Not Dead Yet

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It's been almost a month since my last confession.

And this isn't going to be much better I'm afraid. The movers are coming on Thursday, I'm overwhelmed with painting and packing, and I have to go to the opera tonight. It's the hat trick of despair! Plus b&c is home all the time now, so there's almost no opportunity to hook up. But that all changes Thursday, and I'll be sure to let you know all about the presumably much increased sluttishness going on in my new home. Though, to be honest, I don't know whether I'll spend the weekend in bed exhausted or in bed getting further exhausted. Time will tell.

For now, I should mention that a couple of weeks ago, b&c was out of town, and YFU was unexpectedly at her mother's on an evening when I'd expected her to be with me, so I posted a craigslist ad, and there was almost no response (on a Friday!). So I went to sleep, but I couldn't sleep very well, and when I woke up at 6am (on a Saturday! Morning!), there was a response from a local guy who described himself as 5'10, 170, muscular, and very eager to suck cock. The response had come in at 3am, so I was sure he'd be asleep, but I wrote back, and he was up. He wouldn't send a picture and he wouldn't call, but I could tell from his emails that he was overly discreet rather than crazy, so I gave him an approximate location and told him to text me when he got there, and then I directed him the rest of the way in.

Gorgeous, thick-lipped, narrow-waisted, bubble-assed Black guy! On the one hand, I was a bit surprised that he hadn't mentioned his ethnicity, though maybe he just assumed that I was cool with any ethnicity because of my statement in the ad that ethnicity is not an issue for me. I just now thought of that. Up until this moment I was thinking that he'd been taking a risk and that he was just lucky that my reaction to finding out that a guy is Black is to thank the universe, but I guess I'd already conveyed that. Anyway, he was a very eager cocksucker, but he was also a great kisser, and the smooth ebony body certainly didn't hurt. He was there for about two hours, and we went through three condoms (alas, I didn't shoot three loads: we just kept losing them via aggressive pounding) after I'd eaten his ass thoroughly. Awesome!

I might also mention that on Saturday, when I was meant to be painting all day, I went all the way over to Arlington (Virginia! I must have been reallllly horny.) to hook up with a guy who contacted me on one of the web sites. He may have had the nicest pair of lips I've ever encountered on a white man, and boy did he know how to use them. He also had nipples that loved being worked, and, well, I worked them. It was one of those slow and comfortable, yet intense, sessions that worked its way out very leisurely until I'd eaten his ass for a while and he mounted my cock. Then he got carried away. He stroked off a load while he was riding me, then he lay beside me and kissed me while I stroked off one of my own. He said something about my not having to leave right away if I didn't want to, so after we wiped up a bit, we chatted for a while, then we started to make out again, and before I knew it, I was wearing a second condom and he was riding me again. He apologized for not being able to cum a second time, but I really didn't mind. He has a partner, and he only plays when his partner travels, but his partner travels a lot. He wants to play again, but I'm torn. On the one hand, truly awesome sex with a great kisser. On the other hand, Northern Virginia! It's a toss-up that might go the other way once I'm in my own place and able to have guys over pretty much whenever I want.

4-0-4

B&c was out of town most of last week, flying down to Colombia on Monday and back on Friday. I'm not sure I quite understand the concept of flying to another continent for three days of work, but whatever, right? He hadn't been out of town much, so I figured I should take advantage of his absence, even though in a week or two (Or eight: God only knows when I'll get around to moving. I kind of wanted to add a shower to the upstairs half-bath that will abut my bedroom before I move, and I have a feeling that project will get quickly out of hand.) I should be able to hook up in my own place on a sluttishly frequent basis, if I so choose. I will likely so choose.

Anyway, last Thursday, I should have gone to choir practice, but I knew that the choir director had deputized one of the altos to run practice for her, and I figured it might be a frustrating evening, so just before I left the office, I posted a craigslist ad, figuring that if it was a good evening for responses, I'd have them by the time I got home.


And I did have a few, including one from this guy who's been bugging me to dominate him for months and months. Maybe as long as a year. I guess I should go check. Hang on a sec. Yes, original contact was made in response to an ad I posted on or about September 14, 2008. And -- oh -- my initial response to him was, "I don't think we're a match." But then, according to the fossilemail record, he contacted me six months later, and I was less dismissive.

Anyway, since March, this guy's been pursuing me (or at least my cock) with somewhat dogged determination, usually asking to be used by me and my friends. But the timing was never right. But his was among last night's replies, and since I hadn't posted for a group scene, I figured either one-on-one or group would work, so I told him to come on over. He said he was an hour away. Now that's a guy who wants cock. Around the same time, three other guys said they wanted to come over, so I gave them my cell phone. One guy never called and a second decided not to come after I told him -- when he did call -- that he wouldn't be the only one coming (he texted me today to ask whether I was looking again tonight), but a third was eager to come over and get pounded whether I had company or not, so I gave him directions. Then I sent a text message to Pedro, whom I hadn't played with in a while. Pedro eventually texted back to say that he could make it, but late. I was hoping to be done before Project Runway started, but I figured I could always watch the 11:30 rerun.


