Wednesday, June 27, 2007

The Right Guy

I was feeling not so great on Monday morning, so I called in sick. It's a relatively slow time of year at the office, so the bar on what constitutes sick is significantly lowered. All I was really suffering from was a lack of sleep brought on by allergies, and after an extra couple of hours in bed, I was ready to get up and tackle the list of chores that need to be accomplished so that when b&c returns from his consulting gig in Jordan (where, he informed me yesterday, he has bottomed for at least one Jordanian top every night but one: he is so going into quarantine when he gets home) he doesn't start foaming at the mouth (note to self: check incidence of rabies in middle eastern countries and whether butt sex is a common transmission vector) about how awful the house looks.

But then I checked my email, and I hopped oh-so-briefly onto gay.com, and I was immediately hit up by a mid-thirties black guy from Rockville who chats me up every time he sees me online, though we never actually connect. This time, the conversation went something like:

Rockvilleguy: ru home today?
Ted: Yes.
R: do u want to eat my ass? I want to be submissive
T: Does that mean no making out?
R: define making out
T: Kissing.
R: only kiss when its exclusive
T: Well, there would only be the two of us here, so it would be kind of exclusive.
R: r u ok with my limits?
T: I'm not even sure what the limits are.
R: I dont bottom. I dont suck cock.
T: And you don't kiss?
R: only with a boyfriend
T: But you're submissive, right? I'm going to pass.
R: I thought u would. what do u want?
T: We can make out some, and then you can go down on me while I eat your ass.
R: ok on the kissing, but Ive never sucked cock
T: Then it's time for you to learn.

And that was the end of him. I reckon that in another two or three conversations, he'll agree to all of my conditions. Or not, and I don't really care which. He's got awesome stats, but I'd guess that he's very unskilled in everything I like to do.

Anyway, I saw another guy who's attracted my notice before. Mid-forties, fit, about 5'9, naturally smooth, and with a nice looking ass. He's also local. His profile says that he loves kissing, and that he's mostly a top, but that he'll bottom for the right guy. Plus, he's local, so saying hello seemed the neighborly thing to do.

Ted: Good morning.
StudCub: Hi.
T: How's it going?
SC: Good, you?
T: Great, thanks. You looking?
SC: Yeah. What are you looking to do?
T: I was thinking make out, oral, and nip play. I'm a top, but we don't have to go there.
SC: Ok. I was looking to fuck, but if you're a top, that won't work.
T: I'm perfectly happy not to do anal. I was really looking forward to eating that ass, though.
SC: If you eat my ass, then you have to fuck me.
T: That works, too.

Then he said he wasn't free until 1 and that he'd have to get back to me. Usually that means I'm being blown off, so I told him that I didn't want to hang out online for ninety minutes, so maybe we should try another time. He said that he just needed to get back to me with the exact time and said he could email me, so I gave him my address.

Do you have any idea how detrimental children are to a sex life? Not long after I'd gotten offline, I got a panicked call from EFU saying that her alarm hadn't gone off and that she needed to be at work in fifteen minutes. I told her that I couldn't even get to her mother's house in fifteen minutes, let alone get her all the way to Silver Spring. She said she knew but that if she took the bus then she wouldn't even get there by 2:30, and she'd miss her shift. I told her that she needed to deal with the situation herself. But then after I'd hung up, I felt crappy. It's true that she has problems with punctuality and that she needs to accept responsibility, but it's also true that I was mostly taking that position because if I drove her to work, I wouldn't get home until 1:30, and I'd miss my play date. So I called EFU back right away and told her I could be there to get her in twenty minutes. Dad to the rescue, at great personal cost.

(Speaking of great personal cost, did I mention that the very first college tuition bill arrived in the mail over the weekend? Egad.)

I did get back right around 1:30 and found an email ("DO YOU STILL WANT TO EAT MY ASS?") that SC had sent around 12:45. I emailed him back to explain, and then I jumped onto gay.com to see if he might have gotten back on. I had just sent him an IM when I saw a reply to my email giving his address. I told him I'd see him in twenty minutes. (Ten minutes to get ready and another ten to drive to his house.)

When I got to the street where SC lives, the house number that he'd given me wasn't there. It was a cul-de-sac, and there were houses with numbers one lower and two greater than his number. I was pretty sure that he hadn't intended to give me a bum address, and I was about to head home and ask for the right one when I saw him standing in his driveway. I parked the car and followed him inside.

As usual, I grabbed him right away and started kissing him. Mmmmmm. Soft lips, good technique, just the right amount of tongue. He was only wearing shorts, and I started playing with his nipples. The right one was pierced. Then I followed him upstairs, alternately squeezing his left and right cheeks. He removed his shorts, revealing no tan lines whatsoever. Smooth and dark all over. I pushed him down on the bed, climbed atop him, and resumed the kissing.

We went at that for fifteen minutes or so, rolling around on top of each other. His body was nice and warm, and my only difficulties were that to suck on his nipples, I had to leave off kissing him and to kiss him, I had to leave off sucking on his nipples. Eventually, I pinned him down and licked all the way down to his cock, which was about seven inches and on the thin side. Very suckable. I only sucked him for a minute, though, before kissing him some more. Then he started to go down on me. He was a skilled cocksucker: no gag reflex whatsoever. After a while, I pulled his ass around and started to eat it.

As expected, the rimming put him in his happy place. He moaned and sat up and spread his cheeks wider. I licked and poked with my tongue and I ran my hands all the way up his smooth sides and over to his nipples. He moaned some more. After a while, I tugged on his nipples to make him bend down and go down on me while I continued eating his ass. Eventually I followed up with a finger and then two. He seemed reasonably tight but not so tight that he'd likely have trouble taking me.

I pushed him off me and we kissed a bit more, and I asked him for a condom. He got one and put it on me, lubed us both up, and straddled my cock. I tried to stay very still, especially after he grimaced slightly and said, "Damn, it really is thick." He took a couple of hits of poppers and slowly began to descend around my cock, and I did my best not to thrust up until he had me all the way in.

I'd been fairly tired and a bit sore before I got to SC's place, but once we started kissing, I felt fine, and once my cock was in his ass, I was practically bursting energy. I played with his nipples while he bounced up and down on me for a while, then I unbent his legs so that I'd be deeper in him, grabbed his arms, and lowered him halfway back and began to thrust. He seemed pleased. I thrust harder. He seemed more pleased.

After a few minutes, I pushed him down onto his back and got on my knees. I pushed his knees all the way up to his head and slid back into him. He grimaced again, but only briefly, and I started to pound really hard. I took advantage of the springiness of the mattress and pushed down on his legs so that he'd bounce back up at the same time I was thrusting hard into him. I have no idea how long we fucked in that position, but I remember being amazed at how easy I was finding it and how long we'd been going, and then I remember going for a while after that. I decided to take a bit of a break, even though I wasn't tired, and I made out with him a bit more. Then I put him on his stomach and pounded him some more and then rolled him on his side and bent his top leg forward and pounded him still more.

It all seemed a bit intense for him, though he certainly didn't complain. At some point, I asked him whether he'd had too much, and he said, "Not unless you're ready to cum." It was a very nice ass to pound, and it's possible that I could actually have pumped out a load while fucking him, but I wasn't sure, and after we'd been fucking for considerably longer than I usually fuck, I pulled out again. I went to pull the condom off, but it was still hanging out of his ass. I always find that unbearably funny, so I laughed, and then we kissed some more. I played with his cock a bit, and he came erect, so I started to suck on it again, very slowly and softly, and he started getting very agitated. In a good way. As it happened, after a long fuck, he turns into the perfect cock to suck, in less than two minutes, he was right on the verge of shooting, so I started to stroke him and kiss him, and he came hard. Really hard: it looked like he was having a bad sinus headache. Well, I guess we each experience ecstasy in our own way. I asked whether he was all right, and he assured me that he was. I put one arm around his shoulder and jerked myself off with my free hand. I was pretty worked up, but it still took a long time to get myself to the brink. Then I turned on my side, put my cock next to his, and came all over his chest.

