Ye Will Lose the Victory Permanable

Will from DesignerBlog¹ left a comment on one of my recent forays into the spirituality of sex:

[T]o observe sexual/religious extasis in art fully, check out St. Sebastian paintings and sculpture from the Renaissance and later. That is, after he ceased being a grizzled old Roman soldier and became an astonishingly beautiful boy transfixed at being penetrated by the arrows or, as in several famous versions, suggestively penis-length darts.

I pubesced jacking off to St.Sebastian, whose image I was encouraged to venerate in Catholic school. No further comment.

[I think the further comments pretty much write themselves, so perhaps I won't bother to say that nothing venerates a saint more than offering up to him what one of my readers calls your "precious man gunk." And I certainly won't be so profane as to regret that there exist no pictures of the teen-aged Will jerking off to images of St. Sebastian, nor will I allow myself to say -- however truthfully -- that a painting of a beautiful young man staring at a painting of St. Sebastian and mirroring his look of ecstatic submission while touching himself through his tighty whities is something that really needs to be on my bedroom wall.]


St. Sebastian is such a commonly referenced story that even I knew the general outlines: because he insisted on practicing Christianity, he ran afoul of the authorities, and when, by surviving the arrows -- if not, perhaps, the slings -- of outrageous fortune, he failed to achieve martyrdom the first time, he made like a harp seal and got himself clubbed to death.

There's a lot more to the story, of course, and I encourage you to read the account of his life in the Legenda Aurea here.


Since I know, however, that most of you won't follow the link and surrender yourselves to the intoxicating Middle English and laughable Catholic propaganda, let me at least quote a few of the choicer (by reason of language) bits:

[T]hat is to say he gat by poverty the kingdom, with sorrow joy, with labour rest, with trouble glory, and with death life.

But at these words was S. Sebastian as a knight; when he saw them thus travailed, and so amollished anon came to them and said: O right noble knights of Jesu Christ, wise and hardy, which be come to the victory and now go aback, and for a few blandishing words vain and miserable, ye will lose the victory permanable, lose ye not the everlasting life for the blandishing words of women, be ye example to other christian men for to be strong in the faith, address ye your hearts above the world, and lose ye not your crown for the weepings of your wives and your children.²

And the archers shot at him till he was as full of arrows as an urchin is full of pricks, and thus left him there for dead.

I took Will's advice and searched for images of St. Sebastian, and -- boy howdy -- Will was right: artists from all eras would have you believe that Sebastian spent a lot of time in the gym. I haven't researched this particular point, but my sense is that the actual historical record on Sebastian is pretty thin. This is usually the case for people who assume mythical proportions: the absence of contradictory historical information makes it easier to transmute them into something they weren't, to suit the purposes of the transmuters. Thus, "he ceased being a grizzled old Roman soldier and became an astonishingly beautiful boy." And thus, he became St. Sebastian. I can't imagine that anyone knows the real story, but the account in the Legenda Aurea so flies in the face of common sense and human nature that I'm pretty sure it's a huge, steaming load of excrement. (Not that I'm judging, if you're into that.)


But where would we be without mythology? So I don't begrudge the Catholics their gold-girdled martyr any more than I would have begrudged young Will his sacred soft-core porn. (I will say, though, that making St. Sebastian the patron saint of archers seems perverse. Perhaps, while were at it, we can make Actaeon the patron saint of hunting dogs.)

The great thing about myths is that people can continue to appropriate and tailor them to suit their own purposes, and contemporary artists still take Sebastian as a subject (you see some contemporary visual representations in this post). My very favorite contemporary reference to the St. Sebastian myth came in Painted Lady, a Helen Mirren vehicle that I saw on Masterpiece Theatre about ten years ago, when I was still married and still watched PBS. (The DVD is currently on its way to me via Amazon one-click, and I can hardly wait.) The story of St. Sebastian is included in Painted Lady in a very literal and very sexy way.


For this post, I had wanted to write a contemporary pornographic piece inspired by Sebastian: he takes Ecstasy and survives a prolonged and violent orgy (I think a bukkake scene, with "arrows of cum" is de rigueur), only to meet his demise when he shows up at the club. But I don't have the time just now, and I know nothing whatsoever about E (for instance, does one take it in pill form, or is it a liquid?), so if I'm going to write that piece (and I hope to, eventually), it must needs await both time and research.


Still, I have definite plans to use Sebastian for my own purposes. I don't think any of you was reading this site last December, but I mentioned some new party games that I'd developed for last year's holiday party. I think it will be a relatively simple matter to transform either Phallic Symbol Toss or Stick It into a St. Sebastian game. Instead of making magnets that bear images of bananas or torpedos or the Washington Monument, I'll make some sort of magnetic arrows. And instead of a hot boy in a Speedo, I'll have a hot boy in tighty whities in an appropriate position and with an appropriate expression.

Finding the right picture is the only tricky part. The boy must be beautiful, and he probably has to be smooth, and he has to look like he's nearing the sort of orgasm that redefines the universe. Also, the file has to be big enough to allow for enlargement to poster size. Here are some also-rans:








They're all good pictures and close to what I want, but each fails on one or more counts. If anyone can point me to a better candidate online, I'd be ever so grateful.

My other Sebastian-themed party game involves buying -- after a thorough survey of the possibilities, you understand -- a poster of my favorite artistic rendering of St. Sebastian and having my guests pose next to it. Each guest will attempt to imitate the ecstatic expression, and whoever comes closest wins. I suspect that some of them will have problems getting it just right, but I'll be standing by to help them along in whatever way seems appropriate.


By the way, if you're young (or youngish) and have a great body, you could do a lot worse on Halloween than to go out as St. Sebastian. Just remember that it was my idea, so sending me a picture of yourself in your (minimal) costume is really the least you can do. If you send me the pictures with the ecstatic expression but without the arrows, I can use it for my party game, and you'll have killed two birds with one stone. Or, if you will, two martyrs with one club.

¹One of my intermediate-term ambitions is to persuade Will and Fritz to accompany me and b&c on a trip to Germany, where the opera queens will spend eternitylong evenings engaged in self-abuse (aka attending performances of the Ring Cycle) while Fritz and I compete on the Nürnberg Professional Pub Crawl Circuit. I'm pretty sure that Fritz (or, really, anybody) can drink me under the table with relative ease, but I reckon that as long as you end up under the table with Will or Fritz, even if you lose, you win.

²I was raised Southern Baptist, and I can very easily imagine these exact words emanating from one or other of the old school preachers who used to visit our church for a week-long series of revival meetings. Hellfire and brimstone and damnation, oh my!

Group Activities

I'm tempted to start this entry with a phrase like "Tuesday is orgy night," but that wouldn't be at all true, even though both last Tuesday and last night my bed saw a lot of visitors. I like orgies, but I am still, apparently, not entirely comfortable with them. I have never been comfortable with public sex, and while my bedroom is clearly a private venue, there's something about five guys on the same bed that is (in addition to being horribly overcrowded: where the HELL is my king-sized bed?) public because you're likely to be doing something with one guy while one or several other guys are watching.

But, truly, public performance anxiety is the minor part of the problem. The major part is party planner anxiety. Last night, for instance, this very nice, extremely down-to-earth, hugely hung, thick lipped, married black top (E.) wanted to play. We've corresponded regularly because he lives near me and because a long while back, I posted an ad, and he responded, saying that he'd be interested in being the second top in a group scene sometime. We double teamed a bottom not long after that, but our schedules are highly incompatible, and he can very rarely get away when he's home. He mostly plays near work, which is far away. Anyway, his wife was out of town for a few days, and he let me know last week, so I offered to arrange something for Tuesday night. Oral sub guy from last Tuesday had indicated interest, but he wasn't definite, so I posted an ad on craigslist.