The first guy showed up just before 8. He was a bit smoky, but cute and very eager and a good kisser.

And oh, motherfucking hell. I wrote all of that more than a week ago, and then attempted to update the time references, and blah, blah, blah. I am never going to have the time to give this entry the attention it deserves, so I'll break it down for you:

Good kisser guy and I go at it for a while.

Sub wannabe shows up and joins in a bit on the periphery. Mostly he sucks my cock. I shove his head up and down on it a bit.

Half an hour later, sub wannabe gets up, gets dressed, mumbles something about "too much smoke," and leaves. Don't let the door hit you on the way out! More importantly, don't lock it!


Pedro's running late, so I go ahead and fuck good kisser guy, who loses his load while he's on his back and I'm pounding his prostate. He jerks me off some, in a desultory manner, but when Pedro finally comes up the stairs, he repeats that he has to get going. I don't mind: Pedro's more fun.

Pedro's kind of tired, so we make out for a while, and then the frot starts. Eventually, I lie on my stomach and pull him on top of me so that his cock is wedged into the upper part of my asscrack. Boy howdy does Pedro love that. He writhes for a bit, and every so often I squeeze my cheeks together. He cums: low volume, but he's very excited. I realize that I had forgotten how much I enjoy feeling the weight of another guy on my back. It's kind of like getting a massage and leaves me feeling very relaxed, if not aroused. Pedro gets dressed. I go to sleep.


The night before, Pedro had sort of stood me up. It was a Wednesday, and YFU wasn't over for some reason, so on Tuesday afternoon I texted Pedro to see if he wanted to play. He did, and, as always, he wanted a group scene, so on Wednesday I put an ad on craigslist looking for a third and a fourth. And then, after I placed the ad, Pedro texted to say that he had to work and would be later than expected. And I spent the next hour explaining to guys responding to an ad for a group scene that I wasn't sure the versatile guy would be there. Alternating with texts from Pedro asking whether the other guys would be there. I tried to explain to him that I was in a bit of a bind because the other guys were only coming if he was coming, but that I wouldn't tell them he was coming if he might not come, even if every other guy who's ever advertised on craigslist has no trouble doing that very thing.

After a while, I threw up my hands and went to the supermarket and then the county liquor store. My favorite boxed Australian Shiraz was on sale, and I sat in front of the TV with some cheese and crackers and the Shiraz and watched Glee. Then I read for a while. It was great.


On Tuesday night, I had another foursome involving two married guys and Nike, whom I hadn't seen in forever. It was fun, and it went for about 2.5 hours. I forget most of the other details, though I do remember fucking Nike. He finally has his own car, so after we were finished, I was able to fall asleep instead of having to drive him home. Yay.


I think that's about it. I did spend about forty-five minutes this past weekend fucking Torless. He hadn't had any in a while, I reckon. It was fun, but not especially remarkable. Torless is always fun, but not especially remarkable.


I'm hopeful that normal sexual activity and reportage thereon will resume after the move, which should happen soon before or after the extended individual income tax deadline. Something to look forward to.

Bezos

B&c's Colombian boyfriend was visiting this weekend, and that was a lot of fun because he's cute and friendly and, well, cute. He speaks very little English, and I speak almost no Spanish, so communication was somewhat complicated. I can sort of decode written Spanish since the etymology is so similar to French, and when I tried to explain that to him, he said that he spoke a little French, and then we had a perfectly decent conversation in French, after which he either decided that he would rather not be understood or he lost confidence in his French skills. Most likely the latter, which was unfortunate since his French was better than his English, and my French is miles ahead of my Spanish. But whatever, he was still cute.

Throughout the weekend, he kept staring at me, with some intensity, and at first I figured that he was wondering whether I resented his presence in the house. I would have liked to reassure him, but how do you pantomime "I have no problem whatever with your fucking my partner; in fact, I would greatly appreciate your fucking him since I'm not fucking him any more, and it would certainly help his mood; furthermore, feel free to sleep with him, just give me a heads up so I can move my reading glasses to the other room"? And don't tell me there's a video of someone pantomiming that very thing on YouTube: do you think I didn't check? By the way, if you've lost your voice but still need to tell your butcher that you'd like him to trim another quarter-inch of fat off the pork loin, I can hook you up.


But then, occasionally, he'd be next to me to show me something or for me to show him something on the computer, and he'd push against me forcefully enough that it couldn't possibly have been an accident, and I started to think that maybe he was flirting with me. Which seemed slightly odd, but not really all that odd, and, besides, it felt really, really good. B&c and I are pretty much physically estranged these days, and he was never all that good at cuddling or anything like cuddling, and the sort of body contact I get when I hook up (which, in any case, has been happening rarely) is very different from, say, the sort of enchanting-but-not-necessarily-erotic body contact that you might get from a friend who is more physically expressive than I am. I should probably work on being more physically expressive in non-overtly sexual ways, but the list of things that I should work on is already very long, and "be more physically expressive in non-overtly sexual ways" is simply too cumbersome to be on a list with items like "exercise more" and "stop losing socks." As if.

