Maybe the sun gave me the pow'r,
For I could swim Loch Lomond and be home in half an hour.
Maybe the air gave me the drive,
For I'm all aglow and alive.
What a day this has been! What a rare mood I'm in!
Why, it's almost like really good sex!
There's a smile on my face for the whole human race!
Why, it's almost like really good sex!
Experienced readers of The Neighbors Will Hear will remember my hook-up rating system. For those of you who don't want to risk following a link (lost in the archives!), I'll recap:
One star = Thanks. Maybe again sometime.
Two stars = Very nice! Now I need a cheeseburger.
Three stars = Fantastic! Excuse my while I call my friends to gloat.
Anyway, I'm going to need another star.
By late yesterday afternoon, I had adopted the resigned attitude of the defeated. After all, I hadn't hooked up since Sunday evening, nearly 48 hours earlier. Monday had not gone according to plan. My ad had yielded a number of promising responses, and I'd said yes to two guys in their twenties. They both seemed about 75% likely to show, but through a combination of bad luck and carelessness on my part, neither guy ended up receiving my special attention.
In addition to sex, though, there are a lot of other things that are easier to do when b&c isn't around. I can watch trashy reality TV without him rolling his eyes. I can jerk off with impunity (ok, maybe that's sexual). I can experiment in the kitchen, make colossal messes, and not clean up for a whole day.
Anyway, I was figuring I'd end up doing some or all of those things last night. I'd had a very promising response from a guy who said he wanted to hook up after 8. He'd sent his picture: lips to die for. He'd sent his stats: African American, 6'7, 250 pounds. I figured I was up for getting to the top of Mt. Everest. He'd sent his phone number and address, and he said that he liked everything I liked. But he'd also told me to call him at seven. My call had gone directly to voicemail, and I'd since gotten home, hopped in the shower, and changed, but at 7:45, I still hadn't heard back from him. I decided to give him one more try, though, and he answered and said we were still on. I don't think he'd ever checked his messages. I told him I'd be there in half an hour.
When I got to his place, he was out on his porch. He said that he hadn't expected me to make it so quickly, and that he'd just come out for a cigarette. Ugh. But I was already there, and he offered me a beer, so I sat on the porch and drank a beer and chatted with him and tried not to think about what the cigarette was going to do to my enjoyment of his kissing.
And then he brought out another, smaller cigarette-like object. And he said, "Oh, you don't smoke weed, do you? I remember your ad said you didn't." (My ad says that I don't use any drugs but that I'm popper- and 420-friendly, if guys want to use while they're with me.)
Readers who've been around long enough to remember the rating system may also remember Overused Rhetorical Device #27: Good Teddy and Bad Teddy.
Bad Teddy: Look! It's pot. Here's your chance.
Good Teddy: You do realize that if you smoke some of that joint, there's a probability greater than zero that a police officer will happen to be driving by and will happen to see you smoking the joint and will happen to bother to arrest you for misdemeanor possession. This could result in a fine and some time in the presence of lawyers.
Bad Teddy: Yeah, right. You've always wanted to try it. You might not get the chance again.
Good Teddy: [half-heartedly] It could be considered wrong.
Bad Teddy: WTF? "It could be considered wrong." Is that all you got?
Good Teddy: Well, some people think it's wrong.
Bad Teddy: Dude. Do you understand the concept of Good Teddy and Bad Teddy? I'm sitting here with meticulously researched, thoroughly compelling reasons for him to do something that would make his mother cry, and you're bringing "some people think it's wrong" to the table? Step up!
Good Teddy: [sighing] Listen. He already told his daughter it was okay if she smoked pot. How much of an argument do you think I've got here? It's illegal. Some people think it's wrong.
Bad Teddy: You are so lame.
Good Teddy: Whatever.
Bad Teddy: You know I'm going to win, so you don't even try!
Good Teddy: [sighing again] Fine. OMG, IT'S MARIJUANA, THE EVIL WEED. IF YOU SMOKE THAT, GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT YOU'LL USE NEXT. SOON IT'LL BE HEROIN AND YOU'LL BE DEAD IN AN ALLEY SOMEWHERE! DON'T YOU EVEN REMEMBER REEFER MADNESS DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR CHILDREN? WON'T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?
