YFU came down with some sort of nasty virus this week, so instead of going to choir practice Thursday night and work Friday morning, I was home with a very sick child. I had to spend a lot of time monitoring her and pushing fluids Thursday evening, but Friday, I just needed to be within shouting distance. I took a couple of calls from the office, and I watched Hairspray with YFU, but mostly she wanted to watch the sort of aggressively horrible, message-driven children's cartoons that never fail to send me kermitting from the room. So I checked on her every hour or so, and in between I read, napped, and jerked off. In some of my semi-wakeful moments, I thought about cock.
I've said before that I'm not much of a cock guy. I like having mine played with, of course, but when it comes to other guys, I'd mostly rather play with other parts of them and use the cock as an indicator of their level of arousal. With most guys, of course, it's rude to entirely ignore the cock, so I usually give it some attention, at least enough, hopefully, to make it squirt. Eventually. But the other parts of a guy are more interesting.
There are exceptions. Yesterday, for unclear reasons, I started to think of a guy over in Ellicott City. I only met him once, and it must have been five years ago. At the time, I had a job that wasn't very demanding, and I only ever worked late or on Saturdays during tax season. So it must have been February or March when I hooked up with this guy. I was at the office late, and I had gay.com running in the background, and this late twenty-something guy started chatting me up. He seemed both lonely and horny, as men on gay.com often are. He was also on my way home, so I suggested that I stop by. He said something about watching a movie together, but we never got around to that. He was extraordinarily cute, in a somewhat clonish way, and we began necking soon after I arrived at his place.
I don't remember a lot of the details from that encounter. I know I didn't fuck him. I know he went down on me. I know we both came. Mostly what I remember is the sight of him lying naked on his couch and then on his bed. It would have taken a while for him to get naked, but it was definitely worth the wait. He was smooth and trim and had tan lines from a recent trip to some warm place. And he had a really pretty cock.
Generally, when I find a cock that I find very attractive, it's small and uncut, and this guy's was neither. It was by no means huge, but it was ample. It looked just right, both on its own and in the context of his body. It was very straight, very hard, and it always pointed towards his head.
Cocks that point heavenwards are wonderful things. They are almost certainly the result of some combination of genetics and youth, but it's hard not to feel like their perkiness is a result of something I'm doing right. With a cock like that, I most like to run my finger along its length, or grasp it very lightly. I appreciate being rewarded with a few drops of precum that I can move around with my fingertip. My mouth will generally be otherwise occupied, but I will certainly go down on it for at least a little while.
I'm never going to be a great cocksucker: even if I took the time to improve my technique, I would be missing the extended hunger that all superb fellators have. I still remember the last guy to bring me off orally. It took him half an hour of concentrated effort, and he was in heaven. I don't know how much of that is just liking something in your mouth and how much is a submissive impulse. In his case, clearly both were in play. It seems odd that I can work on a guy's nips or eat his ass for half an hour and still want more, please, but that forty-five seconds of cocksucking is really plenty for me, thank you. It's one of those things that I'm occasionally wistful about, but it's not something that I'm likely to change.