Monday, August 11, 2014

Literally

So I'm in bed with this fit, older, redneck bottom, and fit, older, redneck bottom is one of the 150 or so types that drive me crazy, especially if they're sweet and don't smoke, and he is, and he doesn't, and it's going pretty well because he's got nice soft lips, and he knows how to use them.  And I've eaten his ass pretty thoroughly, and I've put three fingers into him because he says it's been a while, and he's sat on my cock and gotten the head in, but then when I turn him over and put him on his stomach, he says that it's too big, and that it hurts too much, even when I try repositioning him on his side, and even when I use plenty of lube, and he's asked me to stop, and now he's starting to say that it's getting late, and he should probably get home to his dogs.

But I lie next to him, spoonwise, and touch him and kiss his shoulder because I don't want him to leave, and that's not mostly because I haven't cum yet.  It's mostly because he drove all the way from Frederick, and there's something sad about him.  Not mopey sad, just kind of nice-guy-hard-life sad.  Also, he's really sexy, and I like holding on to someone after midnight on a Saturday.

And he doesn't seem like he really wants to go.  It was an impulse, but then he starts talking about stuff, and then talking about stuff generally turns into talking about men who have fucked him, and when he starts to think about all the cock he's had, then he gets really turned on, and before long I've managed to pull him back on top of me, and we're sharing these soft kisses interspersed with tales of cock. 

And then he's telling me that his very first time being fucked happened when he was fourteen, and he got mounted by the neighbors dog.  It was, he tells me, a big brown collie who'd been separated from the females, and it started by humping his leg, but then it somehow got into his ass, and when it got into his ass, its cock got much bigger, and he was scared, but he loved it.  Some months later, it had happened again.

And then he tells me that he's never told anyone that story, and I believe this because a) why would you tell anyone that, and b) people are always telling me shit that they won't tell anyone else.  And I don't know whether b) is because I listen a lot and listen well or because I'm just not very judgmental.  But I recognize that I'm probably supposed to be appalled, and I'm really not.  After all, if anybody was violated, it was the guy who's now trying to sit on my cock again.  Surely, the collie was not coerced.

And maybe this is one of those times when I'm expected to say something sensitive or say nothing at all, but the thing that I can't keep myself from saying -- could you? -- is, "So, that collie made you his bitch.  Literally."

And after that he manages to take almost all of my cock and rides me well, but not long, because he cums hard after a minute or two of bouncing on it, and I don't cum, but that just means more for the next guy, and I'm pretty satisfied with all the kissing and the canoodling and the story, and he gets dressed and says he wants to come back soon, and I figure I'll never see him again, and that's too bad, but probably for the best, all things considered.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Small Misunderstandings

1.  Some well-intentioned soul on the Internet signed up for a significant number of online hookup sites using one of my gmail accounts.  The problem is that all of these sites appear to be dedicated to the procurement of opposite-gender action:

Getanaffair
MatureXMatch
MilfBerry
Saucy Singles
BeDiscreet
IWantU
SugarBBW
ClickandFlirt
Shagaholic

While I certainly appreciate anyone's efforts to get me laid, I have to say that a) I'm really doing ok without any assistance, and b) women are wonderful creatures, but I don't want to stick my cock in any of them.  In fact, if we're taking the I in MILF literally, there are, in fact no mothers that I'd like to fuck.

Also, some of the many replies I've seen (who knew I was so popular with the ladies) seem a little unclear on the concept.  It is certainly possible to be a mother at age 21, and it's certainly possible to be attractive at age 21, but a 21-year-old just doesn't qualify as a MILF.

2.  I took yesterday afternoon off, and I had expected to have a nice long session with a relatively new FWP, but he never got back to me, and then I got a message from someone on line who was both from Virginia and a top.  I explained that I am myself a top and that it is not particularly easy to get to me from Woodbridge or Leesburg or wherever, but he said that he wanted to come over, and I liked his pictures, so why not?

A little over two hours (!) later he showed up at my place, complaining about the traffic, the inadequacy of air conditioning, and the speed with which I began kissing him.  After a couple of minutes, I got him calmed down, upstairs, and undressed, but he kept saying, "Suck my cock," as if I were the sort of person who responds well to commands.  At the same time, he was showing no interest in my cock and decreasing interest in making out.  Also, when I sucked his nipples and played with his cock, he got really close to ejaculation really quickly.  After about the third go-round of his telling me to go down on him, I just stroked him a little bit faster, and he came.  Spectacularly.  With convulsions and a healthy load.  I grabbed a towel and wiped him off, and then he quickly got back into his clothes and headed back into traffic, making some sort of vague reference to playing another time, but: as if.  He was in the house for no more than ten minutes, and he probably spent at least 3.5 hours on the road.  I'm sure he was disappointed, but hey: a) read my profile, b) pay attention to what I tell you when we're chatting online, and c) don't be a cray-zee Northern Virginian. It can't be that hard to find a bj in Leesburg.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Two of Three

So it's late last night, and I'm a little tired because earlier that evening my friend with occasional privileges Bob had come by, and because he's decided that his and his boyfriend's (he also has a wife, but she's not really relevant, except as background) relationship is once again open, so we can have sex and hang out in bed instead of going out for dinner and then sitting in his car in my driveway after dinner while he wrestles with his conscience, and we'd had amazing sex/foreplay for a couple of hours before I'd finally had him wrap me up (because one of the ways he's beaten down his conscience is by insisting that we fuck safe) and started fucking him, and I was so worked up when I finally penetrated that I came in about three minutes, which may very well be a personal record, and was in any case a welcome change from the usual half hour of plowing before I either shoot or pretend to shoot or pull out and handle myself until I shoot, and it was all so great that I really should have just rolled over and gone to sleep, but I'd had to get dressed and walk and feed the dog, and then some hot marine started messaging me, so when the "No Caller ID" call came in, I was still awake and decided to answer it because I figured it probably wasn't Alex -- the newb who has promised and then failed to show up so many times (think Lucy with the football here) that now I just say, "Sure, come over" and then either invite someone else or go to sleep and wait for the inevitable apology -- but the unnamed Latino guy who'd come by a couple of weeks ago and then ran out the door after I kissed him a couple of times because "I've never done this before" and "I'm just not comfortable," and, in fact, that's who it turns out to be, and he's trying to schedule a time for us to meet at a motel, and I'm resistant because I have a perfectly good home and bedroom to meet in, but eventually I tell him that -- sure, what the hell -- he can call me on Friday night late if he really wants me to meet him some place, and then I figure I'll just go to sleep, but then he calls me fifteen minutes later and says that he wants to stop by on his way home, and by now it's already after midnight, and he's coming all the way from downtown, but I never was good at saying no, so sure, come on over, and I take the opportunity to fold some clean laundry and sort some dirty laundry and start a load of that dirty laundry and wash my cock again, and before too long, he's calling to say that he's almost there, and then he's here, and I'm kissing him again because that's what I do, and after a minute of kissing, I take him upstairs and toss him on the bed and start kissing his lips and his neck and his nipples and he's begging me to let him at my cock, but I'm going to take a little time with that and then -- and all I'm doing is kissing his neck and fingering his nipple -- he starts to moan loudly and shake and tell me that he's coming, and after he stops shaking, I reach down into his underwear, and sure enough, he's blown a load just from making out, and then he's off to the bathroom, and I'm lying there, still fully clothed and feeling like a total stud because I made this dude cum just by making out with him, and then he's back in my room and he's putting his hoodie back on and he's telling me that "I just can't do this."

