Thursday, July 28, 2011

Merely Stating the Obvious

I was wiping the cum (his own) off a guy's stomach after a pretty good session the other day. He'd been a quietly submissive bottom, and after I'd had him face down on the mattress, fucking him hard and alternately biting his shoulder and talking dirty in his ear (not really my forte, but if you're fucking a guy hard enough, he certainly doesn't care about the quality of the chatter, and he probably isn't even hearing the individual words) for ten minutes or so (maybe forty minutes into the session), I'd rolled him onto his back and resumed making out with him while I played with his cock and one nip until he'd shot. He was a really good kisser despite having unimpressive white boy lips (The other evening, I was over at That Guy's place, and he asked me what I liked best about him, and I said his fire. Then he said what he liked best about me was my lips. I have mixed feelings about being liked primarily for any of my body parts, but I am forced to acknowledge that you would be hard pressed to find a better combination of plumpness and skill in the lips of a white guy.), and if his nips weren't all that, well, nobody's perfect, right?

Anyway, as I was wiping, I said, "So you're married, right?"

He looked nonplussed for a moment, but then regained equilibrium and said, "Yeah, how did you know?"

I just laughed for a second and then said, "Dude. You're from Germantown. You kiss well. You love getting fucked. You were wearing an ESPN t-shirt when you got here. You drove up in an SUV. I didn't have to be Sherlock to call that one."

He just laughed. Next time he wants to be tied down. I'm game, but with gas prices what they are, he'd probably save a lot of money if he just bought some rope and a strap-on for his wife to use.

In answer to a question from Will in a recent comment, my bed's doing just fine these days. After the last collapse, I decided to balance it on two high-backed Ikea dining chairs at the head and three cheap Ikea stools at the foot. I didn't think this would work as a long-term solution, due to possible sliding during heavy-duty usage, but it's been great. The mattress still slides across the deck a bit, since there are no sides to the platform, and I should probably fix that sometime, but it's very sturdy, and the deck itself doesn't move.

Monday, July 25, 2011

New York Minute

Honestly, I started this post a while back, probably right after I got back from NYC, mostly just to remember the various guys I hooked up with on my less-than-forty-eight-hour trip there. Sexual memory is an odd thing: I probably wouldn't recognize half of those guys if I saw them on the street tomorrow, but the one-sentence thumbnails that I left here were enough to bring back the men, if not all the details of the encounters. The details, as I've said before, kind of bleed into one another anyway, since you do pretty much the same things (or at least you choose elements from the same limited set) with almost every guy you're with. Anyway, here's the rest of the post, with the now-somewhat-fleshed-out descriptions.

This past tax season was something of a bruiser, and -- due to the vagaries of Federal tax law and DC's insistence on having a holiday on April 15th -- what should have been a three-day weekend off turned into my having to go to the office on Monday the 18th. Such is life. I would have liked to take the rest of the week off, but I had to be back in the office Thursday morning for an IRS audit. That gave me Monday evening, all day Tuesday, and Wednesday morning to enjoy NYC. Sadly, the usual 4 - 4.5 hour bus took 6.5 hours, so I had less of the evening than I wanted. But I also had my iPhone and Craigslist, so in addition to some good food, a little shopping, and a half-price ticket to Priscilla: Queen of the Desert (something of a guilty pleasure, but ultimately a thumbs down: see another show), I managed to hook up with seven guys in something less than forty-eight hours. Nothing like a record, but not bad, I guess. Also, I got a 3.5-star hotel room for two nights for less than $300 total, including fees and taxes. I had to stay in what is apparently known as the FiDi, but being right next to the World Trade Center site was kind of cool, and the boys in NYC are apparently used to taking cabs to hook-ups.

1. Slender, youngish mixed race guy. He seemed a bit nervous when he arrived, but he very quickly got comfortable. Nice lips, good kisser, loved bouncing up and down on my cock. In what was to become something of a theme, he was in my room for less than half an hour and then blamed me for being too skilled for him to hold back his orgasm. It seems that almost all New Yorkers are hurried, nervous, and a bit disillusioned. But they're fun in the sack, and since I had guy 2 lined up, it was no big deal sending guy 1 on his way after thirty minutes.

2. Blue collar guy who spent the night. You know I joke about being a sexual missionary to the inexperienced masses, but sometimes it really seems to be the case. I got a response from a guy who said that he was in a bar in Chelsea and wanted to come by later, and then I didn't hear back after my reply, and then, apparently, he got drunker, and he said he wanted to come over. The young, inexperienced, and drunk often have limited sexual utility, but they are often otherwise amusing. Also cute. This particular guy was more handsome than cute, but that works, too, and the straight-out-of-All-in-the-Family New Yawk accent is a fun thing. I wish I remembered the details better, but I do know that I fucked him twice, and that between fucks we went to a bar near the hotel that apparently caters to blue collar types. How else can you explain having four beers for less than thirty bucks in Manhattan? I had to kick him out a little on the early side the next morning, but I think he had to get to work anyway.