Bad Teddy: Very funny. If you're not going to honor the process, then I don't think I want to participate any more.
Good Teddy: Drama much?
Bad Teddy: That's it. I am outta here.
Good Teddy: Seeya.
Bad Teddy: Fine. I'm staying. But only for the pot. Because I'm BAD.
Good Teddy: Rock on.
So, yeah, when he lit the joint, I said, "Well, I could smoke it. But I'm a neophyte, so don't laugh."
So, listen y'all. I'm sure you already know this, but Bill Clinton? Big fat liar. I haven't smoked so much as a cigarette in twenty-five years, and I had no trouble at all inhaling. I kept thinking "exactly when does this become difficult?" Actually, the physical act of smoking got a little difficult when the joint got tiny: it felt like I was breathing in embers. But holding the smoke in my lungs was just no big deal.
We went inside and downstairs, and I started to kiss him.
It's an unfortunate fact of life that you have to play the hand you're dealt. If you end up being 5'4, you're never going to appeal to guys who fetishize basketball players. If you have a small cock, you're never going to appeal to size queens. There are a lot of things that you can do to overcome shortcomings in other areas, but natural endowment matters in some contexts.
What I'm saying here is that very good osculatory technique combined with a tiny thin set of lips might result in a fun time, but there's really no substitute for lips to die for. And he had the best set of lips I have ever encountered. I've kissed bigger lips (though not many, and not by much), but I've never kissed such big lips that had such a perfect combination of softness and firmness.
He also had terrific technique and an appetite to match my own, so we kissed for a long time. I took a couple of short detours to nibble his nipples (which he loved), but I kept going back for the lips (he loved that more). I did eventually managed to get him undressed and -- while kissing him -- get him even more into it by running a light hand along the insides of his thighs, over his nuts, and up his cock. (It was a nice cock, but nothing like the monster cock you might expect from a 6'7" black guy.) When I took his frenulum between my thumb and forefinger and began to rub, he started to whimper and kiss me harder. And when I let go of his cock and came up for air, he dove for my crotch, took off my jeans and boxer briefs and just swallowed my cock. A truly talented cocksucker, he is.
In fact, if I'd let that blow job go on for more than five or six minutes, I might have cum in his mouth. But by then, I was really wanting to kiss him some more, so I did. A lot of guys will have pretty much moved on from kissing once they've started sucking your cock, but this guy just came back to the kissing with more hunger than before. I took a few more detours this time around. I worked his nipples enough to make him shudder, and I stuck my tongue in his ears and then kissed all around his eyes and forehead. It was very intimate.
I probably could have made out with that guy for hours, but at some point I figured I should move things along, so I directed him back to my cock. I'd already established that he'd cleaned his ass very well
We interrupt here to acknowledge comments from an earlier post. It is, apparently, very easy to pick up certain unpleasant microorganisms even from an ass that appears very clean. I continue to believe, however, that you are more likely to pick up a greater variety of unpleasant organisms from a messy ass. Besides, i don't like messy asses. I do think that it should be possible to guard against giardia by coating the ass in question with rubbing alcohol and then lighting it, but I admit that I would be unlikely to attempt this maneuver even if someone were daft enough to agree to it. We return you to your regularly scheduled smut, in progress.
so I dove in. And, man, the guy was a champ. He managed to convey his extreme excitement at being rimmed without stopping the blow job. You just don't find mad cocksucking skillz like that every day.
After getting closer than I had planned to orgasm, I readjusted our positions, and we made out some more. Then I put him on his stomach, lay on top of him, and wedged my cock in his ass crack. He was pretty much subvocal at this point, mostly whimpering and sighing. I bit down on his shoulder, and he writhed some. Then I told him it was time for a condom.