Anyway, Saturday was a very frustrating day. On Friday afternoon, I'd been driving home with YFU, and I'd heard the noise I'd been hearing in the front of my car, but it was much louder than it had been. So on Saturday morning, after b&c, M. and I had stayed up until nearly 1 watching Milk (with the Spanish subtitles on), I got up at 6 to take my car to the shop where I spent five hours and $801. getting new brakes. I'd hoped to spend at least part of Saturday at the office, but between the shop and then shopping with YFU, the day got away from me.

B&c and M. got back from tromping about DC around 6:30, and we all had dinner, YFU disappearing to her room to watch old episodes of Bones on the Internet. We sat at the table draining bottles of wine (most of them were more than half-empty to start with: we were just cleaning up, really) and chatting for a while, then M. and I did the dishes. B&c claimed exhaustion and went to bed, and M. and I retired to the den. He picked up a Spanish novel that EFU had left behind and began reading, and then we chatted a bit. We had to keep looking up words in the dictionary, and when he'd find a word, he'd sit on the arm of the armchair and lean into me and show me the dictionary, and then I'd say "Si" and we'd smile. I thought, "Okay, he's interested," and he was still sitting on the arm of the chair, so I slid my arm around him and squeezed a little bit, and he leaned in against me again, and then he stood up, smiled, and said, "Buenos noches" and went up to his room, stopping to look back at me and smile as he turned the corner. And then I thought that he was simply being friendly and that was probably just the way Colombians are. It was a little confusing, but so much fun. I'd enjoyed the flirting a great deal, and I wondered briefly whether that's why people date. I've always assumed that people date out of some sort of defect of character, but I suppose there is an upside.


The next morning I was singing with the choir at church, so I only caught a glimpse of M. wrapped in a towel coming from the shower before YFU and I had to leave. I figured that M. and b&c would use that time to get horizontal, even though b&c may have said that their relationship had become mainly non-sexual. It's kind of hard to keep track: he works in several different countries, and he has something like a part-time boyfriend in most of them, and I'm not interested and/or diligent enough to remember which ones are dinner companions and travel guides and which ones are dinner companions and travel guides who also pound him senseless. I would like to think that most of them fall into the latter category, but b&c seems to be relatively happy not to have sex with any of his guys, except probably me.

Anyway, we got back from church, YFU returned to her computer, and I went off to the office for a couple of hours, then I took her back to her mother's, and came back home. I took a walk and then read some more, and M. and b&c returned -- after another day of tromping about -- around 6. B&c made dinner in the kitchen. M. and I were in the den, and every once in a while, he'd get up to go to the kitchen or come back, and he'd walk behind my chair and squeeze the back of my neck. Then we had dinner, and more wine, and b&c went upstairs to pack for his trip to Colombia. M. was already packed for his trip to NYC, so we sat in the den and attempted to chat for a bit. He asked me what my favorite song was. It seemed easiest to take him into the office and show him. I opened YouTube and showed him Patsy Cline singing "Crazy" and he showed me what he said was some typically Colombian music, and I showed him the opening scene from Diva with Wilhelminia Wiggins Fernandez singing an Aria from La Wally. He showed me Nat King Cole sining "Quizas, Quizas, Quizas," and I showed him a clip from Strictly Ballroom with the Doris Day version, and all through that, he was massaging my neck and then my shoulders and it really seemed as though he were being more than friendly, and when I stood up, he reached up and grabbed the back of my neck again, and I reached over and did the same to him, and then we heard b&c coming down the stairs, and we separated and I sat back down and pulled up "Girl from Ipanema."

B&c went back upstairs, and I stood up and leaned down and had one of those first kisses that would in any event have been awesomely delicious but which was made much more so by all that teasing. It surely didn't hurt that he has full soft lips, or that he's short and thin and dark and lovely. We stood there and made out, and there was a beautiful ebb and flow to it. He'd moan softly and then there'd be an increased urgency, and I'd suck on his immense lower lip, and he'd bite down on mine, and I'd pull him into my arms, and then we'd hear a noise from upstairs and separate. The whole teenagers-not-wanting-to-get-caught-by-Dad vibe made it all the more enticing. When we'd separate, he'd often sit in the chair at the computer, and I'd massage his neck and shoulders, and he'd melt a little and then lift his head to look back at me, and I'd bend down, and we'd meet in an upside down kiss, each sucking on the other's lower lip. I ran my hands down over his chest and squeezed his nipples through his polo shirt and then gently stroke the side of his face. I could see him tenting his jeans, but I thought it wise not to reach that far down just then.