I knew of course, that a hugely hung black top and a reasonably endowed dom white top who were offering to host would get a big response, and, well, boy howdy. Unfortunately, on craigslist, the flakiness of the men is directly responsible to the size of the response, and I spent the eight or so hours between when I posted the ad and when everyone else had cleared out of the house worrying about whether I'd have one bottom or six. It was rather horrifically like planning a holiday party on a popular weekend. (Oral sub guy decided, ultimately, not to show, because there were too many -- i.e., any -- other bottoms.)

As it happens, we had three bottoms, and everything was mostly fine (much like the holiday parties, except that there are always a lot more bottoms than three at those), but at least one guy who called to confirm didn't show, and I kept worrying about whether he would come in late. And there was another bottom who did show but who only showed after getting lost twice and who insisted on my talking him in from a couple of miles away, so that while I was trying my best to make out with and chew on the nipples of a very hot young Indian man (Vic from here and here), I had to keep saying, "No, not there. At the next street. At [street name]. No, at [street name]. No, you've gone too far. Yes, now you'll have to turn right instead of left. Yes, at [street name]. Yes, all the way to the traffic circle. Yes, the house with the cars parked on the lawn. Yes, the door's open. Yes, come on up." So, and there's no easy way to say this, I was so anxious (and occasionally annoyed) that I kept going soft.

Tumescence returned, of course, but once you lose your erection in the presence of a group of sexy men (who, to their credit, didn't seem to mind, because I still had fingers, tongue, and toys to stimulate their various parts, and because the stiffness came back, and because E. was huge, so I was, at best, up for a reward as a supporting player to begin with) the disappearance continues to bother you until you manage to push it out of your mind by concentrating on eating that hot Indian ass or chewing those hot Irish nipples or kissing those hot black lips (the fifth guy was a nondescript American white guy), and suddenly, hey, there's wood!

Anyway, the party planner anxiety did not, ultimately, keep me from having a great time, and I suppose that as the host, I should have been most worried about the pleasure of my guests, and they all (except perhaps for the nondescript white guy who left half an hour before everyone else when I was too busy with Vic's ass to notice, but if the hardness of his cock and the tightness of his nuts -- during the period when I was paying attention -- were any indication, then he probably had a good time, too) had a great time. So the lesson I learn from the experience is not that I shouldn't have orgies: it's that I should learn to relax about the whole thing and just concentrate on having a good time.

Since nondescript white American guy was the first to arrive, I spent a good while with him, and that made me feel fine with turning it over to E. when Vic showed up. I spent most of the time playing with Vic because he responds ecstatically to kissing, having his nipples chewed, having almost anything else chewed, and, especially, having his ass eaten. When everyone else had left, Vic and I continued to play, and each of us finished himself off by hand. I came first, but he came soon after, with me chewing on his nipples. And before that, I'd gone down on him briefly because he has a small, uncut cock that also has the advantage of being very dark. It is rare that I hunger for cock, but I was hungry for that one. At least for ninety seconds, and then I was full again.

Between the time we started and the time Vic and I were alone, a lot of other hotness occurred. I had several fingers up the Irish bottom's ass, and E. was just too thick to squeeze into the nondescript white guy's ass, so I called him over, saying, "This guy's ass can take you." E. came over, pushed in, smiled, and said, "Fuck yeah! I went balls deep on the first thrust with this guy." The Irish bottom came about twelve seconds later, and E. was disappointed, but he got another chance. E. was trying (again without success because Vic is very tight) to fuck Vic and I was working his nipples and quietly talking dirty to him, and we were all laughing because Irish bottom was snoring, but then Irish bottom was up (in all senses of the word) again, and E. got to fuck him for a long time. E. (who gets up for work at some impossibly early hour) was running out of time, so he jerked himself off on Irish bottom's stomach and then kissed me goodbye and left. I went back to chewing Vic's nipples, and Irish bottom decided to become Irish versatile, and since his cock was nice and thin, he succeeded where thicker tops had failed. I left off chewing on Vic for a bit, got behind Irish versatile, and made him the meat in our sandwich, and that was very good indeed.

So in the end (ahem), a good time was had by all. According to this morning's emails, Irish bottom wants to come again, even if it's just for some one-on-one action (E. will likely not be available for another month of Sundays), and Vic wants to come again, either to play with just me, or for a threeway with me and b&c. He is exactly to b&c's taste, I reckon, so why not?

[Note to self: as annoying as it is when the same married submissive sends you fifteen distinct emails without using the reply feature so that your entire page fills up with his inane questions (even after you tell him -- in message number six -- that he's asking too many questions and should put them all in a single message), you should not delete his emails. If you do, the next time you run an ad and he replies, you won't find anything when you use the gmail search feature, which you need to use every time someone sends more than two emails without getting to the point. There were at least four guys yesterday who had previously replied to ads and then backed out at the last minute, and you don't need to waste your time talking to these guys again. They're just sitting at home and jerking off to your emails, anyway. Also, all the guys who write again the next day to express regrets about not having shown up and to ask when you're playing again do not deserve replies, but it's okay to tell them what a hot time you had without them.]

Extasis

On a recent post, Anon in Paris left a comment:

I'm a top and religious paintings of mystical extasis often remind me of the facial expressions of guys with my cock inside them.

Before I get into all that, though, I have to tell you that I imagine Anon in Paris as a successful avocat who early every afternoon leaves his office and repairs to a small cafe in the Marais, where he drinks strong coffee and smokes Gitanes Brunes until a sufficiently attractive young man passes by. At that point, AiP gives a small nod and heads back to his office, with the young man following a few steps behind. AiP then sits in his large, comfortable, leather chair at his large, orderly, oak desk. The young man kneels at his feet, unzips AiP's trousers, frees AiP's sizeable cock, and begins going down on it. At this point, AiP summons his efficient and unflappable secretary, who sits on the other side of the desk and takes dictation for an hour. The young man continues to ministrate to AiP's substantial endowment as AiP spends another hour returning phone calls. Then Yves, AiP's partner, comes in with his camera and spends the next hour adjusting the blinds (because the light is so important) and taking photographs as AiP lets his trousers fall, lights another Gitanes, puts the young man on his back on the desk, and fucks him until he (the young man) sees God. The young man returns to the streets, Yves returns to his atelier to begin a long night of painting, and AiP returns more calls, occasionally, perhaps, pausing between calls to wonder what it is like to be a bottom who sees God.


It occurs to me that religious ecstasy is a relatively rare phenomenon that occurs almost exclusively at times and in places where no painter is there to witness it. Consequently, one supposes that the expressions are copied from faces the painter has seen in ecstasy of another genesis, the most likely candidates being sex and chocolate. The elements of ecstasy -- awe of and submission to a wonderful but overwhelming sensation -- are present with both, and reasonable people can differ as to whether sex or chocolate is more effective at achieving the desired state. I have, of course, personally witnessed my share, and, in general, I would say that the expressions of men upon whose nipples I'm biting or who are sitting on my cock are somewhat more intense than those of men who are eating my chocolate mousse, but the difference is only a matter of degree and sometimes not all that great a matter of degree. Of course, my chocolate mousse is very, very good.