He told me he was pretty tight, so after he gloved me and applied some lube, I told him to sit on my cock. And he tried, but it just wasn't working for him, so I put him back on his stomach and put my cockhead right against the outside of his ass and lay down so that my chest was against his back and I could kiss the back of his neck. He wasn't kidding about being tight, and after about five minutes of very slow pushing combined with a lot of kisses to his neck and shoulders, I still wasn't very far along, and he seemed to be having a lot of trouble taking me. I decided some more making out was in order, and when I pulled out, the super tight ass kept the condom. After a few minutes of kissing, I told him we should try again with another condom and significantly more lube.
A few minutes later, I was back on top of him. I was having more luck getting farther in, but it was still an amazingly tight ass. It felt really nice to be lie fully on top of him so that I could keep kissing his neck and biting his shoulder as I made my slow entrance. I'd stop pushing forward and take his head in my hands and kiss his ears, then I'd push a little more.
Once I got fully in and he got used to it, he was all about getting fucked. He got verbal, and I started pounding. It was a nice tight ass, but it was pretty clear to me that I wasn't going to cum while fucking him, so I was able to relax and just plow away. Yowza.
I didn't want to fuck him for too long just because it was pretty clear that he didn't get fucked much, so after a while, I pulled back out, leaving another condom behind (he had retrieved the first one before I started trying to push the second one into him), and we -- wait for it -- made out some more. He started to jerk me off while we were kissing, and I could tell it wouldn't get me off anytime soon, but it felt great, so I let it go until I could tell his arm was too tired. Then (we were still kissing, of course) I grabbed my own cock and started wanking.
It's difficult, of course, to determine how much of a particular phenomenon is attributable to the various contributing factors. It was a real effort for me to jerk myself all the way to orgasm last night, and I don't know how much of that was due to the great sex itself and how much was due to the pot. I do know that I hadn't noticed the effects of the pot for the first hour or so we were playing, and I'm 100% sure that the sex would have been amazing even without the pot, and I suspect that the pot had something to do with the ejaculatory delay, but I just don't know.
Regardless, while it was hard work, it was very pleasant work. We didn't stop kissing until just a moment before I came. He looked up just in time to see a shot of cum fly two feet up in the air and land across his lips. He was suitably impressed.
I started to play with his cock a bit and then to jerk him off some, but before long, I put his hand back on his cock and started to suck and bite one nipple while my fingers very lightly grazed the other. It didn't take him long to fall over the edge. His own cumshot was also very exuberant. Though not as impressive as mine. Of course.
We chatted for a bit, mostly about how awesome the sex had been. Then we wiped up and got dressed, and he showed me to the porch, and I kissed him goodbye. Then I got in the car, headed for Burger King, and called one of my friends to brag about what terrific sex I'd just had.
Afterglow can be a great thing, of course, but it pretty quickly occurred to me that my mood couldn't entirely be explained by afterglow. An extremely powerful afterglow can keep you buzzing for a while, but it fades into a quiet contentment pretty quickly.
I gotta say: that pot is some pretty fine shit. I think of myself as a relatively cheerful person, but I was almost giddy last night. Even the awful, awful experience that is the Germantown Burger King drive-thru line (for some reason, a lot of gay men live in that area, and I've sat in that line on numerous occasions) could kill my buzz. You wanna make me wait ten minutes for my cheeseburger? No problem, dude. So much happiness, so much contentment. I could not stop smiling. I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some shredded cheese (and some chocolate bars: who knew the munchies were real?), and I smiled at everybody. I got home, and my computer had frozen up again. I restarted it three times and finally gave up, and I was still smiling. I went and watched the late night rerun of Top Chef, and even Howie seemed like a nice guy.
Anyway, I'm pretty sure that Mr. Last Night had as good a time as I did, and I'm hopeful there will be a repeat or twenty. He might even tell me his name, though I'd probably just as soon he introduce me to his supplier. I don't guess that pot is something that fits in with my lifestyle well enough to do more than every once in a great while, but it'd be nice to have the option.
Update: I have to say that I'm impressed with the speed the medical marketing machine displayed in submitting that first comment. Sadly, as much as I (and Good Teddy) appreciate your efforts to help me get my life back on track, I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to go into rehab. Don't get me wrong: it's a great site, but I'm not sure I'm quite ready for an interventionist. I wouldn't mind seeing the sex addiction specialist, but only on a non-professional basis.