Still Plowing Away

My bed, which has been showing signs of weakness ever since I moved it to the new house last fall, finally broke and collapsed a couple of weeks ago while I had pounding some married guy about as hard as I know how to fuck, which is pretty hard. He was asking for more, but I'm not sure what he had in mind was the sound of wood cracking and the much louder sound of wood slats falling through their supports. I put the bed back together, finished him off, sent him on his way, and wondered what to do about my bed.

The odd thing is that that particular encounter had started off as a threeway, but there were only two of us on the bed when it went. The third was Pedro, who had been bugging me for months to arrange another group outing for him. On the one hand, I found his habit of treating me like his cruise director a little bit grating, but he's a reliable and versatile performer, and his particular brand of frottage is rare and especially fun. Or at least it was. Despite repeated texts asking me when there would be more group fun, when married guy asked whether I could arrange a threeway -- something he'd never experienced -- and I relayed the request to Pedro, Pedro said he wanted to play but that I couldn't fuck him because he'd been dating someone. I didn't really care about that, but I was a little miffed when he showed up and said I couldn't kiss him because "I'm dating someone." Still, married guy was upstairs waiting, so I didn't send Pedro on his way. Pedro sent himself on his way about five minutes after he got naked, saying that he was sorry but he didn't feel right about this because he was dating someone. At that point, I had married guy's nipple in my mouth, so I didn't say anything: I just waved goodbye to Pedro as he left the bedroom. Honestly, when I'm sucking or chewing nip, I really don't want to think about anything else, but in retrospect, I think Pedro was something of a tool, though I'm also cognizant of the fact that his desire to remain exclusive is not entirely charmless. I think that someday I wouldn't mind having a relationship where I could say, "Can we see each other exclusively for a few months before we open the relationship?" Don't let anybody tell you that I'm not a romantic.

Anyway, I disassembled the bed, leaving most of it leaning up against the wall, the wrist restraints still dangling from ropes and the bed corners, and I put the platform slats and mattress down on the floor for a while. I found the transition from vertical to horizontal somewhat more awkward with a bed on the floor, but once a guy was down there, fucking him was pretty much the same as it had been fifteen inches higher. Still, I wanted a new bed. I knew it would be irresponsible to buy the pipe bed of my dreams, and I didn't want to buy a bed that I didn't really love, so I decided to build my own. (The relevant phrase, which I read on Apartment Therapy, is something like "Buy things you love, throw junk away, make it yourself.") I did some research and came up with my own very simple plan that reused the platform slats from the last bed. It ended up costing me almost $200, but eighty percent of that was spent on power tools that I can use for other projects and that give me additional butch cred. Not only is the new bed very sturdy (it's basically a bunch of 2x4s bolted together), but I was able to add a couple of special features, most notably eye bolts on the corners and at the center of foot of the bed, to make it easier to tie guys down.

Anyway, I assembled the bed last Monday, but then a combination of kids, car trouble (again), and sundry other mundane tribulations conspired to keep me from field testing it until this weekend. And not even Friday night, when I had a date with RC, though that was certainly plenty of fun. Saturday morning, I had the initial test with a guy whom I managed to bring off through skillful nipple play. It was a very early hook-up, and after he came, I fell asleep for about an hour. He was very cuddly. Later in the day, I had a fun group session where all the other guys were 6'2 or taller, and a couple of them were hefty, so I can conservatively say that the bed has been demonstrated to accommodate 800 pounds, with ease, even if one of them is standing up, causing me to say, "Dude, watch out for the ceiling fan." It was a fun group, but it is maybe not such a great idea to have three bottoms and one top: not one of those guys was about to give up his load before I surrendered mine, and they worked like champions with multiple holes and hands to get it. Also, I wondered whether I shouldn't have built a king-sized bed instead, but oh well. Midday Sunday, another guy showed up. He came without touching himself while he was bouncing up and down on his cock, which is always a good time.

Late Sunday afternoon, I was doing a bit of housework and thinking that there were things that I really ought to get done, but then I thought that all I really wanted to do was play with boys, and I was about to post an ad when I got an email from J. who said that he would be home after 6 and wanted to play. J.'s a guy I hadn't seen for about two years; prior to that, I'd see him about once a year: he'd be blindfolded, and I'd tie him to the bed and edge him for an hour or more. I'd heard from him maybe six months back, and then sporadically thereafter, and he was being weird, even for him, so I'd mostly given up, but when he said he wanted to come over, I said why not. He's a marathoner, and his body looks great when he's tied spread eagle.

We did our usual thing: he texted me when he was nearly at my place, and I unlocked the door and left the room. He came in, stripped to his jeans, put on the blindfold, and said he was ready. I put the wrist restraints on him, marched him upstairs, pulled his jeans down below his fine ass, spanked him a few times, then tied him, face up, to the bed. He's always said that he wanted to spend more than two hours being played with, but he'd never really lasted much longer than an hour before. Last night, though, I had him tied up for just over two hours, and really begging for release, before I made him shoot a load. I decided it wasn't worth being mean to him, though I did stop, when he was very, very close and already begging, to check my email. But he didn't offer his usual annoying and provocative rhetoric, instead telling me what good hands I had. It was weird, but fun. I could not believe so much cum could come from such small balls, but the evidence was on his perfectly flat stomach, the muscles of which come into sharp definition only when ejaculation is imminent. He had arrived at 7:30, and even though it was the longest day of the year, by the time I was ready to let him cum, it was fully dark outside, and I had to switch on a lamp to see the abs going in and out of sharpness. After I'd gotten him off and cleaned him up, I rolled him onto his stomach and gave him a massage. He pulled off the blindfold and nearly fell asleep, and half an hour later, he finally got dress, and we had what seemed like a friendly chat. It was really weird to interact with him when he wasn't being ashamed and dickish, but I can't help feeling that being nice to him means that he won't come back. Which might be a good thing: I can never figure out why I'm willing to put up with his weirdness: there are plenty of other guys with equally great bodies, and most of those guys want to give me blow jobs and ride on my cock. Still, I guess once every year or two, it's an interesting way to spend a couple of hours, and sometimes it's better not to spend too much time asking why.

Ridiculous

I had a great date with Ridiculously Compatible last weekend, and it came not a moment too soon. I hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks because he's never available, and I was beginning to think that he'd lost interest, even though I knew that he hadn't lost interest. In fact, he'd said that he really wanted to see me, in an email about how he was going to be out of town for the weekend and so couldn't see me. And, you know, when I'm with him, he always feels really interested (and really good). But what the mind knows, the body sometimes forgets, and as much as I like and appreciate RC's mind, what I hunger for is his body. I don't think much about him when we're not together, except perhaps to notice, a week or ten days later, that I haven't heard from him, so our interaction is very much about the intense physicality of the moment. I would say that it's very Zen, but I don't really know anywhere near as much as I should about Zen. Can anyone recommend a good comic book?

Anyway, RC emailed (or perhaps texted ... I have consulted my iPhone: both emails and text messages were involved) me late Friday to say that he was available Saturday evening, after all. I replied the next morning that I was free, and he texted me to say that he would happily come to my place at 6:30 to play. I texted him back that he could come to me right then instead, but he, naturally, was on his way to a meeting. Patience is a virtue. Virtue is overrated.


Anyway. By the time RC arrived -- right on time: I love punctuality, except, of course, when I'm having people over for dinner because then it's never ready when I think it's going to be ready, and I'm usually still drying myself off from the shower and getting myself clothed when the appointed hour arrives, which is fine (or maybe more than fine) for a hook-up, but not so great for dinner guests -- I was amazingly horny as a result of having played with three guys between Friday night and Saturday afternoon, all without having shot a load myself. RC appreciates the volcanic ejaculations, though, so that was probably a good thing, but before I forget, let me give you a brief rundown.

