I got EFU safely deposited in Vermont this weekend, but not without a marathon travel day (I left home at 7:45 am on and finally got checked in at the motel in Brattleboro at 10 pm.) on Saturday and another on Sunday. Traffic was abysmal on Saturday, partly because the stops we needed to make on the way dictated a route that I would not otherwise have chosen. Traffic was light on Sunday, but I had acquired a severe case of intestinal distress (YFU and I went to WalMart -- ugh, ugh, ugh -- to get curtains for EFU's room, and while there I visited the men's room no fewer than three times. It was clean, at least.) so that despite an average speed of about 80 mph on the freeways, It took me a long time to reach my motel room in southern NJ. Thank god the New York State Thruway has rest areas every thirty miles.
The intestinal distress was not as hard as having to say goodbye, but I have already said enough about that. There is no point in whinging about things that you can't change and that you wouldn't change even if you could: God forbid I should become an emoblogger. She's thrilled, so I'm thrilled. And if I'm not, I'm going to pretend that I am until I really am. I will merely say that parenthood is not for the faint of heart.
Anyway, Vermont is really pretty at this time of year. The college is really pretty, too, but it's waaaaay out in the sticks. Brattleboro is already pretty much nowhere, and then you go to the outskirts of nowhere and then to the suburbs of nowhere and then you go a little farther and you get to Marlboro.
Everyone we met was very nice, including EFU's roommates. There appeared to be a high concentration of young gay men, so I know that she'll always have lots of friends. We were at lunch when a young gay man from Mississippi sat down opposite us and introduced himself as one of EFU's friends from facebook. It was good to see that she'd started collecting gayboys even before she got to school.
After we got all of her stuff moved into her room and had procured the curtains, I said goodbye. There was a parents' panel at 3 and a president's reception at 4, but I'd already met the president in the parking lot, and I figured that the aforementioned intestinal distress would add several hours to my travel time. So not long after 3, I headed west on Route 9, which is really a beautiful drive, though perhaps more beautiful if you're not constantly worried about where the next restroom is. Really, it was probably the most impressive case of diarrhea I've ever had.
Anyway, I only had about 300 miles to go Sunday afternoon/evening, and after I got off Route 9, I mostly drove at about 80 mph, and the traffic was not bad at all, and I only stopped ten or twelve times for intestinal distress and to rehydrate, so the trip to southern New Jersey only took about seven hours. By that time I was feeling really drained and I hadn't been able to eat anything since lunch, so I considered cancelling my Southern Jersey hook-ups, but, well, the intestines seemed to be on the verge of righting themselves, and it had been at least a week since I'd fucked anyone except b&c, so I decided to go through with them. Or at least I tried.
As it happens, southern NJ is very close to Philly, so when I put up a CL ad on Friday saying I wanted to have sex late Sunday night (and another ad for early Monday morning). I narrowed the responses down to two for Sunday and two for Monday, figuring that I'd feel like doing most of them (this was pre-intestinal distress) or that one or more of them would flake on me. Anyway, I got some PopTarts and fruit juice from the vending machines to fortify myself.
The first guy called me on my cell while I was still on the Garden State Parkway, and I confirmed for sometime after 10. He'd said that he was usually dominant but that he was excited to try being submissive. So when he called to say he was in the motel parking lot, I gave him the room number and told him to come up. I turned off most of the lights and the TV (if you're going to be a dom, having the Food Channel on sends entirely the wrong message), and when he knocked, I opened the door, kissed him, and threw him (literally, I'm afraid) down on the bed, and went right for his nipples.
I'm sure all of you know this already, but when you're exchanging messages with a guy, "TT" stands for "tit torture." This is not the same thing as nipple play or even intense nipple play. So I pretty much went right to level 9 with this guy's nipples, which were so pronounced (the usual description is that they're like pencil erasers: it would be perfectly accurate in this case) that I could tell they'd seen plenty of work. I had his wrists pinned to the bed, and I alternated between deep kissing and hard biting on the nipples (but through his polo shirt, so how much could it really have hurt, right?). Because I'd been pretty beat up by the events of the day, I wasn't sure how into the whole thing I'd get, but kissing and working on a guy's nips rarely let me down, so I was very quickly woody. He was getting a little loud and struggling some, but then every once in a while he'd say, as if to himself, "I can take it."
After a while, I got his clothes off and lost my pants and boxer-briefs, and he started to go down on me. He'd promised that he was good at cocksucking, and he hadn't lied. For a long while, we went back and forth between me fucking his face, working his nips hard, and kissing him. He really seemed to be eating it up (har har har), or at least he was rock hard the whole time.
