In Which Karma Is Not Quite a Bitch

So, apparently, I don't pay attention. A lot. Just over a week ago, I was at a choir rehearsal, and it was our last rehearsal before Music Sunday. The Music Sunday service is given over to the Music Director, and the choir typically sings a lot. We were doing six pieces, and I was a little bit distracted because we had just spent forty minutes working on "Soon Ah Will Be Done," which is a fantastic but very demanding piece. The notes are very easy, but there are a lot of repeats and half of it is sung at a double forte. I'm really not used to thinking of my voice as a fragile instrument, so for a good chunk of forty minutes, I was singing full out, and I was beginning to notice a problem: my voice would no longer put out full out. It was around this time that the director reminded us that there would be no rehearsal the following Thursday (which would be last night, if you're keeping track). The following Thursday was the night when I'd arranged to come early to rehearse my solo pieces for this coming Sunday. I was so agitated by the combination of not knowing when I'd get to rehearse (as it happened, we rehearsed this past Sunday, Music Sunday, after I'd been through an hour of pre-performance rehearsal plus the six pieces in the service, plus the congregational hymns, so my voice, which was not quite over Thursday's abuse, was really not at its best, but we got all the issues with the accompaniment, etc. worked out) and my suddenly vulnerable voice that it totally didn't occur to me that I was now free on Thursday night. None of which would have been a big deal except that I had already told b&c I wasn't free and because of that, he'd given away my ticket to see Tamerlano.

I may have mentioned previously that my relationship with opera is not one of unabashed adoration, so, generally speaking, missing one is not a big deal. And it wasn't a big deal this time, I guess, but it would have been cool to have gone. I have sung a lot of Handel at church,

By the way, I'm interrupting here because the mention of Handel reminds me that of all the many, many things that I sing when I'm alone in the car, one of the most common is a soprano recitative from Messiah, which includes the words:

There were shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid.

And that aria (which, if you're wondering, I transpose down by a thirteenth or so) reminds me that Eric, formerly of bestialityRus.com welikesheep.com started blogging again and did not tell me. In fact, he started blogging again on May 30, and on April 25, in an e-mail exchange where I specifically told him how much I missed baabaa.com and hoped that he would be blogging again soon, he craftily worded his reply to make me think he wasn't blogging. It was not quite an I-did-not-have-sex-with-that-woman denial, but it was very much a the-United-States-does-not-engage-in-torture denial. This sort of behavior makes him a blackguard. A highly literate blackguard, but a blackguard nonetheless. I have already expressed my displeasure to Eric, so I mention it here mostly to put you all on warning: if you stop blogging and then restart without telling me, I will hunt you down and thrash you to within an inch of your life. Or at least make snarky comments: I can be physically intimidating, but most of you could probably take me in a fight since I wouldn't know where to begin.

but I have never seen a Handel opera performed. They are infrequently staged these days. And to add insult to injury, Placido Domingo, whom I have never heard live, was in the cast. But I wasn't there, and the production's sold out. Alas.

Of course, the upside of no choir practice and no opera is a free night. I had not had much sleep earlier this week, and I thought that the best thing to do would be to go home, read the rest of Swish, play some Paper Mario, and hit the sack early, but, well, how many more opportunities to hook up will I have? What if the proverbial bus hits me tomorrow? And even if I remain untrampled and healthy, the number of remaining opportunities is perhaps in the thousands but certainly not in the tens of thousands, so why let any opportunity pass? Reader, I placed a craigslist ad. The first response came very quickly:

Hi I am a bottom boy. I live in Bethesda..and I am looking to have some fun tonight...if you are interested e-mail me back.My stats: I am 5"7' tall and weigh 145 lbs.I am 25 years old.I like to do everything you mentioned and i like older guys....especially with a nice cocklike I see you packing. in your picture.I am awaiting your reply.

I ahve pictures to send you in return.

Ok, so there were some typos and some issues with punctuation, and he's a little young for me, and a guy who's five inches and seven feet tall and weighs only 145 lbs is going to be on the skinny side, but why not ask for the pictures? I mean, I'm not hung up on what a guy looks like, generally, but why not continue the conversation? So I did, and I got back five pictures, which are now the next five pictures in this post. Upon further reflection this morning, I'm not sure these pictures are all of the same guy, so I'm not sure it was necessary to crop the first one to obscure the identity, but I did it anyway.


Anyway, the guy looked great, but he really was too young, so I thought the odds of flaking were high. On the other hand, he did send pictures, and he replied again to say he could make it to my place that evening. There were a couple of other eye-roll-inducing replies from guys in Northern Virginia (as if), and then I got a reply from a 48-year-old, married (he didn't say he was married, but I'm sure) submissive -- with no pictures -- who was here for a conference and staying in a hotel down near L'Enfant Plaza. He was not nearly so fit as the first guy, but I knew that my chances of having a really good time were better with the average-bodied married sub than with the killer-bodied twenty-something bottom. So, because it's craigslist, I kept corresponding with both of them, and after multiple responses, they both wanted to play. I knew twenty-something guy was a risk, but I wouldn't have to travel, and, well, look at him. Apparently, I'm not immune to the allure of an awesome body. And my thought process was something like, "If I say yes to the hot young guy and flake on the older guy and then the young guy flakes on me, I'll have deserved it, and I can just jerk off and play video games and finally get around to reading the rest of Swish, which life has conspired to keep me from opening for four straight nights. And if the younger guy comes through? Well, hooray. It's win-win."


So I wrote to the older guy:

Sorry, man. I hate to be a dick, but I was swapping emails with a couple of guys, and the other guy's going to travel to me, so I'm going to play with him. You sound like fun. I reckon you'll be annoyed, but if you're going to be in the area for a while or back again and you want to play, let me know.

Because, you know, if you're telling a guy no because you got a better offer, you should just own it. It's craigslist, after all.

So I drove home and showered, and there was no call from the young guy, and I thought, "Whatever," but I'd been checking my mail, and I'd opened gay.com, but without expecting anything because it was a Thursday night, and Thursdays are always dead, which is yet another good reason to go to choir practice. And a window popped up, and there was Karma, who, as usual, took ten minutes longer than necessary to get to the point, which was that he's really horny and wants me to come over. And sessions with Karma are always odd, but they're always fun, and, heck, I'd just showered and changed, so what else was there to do except get in the car and drive?


On the way over, I didn't really think too much about the upcoming session because I spent the time doing some vocal exercises (the Maryland legislature may outlaw the use of cellphones while driving, but, so far, they haven't demonstrated any inclination to ban pitch pipes) and worrying about my voice. I'm singing in a few days, and I haven't gone into all out vocal protection mode, yet, but it occurred to me that I was sounding a little conflicted, which usually means that a) I'm thirsty, and b) I'm singing in the car. So I got a soda and stopped working on "John Henry" because it's a piece that's going to sound great in the sanctuary and not so great anywhere else. And then I was pulling up to Karma's apartment building.


