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!