Friday evening, I met a very cute, very fit thirty-two-year-old Pinoy virgin who had never had any sexual contact with a man (or a woman, for that matter). He told me that he didn't kiss on the first date, and I said, "How do you know?" I love it when superior logic allows me to suck on the plump lips of a cute guy. As with most first timers, he was plenty nervous, and, as with most first timers, the best plan of attack was to grab him and kiss him the moment he walked in the door, overwhelming him with lust and tumescence before he had too much of a chance to think about it. I had him upstairs and naked very quickly, and then I began to take my time and enjoy his lips and his nips and his abs. He was fairly insecure about his appearance (needlessly so, he really was cute) but he was justifiably proud of his abs. Lots of sit-ups, apparently. One supposes he was sublimating his sexual energy, though he did allow that he jerked off a lot.

J. was a real live wire, and I settled into a rhythm of lightly running my index finger up and down his small cock while sucking on his nipple, teasing him a bit by bringing him to the edge and then letting him slide back. When I took a break from that to wrap him in a bear hug and kiss him some more, he grabbed my cock and started to stroke it, saying that he was worried about being able to take it. I was worried, too. Lots of guys say they won't be able to take my cock and then there asses part like the Red Sea, but this guy was extremely thin with narrow hips. But I told him not to worry about it, and then I rolled him onto his stomach, lay on top of him, sucked on his ear lobe for a minute and then very slowly kissed my way down his spine, pausing as I reached the small of his back to spread his cheeks wide with my hands, then letting the tip of my tongue run down to his asshole. He shuddered, and then he began to moan when I pushed my tongue more firmly against his ass. I kissed his cheeks for a while as I worked one and then two fingers into him, but then he was begging me to fuck him, but also saying that he couldn't take my cock, and I was telling him that two fingers wasn't enough, and he was telling me that I needed a condom on my cock RIGHT NOW, so I handed it to him, slowing him down considerably, but it was still not very long before he was lubing me up and then attempting to sit on my cock.


And let's give him credit for effort. He did, in fact, get the head in, at which point he told me that it hurt but it felt good all at the same time, once again illustrating the fundamental paradox of anal sex (which is sort of like the fundamental theorem of calculus, only very different). I did my best to get him to relax, and I got maybe two inches into him, but then he tensed up again and said he needed a break, and when he got off my cock, he saw a small amount of brown (really, a very small amount of very light brown, which was nonetheless surprising given how clean he'd seemed when I was rimming him) and freaked out. Thank God it wasn't blood, I guess.

Anyway, I calmed him down as best I could, but he was starting to get nervous about being out too late because the family he lives with doesn't like him driving after dark, and I told him that, really, at thirty-two he's entitled to a little bit of liberty, but I also played with his cock and his nipples and got him off and wiped him up and then we cuddled and talked a little bit, and it was very nice in the way that things that are unlikely to be repeated can be very nice. He did email me a day later, and he seemed fine, but he lives in Upper Marlboro, which, for those of you who don't know the area, qualifies as something of a hike. Plus, I reckon he's experiencing that post-first-fuck (or semi-fuck) thing that sweet, inexperienced guys go through. And he didn't actually leave my place until well after dark, so he may be experiencing some adoptive family issues. That whole last part is just too weird for me to contemplate, but he's very sheltered and innocent. How is it that I attract so many sheltered and innocent guys, anyway? Better not to look a gift horse in the mouth on that one, right?


The next morning, not long after RC told me that he was on a train and so could not swing by for an early play session, another young, innocent (twenty-seven, as it happens) guy asked me to come over to his place, but he lived in Northern Virginia, and regular readers will recall that there is only one guy I think is worth going to Northern Virginia for, and this guy was not that guy, so I told him he should come see me, which is always wise if a guy lives in Virginia because then if the hook-up turns into a debacle (always more likely with someone who lives in NoVA), the other guy's the one who's wasted all the time. Besides, I had a lot of cleaning to do.

The guy showed up an hour later, and he, too told me that he did not kiss on the first date. (I know, right? No one ever says that, mostly because I tell them that kissing is de rigueur, and now two guys in two days. It's like an epidemic among our youth. Someone apply for a grant.) He wanted to get right upstairs and immediately naked, and then he wanted to go to the bathroom, which cannot be seen from the bedroom and which has a door that does not easily close (The bottom needs to be planed. That sounds like a sentence that could be a double entendre doesn't it?) but that he nonetheless insisted on closing. Then he came back and asked me to stand at the foot of the bed with him, and I held him close for a minute while he played with my cock. Then he dropped to his knees and began going down on me, and he was pretty good at it, but, naturally, I wanted to make out, and, come on, "I don't kiss on the first date?" I picked him up and laid him down on the bed and lay next to him and began squeezing one of his nipple, and when he gasped, I leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed me back, and, yikes, an obvious smoker. Why does a tall, slender, smooth/shaved, fair-haired young man (he is the exact opposite of RC, but they are both dead sexy; as it happens, RC smokes, but you can't tell from his breath until you've been making out with him for an hour, by which time you're really beyond minding) who is obviously going for (and achieving!) pretty want to go and have smoker's breath? It is to weep.


Anyway. I instead concentrated on his nipples, sucking them until he was moaning and playing with his cock, but that brought him pretty close to the edge very quickly, so he pulled away and started to go down on me again. I let him suck on my cock for a few minutes, but then I told him that I wanted to play with his ass while he was sucking me, and he seemed confused by the concept, only bringing his ass to within arm's length. When I pulled him farther around so that my head was between his knees and began to eat his fine, firm backside, he stopped sucking my cock and gasped. After another minute of that, he pulled off and said that no one had ever done that to him before. Then he said he needed to go to the bathroom again, and I heard the door scraping closed again, and then I heard the shower running, and then he was back in the room, only with his clothes on, and he was apologizing profusely and saying that he never hooks up and mumbling something about Catholic guilt (B16 sure has a lot to answer for, doesn't he?) and apologizing profusely some more. And I was just lying there on my back, with a look of befuddlement on my face and my cock standing straight up in the air, and, well, RC was coming over later in the day, and I had a lot of cleaning to do, and this guy was already doing his own penance, and in situations like this, especially when the guy has acted out of ignorance instead of malice, there is one thing always to keep in mind: he is fighting a great battle. Try saying that the next time someone does something you don't like: he is fighting a great battle.* It works wonders in traffic.

There's this local Latin guy who's also fighting a great battle, and he and I had had this very strange on-again, off-again correspondence since I'd answered his craigslist ad perhaps a month earlier. I figured he was playing with me, especially after he emailed me Friday and accused me of giving him a false address. I have never given anyone a false address, and, indeed, my policy is never to give anyone my address unless I've talked with them on the phone. So I went back through my email correspondence with him (thank God, once again, for gmail) and verified that I had no idea what he was talking about. He eventually said he must have been thinking of someone else (this seemed unlikely) and apologized, but since I had already told him that I was done with email correspondence and had given him my number if he was serious about getting together, I let his apology pass without comment. Then, Friday night after midnight, he emailed me again to say he was back from DC and drunk and wanted to get together and it was too bad that I hadn't responded to his last email. Oh, whatever. Then he sent another email saying he wanted to call me but he was too drunk to come over just then, and, oh whatever-ever-after.


But around one the next day, after the guilt-ridden young'un had departed, he called me, and, hey, I am not one to hold a grudge when a guy finally comes to his senses, provided, of course, that I'm already horny and that the guy in question likes to kiss, and this guy said he liked to kiss, so I told him to come on over. He said he lived about ten minutes away, and he was at my door in fifteen minutes, trying to explain that it's hard to pick my driveway out and that if you miss it, you have to go around a very long block to get back to it, but I was already kissing him, so a lot of that explanation was something that I really just extrapolated from his few pre-osculatory words, with the help of existing knowledge.