I'm not one for pre-grope chit chat anyway, and when a guy tells you that he's really horny, you have to assume that he wants you to get down to business, and, indeed, when I start kissing Karma, he pulls my hand right down to his shorts and tells me to squeeze his cock. Which I do, of course. And then I squeeze his ass and his nipples and his sides and his nuts (which he really loves) as I push him into the bedroom, where we're very quickly naked and going at it as much like crazed weasels as I can ever remember weaseling with anyone. He gets on his stomach and wants me to lie on him and thrust against him, then he wants me to pull hard on his nuts while I bite his nipples, and when I shove my tongue as hard into his ear as I possibly can, he whimpers desperately and wants me to stroke his cock hard. With anyone else, I'd be afraid of a premature cumshot, but that is really not an issue with Karma. Everything kind of blends in together, but there are certain recurring themes. Again, he wants everything harder. At some point, he's on his stomach and I'm lying on him, and he wants me to hold him harder, and I remember the extremely firm massage I gave him last time and how it left my thumbs sore for a week, so I take my chin and drive it down around and between his shoulder blades, and he's just in heaven.

And again, I think maybe he's on the verge of bottoming, but he really just wants to feel the cock up against his taint and freaks out if it starts to act like it might actually work its way inside.

And everything is more intense than it had been the last time, the sole exception being that this time I don't shove my tongue up his totally rimmable ass, but, really, that's mostly because it had occurred to me on the way over that two days before I have to do solos would be the worst possible time to acquire an intestinal parasite, and while I've been lucky so far, well, after Sunday, I'll likely have eight months during which I can eat ass without that particular worry, so why risk it now?


Things mellow out as an hour passes, but when Karma gets less worked up he becomes more inwardly focused and less interactive, so what started out as two people working as one thrashing body becomes me jerking both of us off because he wants me to cum first so I can focus on him (he doesn't say that's why, but, come on). So he's on his hands and knees beside the foam (at least this time, he has a thin foam mattress between the sleeping bag and carpet, so I'm not sore the next day from rolling around on the floor) mattress, and my left hand is working his uncut cock as if it were a cow's teat (which, forsooth, it resembles quite a bit), while I'm stroking myself (and feeling very thick by comparison) with my right hand. And I can't help thinking that when he was kneeling over me with his cock in my mouth and wanting me to suck him harder and not even minding how much that made my teeth get involved, and he was jerking me off very skillfully, if not to completion, then I felt a lot more connected. There was an earlier abandonment of self that was spiritually satisfying, and now, well, now I have time to think, but my cock is really, really hard, and it occurs to me that connectedness is a wonderful thing, but simple carnal pleasure is also not so bad.

And this, naturally, reminds of a Shaker song that I used to sing.

I have a soul to be saved or lost
And if I would ever save it
I must be faithful to bear my cross
And be true unto God who gave it

For if my holy birthright I should sell
To feed on carnal pleasure
My soul would surely sink in hell
And in torment without measure

And I don't believe that, at all, but I'm reminded that it's a really slow, deep song, and that at some future point, if I were to sing it while sucking some guy's small, uncut cock, he would probably cum faster, and that would be a good thing.

Karma's not going to cum faster, though, and he really wants me to shoot first, so I stroke my unconnected but very excited cock with redoubled diligence, and it takes quite a lot of work for me to get close, which means I'm going to have an intense orgasm even though I have to take time to roll my eyes and adjust my cock downwards when Karma reminds me not to cum on the bed. So my hard-breathing, more-than-ample load is spilled on my stomach, and Karma goes to fetch paper towels before getting back into his all-fours position. I jerk him for a while longer, but we both know he's going to have to finish himself, and he does that, and he, also, cums very intensely, and I note that when he's not trying to restrain himself, his cum goes about as far as mine does when I'm trying very hard not to cum on the bed. Also, my volume is three or four times his, but whatever, right? We are all different, but we are all god's creatures. Then he gets up and disappears into the bathroom long enough for me to get dressed and is very silent afterwards. I, on the other hand, am entirely calm and relaxed and not even worried about my voice, and I take all this as yet another indication that I am less subject than almost anyone to post-coital depression.

But as I'm leaving, he says that he'll see me again, and I reckon that he's right. Karma is strange, but inevitable.


By the way, after I got home, I checked my e-mail, and the young guy had written me to say that he was sorry but that the original pictures had been not his but a friend of his and that he'd sent them because he wanted to make sure that I liked black guys and that his friend (fictional, I'm guessing) had originally been intrigued but now no longer liked me. He, however, still liked me and would send me some pictures of himself if I wanted. I was like six minutes away from Step It Up and Dance, so nothing else was going to happen that night, but I asked for the pictures. Not surprisingly, he was not nearly as hot as his so-called friend, but he was still totally doable. He says he wants to play, so I may do him the next time an opportunity arises. It would be a great ass to break the fast on.

Eclectic, Animated

Currently at number four on my list of gripes with the English language is the shortage of synonyms for "miscellany." I'm not greedy: I only want fifty or so. I note that a lot of bloggers put their catch-all posts on a particular day of the week and use the same (often, but by no means always, alliterative) title. This is yet another of the many standard blogging conventions that I have resisted even though I don't have any problem with it. It's partly, I suppose, that I never know when the miscellany will strike, but it's mostly a simple lack of organizational skills.


EFU is home from college for the summer. The first time I saw her was when I picked her up from work Monday night. She'll be spending the fall semester in Guadalajara to develop fluency in Spanish, and on the drive home Monday, I asked her whether she'd be rooming with her current roommate again when she went back to Marlboro in the winter. (She gets along extremely well with her current roommate, who is coming down for a visit in a couple of weeks.) EFU told me that she'd decided to save money that semester by being homeless. She'll sleep in the library, shower in the gym, store clothes and some possessions in a friend's (or some friends') room (or rooms), and get her food from town.


As you might imagine, I was not tremendously impressed with this plan, but she had answers for all my objections. She'll still have a mailbox there, and if she doesn't, I can send things to her current roommate. She still has to pay for the campus healthcare plan, so if she gets sick, she can still get treatment. It helps that the campus is small and insular. Her friends will be mostly a short walk away, and she doesn't have to worry a lot about security or an inhospitable administration. It's the sort of plan that wouldn't work at, say, Columbia (But who knows: it was rumored that some of the people in the Student Center Library at MIT were in effect living there back when I attended. Of course, those people didn't seem to worry too much about finding a place to shower.), but I suppose that at Marlboro, she's as safe from passing bears or moose in the library as she would be in the dorm. Anyway, she says it'll be an exercise in minimalism. She also says that when I drive her to or from school, packing will be a lot easier. I remain skeptical, but EFU is the sort of person who comes up with a plan and then sticks to it and makes it work.


I am getting closer and closer to my goal of making sex and ejaculation independent activities. These days, my definition of sex includes that it's something I do with another person. But I sometimes think of ejaculation as the ultimate act of self-absorption. Everything leading up to the cum shot is (or should be) something that expands your connection with the universe as well as with that dude you're plowing. But the cumshot, even if it's triggered by the contractions in the ass of that dude you're plowing as he loses his own load, is something that necessarily focuses attention inwards. (Maybe I'm wrong about that: maybe other guys feel the connection most right as they cum, but I don't think so. If that were the case, post-coital depression wouldn't be such a common phenomenon.)

I doubt I'll ever reach my ideal. Too many of the guys I play with don't feel like the act is complete if I don't shoot. That's because they see sex not as a collection of delicious sensations so much as a narrative with a predetermined dénouement. The narrative impulse is likely fundamental to humanness: it's why we take a bunch of scattered neuronic impulses and turn it into a dream with a story line. But I believe the tyranny of the narrative ultimately reduces our sexual pleasure.


