Wow. After I wrote that last post about Sunday, I realized that all of the fun I had the rest of the weekend had totally driven from my mind the agony that was Friday evening. That's a good thing, of course, and it's a good thing that, in general, there is nothing like good sex to make bad sex fade from memory, but I try to catalog the bad as well as the good, and I'd just as soon not forget how upset I was Friday night so that I don't put myself in the same position again.
About a week ago, I answered a craigslist ad from a guy seeking a massage. After a couple of emails, it was pretty clear to me that, although he'd moved, I was dealing with this guy. The description was the same (He claims to be twenty years younger than he is. And, to be fair, he is remarkably well preserved for his age, but he should probably only claim to be ten years younger because nobody who meets him will believe that he's thirty-two.), and his grammar was unmistakable. I reminded him who I was and said that I'd be happy to give him a massage again on Friday, provided that he drank not quite so much wine this time. He agreed and gave me directions to his new apartment building.
When I got there, he was exactly the way he'd been a year ago (before he started pounding the wine): very fit, very friendly, very very talkative. I just wanted to get him naked and rub some oil on him, but he would not shut up. I let him prattle on for twenty minutes or so, long enough for him to be saying the same things for the third time, and then I asked him whether he was ready to be massaged. He said he needed a quick shower. He took one, and while I used the bathroom and stripped down to my boxers and t-shirt, he got the baby oil. When I got out of the bathroom, he'd put his briefs back on, so when he went to lie on the bed, I pulled them off him. Then I got to work.
He liked the massage a lot, but he would not relax, and he would not shut up. He kept telling me how glad he was that I'd been able to come over and do this. I straddled his thighs and worked with great force on his shoulders while my hard-on rubbed through my boxers against his thighs. He seemed to like both those things equally, and he got more into it when I finished with his upper back and began to work his lower back and glutes.
That shut him up some, or at least it changed his utterances from words to moans, which is almost always an improvement and nowhere more so than with this guy. I worked down his legs and massaged his feet before zeroing back in on the ass. I rubbed his shoulder with my left hand while my right index finger slid into him and found his prostate.
And then his bed collapsed. Well, not exactly. He had a queen-sized bed where the mattress and box spring was resting only on the frame, with no cross supports. So the box spring slid over and a corner of it fell through. Talk about up in the air. But nothing was broken, so I helped him move the mattress to the floor and told him to lie down again. I started rubbing his ass again, and he liked that, but when I rolled him onto his back and started to kiss him, he freaked out a little. So I put him on his stomach again and worked his ass some more and then tried again, and he kissed some, but then freaked out again.
I told him to relax, but he said that he didn't kiss. I reminded him how much he'd kissed the last time we'd played, and he said he'd been drunk, but that he doesn't kiss. The thing is, he's a pretty good kisser, and I told him that, but then he started to argue with me, so I started to rub his nipples, and that shut him up, but only briefly.
He started to tell me that he couldn't handle kissing that he couldn't handle anything in his ass, that he'd never been fucked, that his sexual activity is always all about getting blowjobs. I listened, but I kept telling him that I could open his ass, and that he did like kissing. And he vacillated between defiance and submission, with the occasional I-really-need-to-eat-and-go-to-sleep (it was before 8) thrown in.
It was starting to get a little tedious, but I maintained a quiet firmness and he kept saying, "Anything you want" followed by "I can't do this," and then once he just shouted, "You're too close!" Which simultaneously made perfect sense and none at all. I kept working on him, and his flesh was so sensitive that any new place I lightly touched made him gasp and lose himself a little, but without the alcohol, his reticence was too firmly entrenched, and I was getting a little bit angry. Eventually he jumped up and said he needed to use the bathroom, and when he came back out, he told me that I needed to go so that he could eat and then go to sleep.
I told him no and told him to lie back down. He did, and I started to work on him, and he told me "Anything you want" again, but I realized that what I wanted was to be as far away from him as possible. There are too many guys who want what I'm offering to mess with guys who won't accept it readily. And give me something I want, too. So I just stopped what I was doing, said, "I'm going to go," got dressed and left, without saying anything else. He seemed very relieved. I felt awful, but I felt better after sending him a text message: "You are a dick." That was childish of me, but nobody's perfect.