We did that off and on for half an hour or so, and every moment of it -- the kissing, the roaming hands, the sudden separations -- was heaven. Eventually, b&c finished packing and asked M. whether there was anything he could take back to Colombia for him (M. will be getting back there while b&c is still there.), so M. went off to get a few things, and I went back to the Den and picked up my book. I figured that b&c would be tired and would turn in pretty soon, and then I'd have a chance to get M. into a more compromising position, but I also figured that a) that might be a little bit awkward, and b) I'd already had a great time, and it isn't often that I get really great clothed making out, so I was already ahead of the game.

B&c and M. settled in the living room to talk for a bit, and it got to be about 10, and M. appeared in the den and said, "Buenos noches" again. He blew me a kiss and went upstairs. B&c stayed up for a few more minutes, but then said he was exhausted and went to our room. I smiled, thinking what a fun evening it had been, and flipped on a rerun of whichever one of the Law & Orders Christopher Meloni is on. Christopher Meloni, mmmmm. It would have been nice, I figured, to get M. naked and find out whether he had the small, dark, uncut cock that must surely have accompanied his small, dark, smooth body, but the kissing really was all that.


Of course, half an hour later, he snuck downstairs in his underwear, and we had really tremendous sex -- and I'm not complaining about that, mind you -- but it was almost beside the point.

You Get a Little Drunk and You Land in Jail

So the other day, I'm running through my various gmail accounts. I have six of them, and it takes about a minute to check all of them, unless there's an actual email demanding my attention, like maybe I need to send a recipe to EFU or remind one of my married sub cocksuckers that it will still be a couple of weeks before I can host again or explain to Bank of America any unusual charges out of my bank account last month, which makes me wonder whether using my debit card to spend $12 for condoms at CVS is going to cause my lender to abandon me in my hour of home ownership. But this time around, the only email I had was a notification that I had a new message on one of my facebook accounts, and the name of the person who'd sent that message was suspiciously identical to the name of that guy that I spent the night with once, maybe six months ago, and who subsequently spent three months as a guest of the DC prison system.


And my immediate thought is, "Oh, shit, this guy's pissed off that when his fiancee -- whom I did not know to exist -- texted me to tell me that he was in jail, I thought he was texting me and joking around, and now he's going to hunt me down and disembowel me for telling his girlfriend that he's gay. It's a good thing I'm moving soon. I hope b&c doesn't give up my new location under torture." But then I log on to facebook and it's just a "Hey, how's it going?" or maybe a "Hey, what's up? message," and part of me says, "Just walk away, TED. WALK. AWAY." But another part of me just can't help trying to figure what the hell is up with this guy, so I write on his wall or whatever and then I search a couple of email accounts until I figure out which one we used to correspond under, and it's not the email account linked to that facebook account, which makes me think that he must have found me by searching by (phony Internet) name. And I don't think my (phony Internet) name is all that uncommon, so there are probably TEDs all over the place wondering who the hell Rafael (Is that what I called him? Who can remember?) is and why he's writing on their walls.


There's no way in hell that I'm communicating with anybody via Facebook, though, so I send him a generic what's-up e-mail, and he writes back, that he's good and how am I, and I check his Facebook profile, and it says that his status has changed, over the past few days, from married to single to it's complicated. Complicated: understatement much? And after a couple of emails, he writes that he's almost got his license back and that he's in a relationship and doing some side jobs, so I write back to ask whether that's with his fiancee, and he replies, "Wife, actually," and I'm about as WTF as I've ever been at that point, but after "Wife, actually," he writes that sometimes he just gets the urge for that little something, which prompts me to ask whether he doesn't mean an urge for a big something, and he says something about liking to be stretched, but that he hasn't had any for so long that he's just sooooo tight right now, and I can't help asking, "But didn't you get plenty of thick black cock in the D.C. jail?" Which in many contexts could be considered a rude question, but, seriously, didn't he?


But Rafael doesn't seem at all nonplussed, he just writes back that the 90 days of hell was meant to be 30 days, and he says that he doesn't remember telling me that he was going to jail, but he doesn't seem angry, either. I reply that someone else told me, and I ask whether the incarceration was related to his meth addiction, and then he loses his cool a bit: the non comes off the nonplussed, but he doesn't actually use either "nonplussed" or "plussed," so I am robbed of the chance to say, "LISTEN YOU MANWHORE COCKSUCKER, I DON'T ESPECIALLY MIND THAT YOU WERE ENGAGED AND TOLD ME YOU WERE SINGLE OR THAT YOU STOOD ME UP REPEATEDLY WITH BOGUS EXCUSES OR THAT I NEARLY SHIT MYSELF WHEN I REALIZED THAT I'D JUST TOLD YOUR FIANCEE THAT YOU'RE GAY OR EVEN THAT KNOWING THAT SHE WENT AHEAD AND NOT ONLY DIDN'T DUMP YOUR SORRY JAILHOUSE ASS BUT ACTUALLY MARRIED YOU OR THAT YOU WENT ALONG WITH IT AND MARRIED HER EVEN THOUGH WE BOTH KNOW THE ONLY THING YOU WANT IS TO BE PLOWED FROM BOTH ENDS UNTIL YOU PASS OUT AND THAT YOUR METH ADDICTION MEANS YOU CAN'T GET IT UP IN THE FIRST PLACE BUT I WILL NOT SIT IDLY BY WHILE YOU CREATE INCORRECT BACKFORMATIONS, DOUCHEBAG." Besides, that wouldn't, strictly speaking, be true: I am still sort of upset about the back and forth with his fiancee. The rest of it, well, shit happens, you know? Especially the standing up with lame excuses part. And, really, in my experience, when someone stands you up, you just switch to Man B, and Man B is more often than not more fun than Man A. Men that bail on you at the last minute tend not to be all that great in the sack.