He threw me a towel and hopped right into the shower, which I took as my cue to get dressed. I was lacing up my shoes when he reappeared, smiling. He walked me downstairs, and I kissed him, thanked him, left, and got a cheeseburger. Overall, an awesome fuck, but I reckon it for a one-off. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Cherry Picking

Chekhov, 1904
Get your minds out of the gutter, readers. This is not a post about messing with virgins. "Cherry picking" is meant literally. I don't wish to disappoint those of my readers who come here only for the sex (men after my own heart), but there will be much content in this post about matters that are only sexual in the light of an extremely broad sense of metaphor. If you're truly impatience for the sex talk, scroll down to the picture of the guy who was in my bed Saturday night. The story's there.

amber waves of grainAfter Saturday morning's romp with W. (not to be confused with Dubya, please; W. is a perfectly pleasant, and in all ways competent, person), I had scheduled an afternoon of massage, followed by an evening of debauchery. When Sunday morning rolled around, I was ready for something different. The weather was glorious, and the all too short tart cherry season had just begun, so the choice was evident. I complain, often bitterly, about living in the far out suburbs, but there are certain advantages. While on the one hand, it's a bit far for many potential massage buddies to travel, it's also only a short drive from veritable amber waves of grain. Spacious skies were also much in evidence on Sunday. I didn't notice any purple mountains' majesties, but it is possible that I was too busy eying the men on motorcycles.

[You're bored, aren't you? Perhaps this would be a good time to mention the first massage I did on Saturday. He was a mid-fifties, married African American. Maybe 5'10 and 160. Very fit, with an almost professorial white beard. I worked the standard massage, starting with the back side, and after I'd done his shoulders and back, any time I got near his ass or nuts when I was working on his lower body, he started breathing deeply and undulating, as if her were slowly fucking the table. When I oiled his crack and slid a finger inside him and found his prostate, the breathing and the undulation picked up speed and intensity. I was a little afraid that he'd lose his load before I even got to his front side, so I cut the prostate massage a little short and had him flip over.

When I got him on his back, his rather large cock was nicely filled out, and he told me that I could do as much prostate massage as I liked, but that he'd rather not have release because he needed to be able to have sex when he got back home. That was fine for me. I began an extended facial massage and then worked my way down to his shoulders and arms. And legs. By the time I got back to his nipples, he was again very worked up, and when I saw him breathe hard and lick his lips, I went in for the kiss. Oh man: a great set of lips and the know-how to use them. Wonderful deep kisses that were simultaneously soft and urgent. He grabbed his cock and started to stroke it, prompting me to cry foul, push his hand away, and stroke it myself. We made out some more, and I let go of his cock, and he repeated that he needed to save it for home, so I put him back on his stomach and worked his shoulders a bit more. He thanked me profusely, got dressed, and left. Fun, fun, fun.]


Waist high by the fourth of JulyThere are two pick- your-own orchards within a forty minute drive of home. The one that's closer is smaller and less well known and has, perhaps, less of a selection, but three-quarters of the drive there goes by farmland or small houses that don't look like they were placed by a carefully constructed marketing plan. As it happens, when I checked the larger orchard's website, it said that they'd lost most of their tart cherry crop to cold weather. The smaller orchard's recorded message, on the other hand, listed the picking as good.

The ruminants are hiding behind the barn. So off I went, past fields and farms. Now that I think of it, I didn't see any ruminants; they were likely hiding from me, and who can blame them? In any case, it suddenly seemed not such an awful thing that I had been unable to sleep past 7:30 on a Sunday morning immediately following a Saturday night where the other guy hadn't left until 1 am. Not that it didn't still take me over two hours to get out the door and on the road.

Not that you know anything about central Maryland geography, but I live in Montgomery County, a place known for its vast wealth and excellent schools. And the Aspen Hill sniper, but, you know, whatever. The much smaller (but not appreciably less wealthy) county to the northeast of Montgomery is Howard County, the county where I grew up. Howard County is dominated by Columbia, a planned city that erupted out of nowhere in the mid- to late-1960s. Before Columbia, Howard County was basically a rural county with a number of bedroom communities. Now it is largely a giant bedroom community with a number of areas of farmland. I am (barely) pre-Columbian.

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.I mention all this because just after passing several farms in outer Montgomery County but just before I crossed into Howard County and arrived at the orchard, I passed this monstrosity. Really. Who buys a big tract of former farmland, clears it out, and plops a giant faux stone-covered McMansion in the middle of it? Actually, I didn't get close enough to be absolutely certain that the stone isn't real, but it didn't look real, and even if it is real, it isn't local stone. The house looks ridiculous on that lot, on that road, and in that setting: the physical embodiment of everything that's wrong with capitalism. Some extremely rich, soulless Republican (I know that's redundant) will be very happy there.

So many fruits, so little time.Anyway, I was at the farm quickly enough. It's a really great place. I may get there as many as a half-dozen times this year. Blueberries, raspberries, peaches, and apricots. Probably some apples in the fall. I don't pick blackberries there because I pick those in a wild patch, the exact location of which is a closely guarded secret. Sometimes there isn't all that much good fruit at the pick-your-own orchard, especially if the weather's been bad for a particular crop, but it's always fun to be in the fields. Maybe not so much for people who do it full time.

[Bored again, eh? The second massage wasn't as much fun as the first, but it was still a good time. This was a typical married, mid-forties suburbanite. Decent shape but with a bad haircut. I didn't get much of a reaction out of him -- except for the occasional "that feels good" -- until I slid my finger up his ass, and then he was Mr. Happy. If this guy had hit me up on gay.com, I'd have done him, but I didn't feel like kissing him for some reason. But when I finally got around to stroking him off, he came so hard that he hit his chin. Lots of volume, too. Another happy (non-paying) customer.]

Anyway, I drove past the farmstand and back to the cherry orchard. I'd brought my own bucket. They'll give you a bag in the field, but the bags only hold about five pounds of cherries, and why bother picking cherries if you're not going to pick too many? Any that don't get made into jam or pies will freeze very well. Besides, once you get started, it's pretty hard to stop, especially once you've found a tree where the fruit is ripe and plentiful.

[The third massage bordered on unpleasant. I massage pretty much anyone who isn't dangerous, but the last guy was so fat that he couldn't comfortably lie his head on the headrest. When he was on his stomach, I had to give him a pillow. And then, when I was working on his ass, I thought I smelled something, and when I spread his cheeks, I saw a bit of poo. Egad. No prostate massage for him. When I had him on his back, he kept stroking my arms and making noises about how he really felt like he should reciprocate. No, thanks. Still, though, when I was stroking him off, I got wood. I kept it pressed against the table so he couldn't feel it, though. I had him out in under forty minutes. He didn't seem to notice and was very grateful.]

These cherries are not stoned.Once you get started picking cherries, it's really hard to stop. I had maybe an inch in the bottom of my bucket when I decided that I'd count the rest of the cherries I picked. I stopped right around 900 because I thought I had well over ten pounds. It turns out I only had about 9.5 pounds (about five pies' worth), but the very nice young woman at the register still charged me the lower per pound price that you get when you pick ten or more pounds. I think it took me a little under an hour to pick all the cherries.

When I got home, it took me about forty minutes to stone them all. I actually own a cherry stoner. I suppose that if someone ever gave me a joint, I'd be a cherry stoner, and I amused myself greatly (I am very easily amused) when I was finished by saying, "Duuuuude! These cherries are stoned!"

It's a nice ass, but the guy it's attached too isn't all that. Here's a picture of the backside of Saturday's late night hookup. (I didn't take the pic, and that's not my bed. It's one of the pics he sent me, but I examined it and him, and they're the same person.) I was supposed to have a Saturday mid-evening hookup as well, but I had forgotten to email the guy my address. I didn't realize this until it was 8 and he wasn't here and I went to see whether he'd emailed again. Oops. I feel bad because he may have thought I flaked on him, but I really didn't. I was looking forward to pounding his ass, and I'd even bought and laundered more sheets for the bed; I do go through a lot of linens these days. Still, I had the 10:30 appointment with C. (yet another C.; what the fuck is it with that letter?) that I was looking forward to both more and less. More because he's a hot Taiwanese guy who loves nipple play. Less because he'd said he probably wouldn't kiss me until our second hook up. Men, right?

Anyway, C. arrived promptly at 10:30 and asked to be showed upstairs. He's something of a nudist, so he promptly removed all his clothing and jumped on the bed. I went right for his nipples. The man is a solid 9 on the nipple scale. I pulled and I twisted and I pinched and I bit. I bit hard. He ate it all up. In fact, he ate it up so much that after five minutes of hard nipple play, I went to kiss him, and he had forgotten about his rule. Nice lips, pretty good technique. After making out and tugging his nips for a while, I went back to biting his nipples, with even more intensity, and he totally went nuts. After another fifteen minutes of nipple work, he told me he was going to cum, even though I hadn't touched his cock. I thought it was hyperbole, but, no, he shot. Minor volume, and a tiny cock, but who cares, really?

C. had told me that he does multiple orgasms, but he was tired, so I told him he could nap if he like, and then I dove into his ass, which may have inhibited napping. He'd said before he arrived that he loved being rimmed, and he had not lied. I ate his ass thoroughly and hungrily, and then I had him sit on my face, and he stroked my cock while I ate his ass some more. Eventually, I slid a finger in, and that got him really riled up. When I stopped for a short break, he told me that he had meant to nap earlier in the day but hadn't and that he was going to call it a night because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to drive later. Translation: he wasn't going to be able to get it up again.