I will sometimes fake an orgasm, which I've found to be a lot easier than I ever expected it could be. A guy who's all worked up and perhaps about to unload himself (and I freely admit some hypocrisy here because I'm very gratified when I make another guy cum) has typically suspended much of his critical thinking, so it's harder for him to detect that I haven't really cum. More to the point, no one expects a guy to fake ejaculation, so no one's looking for it. Besides, a lot of guys have very miserly semen production when they do cum, so unless I'm playing with someone who knows me pretty well, he'll just assume that's why. It's tougher with guys who've played with me before and have seen my typical volume and distance, but with those guys.

And, let's face it, the volume and distance are increased by the excitement of sex. So maybe a decent compromise is to have a lengthy session until the other guy cums and then let him watch me finish myself off. That does seem to happen a lot.


Recently, I have begun, tentatively, to embrace some aspects of sexual expression that I had avoided for a while, and I think I'm doing that because of my desire to separate sex and ejaculation. Back when I was still married, but had finally figured out/admitted to myself that I'm gay, my first sex was cybersex and then phonesex. After I got into real, in-person man-to-man play, though, I thought of these as poor substitutes. And that's certainly true in some ways. The sensation of cybersex is never going to compare with a skilled cocksucker on his knees devouring your penis. And phone sex can be tedious, in part because a lot of the guys who want to do it will cum in forty-five seconds and then hang up. Or they'll want to be at it for twenty minutes and you'll have cum ten minutes earlier and have to struggle to maintain wakefulness (maintaining interest being a clear impossibility).

If you're not looking to shoot, though, you can sit at the keyboard and type with both hands and get sort of moderately worked up. A lengthy session of low-level arousal is a very fun thing, and if, say, your partner is home, it's very practical because a) you can't easily have in-person relations with another guy, and b) when you're done playing around on the computer, you can take your workedupedness upstairs to your partner. Or home to your partner. I'll have to admit here that during very slow periods, I may have done some cyber for a while. I have my own office, so it's not a big deal, though when I've de-wooded and then gone to the men's room, I'll often find some precum in my briefs. I suppose if you're a heavy leaker, you'd need some additional protection.


Anyway, here's a transcript from a recent session. It's not especially erotic (the real problem with cyber is that it's not easy to find people who are good at it, but if you find someone who's willing to give the occasional comment but otherwise stroke himself off while you talk dirty to him, it's a fund creative endeavor), but it was amusing for a while.

sven01: hi
sven01: how are you
TED: Hello. I'm good. You?
sven01: ok
sven01: off today
sven01: so bored at home
TED: Maybe you should teach yourself to juggle.
sven01: HAHAHAH
sven01: juggle what? ;)
TED: Anything you can find.
sven01: haha
sven01: what are you up to
TED: Maybe when you drop one of the balls and bend over to pick it up, I'll say hello.
sven01: hahaha
sven01: or maybe i could juggle some other balls ;)
TED: I'm sure you're very talented.
sven01: hahaha
sven01: yeah, i think i am in that field
TED: The talented-when-bent-over field?
sven01: hahaha
sven01: that too
TED: That's a good skill to have.
sven01: yeah?
sven01: why so?
TED: It makes it so much better when I slide my cock up your ass.


sven01: hah good
TED: Unless you don't like cock.
sven01: let me think about it...
sven01: i'm pretty sure i do, actually :)
TED: I like ass. A lot.
sven01: oh yeah?
TED: Yes. I would eat ass all day, but there are so many other parts to play with.
sven01: what else do you like?
TED: I like making out.
TED: I like playing with a guy's nips as intensely as he can stand.
TED: I like a guy who'll go down on me while I shove my tongue up his ass.
TED: I like the wilder side.
sven01: omg i like getting my ass eatedn more than ANYTHING else
TED: Guys always say that, and then I'm eating their ass for only like 45 minutes, and they're begging me to fuck them. No patience at all.
sven01: more than anything
sven01: oh i have patience!
sven01: i had a guy who would eat me for over an hour and a half
TED: Nice.
sven01: and i'd go down on you! you're hot
sven01: but you know that
TED: Thanks.
TED: Can you manage to keep sucking with my tongue working your ass?
sven01: there'd be a lot of moaning
TED: I appreciate noise.
sven01: i only don't like a finger up my ass
sven01: tongue... cock... no problem
TED: Interesting. Perhaps your playmates hadn't cut their fingernails
appropriately.
sven01: yeah
sven01: omg... i wanna get my ass eaten so badly


TED: I find that with nails cut off and very smooth, putting two fingers up a guy's ass allows me to work both sides of his prostate at the same time. But I always eat first.
sven01: yeah you see... but not many guys know that
sven01: or know how to do that
sven01: or find a prostate
TED: I am well versed in the ways of the ass.
sven01: but seems like you're a pro!
TED: The prostate is really not that hard to find.
sven01: i know!!
sven01: especially when horny
TED: Indeed.
TED: Do you precum much?
sven01: depends how horny i am
TED: How horny are you?
sven01: hahaha now after this talk, pretty
horny!
sven01: what's your email?
TED: tnwhear@gmail.com
sven01: sent you something
TED: Flowers? Chocolate?
sven01: check it out
sven01: let me know what you would do with it
TED: Oh, nice ass.
sven01: thanks
TED: That could be lunch and dinner.
sven01: hehehe
sven01: and desert

Of course, there's no future with a guy who doesn't know the difference between "desert" and "dessert," so I had to bring that conversation to an abrupt close, but those are the breaks.

More Tales of the Phone Stalker

I doubt that even my most dedicated readers will remember my phone stalker. I mentioned him a couple of times, a year or more ago. The short version: I did some phone sex with a guy off gay.com, and then he started calling me all the time, even though he was in Texas and (I figured) married. He was never scary, but for a while he was annoying.


At some point, though, I figured WTF and started answering some of his calls. He usually called when he was driving home, and that often coincided with either the end of my work day or my evening commute. I mostly let the phone ring when it said "Private number," but sometimes I'd answer, talk to him for a few minutes, get him all worked up by telling him how I was going to spank/abuse/fuck him, and then hang up without notice and not pick up when he called back thirty seconds later. Playing games with him only made him more into me, of course, and I liked hearing his Texas twang, so I never told him he couldn't call me again. I did tell him once that he needed to get off the phone, call me back, and leave his number on my voicemail. I figured he wouldn't, but he did, so I called him back and got him really worked up and then hung up on him.


I don't hear from this guy all the time any more. He'll go a few weeks without calling me and then he'll call me five or six times over three days.

Anyway, the other day I was on gay.com, and I was chatting with this very cute young Asian man, Mitchell, with whom I used to have occasional (and fun) phone sex. He was saying that he missed talking with me, so I asked for his number (it had been maybe six months since we'd spoken) and told him I'd try to call him on my way home. I wrote the number down, but I didn't put it in my cell phone, and then I left the number on my desk when I left Friday afternoon. It was unfortunate but not a big deal. Then on Friday evening, I started getting text messages telling me how horny the sender was and how much he missed hearing my voice. I figured the messages were from Mitchell, so I sent him one back saying how that he was a slut and that I missed hearing him cum on the phone. There were a few more messages, but YFU was still awake, so I couldn't call.


