I don't mean me, of course: I continue to fuck up a storm at every available opportunity. Opportunities have been somewhat less common of late what with the return of EFU from New England and her propensity to decide at the last minute that she wants to stay at my place. I am always happy to have her over, of course, but I have had to cancel a lot of fucks at almost the last minute, and I dislike doing that. Anyway, the somewhat less frequent opportunities just mean that I take advantage of the chances that I do have, which is probably why after dropping the girls off at their mother's house late this past Saturday afternoon, I had four guys over (separately) before I slept. I did rest on the (Christian) sabbath, however.
This post isn't about those four guys, really, and those four guys were mostly not especially memorable except for the twenty-four year old with a girlfriend who hadn't had sex with a man in over eight months. I asked him why, and he said he'd just been too busy. And when I said, "Too busy to fuck?" he said that he just hadn't been looking. That was when I asked him whether he has a girlfriend, and he said he did. It seems like all of the twenty-somethings who want me to fuck them have girlfriends and get cock rarely if at all. I can always tell that they wrestle with shame over our encounters, and that bothers me a little bit, but it doesn't bother me very much if the desire overbalances the shame and, critically, so long as they kiss well and eagerly. Saturday's particular twenty-something was a great kisser (he appeared to be half-Asian, and he had really nice lips to go with a smooth body and straight black hair that was long enough to grab onto when I was fucking him from behind), but he was very nervous, and after we'd made out and I'd worked his nipples, and he'd gone down on me, and I'd eaten his ass, and I'd fucked him in three positions for about fifteen minutes, ending with him on his back and panting "fuck me" as I plowed hard into him, when I took a brief break, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and then came back and said he was sorry but that he had to leave because he was feeling light headed and because my dick was just too thick for him to take. He'd been taking it like a champ, and really, he'd been enough fun that I could have just let him go without worrying about it (especially given that I'd had two guys before him), but I talked him back onto the bed and asked him whether his light-headedness was from being nervous, and when he said it was, I started playing with his cock, and fifteen minutes later or so, he came all over his chest as I was kissing him and stroking his lubed dick. It was awesome, but I won't ever see him again, probably not even in eight months when his need again overcomes his shame: he drove all the way around the beltway from Northern Virginia, and surely he can enjoy a guilty rendez-vous closer to home next time.
Eight months is such a common response that I hear when I ask someone how long it's been since he got any that I sometimes wonder whether people are making it up. I'm pretty sure that Raul was being honest when he said that. A week or so ago, he and I finally got together after some back and forth on one of the sites where men go to connect with other men in some way that usually involves the removal of clothing. Raul lives with his nieces, and, as far as I can tell, he's both fully closeted and fully gay. Not having had sex with anyone in eight months (unless he said two years, which is another very common response among men who want me to fuck them) made him extremely responsive, and when I picked him up from the Metro station (after much difficulty finding him: he was not able to get to the station nearest me because of a downed wire or some such, and I had to go a few stations away, where the possible places for someone to be were much more plentiful), on the ride back to my house, I stroked his closely cropped hair, and he moaned and sighed like the proverbial man finding water after a stay in the desert. He was equally responsive throughout our very intense session, so I naturally followed up, and he agreed to come over again last night.
Because of where he lives and because of the layout of the Red Line, I suggested that he meet me at my office building and we drive to my place from there. He texted me at the scheduled meeting time to say he was running late, he arrived half an hour late, and then we spent another half-hour in the car with one of my hands lightly stroking various uncovered and covered parts of his anatomy. By the time we got home, I was nearly wild with desire, and after kissing him deeply but briefly, I started him up the stairs, but then I stopped him halfway up by pulling his shorts and briefs down, bending him in half, and burying my tongue in his ass. He moaned and then shouted, and I pretty much lost control: I had my shoes, pants, underwear, and shirt off within thirty seconds, and then I stood up, pushed him down against the stairs, and shoved my cock straight into him. No lube, no condom, and I very likely would have fucked him to completion right there and in record time if he hadn't stopped me because the stairs were hurting his knee, which he'd banged up playing soccer.
I was nonplussed at my inability to control myself, so I took a deep breath and directed him to the bedroom, and we went back to making out. I was keeping myself in check pretty well, but I'd unleashed an equal amount of hunger in him, and his kisses were nearly attacks. Incredibly hot attacks, but still. I shoved his head down to my cock, and he took it all the way down. I pulled his body around and began to eat his ass again, and it was all wild animal sex from there on, though I did get a condom on before I pounded him in various positions. I ended up with him on his stomach, and me jackhammering him until ejaculation was imminent before pulling out, stripping off the condom, and shooting a huge load all up and down his spine. I wiped it off, and we slept, intertwined, for a while before I drove him to the Metro. He was very happy.