Somehow it had gotten to be 1:00. I have no idea where the time went, but it sure didn't go into him sucking or sitting on my cock. Anyway, he left. He said he wanted to play again soon, but I don't think he meant it. He calls himself a bottom, but I didn't see any evidence. Maybe he wants me to be more forceful, but as much as he loved having a finger in his ass, he's probably way too tight to take my whole cock. Besides, he's kind of selfish in the sack. Maybe he was just tired. He does, after all, push almost all my buttons, and I would love to fuck him for hours. I'll probably follow up with him, but I won't expect anything, and I won't really mind if nothing comes to fruition.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Back in the Saddle

After Thursday evening's multiple disappointments, I was tempted to lie low for a while. You know, I like that last sentence, but it's such a lie. Let's try again:

After Thursday evening's multiple disappointments, I might have been tempted to lie low for a while. Hmmm. There's still something not quite right. I think it's the subject of the independent clause. One more time!

After Thursday evening's multiple disappointments, someone else whose psychological make-up in no way, shape, or form resembles my own might have been tempted to lie low for a while. Well, now it's true, but it's awkward. The truth is awkward. The lie is elegant. I leave the choice to you.

Anyway, lying low, even had it been an option, would not have been an option because I had plans to hang out with C., my FWP from down the street a piece. I'd emailed him proposing "a drink, a romp, dinner, a movie, or any combination of the above." He replied, with typical succinctness, that he would keep the evening free for whatever.

I stopped at the TJ's near my office and picked up goat cheese, hummus, sesame thins, and mini pitas so that we'd have a nosh, then I came home and jumped in the shower. I was thoroughly soapy when the phone rang. It was C., sounding kind of tense, saying he'd just gotten home and that he could be over in about half an hour. I finished showering, dried, dressed, answered some email (other irons in the fire for other days), set out the noshes, chilled the martini glasses, and played some seal bounce (at yetisports.org: highly addictive) while I waited for him to show up. He took a little longer than expected, but I greeted him at the door with the usual ninety seconds of lip lock. He was in a much better mood after that. I got the gin out of the freezer, put the olives on the toothpicks, and poured the martinis. Then we sat on the couch and chatted for a while and nibbled. The food, that is, not each other (not yet). I had an arm around his shoulder and was very lightly rubbing along his shoulder blade, which he likes very, very much. Somehow, before long, he was straddling me, and we were making out with some urgency. So I took him upstairs.

I can't say how much I love having a top FWP. If I run into a bottom who wants two tops (This happens more often than you might think. Or perhaps just as often as you might think, depending on how you think.), I have someone to go to. And when it's just the two of us, there's never any question of anal sex. Now don't get me wrong. I love topping. And I love ass, generally. Mmmmmm, ass. But anal sex is something of a production, and on occasion it is very refreshing to be going at it full force without feeling like the ass fucking is the final destination of sex. There's more concentration on the kissing. And, with C. and me, more concentration on the nipple play and on all things oral.

We wisely didn't decide what we were doing for the rest of the evening before we got nakedly horizontal, so after the initial ferocity, I took my time on his nipples. I have found that men who are pleased by but not enthusiastic about nipple play can be made into enthusiasts by prolonged tongue work. I took C.'s right nipple in between my lips and began flicking my tongue rapidly back and forth across the nib. The key is always endurance. Unless a guy's nipples are dead (like mine: requiescat in pace), the flicking will eventually elicit a new level of response. In ideal cases, the response can elevate all the way to orgasm. C. didn't cum from my nipple work, but he got significantly louder and more agitated, and when I then traced my tongue up to and along his collarbone and neck, he was ecstatic.

After that, I went down on him for a while. I've been making an effort to improve my skills as a cocksucker. It seems only fair since I'm not willing to take it up the ass, and on the off chance that I'm ever in Dupont Circle or some place and someone yells "cocksucker!" at me, I want to feel like I've earned the epithet. Apparently I'm getting better, though I still didn't bring him off that way. My guess is that C. gets off pretty much only by hand or when he's buried in some bottom's ass. In any case, we were both enjoying ourselves mightily, and after another half hour of back and forth between nipple play, oral both ways, and then sixty-nine, we made out while he stroked himself off. Due to whatever combination of fatigue and poor diet (during the day, I'd had breakfast and no lunch and four donuts, and I think I was crashing from a severe sugar high: whatever), I was still hard but not close enough to ejaculation to make jerking off worth the effort. After he came, we cuddled for another twenty minutes, then cleaned off, dressed, and finished our martinis.

We decided to get dinner and then catch a movie over at the Rio entertainment complex in Gaithersburg. For many years, Rio was no big deal, but now it's a pretty hopping place on Saturday night. My initial plan for dinner was a pho place not far away, but it closed at 8 (fucking suburbs), so we had dinner at the bar of one of the restaurants at Rio instead. I had a Bass ale and some sort of composed salad that included chicken. Then we saw Knocked Up, which made me laugh until I cried. I think C. might have preferred Oceans Thirteen on the basis of superior eye candy, but he wouldn't actually come out and say that, and, in the end, he was happy with Knocked Up and Paul Rudd. The last time I chose a movie based on eye candy, I ended up sitting through Alexander, and I was bitterly disappointed on many fronts.

We drove home and said goodnight, and I was in bed by 2. The phone rang at 8:30. It was W. (hurray! a new initial!), a married guy who'd answered my CL ad earlier this week. I'd told him Saturday morning would be good and that he could call me relatively early. I told him I had to jump in the shower, and that he could show up any time after 9. I made the usual preparation (a quick spray of Febreze; picking up the dirty laundry; hiding the bloody axes) and jumped in the shower. W. had replied to my ad by saying "Did you find your guy yet?" to which I'd replied "You mean I only get one? Damn! Tell me more about you. If tonight doesn't work out, there are always other times." And he'd replied:
HI, 6ft 198 48 attractive mwm submissive cool laidback guy am married so
cant send pic over net but promise I am attractive and like your sensce of
humor. I know you dont like a lot of emails so I will talk fast. I am ddf
also if you are clean ddf and dominant I can come by today I am in the
Rockville area

What? I'm supposed to resist a guy who compliments my sense of humor just because he can't type and has no picture? As if!

Anyway, W. showed up at about 9:15, and he was exactly as promised. Well, you know, he might have been 5'11 instead of 6', and he really seemed more like 180 or even 175 than 198 to me, but attractive? Hell yes. Longish gray hair and fit. I backed him up against the wall and started kissing him. He said, "I've never kissed a guy before," but since he didn't say he didn't want to kiss and since he'd let me kiss him, I kept it up. Then I pushed him up the stairs, saying "nice tush" as I felt it up. Turns out he's a marathoner.

W. is a submissive of the very quiet and inexperienced variety. I really should learn to be more verbal with those guys, but I got other stuff on my mind than talking. He said "What do you want me to do?" and I said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." I pulled his shirt off and shoved him backwards onto the bed, climbed on top and started kissing him again. Then I said, "What I really want you to do is relax," and he said that he was nervous but that he'd be okay.

W. has very thin lips, but he's a skilled kisser, and he seemed to have lost any reticence. We made out for a good while and I played with his nips with my fingers and then with my mouth. I was getting no audible response from him at all, but he was pretty hard, so I figured it was all cool. A while later, I pushed him down toward my cock. Pretty good cocksucker: a little bit of teeth but not much, and he appeared to enjoy what he was doing, so I encouraged him with "You like that, don't you" and -- having received a reply in the affirmative -- "That must be why you're so good at it." His technical flaws were very minor, and I was enjoying the blowjob, so I didn't see any point in complaining. Plus, he seemed like a nice guy, so why not throw him a bone? Literally, figuratively, whatever.

We made out some more, and then I told him to suck my cock from the other direction so that I could play with his ass. I'm pretty sure that he'd never been rimmed before. He seemed to enjoy it quite a lot, though his responses were always so quiet as to be comical. But when I pushed my tongue against his ass, he stopped sucking my cock, and I could feel his body tense and I saw his head go up, and that's generally the body language that says "Yowza!" I pushed him back on my cock, and we stayed in that position for a good while. Fun, fun, fun. He asked whether I wanted to try topping him, which made me laugh and say, "Do you have a plane to catch?" He said he had time, so I explained that I was certainly going to fuck him but that just at that moment I was having too much fun eating his ass to move on.