And I'm all, "Dude, you just did."

A few minutes later guy three (the hot marine) calls me, and ten minutes after that he walks through my door, and we spend most of the next forty-five minutes with him riding my cock while I tweak his nipples before I finally throw him on his back and fuck him deep and hard.  After that there's another forty-five minutes of me kissing him and fingering his nips while he jerks himself off.  When he leaves, both the sheet and the mattress pad are soaked through with his sweat.  Fortunately, I always have clean spares handy for just such occasions.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Rich

I am not bothering to change his name because I'm not sure it's his real name.  It's the name I've given him in my iPhone, and I presume I had some reason for that, but that reason could have been an alias in an old email.  I thought about asking him what his name is last night, but I decided not to.  Sometimes it's better to think than to know.

I'm not sure how long Rich and I have been -- very intermittently -- hooking up.  It seems like longer, but most likely, it's been about four years: I think the first time I met him was shortly after I moved here, but it may have been before that.  Details blur in the past, and they get blurrier faster as I get older.

Anyway, I find fucking Rich irresistible, which I really need to do because getting together with him is, well, challenging.  There are usually a number of missteps between when he first expresses interest and when we actually get together.  And it's sort of typical that on Thursday night he texted me back at 10 (just after I got home from choir practice) to say that he'd be showered and on his way in half an hour, and he didn't actually knock on my door until 12:30.

Still, since it was so late when he arrived, I didn't have to spend the usual half hour of small talk and questionable diversions (The last time we were together was at his place, and he turned on some lesbian bondage porn.  I made him turn it off.) to get him into bed.  I just handed him a glass of wine, and we walked up the stairs.  I lay on the bed and watched him strip down to his briefs.  He's short and solid and beefy with very smooth, very good skin.  He is fun to manhandle, and he's surprisingly cuddly.  The last time we played, we were in bed just holding and stroking each other, and he put his head on my shoulder and told me how much he liked being held that way and how it was something he didn't get enough of.

Rich takes a fair amount of warming up before he really gets into making out, so I stroked him and sucked on his nipples while we had a bit of idle chatter, but when I started biting on a nip, he moaned, and I could tell we were on my way.  I kept it between my teeth and increased the speed at which I was tonguing it, and I ran my hands down and grabbed his small-but-very-hard cock through his briefs.  More moaning, which only got louder when I pulled the back of his briefs partway down to reveal one cheek and spanked it.

I figured he was warmed up enough, so I rolled him all the way onto his back, got on top of him, grabbed his wrists, pinned them down, and started to kiss him more energetically.  There was the expected moment of resistance, and then he gave in and gave back.  I was grinding my rock hard cock against his, and I let one wrist go so I could pinch a nipple, and he moaned and writhed beneath me.

At first I had no desire to hurry things along, so I rolled off him and onto my side, then I turned him toward me and got him in a bear hug.  I didn't squeeze too tightly, though, and he slid his body in closer to mine, maximizing the points of contact.  He sighed, both happily and tiredly, and I figured holding him for a few minutes was a good idea -- and hella fun, too.

But I was also exceptionally horny, (Probably because I'd had lunch with a guy who wants to be my new sub, but who's very nervous and wanted to meet me first; I'd thought lunch seemed like a weird idea, but we ended up in a booth in a dimly lit restaurant, so we could talk openly about what each of us wanted while I kept a hand on his thigh.  Afterwards, I let him drive me back to my office, right across the street, so that I could pinch his nips and fondle his very small and hard cock.  It was awesome, but when I got back to the office, there was precum in my briefs, and I knew relief was nearly twelve hours away.) so before very long I started putting one hand up the leg opening and then down the waistband of his underwear, and then I just took it off while I kissed him a little more fervently and slapped his ass.

That worked and got him a little more animated.  I chewed on his nips briefly, which got more groans out of him, then I started kissing his neck, and when he began writhing a little, I started to nip his neck.  Small, quick bites that got a big response but not hard enough or lasting long enough to leave a mark.  I mean, I know what I'm doing. 

I did that and then went back to his nipples, and I began to think he was awfully slow in getting to my cock, so I just said, "Can you suck my cock while I eat your ass?"  He excused himself to go to the bathroom, and I wasn't sure whether that was a legitimate need to urinate or just playing for time (with some guys, it's a way to use more substances, so who knows?), but he came back pretty soon, and settled between my legs.  Then, he gave a sigh and had a look like, "I guess I have to," and he started to take my cockhead into his mouth.  I guess the initial reticence gave way pretty quickly, because he really started to get into it, taking most of the length into his mouth and apparently savoring it.  It felt really good, so good that I decided to table for now the eating-his-ass part.  I stroked his hair idly while I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

Eventually, he came up for air, and I pulled him around and got between his knees, spread his cheeks, and shoved my tongue right into him.  Unsurprisingly, this made him forget my cock, but my cock wasn't going anywhere, and it has been rumored that I love to eat ass, so I went for it.  He did eventually start sucking on the cock again. 

I was really worked up, so when we both came up for air at the same time, I shoved him off of me and onto his stomach, got behind him, lay on my stomach, and ate his ass for a little longer, then moved forward, bit the back of his neck, and rubbed my cockhead along his ass and against his hole.  He made a sound without words but that clearly meant "Give it to me," and I reached over his head, took a pump of lube, rubbed it on my cock, and presssed forward. 

I'll give Rich credit for not being the type to whine at the initial pain of entry.  I could tell he felt it, and I wasn't exactly ramming into it, but he took it like a man (also how I gave it), and before long, I was all the way in him, not moving, but staying deep, and continuing to bite various spots on the back of his neck.  I started easing out and then easing in, but he clearly wanted it harder, so I sped up and thrusted harder, and bit harder, and he got louder.