I had him pinned down again and was kissing him and started to finger his cock. He got into it, but he said that he wanted me to go down on him. I told him no, of course, just to keep with the dom-sub vibe, but he kept begging me, so I asked him how long he had, and he said he had as long as I needed, so I got my cell and called Sunday night #2. Sunday night #2 had wanted to come into an empty motel room, put on the blindfold, and then have me appear out of the bathroom and fuck him from both ends. I figured that would be easier with two cocks, and I was sure he wouldn't mind feeling a second cock, though I had no intention of warning him.
I got his voicemail, but he called me back a couple of minutes later. I told him I was at the motel, and he said something about how he hadn't been home yet but that he "really needed a big cock," and that he'd call me back in five minutes. And I never heard back. Oh well.
After an hour or so with Sunday night #1, we were both ready to cum. He had told me that he hadn't been fucked in a long, long time, and I could tell that he didn't want to be fucked, so I started playing with his cock again.
I read somewhere that a great way to masturbate yourself or others is to lightly pinch the frenulum between the thumb and forefinger or middle finger and rub them gently back and forth. This does next to nothing for me, but I've tried it on other guys, and it's usually very effective. I think the article I read said that it was a good low-motion way to bring yourself off, so that it could be used in places where you couldn't afford to bring attention to yourself by elbow flapping. In my experience (on other guys), it is highly stimulating, but it's more of an intense surface (I'm speaking metaphorically) stimulation than the deep stimulation you need for orgasm. Still, it got Sunday night #1 very worked up. Pretty soon, he couldn't take it any more and had to stroke himself off.
After he sucked on me for a while longer, I finished myself off with some long strokes and pushed his mouth back onto my cockhead just before I started to blow. He seemed pleased with the volume.
We chatted for a pretty long time (under the circumstances), and then he left. (It was a pretty good hook-up; I was too tired to go out, but otherwise, I would certainly have gone in search of a cheeseburger. Which would likely have made me sick, so it's just as well I couldn't.) I called Monday morning #1 and got his address in Philly. Monday morning #2 was a married guy. I'd given him my cell number, but I hadn't heard from him, so I figured he was a no-go. Then I left a message with Monday afternoon (a sub in Baltimore) and went to sleep.
I still hadn't fully recovered from the enervating effects of the intestinal distress (the intestines themselves were finally okay, thankfully), so all of this activity would really have been burning the candle from both ends if anything other than Sunday night #1 had come to fruition. The next morning, I went down to the motel lobby and used their computer to get directions to Monday morning #1's address (In something called Center City or Central City: I got a few replies from the same area, so I figure maybe it's a heavily gay area, but despite living relatively close to Philadelphia, I don't think I've been there more than once or twice. I don't think I ever even saw the Liberty Bell when I was in elementary school.), and technology failed me. I followed the directions as well as I could, and I got pretty close to central Philadelphia, but then the exit I wanted (off 676) either didn't exist or I missed it, and suddenly I was on 95 headed south. I decided to take it as a sign. In any case, I would never have been able to turn around and find his address in a city that I don't know and didn't have a map of, so I called and left a message apologizing. I'd feel bad about it, except that when I'd talked to him Sunday night, he told me to call when I was on the way, and I called when I was leaving the motel and got his voice mail, so getting his voicemail again when I called to apologize could mean that he was trying to stand me up anyway.
I called Monday afternoon again and left another message. Somewhere not far from Trenton, I stopped to get some breakfast, and he called me back. I'm pretty sure I'd told him last week that I'd be showing up around midday, but he said that he was working all day and that he wouldn't be back in Baltimore until 4pm or so. He asked me to try him again. Maybe. Baltimore's kind of a long way to go if you're not already coming down I-95, and I'm not sure I want to give him a second chance. Besides, he's looking for something regular. When we first chatted, he told me that he'd just gotten out of a "sixteen-year no strings relationship," which meant that for sixteen years the same guy came over once a week and fucked him, but that they had no other contact. I applaud anybody who is able to maintain a fuckbuddy for that long, but I don't want to spend my Monday evenings for the next sixteen years driving to Baltimore.
Anyway, I got home, collapsed, took a walk with b&c, collapsed again, watched some tennis, and collapsed a third time. YFU came for dinner and overnight. We watched The Fellowship of the Ring, and I am thoroughly exhausted.