Sunday, April 18, 2010

And there endeth the year!

Yes, guys. There it was. A year's worth of sex. That guy was my last cock of the year. I had a heck of a good time having all that sex, for sure. And writing about it has been fun as well.

But quite a bit of work, too. It became a duty, and that made it onerous. (Just witness the fact it's taken me to April to complete last year.)

So I've decided that from here on out, I will continue reporting, yes. But it won't be comprehensive. Not every time I get my hands on some cock will you guys be getting comprehensive details.

Will I be getting as much cock? Probably, or close thereto - but since I was at least in part doing it for you guys, I might have worked a little harder, or taken on some guys who were less than 100% exciting.

But from here on out, where a guy is 100% exciting you all will hear about it. Promise.

Friday, April 9, 2010

12/23/09 - Round 2

Ah, one blonde is not enough. Not two days before Christmas. I deserve a present, and TWO BLONDES oughta do. Yes.

And hark, there's one now! Right there on Craigslist!

29yo bi guy looking to host at [street] and [street]

6'3 225 blond blue 7c big balls average guy here

looking to have my cock sucked, my big balls licked good all over (my fave), my ass eaten and my load swallowed ... no recip

you be under 50, clean and neg (a must), masculine, in athletic to average shape, willing to travel and send pics/stats in 1st email for mine

A quick email promising not to waste a drop clearly got his attention, because I had a response within two minutes. An enthusiastic email it was, including a photo of his face and one of his cock and big seriously low-hanging balls, along with a request to IM. In the IM, I learned that he was meeting friends for drinks later. Did I mind? He was unfailingly courteous - even offered up without prompting that rimming was optional. Thank you. And he really likes having his big nuts played with. You got it, buddy. Eight minutes later, I'm out the door. (Thank you, Yahoo, for putting little time stamps on everything - makes a scrupulous blogger's life easier.) A fifteen minute drive got me to his front door, complete with convenient parking directly across the street.

He had a nice place in a new condo building. Furniture he'd purchased in a package, I think, because it looked coordinated and he just didn't look the type to be coordinating furniture much. He'd accessorized with empty beer cans. And a huge flat screen TV. College basketball in full swing. His laptop lay on the sofa, playing MMF porn - I guess he's serious about that 'bi' thing from the ad. He himself was also precisely as advertised: 6'3", 225, and looked his 29 years. Built like a brick shit-house. (I immediately wanted to fondle his ass - but it wasn't quite in the program.) Thinning red-blond hair. And very much a regular guy, per his own description. Homely would be a good way to describe his face - and I don't mean that in a bad way. It's a face you could really get used to, actually. But there isn't really a handsome line in it. He's just not built to be vain, and it seems to show in his warm, easy-going personality - not that I can say I know him well, at least not that way. It's a very attractive quality in itself. Along with the brick-shithouse body, he ads up to HOT in my book.

    But we're not here to praise him. We're here to blow him. He drops down to the couch, shoves the ottoman aside and pushes down his sweatpants. His cock's small and soft. Grower, clearly. And his balls are serious low hangers. Because he's said he likes having his balls worked on, I start there. He totally eats it up, moaning and groaning and telling me how good that felt. A solid B+ in the vocal department. His cock quickly stiffens up to a solid (real inches here) 5" maybe plus some. On the skinny side of medium. And hard as a concrete fence post. Springy hard. Really nice. And a size I can throat with ease. He requests frequent attention for his heavy nuts, talking about how they're heavy with a big load that I was gonna get. This is great. And he's got tons of fine red-blonde pubic hair. Give me a nose full of that any day.

    He's clearly not a quick cummer, so I up the ante from no hands to wrapping my fingers around the rigid base of his cock and working him deep. His balls hung so loose I was able to gather and pull them up to where they were rubbing against my chin when I buried his cock in my throat. He lasts impressively, and he's unflaggingly enthusiastic throughout. Suddenly, through clenched teeth, he mutters something about "getting load" and he pops. Forcefully - I can feel the squirts. Big warm mouth of nice, clean tasting load. I stay on him and keep him warm for a few. When I come up, I look him in his dazed eyes and gulp audibly. It brought a smile to his face. When he stood a couple minutes (of ball warming) later, his cock was still pointing upward sharply. And as I left, and I grabbed it again for a last squeeze, it was still springy as steel.