As is often the case with Latin men, he had very nice lips. He was about four inches shorter than me, and I stood there, leaning down and kissing him until he abandoned all thoughts of speech, then I turned him around and pushed him towards the stairs. He was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, so it was pretty easy to just pull the shorts down and then follow the visible butt cleavage up the stairs. I am not a big fan of the flip-flops, but they undeniably speed disrobing, and he was fully naked and stretched out on my bed in nothing float. He'd said he was thirty-six, and I'd guess he was more like forty-two, but he was very cute and smooth, with nice nipples to match his nice lips. I put him right on his back and straddled him, pinning his arms over his head, and he moaned softly as I kissed him, then not-so-softly as I began licking his nipples. I heard "Harder," as I took them between my lips and pulled, so naturally (I am above all a gracious host), I complied and bit down on them. Juan had gone along with the kissing when we started, but after I chewed his nips (not all that hard, really) for a bit, he kissed me back with real hunger, and everything got hotter by a level or two. He'd said he was in a bit of a hurry (having to start his chores, or whatever), but he didn't rush me when we were making out, and he waited until I pushed his head down toward my crotch to go down on me. I just soaked it in for awhile and made appropriately appreciative noises, but I really wanted his ass, so I soon pulled him around, and he did not share the previous guy's reticence.


You know me, readers: time stands still when I'm eating ass (or sucking nip, or kissing), but I'm pretty sure it wasn't as long as it might have been before he was asking me to fuck him, so I handed him a condom and some lube, but he didn't like my lube, so he got up and got his own, and, well, whatever, I was a rock at that point and not much was likely to bother me. He got me sheathed and greased, and he mounted me, facing the other way. I grabbed his hips and eased him down, relatively slowly, but he said he was having trouble, so I told him to face me, and that made things easier. He was tight but by no means impenetrable, and with a little bit of nipple work and one or two strokes of his cock, I soon had all of my cock in him. I grabbed his hands and then lowered him backwards into X position, and he liked that, but when I started to play with his dick, he told me it got him too close, so I told him to lie on his back next to me, and then I got up and grabbed his ankles, pushing them up and back until they were nearly even with his ears, then I lined my cock up with his asshole and slowly, slowly pushed in. His eyes got so big I was afraid they'd explode, and then he just started panting and moaning and "Fuck me!" as I increased speed and pounded him harder and harder. Eventually it was too much for him, and we both wanted a bit of a break, so I pulled out and lay behind him, playing with his nipples. Before long, he was ready to sit on my cock again, bouncing up and down on it for a few minutes and getting ever more excited as I tweaked his nipples and ran my finger over the ridge of his cockhead.

At some point he stopped and said, "You're not even close, are you?" I shrugged, figuring that I could explain the whole thing after I got him off. He said he wanted to feel me cum, but I told him that I was going to make him cum, and he bounced up and down on my cock and I began to jerk his cock rapidly, and his load was shooting on my chest in less than thirty seconds. He collapsed backwards and just lay there for a minute, and then we started chatting, which is always weird but usually good, and he was significantly more articulate than I would have guessed from his emails, which is always good and not weird. I explained that I didn't really need to cum because I'd certainly be cumming later, and that I'd had a great time regardless, and he lay next to me and we kissed a little more and then we discussed real estate prices and he slipped back into his clothes and was soon on his way. He's only in town for a few months, but I reckon I'll hear from him again, though perhaps not for a few weeks. There are some guilt issues there, too, but they are not worth thinking about. He was a lot of fun and he lives nearby, but he's not the kind of guy who's worth missing if he doesn't show up again.

At this point, I would definitely miss RC if he didn't show up again, but I am still (still!) waiting to get into his ass. He was better rested and more energetic than usual (he's always good, though), but he said that he had been to see his dermatologist and that his condition was not contagious but would heal better if he waited another week before getting fucked. Then he told me how much he was looking forward to sitting on my cock, and then I kissed him and sucked on his nipples, and he forgot how to speak again. We were in bed by that point, but we'd started out with a nice session of necking on my new couch.


I reckon we played for ninety minutes in total, at least sixty of which were spent kissing and with me working his nipples. His desire for having his nipples played with is as inexhaustible as my desire for playing with his nipples, so that works out really well. He's also very cock hungry, at least for my cock, and he gives really, truly great head, so I spent a significant amount of time enjoying a really good bj, but I can never do that for too long without wanting to kiss him or play with his nipples. He really, really wanted me to cum, and I was extremely worked up from our session and from the three previous guys, so I was only too happy to gratify his desire. After an hour and a half, we lay next to each other and kissed as I finished myself off. I did my best to keep the cum on him, where he likes it, but I'm always a big shooter, and even more so when I'm worked up like that, so some of my ejaculate did end up on the curtains. Well, they're machine washable.

And then, after some post-ejaculatory cuddling, I asked him whether he'd eaten, and he hadn't (yay!) so we went out for Tex-Mex food, and the food and the conversation were really great. Sex followed by dinner is really the perfect date, especially when the guy's both sexy and intelligent. As it happens, if the guy's both sexy and intelligent, dinner followed by sex doesn't work all that well for me (although it can still be a great time), but that's another story.

Logically, I should be interested in pursuing a relationship with RC (he's smart and stable; he's a good conversationalist; he's kind; he is fighting a great battle; and OMG, the nipples!), yet I'm not, or at least I'm not interested in pursuing any relationship more involved than a friends-with-privileges one. He seems to be on the same page as I am on that score, and I don't know (nor really care) whether that's because his emotional reaction to me is similar to mine to him or just because he's too damned busy to pursue anything more serious. My emotional reaction to him, for the record, is that I like him a whole lot, especially when I'm with him, but I'm not swept away: there is not that sort of inability to keep the lid on my emotions that I believe to be an essential element of love. And in the past, whenever I've fallen in love (not always wisely), I've had that loss of control fairly early on. I know that some people are friends for a long time before they come to love, but it hasn't really worked that way for me. Maybe when I first met RC I was still so recently out of the relationship with b&c that I simply wasn't emotionally available and so missed my window of opportunity, or maybe I need the feeling to be reciprocated for it to exist in the first place (chicken-and-egg much?). Again, I don't know, but then, I have never given the attention to (nor had the success with) love that I have given to desire. This could, I suppose, be seen as a character flaw, but a) I don't see it that way, and b) I'm wise enough to know that it's the sort of thing that can change if the right man comes along at the right time. Not that I'm holding my breath or anything.



*The full quote, translated, apparently, from the Greek is something like, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle." It is often attributed to Plato on the Internet, but my research suggests that it was probably said by Philo of Alexandria.

Pretty

A few evenings ago, I was lying in post-ejaculatory repose in OA's bed, watching him buzz about his bedroom in post-ejaculatory non-repose and explain to me about how his old friends who still live in the hood will never get out of the hood because they have only three kinds of role models -- NBA players, drug dealers, and rappers -- and these three sets of people are really all the same because each of them wants to be the other two. He explained it to me in great detail, which I can't remember at all now, and it all made sense while he was saying it: it was very like having the best seats imaginable for an August Wilson play.

The sex had been very good, too, of course, leaving me to wonder yet again whether a) the inevitable tension between two tops creates the best sex or b) I'm just besotted with his body and skills. I'm not sure it matters. It was his fantastic body that got me in trouble a minute or two later when he stood up to do something (the boy knows two speeds: full and asleep), and I said aloud how pretty he is.

