Truck Driver on the DL

I was driving the other day when I heard on NPR the E. Lynn Harris had died. I had no idea who E. Lynn Harris was, but then I listened to the rest of the piece, and it turned out that he was an author who first brought the concept of Black men on the downlow to wider attention. A couple of days later, b&c, freshly back from Haiti, mentioned Mr. Harris' death and said that he had several of his novels upstairs. I mentioned that the NPR reporter had said that the novels were entertaining but had no literary merit, and b&c said that he concurred with that assessment. Novels with no particular literary merit and containing reasonable amounts of hot mansex are some of my favorite things, though, so I'll have to read one sometime.

I'm told that there are still plenty of men on the downlow, and I guess it's one of those cultural phenomena that I don't quite get. I mean, it makes sense if you're in, say, Alabama, but if you're an unmarried fifty-year-old in suburban Maryland, who are you hiding from?


I probably should have posed that question to Bounty, my Saturday morning hook-up. [A couple weeks back: I wrote most of this entry maybe ten days ago, and then I forgot. Sue me. I don't mean that literally.] He'd hit me up several times on Adult Friend Finder, but he'd always wanted me to come over to his place at an inconvenient time. Originally, I'd thought he'd said those were the only times his wife was at work when he wasn't, but he later said that it was when his roommate was out. He also never wanted to drive to my place, even though his profile says he's a truck driver. Of course, his profile also says that he's looking for women. And it said that he was Black, but his picture looked more like that of a Filipino. It's all very confusing. After having met him (and, especially, after having seen his apartment, which really, really looked like two single straight guys lived there) and having fucked and talked with him, I think the real story is that he has a roommate who doesn't know that he's gay. Maybe it's his brother.

Anyway. I got a message from him Saturday morning saying that he'd like me to come over, so over I went. He told me that he'd leave the front door unlocked. He lived in one of those multi-level condos that heavily resemble a townhouse that are so common in Germantown. I locked the door behind me and walked up the stairs and through the living room to another room where he was sitting at the computer, playing solitaire. Handsome. He didn't look at me, so I walked up behind him and ran my hand from his head down over his t-shirt to his nipple. It was nice and perky when I squeezed it, so I slid my hand inside his t-shirt and squeezed it a little bit harder. He said we could go upstairs. He stood up, and I followed him, pulling his sweatpants down as he ascended. He had a nice body, but I couldn't help noticing, with very mild regret, that it was more a white guy's body than a black guy's body. (He also had relatively light skin, but who cares about skin color? Unless maybe a guy's got jaundice, which is probably a turnoff. I've never had sex with a Celt, but I reckon blue would be okay, but there might be laundry issues.) By which I mean that the narrowing from the chest to the waist was not as pronounced, and his ass wasn't quite as bubblicious as one might have hoped.


But he liked to kiss, and he was skilled at it, so it was all good. I grabbed him and we tumbled together on the bed, and before long I noticed that he liked to kiss with his eyes open. This was unusual and, at first, a bit disconcerting, but I got to like it pretty quickly. He obviously liked the attention I was paying to his nipples, even if he wasn't especially vocal. As is so often the case, my inability to wait until I have a guy undressed before throwing him on the bed and going at him came back to haunt me, but neither of us was wearing all that much, so we got from clothed to naked with only minimal interruptions in the making out and nipple play.

At first he seemed hesitant to stop kissing, but once he started going down on me, he really got into it. He'd told me when we chatted on the phone that the only thing he hadn't done was have a guy cum in his mouth, and he seemed a little bit worried that I might be the first, but I reassured him that he was in no danger of that. And then I told him to let me eat his ass, and while he didn't stop sucking my cock, he seemed to forget everything else.


When he seemed a little overwhelmed, I pulled his head off my cock and up to my face, and we made out some more. I put him on his back and lay on top of him, my cock nudging against his nuts and then down in between his buttocks. We kept kissing, our eyes still open, until I felt precum all over his cock, and then I rolled off him, grabbed a condom from my pocket on the floor, handed it to him, and told him to put it on me and then have a seat.