Anyway, he sends me a couple more messages about how he was in jail because he assaulted a cab driver who called him a faggot and about how he only smokes pot, and not even that since January, but he's never done meth, and I need to "get [my] shit/story straight," but I'm back to being some combination of a) slightly scared of him and b) grateful that he apparently doesn't know what I said to his fiancee. I'm hopeful that I won't hear from him again, but it's more likely that he'll send a few more emails. I reckon I'll just have to tell him that I already have enough married guys in my line up. I'll probably avoid adding that none of them do meth.

Cub

Wow. Talk about your long dry spells, readers. Nowadays, when I hear about sex, I think, "Wow, that sounds vaguely familiar. Isn't that something that maybe I used to do ALL THE TIME?" But opportunity there has been little of. B&c was meant to go on a four-week business trip to scenic Guyana, but when he was on his way out to visit his daughter and son-in-law in Denver, he ripped his rotator cuff while lifting his carry-on luggage off the conveyor belt at the x-ray machine at the airport. Or so he says. I was all, "Dude. I don't care if you got injured while you were tied to some guy's bed, table, or garage door, even if you never asked me to tie you up. It's your shoulder," except I didn't say that out loud because he probably did tear the rotator cuff lifting his carry-on bag, and how sad is that? Checked luggage is your friend, people.

Anyway, he's been around all the time, but I haven't wanted to fuck him for various reasons, including not wanting to injure him, but mostly just because I think it'll make the whole moving out process easier in the long run. Even though there are times when I walk by him in the morning while he's standing naked at the sink and feel a twinge of something like desire. Ok, something exactly like desire, but it's made a good deal less painful by the knowledge that what I really most want to do -- sink to my knees, spread his cheeks, and eat his ass -- is something that he's not at all into. I feel like I've said all this before, but I find that when I haven't had sex in a while, my thoughts get stuck in unhelpful patterns.


So this past Saturday, I'd come to the office to get caught up a little bit on my mountain of work, and I may have happened to look at the craigslist ads, and I may have read an ad from a guy who called himself a cub and who said that he had a papa bear coming over later in the day and that he (the cub) wanted either other tops to join in or other tops to play with him separately. And he may have mentioned a particular interest in dominant tops. And apparently all this actually happened because we exchanged a few emails and then a phone call and then I was on my way to his hotel.

Well, it wasn't quite that easy because he'd said that he really wanted to engage in some roleplay, and OH MY GOD, fine, yes, ok, I will do your silly little roleplay, boy. I mean, what the hell, right? Because good sex isn't good enough, without pretending that it's something that it isn't. I really don't want it to sound like I was annoyed by the request, it's more just that I was rolling my eyes. I mean, it's easy enough to do roleplay when you're engaged in cyber or phone sex, but if you want me to pretend to be a policeman, well, I don't have the uniform, and I can't really fake it enough to be a credible cop. But there are plenty of other authority figures, so I told him to be clean and naked when he opened the door, and that I'd take it from there.

I had a description of this guy, and I'd spoken to him on the phone, and I'd seen an anonymous, from-behind photo, but I didn't know exactly what to expect. People mean very different things when they say "cub." Often it just means anybody who wants to play with a bear, but in this case, it meant a cute, fit, thirty-two year old with abundant reddish-brown hair all over his face and body. Yum. I could see all the hair, of course, because he was naked when he opened the door. I introduced myself as the hotel manager and said that I'd had numerous complaints about noise and about all manner of men coming into his hotel room at all hours and that I very much resented being pulled from a comfortable bed where I'd been having a good time and being forced to come to the hotel to evict a guest and can you think of any reason why I shouldn't toss your ass on the street?


And he started to answer, but that was when I shoved him down on the bed, climbed on top of him and started to kiss him. I mean, role play is fine, but there are limits. After a few minutes of that, I did remember myself enough to tell him that he needed to be punished and to spank his very cute and perky ass until it was nice and red before kissing him again and starting to work on his nipples. I also managed to insist that he give me the typical, "Thank you, sir. May I have another?" after each whack with the belt, but it was mostly pro forma.

But, you know, pro forma is really enough. He seemed overwhelmed in a very good way by the whole experience. And he was a really good kisser. He had a great, soft mouth and good technique, and when I bit his nipples or pinned his arms down or licked his pits or shoved my jeans-covered crotch in his face, he always seemed to be right on the edge of too much, and that was clearly an edge he liked.