In an unrelated but related matter, I recently spent about four hours proofreading EFU's thesis, and most of my criticisms had to do with word choice. Apparently, pretty is a bad one.


OA launched into a long explanation of why he hates being called pretty, and then we went through a series of other words that he doesn't like, and I think the only thing he agreed to was "handsome," though in retrospect, I didn't bother pitching either "hot" or "sexy," both of which are probably acceptable. OA wasn't angry at me: he was mostly just rolling his eyes at what he considers my rhetorical excess. I, in turn, was rolling my eyes at his horror of anything that smacks of femininity.


In fact, I hadn't heard from OA in about ten days before Monday. The last time I'd texted him, he'd said he'd be out of town for the weekend, and when I didn't hear from him the following weekend, I figured he'd lost interest when I hadn't been forthcoming with the bottoming thing. But then he texted me and asked how I was, and I replied, and he mentioned how much he'd like to get into my ass, and I said that I liked him and we had great chemistry but we could have great chemistry without ass fucking, and he said it wasn't the same thing, and I told him that the white bottoms with ample backsides who'd be thrilled to bottom for him were legion, and he told me that he liked me because I was "all man," and I thought, but didn't text, that maybe he wouldn't think that if I bottomed for him, and I asked him if he was free, and he said when, and at seven, I was pulling up to his place, and then two hours later, I was calling him pretty, and I guess I won't do that again.

I told OA that he was overly concerned with appearing non-feminine, and he said, "You're probably right," and I said, "Probably?" and he said, "Yeah, probably," and then I kissed him, and he made fun of me for liking to kiss so much, and I told him he shouldn't have such soft, fat lips if he didn't want them to be kissed, and he smiled, and I told him that he should really just understand that if I call him pretty, which I guess I won't do again anyway, it's just a compliment. When he started back in on the connotations, I told him that any word you use to describe someone carries another side: a primarily complimentary word carries a dark side; a primarily insulting word carries some positive connotations. I explained that when I said cute, I was focusing on the physical attractiveness; he told me he was focusing on the adolescent connotations. Then I told him that "adolescent" was also a mixed word: he was focusing on the immaturity side, but there was also the youthful energy side, but he, having never once in his life lacked youthful energy, couldn't quite get there.

And then he had to do laundry, so I got dressed and kissed him goodbye. I sure hope OA is a wave I can ride for a long time, but then again, when I thought he'd lost interest, I wasn't particularly upset. Too many fish in the sea, I reckon.


In point of fact, I have been having rather a good run of luck with attractive Black men lately, and while none of them has quite the combination of charm, energy, intelligence, and cis-positional tension that OA provides, they are all delicious, pretty even, and the rest of them have the virtue of being bottoms.

Ubercute, twenty-fourish Victor appears to have moved on, or perhaps I've moved on: it's not always easy to tell how things whimper out with fuckbuddies. He had encouraged me to call him to get together on a couple of occasions and then blew me off, and I decided that I preferred not to be the one doing the asking any more. I have seen him show up on more sites lately, and there are plenty of people on those sites who must be happy to pursue him and who are more available and closer for booty calls. I am often thwarted by geography, and surely the same thing will happen eventually with Zach, who eventually cannot help failing to appreciate the half-hour it takes to get to me.

For now, though, he doesn't seem to mind the drive, and when he was over last week, I took his usual moderate submission a step farther and buckled the wrist restraints onto him. I have decided to leave the wrist restraints tied to the ropes and the ropes tied to the bed posts on an indefinite basis. It's so much easier, and there are so many guys who accept them without protest. They further excited Zach, who got a little bit loud when I proceeded to put his ankles on either side of his ears and pound. Heaven.


Speaking of loud, I worried about hearing damage when I finally got a return visit from an exceptionally sexy married guy who had been with me a few months earlier. Prior to meeting me, he tended to go two years between hooking up with guys, so I reckon three months is something of a conquest. I also slid his wrists into the restraints and then proceeded to chow down on his nipples, and he began growling into my ear, and the growl grew into something of a shout, but not into a "No" so I just adjusted my position to protect my eardrum and kept chewing. He has a very interesting cock that's thick in the shaft but then much narrower at the base, so it's almost like a fruit on a tree. It's almost always fun to make guys cum when their upper bodies are restrained and they only have legs free to thrash. And it was certainly fun in this case. He had stopped growling by then, and I was kissing him when he shot. Awesome.


Speaking of awesome. In response to a craigslist ad, another drop-dead-gorgeous brick shithouse of a Black guy showed up at my door wearing a t-shirt indicating that he had once wrestled for an Ivy League college. The t-shirt turned out to be authentic, and while he said that it had happened a "long time ago," he appeared to have only improved with age. There had been some delay in communication -- I had thought that he might not be coming -- so he ended up getting to my place late. It was a Saturday night, and he slept over, but as it happened he had an engagement to play the piano for a church service the next morning, so he had to leave early, and there wasn't time for a morning fuck. Which was a shame: he had an ass that wouldn't quit, and he was a great kisser. Also moderately submissive, an educational consultant for the government, a former high school music teacher and choir director, and a really nice guy. Now there's a guy I'd date. Or I would if he weren't geographically and otherwise unavailable. He barely has time to hook up, let alone date. And to be honest, I don't know if he'd be interested if he did have time. Still, he appears interested in hooking up again, so maybe we'll do that again when our schedules align again. In 2012. Oh well.

Speaking of long intervals between drinks, Dennis emailed me in response to a similar ad. He was in Seattle, where he lives with his partner, but he had to come back to the area to attend his father's funeral and clean out his house. He'd lost my email address, but had, apparently, been watching CL, hoping for my ad to appear. He's very happy with his partner, who is a dedicated bottom, but Dennis wants to bottom occasionally (very occasionally), so he was excited about the prospect of playing with me. I was equally excited: I first played with him ten years ago, when he was in college, then I hadn't seen him for years after he moved away, and then we reconnected a few years back. He gets more and more handsome with time, and he's thirty now and has an amazing body. He had expressed some doubt about whether he'd be able to take my cock, but I knew from experience that I could open that ass. It was a very passionate session, and he, too, spent some time in the wrist restraints, though not until he'd gone down on me for an extended period, encouraging me to tell him what a good cocksucker he is.

Not everyone appreciates the restraints, and sometime last week a young (twenty-three or twenty-four, I think) guy whom I saw on one of the hook-up sites came over, and after we'd made out for a long time and I'd fucked him for a similarly long time, I decided to restrain him and get him off. He didn't resist, but I sensed there was an issue, so I asked, "Are these bothering you?" and when he replied, "Kinda," I took them off, then resumed sucking on his nipples and stroking him off until he screamed and came.


Yesterday, I had another hot dark-skinned guy in the same position, though without the restraints, since we were in his bedroom in Rehoboth, he having contacted me on Grindr (I hate that spelling). I had just installed the app, which I had not really expected to yield any results other than unproductive chatting, but this guy turned out to be all that plus a bottle of Tequila. (Speaking figuratively, of course: I am among the very few who go to Rehoboth and don't engage in any significant drinking.) He had a looooong cock, and after we'd made out extensively and I'd chewed his nipples to the point of screaming and tenderness and he'd gone down on me, I put him on his back and chewed his nipples some more while I stroked him until he screamed and screamed some more and then shot a huge load all over his stomach and my face. He was hard again half an hour later when I finally left, but almost immediately after he came, he got up to fetch a towel, and I asked him to either let me use it or find another way to get the cum off my face, so he licked it off. Then we cuddled for as long as he could stay still (not very long) and then he insisted on giving me a massage and then I told him that I really had to get on the road and then we kissed a little more and then there was the looooong cock, all erect again, but I had to leave. He wants to see me again, and I got an email inviting me back for an entire weekend. He's a composer, and he's grrrrrreat! in the sack, but, well, that's a long way to go for a romp, and: traffic. We'll see.