It is always a good thing to introduce another guy to the X position, and he liked it as much as most men do. We wriggled together in the X for a while, then I pulled him up and he rode me a while longer, then I pushed him on his back, bent him in half, and gave him the full-on prostate pounding that I so enjoy until his eyes rolled back in his head. He didn't cum, though, and I eventually got tired, so I rolled off him, took his cock in my hand, and kissed him while I stroked his load onto his chest. I continued to play with the cockhead, and he shuddered, but he didn't stop me. Then I lay on my back, pulled him close to me, and kissed him and stroked myself until I shot onto his shoulder and into his hair.

We took a few moments, then he pointed me to a roll of paper towels, and, you know, whatever: I guess he doesn't like to do laundry. Even then he didn't say much except, "Maybe we can do this again sometime." I told him that would be great. I haven't heard from him since, but he seems likely to follow through eventually. Maybe when he's done with a long haul or something. Anyway, he was fun.


B&c's been around since then, so I haven't been hooking up very much, even though we've decided that I'm going to move out. My major concern about being single is that men are generally more attractive when they're coupled, so maybe I'll get less sex. On the other hand, there'll be a lot more opportunity, and really, there are plenty of guys who'd have more sex with me now if I were more available, so I'd guess the frequency will actually increase. It'll probably be at least three months before I'm in my own place, but b&c is travelling a lot between now and then, so there should be ample opportunity to play.

In particular, all of the members of my last fourgy expressed an interest in playing again, so maybe that will eventually become a regular Tuesday night thing. Like a bridge group, only more fun. I like bridge, though, so maybe I can find three other guys who want to play before they play. In the long run, I'd like to mix other social activities in with my sex life, so something like a poker night orgy would be cool. I suck at poker, but maybe that would compensate for how little I suck cock.

Breaking and Entering

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Ninety Minutes. Really?

I had gotten a message from some website called Adult Friend Finder. I hadn't been to that site in a while, mostly because a while back I got a flurry of messages from some guy who apparently worked about sixty-five hours a week as a verterinary technician and who seemed very nice in those messages and, eventually, on the phone, but who could never follow through and who was always texting me excuses at the last minute and who got upset when I told him that I wasn't interested in hearing from him any more because I had the sense that he wanted to play but that he wasn't ready to, which is a pretty common state of affairs among men of a certain age -- even though this guy was really too young for it, but the certain age seems to start younger among Latin guys: I don't know why.

I haven't done the research, but it seems to me that if Facebook has taken a dominant social networking position by offering a free service, then one or other of the general gay hook-up sites could do the same thing. Or maybe it's just that I don't much like Manhunt. I'm always supposing that Manhunt works best for people in urban markets and not so well in the exurbs, but maybe it's just me. Anyway, I don't use my Manhunt free membership, but if I did, I'm pretty sure I'd run up against its limitations pretty quickly. Adult Friend Finder has similar limitations, but they only seem to operate intermittently. The limitations on free memberships on Squirt are more onerous than any, I think (one e-mail a day), so I mostly just don't bother. Anyway, AFF is constantly offering to upgrade me to a gold membership for the low, low price of $7.50 per month if I sign on for a whole year, and, well, come on, people, it cannot cost $90 per person per year to help men rid themselves of some of their fluids. And perhaps acquire some from someone else. I reckon that's why, whenever I do log on to AFF, I find mostly profiles from guys whose last visit was over three months ago.


