It's gotten to be the default case that if b&c is away, Judd comes over on Tuesday evening. And it gets harder and harder to write about because while we always have a great time, we pretty much have the same great time every time. It's pretty much a given that we're going to make out a lot and that I'm going to chew on his neck and his nipples and that he's going to go down on me very well for a long time and that I'll eventually get around to eating his ass and that after several variations on those activities he'll sit on my cock and that after lying back for a while and letting him bounce up and down on me I'll get up on my knees, bend him double, and pound him until he can't take any more. Then we rest, smoke some weed, and repeat some of what went before.
It's great, but you've heard it all before, right? I suppose on some level all sex is more alike than it is different. Say what? No, really. Sex with guy A is going to be more like sex with guy B than it's going to be like, say, taking the dog for a walk. This is especially true if you have fairly well-defined tastes, but even for me, a lot of different good sex has a lot in common. It reminds me of the time my oenophilic roommate organized a Beaujolais tasting. We tasted three different Beaujolais: a Julienas, a Fleurie, and something that I don't remember. And, you know, they were all different, and there was one I liked a little bit better than the other two, but basically, they all tasted like red wine. The Julienas tasted a lot more like the Fleurie than like, say, a double cheeseburger.
Anyway, Judd routinely spends the night now, and I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he's warm and not unpleasant to sleep with. On the other, I sort of like my alone time, and he's a tiny bit clingy. Not emotionally, physically, as in if I want to get out of bed and sneak downstairs to eat some Oreos, I have to disentangle myself, and it's not always easy. Fortunately, neither of us gets much sleep on a regular basis, so he tends to drop off, and it's not hard to escape. I figure he's doing the sleepover to fill some emotional need (mostly because we don't fuck again after he falls asleep), so I just go with it because why not? He routinely sets his alarm for 5am so he has time to drive home, and that means that I get woken up, but I'm a very light sleeper to begin with, and I probably get more sleep when he's there than when he's not since I don't stay up late on the Internet.
The only thing different about last night is that it was probably the first time that I've fucked him (or anybody) while I've been really stoned. We'd gone at it pretty hard, then we lit up, then we were cuddling for a while, and I got it into my head that I should probably fuck him. I put it that way because I had the sort of dissociation between mind and body that I seem to get with weed. My body seemed to be more than happy to fuck him, but it was more a mental than visceral motivation. And there wasn't a really close correlation between the thought and the action. My mind and body got to the same destination, but it's not that clear to me that they took the same path. Anyway, I did end up pounding him hard and for a long time, and I was determined to actually get off so that I could experience a pothead orgasm, so I just kept pounding. I was getting closer, but not close enough, and I kept wishing that he'd tell me to cum because that usually works, but I wouldn't tell him to tell me to cum because that would just seem tasteless. It's bad enough that I'm the sort of person who reacts to being told to bust my nut or whatever: I don't have to compound the error by encouraging myself. But he did eventually tell me to cum, and I did, and it was very nice, and then we had the sort of stoned conversation that I have come so much to enjoy.
He also mentioned that he thought he'd liked to be tied down and fucked sometime so that he couldn't stop. He thinks that he might climax if I fucked him and refused to stop. In my experience, guys who shoot from being fucked don't need a whole lot of encouragement, but I'm more than willing to tie him to the bed and find out. Next Tuesday, I reckon.