I fucked him for about ten minutes, I reckon, when he asked for a break.  I pulled out and lay behind him, with my arms around him, playing with his nipples.  After a minute, I turned him toward me and started kissing him hard and deep, sucking on his lower lip and his tongue, in turn.  Then I put him on his stomach again, slid into him quickly, and started plowing. 

And that was great, but I didn't think I'd cum that way, and for a variety of reasons, it was going to be more what I wanted if he'd thought I had cum, so I made a lot of noise, stopped thrusting, and lay on top of him as if I were spent.  After a minute, I pulled out, put him on his back, and resumed nibbling on his neck while I jerked him off.  That took longer than I expected, but in about ten minutes, the moaning had escalated almost to the point of shouting, and he shot.  I kept stroking him after he came, and, once again, he didn't complain even though I could tell his cock was getting very sensitive.  I stopped, grabbed a towel and wiped him up.

Rich is a little obsessive about cleanliness, and I knew he'd be heading for the shower almost immediately, my attempts to hold onto him notwithstanding.  But that was cool because I was still pretty worked up, so much so that as soon as he got in the bathroom I started stroking, and I blew a big load in plenty of time to join him in the shower.  Always a good time.  When he got out, he grabbed a towel and swiped the steam off part of the mirror, looked, smiled, and said, "No marks."  I reminded him that I knew what I was doing.

I thought for sure he'd get dressed and run out, but he just climbed under the covers with me and pushed his back up against my chest.  I put my arm around him, and he fell asleep pretty quickly.

So did I, and I have to say it was really sweet.  The last time I'd had a guy sleep over had been maybe a week and a half earlier, and it was this top guy that I'd inexplicably started seeing, and it ended up being the last time I saw that guy.  Not because of anything I did while he was staying over (more because that guy was just a big jerk and/or we were incompatible -- almost certainly both), but sleeping with that guy hadn't been a particularly pleasant or restful experience.  Sleeping with Rich was both.

Or at least it was for four hours, because at 6:30 I woke up, and when I reached over and reached down, Rich was rock hard, and I started playing with him, and he wasted no time at all in straddling me and sitting on my cock.  He was so quick about it that I had to stop him so I could get some lube on my dick.  Once I let him get going, he really rode me.  I started stroking his cock with one hand and pinching a nip with the other, and he came in just a couple of minutes.  Fifteen minutes later, he'd showered again, dressed, and left.  I went back to sleep, but I was pretty beat when I got to work at 9:30. 








Friday, September 13, 2013

I Know This Much Is True

You should never believe anything a man tells you.

There are, of course, exceptions to this dictum, but in general, if you don't know a guy very well indeed, you should assume he might be lying to you. And it's probably obvious, but I'm mostly talking about guys who want to have sex with you.  The longer you've known someone, in general, the more you can believe him, but the more he wants to have sex with you, the less.  So your old friends who really don't find you all that attractive?  Sure, believe them.  The new guy who wants your dick?  He'll say anything.

I don't mean to sound cynical here.  Most of these lies are harmless and they're either meant to make you feel better or just to spare the teller some level of embarrassment.  Don't you spend a lot of time telling people what you think they want to hear?  And don't you do it with generally good motives?  I do, though, of course, sometimes I'm just trying to get in some guys pants.

Anyway, the other night I was on my way home from choir practice, and I was in a pretty good mood because the choir director had given me a fat solo in a gospel piece we're doing, and, well, I love that music, and it works really well with my voice.  I'd just finished walking the dog when I got a text message from my old exish-friend Sunil. 



I say "exish-friend" because while I have no ill feelings towards him (nor he towards me, I'm sure), there's a little bit of history.  Namely, back in the day -- and we're talking maybe eight or nine years ago -- I used to hook up regularly with Sunil, first when I was single, and then when I moved in with b&c.  And he was a nice guy and a pretty good lay.  And a Desi bearish guy, and, well: woof.  I had another fairly regular FWP, Chuck, and Chuck was also a nice guy and a good lay.  On the whole, I'd say that Sunil had a better ass, but Chuck's ass was just fine, thanks, and he may have been the best cocksucker in Montgomery County (and, hey, there's a lot of competition for that title, believe me).

Anyway, one holiday season, b&c and I were having our usual holiday party, and I invited both those guys.  They met for the first time at that party, and they really hit it off, and they started dating, and they're still together, all these years later.  And I'm truly happy for them, but the immediate effect of their getting together was that I was suddenly down two of my favorite FWPs.  Which happens, of course, but I thought (very sensibly, I'm sure you'll agree) that if I was directly responsible for getting them together, then the very least they could do was to include me in a threeway as a gesture of thanks.  It's a simple matter of courtesy, right?

The other problem with Chuck and Sunil was that while they were both nice guys they both turned out to be a whole lot less interesting to me when I wasn't fucking them (go figure), so while b&c and I went out to dinner with them a couple of times and invited them to another party or two, we kind of lost touch, and I figured, well, that happens.  And it's not like I couldn't or didn't find other guys to fuck.  I may have told you about two or twenty of them right here.  

Every couple of years, though, Sunil would email me and say that he wanted to get together.  I'd reply promptly and say that would be great, and then I'd hear nothing more from him.  After the second or third time that happened, I figured nothing would ever come of it, but there's not a whole lot of effort associated with sending an email, so it was just a thing that happened and then didn't happen, and I never thought about it.
About seven months ago, Sunil texted me on my birthday, and he said the same thing, and I said the same thing, and he disappeared again, and I forgot again.  And then the other night I got another text from him, but this time I just texted back, "Want to come over?" And he did.

I had to amend my traditional modus operandi a bit because Sunil wanted to chat for a while, so while I kissed him some when he walked in the door, he pulled away and sat in a one-person chair, and I got him some water, and we got caught up.  And, you know, it's amazing how no matter how much has happened to you in the last seven or eight years, when what you really want is to get in a guy's pants, you pretty much act like everything's exactly the way that it was the last time you see him.  Even if you're living in a different house, without your former partner, and your kids have almost entirely grown up since the last time you talked to him.  

Anyway, after maybe fifteen minutes of chit chat, he asked if I wanted to go upstairs, and I did, of course.  The stairs in my house are very steep -- they wouldn't meet code if they were built today, I reckon -- and that's not always a good thing, but it does mean that if you let a guy get three steps ahead of you, his ass is right at eye level, but not to far away to reach out and grab.  Which I did, eliciting a low groan from Sunil, who, I figured might not have had his ass grabbed, eaten, and/or fucked in quite some while.  Because if I knew anything for sure when those two got together, it was that Sunil was going to be the top in that relationship.