    I told him I'd do him anytime, and he said, "well, we've got each others' emails." I think he'd like more. Hope he does. 'Cause he mentioned he's a multi-cummer, if he's not pressed for time.

    Tuesday, March 30, 2010


    A highly efficient CL connection. Someone in my neighborhood wants a blo. The title is simplicity itself: ISO NSA BJ. I like that.

    thirty three, five nine, one sixty five, seven cut thick, healthy, ddf
    very discrete, you host
    email stats, age, pic, location and lets make this happen

    And I'm here to take care of those kinds of needs. The email back and forth consists of "where?" "When?" and not much more. A short IM conversation got him my address. And he's here within 20 minutes of our first communication. The most demanding question he asked was whether I smoked. Apparently he doesn't like smokers, but then, who does anymore?

    His email address contained a hint that he was blonde - which made me worry that he might be a bleached and colored fool. But my worries were misplaced. He was blonde. The real thing. His short crewcut hair was just barely distinguishable from his skin. Very, very blonde. And nice looking. Slightly heavy, but no problem. Wearing a big black down coat and Puma shoes.

    I showed him in, asked if he wanted a seat. He paused at that offer, so I dropped directly to my knees. He had his jeans undone practically before I could bury my face in the denim. His cock, small and soft. His pubes, as blond as the rest of him, were neatly trimmed. (A crime, I might add - these hairs in full flower would be something to behold, something to lose one's nose and tongue in. Darned modern grooming. Such a waste.)

    He was an aggressive face-fucker, with a small enough cock that I had no difficulty at all handling the assault. He lasted not two minutes, and thrust so deep to spew his liquidy sharp tasting load that a swallow was probably inevitable. In the moments I was processing this thought, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a wedding ring. 'Huh?. . . left hand, second finger . . . yup, checks out'. That thought gelled in my mind, it was down the hatch. I kept it warm for him another 15 seconds, and he pulled out. When I went back for another taste, he was already buttoning up.

    And that was it. Exceptional efficiency. And a first: I've never seen a married guy not mention that fact.

    Thursday, March 18, 2010


    OK, this one was totally worth a try - if only for novelty value.

    Snow Plow Driver - 29

    Hey 29year old bimale out on the streets working tonight. Looking for someone to meet me near where in working, hop in the truck and lets have some fun! Six foot three brown hair blue eyes two hundered pounds 8" cut. Send pic with reply. Looking for now!!!

    How could I not hook this one up? My response got an almost immediate reply asking for a phone number. It's not my usual M.O. to go handing out my phone number, but the idea of blowing a random snow plow driver . . . that was way too much to pass up. Besides, I owe it to my readers to follow up on opportunities like this one. So I sent him my number, and got an immediate return call. No fuss, friendly, he just gave me his location and asked how long it would take me to get there. Ten to fifteen, I estimated.

    I dashed for the car and headed off. And just as advertised, there was a plow truck racing around clearing snow off a big parking lot. I was slightly disappointed that he wasn't in one of the big city-supplied trucks I'd imagined. This was just a big diesel Ford F250 with a plow on the front, and a landscaper's sign on the side. He drove out of the lot and picked me up on the street. I swung up into the cab and told him "I like the way you think, buddy." I liked the way he looked, too. As advertised, a big guy. Dark hair, a full beard. Otherwise, a very average looking white guy. Ideal.

    He didn't respond much - not an outgoing type, I guess - and he was concentrated on wrestling the big truck and its unwieldy plow back into the parking lot. The moment he hit the lot, he lowered the plow, dove on the brakes and started tugging at his zipper and fly. Out popped a short, fat soft cock and I dove on it immediately. He gunned the truck and started scraping through the lot. I'm bouncing up and down on his stiffening cock, and the truck's bouncing up and down over the pavement, and he's backing and filling and covering the lot while talking dirty to me: "you love that big cock, don't you?" and jamming my head down on his rapidly expanding meat for maximum penetration. He was reaching the size where I was starting to gag.

    "Mmmmfmmf!" (That's me trying to sound enthusiastic with my mouth full.)

    Then all of a sudden he stops the truck: "I think my boss just drove by." I quickly take the cue and immediately hop out of the truck and ask if I ought to stick around so we can finish this. It had been a promising start, after all. He grunted something and roared off with the plow scraping. I walk out of the parking lot, making my way back to my car. When I get to my car I text him: "You want to finish this?"