Eventually I got my clothes off and pushed him down to my cock, and, wow, great head. The soft mouth appeared to be connected to a throat without a gag reflex. He seemed very, very happy, but he didn't complain when I pulled him off my cock so that I could kiss him some more and then pin him down again. The next time I let him go down on me, I put his ass right in front of my face so that I could play with it and eat it, and he pulled off the very neat trick of clearly going into his extra happy place without stopping the suction. Awesome. We stayed in that position for a while, my alternating fingers with tongue, and then we made out some more until he begged me to fuck him. In his emails, he'd mentioned concern about being able to take my thickness, but I could tell from the fingering that a) he could take it, and b) he'd be eager to take it.

I teased him a little, but then I let him sit on it, and he was over the moon. I worked on his nipples while he bounced up and down on me a bit, then I put him into X position for a bit, but there wasn't a whole lot of time, so I moved him onto his stomach and lay on top of him, fucking him that way, and then I finally put him on his back, shoved his knees up to his face, and pushed into his hole and right up against his prostate.


I knew it'd be sensitive from the way I'd played with it when I had two fingers inside him. And I knew from earlier warnings that I couldn't play with his cock too much or he'd cum right away. What I didn't expect was that after just five or six minutes of fucking him that way and listening to him talk about how much he loved it, I'd be close to shooting myself. I almost never cum in that position, even though it's my favorite way to fuck. I warned him what was coming, continued to pump for a bit more, gave a shout, and filled the condom. After I was finish jerking from the intensity of the orgasm, I grabbed his cock, which was still hard, and gave it a few pumps. He'd already been pretty close when I started, so it wasn't a shock when the first watery blast came out of him and flew halfway up his chest before a thicker wad of semen shot out and hit his beard. So much fun.

I continued to stroke him until he was shuddering from the sensitivity of his cockhead, then I pulled out and lay beside him for a couple of minutes. Then we chatted a bit, and I jumped in the shower and then got dressed. He was dressed, standing up, and thanking me for coming over, and I pulled him too me and kissed him softly for a while, told him that the pleasure had really been mine, and left, heading back to the office.

Between work and the move, it may be a while before normal sexual activity resumes, but I'm sure that after I move, I'll make up for lost time.

Do You Receive?

Just in case you ever need to know, if you're ever reading a hook-up site in Montreal, and you see "Je ne peux pas recevoir" or the literal English translation, "I cannot receive," it doesn't (necessarily) mean that ass of the guy in question is too tight to accommodate your cock: it means that his wife, partner, or roommate isn't cool with him trying to accommodate your girth in their house or apartment. AKA, "I can't host."

Although I wasn't able to post an ad on Montreal craigslist -- because of a bizarre computer glitch -- I had mentioned on another hook-up site that I would be visiting the second-largest primarily French-speaking city in the world, and a number of men had contacted me to ask whether I would be able to receive. Sadly, there was no meaning of the word for which I would be able to answer the question in the affirmative. My hotel room was on a different floor from the room YFU and EFU was sharing, but I didn't fancy the idea of bringing strange men back to the hotel and up the thirty-eight stairs to the second floor. Besides, the bed was so terrible that I was only managing to sleep on it with the assistance of two camping mats. They were rather slippery entities, so I was pretty sure they wouldn't hold up to any manner of energetic sexual activity.


Fortunately, there was one guy in particular who seemed interesting and who had his own apartment not far from a Metro station. He had written me in English and asked whether I spoke French, and I had painstakingly written him back with reasonably correct grammar and accents to say that I would happily speak French with him and read his French e-mails but that I would prefer to write in English. He turned out to be a translator, so that was no problem. He also said that he was a submissive bottom who liked "uncomplicated" (i.e., NSA) sex, and that was even less of a problem.

I didn't want to cut into my time with the girls, but they were in the habit of retiring to their room by about 10 to read, watch TV, surf the Internet, etc., so I told Jean-Claude that I'd happily come to his place to play so long as we could do it either late or in the early morning (the girls rarely woke before 11). He was busy in the mornings, but we settled on Wednesday night as a time that was suitable for both of us.


I was later getting started than I would have liked, so I ended up taking a cab from the hotel to his place. Montreal taxi meters go up by increments of 5 cents, and they, not surprisingly, do so very quickly. The fare is, apparently, based on both time and distance so that if you're at a red light, the fare increases by 5 cents every four to five seconds, but if you're speeding down a main thoroughfare, the increments happen every two seconds or so. This didn't seem like an unfair arrangement, but it was very distracting.

Anyway, I had gotten out of the cab, paid and tipped the driver, and been buzzed into the apartment building, and Jean-Claude leaned out of his ground floor apartment door to beckon me. He was still dressed, but nobody's perfect. He said hello, and while it was clear to me from our correspondence and even a half-second's glance around his apartment that he was a person of considerable education and refinement, I still pulled him to me and began to kiss him immediately, just as I'd have done if we'd hooked up at my place back home. It is, of course, important to follow local customs, but when you're dealing with a submissive, it's more important to establish toute de suite that you'll be setting the agenda.