3. Married marketing guy. You gotta love a fit handsome guy who gets all the way to his fifties without having more than one or two experiences with men. These guys are typically very outgoing in their professional lives, but shy and sweet when they finally overcome their inhibitions enough to want some man-to-man and you happen to be the other man in the right place at the right time. Anyway, this guy was a great kisser, and he loved what I did to his nipples and his ass. He wouldn't let me fuck him, but, well, I was already on pace to go through my supply of condoms, and I still wanted to see some of the city outside my hotel room. He put a lot of effort into not coming right away, but he was only successful for half an hour. Again, I was told I was too good for him to hold back. Again: whatever. I still exchange the occasional email with this guy, so if I'm back in the city alone again, I might have him, again, on his way to the office. Le yum.

4. Italian advertising guy. I had this guy for a nooner after I'd been out walking across the lower part of the city to get some tickets for a show and score some very good falafel. He worked at a midtown advertising agency of some sort, and he'd put the sort of effort into his appearance that you'd expect from an Italian in advertising. His clothing didn't do much for me, but he looked pretty good naked. He also came in just under half an hour, but he wasn't trying to hold anything back. I suspect all of his hookups are like that. Anyway, he had a very responsive ass, and I had my tongue and then cock up it, and by this time I was used to the fast pace, so it was all good.

5. Mr. Nips. This guy was also in his fifties, with lots of ink and metal, and he really loved loved loved having his nips worked hard. They were both pierced, and when I had him on his back with my cock slamming into him, he came when I tugged hard on both of them, which, unsurprisingly, happened about half an hour in. He said that he never shoots that quickly but that I was just too damned good with his nipples. Do you think these guys get together and coordinate their scripts? Anyway, y'all know how much I love nips, so it was a very hot half hour. Sadly, he later texted me to tell me what a great job I'd done on his nips, and I apparently ruined things by saying "Who is this?" In my defense, the number of guys who tell me that I've done a great job on their nips is a relatively large number, and I can't be expected to recognize all of the NY area exchanges, can I? Oops.

6. Indian dude who wanted to be racially degraded. Oh, dude, there are limits. I will chew on your nips and pin you down and pretend that I'm forcing you to shove your tongue in my mouth. I will eat your very hot ass while you go down on me, and I will then pin you down and rub my cock against yours when you claim that you are really a top. I will eat your pits and eat your ass some more while you jerk a healthy load onto my chest, and I will even accede to your demands that I pump a load onto your chest. But I will not call you a "sand n*****." He sure was pretty, though.

7. Short, uber-hairy dude. This guy tried to get to me early in my stay, but I was fucking someone else, and then I told him I was free, but he was stuck at a Seder or something, and I thought we probably wouldn't ever hook up, but he wanted it very badly, and he was pretty much worth the wait. Compact lean guys always get my motor going, whether they're smooth or hairy, but I'd done a lot of smooth on this trip, and sometimes it's fun to have to search for the nipples with your tongue so that you can clamp down on them to make the bottom throw his head back and pant. He actually had a full forty-five minutes to give me, so by NYC standards it was quite the leisurely fuck. Well, to the extent that having a guy bounce up and down on my cock faster and faster while I fist his cock until he shoots all over me can be considered leisurely. He had exceptionally attractive lips, and he knew what to do with them (i.e., he lay back and let me suck on them while he sighed and made lots of precum). It's always nice to end with a live wire.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Still Kicking

So, yeah, I haven't posted here in a while, and I don't really have any compelling reasons for the silence. Non-compelling reasons include the following:

1. It seems like it's harder to swipe pictures off flickr these days. I mean, I get the whole intellectual property thing, but it's not like I was making money from using those pictures. Also, it's probably still possible, so that probably boils down to:

2. Laziness. You'll note the lack of pics in this post. Sorry. I like them, too.

3. I really like writing about my sex life, but after a while it started to seem like all my sex sounded the same. You'll notice that about both fictional (which mine is not) and non-fictional (which mine is) pornography in general, I think, and it kind of makes sense. If you find practices that reliably give you great joy no matter how many times you do them (I'm guessing at this point that I've eaten a couple of hundred different asses over the past nine or ten years, and the two I ate on Tuesday were every bit as good as the ones I ate when I was first starting out. Not that they're all that great, but a good ass is timeless.), then you're going to keep doing them, right? I mean the Hare Krishnas don't get up some days and say, "Hey, let's chant the preamble to the Constitution today for a change of pace!" Or at least I presume they don't. Anyway, I don't generally find good sex in any way monotonous, and when I do, it just means that it's time to fuck someone else for a session or two. Which reminds me:

4. I've been dating the same guy since November, and he's been taking up a fair amount of my time. And I don't really want to write about my sex life with him, just because I'm pretty sure he'd see that as a betrayal and tacky. Mostly tacky. I will mention, though, that this guy (whom I generally refer to as That Guy) has been warning me since about the second date (Which, arguably, could be the third date since apparently he and I hooked up about three years ago when I was still living with b&c; when we met again this past November, I remembered him, but I didn't actually remember the sex. Oops.) that if things between us progressed to a certain point, then he would demand exclusivity. I am extremely ambivalent about this notion of exclusivity. On the one hand, That Guy is the bomb. He's extraordinarily attractive, and I sometimes refer to him as Catnip just because when I'm in his presence I almost invariably feel intoxicated (and not just because he's always plying me with cocktails and I'm not much of a drinker). On the other hand: exclusive, really? I just honestly don't see the point of it. But it's very clear that That Guy sees the point and that it's very important to him. Or that it would become very important to him at some point. He and I have very different views of sexuality. I would characterize his position as more stereotypically feminine. He has not, for instance, had sex with anyone else since we started dating. I had been pretty sure of this fact (without wanting to bring it up because I just don't want to encourage him to utter the E-word) since about a month into dating him, but he told me so explicitly a couple of weeks ago. Also, he has a slower arousal response than most guys, including -- especially -- me. By which I mean that for the first couple of months we were dating, it was sometimes difficult to get him to bed, presumably because he wasn't emotionally invested. Now if I'm over at his place on a weeknight, I'm lucky if I can get out of there at 11 (having arrived at 8) and without fucking a third (or possibly fourth; I lose track sometimes) load out of him. Anyway, we've always gotten along terrifically out of the sack, and the sex has been getting better and better (two or three months ago I'd have said that I'd never agree to an exclusive arrangement just because the sex wasn't all that), and I do find it very hard to say no to any bottom who knows nine languages, so we'll just have to see how that goes.

But the exclusivity thing -- if it ever arrives -- is clearly in the future, so I've continued to be fairly active, sort of like I'm having a clearance sale. Everything must go! So, for example, when I took my post-busy season quickie trip to NYC, I was in the city for less than forty-eight hours and had seven different guys, a couple of which weren't even quickies. (I have noticed, however, that NYC guys are on a much faster pace in all areas. At least five of those guys told me that they didn't usually come that fast but that they did because I was just so hot. Oh, puh-leeeze. I think even the guy who spent the night used that line on me. Twice.)

A more recent example: I believe it was this past Monday night. I had just gotten home and was doing a couple of household chores before heading over to That Guy's house for the evening, and I got a text message from David, an extraordinarily cute twenty-something Chinese-born local resident. He wanted to play, and I told him, sure, but it'd have to be a quickie because I needed to leave for That Guy's house by 7:30, and he said he would wait for later in the week, and I said, "Are you sure? You can have a lot of fun in twenty minutes," and he said he'd come over.

David, frankly, is not that great in the sack, in part because he's very inexperienced, and in part because he's convinced that he's a top. I have not yet had time to disabuse him of that notion, so while he occasionally will play with my cock as a matter of curiosity and/or jealousy (his own cock is quite small), he doesn't go down on it, and I don't get to fuck him. On the plus side, though, his body is pretty much a live wire, and the fact that his experience is mostly confined to drunken furtive fucks at the end of parties that he attends with his cousins (who -- he says -- don't know he's gay) means that he really appreciates (loudly) my experience, skills, and full range of bodily stimulation. Also, he has nice lips and kisses well. And, of course, there's that extraordinarily cute thing. But he never stays for a second orgasm, even though he's in his mid-twenties, and he doesn't make any real effort to get me off, so half an hour of him is usually just about the right amount of time, and twenty minutes is plenty.

In this particular case, I started eating his ass on the stairway up to the bedroom, and he started moaning. I moved him to the bedroom, finished undressing him, and put him down on the bed, where I went after his small but very sensitive nipples. We made out briefly, and then I had him sit on my face. I continued to run my fingertips lightly along the sensitive parts (i.e., all) of his body, while I shoved my tongue deeply into him. Vocal writhing ensued. Eventually, I shoved my thumb into his ass and banged it hard against his prostate while I sucked on his cock. He got louder. A minute later, I swallowed his load. Small but sweet, kind of like his cock -- and him. I was still, mostly, in my work clothes. We chatted for a bit, I saw him out, and then I showered and headed off for a significantly more adult interaction with That Guy. David is a lot of fun in his way, but he's very much an amuse bouche. With time, he might progress to an appetizer or maybe a pasta course, but every time he comes over, I figure it might very well be the last, and I won't especially mind.