I used to hang out on gay.com fairly regularly, and in that case, the free membership worked reasonably well. Also, there were regular specials offering a paid membership for $48/year, which seemed like a not unreasonable price to pay to be able to see everyone's adult pictures, to be able to know whose hot list I was on, and to know when people that I wanted to avoid had logged on. Not having time to hang out and the efficiency of hooking up via craigslist (free!) put the last nail in the coffin of my paid gay.com membership, but I'm not opposed, in principle, to paying a reasonable amount for such a site. But a reasonable amount doesn't exceed $50/year, and I'm pretty sure that if the field narrows down to two or three general sites (I'm leaving aside for the moment the niche players), then those sites can have enough members to make scandalous amounts of profit from $50 per member per year.

Anyway, I went to check the message from AFF, and, for once, it wasn't some married guy who had seen the picture of my cock and wanted to arrange a hook-up in the middle of a weekday. I mean, come on, people. I'm a professional, so, yes, I can take off an hour or two in the middle of the day, but it's a thirty- to forty-five-minute commute home. If I want to mess around with you for an hour, I'm looking at extending my work day by 2.5 hours. Unacceptable. Especially if all you want to do is suck my cock or get fucked. Oh, and while I'm on that subject: if you're that guy who answered my CL ad last week, the ad very clearly stated that I wanted bottoms who would kiss, so when I got you on the phone after three emails and began telling you what I would do to you and you were getting all hot and bothered, I am NOT sorry that I hung up on you when I said, "You do like to kiss, right?" and you started hemming and hawing. I am only sorry that my cell phone provider doesn't offer a service that administers an electric shock to the other party every time I hang up in disgust.

Anyway. This message was from some guy whose profile said he was seeking women but who had left his sexual orientation as "rather not say." He said that he wanted to suck my cock. And, hey, he was 39, and six feet tall and "athletic" (which means football player gone to seed, but, you know: yum!), so if he wanted to come and suck my cock, it seemed like the least I could do was to lie back and let him. But then I read the rest of his profile, and he was in Kent County, which is all the way on the other side of the motherfucking Bay Bridge (by the way, I went to Rehoboth last weekend, just for about 36 hours because I was singing in church on Sunday), and that probably meant that he was well over an hour away from me, and surely, even if you're a cocksucking straight lad who's just out of a bad relationship with a woman, you don't need to travel ninety minutes to suck cock. I mean, there is cock in Kent County. I've seen it.


So I sent him a message saying that he could certainly suck my cock but that I was probably too far away. And he responded, fairly quickly, that he would happily drive that far for a cock like mine. And once again, I thanked that thin-fingered guy from the very first post on this blog who took those pictures that make my cock look enormous. Then again, I recently acquired a replica of the eighteen-inch dildo I mentioned in that post, and it's pretty thick, but when I measured the circumference, it was not equal to my own, so I reckon I do really have thick meat, and I'm thinking that thickness is more important. Or at least I've noticed, in the week or so that I've had that eighteen-inch dildo, that the first six inches seem to really elicit most of the pleasure. The real size queens are loving it up to the first nine inches, but taking the rest of it is really more a matter of pride than of pleasure. At least, I think that's why Judd tried. He only got to about fourteen inches, but that's still damned impressive.

Anyway. I have a fairly strict rule about traveling for sex: you have to spend more time having sex than you spend on the road. But if this guy wanted to spend three hours driving to suck cock for forty-five minutes then, well, oh damn, I just realized that maybe my carbon footprint gets involved here, but let's just call it his carbon footprint and say, then who am I to tell him no? I sent the guy another message on AFF asking when he wanted to play, and he said ASAP and then asked me to text him. So I texted him: "Now?" Because ASAP always leaves "possible" as a loophole, and, indeed, the guy was just heading to work at 8:30 on a Wednesday evening and said he wouldn't be off until 6am. And 6am is fine with me, but I need to be done by 8am, and he said that if he finished work at 6, he wouldn't be able to get to my place in time to finish by 8. Especially given that I'd warned him that sucking me off is not the sort of thing that you can accomplish in the amount of time that, say, you get to change sides after every other game at Wimbledon. So I just texted "OK" and figured that I'd sleep later. But then he texted me back saying that he could probably get off early. And after several more texts (Oy with the text messaging already, people; seriously, can someone tell me how much it's going to cost me to get a phone and a cell plan that allows unlimited texting on a full keyboard and that also allows me to use the phone for Internet access so that I can get messages from hook-up sites while I'm at work? I mean, how much including all the fees?) he had told me that if he left work early it would be at 4 and asked me when I would be getting up, to which I replied, "When you get here, I reckon."