As per usual, I was in a bit of a hurry to get him into bed, but once we were there, I was very happy to take my time, thanks.  He has big, thick, firm lips, and he loves to kiss, so we did that for a good long while, with my hand alternately navigating his chest hair and going up the leg of or down the back of his shorts to play with his nuts or his ass, respectively.  Eventually I started undoing his belt, then his zipper, and then I pulled his shorts down so I could play with his cock, which is small and uncut, the way any cock that isn't mine should be.

He likes to be kissed and bitten (everywhere except on his left nipple, where some dog years ago apparently preceded me, rendering that one little bit of him overly tender; damned dog), and he shows this pleasure audibly and at a decent volume, another thing that revs me up immensely.  So when I wasn't kissing, sucking, or chewing on his lips, I was kissing, sucking, and chewing on his (right) nipple or his neck or his shoulder, and he was groaning and shaking.

Whenever I would finger his ass, he'd groan and murmur something about how it had been so long, and I figured he just meant that it had been a long time since I'd been in his ass.  It wasn't a particular surprise when, after he'd been going down on me for a while, he really started getting loud when I wriggled under his ass and started tonguing it.  At the same time I grabbed his right nip in one hand and his cock in the other, rubbing his foreskin up over his drooling cockhead, and he got very animated, causing me to dial back the intensity.  I certainly didn't want him cumming before I got a chance to shove my cock into his amazing ass.
 
The opportunity came soon enough.  I pushed him down on his stomach, lay on top of him, and started chewing on his shoulder.  I reached over to grab the Gun Oil off the table behind my bed, took a couple of pumps, and started to slide a couple of fingers into him.  He said again how it had been so long, but it wasn't a cautionary "so long": it was more the "so long" of a man getting water in the desert.  I put some of the lube on my cock, lined up behind him and started to push the cockhead into him.  I knew I'd need to go slow, so I did, letting his ass get used to the head before I started to push the shaft into him.

But I knew he could take it, and I really wanted to give it to him, so I was buried to the hilt in him before long, and he was really on fire for it.  I pulled out slowly until just the tip of the head was in him, then I re-entered with one long, slow, steady push, until I was all the way in him again.  He was moaning, and I asked him if he liked it.  I got a breathless "yesssss" in reply.  I reckoned that was my cue to speed up.

Normally, I like to rotate through a bunch of positions, but I was really into fucking him from behind while he lay on his stomach, so I just started to increase the thrusting frequency, and he kept moaning more and more loudly.  He was so tight that I knew I wouldn't last more than ten minutes, and he seemed legitimately unused to taking cock (despite how much he was clearly loving it), so I just thrusted faster and faster until I could feel the pressure building in my shaft.  I was really ramming and twitching then, and I just let fly, continuing to thrust and thrust as I spewed.

Then I collapsed on top of him, chewing idly on his neck.

Before long, I recollected myself and turned him on his back, got some more lube, and started to stroke his cock while I chewed his good nip.  It didn't take long before he was gushing.

We lay still for a couple of minutes, then I grabbed a towel and cleaned both of us up.  We talked for a while longer, mostly about his problems with his daughter, and I asked him how Chuck was doing.  Then, finally, I asked him if the two of them ever did threeways, and he said no and that my fucking him was the first time he'd been with anyone other than Chuck since the two of them got together all those years ago.

In a way, I was a little bit flattered.  But mostly, I just rolled my eyes at what he was saying. You should never believe anything a man tells you.












Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Inertia; The Italian Job; WTF

So, I was writing this about two or three weeks ago:

I reckon I have in mind some sort of tortured and overused metaphor with the title of this post, but at least I'm not going to start whining about being inert.  Or maybe I am: I guess it depends on the meaning of "inert."  I tend to think of things as being inert when they're stuck in one place, but there are two parts of inertia: an object at rest tends to stay at rest, and an object in motion tends to keep on moving in the same path.  So if over the past however many years, I've spent lots of time ramping up my sex life to the point where I'm fucking someone practically every day (Except, of course, for the days when YFU is over at my place, but, you know, she's 17, and while we still get along as well as we ever have, she really doesn't care if I head out of the house for a couple of hours, as long as the Internet's working, and I hand her a plate of food before I leave.  Besides, if I hang around with her, she's just going to occupy the remote and start watching something on Netflix that I cannot abide [frequently, it's Supernatural, which like most shows of its ilk, I feel would be improved immeasurably if its male leads took the sensible step of wearing Speedos, or perhaps less than that, but until that happens, I just can't], so, truly, everyone's happier if I just step out on those nights.  Or maybe take a long lunch and plow some ass before it's time for her to come over.), does having lots and lots of sex mean that I'm inert?  Ok, probably not, but it's definitely a form of inertia. 

Of course, you can be hyperactive in some areas and a couch potato in others, which is why my lawn is about two weeks overdue for cutting.  I keep meaning to take an evening off and cut the grass (it takes less than half an hour, and the weather's been REMARKABLY un-DC-like this year, so there is some time almost every day that's great for mowing), but then one of my regulars will call or text, and, well, I am not a girl, but if I were a girl, I'd be just a girl who can't say no.

And, hey, it's not like I have sex every day.  Back in July, I took the girls on vacation up to Harpswell, Maine, and what with travel days, there were nine straight days where I didn't fuck anybody.  And we had a terrific time.  (Though, to be honest, it would probably have been an even better time if I'd managed a tryst somewhere in the middle there.  The problem is that the way the geography is up in Harpswell, someone who Grindr or Scruff says is five miles away is likely forty-five minutes off by car.  And most of the people who are even that close are other vacationers who are there with their wives or partners, so they can't host.  But like I said, the vacation was fantastic.)  It was my last chance to spend an extended amount of time with EFU before she headed off to Bolivia to teach elementary school. 

When we got home from vacation, I'd taken the sensible precaution of taking an extra day off of work, so that left me with most of Sunday and all of Monday to make up for lost time.  Which meant that on Tuesday when I finally returned to work, I was both very tired and very happy.


And then a little later, I was writing this:

His name is Bruno.  If you met him and didn't know him, you'd think right away that his name should be Bruno.  Italian, fit, hairy, masculine, and a man of few words.  But plenty of action.  Bruno says a lot more to me via text message than he ever says when he gets to my house, because when he gets to my house, I grab him and shove my tongue in his mouth.  Sure, I do that with every guy who comes over, but with Bruno, there's a sense of urgency.  With other guys, I have chemistry; with Bruno, I have physics.