Boys

In the past, I have almost certainly said, probably in these very pages, that I was not especially pleased with being called "Daddy" or with calling someone else "Boy." I may have attributed this to the fact that there are two people -- who can by no stretch of the imagination be described as boys -- who have biological and emotional reasons to call me Daddy. Or perhaps I was ethically uncomfortable with the inherent inequality in a Daddy-Boy sexual dynamic.

Regardless, time changes things, and one of the few items that I've bothered to learn about myself is that it often takes relatively little time to effect relatively major behavioral changes in the sexual arena. (Unless we're talking about my bottoming, of course, because that still seems not to be happening. Fortunately, OA, who regards my ass the way I regard a plate of perfectly executed gnocchi, told me the other night that lying on my back with his cock in the upper portion of my trouser cleavage [there were no trousers present at the time, unless you count the ones on the floor, however] and moving back and forth until he cums on the small of my back is nearly as good as "the real thing." By the way, I don't want to leave the impression that I would do anything with a plate of perfectly executed gnocchi aside from eat them with great delight. I am not after some sort of [even more] twisted American Pie moment.) And if there are certain indignities associated with aging, and if said indignities are somewhat amplified in the gay community, then there are certainly compensating pleasures, and one of those pleasures is having some cute young thing call you Daddy while you're fucking him.

Another of those pleasures is being able to regard someone who would only be young enough to be your son if you were a truly prodigious heterosexual as a cute young thing. RC, for example, is about eleven months younger than me, but he likes to call me Daddy when I'm working his nipples, and I call him Boy (about which I am admittedly somewhat agnostic, but he really likes it) when I'm pushing his head down on my cock. I am not going to get into an extended commentary on aging in the gay community. It is enough to say that men who think that everything is downhill after thirty-five (or thirty, or twenty-five, or -- indeed -- eighteen) bring themselves enough misery without any piling on from me.

Anyway, on Saturday, I got an email from Pablo, with whom I'd previously hooked up in a hotel in DC when he was in the area for business last summer. Pablo (which is the name he uses in his emails, but is not his real name: he told me his real name some months ago, and I promptly forgot it, and let's just pretend I did that on purpose, ok?) is a cub probably of Irish descent from Vermont. I find him very cutep; I also find all that brownish red hair and pale skin somewhat at odds with the concept of Pablo, but what-the-hell-ever, right? After we played last summer, he emailed me several times for repeat engagements, but always at times that were inconvenient for me (mostly during the work day, sometimes even during tax season), so I'd had to pass. I was free late Saturday afternoon, however, so I told him I'd come to where he was staying. I know that he likes role play and submission, so I suggested that I be a neighbor knocking on his door to complain about his habit of walking around his back yard without any clothing. I further suggested that he answer the door without any clothing. Which he did.


I stepped inside put a finger on his sternum, backed him up against the wall and demanded to know what he thought he was doing walking around naked and don't you know there are children around here, boy? He trembled a little and apologized, and I told him that there were going to be consequences and asked him to show me to the bedroom. I followed him up the stairs, and he really does have a cute ass.

[I spent some time the other day reflecting on the abundance of cute asses in the world, or at least of the large number of cute asses that I come into visual or actual contact with. I attribute this abundance to some combination of ample nutrition and the fact that I'm able to appreciate a fairly wide range of ass types. I came to no conclusions, but it was a pleasant way to spend the first few minutes of a weekend morning, when I was nearly but not quite awake. I am aware that there may also be an abundance of ass-challenged folk, but I tend not to notice the backsides that do not attract me.]

He apologized profusely for his misbehavior, but I opined that he needed to be taught a lesson (one wonders whether it's even possible to have any sort of dom-sub roleplay that does not involve the phrase "you need to be taught a lesson, boy") and then I told him to bend over the bed, and I withdrew my belt from its loops and I began to spank him. I stopped momentarily to pass the looped belt between his legs and tug on the hard-on I knew I'd find there. Then I spanked him some more, prompting him until he was reliably saying, "Thank you, sir, may I have another?" after each thwack.

And then, as is de rigueur in these situations, I adopted a kindlier tone and asked whether he'd been walking naked in the back yard to attract my attention, but he only got about halfway through his reply because I had dropped to my knees from where I was able to spread his asscheeks wide and begin tounguing his asshole, which appeared to distract him from what he'd been saying. I stood up, turned him around, pulled him to me, kissed him hard, then threw him back onto the bed, climbed atop him and began kissing him -- less hard, more deep. And then I went for the nipples because, well, when don't I go for the nipples? I grabbed his wrists and held them over his head and went after the pits, which drove him just the right amount of nuts, and then I rolled him on top of me and squeezed hard on his rib cage while we kissed some more. He would have purred if he knew how, I'm sure.

I loosened my hold on him, and that was a clear invitation for him to go down on me. He made the requisite noises about the thickness of my cock, and I grabbed his hair and pushed him down on it.

You know, sometimes I think we don't take enough time to appreciate just how good a thing a competent blowjob is. Pablo is definitely a competent cocksucker, so I took several moments to lie back and enjoy what he was doing. I even voiced my approval, and he talked more about the thickness of my cock and how he let the delivery guy fuck him, but the delivery guy's cock wasn't nearly as big as mine, and, oh yeah, we're still doing roleplay. I had half hoped that we'd moved on to the mostly-unspeaking-intense-sexplay-where-both-our-mouths-are-busy part, but we hadn't so I said that I hadn't really noticed since when the delivery guy came to my house, he mostly just wanted to go down on me and then bend over and take it up the ass. Pablo got even more excited.

We kissed some more, and then he went down on me again while I ate his ass, and he moaned without ever ceasing the very good head, and I complimented his butt again and said that I'd known he was walking around naked for my benefit and that I was going to make it mine, and he gave me the "yes, Daddy" and the "please, Daddy," and pretty soon he was sitting down on it, slowly, asking me to be gentle, and I'm thinking, hey, man, I'm just lying here while you go at your own pace, but I made the usual noises about not wanting to hurt my boy, and, well, he's got a nice tight ass, but it's not as hard for me to get into as he thinks it is. And there's nothing at all wrong with that.

He rode me for a while, and then I put him on his back and rolled his ankles up to his ears and pounded him hard while he moaned happily. I fucked him in a couple of other positions, and then we ended up back with him on top, bouncing up and down as I thrust into him. He said he wanted me to cum, so I told him to work for it, and he squeezed his ass hard while I pulled on his nipples, and I felt the wave building, so I put his hand on his cock, and I had just started to shoot when I felt his ass clamping down hard on my rod as he began to spurt on my chest. He shouted out and then collapsed, his head between my legs, my cock still inside him. We both lay there and panted and smiled for a bit, and then he got up and grabbed a towel and cleaned me off. I got dressed, we chatted for a bit, and then I said goodbye, with a kiss and a swat at his ass.


I decided to take yesterday off, and the original plan was to do some cleaning and other stuff around the house, but I slept until 10:30, and then after folding my laundry (I had a large backup), I decided I was bored enough to play the Craigslist Tango, so I placed an ad. The best response (weekday ads always get huge response: the married guys with flexible schedules swarm out of the woodwork) came from a guy who'd replied to an earlier ad but who had an incompatible schedule, until yesterday. He was thirty and sounded eager to play, and I assumed that he was married. I gave him my number, he called, we talked for a bit, and he headed over from his office, calling once on the way when his navigation software failed him. That's about standard, I find. I was sitting on the couch, reading (Gravity's Rainbow) when he knocked on the door. As is so often the case, he was much cuter than his pictures, which raises the question why does he use those particular pictures, but mostly I'm just pleased when they show up and they're hella cute instead of just cute.