When I finally did call, I got an anonymous voicemail recording, so I left a message and I sent another text. I got a text back saying that he wanted to call me so that I could talk to him. He couldn't talk, he said, but he'd be on his cam. I couldn't imagine why Mitchell would need to be silent, but it seemed odd that I'd start getting text messages from someone else (other than Kip, who still texts me regularly to ask if I'm horny; I've given up responding to those) on the same day Mitchell had given me his number. Anyway, I texted back asking who the guy was, and he replied that it was my Texas bf. So I replied, "You can't talk because your wife is there, right?"


Tex had never admitted that he was married, but he did then and asked whether I had a problem with that. And I didn't have a problem with it. At least not until he started texting me asking me if I was also "into pussy." Eww. Anyway, he asked to be on my messenger program at a certain time and said he'd have the webcam on. So I did and he did. Typically, he was only showing from the chest down, but he does have a very nice body. He's smooth and slender. He was stroking his cock, and it seemed to be hard. It was very average, or so I thought until I started talking at which point it turned into serious meat. I don't really care about serious meat, but it was cool to see the effect on him when I told him that I was going to eat and fuck his ass.


Tex is fun on the phone, but he talks too much and asks dumb questions just to hear me refuse to answer him. It was kind of cool that he couldn't talk and had to just listen to me get excited, (pretend to) cum, and tell him what I'd like to do to him. Of course, he couldn't keep himself from typing question after question. I told him he should stroke instead of typing, and he told me that I had him really worked up and that he liked edging or he'd have cum fifteen minutes earlier. I finally told him to shut up and show me the jizz, whereupon he slipped on what he called a leather jockstrap (I think it was really a leather thong, but whatever, right?) with half his erection sticking out the top and promised to shoot on it. He looked pretty hot in it as he finally stroked out his load.

Naturally, a few seconds later, he was back peppering me with questions about how many times I'd cum. I refused to answer him a couple of times, and then I closed the messenger window. I got a text message thanking me a couple minutes later. And then the next day, I got multiple calls. I answered one of them and let him guess for five minutes how many times I'd cum (he never considered that the answer might be none; he thought four was the most likely; I am not one to destroy other people's delusions), then I talked dirty to him and when he started going into his spiel about how he wants me to fuck my own leather jacket, I got bored and hung up. He wants to do the whole thing again, of course. ASAP.

A Post for Jason

N.B. This post does not relate something that happened to me: it is porn. Jason, one of my most dedicated and sexiest readers, commented on a recent post, asking for a fictional "vignette." This is not a vignette: it's just porn, and it's not even very good porn. Fortunately, what it lacks in quality, it makes up in length. I apologize in advance for the porn cliches, but they are endemic to the genre. Besides, you should really blame Jason. I am just fulfilling a request because I would do (almost) anything for my readers, especially the dedicated and sexy ones. To reiterate: where I do not state otherwise (i.e., in all my other posts), I am relating my actual experiences. I have no intention of becoming The Great Cock Hunt, and this post is an isolated instance.

[Normally, there would be a title here, but I can't be bothered. Feel free to make suggestions.]

I'm sitting in the back of my pick-up truck, watching the trailing edge of the sunset. I refill Curt's cup and pass it to him. "Here's to ex-wives," I say, and he laughs. He's a little bit drunk, staring at the sunset. My hand's brushing his thigh, and either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care.

A couple of hours earlier, I'd dropped my kid off at school. It's her sophomore year at Middleofnowhere college in Middleofnowhere, Vermont. I found Curt in the parking lot, where he was trying, without much success, not to crumble in the face of the twin insults of dropping his kid off at college for the first time and a dead battery. I'd offered him a jump. We'd gotten to talking. It turned out we had a lot in common, so I'd invited him to see the best sight around. After he'd recharged his engine, and I showered and cleaned up, he stopped by my hotel room just after I'd laced my boots. I was still shirtless, and he was looking at me the way a man in the desert looks at a cold beer. I'd put my shirt on, and we'd driven up the mountain to watch the sunset.


Curt's a a bit of a string bean. Thin, bookish, with long legs: a runner. But the jeans he'd changed into also showed such a nice ass that they almost made up for his ridiculous flannel shirt, which nonetheless managed to show off a strong and defined set of pecs. Now, in the back of my truck, he's telling me about his kid and about how much he's going to miss him when he goes back to his empty row house in the city. I tell him that it gets better. He tells me that it's chilly, and I pull the other sleeping bag over us. He leans against me. I'm guessing that he hasn't had a lot of physical contact recently and that the liquor and the loneliness are good enough excuses for him to be shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh in the back of the pickup of some guy he's never met. I can't help rolling my eyes, though, when he starts to talk about his ex-wife. It's a damned good thing that I find cute clueless closet cases damned near irresistible.

"She said I didn't give her what she needed. Remote, she said. I didn't communicate enough. I wasn't interested enough in her life."

"You didn't have enough sex." He looks at me. "Just a hunch. It all sounds familiar."

"Well, yeah. But that's normal, right? We'd been married a long time, and I'd just sort of lost interest."


He gets quiet and takes another sip of his drink. I've done this dance before. It's predictable, but it's never dull. "You all right, Curt?"

"It's just hard," he says quietly. Some part of his brain knows that something is up, but he doesn't have the experience or the context to put a name to it.

"Yeah. Hard is a good word for it. Here." I push him forward a little bit and sit behind him, grabbing his shoulders and beginning to massage immediately so that there's a plausible non-sexual reason for what I'm doing. You don't want to spring the trap too soon. I apply firm pressure to tight shoulders. "Relax."

It takes a minute, but his shoulders begin to relax, and the rest of his body follows and he's leaning back against me. He smells of naivete and bar soap. "Oh, that's good, Ted. I guess I was really tense."

I move down the shoulder blades, pressing in. "Sometimes, the most therapeutic thing in the world is human touch." He murmurs, but he's not listening to what I say. As I press harder still on his shoulders, I wrap my legs around him so that they're resting on top of his legs. I can sense the tension growing in his lower body even as his upper back continues to melt. A moment later, he begins to shake and then cry. This is not unexpected. I wrap my arms around him tightly, like I'm swaddling a baby, and whisper in his ear, "Release is good. It'll be okay." He continues to shake, and I hold him for a long time until there's no trace left of the sun. His breathing slows and he becomes calmer, and I tell him that a lot of guys have been in the exact same position.

"Really? And did they all get a great massage and a spectacular view of the Pleiades?" I laugh, and begin rubbing the fronts of his shoulders. I pull the sleeping bag tighter around us, and while my left hand is rendering him speechless by kneading the back of his neck, my right hand is unbuttoning his top three buttons. Then I slide it inside his shirt, across his body and work the little dimple under the front of his shoulder.


"Can I ask you something, Curt?" He kind of nods, replying more to the tone of my voice than the actual words. "Did you ever cheat on your wife?"

"Never." He's still relaxed.

"Never even wanted to?"

"Never even wanted to. Why?"

I don't answer. My hands have moved down to his pecs, and I'm rubbing them in such a way that the tips of my fingers are grazing his nipples in a way that could be unintentional but obviously isn't. They're nice nipples, and they're suddenly perky. I can tell that there's some part of him that's uncomfortable, but the new and unexpected pleasure is drowning out his reservations. He reaches for his drink and drains it. He drops the cup. My chin is lightly on the back of his shoulder, my lips right next to his ear. Then my thumbs and forefingers come together to give his nipples a gentle but unmistakable squeeze.

"Ted?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm squeezing your nipples."

"But, um."