I suspect that the most ecstatic expressions arise at the moment when, my hands having carefully parted his cheeks, my tongue makes contact with a bottom's asshole. It has long been a source of frustration to me that I can't witness this expression, but neither b&c nor I have sufficiently little taste to allow the other to line the bedroom walls or ceiling with mirrors. Besides, a clean, rimmable ass is something to approach with great reverence, so that my eyes always close at the moment of contact. I suppose I could solve the problem by making video recordings of my encounters, but I worry about whether I would need to have signed waivers. (I would ask AiP, but I assume that the French intellectual property laws are not similar to our own. Quelle dommage.)


Anyway, the comment was still fresh in my mind Sunday when I got a text message from Judd (aka Client #2 from this post). I'd given him a couple of massages, and I'd meant to give him a massage last Thursday, but I returned home from Annapolis very late, and he hadn't returned my message. His text said that he was sorry but that he'd fallen asleep. Since he was apologizing two days after the fact and since I happened to know that he was leaving the area the next day to return to Florida to seek a teaching credential, I assumed that implied in the apology was an inquiry as to whether I had the time and inclination to give him a massage that day. Judd is young, tall, cute, and not overly burdened by intellect, so I was indeed so inclined, and we quickly set something up.


I started Judd off with the standard massage, exerting somewhat more pressure on his back than usual, perhaps. In past massages, he had responded enthusiastically and with great volume to anal/prostate massage, so I decided to sacrifice something of my own pleasure by using a dildo on him. The most intimate moments of a massage are when you can feel a man's pulse through his prostate and when he cums (and, if you work it right, you can have both at once), and using a dildo in place of fingers transmutes some of the energy from a non-sexual to a sexual nature. So while when Judd was writhing on the table and moaning loudly, I felt not as in touch as usual, I did get a full-on woody, and that almost never happens during massage.

Judd is not, at first, able to succumb fully to the overwhelming pleasure of assplay, and he attempts to mitigate the sensation by playing with my junk. Consequently, I usually massage him in boxers, but I'd forgotten to take off my shorts this time, so while he was writhing, he was also undoing my zipper and reaching in to play with me. I find this practice misguided, but it feels good, so I let it slide.


In any case, I worked him with the dildo for ten minutes or so, then I had him flip over and massaged his face, arms, torso and legs some before returning to his nipples and his cock. He was pretty worked up, and he got more worked up when I pushed the dildo back into him. I positioned the dildo so that he could move up and down on it and began stroking his cock with one hand while the other worked on his nips. His body continued to become more agitated, and his face, well, I reckon he was seeing God. When it all seemed to be getting to be more than he could handle, I left off playing with his nipples, took his cock in my right hand, and used the left hand to push the dildo harder in and out of his ass. His agitation increased, and the ecstatic expression alternated with something more tortured, but he soon shouted and came, drops of ejaculate spraying all over his stomach.

And then he was again at peace. I wiped him up and began to work his shoulders again, and his face dissolved into the blank but beatific expression of children napping in kindergarten, which -- who knows? -- he may be teaching in another year or so.

Many

It's not the busiest time of year at the office, so earlier last week I took a couple of sick days because I was feeling borderline exhausted. I was probably borderline exhausted because I'd been staying up much too late, but I also haven't been eating any red meat lately, and sometimes that makes me borderline anemic, so I figured it was a plausibly, albeit borderline, medical condition. And I did spend a good part of both days in bed, after all.

Late Tuesday morning, I put up a CL ad, and I got a lot of response, as is always the case when you can host on a weekday. The married guys come crawling out of the woodwork. I had a cute, geeky bi guy around lunchtime. He kissed well, and he was eager, so we had a good time.

Then I got this response:

Hi...25, 5'10", 160, athletic/thin, attractive, masc, white very oral submissive fuck slut. Looking for Dom Cock to serve today. Take orders well, very hot and horny...love getting tied up, face fucked, made to lick balls and asshole, fucked in my ass, and getting fed mutiple loads. Into long sessions and getting used long and hard unitl i'm a mess and ur done using me. Healthy, safe and sane here...just looking to serve a dom top and get treated like a nasty cock whore for the day...No BS here, ready for now. Let me know...

And it was accompanied by this picture:

You'll have to forgive me for not being able to resist the freshness of youth. Or don't: I've already forgiven myself, and I guess that's all that really matters. I figured this guy might be more trouble than he'd be worth because a) he was a sub who wanted to be used, which means that even though the ad was specific about kissing being involved, it wouldn't be surprising if the guy had missed that part because he was hyperventilating at the possibility of being tied to the bed; and b) he was from Northern Virginia, which means that he's crazy.

Anyway, I told him to call me, and he did, and I told him to come over. Apparently, he ran into the severest possible traffic, because it took him almost two hours to get to my place, but he did arrive, and he even turned out to be the guy in the picture. He was wearing flip-flops, but I suppose allowances must be made. I had him take his shirt off, put him in handcuffs, and marched him up the stairs. He slipped off the handcuffs, and I took off his jeans and briefs, pushed him down on the bed, put the restraints on his wrists and ankles, and tied the restraints to the corners of the bed.

I would show you a picture of what he looked like tied to the bed, but when he figured out that I was taking pictures, he freaked out, so I deleted the ones in my camera. I thought it was silly because none of them showed the top half of his face or his tattoo, but whatever. But he'd voluntarily sent me the picture I posted above, so I figure I have a loophole to put it up. Take my word for it, though: he looked great tied to the bed. He had about three days of stubble, and he had huge hands and feet. And a very large uncut cock (which would grow and shrink but never got fully hard).

As expected, he wouldn't kiss, but oral sub guy (OSG) was a great cocksucker. I had him tied on his back, and I pulled him towards the foot of the bed until his head was hanging down slightly, and I fed him my cock for a good while. I took my belt and looped it around his nuts and pulled on them a little while he sucked me. He refused kissing, blindfolds, and photos, but he never refused my cock. Or anyone else's.

As it happens, I'm not a big fan of standing up while I'm fucking face, so after we'd done that a while, I sat at the head of the bed and played with myself while he watched. I also held his nuts and rod between my feet and squeezed them. Not hard, though, since he'd said he wasn't into pain.

We hadn't been playing long when my late afternoon guy (LAG) called to say he was almost at my place. So I put my shorts back on and went downstairs to get him. He was a tall, well-built black man with large, sweet lips and large, sweet nips, and I started playing with both right away. Normally, I bring guys upstairs before I undress them, but I hadn't told LAG about OSG, and I figured he would take the news better if he were already undressed, so I undressed him. I was sucking on one of his nipples, and he said, "We're alone, right?" I told him, "Well, there's a boy tied to the bed upstairs. But he really just wants to take loads, so I thought maybe you wouldn't mind fucking his face." He was amenable to the idea.

We went upstairs, and LAG stood at the foot of the bed and began pumping in and out of OSG's face. I stood behind LAG, kissing his neck and shoulders, and reaching around him to squeeze his nipples. He seemed very happy.

When you only have a queen-sized bed and there's already one guy tied to it, it's a bit difficult to maneuver to play with other guys. So when I figured that OSG had had enough candy for a while, I pulled LAG into another bedroom, tossed him down, and started making out with him. He really did have superlative nipples, and he really did love having them worked on, so I concentrated on them. He went down on me for a bit, and then I pulled him back to the master bedroom so that he could finish off in OSG's mouth.