Raul seems to want to be a regular, but we'll just have to see how that plays out. I've become aware that my emotions (Let alone my libido, but before the safe-sex police take me into custody, can we acknowledge that nobody's perfect in that area and that limited amounts of risk can sometimes be acceptable, or at least that the occasional slip-up doesn't mean you're evil; my sources inform me that while unprotected topping is significantly less risky than unprotected bottoming, it is not without risk, but of course the risk varies depending on whom you're fucking, and I evaluate Raul to be very low risk. That doesn't mean I'd do the same thing again, it just means that a very occasional lapse doesn't automatically lead to either hell or seroconversion.) are not entirely secure these days. I've been single for a little while now, and while I still am very much not looking for a partner, the idea of meeting someone available, interested, compatible, and irresistible seems not quite unwelcome, even if the likelihood of such an occurrence strikes me as highly remote. The practical upshot of this is a tendency to infer someone's moral, emotional, and intellectual worth from how good of a lay he is.
I am reminded of a passage in a book. I can't remember the title or the author of the book, only that it was a sort of crime novel or murder mystery set in a university in England. And in this book, there was a singularly unpleasant woman who was married to a sad sack academic who had mistaken her for a person of artistic death because of one thing she had said to him. He had met her in some hall or other in the college, and in this room there were many statues of old academics and she had said something very much like, "When no one's looking, do you suppose they dance?" And from this one glimmer, which turned out to be both a rehearsed line and a solitary example, he extrapolated a person who was much more interesting and expansive of spirit than was the woman who'd uttered the line. Similarly, after a particularly good lay, I will often take any little nugget of conversation to indicate someone really worth getting to know on a non-horizontal basis.
Fortunately, I recognize the error for what it is and move on quickly. If there's one word that I'm intimately familiar with, it's "Next!"
Anyway, Raul's moment of depth involved a description of how he enjoys visiting churches and photographing gargoyles. It sounded nice, but it's not much. Fortunately, what he wants from me is mostly physical, and he kisses well and has a great ass.
After Raul left, I had to juggle a bit because there's a recently divorced bottom who lives just down the street from me, and I'd implied that I would probably be able to fuck him late last night. At the same time, OA had been texting me and had said that he wanted to come over. I hadn't heard from OA in a few weeks, and we hadn't hooked up in well over a month. He has a fraternity brother crashing at his (very small) apartment, so he can't host, and the last time I invited him over, he had a family emergency (real or not) come up, and he sort of blew me off, so I was being disciplined and not calling him. It's not as if there aren't other men to play with. It's just that there aren't any men as hot as he is, so when he texted and said he had been unavailable because of his houseguest and told me how much he missed "chillin out" with me, well, I could hardly avoid asking him over. But he only said that he could probably make it, and then I didn't hear from him for a while, and the recently divorced bottom was sounding hornier and hornier, and the FWP that I was developing within walking distance had just ended his lease and moved out of the area, so I really could use another, RC's availability being as limited as ever (though I did finally fuck him, and that was very good indeed), so I told him I should be available later, and then OA finally texted me back to say that he was on his way over, leaving me to apologize to recently divorced, who took it pretty well, all things considered.
The session with OA was hot hot hot, as it always is. He was even more revved up than usual: apparently having a straight frat brother stay at his apartment was seriously keeping him from getting any, and after we went through the usual pleasantries and had chatted for a bit, I pushed him back on the sofa and kissed his soft sweet lips long and deep before taking him upstairs (he's the only guy who follows me up the stairs: I still won't let him fuck me, but I suppose I can give him something) for a couple of hours of amazing sex. It was less urgent and animalistic than was the sex with Raul, but it was certainly no less passionate.
OA worked really hard trying to get me off orally (he says that my cock is the only one he likes to suck: this is likely true since I'm sure he just fucks most other guys after they go down on him), but even if I hadn't cum so forcefully with Raul, he wouldn't have had success. It was an awesome blowjob, though, even without a sticky finale. I went down on him, too, and I was determined to get him to blow a load that way, but he wouldn't let me finish him off. I figured he should be able to cum twice, but he figured it differently and made me stop. Eventually, after back and forth and back and forth and back and forth a few more times even, I was lying on the bed, and he was kneeling over me, and we were kissing, and he was holding our cocks together and stroking them, and he came, hard. And then it was late, so he only collapsed for a couple of minutes before jumping up and leaving. It was well past midnight, so I couldn't blame him, except perhaps for having driven through DC on the way to my place, rather than having taken the beltway, which would have gotten him to me probably half an hour earlier. Anyway, I explained to him the better way back to his place, and he was gone. Who knows when I'll see him again, but that I will see him again is not to be doubted.