    He quickly responds: "Get lost." Rude fucker.

    I respond back: "Did I do something to piss you off?" I was baffled. He was clearly enjoying himself, talking dirty, hard as a rock, enthusiastically hammering my throat. Now he's changed his mind about this? No comprende.

    He didn't respond to my text for several hours when, at about 1:oo am my phone bleeped. "Bye." That was it.

    I remain baffled.

    Tuesday, February 23, 2010


    A couple months back, I'd corresponded with J. He'd posted looking for someone downtown who wanted to suck off two bi guys. OK, I know. It's got gamer/pic collector written all over it. Can't be serious. But I cut and pasted a quick response, and was astonished to get a reply. A sincere sounding one. He was going to check with his buddy and see if he could work it out for this very evening. This still had the feel of a guy off in fantasyland, but I'll play along as long as he's amusing.

    And he remains amusing. Oddly, there's something sincere and steady about him that keeps me answering his emails. Tonight's not going to work - his buddy isn't available after all. J urged me, though, to stay in touch, because he wanted this to work out someday and was confident it would. Sure, bud.

    We exchanged emails again, back and forth every few days. We'd been going that way, slow volleys of email back and forth, for two months. One evening I answered one of his emails and he shot directly back and sounded enthusiastic - for tonight. At this point, though, I'm losing faith in him. He seems definitely sincere and genuine and he's got staying power. But the scenario - two bi guys want a cocksucker - is implausible. He's definitely not just a pic collector. And he doesn't have the nasty edge of a game player. So I'll keep playing along - he remains amusing and sincere after all.

    Ah, no, once again it's not going to work. He's neglected an obligation this evening - we'll have to try another time. Again. I'm feeling pretty much done with this. But several hours later, as I'm heading out of the office on my way home, he emails. He'd had a cancellation, and wondered if I was still available. Aww, geez. Yeah, I'm still available. He says he's going to scramble to get his buddy lined up. OK, OK. I'll play along again.

    About the time I get home, I get the inevitable third-guy-can't-make-it message. Yeah, I know. Thinking, what the hell, I decide to test his sincerity: does he want to come over, just himself, no porno fantasy two-bi-guys-and-a-cocksucker scenario. To my great surprise he bites on the opportunity without hesitation. This is a switch. Does he think himself, alone, is inadequate, and he's pleased to get the invite? And by god, this time it does work. He arrives on time, and as advertised. Amazing.

    As advertised, in this instance meant: 41, 6'1", 205, normal professional guy. Very square and dependable looking. Neatly groomed. Chunky build, but in solid shape. He's got really nice skin. I don't know how else to put it. But it makes him far more appealing than one would expect. He carries the IT guy backpack I somehow expected. The small talk is polite, as one might expect in a business setting, faintly stand-off-ish.

    "How about we get out of our clothes?" I suggest, hoping to start up a spark. We move closer, face to face. I start in on his shirt buttons, one by one. He slowly keeps moving has face closer and closer to me as he fumbles my shirt buttons. I'm getting the feeling he's going to kiss me. Yup, he's turning his head so our noses won't bump. But wait! This totally doesn't fit! He's all bi and closety! He's even alluded to a fiancee! He's just here for a blo! Plain and simple?

    But he's getting closer and closer and -- goddamn, yes - he really is gonna kiss me. And damn, he's good. I mean a really good kisser. A totally rare, one in a million good kisser - the kind of good kisser I hope I am. A few soft, glancing, exploring kisses evolve quickly into a bona fide lip lock/tongue swap. We both wind up looking all nerdy-guy-glasses-askew and scramble out of our clothes (and our glasses) and onto the bed.

    Either he warned me, or I quickly intuited that this guy was a speedy cummer. So I took the edging approach. A few nice slow wet strokes, and then some ball polishing. And inner thigh kissing and . . . anywhere. He responded well to attention to his neck, his nipples, his . . . you name it. This guy was totally wired to his touch nerves. Totally alive with a lover. And he reciprocated well - something about the way he touched me lit up a lot of my nerves at one time as well. He had a firm hand on me. He wanked my cock, but my efforts to get him to take a taste came to nothing. Yeah, he was that good: he didn't even blo me, and I was having a totally great time. I realized later that pretty much the whole time we were going at it I was emitting a pretty constant slow stream of moans, signs and whimpers.