Not long thereafter, I did, though. First I put him on his back and moved him so that his head was off the edge of the bed and then stood up fucked his face from that angle. Again, no response, but probable enjoyment. Then I grabbed a condom and told him to "glove me up." See, sometimes I can use porn language. Generally, though, I'd rather talk about baseball than talk about what I'm doing, and I don't really even like baseball. Actually, that's not true. I love going to baseball games, I just hate talking about baseball. And I hate the Yankees, but who doesn't? Anyway, I don't much like porn talk. I will give the occasional heartfelt (or cockfelt) compliment, but usually if I'm talking during sex, it's about an unrelated topic. So usually, I'm not talking during sex.

Really, it didn't take him nearly as long to get the condom on me as it took you to read that last paragraph. I put him on his stomach (I had some classic French porn playing on mute, and he intermittently enjoyed watching that), and lubed him up with one, then two, then three fingers. Then I climbed on. I told him I'd go slow after he told me he'd only been fucked once before. But I also told him that I bet he was a natural. And he was.

After easing in, I sped up somewhat. He was saying nothing at all, so after four or five minutes, I asked if he was enjoying it, and he said yes, then after another couple of minutes, he asked me to slow down a bit, and then he asked me whether there was ever any bleeding when I fucked a guy, and I said, "You mean me bleeding?" and he (smiling, I think) said, "No, the other guy." I thought about it for a bit, but I couldn't remember a single occasion where I'd seen blood on my condom. I told him that that was probably more likely when there wasn't sufficient preparation. Then he said he was feeling more comfortable, so I began fucking him faster.

He had a really pretty ass, and it was a nice fuck, but he wasn't really all that tight, and I knew that I wasn't going to cum from fucking him. Since he'd only been fucked once before, I figured I'd show him some other positions. So I had him sit on my cock "I've never done this position before" and laid him back into the X position "I've never done this before, either," then put him on his back and fucked him imperialist religion mongering missionary style. I had to ease up on him because, like many runners, he wasn't all that flexible, so I couldn't push his legs as far forward as I'd have liked. Then I rolled him onto his side and straddled his bottom leg and pushed his top leg forward, and fucked him that way. Also new for him.

After half an hour or so of fucking, I decided I'd had enough, so I pulled out of him and put him back on his back. I went to kiss him, but he said he couldn't kiss me after my tongue had been in his ass. He apologized, but it was no big deal. I told him that his ass was very clean (true), and he said that he'd need time to process the idea. So I rolled him onto his side and spooned him for a while, and we chatted about our experiences. He hasn't had sex with his wife in fifteen years, and he's hooked up five or six times from CL. He asked if I wanted to cum in him (with condom, of course), but I told him it was no big deal and that I rarely came inside anyone except for b&c, and that I usually finished myself off by hand. He said that I could jerk off onto his chest, but I didn't really feel like it. He asked whether that was really okay with me, and I laughed and said, "Yeah. I'm going to cum eventually. It's no big deal. Is it a big deal for you?" He said it wasn't.

I was stroking his body while spooning him and asked whether it was ok, and he said that he'd liked everything I'd done to him and that he hoped we could play again. I said sure. I never count on a repeat with a guy like him, but apparently it's not that hard for him to slip out in the evenings, so he has both motive and opportunity. I think we probably will play again. He told me he had about ten more minutes, so we stayed in that position and talked some more, and then he got dressed and left. Nice guy, decent cocksucker, good kisser, not very responsive. I think I'm going to have to break my longstanding policy and give him 1.5 stars. He clearly deserves more than one star, but when I went out afterwards, I got a McChicken sandwich instead of a cheeseburger. No cheeseburger, no second star.

Anyway, we'll see whether I hear from him again. When I told him again how nice his ass was, he told me that he was just starting serious training for a marathon and that in two weeks it would be an awesome ass. Let's hope I get to verify that claim. I reckon there's a good chance that I can loosen his inhibitions somewhat over time if I'm given the chance. And even if I'm not, it was a great way to start Saturday.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Struck Out

Some days, the saying goes, the bear gets you. Or maybe the bear doesn't get you. Or the somewhat bearish guy doesn't get any. Any way you put it, yesterday was just a bad day.

Naturally, I blame b&c. There I was, minding my own business, sitting in my office, hanging out on gay.com, fielding the replies to my latest CL ad, when up pops a window, and there's the familiar face of my partner saying "I thought I'd find you here." Keep in mind that b&c is currently in Jordan, which, if not quite half a world away, is still a bit of a hike. I have been getting the occasional email from him, but not as many as usual, which generally means that he's been getting plenty of cock. And there he is, on my screen, telling me that in Jordan, there's a thriving, underground gay scene, and that 90% of the guys are tops, and that they mostly have no safe places to play, so that as a bottom with a hotel room, he's a hot commodity. I tell him that bragging is considered bad form in many places, to which he replies that he's not bragging, he's just grateful. Hmmmm. Well, it looked a lot like bragging to me. Anyway, we were chatting for just a couple of minutes when he had to leave because "one of my twinks unexpectedly showed up at the door."

Now as I've said before, I'm not jealous of b&c's sexual exploits, but I am envious when he's getting more than I am, which appears to be most of the time, since when he's not getting serially pounded by hard-up Jordanians, he's home and not working and has all the time in the world for the hunt. Anyway. Not only has he now officially lost any right to ever complain about his sex life, he's coming home to a double treatment of Rid. In the past, when he's given me the gift of an arachnid invasion, I have never whinged. (Note to guys in open relationships: never give your partner genital lice, but if he gives them to you, bear it stoically. You will gain about six months of moral superiority for each louse and another two months for each nit.) After all, I'm not terribly hairy, and they always (That sounds like I have them all the time, doesn't it? It was actually twice, but I like to try to convince b&c that he's given them to me more often than that. I like my moral superiority.) go away with a single treatment. Still, I'd like to forestall that if at all possible. I keep telling b&c that since we live in Maryland, bringing me crabs is the ultimate in coals-to-Newcastle bad taste.

Anyway, it's a bad idea for me to arrange hook-ups when I'm feeling the need to meet a quota. I say yes to people that I should say no to. Not so much to people who are in any way harmful as to people who are decidedly flaky. For example, David. David described himself as "45, very fit. smooth , muscled. 31 waist. 168lbs. 5. 10...dark hair. blue eyes, tan. rock hard nips." What's not to like, right? The problem is that he lives near Logan Circle. I don't mean to offend any of my DC readers, but I've generally found that guys who live within five or six blocks of either Logan or Dupont Circle are, well, unreliable. But after ten emails each way, we'd settled all the details, exchanged cell numbers, and arranged for me to meet him in front of his building at 7 o'clock.

On the one hand, I should probably have called David before I left Bethesda. On the other, I didn't want to sound like I didn't trust him, even though I had an inkling that he might stand me up. Logan Circle, after all. Besides, I thought I had two other irons in the fire. Anyway, I arrived at 7 sharp, having survived the forty minutes of DC traffic that is required to travel eight miles, and I called David, and there was no response. I left a message, read my book for a while, tried again at 7:15, left another message, and left.

These days I'm usually pretty careful, and it's rare that I'm unexpectedly stood up. (I don't count all the guys that I know are going to not follow through. In those cases, I just double book. When I'm sure a guy's just fantasizing, I'm never wrong.) Perhaps that -- or the feeling that I was falling farther behind in the hook-up race -- was responsible for my entirely unexpected anger. I like to think, though, that I was angry on behalf of the environment. After all, the drive down and back had wasted at least a gallon of gas and caused excessive emissions (of the entirely wrong sort). I may be a horndog, but I'm a green horndog, damn it. David, on the other hand, clearly hates the planet.

I think that revenge fantasies are a healthy thing, don't you? Ultimately, I lack both the means and the meanness to carry them out, but if you know a 45 (probably 50, right?) year old guy named David who may or may not be a designer and who lives on the corner of O Street and 10th Street Northwest (I realize that this description could apply to a half-dozen men. Alas.), then tell him to be very afraid. If he and I are ever alone in a dark alley, I'm going to have some very harsh words for him. I like to think that the guilt associated with blowing me off (and destroying the planet) will get into his soul and bring him to an early demise in thirty years. Forty years, tops. Logan Circle guys probably don't actually feel guilt, but I can always hope that he hits the poppers too hard while he's in Georgetown and falls down the Exorcist stairs. Is falling down the Exorcist stairs carbon-neutral? It's very important to me that my revenge on David be carbon-neutral. If you hear that he dies in a fire or something, let me know so that I can plant some trees, ok?

Note to Internet entrepreneurs: as far as I know, there's no customizable death watch site on the Net. What's needed is a place for you to input the particulars of the men who've done you wrong, then douchebagdeathwatch.com can scour the obituaries every day and send you an email when one kicks off. My anger with a guy who stands me up typically only lasts eighteen hours, at most, but plenty of guys know how to carry a grudge, and, regardless, at the time of the stand up, guys are angry enough to plop down the money. Someone could make a fortune!