"Listen, Curt," my low voice says quietly and clearly in his ear, "either we can do this the easy way, or you can do this the hard way." He's about to protest, but I continue, "The hard way involves me apologizing and driving you back to the motel where you tell yourself that you were drunk and I was drunk AND presumptuous. Then you go back to Indiana and start to look at gay porn on the Internet. Eventually, you end up on your knees in a rest area, and maybe you get arrested or maybe you end up with crabs or maybe something worse and then after some anti-depressants and a lot of therapy, you accept that you're gay and regret the months or years that you could have spent having really great sex instead of wallowing in the Slough of Denial."


"I'm not gay, Ted." I don't respond, and he continues, "I'm not. Don't get the wrong idea: I'm not a homophobe. I have nothing against the gays. I love Ellen! But I'm straight."

"So if I were to reach down another eighteen inches or so, I wouldn't find an erection?" Even though it's dark out and I can barely see him, I can feel him blush all the way to the tips of his toes. I twist his nipples just a little bit more firmly "Of course, there is the easy way."

He's breathing faster, his chest rising and falling. I feel the fight inside him: his mind wants to hold on to what he's always known, but his body wants to surrender. "Well, just for the sake of argument," he pants, "what exactly is the easy way?"

I lick his neck and his whole body quivers. "You ask me to kiss you, and I take you on the guided tour."

I run the tip of my tongue along his jawline, his eyes open, and his head rolls back. "Oh," he gasps, "look at all the," my tongue touches his ear, "stars!"

He can feel my mouth pull into a smile with my teeth lightly touching his ear lobe. I hold him a little bit closer, and another thirty seconds go by. "I think," he finally sighs, "that I'm already hard enough. So can we try the easy way?" My smile widens, which causes me to bite down on his earlobe a bit harder than I'd intended, but he doesn't seem to mind, even though I simultaneously pull on his nipples. I slide out from under him holding his head as he reclines. When he's lying flat, I lower myself slowly onto him. He takes a sharp breath when my hard cock touches him through two layers of denim and (I'm pretty sure) one of underwear. I take his head in my hands and when our chests connect, I rub the side of my face against his, my lips brushing against his ear. His arms close around my back as if he's embracing Home. "Please," he suspires, "please. Please kiss me."

It's a clear but moonless night, and we're buried between two sleeping bags, so I can't possibly see a thing, but I can feel it all with perfect vision. I take the sides of his face in my hands and hold my lips an inch from his so that he can feel my breath warm. His lips part and pucker slightly, and I give him the softest kiss imaginable. Right now it's like our tongues don't even exist, but I can feel him take my breath to his core and then I feel the kiss rolling all the way up his body, and I can't help smiling as I prepare for the surge.

It breaks, and, whoa, there's the tongue. He's trying to shove it down my throat, and his whole body is writhing and his hands are all over my back, and if I didn't have my shirt on, I'd probably get clawed. I let him work out some of the nervous energy, but only for a few seconds, and then I let my body go slack on his. He's surprised, and when his hands come down, I grab his wrists very quickly and pin them firmly over his head. I take my mouth from his, and for just an instant he's like a lion who's had his hyena snatched away.


"Easy. Easy, Curt." He stops struggling. "I know you're excited, and, believe me, I like that, but you don't want to fight the tour guide. Now, relax." I start to kiss him again, and it's great. His tongue is soft now. Tentative. When I push a little more firmly with my own, he responds, but then I back off and take his lower lip between my lips and pull very gently, and a low groan stirs from his chest. We continue to kiss and kiss, but the rest of our bodies are engaged, too: I've stopped holding his wrists down, and now his fingers are intertwined with mine; the ebb and flow of our breath is coordinated so that our chests regularly swell against each other; the bottoms of my boots caress the tops of his running shoes; and, of course, our cocks are both straining against our jeans. While I'm still kissing him, in fact, I start to feel some dampness seeping through my jeans from his: he's definitely a heavy leaker, and that's yet another thing to make me smile.

When I roll off him, on my side next to him, our lips come apart, and he involuntarily rolls on his side as his mouth pursues my own. As much as I appreciate a single-minded set of lips, there's a lot more of him that I want to explore, so I dive for his neck and begin sucking it lightly as I unbutton the rest of his shirt. He's moaning more loudly as my hand pushes his shirt aside and begins to twist his nipple. I'm doing a bit of recon, seeing what his baseline nipple tolerance is, and I'm pleased to find that it's pretty high. I flick the tip of my tongue rapidly back and forth against the side of his neck while I twist the nipple just hard enough to be one toe over the line. He starts to starts to murmur, "Oh fuck, that's good," but when I push the other half of his shirt away and bite down -- lightly -- on his other nipple, his back arches, and his body shakes. I start to laugh, and he tenses and says, "I'm sorry, Ted. Am I that bad?"

"No, baby. You're that good. Sometimes, I just laugh because I'm having such a damned fine time. Then I reach for his belt. "Wow. You really are wet."

"I'm just so fucking worked up. When you were on top of me, kissing me, and our cocks were rubbing, I was sure I was going to cum."


"Really? Oh, that's hot, Curt. Take off your shirt." I undo his belt, the button of his jeans, and his fly very quickly as I lick my way up his body. His boxers -- which, given the flannel shirt, I'm glad I can't see -- are soaked. I reach in and pull his hard, wet cock out through the fly. I squeeze it lightly and run my hand along its length, and I like what I feel: long, slender, and uncut. It's hard to tell about his nuts because they're pulled up so tight to his body. I leave my thumb and forefinger circled around the base of his cock with my other fingers cradling his tight sack, and I start to flick my tongue very quickly across his nipple.

He's struggling out of his shirt, his hands reaching back to try to pull the back of it forward and then off him. "Damn, Ted, that's intense," he says between gasps, "um, if you don't slow down, I'm afraid I'm going to shoot. Ease up, ok?"

"Ok," I murmur around his nipple. I pull off slightly and lick up along the side of his pec. His arms are over his head, trapped by the shirt he's trying to take off, and I use the opportunity to slide my tongue into his armpit and tickle it slightly. When he tenses, I ease off, and when he relaxes enough to keep working on his shirt, I ram my tongue full into the pit and lick. A squeal escapes his gritted teeth, and my tongue heads back down his chest. I squeeze the base of his cock and his nuts much tighter, and I bite down firmly on his nipple. He trembles, then tenses, then thrashes, and I can feel his nuts churning. I push his cock against his stomach and push my tongue against the nip my teeth are holding just as I feel the first jet of cum fly out of his cock. Even though I'd pushed his cock flat, the shot hits my jaw, and I laugh as it's followed by many more, Curt's body jolting with each one. I slide my hand up along his rod to squeeze the very sensitive head, and he convulses. "S-s-stop. T-t-too much!" I laugh and let go of his cock. I let his nipple out of my teeth, too, but I keep kissing it, gently. He finally gets his shirt off and his arms free.

I roll onto my side, next to him, and I slide an arm under his neck and around his shoulder so that we're both on our backs with only our heads outside of the sleeping bags. Curt's chest is still heaving a little, and I figure I'll wait for him to speak first. I could lie here forever: the night sky is everything you could want.


"I'm kind of a mess," he says, finally. The sleeping bag would take care of it -- it's machine washable, and it's seen much worse -- but I figure I might as well kill two birds with one stone, so I grab his shirt and wipe slowly from his chest down to his cock, which is still mostly firm. I wrap the shirt around my fist and give his cock a few full strokes. "There. Better?"