When LAG had left, I called my friend C., who lives down the street, to see whether he could join us. He was at one of the sites he manages, but he said that he'd be home before 7, and I told him to hurry and to call me when he was in the neighborhood. At that point, I'd been playing for quite a while, and I hadn't eaten much, and I'd been busy dressing, undressing, running down the stairs, running up the stairs (I had gone down and up a few times to keep checking the email, and on one of those occasions, I returned to find that OSB had worked a hand free from one of the restraints and was pushing the dildo I'd left in his ass in and out, and I was a bit annoyed by his lack of patience, but I just pulled his hand away, put it back in the restraint, and took away his toy. Boys.), and fielding phone calls (My Texas phone stalker called, and I let him listen to my fuck OSB's face for a bit, just to make him hornier than usual.), so I got back on the bed for a bit of a breather and just let my feet play with OSB's junk for a little while. It could only be a little while because there was an early evening guy (EEG) who was due soon. He'd called to say he was leaving his office, so I knew he wouldn't be much longer.

I put some lube on my thicker butt plug and started to work it in and out of OSB's ass. His cock grew some, but he didn't say anything, though he did yelp a bit when the phone rang, and I shoved the butt plug all the way in. EEG said he'd be arriving for a minute, so I put clothes back on and went downstairs. EEG was a hairy, burly 50-something married and curious guy who looked very inviting in his business clothes. I got him out of his clothes and forced him to kiss me a few times, then I started to work his nipples and briefed him on the situation. Really, guys just don't argue with you when they're naked and you're not. He said he'd never done anything like that before, so I told him there was no time like the present.

At this point, I was feeling a little bit like a cruise director, but I was still having a good time, so I pushed EEG up the stairs and got him situated at OSB's mouth. While EEG got his cock sucked, I smacked his ass until it was nice and red, and then I worked on his nipples. He was clearly having trouble processing the situation, but now he was having his cock sucked in addition to being naked, so I reckon he was even less inclined to argue.

After a while, I left him there and sat back on the bed with my legs over OSB's, and I started to jerk myself off. I figured it was the only way. It's hard enough for me to cum when I'm just lying there and a guy is going down on me: it's pretty much impossible if I'm standing up. EEG was having no such trouble, however, and he was getting pretty close before very long, so I worked my cock harder to move things along, and not long after EEG had sent a load sliding down OSB's throat, I got off the bed and stroked an ample load all over OSB's face. He was able to get some of it with his tongue, but a lot of it just stayed there. As I showed EEG out, he said, "I've never done anything like that before." "You have now."

Fortunately, C. arrived not much later. We made out a bit, but not long after he started shoving his cock in and out of OSB's mouth, OSB asked what time it was and said he had to get going. C. said that he might fuck OSB's ass quickly, but when I removed the butt plug, C. decided he'd just as soon not. So I offered C. the option of a martini instead, and he eagerly assented. I unfastened OSB, and while he used the shower, I gathered up the bedding and chatted with C. about the events of his and my day. Then OSB emerged, and C. lost interest in conversation since he was busy ogling a very attractive young man.

We saw OSB out, I started the laundry, and then I poured a couple of martinis. C. stayed for about half an hour, chatting, then headed home.

I've gotten a couple of emails from OSB since he was over. He seems very eager for a repeat, but I don't know. The whole thing was fun, but there was something very scattered about it. I almost feel that if I'm going to be doing this sort of thing regularly, I need to hire an assistant to take care of setting things up, answering the door, and fetching and cleaning the sex toys so that I can just have a good time. OSB said he was sorry for not making it clear that he didn't kiss beforehand, but he didn't offer to kiss the next time, and I'm not sure just how flexible he is about other things. I might, for example, prefer to have him on his hands and knees, going down on me while someone else fucks him. I reckon I could ask him, but it seems easier to just let the whole thing go. A couple of the other guys have also expressed interest in a repeat engagement, and that might be more satisfying for me.

This, That, and Some More of This

I took a couple of days off earlier this week, and on Tuesday, I had five guys over, though I never had more than two of them over at the same time. I'm too beat to tell you about it right now, though, so prepare yourself for miscellany.

Last night a friend of mine had his fiftieth birthday celebration at the Chart House in Annapolis. It's a restaurant that sits out on the water, so the setting is awesome. (The service and the food not so much, but perhaps I should have known to order crabcakes instead of mussels. Still, when steamed mussels arrive at your table and they're only barely warm, there's a problem somewhere. The side order of asparagus didn't arrive at all until I reminded the waiter, and then it was woody. It's just not that hard to snap the woody ends off asparagus.) There were eight of us at the table, and at least six of the other seven guys were Republicans. They are all pleasant people, and they all hold their liquor much better than I do (I stuck to Diet Coke until the waiter inexplicably refilled my glass with iced tea.), and they are all men of means but not, I think, of substance. I don't mind not being a man of means, but I live in fear of not being a man of substance.


Recently, my daughter sat me down in front of her Facebook page to make me play Word Challenge because, she said, her boss was very arrogant about his high score, and she wanted me to play for her so that she could shut him up. I played until I beat his high score, but it wasn't easy because when you get a bonus round, you have to unscramble the name of one of your Facebook friends. EFU is not a quick unscrambler, so I would have to shout out possible names from the letters supplied until she recognized one. Now I am mildly addicted to the game, but I can't get the bonus round because I have no friends. On Facebook, anyway. It's just as well, I suppose. I'm already an anagram cyborg, without the friend bonuses, and I should probably do work at the office instead.


Very late one night last week, when I'd already hooked up with a couple of people, I was on gay.com, and a local Asian lad, with whom I'd chatted before, said he wanted me to come over with my condoms and lube. He gave me the address and told me that the door would be open, but when I got there, the door wasn't open, and when I pushed on the knob, a dog started barking. I assumed he'd just forgotten to leave it open, so I knocked, and, a while later, someone asked who was there, and when I gave my name, he told me I had the wrong door. It was 1:30 or so in the morning, and I wasn't in the mood for any crap, but I apologized and started down the sidewalk. The door open and a (different, cuter) Asian lad came out to ask me who I'd come to see. He said again that I had the wrong door, which -- later, upon reflection -- made me wonder whether he knew the right door. But it was the middle of the night, and I figured I was just lucky he wasn't really pissed off, so I drove home. I sent an angry email to the guy, and he replied that he'd seen me, but that I'd gone to the wrong address and didn't see him waving at me. I rechecked our conversation and confirmed that I'd gone to the address he'd given me and then went to bed, annoyed.

Late last night, when I got home from Annapolis, the same guy was on gay.com again, and he told me that he was housesitting and that I'd gone to the wrong address (1630 instead of 1620). I told him he was full of it, and he said that this time he had the right address. I told him to call me, and he said he couldn't, so I told him not to bother me, at which point he decided that he could call me, after all. It was after midnight, but he was 22 and smooth and Asian, and (I assumed, correctly) he had a small, uncut cock, so I got in the car and drove over. He was waiting for me on the front steps.


This guy had sent mixed messages saying at one time that he wanted to cuddle with an older guy and then that he wanted to be fucked, but it was clear that he really wanted the latter. I grabbed him and kissed him hard, and he returned the kiss, but he started going for my pants immediately. I had to force him to wait, push him down on the sofa, and resume kissing him. He had great lips, and when I went for his nips, he started groaning like no one had ever played with them before (probably not far from the truth). He kept struggling to get up and pull my pants off, and I kept pushing him down, but he was pretty strong, and I was tired, so we weren't there long before he had me out of my pants and was going down on me. He was pretty good at that. He wanted me to fuck him right away, but I insisted on eating his ass for a while after that. I don't think he'd ever had that done to him, either, but he clearly loved it. It wasn't his house, so we stayed on the sofa until we moved to the hardwood floor, at which point he demanded the condom and lube and sat on my cock. He told me it was "too thick," but he really wasn't all that tight, and he took it pretty well.