So I'm not really self-absorbed self-knowledgable enough to completely understand the dynamic here, but I was expecting maybe your standard one-star (that was fun; I'd do that again) married guy hook-up, but as soon as I pulled the guy to me to kiss him, it was clear that I was dealing with unreserved passion. And -- let me be clear -- I love unreserved passion, but you don't get it that often, and I hadn't been expecting it, so I found myself recalibrating on the fly throughout the next two hours. Because I'd also expected the standard married guy forty-five minute encounter.

Anyway, this guy was kissing me back with fervor, if not with the unrestrained crazed weasel fierceness that can be a bit much anyway, and responding with the perfect mixture of melting and increased energy when I twisted his nipples or slid my hands down the back of his pants and squeezed. Which I did several times because this guy wasn't getting any less interested in kissing. Yum. I did eventually turn him around and squeeze his ass as he walked up the stairs, where I (Yeah, I know, switch it up sometime, right? But it works so well!) tossed him onto the bed and climbed on him, kissing him for a while longer before I told him that I wanted to get him undressed. We accomplished that together. Cooperation is a good thing.

I just love smooth, slender guys (of almost any age), and if this guy was smooth in part from trimming, well, I love hairy guys just as much anyway, so where was this sentence ever headed? Anyway, in addition to smooth, he was warm, and it was a chilly day yesterday, and he felt really good in my arms as I rolled over and pulled him on top of me. I still had my pajama pants on, and he ground his crotch into mine, smiling at the feel of my very hard cock. He was very hard himself, and he had a pretty nice cock. When I put him back on his side and ran my hand down over it to his balls, I could feel that they were already pulled up tight against his body, which made me think quick married guy again, but the kissing was telling another story. He also responded vocally and positively to my tongue and lips on his nipples, but they were nipples that didn't have the look of worked nipples. It's a shame to leave a natural resource like that undeveloped, so I determined to do what I could with the limited time available to me.


At some point, though, I stopped to kiss him and he rolled back on top of me and took the opportunity to separate me from my pajama pants and then to start going down on me, and, well, I believe I have already made my position on competent blowjobs entirely clear. This was definitely more than competent, and when I made appreciative noises about his cocksucking ability, he thanked me and called me Daddy. Nice.

We went back and forth for a while between the hot kissing and the nipple play and the very good oral sex, and then I pulled his legs around and started to eat his ass while he was going down on me. Both my tongue and my fingers slid easily into it (although it was plenty tight), and I realized this guy probably had more experience than I'd given him credit for, and that's almost always a good thing. I got in deep with the tongue and then with the thumb and then with two and then with three fingers, and it all made him squirm and suck harder, and when I finally pushed his legs away and pulled him around for some more kissing, it was clear that he wanted to sit on it, so I pointed to the table holding the necessary accoutrements and told him to sit on it.

He didn't even give much of a pretense of not being able to take it. Again, he was plenty tight around my cock, but it wasn't that hard and didn't take that long for him to get me all the way inside him, and then he began rocking back and forth, and I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and moved my thumb back and forth over his frenulum, and he shook and bit his lip and then asked me to take my hand away because he really didn't want to cum that soon. It was at this point that my mixed expectation presented in their least elegant manner, and I asked him how long he had, which made him a) say he had "enough time" and b) ask me whether I needed for him to be gone. "Hell no." It was a very brief interval of inelegance, and as it was all accomplished with his cock squeezing my ass, there was no harm done.

Mike (the name he used in email; not his real name, which he did tell me, and which I actually do remember but likely won't by the time it becomes relevant again) leaned forward to kiss me while his ass continued to squeeze my cockhead, and that was hot, hot, hot, and he rode me for a while longer, but I really felt the need to pound him, so I put him on his back and shoved his knees up and entered him and grabbed onto his ankles and pushed them farther back and started to pound, pound, pound, as he began calling out "Fuck me, Daddy," and I pounded harder. Intense.

I pounded him for a while longer, until I felt like taking a break, at which point, I pulled out and lay beside him. He looked slightly confused: "Did you cum?" "Oh. No." "Are you going to cum?" "That is a very good question. I don't know. You're going to cum, though." "I got that impression." And then I kissed him some more until he said that he wanted to suck my cock again, and I laughed, and he looked puzzled again and said, "Does that mean no?" "It means you don't ever really need to ask permission to suck my cock."

So he started going down on me again, at which point it finally occurred to me that I wasn't in the middle of anything that could be described as a quickie, so I let him do that for a while, but when he said he wanted to sit on it again, I instead put him on his side and pushed one leg up since that's the best position from which to fuck while you're kissing, then I pushed back into him and leaned forward and kissed him while I was fucking him. "Oh, thank you, Daddy." Hey, I was just being a good host. Eventually I put him on his stomach and lay on him and fucked him from behind, a position I find highly conducive when I want to give a good rogering, and for a moment, he acted like it might be too much, but he was pretty quickly begging for more, which I was only too happy to give him.


When I was ready for another break (it was clear to me that as pleasant as fucking his ass was, I wasn't going to get off that way on that day), we kissed a little more, and he asked me what other things I liked. What kinks. I started to go through the list, but I only got to bondage because he said, "I like bondage," which caused me to raise an eyebrow and then reach down beside the bed where the leather wrist cuffs were still tied by rope to the corners of the bed from the relatively uninteresting young'un I'd had tied there a few days earlier.

I'm not sure what he was expecting, but once I had him restrained and had kissed him and worked his nipples briefly, I concentrated on his cock. I took the head in my mouth and ran the tip of my tongue slowly over the ridge before flicking it quickly over the frenulum, and he twisted in the restraints and told me that I was driving him crazy. "I know." Then I kissed him some more while I stroked his cock very, very slowly until he warned me to stop, at which point I got back between his legs and started to suck on his balls which nearly made him leap in the restraints before settling into a lasting writhing that got worse when I ran my tongue lightly along the intersection of his torso and thigh.

I don't know how long I had him tied up and kept him on edge, but eventually he said, "I really want to suck your cock again," so I unbuckled the wrist restraints and lay back. We'd been at it for a long while, and I'd gone soft while teasing his cockhead and making him twist in the restraints to avoid shooting, but as soon as he started back with his mouth, I was hard again, and before long, he said he needed to ride me again. Why not? He climbed back atop my cock and sat all the way down. After a bit of rocking and going up and down on it, I told him to give me his hands, and then I lowered him backwards into the X position, which seemed to be something of a revelation for him. I let him do that and groan for a bit, and then I grabbed his cock because I was really ready to see it shoot. And I really only gave it a few strokes before he was suddenly much louder and then sitting up just in time to spray healthy shots of cum all over my chest. He shook all over for a bit and then pulled off me and lay in my arms.

I wiped both of us off and offered him a shower, which he accepted. He returned and as he was getting dressed, we chatted a bit, and it turned out that the weird schedule and the wedding band indicated that he was gay and partnered not so-called straight and married. Well, that explained a whole lot. I walked him downstairs and gave him some directions and then kissed him goodbye and he left. Fifteen minutes later he called to say that he'd forgotten his computer, so I did at least get to see him a second time when he came back to pick it up. This isn't some letter to Penthouse, so we didn't fuck again when he came back: he was running late, and he'd lost valuable commuting time. I just handed him his computer and smiled at him, and he took off for Baltimore and his domestic scene. I smiled more as I showered and got dressed to pick up YFU. So, no much cleaning got done, but at least I got the laundry folded.

