? My eyes trace the zipper line down to see how it softly lies on his skin. Yes, he's not wearing the customary shirt underneath. Shirtless under his hoodie, he chest hair curls out from underneath. The guy knows what he's doing. Casual hot dad vibes stopping for coffee after a quick run in the morning. It's a good look.

We're both early risers but also both coupled so hosting was a problem. So Ben suggested we meet at a coffee shop early in the morning to see how the chemistry is and, if favorable, let the sexual tension build until we are able to play properly.

The guy knows what he was doing. With such a casual, unaffected flair, he manages to get me hard as a rock the moment we sat down. I couldn't help but weave sexual innuendos into the conversation. Then just blatant admissions of how I wanted to violate his holes. And after every lewd outburst, I sheepishly eye the cop next to me. If we were in a gayer neighborhood, I would have guessed that the cop and the guy he was sitting with was grabbing a parting coffee after fucking all night long. But once again, I'm sure that is just the fantasy in my head from the intoxicating sexuality that Ben is oozing.

I can't hold back anymore.

"You're around the corner. Do you have a garage, cause we need to sneak some playtime in. Right now."

And as we walk to his garage, his cock obscenely bounces left to right with quite some heft. Apparently, the mild conversation and the build up got to him too. He is obviously freeballing it, but that didn't stop him from waving to the gardeners across the street. Casual, confident, sexual. we round the corner and got to the garage…

And I’m back...

So I'm going to try to tie in a bunch of thoughts that are probably all separate discrete entities to themselves but I have a tendency to try to wrap things up into a bow to better understand them, even though the knot is loose and the ribbon that binds them all together is completely inadequate and frail. And I'm going to try to get these thoughts out all in one pass, unedited. Just to get my writing hat on 'cause recently I've been inspired to pick this blog up again due to a very kind note from a reader. Beautiful French-Canadian that writes with humility of his poor English. Ironically, he does so in perfectly articulated eloquence. And when I say beautiful, he's a drop-dead gorgeous hunk, the one where you look behind you and then remark in disbelief that he's talking to you. But I digress…

So I've become quite smitten with Colby Jansen. I know nothing of the guy really, but he comes across my twitter feed often in the early mornings when I try to get myself motivated to get off the bed and go to work. So I'm watching it on mute and what strikes me is that he's versatile and doesn't totally follow the normal conventions of porn. He's a beefy, burly kid that fucks and gets fucked by guys of all sizes… and I mean that both in overall mass and the mass underneath the belt. And I love watching a smaller guy totally dominate a guy bigger than himself. I'm sure that's because it mirrors my preferences to open myself up to all sorts of experiences and not limit myself to the guys I play with. There's this tendency to follow some heteronormative conventions in porn where the more masculine guy is the top. Therefore, things that perpetuate masculine ideals are projected as top only: the guy with the bigger dick tops the smaller-docked guy, the guy with the bigger muscles, the bear over the twink, the daddy over the son, hairy over smooth. But that's not real life. Sometimes the daddy craves to ride his son. And some guys love a short fat cock punching their prostate cause let's face it, the prostate isn't ten inches deep and you don't need a foot-long schlong to reach it.

And that's what I fight with on my own twitter content: the need to filter and portray myself in a certain light. You know, sometimes my voice comes off as shrilly and bitchy and that's fuckin' okay. I don't have the biggest dick of the party and I still wanna top and that's fuckin' okay. I might ignore the fact that you're some butch burly top and wanna fuck you 'till you're speaking gibberish and that's cool too. As is me wanting the dick of a small, feminine top with glitter nail polish to fuck the living daylights out of me. 'Cause that's real life. And every now and then I meet some playbuds with some refreshing attitudes that makes sex so liberating and fun, not just a routine of more conventions to follow.

So, as a result, I tweeted an indirectly bitchy tweet about folks that ask for more retweets and likes before they post the whole video. Just do it. Make the porn that you like and send it off to the world. Some may love it. Some may hate it. And maybe some will just appreciate the honesty of the way it exists: real people having real sex in whatever context. But I may be totally attributing my own spin on things. 'Cause I like it real and honest rather than edited and curated. Some might like the fantasy of perfection but for me, I love it when it says "hey, this is me, beautiful in all my glory and imperfections".

At the same time I'm kinda torn. I mean, aren't I advocating a certain perspective? And in doing so, aren't I try to skew perspective. But what I've landed on is that I just need to get out there and do my thing. Eat my own dog food. And hence, I'm going to start writing more text blog entries. For some reason, even though a pic is worth a thousand words, it's just a fuckton of fun just to read about it instead.