We went on for another fifteen minutes or so until we were both exhausted, lying on the hardwood floor, covered with each other's sweat and cum. At that point, he actually consented to cuddle, at least for a couple of minutes. When we got up, he said, "That was great! Now that I've got it out of my system, I can get on with my life." I chuckled and said, "That was all that was standing between you and the rest of your life, eh?" He said that he figured he needed to try everything once and that he'd already fucked a pretty Latin boy and now that he'd been fucked, he could go back to girls. Then he asked me to delete his number from his cell phone, and I was all "Paranoid much?" He said that he might want to run for office some day. He's 22, mind, and still hasn't finished college. I said that he must be a Republican, and he said, "No, Democrat," and I replied, "The closet cases are always Republicans." At which he smiled and said, "Yeah, I am a Republican." Then he told me that I was a really nice guy and offered to send me a picture of the crossdresser that he was on his way to Boston to see. Whatever, right? The boy was cute, and the sex was hot, so if he's not a man of substance, it's nobody's problem but his own.

This Mortal Life Also

I was fortunate enough to get to sing in church this past Sunday morning: I had a solo and a duet. I rarely feel that I've sung exceptionally well (I usually feel that I've sung competently, but I acknowledge that my standard for competence is very high.), but after the service, among the many compliments, someone told me that I was transcendent, and I think she was right.

I was recovering from some disappointing sex late Friday night when I saw Karma (previously discussed here and here and here) online and said hello to him. He asked me to come over, and we had a fantastic time on his air mattress and sleeping bag. There were, indeed, moments of transcendence.

My best guess is that the portion of the populace that thinks of profound religious and sexual experiences in the same terms is small¹. Many believe that religion is profaned by the comparison to something as animalistic (and fun) as sex. Others will tell you that all religion is poppycock and that it's pleasures are entirely imaginary while the pleasures of the flesh are real. I can't tell you that the thrill I get from singing well is the same as the thrill I get from great sex, but I will say that the difference, for me, is quantitative rather than qualitative. Describing the difference is impossible. It is one of the great frustrations of writing The Neighbors Will Hear that I am so often trying to describe the ineffable. I come again and again to one of my favorite passages from the Bible:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

I suppose that one way of thinking about this topic is that when I'm having really good sex, the mirror that I'm looking into is a good deal less cloudy than it is in the course of my quotidian existence, and when I'm singing well, the mirror is clearer still. But it's probably easier, and no less accurate, to say that fucking well is a 6 and fucking really well is an 8, while singing well is an 8, and singing really well is a 10. They all tap into the same unknowable, unseeable infinite, but in varying degrees.

Even though singing delivers a higher score, it's a lot easier to find good sex than to find opportunities to sing. To arrange the former, you have to spend a few minutes online. To arrange the latter, you have to convince people that you can sing well, and then you have to get the singing scheduled, you have to get and/or keep your voice in shape, and you have to prepare and rehearse.

The preparation for choral singing is sometimes tedious, but preparing for solo work is a lot of fun. Not only do I get to choose my own pieces (with the service's theme in mind, of course) and make more of the choices about how I'm going to sing them, but I get to collaborate with other musicians and enjoy the evolution of the presentation. In this case, I was told that our intern/summer minister's topic would be "The Reign of God." This is an unusual topic for a Unitarian Universalist service, and the music director gave me permission to come up with something aggressively religious. I chose "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." Martin Luther wrote both the words and the music, I am very fond of the melody, and there is probably not a single line in all of its verses (there are four verses, but I decided to sing three) that comports with my personal beliefs, so it seemed the ideal choice for the occasion. We played around with it a lot in rehearsal, until everyone was happy with it. It's not a terribly difficult piece, but the bulk of it lies towards the upper end of my range, where I can feel very exposed.

When Sunday morning arrived, I was feeling more exposed than usual. After having been up until about 3 am Friday night and almost 1 am Saturday night, I got up at 7:30 on Sunday morning so that I could be at church by 8:45 to sing for the 10:00 service. I was in not such a good place, vocally: I don't sing much during the summer, so my voice becomes unruly; I hadn't had enough sleep; and on Saturday evening -- when I was out to a friend's house for dinner and then a concert -- my throat had started to get scratchy. When I got home Saturday, and again on Sunday morning, I irrigated my sinuses and had my favorite throat-soothing beverage², but as I was driving to church, my voice was unhappy, and I began to attempt to convince myself that if I sang competently, I'd be satisfied. After all, the last time I'd had solos, I'd gone somewhat beyond competence, and I was very happy, and, well, you can't win them all.

On Friday night, I had mixed feelings about messing around with Karma. He'd been a little demanding on IM when we'd been setting things up, prompting me to tell him that I was offering what I was offering, and he could take it or leave it. He doesn't do a lot of the things I like, but he's a great kisser, and what he does do, he does well. Besides, he'd said that he was really horny, and, where he's concerned, that tends to translate to an abundance of passion.

I parked my car behind his building, and he came down to give me a parking pass. He'd asked whether I'd molest him in the elevator on the way up, so I grabbed his cock, then grabbed his ass, then grabbed him and kissed him. We were in the door, naked, and on the floor pretty quickly after that, but I took my time making out with him, occasionally getting a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back firmly. Everything firm excites karma. When I took his plump lower lip between my teeth and pulled firmly, he kvelled.

On Sunday morning, I arrived at church, where B., the soprano, was tuning her guitar. We worked on the duet ("Shall We Gather at the River") for a while on our own, and it seemed to be going pretty well. It's not a difficult piece, and my voice was holding up. I grabbed a bottle of water as we returned to the sanctuary to rehearse with the accompanist. She wasn't playing during the duet, since we had the guitar, but she helped us arrange the microphone (for the guitar, that is: neither B. nor I ever requires amplification) and offered a couple of small suggestions, which we implemented.

Then B. worked on her solo (a thoroughly kick-ass version and performance of "City Called Heaven"), and I sat in various parts of the sanctuary to listen for balance and diction, both of which were spot on. I kept sipping at my water bottle and telling my vocal apparatus to stop being such a fucking drama queen, and when I ran my solo, it wasn't especially happy, but it put out.

After working Karma's nipples with unusual (and for him, unprecedented) vigor, I had him on his stomach. I'd been lying on him, at his request, rubbing my cock against his asscheeks, and I started to massage him. As usual, he kept saying "harder" until I was straddling him and pushing down with all my weight on my left palm, which was on top of my right palm hand, which was on top of his shoulders. I was worried about bruising him, but he just kept sighing happily. When I pulled his head back with one hand and squeezed the back of his neck as hard as I could with the other, he was practically purring.

I went down on him for a while. He asked me to suck his cock the same way I'd been sucking on his lower lip, so I took the generous foreskin between my lips and pulled it up and out before swallowing him entire (his cock's small), and repeated. I'm pretty sure that he was seeing God at that point.

I never see God, but I sometimes manage to feel my own personal conception of a non-personal God at church, which just goes to show that those people who think that a Unitarian Universalist church is the wrong place for religious experience because we're too inclusive and because we clearly state our lack of belief in traditional Christian dogma rather than mouthing that dogma and allowing, with a wink and a nod, adherents to think of it as metaphor if that's easier for them are horribly misguided. They may have a point, though, when they say that it's easier to feel the divine in an older tradition even if you don't believe a word of it. (I think that's mostly true if it's an older tradition you were raised in, but whatever.)

