Saturday, July 14, 2007

Not So Slick

Time sure flies, whether you're having fun or not. I was sitting at the office Thursday, trying desperately to stay awake (I'd spoken to EFU Wednesday before the picnic and asked her whether she wanted to see the new Harry Potter, and she'd been enthusiastic, so I'd met her near her office and we'd seen the 10:30 show. We didn't get home until 1:30, and I didn't get to sleep until 2:30. The movie kicked ass, though.) and looking forward to a quiet evening and an early bedtime when I got an e-mail from S. My plans changed.

The e-mail had general pleasantries and said something about how he hadn't been in touch for a while. I had to look back in the archives to determine that I hadn't seen him since March. (The details are here. And here.) After a couple of massages, I'd invited S. over to a small party, which had been snowed out. I'm sure I must have e-mailed him once after that, but it was March, and the tax returns were flying thick and fast, so I didn't have the time or the energy to work on a painfully shy (albeit cute) guy who wasn't ready to beg me to fuck him.

But if I hadn't actively pursued S., I certainly hadn't discouraged him. He was more like a seed that I'd planted and forgotten about. If you're fairly active sexually and you're a decent guy about it, and you do your best not to piss people off, you're going to get some repeat business that you hadn't planned on. This is a very good thing.

Given our past encounters, I pretty much expected to catch up with S. a bit, then give him a thorough massage, make out with him some when he was on his back, get him off, massage him a bit more, and leave. Perfect activity for an evening when I'm really too exhausted for anything heavy. When I arrived, he seemed unusually happy to see me, and I figured it must have been a while since he'd shot a load for anything other than his right hand. And he was also probably lonely. S. is a really nice guy, but in addition to the shyness, he teaches middle school English, and he doesn't drive, so I suspect that he just doesn't get a lot of non-familial social interaction during the summer.

For whatever reason, he was very responsive to touch, whether sexual or non-sexual. Not that the two categories always remain discrete for very long. There was a long, warm hug, and then while he told me about the work he'd had done on his house, I started to work my thumbs around his shoulder blades and then massage his neck. He told me how good it felt, and I pulled him into a reverse hug, with his back against my chest. I held him tightly and rubbed my hands up and down his chest, grazing his nipples through his t-shirt, and he felt warm and happy. And he smelled good, too. Like baby powder with maybe something else mixed in but not a heavy cologne: I couldn't smell it until I had him tightly wrapped up in my arms, and that's the way I like fragrance to be. I was getting hard, something that usually doesn't happen until I'm kissing him during the second half of the massage.

S. didn't seem in any hurry to move onto the massage, and I started to feel more and more that he was as much starved for affection as for muscle manipulation and release. Anyway, it felt pretty good, but after a couple of minutes, I suggested that we move to the bed.

It had been a while since I'd massaged someone on anything other than a table, and I really wasn't so much thrilled that we were using a bed, but you work with what you've got, of course. S. told me to "get comfortable" (i.e., wear less), so I got rid of my shoes, socks, and slacks. I left on my polo and my boxer briefs.

Instead of his normal boxers, S. was wearing black cutaway bikini briefs. And instead of lying on his stomach, he got on the bed and lay on his side, facing me. It was pretty obvious that massage wasn't uppermost in his mind. Again, you work with what you're given, and if he wanted to get straight to the erotic play, well, yippee. I lay next to him and pulled him close to me and started to kiss him. God, those lips: full and soft. And where he'd been reticent in past sessions, he was clearly eager to make out.

At the same time, S. is always almost comically reserved. Where other guys would be moaning or screaming, he'll smile. Where other guys would be yelping or telling you to stop, he'll just shift uncomfortably a bit. He'll always tell me afterwards that he had a great time, but while it's going on, I have to be fairly attentive to pick up on what's working. I'm still not sure that whether the heavy breathing that went on while I was working his nipples was pleasure or discomfort. Very likely the former, though, because I was working them very gently, though diligently.