"I think you ruined my shirt."

"Some day you'll thank me." I lie back again. "God," I sigh.

"What?"

"All those stars."

"Ted?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it okay that I came so soon?"

"If it hadn't been okay, I wouldn't have pulled the trigger."

"Oh. Yeah. But, what about you? You didn't cum."

I tug on his shoulder so he turns sideways. I turn to face him, I grab his hand, and I put it on my still very hard cock. "I hope you're not laboring under the misconception that we're finished here." I kiss him, lightly at first, but he puts his arms around my shoulders, and we get lost in it for a few minutes. It's deep, but it's soft. "God," he sighs, when we finally pull apart, "I feel like I could do that forever."

"Do you? I don't reckon I'd stop you."

His hand is still on my cock, which is still very hard, though. "But I think," he murmurs, "that there's more of you I'd like to explore."

Yet again, he's making me smile. I pull off my shirt. "Go for it," I tell him.


He kisses me again, as he unbuttons my jeans. "Oh, nice," he whispers, when he sees that I'm commando. I push my back up a little to help him pull my jeans down until they're around my thighs. He takes my cock in his hand. "It's so thick. And your balls are so big. He caresses them and then runs his hand along the length of my cock until he reaches the top, where he rubs his thumb and forefinger together in my precum. I tell him to taste it, and he does, smiling again. He begins stroking me slowly, stopping frequently to squeeze my rod, as if to make sure that it's real. He's nuzzling my neck, and when he pushes his tongue in my ear, it's my turn to quiver. He redoubles his efforts, thrusting his tongue into my ear over and over while he increases the speed and intensity of his stroking. There are low, short laughs coming from deep in my body as I shake all over. I'm overwhelmed by the situation, and I'm a bit nonplussed that he's managed to so quickly find the one thing that steals my ability to control my own orgasm.

Luckily, he stops just before I go too far, and I grab his head and hold it tightly against my chest. When I relax, he starts to kiss very slowly down the middle of my chest. "I love your body," he tells me. "It's so strong." I stroke his hair, half playfully, half sensually, and he continues to work his way down, until the side of his face is against my cock. He kisses through my pubes and then my nuts. His tongue is tentative at first as he licks my balls and the base of my dick. He slowly traces the tip of his tongue all the way up towards the cockhead. "I've never done this before," he tells me, "so let me know if I'm doing something wrong."

"So far," I reply, "you've shown excellent natural ability. And, really, cocksucking is not rocket science. There are just two things you have to remember. The first thing is to relax."

"I'll do my best," he smiles. "What's the second thing."

"You have to love the cock. You think you can manage that?"

"Oh, fuck yes," he says just as he runs his tongue around my cockhead. He closes his lips around my cockhead and continues snaking his tongue all over it, and it's feeling great. It makes me want to just lie back, look at the stars, and be transported, but I remember to tell him what a good job he's doing.

He takes his time, and that suits me very well. Maybe fifteen minutes later, he's got half of my cock in his mouth, and I'm about done with contemplating Orion and thinking of nice things to say, so I pull his body around, work his shoes, socks, and jeans off, and dive between his legs. He hasn't stopped sucking, and he gets another half-inch or so of me inside his mouth as I run my hands along his inner thighs and spread his ass wide with my palms. I don't want to get bitten, so I wait until he stops to take a breath before I run my tongue along his asshole. His head shoots up. "Oh. Oh god." My tongue becomes a little more insistent, running around his hole and then pushing against it. His neck swings from side to side a few times, but then he regroups and takes my cock deeper than he has yet.


I take a moment to appreciate what a fine ass he has. Smooth, firm, and muscular. It's the kind of ass that you want to sink your teeth into, so I do, but not very hard. His head shakes a little on my cock, but then he goes back to sucking up and down. He has nearly all of my meat in his mouth and throat at the bottom of his stroke now. He's managed to relax, and the guy obviously loves the cock. I figure we'll find out how much pretty soon. I wrap my legs gently around his head, so when I bite down on his asscheek a little harder, my legs are there to keep his head from flying off my cock when he gasps. He makes a hungry noise and takes me all the way in, and I spread his cheeks wider and push my tongue harder still against his hole. It opens for me, and I push in.

A few minutes later, I've unfolded my legs, and his head is on its side, right next to my cock, which he's slowly licking. He tells me that he's never felt anything like this. I assume that "like this" means my tongue in his ass, but it's not entirely clear, given his level of experience. I tell him that I want to fuck him, and he's scared but excited. I tell him that I'll take care of him, and he says that he trusts me. I reach for the toolbox and grab the tube of lube, squeezing a dollop of it onto my middle finger and then using my thumb to warm it and spread it onto my forefinger, as well. I push my slick middle digit up against his wet hole, and I push in. There's not much resistance, but there is a lot of moaning. I slide in slowly, working my way in until I feel the outline of his prostate, which I touch very gingerly. His lower body contracts with the feeling of invasion and hitherto unknown pleasure. I slowly, lightly work the tip of my finger around his prostate until he decides that he really does like it. That doesn't take too long.

I follow with a second, third, and fourth finger, and each time he moans more deeply. By the time I've got the fourth finger in, I'm pressing pretty hard on his prostate, and his cock's rock hard and leaking pre all over my chest. I twist my hand so that the fingers go sideways, and his whole body twists. I ask him whether he wants more. I ask him whether he's ready for the cock.

"Yes. Please," he replies. I grab a condom with my free hand and toss it to him. He fumbles with the packet some, maybe because I've got four fingers up his ass, but he manages, and once he has the condom out of the packet, he quickly and ably gets it on my very hard cock. I pull him around so that he's on top of me, and we're face to face, and I start to kiss him, but he's eager. "Now, please. I want you to fuck me now." I tell him that it's right there for him to sit on.


He sits up, straddling my chest, and pulling the sleeping bag with him. I feel it come up over my boots to where my jeans are down around my ankles, and it's cold, so I pull them in under the bag. He slides back until he feels my cock against his crack. The angle's wrong, and he figures that out for himself and squats over me. I tell him to take it slow and easy, but I've been drilling him with four fingers, and he's very eager, so he doesn't listen and winces when my cockhead pops into him. "Easy," I say again, grabbing his hips. "Wait, relax, and let your ass adjust." His eyes are clenched shut, but he nods, and when I feel his body relax a little bit, I let him slide down a little bit more. Once we're going slowly, he doesn't have much of a problem. He keeps telling me how thick I am, but when I ask if he wants to wait, he shakes his head impatiently. I decide he can handle the pace himself, and I slide my hands up to his nipples, tweaking them lightly, and he throws back his head and laughs, "Oh fuck yes!" It takes a few minutes to get all of my cock into him, but when his ass is resting against my thighs, he bites his lower lip and just says, "Mmm." His cock is leaking like mad, and he starts to rock back and forth on me, making little moans. I give his cock a couple of quick pumps, then wipe his precum on his nipples before squeezing them more.