    Good in bed? You don't often get it this good. I could get used to this kind of good. Damn. And all in such an unassuming package. I can't put it into words exactly why he's such a great fuck. No words can adequately capture or explain what it was about the way his hands manipulated my flesh that made it so good. We were just on the same wavelength, our central nervous systems working at the same frequency in some crucial respect.

    I edged him for a solid 45 minutes - 45 minutes with a speed shooter, see what I mean about being on the same wavelength? He'd quickly pull me off as needed. When he finally wanted to cum he wanked his cock briefly, told me "I gotta cum", and pushed my head onto his cock for a few last strokes before he shot a big, watery and strong-tasting load.

    After he came, he dressed quickly, pleading that he needed to get going, he was expected at his gym. And on the way out, he did the oddest thing: he kissed me on the cheek. Just a quick peck. Sorta like he was supposed to, sorta like he might do for his grandmother. It was like Superman had popped back into the phone booth and re-emerged as Clark Kent.

    Next morning he emailed: "Cheers. Enjoyed last night."

    UPDATE: After the first of the year, after thinking about what a great tumble I'd had with J, I wanted to get in touch with him again. Who wouldn't. And his *&@$%!ing email address no longer existed. 505 error. I was completely bummed. Inconsolable, almost.

    Sunday, February 14, 2010


    "MWM Looking for My Age or Younger"

    Oh, that'll do. Hotel nearby. EZ. And a prompt response. We exchange a couple emails, then he drops off. It's late, 11:00ish, and I get off on other tangents and forget about it. Around quarter to midnight I'm walking by my computer en route to bed when it belchess out one of those 'incoming email' noises. It's him again. Apologizing that he'd gotten stuck on a business call. And he's still motivated.

    But I'm tired. Then he sends me a pic. Awww, what a cute pup. And salt & pepper hair makes me all weak in the knees. I'm feeling less tired. Yup, I could find the energy. No problem.

    We quickly negotiate that we're meeting in the lobby of his ritzy-modern hotel that's a grand total of six minutes away. He's right there waiting for me, as promised. 5'9"ish, 170ish, 50ish and sporting a very thick gold wedding band. Not as attractive as the pic seemed, but not bad looking. A bit nerdy, he would definitely make a serviceable husband.

    I'll take care of the serviceable part!

    Upstairs, he's got a nice suite, located in a portion of the architecturally notable hotel that one notices from the ground and thinks: wow, wonder what it's like up there. He mumbles something about getting an upgrade. He maneuvers me into the bedroom section of the suite and suddenly, awkwardly grabs me and stuffs my mouth full of tongue. The approach was bungled, and the tongue was a bit over-active, but I appreciate a guy who wants to make out. Hurried ripping off of clothes followed and we settled into a rough tumble on the bed. He's his advertised age of 48, though that's not restraining his rock-hard cock - on the thick side of average, and on the average side of longish.

    I go down on him, and apparently he's on the sensitive side because he pushes me off after a short bit of vigorous cocksucking. And he's hungry, too because he clearly wants a taste of what I'm packing. I happily straddle his chest and fuck his inexperienced throat. I say inexperienced because he can't swallow more than an inch or two, and even as I easily, unavoidably push him to gagging a couple times - he continues enthusiastically. He wants this cock. But when I start really enjoying myself he pulls back: he clearly doesn't want to get a mouthful of jizz - or, at least enough of his conscious self is still functioning in this sexual rutting that it stops him. So fine, I reluctantly climb down and decide it's time to finish him. And it doesn't take long. Thirty seconds of vigorous work and he spews a big thick load, which I spit into the sink.

    The moment I get out of the bathroom, he's taken my place for a guilty wash-up. As I'm pulling on my clothes I spot his driver's license sitting outside his wallet on the bedside table. Why? I have no idea. But there it was, and I couldn't resist looking. No touch, just look. Name, address, etc., etc. I made mental notes.

    Back home a few minutes later that bit of information leads me to: press releases about his brilliant career in finance (though I gotta say, I think this guy is the sort they've been warning us about in the recent melt-down), information about his huge newly constructed home in a tony suburb, and, I kid you not, his kids' soccer games. The internet is a powerful tool.

