Reverse Cowboy

Oh, readers, I cannot properly express how awful this time of year is for a hedonist wannabe such as myself. How am I supposed to pursue ass when I'm at the office six days a week, usually until 9pm or later?

Anyway, I'd had a couple of calls from Victor, the twenty-four-year-old ubercute Black guy from DC, and I'd had to say no to all of them, and I was beginning to feel like a tease, so when it turned out, last Tuesday night, that EFU was going to stay at her mother's and so didn't need to be picked up, I sent Victor a text asking if he wanted to play, and, unsurprisingly, he did. I am not a big fan of going directly from a thirteen-hour day at the office to a hook-up without detouring through a shower, but some time ago Victor made it clear that his hunger for cock was not in any way abated if the cock in question was not quite as fresh as a flower, so I told myself not to be so fastidious and headed for his place. And, hey, it turns out that at 9pm, it's a much faster trip.


I was a little bit tired when I got there, and then after all the making out and the extensive eating of his very fine ass, and the extra-hard pounding with his ankles up over his ears, I was considerably more tired, so when Victor decided that he was going to get into a Reverse Cowboy position, sitting on my cock, facing away from me, and bouncing up and down, I was really in no position to argue. Besides, just lying there and feeling his ass squeeze the head of my cock was entirely too pleasant for words to do it justice. I might have ejaculated that way if he'd kept it up for another half hour or so, but he was playing with himself, and after ten minutes or so, I heard him say, "Oh shit," and then he came.

This, of course, was not an issue for me, but Victor hates to shoot first. In fact, he'd prefer, in general, not to shoot at all, since it reinforces his bottomness -- or whatever -- if I cum and he doesn't. I, on the other hand, am entirely stoked when someone gets so excited by my cock that he can't keep the semen in, and I was perfectly content to lie there and chat for a bit and then call it a day, but Victor will have his (i.e., my) load, so we lay there and kissed while I stroked one out, which, for whatever reason, was a lot of work. Like a full aerobic workout's worth of work, so that after I finally came (spectacularly, I have to admit), Victor marveled at how my heart was pounding. He kept his hand over it and felt it as we lay there and the beating returned to normal, and that was really, really cool.

In the afterglow, Victor told me that his boyfriend -- who, incongruously, likes to be verbally humiliated while he's topping Victor; Victor can't decide whether that's annoying or just funny -- and he are getting along very well and have begun talking about moving in together. So I reckon there's an expiration date on Victor's and my dalliance, but a) the expiration date is likely a few months away, and b) that's always the way, anyway. It's better if things end for practical reasons before the sex loses its awesomeness. On the other hand, given the relative infrequency with which he and I hook up, the awesomeness wasn't going to go away any time soon. Oh well.





It looks like Ridiculously Compatible is going to make me take him on an actual date before he finally lets me fuck him. YFU called me at work Saturday morning to say that she had a church-sponsored overnight that evening, so that left me free (EFU being twenty-one now and not minding if I leave her home alone while I go out for a while) to play. He hadn't been free on Friday and had mentioned Saturday as a possibility, so I sent him an email apologizing for the last-minute nature of the communication and suggesting that the latter part of the evening might well be spent making out on his very comfortable couch. He was amenable to the suggestion, so later that evening, I showered and put on the uniform (RC is inexplicably but significantly turned on by men in tight white t-shirts, and who am I to deny him?) plus a sweater and a jacket and headed over to his place. We stood inside the doorway and kissed for a few minutes, then I took off the jacket and the sweater, and we moved to the couch.

We'd only been making out for a couple more minutes, when RC said, "Is it okay if I take a minute to do something?" I thought maybe he'd left something undone in the kitchen, but what he had to do was move the coffee table away from the sofa so that he could get on his knees and play with my cock, all the while explaining that he knew the plan was to make out on the couch, but that he really couldn't resist, and that he promised to put my cock away after a couple of minutes and resume the making out on the couch. Dude.

My assurances that he was welcome to as much cock time as he wanted notwithstanding, we were back horizontal on the couch again pretty soon, and I began the extended nipple exploration that takes both of us to the happy place for lengthy periods. At some point he said something about sore muscles and needing a massage and we ended up on his bed, naked (I still had the white t-shirt on, though: why not?), and he got his massage, and I got to eat his ass, and there was more of the usual, and it was all very, very good, and then somehow we got into a serious discussion on the nature of dreams, whereupon it turned out that only one of us (guess who) is able to carry on a serious discussion and nipple exploration at the same time.