Anyway, I thought that I had two more guys lined up, but I knew that the one who said he wanted to come over at 11:30 to get fucked for the first time was a low probability. The guy due over at 9:30 was someone who I'd fucked before, and while he's not the most reliable guy I know, I figured there was a pretty good chance that he'd show. But when I got home, there wasn't a confirmation email from him, so I wrote him off. I answered a CL ad from a forty-five-year-old married guy who wanted to give head and who wasn't far away, and pretty quickly, I was back in the car. Like many married men, he was somewhat paranoid, so he asked me to park in a nearby parking lot so that he could pick me up and drive me to his parking lot so the nosy concierge wouldn't see me. Whatever.

You know how I always say that I'm the world's worst cocksucker? Not even close! After I parked my car, the guy drove by in his pick up, and we went to his condo, and I got undressed and lay down on the bed, and he got to work. It was fine at first, but for some reason, he must have expected me to blow a load within ninety seconds, because once we were two minutes in, he started jerking me off while he sucked only on my head, without taking any care to avoid using his teeth. Ouch. I started to squirm to get away from him, and he asked whether I was okay, and I asked him to watch the teeth. He tried again, but I had been thinking that he looked like someone, and right when he tried to go farther down my cock, I realized who. I was getting a blow job from a larger, younger, bearish version of Garry Marshall. Suddenly I was all "I'm getting head from Laverne DeFazio's brother," and I lost interest. He said he was done shortly thereafter. I should have left directly, but I offered reciprocation only because I thought it would be good to show off my superior cocksucking skills, and how often do I get that chance? I went down on him and rubbed his nipples for a couple of minutes, then -- having demonstrated that while he was an awful cocksucker, I am a perfectly adequate cocksucker; if you read my last post, you will see that I am clearly not writing "cocksucker" with sufficient frequency, and I am now attempting to ameliorate the cocksucker deficit -- I excused myself and went home. Oh, the humanity.

When I got home, it was still early enough to hook up, but my cockhead was a little sore from all the biting. I consoled myself with the thought that I have reliable action set up for the weekend, but I was nonetheless angry for letting myself be taken advantage of. I need to find a chalkboard so I can write "No one can take advantage of you unless you let him" and "I will not cruise Logan Circle men on the Internet" one hundred times each. Then I need to stop being so hard on myself for making occasional mistakes. Nobody's perfect.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Well, Duh

What's My Blog Rated? From Mingle2 - Free Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

cock (23x)
ass (19x)
sex (16x)
gay (12x)
fuck (11x)
cum (6x)
piss (5x)
cocksucker (4x)
porn (3x)
lesbian (2x)
shit (1x)

Via Franck, who is rightly outraged at his own NC-17 rating. I'm outraged, too. What has he done to earn his NC-17? Not a damned thing. On his very best day, he's not even half as filthy as I am on my very worst day. I work hard for my NC-17 rating, but apparently, they'll also hand one out to any cute gay guy with killer abs. What a world.

I'm assuming that the little application that gives the ratings only looks at a small portion of the blog. The idea that I've only used "cocksucker" four times is laughable. [Ok, I went and checked. Twenty-one times, not including this post. That is still pretty pathetic. I need -- and deserve -- to get more head.]

In other cocksucker-related news, a young man whose schedule has not meshed well with mine and I finally managed to hook up last night. We had played once before, early last fall, on what I thought was the evening before b&c was due back from two weeks in Italy. In fact, it was the evening he was due back, and he walked in on us. At that point, the only thing on b&c's agenda was a quick shower and a long sleep to get over the plane trip, and he didn't mind at all, of course, that I was fucking a stranger in the den, but I felt that the scheduling error was a bit rude to both b&c and S. I apologized (after the sex was over) all around and was told not to worry about it. Then S. said that he'd like to get together again but that he was off for three weeks in Japan. Somehow, we never managed to reconnect until he answered a CL ad I placed a couple of weeks ago.

S. is, I believe, half Japanese. The other half is defensive lineman. He's the epitome of large but solid, except for his cock, which is, well, tiny. Especially in context. As I've said before, I appreciate small cocks, not that S. ever has any intention of letting me suck his. He's all bottom.

Anyway, last night, I met him at the door, and, impressed once again by his combination of bulk and submission, started to make out with him. I reached up under his shirt and grabbed his nipples, and he was putty in my hands. I pushed him up the stairs, playing with his ass all the way.

I tossed S. on the bed and climbed on top of him, and we continued with the (excellent) kissing, while I ran my hands all over his body. He very much appreciated having his ass smacked, and who am I not to give a boy what he wants? After I'd chewed on his nipples for a bit, it was fairly obvious that he was hungry for cock, so I let him undo my shorts and pull my rod out through my boxers.

S. is truly a cocksucker of extraordinary ability. You can leave him alone and he'll do a great job, or you can grab his head and shove it down on the cock, and he won't miss a beat. Having your cock sucked is almost always a good feeling, of course, but I rarely feel like I could cum just from being sucked without significant additional effort on my part. It was clear that if I had left S. to his own devices, he'd have gotten me there fairly quickly.

But as much as he appears to love sucking cock, S. really wants one thing. I got him ready for the one thing by pulling his ass around and eating it while he continued to go down on me. After a while, I introduced a couple of fingers, and when he was making appropriately needy noises, I handed him a condom, and he put it on me.

After a brief, ultimately successful, hunt for the lube, I had him ready. I put him on his stomach and eased into him from behind. He hadn't seemed all that tight to me when I was fingering him, so I was a bit surprised that I had to go slow, but I'm always sensitive to the needs of the bottom (it helps when he says "go slow!), so I took a couple of minutes to work all the way in.

Then the pounding. I did him for four or five minutes in that position, fairly intensely, and he said he wanted to be "on my back with my legs behind my head," so I rolled him over and pushed his legs forward and re-entered him. I grabbed his feet and pushed them farther forward to get the good angle for the direct prostate pound, and then I bounced him up and down on the mattress while I thrust into him hard. He tightened up nicely, and we had a great time.

I had had very little sleep the night before, and we had probably only been fucking for fifteen minutes when I felt like I needed a break. I was still fully erect, but S. is a big guy, and shoving him around was hard work. I pulled out and lay on my back, and he started jerking me off and sucking me through the condom. I think that he thought I wanted to be finished off that way, but I was really just catching my breath. What he was doing felt really great, though, so I let him do it for a while before I told him to ride me.

Having a defensive lineman sit on one's cock is a bit intimidating, so we didn't do that for very long before I pushed him back on his back and pounded him that way for another five minutes. I was again feeling tired (though still rock hard: who knows?), so I pulled out and we made out for a while longer and then he went back to jerking me off.

He did that for a long while, and I was feeling totally blissed out but not especially close to orgasm. Both our phones had gone off a couple of times while we were playing, and I knew his was probably work and mine was probably my daughter asking for a ride later. He whispered "what can I do for you," and I told him that what he was doing was great. Then a few minutes later, I stopped him, and we kissed and bear hugged for a couple of minutes, and we were done.

He called into his office, and I called EFU back. He said he had to go in. I asked him what he did, and he said "retail." Then he said that he was in management and that his chief of staff had just quit and that his job was a nightmare. I'm not sure what retail means, but the guy's about twenty-five, and he drives what appears to be a vintage Mercedes, so I figure either he runs the family hotel or he's a kept man. Either way, he's drama-free and a lot of fun in the sack. He put his t-shirt back on, pointed to it and said, "What do you think this is?" I looked at it and said, "The Communist Party," and he flashed me two thumbs up, telling me that I had passed his intelligence test and that a disturbing proportion of people he met and worked with had no idea who the people on the t-shirt were. I was thinking, "Dude, you could have asked me to derive the quadratic formula. You think that was a tough question?" but I just smiled and said that perhaps there were generational factors at work in the ignorance he encountered.

Anyway, he said that he wants to play again, and of course I'm game. He's a great kisser, and you just don't find a cocksucker that good every day, so I reckon I'll have him back when our schedules mesh again. Hopefully that'll be this year.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

A Matter of Perspective

I am troubled, readers, by prudishness. I realize that I'm probably preaching to the choir. Unless you're the sort of person who enjoys train wrecks, you're probably not a reader here if you're not a fuck-and-let-fuck sort of person. But I see an awful lot of prudishness around the net, even from other gay men. You know the sort: the guy who's been in a monogamous relationship for all of three weeks and who's decided that the gays as a whole are awful people with no morals just because his last twelve boyfriends all cheated on him, but no more! no sir! now he and the love of his life (who's also fucking other men but who's better at covering up) have decided to turn their backs on the gay lifestyle and live out their lives in each other's arms in their own corner of Logan Circle, where no temptation can reach them.