    Saturday, February 6, 2010


    Ah, my old pal. From high school. The one who never got into my pants. Or was it the other way around? We once, under interesting circumstances managed to play a game of footsie - or maybe crotchsie/footsie is a better explanation. (Yes, there was alcohol involved.) So we'd sort of had sex. A little bit. Partially. We'd reconnected through someone who knew someone on Facebook, and I was delighted to get a message from him that he was coming to town for business purposes and wanted to see me. Immediately, my mind raced to games of footsie/crotchsie.

    We met up late after work, and after he'd managed to find a church for a quick round of worship. (Me, I worshiped at my gym to kill time while he did the real thing.) I didn't take that as a good sign. We hadn't even seen each other in nearly 25 years - save on Facebook in recent months - so I knew little if anything about what he was thinking these days. We met up, he was looking good. The years had been kind to him, for sure. His slightly alternatively good looks had matured and become more mainstream. His hair had thinned, but in a way that said: 'testosterone is doing a number on my hair follicles' not 'I'm falling apart'. He was even more attractive than in the 1980s.

    It turned out I had no reason to worry about religion having taken over his life. He immediately proposed we retire to a bar. A couple drinks later, food seemed in order, so we repaired to a restaurant known for its drinks. And had another drink and some appetizers. Alcohol was having a nice mellowing effect, turning up the warmth of our long dormant friendship. It was also making him kind of touchy/feelie - he'd touch my arm for emphasis as we spoke, or rest his hand on my shoulder or wherever it might seem appropriate. No, nothing untoward, not yet. But boy did he have my mind running in that direction, and running hard.

    We wandered off to yet another restaurant for another drink and another round of hors d'ouvres. I had detected a pattern here: each place we went was getting us closer to his hotel. And at the third place, he began to wax ecstatic about the view from his hotel room. Bingo! I would surely have to come up and see. No question about it. After polishing off a few more snacks, I commandeered the waitress and demanded the bill while my old buddy was in the men's room. Yes, I considered following him. But no, I didn't want to be that obvious, and he didn't seem to be actively inviting it. So I stayed at the table and took care of the bill in order to smooth our way out of there.

    Swirling the last ice cubes in my drink I casually inquired whether we needed to hit a fourth watering hole. I meant this to be an opening for him to say: 'how about you come check out the view in my hotel room?' But he fumbled the opportunity. Maybe alcohol was to blame - I, for one, was fairly well lit at that point. Sufficiently lit that when he fumbled it, I didn't even need to screw up my courage to say: "Or we could head back to your hotel." I was briefly mortified to realize I hadn't even thrown in the view excuse. But no matter, he quickly took me up on the offer and we were out of there in a flash.

    His conversation become somewhat stilted as we entered the hotel. He seemed nervous as a cat - even if half-smashed genial - in the elevator. Up in the room, the view was indeed expansive, through a glass corner. Quite nice. He reclined on the bed to admire it, I sat on the corner of the bed. Now I was being the awkward one. Yes, imagine that. Your old pal Mr. Cocksearch being reluctant to make the first move. Maybe something about the weight of history. So it wound up being he who made the first move by inviting me to get comfortable on the big hotel bed. And when I did, laying next to him, pretending to look at the view, he reached for me. He grazed his knuckles across my chest, pausing to give attention to my nipple. He didn't say a thing. I rolled toward him and the race was on.

    It started with a lip lock, moved on to shucking our clothes, and progressed to me blowing him. But that didn't go well, despite the heavy passion in our kisses. He, being a tad middle aged, wasn't getting all that hard. I mean he got bigger, but not really rigid in the usual way. And it was clearly bothering him, and causing him to shy away from my attention to his cock. The good thing was that he seems pretty submissive in the face of available cock. He was pleased to just worship mine. He wasn't much of a cocksucker, clearly inadequately experienced. But he made up for it in enthusiasm and absolute adoration of my big dick. His tongue kept creeping lower on my balls. Is this going where I hope it's going? Does he totally want to eat my ass - because he's totally got an invitation to go there.

    I telegraphed the invite with enthusiastic moaning and groaning every time his tongue went lower. He finally got the nerve to instruct me to roll over onto my stomach. Won't fight you there, pal. And what followed was what seemed like hours of the most adoring attention my backside ever got. My cheeks were fascinating to him as his nerve built (or maybe thought ought to be - as his inhibitions slipped). After an achingly tantalizing build-up, he went for it, right onto the target. And he licked and sucked and tongued and on and on like he never wanted to stop. And I didn't want him to, either. Except that at some point I'm gonna need to cum.