Zach Spends the Night

I was home feeling a bit let down last Saturday night. I'd arranged to go down to Opposites Attract place in DC, and I'd really been looking forward to it. OA is phenomenomally sexy, and I always get to his place, and we start making out, and then he sits down on the couch and starts to go down on me and then he takes me to the bedroom, and fifteen minutes later I find that four hours have passed and he's cum twice, and I'm slightly baked, and where the fuck did all that time go but I most definitely do not want those four hours back, nosiree Bob. Well, except that I wouldn't mind doing the four hours again, but you know what my mean.

Anyway, I was on my way to OA's place Saturday night, and I'd just texted him to let him know that I was running maybe ten minutes behind, when my phone chirped, and there was the dreaded text message:

TED I'm n bmore had a emergency

(sad trombone)

followed by

It will b better tommorow if u can make it or whatever day next week fits ur schedule

And, you know, I was so bummed that I didn't even notice until this very minute that he had misspelled "tomorrow." Also maybe just the tiniest bit peeved because I had only texted him because I was running late. If I hadn't, I'd have gotten down to his marginal NE DC neighborhood and found no one home.

Anyway, I didn't let myself dwell on it. I went home and read for a couple of hours and ate something that would be really bad for me if I weren't on an Atkins diet, which, come to think of it, I'm not, and then I sat down at the computer and played a tower defense game for a bit and noticed that Zach was online, so I sent him an email and soon he was on his way over. Zach is about as sexy as OA: they're both handsome, fit Black men, and if Zach doesn't have OA's incredible muscle definition, he does have a better ass. Also, it's a fuckable ass, whereas OA is always trying to convince me to let him fuck me.

[Long aside alert.] I can't decide what to do about OA. He's so hot and so intriguing and so into me that part of me thinks he might be the guy who could make me enjoy bottoming. And we really (really) don't run in the same circles, so I could maybe try bottoming with him and not let anyone else know so that the guys who are attracted to me because I won't even entertain the notion of bottoming might still want to come over and point their heels to the heavens for me. I very much want to avoid diluting my brand. On the other hand, the idea of bottoming leaves me cold. It doesn't repulse me (though, to be honest, I don't especially fancy the notion of all that extra anal hygiene, which nonetheless doesn't really repulse me either), but it doesn't excite me. And I will not be in any way pushed into it, but OA pushes in a very entertaining and non-coercive way. I reckon that if I stay on the fence about the issue (without letting OA know that I'm on the fence; with him, I maintain a demeanor of full-on hell no) for long enough, he'll get bored, and the issue will go away of its own accord. But he seems very much not bored, and since I didn't jump on Saturday as an excuse to ignore him, it's apparent that I, to, am very much not bored. Time will tell, I suppose.

Anyway, Zach is also sex on wheels, and he's versatile but only a bottom when he's with me, and he's got amazing lips and he likes to make out and, well, he likes to have done to him everything I most like to do to a guy, which is why he was soon knocking on the door and we were standing together in the living/dining room kissing ardently and then I was turning him around and pushing him up the stairs, and I know I always say that I push a guy up the stairs, but this time we only got about five steps up because when I reached to pull his jeans far enough down his ass to see some hot trouser cleavage, I just had to had to had to have it, so I stopped him and reached around and undid his belt and bent him forward and grabbed and spread his cheeks and shoved my tongue up against and then into his tight sweet hole. Dude has ass.

But he's got everything else, too, so I only did that for a couple of minutes before pushing him the rest of the way up the stairs and undressing him and tossing him on the bed and starting to kiss those soft, plump lips. Which I did for a long time because Zach normally shows up really, really late, like 2 am late, and here he was at my place around midnight and not in his usual I-really-only-have-forty-five-minutes hurry, but also because his kissing skills are as good as his equipment. I did, of course, move occasionally to the nipples, which are responsive but have obviously never gotten the attention they deserve, and also to his armpits because the truth universally acknowledged that the one place you can give almost any guy a hickey without worrying about detection is in the armpit is even more apt on a man of color.

Anyway, Zach always gets hungry for cock sooner or later, and if it was later than usual this time, he was certainly no less hungry. It was the standard sequence of events. Boy goes down on boy. Boy kisses boy. Boy chews boy's nipples. Boy goes down on boy again while boy eats boy's ass. Never gets old.

Zach's ass deserves poetry, but I won't subject you to that because I can't write decent poetry. Oh what the hell:

There once was a hot guy named Zach

Yeah, not so much. Anyway, Zach's ass is only nearly perfect because when he's going down on me, it's ever so slightly awkward for me to eat his ass at the same time, though I can certainly do it with a couple of pillows to prop my head up, and I certainly did do it for an extended period, and I certainly hope to get the chance to do it again multiple times. But I couldn't help notice [long aside alert!] that earlier in the week when Ridiculously Compatible and I were on our fifth or sixth date (let's just call them that for the moment) and I finally got him to let me eat his ass while I was going down on him, he was a perfect fit. One pillow, which I like regardless, put my head in the perfect position to eat him while he went down on me, and boy howdy was that nice. The thing is that RC still hasn't let me fuck him, and we had a little talk about that this past week, and he says that he's now comfortable enough with me that I can fuck him, or at least he thinks so, but he's worried that it's been so long and then he's worried about doing it at his place because he's afraid he'll be really loud, and he lives in a townhouse where the walls aren't as soundproof as they ought to be. And he's really a very nice and relatively interesting man with nipples that were clearly designed with my mouth in mind, but he has a sort of intermittent sex drive that's very easily dimmed when he's too tired, and OH MY GOD Y'ALL I'M DATING A WOMAN! Which is weird because he's mostly the bearish sort that would be described as masculine if you were going by his looks and mannerisms.

Anyway, I eat Zach's ass for a while longer, and he goes down on me again, and then I put him on his stomach and eat his ass from an entirely comfortable position until he begs me to fuck him, which happens at just about exactly the right time, and I hand him a condom and some lube and tell him to sit on it, and he does, and he tells me, again, how thick it is, and he's having a little trouble with it, so I put him on his side and enter him that way and then I roll him onto his stomach and pound him for a while like that, and finally I put him on his back and bend him into a pretzel so that I can rain thunder down on his prostate, and I fuck him like that until I can't take it any more and he's calling my name and telling me that he wants me to cum and I do. And how.

And I collapse on top of him to catch my breath and then pull out and kiss him and play with his nipples while he plays with himself and then I push a couple of fingers inside him and massage his prostate while he brings himself off, gasping into my mouth because we're still kissing. I let him recover for a couple of minutes and grab a towel and do some cleaning up and we canoodle for a bit and it becomes clear that he's falling asleep and not particularly interested in leaving, and, well, cool!

And then it's 7 am and I haven't gotten out of bed so there's that awkwardness of trying to kiss without zapping anybody with morning breath, which leads mostly to me sucking on his nipples and playing with his cock until he's hard and then he jerks himself off while I work his nipples a little harder, and he cums again and lies there looking fine for a bit before getting up and getting dressed because he's got to get home to the dog and I've got to get dressed and do all those things that I haven't been doing because I've been working working working all the time time time.

Opposites Attract

Ridiculously Compatible and I have been having our scheduling difficulties. Normally I'm very sympathetic about that sort of thing, but when a guy who works for the federal government tells me that he can't play because he's just too exhausted by a day of meetings when I'm working 65+ hours/week, well, I have to wonder whether that guy has the stamina it takes to be more than an occasional fuck buddy of mine. I mean, I get how annoying meetings are, but the best cure for that sort of annoyance is to take it out on a well-lubed ass. Maybe bottoms are different, but the whole too-tired-for-sex thing just completely contradicts my world view. I'm just not a too-tired-for-sex kind of guy. I'm more a dude-I-only-got-three-hours-of-sleep-last-night-so-I'm-only-up-for-forty-five-minutes-of-foreplay-and-half-an-hour-of-fucking-sorry-but-I'll-make-it-up-to-you-when-I'm-rested kind of guy.