Or, you know, whatever. I may have some details wrong. And, really, I have the utmost respect to the six or eight gay men who are incarcerated together in remote rural prisons in truly monogamous relationships. Neither do I entirely eschew judgment. I have no patience for those who prey on children and try to pass it off as another normal sexual appetite: people have to be in relatively equal positions for there to be true consent.

Did I have a point here? Oh, wait, I did. It's that if you're looking down your nose at what other people do, try to bear in mind that most of the world is looking down its nose at all the men who like to have sex with other men. The fact that you only stick your cock in the ass of your one true soulmate rather than in the asses of anyone who'll have your cock is a distinction that's wasted on a great deal of the populace. So even if you're saying "ewww" on the inside, just smile nicely on the outside and be glad that the fisting bottom who's standing next to you at the Pride parade has found a way to be happy.

Besides, what's mild and what's mild is all a matter of perspective. Let's take a couple of examples from everyone's favorite sexual marketplace (I've left the reply addresses in, in case you feel like replying. Don't worry about stepping on my toes: I have other plans.):


WS - 45

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: pers-355394420@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-06-19, 9:57AM EDT

I really want to let go of my nice guy, suit and tie personality and do something nasty...I want to piss on or in someone or maybe have a tongue shoved up my ass.......good looking mild mannered guy looking to shake it up for once...you must be close to rockville and able to host

Location: Rockville
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests


Whoa, dude! A tongue up your ass? You WILD THING! Ok, I know, he's probably talking more about the watersports, but still. WS is something I can't do (No, really, I don't mean "won't do," I mean "can't do." I have tried, and I just cannot take a piss on someone. Maybe if both the other guy and I were blindfolded, but then wouldn't there be some problems with aim? Actually, I figure that if I had a twelve-pack of a nice ale, I'd probably be sufficiently drunk and sufficiently full of piss to give someone a golden shower, but there again, I'd have problems with aim. Also, I worry about laundry.), but taking a leak on another guy is not really all that wild compared to, say, having another guy take a leak on you. Or in you.

I'm really not making fun of this guy. I know there was a time when shoving my tongue up another guy's ass was unthinkable to me, and now it seems the height of vanilla. And maybe given another six months, this guy will have five-pound weights suspended from his nipple rings while he's getting double-fucked by twin police officers (in uniform: that's what makes it kinky). I just think that his idea of wild is a little, well, cute. I also think that if anyone responds to the ad, he's going to find that he has some trouble following through. Close your eyes and turn the taps on.

Here, by contrast, is an ad from someone who doesn't appear to think that his tastes are in any way out of the ordinary (and good for him, though I'd encourage him to give up smoking):

Masochist Pig needs Cigar Torture - 53

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: pers-355377017@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-06-19, 9:24AM EDT

Ready to be your prisoner for a few hours Wednesday or Thursday evening. Would especially like it if you tied me tight then tortured me with your cigar. Forced smoke, use my mouth as your ash tray, cook my nips and other body parts, eventually make me eat the cigar butt, washed down with your piss. Or, if you are a chew kinda guy, maybe some spittoon training? 53 yo 6’2 260 lb masculine gwm. HIV-, dd free, few limits. Visiting from SF, at hotel in Silver Spring, cannot host. Keywords: slave, bondage, leather, piss, abuse, pain, face fuck, whip, toilet, urinal, cigar torture, punch, humiliation, beat, edge, strap, tt, cbt, discipline

Location: Silver Spring
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests


It amuses me to think that because this guy's from SF, he's probably toned the ad down for the locals. (Maybe he's dropped his typical Cubans in favor of domestic cigars.) I'll admit that I'd be fascinated to watch the session that guy ends up with. I couldn't reply, though, since significant parts of what he wants are beyond what I'm willing to provide.

Besides, he doesn't say anything about kissing. Go figure.

Monday, June 18, 2007

I Walk for Miles along the Highway

Occasionally, people ask why I write about my sex life all the time. The answer is simple: the rest of my life is boring. Don't believe me? Here's what I did this weekend.

We're in the middle of switching offices at work. That means I'll end up with a nicer office, but it also means that there's construction going on and that everyone had to have all of their crap in rented moving crates by about noon on Friday. I decided to cut out early, a bit after two.

A guy I'd massaged a couple of times before and who has his own table was free, so I drove down to Northeast DC and spent an hour or so rubbing him down. He's got a lot going on, so he was really tense. It took me half the time just to get his shoulders sorted out. He's one of the few guys I work on who doesn't go in for prostate massage, but we usually make out some while I'm working on his front, and his kissing is both unusual and wonderful. I'm guessing all the tension has also kept him from having much sex lately because when he came, he exceeded his past volume and distance by significant margins. He thanked me, we chatted a bit, and I left.

I'd been thinking about going home and maybe playing with a particular young man with whom I've played before, but I decided that I should probably procure a Father's Day present first. I wanted to get Dad a DVD, so I headed to the closest Costco, which was not so close by. I may not have taken the most direct route. I got Dad a set of the Indiana Jones movies, and I filled the tank up. The Costco I most commonly frequent doesn't sell gas, but the Beltsville Costco does, and it was $2.85 a gallon. Who'd have ever thought that would seem cheap, but it's gotten to the point where I'm thrilled to fill the tank for under $50, and on Friday it was under $45.

As it happens, about a quarter mile from the Beltsville Costco is an adult bookstore with video booths and glory holes in the back. When I was a newly minted gay, seven or eight years ago, I would sometimes go there and attempt to play. The problem was that I'm not good at whipping out my cock in public, and that's what most of the guys there wanted me to do. I used to occasionally suck cock there. It was gratifying because most of the guys there were married, and they'd cum really quickly, which is everything I ask from a guy whose cock I'm sucking. I used to also ask for a bit of warning so I could whip out the wad of tissue to catch the load, but then I learned how to anticipate. Anyway, I sat in the parking lot at Costco for a few minutes and thought about going to the bookstore and playing, and that was exciting, but then I realized that it would mean going beyond the intersection where I normally turn off for home and thus a couple of extra turns and a lot of traffic. I'm pretty sure that thinking about anonymous sex was a lot more fun than doing it would have been. Maybe I'll verify that again someday, but the odds are low. More likely I'll just get some glory hole porn. Everyone wins that way.

I had expected to be home not long after 4, but what with the trip to Costco and the traffic, it was past 6:30 when I got home. I was desultorily chatting with a bottom from Frederick who was hot for my cock but who wasn't going to be free until too late and a curious married guy who was pretty obviously too frightened to follow through when my phone rang (the software that allows me to transfer pictures from my cell to my computer also allows me to edit and transfer ringtones from my computer to my cell, so my new ringtone is an excerpt from "Sheep May Safely Graze": I love the Bach), and it was EFU who needed some money and who happened to be in the neighborhood. She's a canvasser for a local grassroots liberal advocacy group, so on any given evening, she could be anywhere. Anyway, I went and found her and gave her some money, and she told me I could pick her up from the home office at 10:30. We would then head up to Southeatern Pennsylvania, where my folks live during the summer. YFU had already gone up a day earlier.

I went home, put on some porn, and spent a half hour lambasting the misnomer, then I grabbed a shower, a bite, and some clothes for the weekend. Before long it was 10, and I was headed out to pick up EFU. She'd packed her stuff and brought it to work with her.

I hadn't had much sleep the three or four previous nights, so staying awake was a bit of a challenge. EFU stayed up to make sure I didn't fall asleep at the wheel, and I stopped three or four times, when the drowsiness threatened to overwhelm me in the mountains.

Anyway, we pulled into my parents' place around 1:45, and I was in bed by 2. I was planning to sleep until 10, but at 8, my cell rang. It was G., Friday's massage bud, letting me know that I'd left my watch at his place. He called it my "very nice watch." I'm kind of attached to it because it's both my only accessory and the only colorful thing I wear, but I got it on overstock for less than $30. Anyway, I told him that I'd arrange to come pick it up next week, and then I rolled out of bed and into the shower.

Breakfast followed. My parents always make too much food, but they make up for this by sending YFU down the hill to the local bakery where on Friday and Saturday mornings they fry their own doughnuts. I was stuffed before I was even awake.

Springs, PA is a tiny (no stoplights!) town in the middle of nowhere. It's just a few miles from Grantsville, MD, a slightly less tiny (several stoplights!) town that was the childhood home of my paternal grandfather. I still have a lot of relatives in the area. My parents bought their summer place there (their winter place is in Bradenton, FL) partly to be near some of the few relatives my mother can stand, but largely for the view.



