Wednesday, December 9, 2009

We Will Extend a Hand if You Are Willing To Unclench Your Fist

Because of the weekend's shenanigans, I arrived at Monday having had no more than four hours of sleep during any of the previous three nights. I was so tired that I could barely stay awake on the drive home, so I determined to sleep rather than hook up. And I succeeded, though I did spend a fair amount of time on the phone with an excessively cute Filipino guy who seems interesting. It's a tiny bit, but not very, difficult to resist the urge to couple in a manner that lasts longer than a few hours, but then I always remember that I'm just not used to living alone again yet, and the urge passes. Still, I flirt with guys who are safe, like the cute Filipino guy who's only here on an extended vacation, or the partnered hottie in Alexandria, or the partnered sub from Baltimore. None of those guys is available, so there's no danger associated with an explicit email or phone conversation.

Anyway, I did manage to get to sleep by about 11 on Monday. I really must have been tired. I'd lugged my old TV upstairs and dug through boxes to find the DVD player and put on the second of the Bourne movies (I got a box set at the office holiday party exchange earlier in the evening, but I dropped off at the end. I think maybe Jason Bourne went to Moscow, and there may have been a car chase, but I wouldn't swear to either.

There's this guy who'd been wanting to meet me for a few weeks, and since he's going to be moving to Silver Spring and seemed like he might be a fun guy to hang out with, I invited him over on Tuesday night. As happens so often with hook-up scheduling, after I'd agreed to meet him Tuesday, a couple (well, three, actually) of more loin-stirring opportunities came up, but I really try not to play that game, so I told the other guys that I wasn't available. Ron (who, it should be said, was perfectly suitable for hooking up with; the other guys just had particular characteristics that would have revved me up slightly or somewhat more) was coming via Metro, and I told him that I'd pick him up at the station.

There were a couple of calls when he was on his way, and I realized the problem with my master plan: living near a Metro station is better than living five miles farther out in the exurbs, but to a guy living in DC, living in Glenmont is still pretty much the middle of nowhere. Oh well. I still like the neighborhood, and it's convenient to the places I have to get to. Anyway, I retrieved Ron from the Kiss and Ride and drove him to my place. He touched me lightly in well-chosen places on the very short drive back, and when we got inside, we began to make out. He had the sort of lips that are unfortunately common on white men, but he had very good technique. Few men are wise enough to go in occasionally for the passionate, open-lipped but tongueless kiss.

After a minute of kissing, during which time I determined that the evening was likely to be pleasant and comfortable rather than red hot, we went upstairs. I lowered him to the bed, and we made out for another couple of minutes. He needed to visit the bathroom, and I used the time to unbutton.

I'd forgotten to re-read the listing that originally brought Ron to my attention, so I was going merely on memory, which indicated that he was versatile. But I didn't think that we'd discussed nipple play or intensity or anything, so I was figuring that I should be gentle and vanilla. He did nothing to abuse me of this notion (real nipple pigs always ask for harder work), so while I got a little more intense, I didn't really go after them, even though he had the sort of moderately furry chest that I often associate with craving intense nip play. [I should rethink that. Guy #5 from the weekend, who got to about a 9, had a moderately furry chest, but the other 9 who springs to mind was smooth as a baby's bottom.] Anyway, we kept returning to the kissing, and it kept feeling very nice and very comfortable, and that was a nice thing after all of the intensity of the weekend.

As it happened, Ron was versatile, or at least orally versatile, because when he went down on me, and he took me so cleanly that I wondered whether he'd somehow lost his teeth (which, for the record, were not the removable sort, or at least I assume they weren't: not many guys in their late forties wear dentures these days), and I remarked, "Wow, your technique is so much better than mine." He said, "Let's find out," so I returned the favor. Fortunately, he had a very suckable cock: thinner and shorter than average, so it wasn't hard to do an adequate job with it.

Things continued along a predictable track, but when, after I'd eaten his ass for a while and he'd gone down on me again and I'd eaten his ass while he was going down on me (hey, I said it was a predictable track), he started to sit on my ass, the intensity suddenly ratcheted up a few notches. The boy likes to be fucked. He liked it when he was riding me, and he liked it when he lay on his stomach and I pounded him from behind and on top, and he really liked it -- loudly -- when I put him on his back and bent him so that I could pound the right spot.

But fifteen minutes of that was enough for me, and we went back to kissing while I jerked myself off to an intense and voluminous ejaculation that was nonetheless slightly less intense and voluminous than usual. But fun and very, very comfortable and nice.

I almost fell asleep after that. We were at opposite ends of the bed, and I was absent-mindedly stroking his legs while he played with himself, and I don't think I actually started snoring or anything, but it got very low key until he asked me how many fingers I'd had up his ass before I started to fuck him, and I told him it had been four (two on each hand, for the record), and he said that he'd had four fingers up his ass before, but he'd always wanted to go for five, and could I maybe help him out with that. So I got some more lube, and he took a hit on his poppers. He had an exceptionally pliant (though plenty tight) hole, and it was really not hard to get my five fingers and flattened palm partway into him. I couldn't get the fist clenched, and when I rotated my hand, he asked me to go easy on him, and it still seemed very relaxed, which -- as you might well guess -- is unusual for a fisting or even a near-fisting. And then suddenly, he started to get really loud, and I felt his ass clamping down on my hand over and over and over again, and he came like -- assuming the noise he made and what he told me afterwards were valid indications -- he had never come before. Intense. And fun.

Then I was awake, of course, but it was over. He'd been there nearly two hours, and he had to hurry to catch a train, so he jumped in the shower, and I washed my hands, and we got dressed, and I drove him back to the Metro station. Sadly, during the drive, he took the opportunity to complain about his tax problems and his tax accountant, and his stock plummeted, but nobody's perfect. Besides, it'll be a couple of months before he moves to Silver Spring, and how many comfortably cuddly cubbish guys who like to be fisted do I know, anyway?

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