Anyway, I'm not prepared to say "Next!" just yet because RC's a pretty cool guy when he's available and awake, and given my determination to remain single, it's just as well that a guy isn't too available, so when RC told me he wouldn't be available this past Friday night (dinner with his sponsor, sigh) I took the opportunity to see M. for a late date. M. claims that he's been after me for some time on multiple web sites, and that I had ignored him because he hadn't posted a picture. This really doesn't sound like my M.O.: I try to respond to all reasonable inquiries (i.e., all people who are attractive and/or live within fifty miles: I have given myself permission to delete without response messages from uninteresting men from different time zones), but he may have contacted me on one of those sites where I have a profile but never visit (there are so many), or maybe I just forgot. I dunno. Regardless, he contacted me on a site recently, and I replied, even though I figured it was a waste of time because his ad said he was a top. He gave me his number, and we talked on the phone a few times, and he sounded very attractive, but also very much like a top, and it occurred to me that he had looked at my pictures but perhaps not read all the particulars, especially the particular particular wherein I say that I'm a top, so naturally, I took the bull by the horns and ... texted him.


So after some preliminary exchange of data revealing that we are both, indeed, don't-even-think-about-sticking-that-in-there tops (I am not going to rehash how that makes me a less virtuous/interesting person: I'm over it) he said that he had contacted me because he found me handsome and that I must be something of a slut if I assumed that he was only interested in sex with me and I said so? and he said we should get together for a glass of wine and I said that I would be disappointed if that glass of wine didn't at least lead to some making out and he said that even if there was no making out I would surely not be disappointed and I said that he obviously didn't know how much I liked to kiss. And he laughed (via text, that is), so I suggested getting together a couple of Fridays back, and he didn't reply, and I figured he'd come to his senses. But then I got an email early last week, and when I replied, he asked when we were hanging out, and I replied Friday? and that worked for him.

Of course, I wasn't free until 10 pm, so I really, really hoped I wasn't going all the way to Northeast for a glass of wine and some conversation. And for a while I wasn't sure I was getting even that: when I went to get off 295, the exit on my instructions was closed for construction, and the next/detour exit was a ways down the road, and I really wasn't sure I'd find my way back, but at not much later than 10:15 -- having sent an illegal text message while stuck in a back-up due to entirely different construction -- I got to his place. And it's what you might call a marginal neighborhood. His street looks fine, but you have to drive through some dicey areas to get there, but on the whole it's probably not as bad as where, say, a certain well-known DC blogger lives, so I wasn't concerned.

M. let me into his place, and, well, M. M., as they say, is a puzzlement. First of all, he's gorgeous. He's about 35, Black, tall and skinny (but, as it happens, very defined: he looks like one of those posters of male muscular anatomy; his obliques are especially impressive), and he talks like he's straight from the hood, but he's obviously very intelligent, and his apartment, well, it looks like what you'd get as the winning entry if you took all of the Design Star contestants and set them loose in Ikea with a thousand dollars. It's a seriously gorgeous apartment, and, seriously, almost everything is from Ikea. Except probably the television and the corner unit from a sectional that a friend gave him. And I suppose the giant collage that he made himself out of CD art. (When he was telling me about it, I didn't hear him correctly at first, and when I asked him to repeat himself, he said, "CDs. That's how people used to get their music before there were iPods." And I was all, "Dude. I'm old enough to have had lots of vinyl.") Anyway, it was a very cool place, but obviously the place of someone I have not much in common with: In one room, there was a whole bookshelf of accessories, including perhaps thirty pairs of sunglasses and a lot of bling. In one of his closets, he had perhaps eighty pairs of neatly folded jeans. In another, he had a similar number of shirts hanging up. I stuck my hand into his shirts about eight deep and said, "I have this many shirts, and eighty percent of them are blue."


I was very much out of my element, not least because he wasn't touching me, and he seemed to be avoiding letting me touch him. I think he was making a point, but in any case, we returned to the living room, where we listened to loud music of a sort that I never listen to (I should really know who this Alicia Keys person is, though, right?) and I bummed a hit off his joint and listened to him. It was really very pleasant, and I thought to myself that this was one of those rare (for me) situations where you really have to bide your time wait for the sexual tension to build and build before you get that first kiss and whatever follows it, so I might as well relish it.

M. rolled another joint (In what appeared to be some sort of natural leaf wrapper: I should also know what that is, right? I am really very naive for my age. At least about some things.) and we passed it back and forth, and talked some more about music. He mentioned Gladys Knight, and I said that "Midnight Train to Georgia" is one of the few songs that can cure any sort of bad mood, and he dialed it up on his iPhone, and I reclined on the very roomy sectional and sang along and he laughed at me when I sighed and said, "I should have been a Pip." He got up to refill his drink (Chardonnay mixed with ruby red grapefruit juice. Dude.) and I slid over to the edge of the very room sectional, and when he came back, he sat next to me, and that was certainly one of the best first kisses ever. Great lips, great technique, total desire.


After a while I was lying back and he was lying on top of me, undressing me, and then he was pulling me into the bedroom with my jeans around my ankles and then we were naked in bed, and forty-five minutes of tussling later, he laughed and said, "Battle of the tops!" And it sort of was, but it was very friendly warfare. I'd let him take charge for a while, and then he'd let me take charge for a while. And that was a little bit hard for me to do when he decided he needed me to lie on my stomach so he could play with his ass, but I was very glad I did because after a few minutes of that, I had a number of thoughts which were mainly inchoate but which upon later reflection boiled down to a) this is fun, b) this guy may love ass even more than I do, and c) this guy may be more skilled at ass play than I am. And I really hate that (meaning c), but I also loved that.

We were at it for several hours, and I sort of lost track of the sequence events, but I think he might have come the first time before he played with my ass, and I know that when I went to play with his ass, he jumped up, and I said, "Hey, fair is fair! My turn!" And he said, "Yeah, fair is fair, but clean is clean," and he went to the bathroom and came back and was soaping his ass and bending over the bed and we were kissing and then he returned to the bathroom to rinse and dry and then he came back and let me push him down on his stomach and kiss and lick and eat his ass. Later discussion reveals that he doesn't think much of his ass because, in his words, he's a skinny black man, but really it is a very nice and very well-formed ass. There is, in fact, not one inch of that guy that is not beautiful. And I really checked.


After he came a second time, he told me that he was going to make me take the sheets home with me and wash them, and I laughed, and he went down on me, and he was really good at that too, but it was after 2am, and we were both running out of steam, so he lay next to me, turned on his side, pulled my arm over him, and we spooned for a while. And we nodded off and then it was 3am and we woke up, and we got out of bed and he handed me some mouthwash, and I gargled, and he jumped in the shower and then brushed his teeth and then started stripping the bed. He got a bed-in-a-bag from the closet, and we remade the bed together, which was kind of cool, but I was getting from his demeanor that this was, after all, just a one-off hook-up, and I did my best not to feel disappointed about that. He got a call from a friend and told her he'd call her back in a couple of minutes, and we kissed a couple of times, and he walked me to the door, and then he handed me a pillowcase stuffed with the linens we'd used, and I took them, and I figured that meant that he'd offered me a second date, and I'd accepted.


We flirted a lot via email and text message this week, and we're getting together tonight. It should be great. And tomorrow night I'm having dinner with RC, and I'm sure that'll be great, too. Maybe I'm on my way to having two guys to date. At least until RC decides that he's too tired and/or OA comes to his senses and finds a guy who's willing (or even eager: it just can't be that hard; in addition to everything else, he's hung) to take it up the ass. But it'll be fun until then.

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.