I felt something of the divine when we were singing our duet. We sang well, and the very simple guitar accompaniment and our languorous tempo made us sound like a couple of old Gospel singers. It very much drew the congregation into a sense of intimacy and set a tone for what turned out to be a very touching service. The (cute, gay, soft-spokenly linebackerish, vaguely asexual) minister read a piece about magicians from the New Yorker. It talked about how a magician's technique needs to be invisible for the magic to work, and I found in that a strong metaphor for singing. If you're appreciating someone's technique, she's not singing as well as she might. Fortunately, when B. sang "City Called Heaven," I just floated along on the music.

I'd been working on Karma's cock for a while, taking breaks to pull him into a bear hug or just hold him in my arms and kiss him gently. I reckon he's finally realized that firmness is more effective when it's alternated or combined with tenderness. After one of those interludes, he asked me to lie on top of him again so that he could feel my weight. I did, and he closed his thighs around my cock, and I aggressively pumped him, pulling his head back by the hair, and biting his shoulders.

I was already very worked up, but when I decided to work his back muscles some more, I pulled away from him. We were both covered in sweat, so when I put both palms down on his back and leaned, my hands glided smoothly across his back, putting great pressure along the length of his back. It felt like I was flowing into him, joining him, establishing the moment of greatest intimacy. We played for a while longer, and I eventually jerked him off to a climax as we were kissing. He then collapsed into my arms, where he lay, still, for a long while. That was very intimate, too.

At the beginning of the sermon, I was still feeling a bit vocally nervous, and I continued to take small, silent sips from my water bottle. I stopped before long, though, when it became clear that the minister was inspired. "Inspired," like "transcendent," is not a word that I use lightly or frequently. "Inspired" implies that the speaker is channeling energy from an external, preternatural source, and while the sermon had a sound grounding in logic and experience, the minister was projecting a vision of something beyond both logic and experience. I spoke with the minister afterwards (He pulled me into a big hug when he saw me. I generally only hug women at church, but if you have the chance to be hugged by a softspokenly-linebackerish, vaguely asexual minister -- of any orientation or level of cuteness -- I suggest that you take it.), he said that he's never sure whether people are really listening. I'm not sure how carefully I was listening, but I know that I received the message. He spoke about something that is often on my mind, about how people, particularly politicians, are so willing to accept the current state of affairs as the best we can do. About how it may be important to do the best with the world you have but how we also desperately need a vision of a better world, a place where the reign of (a non-personal, non-limiting) God is possible.

In playing around with the Luther hymn, we'd come up with what I thought was a very sensitive, effective, and dramatic interpretation. I told the accompanist what I was trying to accomplish, she suggested appending an Amen. I agreed, eagerly. The music director heard what we'd come up with and suggested that we go even farther. In the end, we decided that I would sing most of the first verse as a recitative, with almost no accompaniment. Then I'd grow, pull back, grow again, and end with thunder. It's not a traditional approach, but it forces people to pay attention to the words:

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing
Our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe
His craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate
On Earth is not his equal

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us
We will not fear for God hath willed his truth to triumph through us
The prince of darkness grim, we tremble not for him
His rage we can endure, for lo his doom is sure
One little word shall fell him

That word, above all Earthly powers, no thanks to them abideth
The spirit and the gifts are ours through him who with us sideth
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also
The body they may kill, God's truth abideth still
His kingdom is forever

I had been thinking about the details for most of the morning. There were spots where I had occasionally flubbed the words, and other spots where I wasn't sure I sounded quite right. But, fortunately, inspiration is communicable, and as the minister approached the end of his sermon, I was entirely calm, and when he nodded to me, I walked up to the music stand, and the accompanist gave me a very soft chord, and, well, there are two problems: a) I don't really remember many of the details, and b) we're up against that whole ineffable thing again. I know that I sang it the way that I'd meant to, and I know that I didn't have to look at the music at all, and I know that by the time I got to the last verse both I and most of the congregation were transfixed, and I know that it was I who was singing, but it wasn't I who was singing.

I can think back now on that short period of ecstatic joy and profound peace and recapture something of the feeling. It's an echo now, but it's a very good echo. Definitely a 10. There have been times over the past few years when I've felt like giving up singing, but who's going to turn his back on the chance to experience a perfect moment?

I sometimes wonder whether the fact that I like singing better than sex doesn't just mean that I haven't had the right sexual experience. I don't think that's the case, but who knows? And who knows what I'd have to change to get there? Part of what makes singing so powerful is that even while I feel like I'm standing alone in the presence of God, I'm really sharing an enormous intimacy with a room full of people, and I just don't think it's logistically possible to have sex with a hundred people at once, especially since I'm not the least bit interested in exhibitionism. But an 8 is still very good, and given the relative difficulty of achieving the 10 and the relative ease of getting to 8, I reckon I'll keep on pursuing both.

¹On the other hand, after I wrote that sentence, I took a sick day this week, and I spent most of it in bed watching Angels in America, which makes the connection very clearly, so maybe more people think in those terms than I realized. I'm still thinking it's a small minority, though.

²Squeeze half a lemon or lime in the bottom of an oversized coffee cup, add a generous squeeze of honey, and three or four ounces of red wine. Stir, then fill with near-boiling water. Float a sprig of fresh rosemary on the top and sip slowly. The rosemary is not really there for flavor, but the essential oils begin to evaporate in the hot water, and the little cloud of rosemary aroma invigorates the nasal passages, as the red wine clears -- and the honey soothes -- the throat.

Another Weekend Gone

I am, once again, struggling with the ineffable. I had a weekend where I experienced frustration, elation, delight, ecstasy, pain, exhaustion, and transcendence but the post I'm working on about that last one (especially) is coming very slowly, so for now you'll get some miscellany. I will say that the weekend left me with a profound sense of gratitude. I'm told that Schleirmacher said that all religion begins with gratitude.


Friday evening, I had a thoroughly disappointing rendezvous with a very nice guy I'd played with before. He smelled of smoke and other things when we got naked, and I ended up rushing him to ejaculation (which was beyond copious: there was cum everywhere, and he clearly hadn't shot in quite a while) so that I could get him out the door in time to let me do some shopping for the kids before the stores closed. I guess I had just assumed that he'd understand that "sure, come over now" presumed that he was already showered. Ugh.


Much later Friday night, I saw Karma online, and he invited me over, and I'm still sore, though, admittedly, I'm only sore because after his continued exhortations to work him harder during the massage part of the evening, he gave my back the same treatment. It was an amazing session, and I'm impressed that he was able to scrape himself up off the floor after he came. Eventually.


After more than a week away, b&c still hadn't emailed me from Bogota, so I wrote him, saying that the absence of a ransom demand must mean either that he hadn't been kidnapped or that the kidnappers only wanted him for his body, which I took to be a win either way. I heard back from him soon after that, mostly to say that he's probably going back there in September. He's moved on to Managua this week, where, apparently, it's much hotter. In all senses of the word.

Splash

Today's post must begin with two stipulations, readers. If you like, you can skip them. The story begins below the next picture set.