Curt's tall and limber, and he manages to bend all the way forward to kiss me. Hungrily. I pull my feet up enough to let me thrust a little, and as I push against the truckbed, deeper into him, I suck a little harder on his tongue and then on his bottom lip. When I ram into him, he squeezes his ass against my cock, and it's just an awesome fuck. He's getting more vocal and less comprehensible with every thrust, and I'm so hard and worked up that I'm not sure how much longer I'll last. When I feel the first telltale signs of an orgasm building from the base of my balls, I reach between us and grab his slick cock in my hand and begin to jerk it. He responds by squeezing his ass tighter, and that makes me thrust harder into him. I'm pulling about halfway out on each thrust now before ramming all the way back up into him. His whole body's jerking again, and he's groaning and grunting, but he manages to turn my head to the side and shove his tongue in my ear again, and I'm just barely conscious enough to notice that as my first shot of cum hits the condom, his first shot is hitting my chest.

I keep thrusting, emptying my nuts into the rubber. Curt's second load isn't as big as his first, but it's still big. As my thrusting starts to wane, I lock my arms around his back and hold his chest tightly to mine, feeling the cum between us. His cock continues to spasm, but his head is limp, with his lips next to my ears, and I can hear atavistic mumblings. My body relaxes, and I hold him more loosely, looking over his shoulder at the Milky Way.


Ten minutes later, we're back in the cab of the pick-up. Neither of us is wearing a shirt, so I've got the heat cranked up, and I've got one arm around Curt, who's leaning against me. We're only a dog, a beer, and a shotgun away from a country music song.

He asks me questions all the way back to the motel, and I do my best to fill him in on what to expect when he comes out and starts dating guys. Back at the room, we get a shower and into bed, and after telling me that I owe him another load, he falls asleep in my arms. We're up a couple more times during the night, and I pay him back with interest. In the morning, he's very sore, so I hold him close and we kiss a lot, but eventually it's time for both of us to get going. We hit the local diner for breakfast. It's ten in the morning, so it's already deserted. I'm starving, and I'm eating a breakfast that would defeat a lumberjack. Curt's holding his coffee, looking scared. I slide my leg against his, ask for his cellphone, and hand him mine. I punch in my number and hit the green button. I tell him to call me anytime.

A couple of hours later, I'm driving through upstate New York, and the phone rings.

"Hi, Curt. What's up?"

"I was just wondering something. What exactly is involved in phone sex?"

Whole Lotta Nothin'

Since my buddy Crazy Larry has forbidden me to say that I'm tired, I would like to say that I'm extremely sleepy today. One of EFU's friends from college (a gay boy, of course) needed a place to stay overnight in the DC area (on his way home to Mississippi, which, I hear is THE place to be if you're a gay teenager), so I agreed to pick him up from the Metro last night. Amtrak was running ninety minutes behind, though. At first, I was glad because that meant that instead of being in the car at 11 last night, I'd be seeing the end of a new Top Chef episode (Bye Andrew! I'll miss you.), but then I realized that I'd be up well past midnight fetching this kid and giving him dinner. I don't mind, though: I always stay up later than I should, and it's good to have a legitimate reason.


I have surrendered in the bedding wars. I gave b&c permission to go out and buy as firm a king-sized bed as he wants, provided that it comes within my budgetary limitations. I will purchase a memory foam topper for my half of the bed. We have agreed to defer final status negotiations on the headboard issue. It will be nice to have the extra space on the bed, especially for bondage scenes. If you're tying anyone over 5'9 or so in a spread eagle position, a queen bed really isn't big enough.


Of course, b&c will be leaving in about 2.5 weeks for a month in Jordan (where the buttsex flows like milk and honey), and then he'll be gone most of the rest of the summer to various places in Central America, South America, and/or Africa, (It's really hard for me to keep track of when he's going where) so the new bed may not materialize until sometime after Inauguration Day.


I have been reading this book, by this guy. I will have more to say about it when I'm finished, but I can already recommend it without reservation. It's awesome. Awesome.


The very first picture in this post is my favorite. I'm sure it's posed, but there is nothing in the world that is as hot as kissing a guy who's asked you to tie him up. The best kisses are always a form of surrender, and nothing makes that more explicit or erotic than bondage.

5,000 Words

Away Games and Home Games

Midnight. I'm about to get up and get dressed and head home, perhaps via a cheeseburger, but first I'm noticing the braided wicker headboard and the very firm mattress, and I'm wondering why a very firm mattress is fine for me to have sex on but not to sleep on, and I'm remembering that about six days earlier, I was having sex on a sleeping bag on the carpeted floor of an unfurnished apartment and pushing so hard with my thumbs on the neck of the guy between me and the sleeping bag that my thumbs are still sore now, nearly a week later, but at the time, everything felt great. Sex, I think, doesn't erase discomfort, but it certainly defers it.


11:30 pm. Pecs and I are cuddling again, and he's telling me about his cute nephews and how they weren't supposed to be allowed into the cardiac care unit, but his sister brought them anyway, and they helped his mother perk back up, and now she's getting better in a rehab facility, and he's very relieved. He's far chattier than he's ever been. He asks the occasional question about me, and I answer him, but he's not listening to what I'm saying, and I don't really mind. His needs tonight are to be touched, held, and listened to. I'm not sure what my needs are, but they're obviously being met because I'm having a good time, and it really doesn't trouble me that he's so self-absorbed. I'm sure it's because he's been worried about his mom and because nobody else is around to touch or hear him. I don't ask where his partner is. I never do. I've already asked tonight whether his partner is a top, and that's more acknowledgment of his partner's existence than we usually bother with. Pecs, by the way, thinks his partner is probably a bottom, but he isn't sure. My eyebrow rises when he tells me this. My best guess is that the two of them have been together for nearly ten years, and I would have expected them to discuss the matter at some point, but apparently, they just don't get into anal. At least not with each other. Pecs says that he hasn't been fucked "in months."


11:00 pm. Pecs is lying on his side with one leg bent and me straddling the other knee and fucking him. Pecs is an extremely vocal sex partner, and his ability to do all the talking himself is felicitous in that my mouth is constantly busy on some part or other of his body. Usually on his remarkable nipples, but other parts of him are nearly as lickable. Right now he's not talking so much as he is moaning in that way that lets you know that he is definitely feeling more pleasure and excitement than discomfort but that all are present. He does have a very tight ass, and I never really expected to get into it. He has a history of telling me, during the time before we hook up, that he wants me to fuck him. He wants, he says, for me to take care opening his tight ass but then to fuck him hard when he's ready. But when we get together, it never goes that way. His ass usually hasn't been properly prepared, so there's no point in me forcing it. Tonight, though, he was very clean and still smelling pleasantly of soap. And he was alternately in a chatty/cuddly and a very bottom frame of mind. Once I'd used his nips to switch him on, he'd uncharacteristically dived for my cock and gone down on me. The second time he did this, I pulled his ass around to me and started to eat it. I'm pretty sure he's not used to that, and it was hopeless to get him to suck me at the same time, but I was enjoying opening him up too much to mind. My jeans were still on the (very firm, king-sized) bed, so when I'd put him on his stomach and slowly run my tongue down his back and spread his cheeks with my hands (with him talking all the while and commenting about my strong hands and hot tongue and very hard, thick cock) and eaten his ass, it was an easy matter to fish the condom out of my pocket. He didn't even want any lube at first, and I was able to squeeze into him, but the first time I popped out, I asked for lube, and then things were easier. I never did fuck him very deep, but I did work up to a reasonably fast speed, and he was very appreciative. I fuck him for maybe five minutes and then I've had enough. I never do cum, but that's not what I'm here for, either.


