Saturday, July 21, 2007

Fish Tales

A lot of us talk about the search for sex as a hunt, and it is, of course, but I had occasion yesterday to think about how it's also like fishing. I'm going to strain a comparison here, so bear with me.

Neighbor and favored FWP C. was due over for a drink and a romp, probably followed by dinner out. The first couple of times C. was over, there were others involved, but the last couple of times it had been just the two of us. Frankly, either way is good, but I was feeling like I should be a good host and arrange for a bottom for the two of us. I suppose one might also say that I could benefit from such an arrangement, but I can assure you that my thoughts were entirely selfless.

Anyway, at first I invited my buddy A. A. and C. hooked up the last time they were both here, and A. also likes having sex with me, so I figured he was the natural choice. Sadly, he already had other plans with friends, though he asked to be invited the next time we got together. I tried another guy who'd been going back and forth with me for a while. He was supposed to come and be tied and blindfolded, but I figured he might be up for two tops instead. He's a bit older than me, but so is C., and he's smooth, and he has a body that I like:

I sent him an email this afternoon, and I didn't hear back until I got home from the office. He was interested, but by the time I wrote back, he was probably already gone.

Anyway, it was time to see if there really are too many fish in the sea, so I set my lines on craigslist, and rarely have I seen such fast and furious response. But, of course, getting the initial response is only the first step. You still have to land the fish, and that can be pretty difficult. No matter how much information you put in the ad, the fish only see "2Tops4Bttm" and don't bother reading the stats, requirements, or even the location. You know: the one that got away. ("He was this big!")

So you get the guys who answer your ad and who look great

but who can't understand why two tops would want to make out with them when all they want is to have both holes filed.

Or the guys who answer your ad and who look great

And who are into all the things you're into, but then ask "Where's that" when you tell them where you are.

Or the guys who answer your ad and who look great

But who don't like the picture of your face and/or body half as much as they liked the picture of your cock.

Then, of course, there's the guy who answers your ad and looks pretty good

(I'm not real fond of mid-length hair on African American men. It always makes me think of Al Sharpton. Great ass, though. [The guy in the pic, I mean, not Al Sharpton. I have never really seen or even considered Mr. Sharpton's ass.]), but who is looking to "provide $ervice." At least our sex workers are polite. When I wrote back and said that I wasn't really looking for a commercial transaction, he very nicely wished me a good weekend.

And of course there's this guy

whose email address (and ass) I recognized as belonging to the guy down the street who comes to our holiday parties, but who -- I know for a fact -- has no interest in sex with me. I called him on it in the reply, but he said I had him confused with someone else. As if.

Then of course, there are all the guys who you have to throw back for one reason or another, and I'll spare you the pictures.

In the end, I thought I had a pretty good choice, an African American who was eager to make out and be plugged from both ends. (And who had short hair.) He gave me his number, but, sadly, he wasn't in when I called and didn't have voicemail or an answering machine. I called back twenty minutes later, and he did answer, but then he said he was "on my way out with my cousin to WalMart." Alas. He said he'd be back in about an hour, but when I called him back, I was slightly relieved that there was no answer.

Anyway, even though I got home without any fish, it was not an unpleasant way to spend the afternoon. And when C. arrived, he was highly amused at all the trouble I'd gone to. But since he hadn't known what I was up to (C. is up for anything, so I never need to ask for permission), he wasn't in the least disappointed, and since he wasn't disappointed, neither was I.

I'd never given C. a massage, but he's expressed interest before, and since I had the table set up, as soon as we'd made out for a bit and had half of our martinis, I told him to get on the table. So he did. At first he was all "why are you wearing your clothes still?" and then he kept trying to grab my cock through my underwear. It took a minute for me to get through to him that I was giving him a serious massage. I'm pretty sure that he thought that I mostly do massage to lure men to my bed. Like some siren with good hands. But pretty soon he relaxed. He didn't have much choice given how firmly I was working his shoulders.

The massage was pretty much normal. C. was telling me about his date last night. It was his third meeting with the guy and the first time he'd seen the guy naked. He still doesn't know whether the guy's a bottom or a top, and when I asked him whether he'd consider bottoming for the guy he said he would since the guy's cock wasn't all that big. I figured that I'd be doing them both a favor if I gave C. some prostate massage. He took a finger pretty well for more than five minutes before it began to overwhelm him.

When I had him on his back and had worked on his face, arms, chest, and legs and finally got around to more intense nipple and cock work, he -- naturally -- got pretty worked up. I'd been figuring that I'd finish him off, but he wasn't having any of that. When he got too close, he grabbed me and said we needed to get upstairs and get me naked.

So we did, and it was fierce. He was really excited from the massage. I started out very calm, but I responded to his energy pretty quickly, and after twenty minutes of mixed play, we each jerked ourself off to highly intense orgasms. I shot all over my chest, all the way up to my shoulders. C. isn't a big shooter, but it was obvious that it was a great cum for him. It's really not clear that we would have had any more fun with a third.

I jumped in the shower, he toweled off, and we both went over to our favorite local restaurant. I had the pato alla savilliana. Mmmmm, duck.

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