First, I am not now, nor am I ever likely to be, an expert on or an enthusiast of urolagnia. I did some watersports the other night because I was asked to by a submissive who was very eager and very cute. In order not to disrupt the narrative below, I will not discuss some of the more ridiculous details of the experience as they happened; rather, I'll get them over with now. I prepared for the scene by drinking six half-liter bottles of water, beginning an hour before the sub was due. I did this in part because I hadn't eaten anything or drunk much in the eight hours before I started, and I figured the first liter or so would render the urine less concentrated and objectionable (to me). When it was time to do the piss play (I knew it was time because my bladder was complaining so persistently that the excellent oral sex I was receiving had begun to seem tedious), I turned the water on in the sink just outside the bathroom, led the sub into the bathroom and into the shower, which has sliding glass doors. He knelt in the shower, and I stood just outside it, with my cock bridging the gap, as it were. He knelt patiently, occasionally flicking his tongue out, as if he were a serpent, to touch my cockhead. When nothing happened, I told him not to move, retrieved the water bottle, filled it with cold water from the sink, and drank another three-quarters of a liter. Then I returned to my position, where he continued to wait patiently, while I felt ridiculous but attempted to relax. When the fullness of my bladder finally overcame my reticence, a significant volume of urine flowed for a significant amount of time, and, thankfully, it was very clear. Nonetheless, when I had dribbled my last, I was very careful not to touch any part of the sub as I gingerly reached over him for the shower knob and turned on the water, and I didn't touch him again until he was thoroughly rinsed, scrubbed and rinsed again. Fortunately, he was so excited by the whole thing that my discomfort with the process didn't seem to register with him. But, hey, I don't want to knock anybody's sexual interests. After all, y'all put up with my endless odes to rimming. So I've included appropriate pictures for the wet-and-wild set.

Second, I really let you all down because, in preparation for the session, I didn't reread his first message:

hi,saw your ad, I'm a very submissive 28yo, married consider myself pretty good looking.... 5'8" 155lbs very clean cut guy 6.5 cut D&DF (the guy next door type) very social drinker, smoker... as i said I'm very submissive /kinda shy, yet know what i fantasize about and want! you say your a Dom and into kinky activities.... well............ I'm going to tell you and hopefully not scare you off what i want the evening to include aside from what ever you want ......... from the moment i enter your home, i want to be told / forced what to do, where to stand/sit when and what clothing i can take off etc, i want to be humiliated, embarrassed, and even degraded! completely taken advantage of........ really want to be pissed on/in mouth/ass (so drink lots of water/beer).... want to be made to drink and when i need to piss forced to hold it and only allow to piss with your permission...... whatever you want your in charge...if you have a buddy or two have to preform in their presents .... (or forced to suck off others if the situation arises).... to close the session (if your finished) I'm made to cum on your hot wet hard cock & balls, then Made to completely lick up and cleaning my cum off your cock, balls and ass crack if any has somehow made is way their (like a dog licks a bowl clean) only to have you shoot your hot thick sticky load as you grab my head shoving your cock down my throat forcing me to swallow............... whew!

Tell me if your into this kinda thing and your ideas and want you might want to do/try I'm very open minded guy mild to wild pic's/video are fine provided they are erased or my face and tat's are covered (I've never done anything like this but want to try it)

Emphasis added. This guy volunteered to have pictures taken, and I didn't remember. I apologize profusely. To all of you, and to myself. On the other hand, he did email to say that he wanted to play again sometime, so I may have another chance. Then again, he had a substantial amount of tattoage, so he may have his shirt on in all the pictures.

So it was Tuesday night, and I'd been hearing, via email, from Chip, a submissive who'd answered a craigslist ad some time ago. He'd said that he'd like to stop by late, when he was finished with work, but I wasn't convinced that he was going to show. It was about 10:30, and I'd finished the last of my three massages when he called my cell and said that he was still at work, but that he hoped to be done soon and wanted to stop by on his way home. I said that would be fine, and he said that he'd call when he was leaving work.

I was beat, but there's nothing like the promise of a cute sub to move my engine to a higher gear, so I got out of the easy chair, made and drank a protein shake (with added frozen strawberries, yum), went upstairs, got out the restraints, put the ropes around the bed supports, took a shower, put on shorts and a t-shirt, and dug through the closet for my construction worker boots. I don't think they have a steel-capped toe, though, so maybe they're only work boots. (I feel it necessary to interject here that your responses to both of the questions posed two posts back have been highly disappointing. Those of you who submitted 1,000-word essays on the proper use of "Rubenesque" had some trouble staying on topic, and some of you went over your word limit. Naturally, I had the surplus words deleted before I read the essays, so some of your arguments were incomplete. I'm sure many of you were disappointed with your grades, but it's better that you should hear the truth from me now so that you can make appropriate adjustments. After all, how can you expect to land a hot, successful sugar daddy soulmate if you can't write a clear and compelling 1,000-word essay? The responses to the work boots question were even worse. The very few of you who managed to keep them under twenty-five words didn't even address the question, though I did have to give points for originality to the guy who responded, "u [sic] should loose [sic] the boots and get stilleto [sic] heels so u [sic] can crush his ballz [sic].") I'll admit that my knowledge of footwear is not what it should be, but in any case, I put the boots on and then went downstairs to watch whichever mindless reality show is on Bravo on Tuesday nights.

After receiving a few more calls about his progress and drinking a few more bottles of water, I was reading some email on the computer when I saw his car pull into the driveway. He knocked on the door, and I held it open for him to step inside. He had mentioned his stats, but he hadn't mentioned his ethnicity, and he didn't have any discernible accent on the phone, so I was very pleasantly surprised when I closed the door and saw a very cute, very fit, thin, short-haired Desi guy looking at me. I am not sure what it is about dark, smooth skin that so turns me on, but it always does.

Chip had said that he wanted to be told exactly what to do every minute he was there, so I told him to take off his shoes and then his shirt. Then I pulled his hands behind his back, held his wrists together with one hand, and pushed him towards the stairs, using the other hand to squeeze his ass as he walked up.

Once we were in the bedroom, I shoved him down on the bed, and he fell so that he was only partway on, but he didn't make any attempt to find a more comfortable position. I climbed on top of him, straddling him, and bent down to kiss him. I'd thought that there might be some resistance to making out, but there wasn't. There wasn't any resistance to anything, really. He was an eager kisser, and he had thick, soft lips. Plus a tongue that was responsive but not eager to the point of obnoxiousness. I grabbed his wrists and held them down over his head, and, as he sighed contentedly, I went back to kissing him.

I grabbed his belt to pull him up on the bed, and I could see the outline of his hard cock in his jeans. I rolled him onto his side, put one arm around his shoulder, and spanked his ass with my other hand as the snogging continued. And continued. I'd stop every once in a while, to run my tongue down his smooth, colorful (great tattoos) body to his nipples, but I had to bite them fairly hard to get any response, and then it was just a deep breath, a small shudder, and a smaller whimper.

When I undid his belt and took his jeans off, I could see that his cock was longer than I'd expected. Not longer than the average cock, but longer than the average Desi cock, and, because it was very thin and very hard, it looked longer still. I rubbed it through his briefs, then I pulled him back to me, taking one of his hands and placing it on my crotch. I was as stiff as he was, and he immediately and eagerly took to playing with my cock.

When I took off his briefs, I confirmed that he had perhaps the smallest nuts that I'd ever had the chance to play with. And when I turned him on his stomach, I saw that his thin waist swelled into a truly beautiful ass. I told him (because he wanted some level of humiliation) that his lips and ass were prettier than a girl's and that his nuts were so small they might as well be ovaries, and that he was excellently equipped to be my bitch. He whispered to me that that was exactly what he wanted. I slapped his ass a few times and noted that his cock was pointing straight towards his face and almost flat against his stomach. It never left that position.

After playing with his smooth back and ass for a bit, I stood up and dropped my shorts, stepping out of them without removing my boots, and I told him to kneel by the bedside. I grabbed his spiky hair (lots of product, I reckon) and stood in front of him, and he swallowed my cock. I pulled him on and off it for a few strokes, and by then he was bobbing forward and back all by himself, so I just kept my hands on his head as he proceeded to deep throat me. Occasionally, I'd thrust forward and hold his head all the way on me, and he gagged a couple of times, but he didn't complain, and his hunger never abated.