In any case, there was a lot of kissing, tight hugging, sucking on his nipples, kissing his forehead and ears, nuzzling his neck. Mostly he seemed to purr. He's not one to initiate any action, but, well, short, smooth, skinny, dark-skinned men with small uncut cocks just really make my motor run, and I very much like to take charge of that situation. It's not so much a dominant vibe as a just-leave-it-to-me vibe.

After maybe a half hour of my mouth and hands covering most of his body, I had his underwear off, and I decided to run my tongue down his stomach and to his cock. It's skinny and no more than five inches, so it's very easy for even me to take the whole thing. And the foreskin is tight enough that it stays over the head when he's fully erect, but not so large or tight that I can't wiggle my tongue down between the foreskin and head to tickle his frenulum. One of the places my tongue loves best.

For thirty seconds, that is. And it took about that long. S. may have whimpered very slightly, but there wasn't much warning. His nuts were up tight, but they're so small to begin with that it's difficult to tell, and they were up tight from my having played with his cock before I started to suck it. Regardless, about half a minute in, I tasted the beginning of something surprisingly sweet. I'm not a swallower, so I pulled off and wrapped my hand around him to stroke him while the rest of his load spilled. Again, maybe a little bit of nearly inaudible moaning, but it was certainly one of the most quiet orgasms I've ever witnessed. He seemed to have enjoyed it at least as much as the screamers do, however.

I grabbed the towel from the corner of the bed and wiped him up while we kissed and hugged some more. After just a few minutes of that, I put him over on his stomach and started the massage in earnest. Instead of baby oil or massage oil, S. had put a container of something called "body butter" on the table next to the bed. The consistency reminded me of the cold cream my mother used when I was a kid. And the smell was kind of flowery. But he was already pretty relaxed, maybe from having dropped the load, so it was pretty easy to give him a massage, even using that gunk.

The massage didn't take nearly as long as usual. Partly because of the situation, and partly because there just isn't that much of S. to massage. Still, he seemed to melt beneath my hands, and he was pretty into everything I did, even when I slid my finger into him and worked on his prostate for a while. When I flipped him on his back and started to make out with him again and -- a few minutes later -- slid my finger back into his ass, he started making very quiet noises, and I asked whether it was too much. I blame the body butter.

Anyway, about half an hour after he'd cum, I had him hard again, and I wanted to get a second load out of him, but after another ten minutes of working on his cock, he said that he didn't think he'd be able to cum again. Works for me. We cuddled for another five minutes or so, during which we chatted lightly, and then I started to get dressed. He asked whether I was okay, which I suppose was an oblique way of asking whether I minded not cumming.

And I didn't mind. Parts of sex with S. are highly erotic to me, but our styles are so very different that I'm not sure there's a way for both of us to cum. Or, more accurately, a way for me to cum at all. With time he might decide to go down on me, but it's unlikely that he'd be able to get me off that way. And since he cums so easily, I don't really feel like spending a long time jerking off hard to spray a load on him. The only thing that keeps S. from being an ideal FWP candidate is the fact that he's not eager (or probably even willing) for me to fuck him. I doubt that I can overcome that, and I'm really not sure that I want to. On the one hand, there's a chance that he could become a power bottom, which would be great. On the other, he's so slight that there's a chance that it might hurt him if I fuck him. So far I haven't been able to get more than a finger inside him. And I suspect that there are psychological barriers whose crumbling might result in consequences that I might not want to deal with.

Ultimately, why ask why? I'll probably never know, and I had such a good time doing what I did with him that nothing else really matters. I am going to try to keep in touch with him and to play some more and perhaps have him over sometime for dinner. He's sweet and needs to get out more, and if I don't help with that, who will?

But I'm definitely bringing my own massage oil next time.

1 comment:

DiamondFistWerny said...

Thanks for visiting my blog. I've been by your site several times. But it takes me a hot minute to warm up to commenting!