J-C was a responsive if not enthusiastic kisser. I wondered briefly whether the extreme lingual reticence was a cultural phenomenon that's widespread among Montrealers, but it seemed easier to just keep kissing him and not worry about the limited tongue contact. Lots of American guys are way too eager with the tongue, so it's not such a big deal if Canadians like to keep their tongues more to themselves, I reckon. I stopped kissing him long enough to let him declare himself pleasantly overwhelmed by my forthrightness, then I ushered him into the bedroom and pushed him down to the mattress resting on the floor.

I was kissing him again and working on his nipples with my hands, and he expressed a desire for both of us to be naked, so I started to undress him and then let him undress me. Voilà: naked. Then I went back to kissing him, soon moving to licking and sucking his nipples. He seemed very unused to that as well, but not at all ambivalent in his appreciation. Around this point I began to hypothesize that J-C while cute, was probably somewhat shy with men and probably didn't have nearly as much sex as he ought and perhaps had taken the opportunity of a visiting top to try something he wouldn't often experience otherwise.


Certainly, he was an eager but not especially skilled cocksucker. And when, sometime later, I told him I wanted to eat his ass while he went down on me, he acted like a child being offered a new and especially desired toy. And, of course of course of course, I loved eating his ass. It was a bit on the small side, but it was very firm, and he really got into it.

A little bit later, I worked a finger into his ass, and it was immediately apparent to me that I would never get him to loosen up enough to receive my cock, so I went back to working it with my tongue, then I pulled him down on me to kiss him some more, and after a bit more work on his nipples -- I could tell they were getting sore: awesome! -- I lay next to him, and we kissed while we both jerked off. When he was very hard, he was still a scant five inches and not at all thick, so I couldn't resist sucking on his cock. As usual, though, that became thoroughly resistable after about forty-five seconds, and we resumed the side-by-side jerking position. He came first, of course. And he watched with awe as my load shot all over me. I used the last of his Kleenex trying to clean it up.

We lay there for a minute or two, and I attempted to chat with him, but I could tell he wanted to get to sleep soon. I rolled over to start getting dressed, and I noticed that he was reading L'Elegance de l'Herisson, a recent French novel that even I had heard of. He offered me some water. I accepted it and remarked favorably on his very comfortable, very crowded living room. He had a painting that made me smile and somehow reminded me of Virginia Woolf. It was a gift from his sister.

Then I asked him for directions to the Metro station (Guy-Concordia), which was not far away. He was fun, but he was only worth a one-way taxi ride. Besides, it was a nice night. I took the metro back to Berri-UQAM and walked the five or so blocks back to the hotel.

Four More

I cut the cockring pictured above off a guy who was in my bed at home, but I didn't take the picture until I was in Montreal. I had stuck the ring in the pocket of my shorts at some point, and then I was in a Montreal buanderie (laundromat) where my clothes were in one of the dryers, and when I looked in, I saw the rubber O, upright, running along the tiny ledge at the back of the giant tumbler, like a hamster on its exercise wheel.

The guy I cut it off had answered a craigslist ad that I'd placed at the last minute when it turned out that my daughters were going to be spending the Friday night before we left on vacation at their mother's house rather than over here. (B&c was in Colorado, visiting his daughter.) I texted my buddy Pedro, who'd been asking to come over when I could host, and he said he'd come over, but also asked, as I'd expected, "How many guys will be there?" He's a more is more kind of guy, so I told him it might be just me, but I'd see what I could do. So I placed the ad.

By the way, I tried to place an ad in Montreal, but my ancient laptop couldn't display the graphics that CL uses as a spam filter. Alas, but I really didn't have time anyway. I did manage to hook up with a guy who had contacted me from a site dedicated to that sort of activity, but that's another story.

Anyway, I had the usual collection of serious and non-serious responses to the ad. I'd told Pedro 8:30, which is what I'd told the other two guys who seemed most likely to show up, but Pedro texted me around 7:30 to say he'd be getting there closer to 9, and John, who was coming from all the way out in some place like Upper Marlboro, called just before 8 to say he was running early. He was about five minutes away at that point, and I told him to come on.


John had told me that he wanted to be dominated. And, well, let me be blunt: I'm not getting any younger, and these days I mostly feel like dominating a guy when I've had plenty of sleep. What I mean is that it's always fun to pin a guy down on spank his ass or work his nipples until either he's begging for mercy or I can see that he wants to beg for mercy but won't. It's a desire that's always inside me and can be induced. But it's not active, without induction, when I'm sleepy. In those cases, I'd really rather make out some and then maybe get a nice blow job and jerk the other guy off while I'm eating his ass. Or something like that. Still, even though I rarely get as much sleep as I should these days, I might place the ad during a particularly wakeful period when I'm more in the mood for domination. And, in any case, when I say I'm dom, I always get a better response, so it usually just seems like the way to go.