I moved back to the bed and told him to keep sucking my cock, and he complied with admirable eagerness. It was a thoroughly awesome blowjob, made even better by the visual of a cute sub's face going up and down my cock. I stayed in that position for longer than I usually would, in part because he was doing such a good job, but also because I could tell what a good time he was having, but then, I pulled him off my cock and right up to my mouth so that we could kiss some more. When he felt my cock rubbing against his cock and then ass, he kissed even harder, and he got still more excited when I rolled him onto his back, pinned down his arms, and kissed him harder.

All of this went on for a long time. I was feeling more and more like I needed to piss, but I wasn't willing to disengage from him, so I told him to suck my cock again but to also turn around and present his ass for my attention. It really was smooth and pretty, with enough flesh to grab onto, but still small enough so that it was easy to shove the cheeks aside and work on the hole. He opened up slowly, but I was very determined, and I really loved eating that ass, so I kept working it and working it so that I could shove my tongue deeper and deeper into him. For the most part, he kept sucking my cock throughout, but I did wrap a leg around his head just to make sure and so that I could occasionally pull him down to take my cock deeper.

I stayed in that position for as long as I could, but I knew that he wanted my piss, and I also knew that I really needed to get rid of a great deal of it, so I led him to the bathroom and into the shower. I still had my boots on, so I stood just outside the shower, with my cock reaching in. He assumed the position of a supplicant, kneeling, and occasionally flicking his tongue out to tickle the tip of my cock. His cock was as hard as ever and, even in a kneeling position, pointing straight towards his face and hard against his stomach.

When the piss began to flow, I first directed it down across his chest and then his cock, then I directed it up to his eager mouth, and he seemed to swell with need and delight as the piss flowed into his mouth. He kept his mouth wide open so that most of it flowed back out, but he drank some, and then I moved my cock up slightly to soak his hair before finishing off on his face. He continued to kneel and look happily up at me, and I reached over to turn on the water so that he could rinse off. When he was done, I wrapped him in a towel and led him out of the shower, rubbing him all over.

I pulled Chip back to the bed and started to kiss him again, but he was shaking all over. I asked him if he was okay, and he said, "Yes, I'm just a little cold." I said, "Hmmm. I don't mind having my bitch shake with fear, but cold is unacceptable," and I pulled the comforter around us and held him tightly in my arms and kissed him until the shaking subsided. I may have said something along the lines of, "I always take care of my bitches," and you will just have to forgive me for the insipid talk. It was what he wanted, and I think he could tell that it was meant affectionately.

As far as I could remember, we'd pretty much worked through his laundry list of desires, and the only thing left was to force him to cum on me and then force him to lick me clean and then take my cum. So as I kissed him, I started to play with his very hard cock (after all that pissing, I'd gone down to a semi), and he looked at me and said, "Don't you want to fuck this ass?" I thought, "Dude, that WAS NOT ON THE LIST," but I really did want to fuck the ass, so I told him to go down on me and get me ready to fuck him. We'd been playing for a long time, and I'd had a very long day, so I thought it might take a while for my cock to revive, and it did. I mean, if you consider three seconds to be a while. The blowjob was once again awesome, though, so I let him continue to work on my cock for a few minutes, and then I pulled his body around again and briefly ate his ass before grabbing a condom, which I handed him, and the lube, which I began to apply to him.

He told me that he'd only been fucked once before, and I told him that I knew he could take it and that I knew how much he wanted it. He said he really did, and I told him to sit on it. I coached him to relax and told him to go very slowly, but it really wasn't going so well, so I pulled him off me and told him to play with my rod. I grabbed the lube again and, fairly quickly, worked my way from one up to four fingers. He was moaning rather profusely. I told him that if he could take four fingers, and he could, that he could take my cock. So he tried to sit on me again, but this time he was facing away from me (reverse cowboy). It still took a little while, but he managed. I held onto his hips and thrust a bit until he went from anxious to eager, then I told him to turn around. He pulled off, faced me, and I directed him back down. He moved slowly up and down me for a while as I played with his chest, then I told him to give me his hands, and I lowered him into the X position, and I believe that was when the scales fell away from his eyes. Or, at least, a minute later was when he said, "Oh. I want to cum."

I told him that it wasn't quite that simple and that he needed to feel my cock in at least one other position. I told him to get on his stomach. He did, and I spread his legs slightly and pushed back into him, raising myself up on my arms to give my cock a better angle at his prostate. His moans got louder and more frenzied, and I lay flat on him, licked his ear, and asked him how much he liked it. A lot. Then I started to fuck him harder and harder, and it was all "Oh God" and "Yessss" from him as I continued to plow his very tight, very sweet, very pretty ass. (Which, by the way, I never called anything other than an ass because there are lines that I simply will not cross.)

I probably only plowed him hard for about five minutes, but, after all, he was inexperienced, and it wasn't how he'd said he wanted to cum. I pulled out of him, and he told me how awesome it had been. I told him it wasn't over and that he was going to ride me again and that I was going to make him cum. I rolled onto my back, and he sat on me and bounced up and down as I started to stroke his cock. Agitated would be an understatement, for both of us. I grabbed the lube one last time, slicked him up, grabbed him tightly and started to jerk him. A couple minutes later, he said one word: "Faster." I complied, and before long he was nearly shouting and there was an immense load all over my stomach.

There are times when "spent" is the exact right word, and this was one of them. He fell backwards onto the bed and didn't speak or move for five minutes. I was worried that perhaps he'd have the sort of post-coital crash that leads to a guy grabbing his clothes and leaving in a hurry, but when I said, "Come here, boy," he complied, and when I told him to clean me up, he began lapping at his cum. It seemed to me that he was getting a very little of it at a time and mostly moving it around, so I said, "It's your own cum, boy, you can eat it," but, in retrospect, I can see that he was just making it last as long as possible.

I was extremely worked up, and the feel of his tongue on my stomach was just making me more worked up, so I grabbed my cock and began stroking. Maybe a minute later I was very close to cumming, so I grabbed his hair and pushed his face down and told him to get ready for my load. He opened his mouth wide, as he'd done when I was pissing, and the first shots rocketed out of my cock and into his mouth, a few inches away. I can say with complete assurance that if his mouth hadn't been there, I'd have hit the wall behind my head. And there were many more shots. He kept his mouth open, so some of them dribbled out, but when I'd finished shooting, he licked his face clean and then licked me clean. I pulled him down and kissed him for a bit, but it was after 2 am, and he still had to go home. I offered him the shower, and I washed myself up at the sink and stripped the fitted sheet off the bed while he washed up.

He came back out, and as he dressed, he said, "Well, that was different." I laughed and said, "You're married, so I'd guess so." "I enjoyed it," he said. "I could tell," I replied. It was really one of those situations where words aren't so adequate, but neither of us was at all uncomfortable, which is pretty much the usual for me, but not so much for newly minted married submissives who've only been fucked once before. I walked him downstairs and said goodbye, and he grabbed me and pulled me into a brief but very exuberant hug and thanked me. It felt really good. When a submissive gives you a hug, it usually means that he's so comfortable with you that there's not much point in him coming back for a repeat. He said otherwise in a later email, but we'll just see. I would, of course, love to play with him again, but sex that's hot enough to make me not mind doing watersports is very much an epiphany. And something to treasure whether it's repeated or not.