It's Easier To Stay Awake When You're Active

I was having truly horrible luck with my craigslist posting this past Friday night: lots of married submissives and wannabes who flaked after they said they would come over. I posted the ad early in the day. That's usually a bad idea, but it keeps me from having to upload pictures of my cock when I'm at the office, which is also a bad idea. Anyway, I had mentioned to Hans, the NoVa fifty-something sub who'd come over a week earlier, that I'd be available Friday evening, and he'd emailed back to see whether Saturday would work instead. I'd told him Saturday afternoon was a possibility, but I was in the middle of blanching some almonds (that is not a euphemism) Friday evening when he called and said he was on his way home (Sterling, or some place equally remote) from dinner and was wondering what I was up to. I told him he should come over, but he said that he had to go home first and that he'd call me "in twenty minutes." He wondered whether we'd be alone, and I replied that it was always very difficult to predict who'd wind up stopping by my place on a Friday evening. He told me to stay out of trouble and rang off. I sighed (There is a lot of sighing over men from NoVA, but it's always an eye-rolling sigh rather than a sigh of desire: even when they're desirable, they incite eye rolling.) and went back to my almonds. I fielded another couple of emails from men who clearly hadn't read the ad (it isn't that long), started the preliminary almond grinding (they need to go through the food processor and then through the coffee grinder) and read a little over the next hour and a half before Hans called back to say that he had showered and "cleaned out the plumbing" (dude) and wanted to come over. He said it would take ninety minutes. I think he must have been counting on rush hour traffic because just under an hour later, he called to say that he was less than a mile from my house. Then he told me again to stay out of trouble. I asked him how much trouble I could possibly get into in ninety seconds, but either he didn't have a good answer for that, or he thought the answer was obvious.


Hans is a little bit dorky, but he's cute. He's very tan, he has very perky nipples, and he was wearing white shorts and a sweater that was a) in a shade of blue that really looked good on him and b) tight enough to show off the perky nipples. Really, it was a great sweater: pretty enough to make me leave it on him even though I wanted immediate and unfettered access to all that perkiness. But I settled for kissing him.

I had the sweater off him soon enough, anyway. We spent the next two hours having a really great time, what with all the making out and my taking his nipples right to their limit, and you know what? I never ever ever get tired of telling a submissive or semi-submissive guy, "Yeah, I know I'm working them hard. Tomorrow they'll be sore and when your shirt rubs against them, you'll remember how it felt when I was fucking you." Which kind of doesn't make sense, even though it's true, and it's gotten to be a cliche, so I should probably retire it, but it's too much fun, so I just keep using it. Of course, Hans took the whole thing literally and began discussing what I'd said, so I had to bite down and then kiss him to get his mind back to my happy place.


Anyway, Hans is a good example of why older guys who are only finally coming to terms with their sexuality are so much fun. He was going down on me and I started rimming him, and he stopped to say, "No one's ever done that before," and his voice had so much awe in it. On the other hand, it was a bit disconcerting because I was pretty sure that I must have eaten his ass a week earlier. If only because if there's a clean, naked ass somewhere near my face, how would I not be eating it?

But I guess I eat a lot of asses. In fact, several hours later, at about 2:30 am, I had my face buried in the very hot ass of a very hot young'un who had hit me up on a site a bit earlier. He was in his late twenties and very small: when we were done and he'd had his cigarette and his shower and was getting dressed, I asked him what his waist size was, and he told me it was a 27. The mind boggles. He also told me that he'd been a gymnast for twelve years, which explained his flexibility and near total lack of body fat.