And dominating John was pretty easy. He was furry and fleshy, without being fat, and he had pretty nice nipples, that I had my hands on almost as soon as he was in the door. And he kissed well, and he gave amazing head. And he got very excited when I answered my cell twenty minutes into our session to talk to one of the other guys who wanted to come over and needed directions, and he heard me say, "Yeah. I'm great. I'm getting some really good head right now." When I had him pinned to the bed again, he told me that he'd never had another guy come and join him during a session. "Guys tell me it's going to be a threeway, but then nobody ever shows up." I explained, in between bites on his nipple, that men who respond to craigslist ads are notoriously unreliable so that it may have been that the other guys who had arranged group sessions had simply not had other guys show up. But I also opined that men who post ads on craigslist are also notoriously unreliable so that they may simply have lied to him about the threeway in the first place. He didn't really say much, but that may have been because my teeth on his nipples seemed to make it difficult for him to concentrate.


At some point, probably after the second time I complimented his truly fine oral skills, he told me that when he was twelve, his stepfather had made him go down on him. I was a little shocked, even though I probably shouldn't have been, but all I asked him, after a brief hesitation, was whether he'd liked it. He said that he had. And now, of course, I wanted nothing more than to learn more details about his sexual history, but it seemed like the wrong time to bring it up, so after asking whether his stepfather had ever fucked him (he had, but only a few times, whereas he'd asked for -- and gotten -- oral sex on a weekly basis), I just went back to pushing his head up and down on my cock, which was, in its own way, very gratifying.

I'd been eating his ass (always a pleasure) for a while when the phone rang again, and it was Pedro saying he'd be just a little bit later. I told him the door was open. John said that his cockring was getting uncomfortable and began to try to remove it, but then asked me whether I had a scissors to cut it off him. I happened to know, from recent cleaning activities, that I had no fewer than three pairs of scissors in my top dresser drawer, so I leaped up, got a pair, and carefully snipped through the rubber that he was holding away from his cock.

We were making out some more when the doorbell rang. At first, I didn't bother answering it because I'd told both of the other guys who were coming that the door would be open, but when it rang again, John worried aloud that the other guy would leave, so I headed downstairs, figuring that it was the new guy (hereinafter "Fourth") because surely Pedro knew by then that the door is always open during a group session. Well, unless someone who comes in locks it, which happens from time to time, but I knew it wasn't the case this time. But it was Pedro at the door. I was a little bit exasperated, but I just pushed kissed him and pulled off his clothes and then pushed him up the stairs. He and John were immediately taken with each other, so I let Pedro climb on top of him for a while and make out with him while rubbing cocks (Pedro loves the frot above all else.) before climbing up behind Pedro and rubbing my cock along his ass crack. John thought that I was fucking Pedro, and that made him (John) really hot. "Oh yeah, Daddy's fat cock is fucking you now." Whatever, but it was fun.


We'd been at it for a while when Fourth appeared in the bedroom and undressed. At the time, Pedro was going down on me, and John, who magically became versatile when Pedro showed up, was standing next to the bed and fucking Pedro. I pulled Fourth down and started to kiss him, and John and Pedro moved to the side of the bed. Over the next twenty minutes or so, they took turns fucking each other while Fourth went down on me. Then, when John was lying on his stomach and Pedro was rubbing up against him, I pulled out of Fourth's mouth, and this time I did fuck Pedro, albeit briefly.

John and I had been going at it for nearly four hours when he finally came in Pedro's mouth. He hung out very briefly, but then he got up and went to the sink to wash off and began getting dressed. I was making out with Fourth, and Pedro was behind me. At one point, he acted like he wanted to fuck me, but I told him, "Dude. There is no way that's going in me. I never get fucked, and if I were going to start, it wouldn't be with something that big." He laughed. All he really wanted to do was rub his cock up and down in my crack anyway, so I let him do that for a bit, and then I pinned him down, and rubbed my cock against his while I kissed him. It only took a minute, and he came. He left shortly afterward.


Fourth was going down on me again, and when I said, "Damn. You really like sucking cock, don't you," he replied, "Yeah, but I like getting fucked even more." And I was all, "Good luck with that, bud. I've been going at it for almost 2.5 hours, and I think I'm too tired." But I was mistaken. Fourth went down on me with renewed vigor, and a few minutes later, I had him on his stomach, and then on his back, all the while ramming into him as if I'd just woken up after a full night's sleep. But I hadn't, so we only went at it for ten minutes or so before I pulled out and kissed him while I jerked first him and then myself off so that there was cum all over him.

And then I really was pretty beat. It was all I could do to follow him into the shower and then dry him off and watch him dress and make sure the door was locked after him when he went down the stairs and out. I was still wet as I stumbled to the bed and fell asleep, content the way you are only when your loins have been freshly emptied.