So I give him most of my address and tell him to call me the next morning to get the street number. I ask him to call because I'm not sure the text noise will wake me up, but he texts anyway, and it does wake me up, and he's so close that I don't really have time to jump in the shower, but I do anyway, and then I throw on my boxers and head downstairs, where he's waiting outside the front door, apparently unsure about ringing the doorbell, and I let him in. He says hi, and I pull on his nipple, and I point upstairs. I try to pull his shorts off on his way up the stairs, but he pulls them back on. Whatever, straight boy.

And then I don't even take off my boxers. They're nice soft cotton jersey boxers, and he can easily eat my cock through the fly, but he starts to pull them off, so I let him, and then I just lie back, take off my glasses, and let him get to work. He's really good at it, too, so I don't do anything for maybe twenty minutes before I reach in through the arm of his t-shirt and lightly stroke his nipple. And later, I get him naked and pulled around, but he's all "No ass," so I just play with his small cock and large balls for a bit, but then he gets hard and starts to moan and ignore my cock, so I let go and lie back on the pillows, and he gets between my legs and begins to work it.


Forty-five minutes in, he's tired, of course, so I push his hand and mouth away and stroke myself hard for a couple of minutes, and when I'm about to cum, I shove his head down on my cock, and he slurps it all up, happy as a clam. I'd kind of like to get him off, especially since I'm pretty sure that he'd cum in maybe thirty seconds if I went down on him, but I know that what he really wants is for me to ignore him now, so I just lie back, and he thanks me, dresses, and says, "Call me anytime," and leaves. And I go back to sleep for an hour and hit the snooze button twice, but I still make it to work on time.

I make the mistake of texting him just before I leave home, and he replies effusively. He wants it again. He wants all my big dicked friends. He wants to be the official cocksucker at my next group. And, hey, whatever. I get tired of straight-up (and straight) cocksuckers pretty easily, but I might have him again sometime.

Oh, and if you're on the Eastern Shore or in the DC area and have a sizable cock that you want sucked, drop me a line, and I'll hook you guys up. He's willing to travel!

Four-hour Fourgy

Sorry, readers. This is just a placeholder post for now. Work has been somewhat overwhelming of late, and one thing leads to another, and, wham, before you know it, you've entirely stopped cataloguing your sexual activities. I'm pretty sure that I could not entirely reclaim all of the hook-ups since I last posted, and when I realized that, I shuddered to think of the loss to history. I really must be more diligent, or I'll end up in another situation, as happened recently, where I'm chatting with a likely looking sub and complimenting him on those pictures of him tied to a bed and then realize that, hey, it's my bed that he's tied to in those pictures. Or, really, the bed we had before we got the king. Last night as I was ushering him out the door, at 11:30, he asked, "So did you recognize me or the bed first?" I probably should have lied, but I 'fessed up and told him it was the bed. That may have hurt his feelings, but he'd just spent several hours getting fucked from both ends by three guys, so I reckon he was okay.


Besides, maybe I should have been more embarrassed about slightly earlier in the evening when I was kissing him and kept trying and trying and trying to find his nipples and then, minutes later, realized that I'd been looking for them on his back. I may have been stoned. I may also have been laughed at, but, if so, I almost certainly joined in.

Anyway, more later. Remind me to mention what (and who) I did with my new eighteen-inch, double-headed dildo. I've provided some clues.