Bruno's married, and he has a daughter about the same age as my younger daughter, a fact I learned the second or third time he came over, before I realized that he has no real interest in talking to me.  It's not that he doesn't like me, it's just that he's so horny whenever he comes by.  For all his masculinity and wordlessness, he loves making out and we always enjoy a goodbye snog, something most married men go out of their way to avoid when they're done getting fucked.

Bruno doesn't get fucked much, as it happens.  He says once or twice before he met me, and that's not hard to believe because Bruno loves loves loves to suck cock, and he's damned good at it.  But I love love love to eat and fuck ass, and Bruno's coming around to seeing things my way, and he's learning to love love love riding my rod, provided I let him suck it for a while first.  Which I am only too happy to do, naturally.

I kind of love sucking him off, too.  He's got a nice cock, a little shorter than average, but I prefer them that way, especially if they're uncut, and Bruno's got more than his share of foreskin.  If I shove my tongue in between it and his cockhead -- especially while I'm fingering his prostate -- he'll cum pretty quickly.  He usually tries to stop me, and sometimes I let him.

But they're never long sessions.  He's only ever free during the day, so I have to come home from the office, and he's always later than he says he'll be, so he's only in the house for half a hour.  Of course, you can do a lot in half an  hour.  Especially when you've got physics.

The last time he was over, he walked in, and I grabbed him and we were kissing each other like our lust was the only thing keeping the world together, and I don't even know how we managed to get our shirts off over our heads the way our mouths were crushed together, but we did, and I had his pants down, and I was grabbing his cock and running my hand over his fur and twisting his nipple, and then he was on his knees inhaling my dick, and finally I got enough spare room in my brain to realize I needed to move this upstairs, so I let him get four stairs up before I shoved him down and spread his cheeks and rammed my tongue into him while I fondled his nuts.  And I never wanted to stop doing that, but even more than I didn't want to stop doing that, I wanted to start fucking him, so I pushed him the rest of the way upstairs, and when he got to the bed, I pushed his shoulders down so he was bent over, and I stepped up behind him and put my cockhead up against his asshole and leaned in slowly, shoving it up his ass.  And he's really tight, but I was still wet, and his ass was nice and wet, and some forces will not be denied.

I don't remember exactly how long I fucked him, but it was a triumph of the will when I stopped short of losing my load and pulled out and tossed him on the bed, got between his legs, swallowed his cock, and put two fingers against his prostate.  This time I didn't let him stop me.  He doesn't cum a lot, but he cums very loudly.

I was so worked up, and I figured he was spent, so I lay next to him and started stroking myself.  It only took a few seconds before he started kissing me, then he got up and took over the stroking.  I can almost never get off that way, but I was pretty worked up, and when he let a string of saliva fall on my cock, his fist pushed me to ejaculation almost immediately.  I don't cum loudly, but I cum lots.  Lots.

As per usual, once we've cum, Bruno heads to the bathroom for approximately twenty seconds, then he's got his clothes on in another twenty, and then it's "That was hot," (polite lad) and then he's out the door.  Interestingly, for all that I get maybe fifteen words from him while he's at my house, his text messages are complete sentences, full of passion and longing.



And then -- how does this even happen? -- I started dating this guy, and suddenly it's like I'm hardly having sex with anybody.  I met this guy on Squirt, of all places, and his profile made it very, very clear that he's a top, and when he messaged me to see if we could play, I said, "You did read the profile, right?  I am not a bottom." And he said, sure, but he sounded pretty cool, so I said, WTF, come on over.

And it was totally disarming.  He was just not having any of my moves, and he wanted to talk some, and he was entirely charming, and without much kissing or pulling of nipples or anything, somehow we were up in my bed, naked, just touching each other.  It was indescribably nice.  Not so much hot, really, at least not for me, and I was so shocked by the whole turn of events that I wasn't even hard, but really nice.  He was amazed that I was willing to sit there and touch him and let him touch me even though I wasn't hard, and he somehow thought that was the neatest thing ever that I was so unguarded with him.  But, really, I mean, there's a guy in my bed, touching me, and I'm not hard, so am I supposed to freak out or get defensive?  No, I'm just going to go with it and enjoy it.  Apparently, this is not a common reaction to the situation, or so he says.

The whole thing was incredibly intimate.  And not the sort of surrogate intimacy that you get when you hook up.  I don't mean to deny the sort of transactional/transitory intimacy of anonymous and near-anonymous sex.  Because there's something really special about two guys who are both into it going at it like a couple of crazed squirrels.  But this seemed like something more than that.  Maybe it's because some of the blood that usually goes right to my rod was hanging around in my brain.

In any case, he said that he wanted to do that again, and I was all, "Uh huh."  Because, well come on: Squirt?  Not exactly the place where you go to find dates.  And I have a firm policy of never believing anything a guy says to me during or after a hookup.  It's not so much that guys lie (though they do, often and egregiously), but guys mean one thing when they're basking in the afterglow or the pleasure of mutual nudity, and then they often think better of it once their clothes are back on and they're out the door.

And, indeed, when I texted that guy a couple of days later to say that I'd like to see him again, he didn't reply, and I figured it was par for the course.  But then a week or a little more later, I saw him on Squirt again, and I said hi, and he asked if he could see me again and invited me over, and I went over, and it was all very much more of the same.  Except this time I was erect, and he seemed to like that even better, though not enough to, say, go down on me or anything.

And this has been going on for maybe a month now, and it's all very weird to me.  Because there's very little that resembles what I'd call actual sex, though he did spend the night on Sunday, and I was stroking his cock and kissing him in various places after a long session during which I'd blindfolded him, tied him to the bed, and eaten his ass (which, even though he's fifty, no one before me had ever done to him), and he had just told me, before I grabbed his cock that time, that it takes sooooo much to get him to cum, but in fact not long after I started stroking and kissing him, he shuddered, swore, and came, in a way that was neither voluminous nor loud (alas).  But that's the only semen that's been spilled in the six or seven times that we've been together.

But I am still a long, long way from fucking this guy, and I am adamant that he is not fucking me until I've fucked him.  And that's not just me being a jerk or stubborn (mostly), it's really a matter of self-preservation. I'm not entirely averse to the idea of being versatile with this guy.  I have been exclusively a top for a long, long time now (I believe the last time I got fucked was in 2002, when I hadn't been out all that long), but I have often thought that if I met Mr. Right and Mr. Right was versatile, I would learn to take it up the ass and maybe even enjoy it.  But I'm really not interested in casual bottoming.  I'm sure it's something I could learn to do, but I don't want to.  And I know this sounds horribly crass and/or humorous, but seriously: if I start being vers, it dilutes my brand.  There are any number of DC-area bottoms who would lose interest in me if I stopped being a dedicated top.  As it is, there are guys who won't let me fuck them because I occasionally like to suck cock.  So if I'm going to give all that up, I'm going to need a damned good reason.