    I finally begged him: "I've gotta cum here . . . let me cum." He let me roll over and flopped onto the bed on his back. I got the message. He wanted me on top, so on I climbed and stroked out a HUGE load all over his chest and his face before collapsing onto him in an extended lip-lock tasting of sperm. God that was good. We lay around all snuggly for a while. He made no move to get himself off. The real surprise was that he wanted me to sleep with him that night.

    But I don't do well sleeping in others' beds, and I had to be up the next morning. I begged off, feeling like I was letting him down something terrible. In fact, I still kinda regret it.

    I left him at the door with a big, deep kiss.

    He was on a plane home the next morning.

    Sunday, January 24, 2010

    Undated - Fall/Winter 2009

    Ah, the restaurateur. The well-known restaurateur. The one with the TV show. And the wife, who's all over the restaurants (which really are worth the fuss - I'm a good customer) and the TV show. Watching him, you can't but conclude he likes boys - his manner is unmistakably sodomite. Indeed, there's vigorous debate on the interwebs as to whether he likes boys. And I have the answer. He does.

    The restaurateur goes to my gym, occasionally. One of those occasions happened to be a dreary Sunday afternoon late this fall - or maybe early this winter - somewhere in there. The restaurateur was heading into the gym just ahead of me, close enough that I was able to spend a few moments mulling over 'which way does he go, anyway?' Frankly, I can't look at him, be it on TV, on the street or in his one of his restaurants, without mulling that important question. Little did I imagine today was the day I'd get a rock solid answer.

    In the locker room, he undressed and appeared to head straight for the shower/steam/sauna. A good sign. Nice slim, athletic bod - particularly for a guy in the food business. Nice I suited up and headed for the weights. Call me virtuous (or, read some more of this blog and see if you can still say that with a straight face). Half an hour or so later, it was my time to shower/steam/sauna. The place was fairly empty, it being a dreary Sunday afternoon. I settled into the sauna, where I chatted with Mr. Taste Free for a few minutes (he and I now chat in a familiar way that pretty much rules out any more anonymous blo-jobs). Then I made for the steam and was surprised and delighted to see the restaurateur passing by toward the showers looking well heated and sweaty. Maybe he eyed me. 'Ha, spending a lot of time in the company of other sweating naked men, Mr. Restaurateur? Got ya!' I thought to myself. In my mind, at that point, he was as busted as could be.

    I settled into the steamroom with one other guy sitting by. A few minutes later, in walks the restaurateur. And he sits down next to me, to my left, but at a respectable distance. On his towel, not wrapped up in it. Wow! I switch on my full telepathic communication capability and start beaming the message "exit the steamroom, now!" at the third guy in the steamroom, while simultaneously beaming the message "the other guy will be out of here in two seconds" at the restaurateur. And sure enough, my telepathic systems were in good working order, as the third guy left pretty much on cue.

    Then began a few moments of awkward mutual checking out, and the sending of self-groping signals. But progress was swift, with no unnecessary face-saving gestures of disinterest. He wanted it. He wanted it in a sad, guilty, but very passionate kind of way. He was the first to actually take hold of his cock and start stroking. He reached for me before I reached for him. And he reached first not for my cock, but for my right nipple, which he wanted to stroke. I responded in kind, with my tongue on his nipple (safe bet he was a nipple guy) and moved on to the side of his neck. And he responded with a happy shudder, and began groping my cock as I reached for his. This was a lot of body contact, and a lot of passion for steamroom sex. My right hand (by this time I was completely turned toward him on the bench) found his cock - long, skinny, with short trimmed pubes - and stroked gently. He was clearly enjoying himself hugely.

    I whispered in his ear, an inch away: "do you want a blo?" to which he responded with a quiet, husky sound that I took for a 'yes'. I bent down, and took one long slow gentle stroke. We were suddenly interrupted by the door opening. "It's OK, don't stop for me." Mr. Taste Free! Very considerate, thank you, pal. I went down on the restaurateur again, and he lasted but about three more strokes before urging me off his cock. Two pumps of his own hand and he spewed - good distance and quantity for a middle-aged guy, I might say. I went back to nuzzling his neck as he caught his breath.

    He gave me a long look, with actual eye contact, that was tinged with what I think was sadness. Or maybe straight out guilt. And then he was out of there. When he was safely out the door, Mr. Taste Free asked me, with his charming Spanish accent: "you do know who that was?" I played dumb.