The view was better last summer, when there was an apple tree where that shed is now. Still, it's a remarkably pretty area, and as is my wont when I'm there, I headed out for a walk after breakfast. YFU wanted to go down to the farmers' market, so I accompanied her to the bottom of the hill and across the highway.


After picking up a Diet Pepsi and leaving YFU at the market, I headed out for the rest of my walk.

Wildflowers are the things that I most like to photograph.

They're also the thing that I have the most trouble photographing. I never get enough depth of field. The wildflowers are pretty tame at this time of year, but I'll be back another couple of times during the summer, and in about a month, there will be over a hundred kinds of wildflower in bloom. Spectacular.

I always walk farther than I intend when I'm up at my folks' place. They live almost at the top of a steep hill, so the first steps are normally down, and then I feel like keeping on. The open road is an invitation.

The views here are meant to make up for the fact that you're thirty miles from the nearest Starbucks. I only frequent Starbucks during tax season, so for me, the views are free of charge.

The land here is largely farmland, much of it cultivated by the Amish. You can't swing a dead cat here without attracting the attention of a ruminant.

There are a lot of old houses out here. I love the paperboxes. When I was a kid, we had a paperbox. We got the Washington Star.

Really, once I start walking here, I just never want to stop. Maybe that's because there's nothing else to do, but I don't think so.

Eventually, though, I realize that I'm going to have to walk back as far as I walked out, and that most of that walk will be uphill, so I turn around.

The views are just as nice on the way back. It was a sunny day, but my flash went off on this picture. My flash goes off on almost every picture I take unless I remember to turn it off. I have to turn the flash off every time I turn the camera on. I have a feeling there's some sort of kickback from the battery makers to the camera manufacturer. The situation annoys me.

Sometimes, a car will pass. The drivers almost always wave, but without moving their hands off the steering wheel. It's a very low-energy wave, as if they were drag queens conserving their strength for the long Pride float ride. The drivers are mostly wearing feedcaps instead of tiaras, though.

I took a walk through the outdoor market on the way home. Everyone was packing up, including this nice looking nineteen-year-old. I would have gotten a better picture, but I am no good at stealth photography. Take my word for it, though, he's what guys are thinking about when they say "corn fed."

My folks recently got a new dog. They rescued him from the pound, and he's very sweet. His name is Buddy.

When EFU finally woke up, I decided to take the girls shopping. This typically involves a long drive and a limited selection. The girls appreciate the recycling and hunting aspects of shopping at Goodwill.

There were two men working at the Goodwill on Saturday. One was a tall, wiry, buzzed, gray-haired forty something who was ex-military. Hot, hot, hot. I tried to sneak a picture, but I failed. The other was ten years older and somehow managed to have both no ass and an alarming amount of preternaturally pale trouser cleavage. I didn't try to sneak a picture. I'm scarred for life, but there's no reason you should be. I hate shopping for other people's clothing, so I went next door to Ollie's.

Ollie's is a sort of salvaged goods store that reminds me of the Building 19s that I so loved when I lived in Boston. Most of the stuff is junk, but I did score some very inexpensive silicon spatulas. They usually have some books on tape at Ollie's, and sometimes I find one I like. I bought The Blind Assassin on one trip and listened to it on the way home and for the next few days. No luck this time. Ollie's also has a huge selection of For Dummies books, and I was tempted by one in particular, though I settled for a picture.

EFU didn't find much of what she wanted at the Goodwill, so I took her to a local clothing store, where she had much better luck. Everything was on sale, so the damage wasn't too bad, except for the bruises to my psyche caused by waiting for her to finish up in the dressing room. Fortunately, you cannot go into a rural strip mall without happening upon a good deal of eye candy. Unfortunately, my poor stealth photography skills and low-resolution cell phone camera follow me wherever I go. Use your imagination.

When we got back to my parents', my mother had made some hamburger patties, and my father wanted me to start the grill. When I grill at home, I use hardwood charcoal, and I never use lighter fluid, which is evil. My parents only had some briquets, but I took an old coffee can and punched holes in the bottom and crumpled up some newspaper to make a charcoal starter so that I wouldn't have to use the dreaded lighter fluid.

Apparently, I didn't punch enough holes, and the briquets were a couple of years old. So I dumped them out of the starter, made a pyramid, and soaked them with lighter fluid. People who complain about lighter fluid are pansies, anyway. I waited for the fluid to soak in, but the whole pile still went up with a giant whoosh when I put the match to it. I was fortunate not to be burned.

Mom wanted me to cook the burgers, so I did, and they were just right. She had also made potato salad. She kept complaining that she hadn't cooked the potatoes enough, but I told her that it was just al dente. My mother is given to harp on the flaws in her cooking. Occasionally, the flaws are real, but more often they are imagined. She's a terrific cook. We had chocolate pie for dessert.

After dinner, I sat in the porch swing for a while. It's very peaceful.

If you sit outside for any length of time, you'll see a buggy go by. If you're up early enough Sunday morning, you'll see the big family-sized carts go by, taking the big Amish families to church. They wave and smile, but they would not appreciate being photographed.

After dinner, we played dominoes for a while and then worked on a jigsaw puzzle. Before too long, everyone went to bed. I signed Dad's F-Day card and left it out for him, with the DVDs. He had turned on his Flamingo lamp, which I got him last Father's Day. He loves that lamp. Dad is very easy to please.


We had intended to go out for breakfast the next morning, but people slept too late. I would have made breakfast, but it was Father's Day, so I was forbidden. Mom made bacon, fried eggs, cheese grits, and biscuits. The biscuits were from a tube. That I should live to see this day. My grandmother would have been shocked. I guess it's a sign of age. Mom is in her seventies, after all.

After breakfast, I played some cards with EFU and my Dad, but then my parents started fighting. They've been married for fifty-six years, but I only remember them fighting for about forty years, so I can't be sure they were fighting before I was born. I suppose I could ask my older brother. Anyway, I'm used to it by now, but I don't like to encourage it by listening, so I went off to read some more of the novel I'd brought. There is plenty of time to read in the mountains, and I was glad that I'd selected a book that I didn't want to put down.

EFU had somehow got it into her head that F-Day was a week later than it is. This gives me an opportunity to tease her, and that's better than any present she could buy me. She knows that I'm not really upset, though, so I can tease her with only limited effectiveness, but that's all I want, anyway. YFU had made me a card that was very, very sweet, and at the farmers' market, she'd picked me out a garden cultivating tool. My kids really do rock.

After the gifting, I wanted to take another walk, and the girls came with me. As they know -- but do not share -- my propensity for open-ended walks, they insisted on going uphill from the house, on a loop that's about three-quarters of a mile in length. It goes by a graveyard. There are a lot of graveyards out there.

This walk has its own share of pleasant views of pastoral life.

Most of the houses are more suburban.

Still, there is no shortage of ruminants.

When you turn the last corner and begin heading down the hill to my parents' house, you get one of the best views of all. YFU thinks it would be a nice place to live, but EFU does not think the views make up for the small-mindedness and the preponderance of Republicans. I'm undecided. My parents would like to sell me the house someday, and I may buy it, but probably not before the county installs sewers, which is five or so years away.

Around 2, we packed our bags and headed out to lunch. The Hen House is one of EFU's favorite places to eat. It's about ten miles away from my folks' place, and it's on the way home. They offer a wide variety of seafood dishes. I had the pulled BBQ pork: I don't eat seafood in the mountains.


The Hen House serves huge portions. I ate half of my pork and gave the rest to my parents, who took it home with them. There was enough left for two ample sandwiches.

The drive home was uneventful. I dropped YFU at her mother's, and EFU and I went home. It was after 7. I watched some TV and went to bed.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Amuse-Queue



It is evident, readers, that there are significant parallels between dining and sex. Both involve matters of taste and both deal with appetite. In both cases, there are those of us who go beyond what is strictly necessary to satisfy those appetites. I would argue that with food it is better to be a gourmet than a gourmand. With sex, however, more is more.

At the same time, one has occasionally to pace oneself. When you're out catting around, it's tempting to be the sexual equivalent of Mr. Creosote, but that last wafer-thin mint can put you out of commission for a while, and you can end up having less sex than if you'd gone a bit slower. All of this, of course, becomes more of an issue as you get older, but the principle is still sound (albeit to a lesser degree) even if you're twenty-five. And there is a great deal of variability between individuals and for the same individual in different situations. You just have to know your own refractory period and how it varies with circumstance.

Anyway, last night, I was due to hook up with my friend JP at ten. I usually hook up with him on the late side. Initially, that was because we'd get together after I was done with choir practice. When there's no choir practice, it's because I don't want an open-ended evening. JP is a nice guy, and he's a lot of fun to be around in a sort of down-the-rabbit-hole way, but he's really better enjoyed in small doses. If I hang around too long, he will inevitably start to wonder why we don't hook up more often, and this is a question that I can't answer. There is, of course, an answer for it: because I don't want to hook up with him more often. But I can't say that to him.