And I'm not sure this guy is ever going to get there.  There are many, many things that I like (a lot) about this guy, but he has the real sense of sexual entitlement that comes from being a successful DC-area professional with a massive cock.  It's long and it's thick, and it's pretty clear that for years now (he says he was last fucked in 2005, after he divorced his wife, but before he married (and then divorced) his husband.

[Shout out to one of my readers who emailed me with the thing I love most to hear (i.e., that he jerks off to my blog posts) and who asked whether any of the dick pics here are of me.  I would never put any picture of me on this blog (not that I'm not grateful to guys who do: you go!), and I don't really think my cock is all that, but I'll give you some info on it in the context that this guy I'm dating is much larger.  So my cock will get to 7" long if I'm really really worked up, but more typically when it's hard it only gets to about 6.5.  The reason that the bottoms like it is that the circumference is six inches, which would be thick in any case, but mine is wider than usual because if you took a cross section of my shaft (and please don't: I'm using it), it would be much more of an oval than a circle.  So if I've got a guy on his back or on his stomach, when I get about an inch in (because I really don't have a mushroom head to speak of: my cock is shaped like a torpedo that's been somewhat flattened; now there's an attractive image), it really stretches his ass.  Now you know.]

See now, I'm a top, but I work at it.  I kiss like a pro.  I get into lots and lots of foreplay.  I eat ass like one of those guys on "Out of the Wild" who's seeing his first meal in three days.  I'm not the greatest cocksucker in the world, but I've learned to be okay at it and to weave it in and enjoy it.  And I always try to make sure my partner gets an equal (if different) measure of pleasure.  I'm really not entitled (sexually, I mean: I'm a white American male, so in more standard ways, I'm positively dripping with entitlement).  The new guy has never rimmed a guy, kisses passably but doesn't get into just making out, and has no real interest in sucking cock (though, to be fair, he says he likes my cock a whole lot, and he kinda sorta licks at it while he's playing with it -- sometimes).  He's clearly been able to get by on charm (which he has waaaaay too much of) and his massive dick.  And, trust me, in this area there are lots of guys who would totally forgo the charm (and everything else) just to ride that big dick.  But I am not one of them.

And the other thing is, when this guy told me that some day he'd fuck me and I'd love it, and when he agreed that it was only fair that he wait until he was willing to also get fucked, I started thinking about it, and I made some online purchases, and I'm going to practice with lube and toys and get loosened up in case it ever gets to that point.  Because this guy does NOT have what you'd consider a starter dick.  It's a cock for experts.  Of course, my cock's pretty thick, too, and I've fucked my share of virgins who have really enjoyed it, but of course, I was all about the preparation.  When I've been with this guy, and I've eaten his ass for as long as he'll let me (which is really not that long, except for that one time he was tied to my bed) and then put a wet finger a little way up his ass, he's usually responded by trying to take a dry finger and push it into my ass, which is also dry.  And, oh come on, dude.  I know there are bottoms out there literally and figuratively salivating for that monster rod, but seriously?  Think about it.  Some form of lubrication is going to be required if you really want this to be something you enjoy.

And he doesn't like admitting it, but he does enjoy what I do to his ass.  Unfortunately, he's got some really big mental/emotional block about giving over control (which, hey, I totally sympathize with), and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to overcome that, no matter how much this guy likes me.  And he does seem to legitimately like me a whole lot, at least when he's with me.  He's got the other problems that go along with being a successful and driven DC-area professional, mostly meaning that if I don't find some way to get my name on his Outlook reminders, he probably doesn't think about me if I don't call or text him, and I kind of have to fight for his time.  Which is mildly annoying, but a) not really surprising around here, and b) not entirely his fault.

Anyway, probable sexual incompatibilities aside (other than that, Mrs. Kennedy, how did you like Dallas?), this guy's pretty awesome, and I would really like this to work out, and maybe it will, but I'm not assigning a high probability to a great outcome.  He is very sweet when we're together, and after like our fourth horizontal naked session, he asked me if I wanted to be his boyfriend.  Which is kind of weird, but I guess he's very efficient with his use of time.  So I asked what that would entail, and basically at this point it would only entail that I not date other guys.  Meaning that I can still fuck other guys as long as I'm not trying to develop some sort of emotional relationship with them.  And, hell, why not?  I hate dating, anyway, so if I have a nominal bf, then I just won't do something I was doing hardly any of.

The bad thing was that all this warmth and sweetness and intimacy (and, yeah, I know I put all the difficulties up front: life is complicated) is that it's made me somewhat less likely to look for hookups, and what was happening every day is happening a lot less the last couple of weeks.  And that's bad because a) it gives me too much time to think about how little time this guy has free in his schedule, and b) sometimes (like most of the time), I just want to pin someone down on the bed and shove my cock into his ass over and over again until we're both spent and satisfied.

So, I'm just going to do more of that while I see how things play out with the guy.  He shouldn't mind, and if he does mind, then he's not being fair.  And, hey, if he wants me not to fuck other guys, then he can do that pretty simply by letting me fuck him.  I will even reciprocate.


So now you're up to date.  Back to normal tales of sluttishness (and pics) soon, I reckon.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Tax Day Trifecta

Why is it that guys who are fucked up are often such good lays?  Is it that they just don't have sex very often because of the guilt, so when they finally get around to getting fucked, they've got all that tension to release?  Or is it the guilt itself? Perhaps they enjoy it more because they feel like they're doing something wrong?  I don't know: I just know that I seem to know and/or attract a disproportionate number of guys who are both fucked up and really great lays.  And it can be something of a problem because the fact that they're fucked up makes them unreliable, so I kind of don't want anything to do with them, but the fact that they're really great lays, well, the implications are kind of obvious, innit?  Add in the fact that I'm no good whatsoever at holding a grudge, and maybe you'll understand why I say, "Sure, why not?" when most of these guys (there are exceptions, and there are guys that I cut off absolutely, but mostly those are the guys who've committed the unpardonable sin of being bad in the sack) email or text me wanting to play.