10:30 pm. Pecs is telling me what a good cuddler I am. I've unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans (I'm going commando), but I still have them most of the way on. I have his nipple between my lips, which I've wrapped around my teeth so that I can bite him without biting him. Pecs loves to have his nips played with, but he requires intensity without discomfort. It's a tall order, but I'm up to it. His hand feels really good on my cock, though only slightly better than it felt when my fly was closed. We're not going at it very hard right now. We've just finished some extended cuddling. He's been talking about the connection between math and music, and I've been asking him whether he sings any more. The first time Pecs and I hooked up, years earlier, I'd recognized him from an MIT a cappella group that I'd seen perform a couple of times. It had been one of those small world moments, but it has not been much of a topic for continuing conversation. In fact, tonight for the first time I've asked him what his first name is. He told me and then expressed surprise that I didn't know. Maybe I just forgot, but I don't think so. He's also asked me whether I'm going to my 25th reunion, and I've reminded him that I graduated a few years after him so that I haven't yet had to face that particular indicator of my advancing age. He tells me that I'm lucky, but I point out that he still has all his hair. Then I think that it's time to turn up the intensity again, so I go for the nipple and pull him back to the present.


10:00 pm. I'm standing in the foyer at the big Potomac house Pecs owns with his partner, and we're making out. He seems especially glad to see me. I have my hand down the back of his shorts, squeezing his ass, and I'm sucking on his very plump lower lip. I refuse his offer of water, follow him to the bedroom, and put my glasses and cellphone on the dresser while he very quickly gets naked. I push him down on the bed. It's dark, so he doesn't see me roll my eyes when he tells me how horny and forceful I am.


9:30 pm. My plans to spend the rest of the night quietly go out the window because I've forgotten to log out of gay.com, and Pecs says hello. He asks whether I'm looking, and I hadn't been, but suddenly I am. I ask whether he's looking, but now he's getting all chatty, asking me whether I know about Leona Lewis and how I've been and all that. Pecs always closes the deal in about twelve seconds, so I wonder if he's temporizing while he's chatting with someone else, but that's not like him. I'm about to ask him again whether he wants to play, but he tells me about having just moved his mother from the CCU to a rehab facility, so I figure he's not up for anything and express sympathy. Then he asks again whether I'm horny, and when I ask him whether he wants me to come over, I say I can be there in half an hour. I go to the bathroom and wash what's left of Torless off me, then I slide on some sandals too hideous to wear in public and get in the car and head off.


9:00 pm. I've just kissed Torless goodbye. There's this guy from a craigslist ad I posted a long time ago, and I'm supposed to hook up with him tonight, after many many backs and forths, but a few hours earlier, after saying that he was free any time after 8, he went silent when I gave him my cell number and asked when I should call him. I had expected this, and I've had a pretty great time with Torless, so it seems like a good time to have a gay night. I get a bowl of chocolate mousse and settle in to watch figure skating on ESPN.


8:30 pm. Torless is saying, "Oh yeah, TED. This is what I've missed." I've got him on his stomach, and I'm pounding his ass hard. He started off sitting on my cock, with me twisting his nipples about as hard as I could. My fingers can't inflict enough pain to make him complain, but twice tonight he's said "Easy" when I've been biting his nipples harder than I dare bite anyone else's. It's been a while since Torless and I have hooked up, mostly because he's a little bit flaky. Planning anything with him is pointless, but when we both happen to be available at the same time, he is one hot fuck. Already tonight, I've managed to get my tongue deeper into him than I'd thought possible. I felt his inner ring relax and my tongue go beyond it, he going wild but still managing to keep my cock down his throat, even when I smack his ass at the same time. Torless is panting now and telling me to cum. That usually works on me, and I'm pretty close, but I'm not sure I want to ejaculate, so I accelerate, then I tense up and shake, then I stop and collapse. I'm still hard, and I give a few more lazy thrusts, but Torless thinks that I've cum, and he's pleased. In some ways, it feels like I have climaxed, so I've almost faked myself out as well. I know that I haven't really cum, but I've gotten everything I wanted -- and more than I expected -- from the encounter, and I feel great. Torless tries to jerk off with my cock still inside him, but I reckon he must have cum a bunch of times already today because he stops and says, "It's not going to work." Then, uncharacteristically, he wants to cuddle. Only for a minute, but it's still unprecedented. And nice.


8:00 pm. I'm lying back, murmuring my appreciation as Torless hungrily sucks my cock, having finally gotten my jeans off. He was all excited when he found no underwear. I wrap my legs around his head because I'm way too lazy right now to reach down and grab his head and shove it up and down on me. We've spent the last half hour with him on his back and me on top of him, holding his newly short hair (it looks great on him) in my hands as I kiss him and then bite his nipples. You can lick or suck Torless' nips, but he doesn't come alive until they feel teeth, and then you can go pretty far in that direction without getting to the point of diminishing returns. He's been telling me how much he's missed it and how he wants to do this more often, and having his nipples between my teeth spares me having to either pretend like I believe him or explain to him just how flaky he is. The first time I hooked up with Torless, he was eighteen, and now he's pushing twenty-five, but we've only managed to play a dozen or so times, and eight of those have been in the last two years. When we first played, he wouldn't let me in his ass. When he rediscovered me, at twenty-one or twenty-two, he wanted me in his ass right away. He only became a really good lay when I taught him how much he likes rough nipple work. Nowadays, he still can't go fifteen minutes without telling me that he wants me to fuck him, but when I clamp down on the nipples, he forgets all about it, so as long as I continue to work the nips hard (really, really not hard for me to do), I control how long it takes until he absolutely, positively has to have me up his ass.



7:30 pm. I open the door and Torless walks in. He asks me how I am, and I grab him and start to kiss him, and he forgets how to speak, always an improvement in his case, I'm afraid. I grab his nipples and he melts further, so I turn him around and bush him towards the stairs. I pull his pants down over his ass while we're headed upstairs. I direct him to the bedroom, where I've opened up the memory foam and turned on the lava lamp. He knows what's coming and doesn't seem surprised or resist at all when I throw him down on the bed and climb on top of him. He's like a caterpillar shutting himself up in a cocoon: afraid of where he's going, but excited about where he's going to end up. And knowing he has no choice.


7:00 pm. The cellphone rings, and I see that it's Patrick. He wants directions, but I have to tell him that it's too late. We'd originally planned for him to show up at 5:30 or 6, but he'd been detained somehow (I never got the details quite right), and he'd still have to drive about more than half an hour to get to me. I'd just about given up hope that he would be able to come at all when I saw Torless online and told him to come over ASAP. Earlier in the day, I'd told Torless that I could host after 8, thinking that I could play with both of them, if they both showed up. I feel bad about telling Patrick not to come, especially because he's been after me for years (off and on, mostly off, and never very insistently) to meet him. The timing has never been right, so I'd never agreed to meet, and now that I have, it's wrong yet again. Still, he's horribly late, so it's at least as much his fault as mine, and he's very gracious when I tell him we'll have to play another time soon. And we will, but right now, I have to jump in the shower and get ready for Torless, who's asked me how long we have, and who's gotten very excited when I said, "Hours, if you like."


5:00 pm. B&c is leaving for Baltimore, where he's going to have dinner with a friend before the two of them attend the evening's performance of Madama Butterfly. I'm still not sure exactly what's going on, but I figure if I end up watching TV and jerking off to porn, I'll still have a good time. I'm hoping for more, though. When b&c asks me what I'm going to do with the evening, I tell him, "I'm not sure yet, but I'll figure out something."