Having a ten o'clock rendez-vous leaves plenty of time to get in trouble beforehand, and while I was in the office, I'd chatted with some married guy on gay.com. He was in town on business, and he wanted to be plowed in his hotel room. He was also amenable to making out and some oral and liked to be submissive on occasion. He said that his nipples were "uncomfortably sensitive," but nobody's perfect, right?

Originally, I'd been planning to get out of the office around 5:30 and head up to his hotel, which, given the Bethesda traffic, would probably have meant a 6:15 arrival time, leaving me plenty of time to churn out a load and still be in prime shape to fuck JP at 10. Alas, we're moving offices this weekend, and I was meant to be packed before I left last night, so I didn't get out of the office until almost 7, and when I called SMG's room, he'd gone out. So I went home and started some laundry and logged back on, and SMG hit me up to say that he was sorry he'd missed me. I asked whether he was still looking, and he said he was interested, but he didn't want to be up late. I told him I could be there by 8:15. He said he'd leave the door ajar and be naked on the bed, ass up.

SMG's hotel was on the way to JP's place, or at least close enough to on the way that it would have made no sense for me to go there and then go home before heading up to JP's. So -- because I knew SMG didn't want to go very late -- I called JP on my way over to see SMG to ask whether we could move our appointment forward to 9:30. I figured that would give me forty minutes, door-to-door, with SMG, with enough time left over to grab a quick bite on the way to JP's.

If you watch Top Chef (and perhaps even if you don't), you know that an amuse-bouche is small, one- or two-bite treat that's served prior to the starter to stimulate the appetite. In France, it is often called an amuse-gueule instead. SMG was meant to be last night's sexual equivalent of the amuse-bouche, the amuse-queue. If you're an oral bottom, of course, amuse-bouche is still appropriate. If you're an anal bottom, you could go with amuse-cul. If you're really pretentious, or drunk, you can call rimming an amuse-cul. Actually, you have to be pretentious to use any of these terms unless you have your tongue firmly in your cheek. Which makes amuse-cul difficult unless you're willing to extend "tongue-in-cheek" to mean having your tongue in the other guy's cheek. Or perhaps between the other guy's cheeks. Did I have a point here somewhere?

SMG was perhaps older than he'd claimed, and he had a bit of a beer gut, but he was also very smooth (married guys who wax: go figure) and had a deep tan with no lines, both things that I find very hot. Besides, as I've said many times, I'm particular about performance, not appearance, and when I took off my shoes and slacks and turned him over on his back and started to kiss him, he really knew what he was doing. It's decidedly weird for me to have to treat the nipples as a no-fly zone when I'm making out, but there were plenty of other places for me to put my hands and mouth, so it was fine.

After the making out, I got rid of my boxer briefs and directed SMG towards my cock. As a cocksucker, he definitely knows his limits, so while he attached the cockhead con mucho gusto, he didn't really get to the shaft. It was an odd blowjob: not bad, but not something I'd seek out. I started fingering his ass. I'd figured out within about forty-five seconds of entering the room that it was pre-lubed, so I knew eating was out of the question. What SMG really wanted was to make out and get fucked. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I grabbed the condom he'd left on the nightstand and told him to put it on me. He did, and I put him on his stomach and eased my way slowly into him. He grimaced a fair amount, but he didn't complain, and after a minute, I was fully engaged and started to ramp up the frequency. Once I started to pound, he asked whether we could change positions. I think he was feeling the full stomach from dinner. I put him on his side and entered him from a spooning position. Then I pushed one of his legs forward and straddled the other leg and pounded some more. He was looking a little shell shocked, so I asked him whether he was okay, and he said, "oh yeah!" and I moved him onto his back, with his legs up in the air, and re-entered him.

I was really looking not to cum, so after about ten minutes of total fuck time, I pulled out and took a short breather. Then I got off the bed and moved him so that he was still on his back with his ass right on the edge. The bed was the perfect height for me to fuck him from a standing position. I put his legs straight up in the air, pushed into him, and began thrusting. He really liked that, and he liked it even more when I grabbed his feet and started to push down. That made his body bounce up and down slightly on the bed so that his ass rose to meet my cock as I rammed into him.

I'd been there about half an hour, and I felt like my queue was about as amused as I wanted it to be, so I pulled out and lay down beside him for a moment. I still had a few minutes, and he had a small cock, so I decided to go down on him. I'm all about sucking the cock that's so small that even I can do a good job on it. I slid a finger inside his ass and sucked him all the way in (not even close to shallow, let alone deep, throat) and listened to him gasp and moan for a few minutes. He got a little longer, but he never got really hard, and while he expressed his pleasure quite volubly, I didn't anticipate an orgasm in the foreseeable future. Plus, I was getting close to my deadline, so I stopped. We chatted for a bit while I washed up and got dressed, and it was all very comfortable and companionable, just the way a hook up ought to be.

We hadn't been at it long, but I had fucked him pretty hard, so I was feeling a bit drained when I left. Plus, I hadn't eaten since noon, and it was 9:00, so I was starving. Hunger is a good stimulant to arousal, but it's anathema to endurance, so I hit the BK drive-through and picked up an order of chicken fries (I have no idea) and a Diet Coke.

I made my way up to Germantown, which is surely one of the most depressing places in the universe, and to JP's condo. He greeted me wearing a Hawaiian shirt and nothing else. It's a good look for him. JP's about 5'10, African American, and has braids that go about halfway down his back, so he's at his most striking when he's wearing nothing at all, but I knew there wasn't long to wait for that.

I grabbed him right away and started to kiss him and tug on his nipples. JP is always very verbal, and the moaning and "Oh Ted" started right away. Then he stopped and asked me whether I wanted to take a shower. I reckon that if someone asks you whether you want a shower, the answer is always yes. At first, I thought that perhaps I hadn't cleaned up sufficiently, but when I got out of the shower and toweled off and went to the bedroom, I saw him getting out of the shower in the master bath, and I realized he'd just needed an excuse to shower himself. And to use some mouthwash. I'd tasted cigarettes when we'd first kissed, but after his trip to the bathroom, he was all minty fresh.

JP is always a man in a hurry in bed, and depending on my mood, I'll either go with it or hold him back. We'd been on the bed for less than five minutes of kissing and me working his nipples when he dove for my cock. He's what you'd call a sloppy cocksucker, but he sure is good at it, so I let him deep throat me for five minutes or so while I lay back and enjoyed. I knew he was about to beg me either to rim or to fuck him, so to forestall that (it's a great ass for amuse-cul, but if I rim him, then he's begging hard to be fucked within about sixty seconds), I pulled him back to me and started to make out again. He's a skilled kisser with very nice lips, so I kept that going for a good while, with the occasional nipple nip worked in for variety. Chewing on his nipples always makes him especially verbal. What he says is uninspired but not annoying, and it always gets me worked up to hear him getting worked up.

I kept the making out going for as long as I could, but he has an ass that won't be denied, and before too long he was begging me to fuck him. I told him to glove me up, and he did, then he lubed both of us and rolled over onto his stomach.

JP has one of those asses that's very tight but still easy to get into. Would that all men were the same. I took a little time getting into him, but within a minute or so, I was pounding away, unleashing a torrent of verbal appreciation. Apparently, I'm the second coming, though I suspect he feels the same way about every cock he has in his ass.

You can count on JP for five minutes of hard fucking. Then he cums. Every time. It is, of course, gratifying to fuck a load out of a bottom, but with most bottoms, five minutes isn't nearly enough time for me to get off. With JP, however, his ass is clamping down so hard on my cock from the outset -- and so much harder when he cums -- that I almost always lose my load right when he does. Last night was no exception.

It was about 10:30 when I finished fucking him, and then we both drifted off for just a couple of minutes. Then we chatted for a bit. His life is always fascinating and chaotic. Again, best digested in small amounts. I needed to get home to finish putting stuff away in anticipation of the cleaning people's visit this morning, so I got dressed. On my way out, he gave me a case of organic tortilla chips. I figured it was better not to ask. I did refuse the six jars of bread and butter pickles, though I would have accepted cornichons. Does that mean I was paid for sex? Go me.

A cheeseburger and a half-hour later, I was home, and I should have collapsed, but some part of me still wanted dessert. After starting the dishwasher and cycling the laundry, I called up one of my occasional phone buds and stroked out another load to an imagined scene that involved sex in a theatre. I've had sex in a theatre, of course, but anything involving a legitimate fear of getting caught is something that's more fun over the phone than in real life. I came hard, wiped up, and fell right to sleep.