He also had a fair number of tattoos, which, I guessed came from his time spent in what he called "the scene." This came up when I was giving him a ride home (his truck was in the shop, and he didn't want to take his partner's Land Rover because that would have involved opening the garage door, which would have awakened his partner, who, he said, would likely be awake anyway when he returned, but, he went on, "It is what it is," whatever that may be) and he joked that I didn't have to worry about him showing up on my doorstep because he'd never be able to find where I lived, and I said that the only person I ever worried about finding on my doorstep was Raph, and he was in jail, and then I told him about Raph, and with every datum I gave him, he was more and more certain that Raph is a tweaker, and of course I had to ask, "Which one is that" because I don't really have any experience with crystal meth unless you count that one guy who was smoking it while I was shoving the entirety of an eighteen-inch, two-headed dildo up his ass. But it was good to get an explanation of Raph's behavior. Though it was a lot better to fuck the gymnast. I had him bent double and I was pounding him so hard that he said it felt like I was pushing his prostate through his stomach. He looked up at me and said, "You could do this for hours, couldn't you?" I said, "Maybe not hours, but for a long time, yeah. I'm not going to cum no matter how long I fuck you like this." He began leaking cum while I was fucking him that way, but he said, "It's not so much cumming as it is having the cum pushed out of me" and so later, after I'd finally brought myself very close to the edge and he'd finished me off, he rode me and had a final, or perhaps a first, orgasm, then collapsed and began joking that he was going to start a blog telling everyone what a lousy lay I was so that I'd have to keep coming back to him. I said, "You have a blog?" and he said he didn't, but I didn't believe him.

Anyway, most people would probably consider him hotter than Hans, but I maybe had more fun with Hans just because he's so inexperienced. The last time we'd played, I found Hans a little annoying, but on Friday I was mostly finding him endearing, maybe because I was so entranced by his nipples, but maybe it was just some sympathy. He's so religious that he feels very guilty about the mansex, and I mostly laugh at that sort of guilt, but I still remember it some, even though I got past the religious guilt long before I started in with the mansex. After two hours, he kept telling me that he had to leave, and I kept playing with his nipples and kissing him, and I was doing a pretty good job of distracting him, probably because he'd cum and I hadn't, even though I'd pretended to. When you haven't cum, you can keep playing forever. At one point he got up off the bed to get dressed, and I pulled him back down on top of me and kissed him until he got distracted, but he did make his escape eventually, though not before telling me that he'd like to be a regular guest in my bed. I suspect the guilt has already kicked in, though, so we'll see how that goes. In any event, he seemed much more interesting than he had before, but that's often true when you don't go through the post-coital deflation while a guy's still around. He had some bizarre condition that sounded a little bit like he might be a werewolf but that really just meant he had to spend a lot of time in tanning beds. I don't know why I mention that. Probably because I'm tired and rambling. I like rambling.


The gymnast was also a great kisser, and I hadn't expected that, even though I'd verified, before asking him over, that he liked to kiss. And he had great nipples, which is always a plus. I'm not usually all that into the ripped abs, but he managed to make those work, too. Maybe it was the tininess. But I probably mostly liked that he stroked my ego by telling me what a great fuck I'd been. He had some trouble walking afterwards, but he said that he really needed a cigarette, so he managed to make his way down the stairs and out onto the patio. He was walking more or less normally when he came back up and stripped down to shower. Then we had the conversation about his waist size. Apparently, he has difficulty finding clothes that fit. He showed me how loose his jeans were. They were twenty-eights. By the time I'd driven him home and returned, it was nearly 4 am, but I still read for a while before I went to sleep, even though I had to be up at 8 to go to the office. I don't really get myself sometimes, but I'd be lying if I said I regretted any part of Friday night. Fatigue is a small price to pay for good sex.

It's unlikely that I'll be playing more before I head out on vacation on Thursday. YFU's over tonight, and the very local married guy really wants to come over for a threeway Wednesday night (he wanted to come over last night, but he was already drunk, and I want to wait until he's sober before I fuck him again; I imagine him telling himself that he was so submissive because of the alcohol, and that kind of pisses me off), but I doubt b&c will agree to it. It makes me sad that I can't get him more interested in threesomes or larger groups, but I'll keep working on it.