And that happened with two guys on the fifteenth.  I had tentatively planned to make an appearance at the office's offsite tax day party (I attended the onsite party, because it was onsite; also: food).  I never stay very long as the party exists mostly as an excuse for the youngsters to drink heavily.  (Also the not-so-youngsters, but I never like seeing my bosses either shit-faced or hungover.) But sometimes I'll go and have a glass of wine before going home and either hooking up or having a wild night of Netflix and diet soda on the couch.  Anyway, on this tax day, I had later-evening plans to play with a boy (older than me, I think, but still a boy) who was going to be in town on business and whom I had fucked senseless (arguably not such a long personal journey for him, but whatever, right?) the last time he'd been in town on business.  So it seemed reasonable to hit up the party.

But then I got a chat message from this guy who's been saying since 2009 that he wants to be my slave.

So.  If you had the dubious pleasure of knowing me personally, you'd probably not think me a likely person to have a slave.  And you'd be right.  Nonetheless, it is a not uncommon occurrence for me to be hit up by random bottoms, from various Internet sources, claiming that they wish to serve me in this capacity.  And I have to admit that it's tempting.  Not because of the sexual aspects because (with all due respect to the slave-owning tops out there whom I am not judging [totally a lie: of course I'm judging you if you want to own a slave; have you never heard of the Thirteenth Amendment?  Or, I don't know, the Civil War? And don't give me that bullshit about how the Civil War wasn't fought over slavery; of course it was fought over slavery.  The people who tell you otherwise are racist scum who wear Confederate flag t-shirts. Not that I'm judging.]) being a hard-core dominant is something I only want to do once in a while, and even then, I'm not so much hard core as maybe firm core. Yeah, that's me: an occasional firm-core dominant.  You can see why I don't use such a description in my online marketing. 

Anyway, the thing is, most guys who want to be slaves fall into one of two camps.  First there are the guys for whom it's entirely a fantasy, and these guys are mostly trading email messages with you where they talk about the joys of being owned, and if you oblige them by fabricating similar messages about how you want to put their cock in a chastity device or house them in a cage or whatever, they're just going to use those messages to wank out some unspecified number of loads, but they're never going to actually show up at your place for service.  The other group are the people who totally misunderstand the entire concept of slavery and, in effect, want to be kept men.  They hate having to go out in the world and earn their living.  They hate having to make decisions.  So they want to lie about the house all day while you're off earning your paycheck, and maybe they'll do the odd bit of housework, and they have dreams of being fucked senseless (here again, no great accomplishment, given how little sense they have to start with) every night.  And while real slavery is -- OF COURSE -- abhorrent, fake slavery is just dumb.  Real slavery was an economic institution, and no sensible slave owner would have purchased a slave who wasn't going to be an economic asset.  And when you explain this obvious bit of economics to members of the second group, they kind of dry up and go away.

But then there are a few people who basically want to be part-time slaves (a proposition that is nonsensical on its face, but whatever), and I am embarrassed to admit that I have tried with a few of these people because, well: free housework.  But it never works because it turns out, unsurprisingly, that slave wannabes and cleaning fetishists are mutually exclusive sets, and whenever I've had someone claiming to be a slave come over to clean my house, he always requires lots and lots of supervision and is not very good at cleaning.  In other words, I have to stand over him, and, oh fuck, just hand me the mop and get out of my house and I'll have it done in half the time.  There was one guy that used to just be a hook-up (at which he was very skilled) who over time wanted to be more and more enslaved when he left his girlfriend at home and came to see me for 1-5 hours, and he would clean some, but when my patience had been worn away to the point where I decided to just leave him at home when I went back to work (I knew where he lived, and it was tax season), he spent time that was meant to be spent cleaning trying to shove increasingly improbable items up my ass.  And while that large bottle of dark sesame oil was very likely already rancid, I still resented having to throw it away when I came home to find it in my shower, covered with fecal matter. (I mean, wtf, dude: I HAVE sex toys.) After a short while, I came to realize that this guy just liked making me angry so that I'd fuck him harder, and after a not much longer while, I just couldn't handle it any more, and I decided that I should send him on his way before he provoked me into doing more than just slapping him around.  (I did not slap him around hard enough to leave a bruise, and I would generally do it when I wasn't angry because he liked it so much, but I find anger especially toxic, and I don't ever want to experience myself out of control.)  There was another slave wannabe who showed some potential, but he was horrifically unreliable, and mostly what he wanted to do was iron my shirts, and, I mostly buy the Lands End no-iron cotton shirts, and when I don't, I just really don't find wrinkles to be such horrible things.  You know?

Anyway, the guy from Monday/tax day was somewhere between those first two groups of slaves manqué.  He probably has some legitimate desire to be closely controlled and to be fucked hard and rough, but he has no follow through.  I had gotten to the point where I would reply to his (not very frequent) messages with a "let me know when you're ready to come get fucked; I don't have time to make up shit for you to jerk off to." But he seemed earnest this time, and I really didn't want to go and hang out with my colleagues, and I figured that if he didn't show, I could start getting caught up on my laundry and cleaning or (more likely) turn on the tube and melt into the sofa.  And, of course, there was always the off chance that that other guy would follow through.  That other guy is a bottom who lives deep in the heart of DC, high up in some very nice apartment building with absolutely miserable parking, and I usually travel to see him because he usually contacts me when he's home alone and drinking.  He's another one of those guys who are unreliable but freaking hot in bed, so while I've learned not to expect anything from him, I can't quite write him off entirely.  Well, I came really close a few months ago when he said that he was going to travel out to see me and didn't show up and then hours later had asked me to come to see him because he was drunk, and I finally figured that the timeline had been a) he asks to come out to my place to see me, b) he goes out to a bar and drinks a lot and tries to hook up, and c) he asks me to come see him when he strikes out at the bar and is too pissed to drive.  It made me kind of angry, so I told him not to contact me again, but then right near the end of busy season he emailed me to apologize and told me how much he missed my cock (not me, mind you, but it's not like I want this guy to be into my personality since I would never, ever date him, even if he weren't closeted), and I was feeling forgiving (as I almost always am), and I figured it would be ok to see him if he agreed to come out to my place AND I had alternative plans for the evening.  Double (or triple) booking is a good strategy for dealing with people like these two guys because the odds of both of them showing up are pretty low, and if they do both show up at the same time, well, either a) woohoo, it's a party, or b) one of them gets offended and leaves, and while I normally don't like to offend people, these are people who've already misbehaved pretty badly, so I'm not going to feel even slightly remorseful if they waste a trip.  And, in practice, I can't remember a time where someone showed up when my bed was already occupied and didn't decide to just join in.

So that other guy had emailed me a couple of times and said he'd come over when he was done at his office.  He'd had an original ETA of about 5:30, but he didn't end up arriving until 8, by which point the first guy -- who did, in fact, show up -- was just a distant memory.