Nobody's perfect, I guess.

And then his batting me away from his nipples in favor of a serious discussion led to his saying that we really needed to go out to dinner sometime to get to know each other, which he said as if I were going to argue with him, even though I'd already assured him, on at least two previous occasions, that I had designs on his mind as well as his body. Actually scheduling said date is another matter, of course. We'd already planned -- because we weren't mutually available on the weekend -- to hook up Monday evening, and he thought that would be a good night for dinner out, but I had to remind him that there was no way I could be at his place earlier than 8:30, which is not a very auspicious time for dinner in the suburbs, so it'll be more making out, instead. I pitched the following Friday, but he was already busy. I reckon we'll figure it out: my availability increases substantially in a month. Maybe I can talk him into a regular Tuesday evening thing where we watch Glee together and make out during the commercials. The new episodes don't start up until April 13th. OMG, I am such a geek.





I developed a short-lived but moderately intense addiction to chatroulette.com over the weekend. I am pretty clearly not its target demographic (straight exhibitionists under twenty-five), but if you can get past all the uninteresting str8 boys jerking off and the frat boys who dismiss you instantly if you're unwilling or unable to "show us your tits!" you run into a number of charming foreigners who are happy to chat with an American who knows what continent Argentina is in (it's sad how low the bar is to be considered educated in the context of one's fellow Americans) or who can converse relatively competently (débrouiller) in French.

My infatuation was short-lived largely because I'm considerably too old to find chatting with nineteen-year-old straight guys (however charming and/or Brazilian) compelling on an ongoing basis, but I did discover that when in disguise (I am skittish about having my face on the Internet, so I went high tech and put on the 3D glasses that I got when I went to see Avatar) I can pass for thirty on a blurry webcam, though probably only when talking to people who have a lot of sun damage.




This past Thursday or Friday night (I'm too lazy to figure out which), I arranged to hook up with a guy at 9, so I left the office at the ungodly early hour of 8pm, hurried home, showered, and got into my jammies. But there was a delay on the Metro, and YFU had left her birthday present out and on, so I spent an hour cementing my position as the worst Guitar Hero player ever. Go me. Anyway, he didn't arrive until after 10:15, and the last train on weeknights leaves the station near my house sometime not all that long after 11, apparently, so this guy was in a hurry. Which was maybe ok since he wasn't all that great a kisser. He seemed to like kissing well enough, and he was sort of passable, but it wasn't the sort of kissing you get lost in. Also, he was a tall, wiry Black guy with a really nice ass, so it wasn't such a terrible thing for me to have to rush past the making-out-and-nipple-play stage (nip play was something else that he was willing to do but that didn't seem to especially turn him on, so, whatever) and onto the getting-head-while-eating-ass stage.

I thought I had the guy loosened up pretty well, but when I had him put the condom on me and then went to fuck him, he had a lot of trouble taking my cock, so much that he wanted to go back to sucking it, and he did that for a while, but I wanted to fuck him, so I told him to get on his back and we tried again, but that was still hard for him, so he went back to giving head, and then he finally sat on my cock and managed to take most of it, but he still couldn't handle it for very long. I was getting a little bit impatient with him because he kept trying to tell me what to do. At one point, when I had switched over to jerking myself off because he was insistent that I come first, he started slapping my ass, and I had to say, "Dude! Stop slapping my ass" (obvious, I know, but you were expecting me maybe to launch into a recitation of Cicero?) and he did, but when I tried to get him back on his back for some more fucking, he was fighting me, so I just pulled him down next to me and we kissed (it was somewhat better then) while I jerked off.

He told me to let him know when I was going to cum, and I did, and I was pretty worked up by then, so I shot a lot and a long way, and that really set him off, and he straddled my thigh and began stroking himself, and I stuck a couple of fingers in his ass and wedged the fingertips up against his prostate, and eventually he came that way, and then he was up like a shot and saying that he couldn't miss his train, and, you know what, I'd had a pretty intense time and then he was running out the door saying he'd call me, and that actually made for a good hook-up with a truly happy ending. After he'd left, I realized that I should have offered him a ride home: he lives on the other end of the red line, which is more than an hour by subway but no more than ten minutes by car. Oops, but I can't help imagine that it would have been an awkward ten minutes. Then again, maybe he has excellent conversational skills that were crowded out by his need for speed. We'll never know, I reckon.