One thing I'm struck by as I surf around the net is my lack of visual acumen. That, readers, is why the pictures here are so often so very pedestrian. Thanks to digital cameras and software, I can usually take, or at least produce a passable picture, but, for example, I downloaded a free version of something that's meant to act like photoshop, and I'm utterly lost. I really don't think in visual terms, and it shows. Anyway, this is all by means of explaining that in many cases, I don't make much of an attempt to match the pictures with the words. There are obvious exceptions: when I'm posting about a fetish, I like to have relevant pictures. In some cases, I make an effort to find pictures that aren't relevant. Tomorrow's post will be an example of that. The first picture in that post will be relevant in a visual pun sort of way, but the remainder of the post is, to me, somewhat disheartening, and all of the relevant pictures are things that make me want to turn away, so I went with things that were pretty and maybe a little banal. I would have posted it today, but pretty and banal tends to equate with SFW, and what's the point of posting on a weekend if you can't have pictures that are more lewd than usual?
So, yesterday late afternoon, I was sitting in my office, nearing the end of a bad day, and I had about an hour and a half before I was supposed to pick up the girls, so I clicked on gay.com, mostly to run in the background while I reviewed another tax return. And I very quickly got a message from a guy over in Silver Spring. I should probably go ahead and use this guy's gay.com screen name because it's obvious that the monosyllabic, four-letter, hyper-masculine name he was using was not something anyone ever has or will call him in real life. But let's continue our practice of further obscuring the identities of my tricks and give him another monosyllabic, four-letter, hyper-masculine name that no one ever calls him in real life.
I vaguely knew who Biff was. He'd first appeared in the local rooms of gay.com two or three years ago, and he seemed a likely candidate for a shag, so I said hello. He'd indicated some initial interest, but nothing ever panned out, and I'd soon stopped initiating conversations. I was surprised to see him popping up on my screen and complimenting me. I returned the compliment, and then he started talking about how cold it was, and I was thinking, "Oh, how cute. Small talk." It's common to see profiles on gay.com where the guy goes on (usually at great length) about how he's looking for a guy who will be happy staying in on Friday nights and helping to polish his snow globe connection, or whatever. These guys usually say that they're not looking to hook up and that if you contact them and say "looking?" they will ignore you. But I am certainly not one of those people -- I appreciate a sense of directness and the feeling that you value my time enough to use it efficiently -- and I was certain that if Biff wanted help polishing his snowglobes, it was only in the most metaphorical use possible of the phrase.
Anyway, it was, despite the small talk, clear what he wanted, and it only took a few minutes before he gave enough of a hint of it for me to come right out and say what I was up for. Then he gave me his address, told me where the best parking was, and said that he'd meet me outside his apartment building. And when I got there, there he was. As I approached, he turned and headed towards the door, and I followed him in, through the lobby, and into an elevator. He didn't say anything, but I didn't care much because his ass looked really good in his jeans. Unfortunately, someone else walked in just before the elevator doors closed, so I couldn't molest him while we were ascending, but it didn't take long to get inside his apartment, and as he opened his mouth to say something, I put my tongue in it. He melted, and as we kept kissing (which, he was pretty good at: I give him an 8), I grabbed his ass and nipples. After half a minute, I broke away and followed him into the bedroom.
I kicked off my shoes, and as he bent down to untie his, I came up behind him and ran my hands up under his t-shirt then around the front to squeeze his nipples. He stopped undoing his shoes and stood up, giving me the chance to kiss the back of his neck and stick my tongue in his ear. Biff, like me, doesn't say much during sex, but it was easy to read the sharp intakes of breath, the various stiffenings, and the switches back and forth between languor and hunger to see how much he was enjoying it. I'd figured he must have been pretty horned up to ask me to come over, and I'd obviously been right.
He stepped away long enough to pull his t-shirt off. Really, that's my job, but I let it pass and tossed him backwards onto the bed, so I could straddle him and go back to kissing him. It would have been easy to get lost in that, but I figured I really only had half an hour to play, so I lay on my side next to him, turned him to me, and began to suck on his nipples while I unzipped his jeans. He was, unsurprisingly, hard. It was a small cock, but I like that, and it was nice and perky, and, oh hell, every cock is interesting, right?
I left his cock pretty quickly, though, to play with his ass. I was still kissing him, mind. He was showing an alarming tendency to go after my nipples, and since that never does anything to me except hurt when the guy escalates because he's not getting a reaction from gentle play, I had to grab his wrist and pin it down over his head with the hand that wasn't playing with his ass. When I did that, though, I got the acrid odor of unwashed and untreated pits. I love untreated, freshly washed pits, but I've never really been attracted to odors much. I mean, I love it when my bed smells like another guy's been in it, but the strong underarm odor is not, for me, the aphrodisiac that it is for many guys. Still, I wasn't minding it so much with Biff, and it occurred to me that if I were subjected to it often enough, I could probably acquire a taste for it. It also, though, occurred to me that I probably didn't want to acquire a taste for it, so I let his hand go free after a while, and when he finally did get too rough with the nipples (only fair, I'm sure, given how I'd been treating his), I simply told him to ease off, and he did.
Biff very clearly wanted me to be in charge, so I grabbed his hand and put it on my crotch, and he finally got the idea to haul out the reason that he'd invited me over. I stood up for a minute to take my pants and briefs off, and he just lay there as I pulled off his shoes and jeans. Then I got back on the bed and grabbed his hair and shoved his head in the general direction of my crotch, and he went down on me like a guy coming across water in the desert. Hello, Mr. Eager!
Anyway, it went like that for a while, interrupted by bouts of making out, and once I'd determined that his ass was very clean, I rimmed him briefly and then sunk a couple of fingers in him while he was going down on me. I imagine he would have been happy to have me fuck him, but I'd never intended to fuck him, and there really wasn't time. I did go down on him a bit, though. Eventually, I pulled him off me, kissed him a bit more, then pinned him down and started to play with him very gently: ultra-soft kisses, and a single finger barely making contact with his nipples, frenulum, and scrotum. Then I flipped him onto his stomach, wedged my cock between his legs, and bit his shoulders.
Finally, I turned him on his back again and started kissing him again. He grabbed his cock and started pumping, and I did the same. He came quickly and, it seemed, pretty hard. I came not long after, and shot high. He jumped up and soon returned with a damp, warm washcloth, and I cleaned up. We chatted a bit while I was getting dressed, and I was amused to see that the hypermasculinity had melted into a voice and manner that was almost foppish. Either he was experiencing post-coital nerves, or he was relaxed and allowing his true self to come out with another gay man. I don't guess it really matters. He seemed like a very nice guy, and he was good in the sack, but I'm sure it was a one-off Berber. Two stars, for sure. It'd taken fifteen minutes longer than I'd planned, but when you're having a good time, sometimes you're not watching the clock.
And then I went and picked the kids up and we had dinner, some more Mario Kart, and an earl(ish) night. We had to leave the house at 6:30 this morning to be in Hagerstown at 8, so EFU could catch her ride back to Vermont. Four college students and their luggage in a Prius. Youth.