I knew first guy was a submissive, so I, naturally, grabbed him and sucked his tongue down my throat as soon as he walked in the door.  This guy's like 6'3, massive, and solid, and it's always fun to dominate a guy who could destroy me in a fight, if I were a fighter.  Which I am not: I'm a lover.  Anyway, he was into it right away, and I had him upstairs and half-undressed and under me on the bed all in pretty short order.  And it was all hot and good except that he kept coming to the edge of freaking out, and I had to talk him back down.  Where "talk him back down" means "grab him and throw him down on the bed and tell him to re-fucking-lax." And -- it must always be so, apparently -- at some point I grabbed his cock kind of hard, and after about three seconds, he pushed me away and sat up and went all rigid, and it was obvious that he was trying to hold off a highly premature orgasm, and he actually managed to do that.  Unfortunately, I started to laugh because the whole situation was too ridiculous not to, and he said something about how if he'd cum, he'd feel all guilty for cumming too quickly, and now I'm sitting there of two minds because mind a) just wants to shove him down on his stomach and fuck him hard and without lube until he screams for mercy, but mind b) wants to explain to him the way things really are.  And if there weren't other guys in the pipeline, mind a) would likely have prevailed (except there would have been lube because he was really tight), but as it happened mind b) mostly won out, so I put him on his back and made out with him some while explaining to him that he was taking the whole thing waaaaaay too seriously, but then he got close again, and then he checked his cell phone and told me that he had to go because his sister had been running in the Boston Marathon, and he had texts from another sister and his father saying that she was in the hospital.  And, well, damn.  I'm pretty sure he was telling the truth about all of that, so I really had to be nice to him at that point, which likely means that he'll never be back, and that's too bad because submissives built like linebackers -- while not exactly rare -- are good additions to any top's harem.  I kind of wish I hadn't let him stop me from jerking him off (not that I necessarily had a choice: dude was strong) so that now I could say, "Easy cum, easy go," but, well: easy come, easy go.

I checked my email, and Rich (aka second guy) was running behind (no surprise there), so I took Luna out for a walk and then came back and sofaed for a while.  By 4/15, my mind is pretty much mush unless there's a difficult tax situation or an appealing piece of flesh to focus it, so time passed pretty quickly on to about 8:30.  I was starting to worry that Rich was either going to bail or -- worse -- run into the time for my hotel boy, but I forgot about that when Rich showed up.  He'd come right from work, and he looks delicious in a suit.  My inborn-and-hard-to-control inclination was to undress him right away, but Rich is kind of a high-maintenance lay, meaning that it was going to take a glass of wine and some conversation to get him upstairs and naked.  I'm not a big drinker these days, but I still had maybe a quarter of a box of Black Box Malbec (which I cannot recommend highly enough because it's pretty good, and the collapsible bladder inside the box means that it stays tasty for many weeks), so I pulled down two of my oversized red wine glasses and we sat on the couch and discussed the superiority of red wine.  It turns out that he's from Napa originally.  Who knew? 

Ten minutes later, I refilled his glass, and we headed upstairs, whereupon he headed into the bathroom to take a shower, leaving me to sip my wine and wish that I'd insisted on undressing him, but he wouldn't have liked that (without significantly more wine), and Rich is the sort of guy who demands and rewards patience, so I waited, and before long he appeared, wrapped in one of my big white towels.  He's totally smooth with really good skin, and about 5'9, and slightly fleshy, but solid.  He's hard to describe, but he's almost pretty, yet entirely masculine.  I lay him down on the bed and started to kiss him a little bit: he warms to that very slowly, but with persistence, and some detours to work his nipples, he gets more and more into it, so sex with him is always a long, slow, awesome process.  Thirty minutes later, he was going down on me, and I was slowly and thoroughly eating his hot, tight ass.  Sixty minutes later, he was on his side, and I was slowly pushing my cock into him en route to a hard fuck.  Ninety minutes later, I was on my back, and he was sitting on my cock as I alternately stroked his face and twisted his nipples, and he came hard on my stomach.  Ninety-one minutes later, he was rushing off to the bathroom and then getting dressed.  Dude doesn't stick around afterwards: he's too busy working through the guilt, or whatever, but while we were playing, I'd heard my cell phone make a notification that I was pretty sure was Hotel Boy, and since I was saving my load for him, I couldn't very well complain about Rich shooting and running.  Especially after he'd been there two hours in all. 

After I saw Rich out and fed Luna, I jumped in the shower and headed down to Silver Spring and Hotel Boy's hotel.  He met me in the lobby, and I shoved my hand down the back of his jeans in the elevator up to his floor.  HB is shortish (maybe 5'7) and trim and cute and very, very willing, so I tossed him down on the bed as soon as he had his shoes off (I used the time to put my glasses and cell phone on top of a bureau) and began to kiss him.  He's got nice lips and he uses them well, but I knew I was running on fumes at this point, so I moved on to his nipples pretty quickly, and by the time we'd been on the bed for ten minutes, I had him fully naked, and he was going down on me.  I let him just suck for a while before I told him to put his ass in my face, and I probably only had my tongue up his ass for another five minutes before I was shoving him down on the stomach, and applying the lube (I'd made him put the condom on me, of course: there are rules, after all), and entering him slowly.  He's got narrow hips and a very tight hole, so it takes me a bit to get into him, but he was also eager, and I wasn't feeling especially in the mood for oh-baby-let-me-fuck-you-nice-and-slow-tonight, so pretty soon I was bang bang banging away at him, and he was alternately biting the pillow and, um, vocalizing is the word I'm looking for, I guess.  If I'd been at home with him, I'd have taken the pillows away and let him shout, but even though the Marriott seems to have pretty thick walls, I don't like to make too much noise when I'm in public accommodations, so I pushed his head down into the pillow and fucked him harder and harder until I unloaded into the condom. 

If ever there was a time to roll over and go to sleep, this was it, but I'm nothing if not polite, so I lay on my side, shoved a couple of fingers up his ass, and sucked on his nipples while he jerked himself off.  Then, while he was off grabbing a towel, I did actually fall asleep for a few seconds, but there was no way either of us wanted me to sleep over, so I wiped up and put my clothes on.  He had, meanwhile, collapsed on the bed and was making half-sleepy, half-satisfied noises about how well-fucked he felt, and I leaned down and kissed him goodbye then headed back to the parking garage and then home.  I could have slept for a day -- especially since I had the next day off -- but I had to get up and walk Luna the next morning.  No rest for the wicked, I reckon.