Punch (Drunk)

Greetings, readers! Without saying anything that might incriminate myself and render me ineligible for future federal employment, let me suggest that it might be best to read this post as if the following had happened:
1. I had gotten stoned during sex;
2. I had subsequently, while munching on Wasa fiber crispbead, decided to come to my blog and write a post; and
3. I had determined not to edit this post (aside from correcting spelling -- because not to do so would rend my very being) after typing it, no matter how embarrassing it might be the next day to come back to it for the purpose of adding naughty, naughty pictures, and to then determine that I can't write while stoned.


To that end, I had had a somewhat disappointing start to the evening, when a young submissive slave wannabe had flaked on me yet again -- it having been some months since the last time -- leaving me with no alternative but to advertise. And after a couple of false starts, I found a man describing himself as a bear and a power bottom who offered to come over and rock my world. So I asked him to come over, and he arrived, and he was all cute and goateed and tall and linebackerish, so I kissed him, and we worked our way upstairs and undressed and into various positions that likely included my working his nipples or lying on top of him or his going down on me while I pushed two fingers into his ass, and then I had my head between his knees, with my tongue driving into him. And after a while, when I wanted to take a break from eating his ass, I stuck four fingers into him and followed them with about half my palm, and he liked it so much that I was pretty sure that he gets regularly fisted, so I asked him whether that was, in fact, the case, and he replied that it, in fact, was.

And then I applied still more lube and began to try to fist him. He's the expert, so I let him advise me. His ass itself told me how much it could take. It would open wide but then clamp down and expel most of my hand, and slowly, slowly, it would open more and reject with less assurance, and I swear to whatever -- if anything -- is holy that when his ass finally allowed me to close my fist inside him, it was like unto an orgasm. But less messy. On my end, anyway.


But that was likely because I was stoned. I neglected to mention that the preliminary fisting phases proceeded very slowly and that at some point he mentioned that he usually uses poppers when he gets fisted and that he didn't have any, but he did have some weed and that that might work just as well, or at least -- interjected I -- we would sure have some fun trying. And we did have some fun.

Including his saying that I was one of those people who become much more relaxed and funny when they're stoned. "Look, you're even smiling." And, well, I was.

And because I was so content, and because I'd just had that fisting pseudorgasm, I just really couldn't care about fucking him, and I went soft, and I kept trying to care about being soft, but I just couldn't, even though it was very clear that he wanted to get fucked -- even though I'd, for crying out loud, just fisted him, and surely, surely he could see that my cock was no match for my fist -- and wanted it bad, so I really should care about being hard so that I could be a good host and give my guest what he wanted. Top pride, or whatever. But I didn't care, and no matter how hard he tried, I remained flaccid. And, boy, did he try hard. He had my hump him in every position, and I'd start to get hard again, but then I'd think about how I was getting hard, and I'd laugh, and I'd get soft again. And he did everything he could think of, including talking dirty, but when he did that he just reminded me of various recent sex scenes, and I spent the next ten minutes talking about various sexual exploits from the previous week, with the effect that he couldn't help but know that I could pound, pound, pound everyone I'd met, except for him. And usually, you'd say that's my fault, and you'd be right, but he seemed to be taking it personally. And I tried to care about that, but I just failed. And laughed. And finally, when he stopped trying, I turned to him and said, "At last, I have exhausted you," but he didn't think it was as funny as I thought it was.


We played and chatted for a long while, and eventually he got himself off, and then we lay there for a bit, and he looked at the clock, and it was after midnight, and he lost his glass slipper said that he needed to get going, and I realized that we'd been playing for two hours, even if I'd been floating for more than half of it, and we both had a really good time, even though he didn't get what he most wanted, and I didn't get what I will want -- after I'm sober -- to have wanted. But what I did get will still have been pretty awesome even if, well, don't make me repeat that.

And now I am beginning to feel extra heavy instead of unbearably light, so I will close this narrative with the intent of not editing, but also with the intent of finding some better munchies and then the comfort of a warm bed. Goodnight.