    Friday, January 22, 2010


    It should always be this easy.

    Early morning visit to the 'burbs. Really early - my errand is done by 7:00 am. And I'm in the vicinity of the recently rediscovered bookstore. As I'm heading south down the big six-lane road it's on, I come to the bookstore and see its parking lot is all but empty - about the only vehicle in the place, a Dodge Dakota pick-up, is idling at the mouth of the parking lot waiting for traffic to clear so he can pull out. Darn, only one guy there, and I'm just missing him. I pull a u-turn and head back north again. The Dakota guy pulls out just as I round my U-y, and catches my eye. Yes, catches my eye. No way. That would be way too efficient.

    But it's also way too good not to at least follow up. I wind up just behind him in traffic, then maneuver my way next to him at the next light. I glance casually his way, and he mine. But too casual to really draw any definite conclusion from. Good enough, though, that I'm not going to give up. I fall in behind him, and sure enough a couple blocks later he's got his signal on for a left turn. And he activates the blinker early, giving me plenty of warning he's going to turn. This is looking promising.

    I follow him around the turn (and catch the above pic) and he goes on about a quarter mile into an industrial area. And then, again with plenty of signaling, he pulls into a parking lot along the side of a warehouse/office building and proceeds slowly down the long narrow parking area. I pulled to the side of the road, not being quite confident enough in my judgment to follow him. He pulls head into a parking spot, sits a second, then backs out again and continues to where he had to turn around behind the building. When he turns, he stops long enough to give me the idea he's looking. I plunge in.

    On the other side of the building, I find him backed in in front of a freight forwarder's office. I nod, he nods back. My first clear look at him. 40ish, heavy-set, a working man. Married, with ring. Not particularly attractive in any noticeable way. I pull in and park. He nods again, and I'm out of the car and over to his passenger window directly. No games: just a simple "You looking for a blo?" "Yeah, hop in." As I haul myself into the passenger seat he says: "I thought you were looking for something back at the bookstore." "Pretty amazing we got this worked out, huh?" He heartily agrees.

    He's got his hard cock out already, and pulls aside his shirt to show it off. "Nice!" It is nice. Short, but really fat. Cut. And plenty of unruly untrimmed pubic hair. He gives it a good wag and urges me forward. His crotch smells sweet and soapy fresh. Two minutes of good vigorous sucking, and some purposeful thrusting from him and he's spilling a big sweet load into my mouth. He thanks me heartily as I swing out of the cab and spit his hefty, tasty load. I give him a salute and thank him back, noting for the first time the kiddie car seat in the back of rear seat. Daddy needed to nut.

    He dropped his idling truck into gear and was moving out of there before I even started my car. End of story.

    Wednesday, January 13, 2010

    Undated - Fall 2009

    Ah, the lost month and some . . . when I wasn't blogging actively, and wasn't keeping track of my exploits (and also suffered a nasty cold, some nasty work demands, and a hundred other excuses - really, readers, I was just burned out.). I've reconstructed from emails some of my activities. But there were some that did not involve emails, so I can't give you exact dates. And I don't have pictures, which I always try to get. Apologies.

    The rediscovery of two bookstores, sometime this fall, date unknown: there are two XXX bookstores out by our local airport that I hadn't been to in several years. At one time, both had abundant gloryholes, and a thriving suburban customer base. Both have gone downhill significantly in recent years. One had suffered lots of police harassment in its tiny highly corrupt suburb. The other had suffered greedy, controlling owners. At least five years had passed since I'd darkened the door of either place.

    Being out that way one day - and with some time to kill - I got inspired to check them out again.

    I hit the first place, once a ten gloryhole joint, but in recent years reduced to one or two that would get covered over or not, one never knew when. And reports of lots of police presence. I went into the booth area and was greeted by two very friendly Mexican guys - the place is in a heavily Mexican area. Too friendly. Like I think they're probably hustlers. Unlikely looking hustlers, too - one was a short, well-built 40ish guy wearing a huge cowboy hat and cowboy boots and full cowboy regalia, the other maybe 30, big, and dressing all hip hop. But I avoided them. I'm not one to play the blowjob-for-a-price game, even in ranchero or cholo guise. I reflected their presence might explain police interference in recent years.

    I was pretty much ready to leave after a short while, as there was no promising traffic. But as this thought formed in my mind, in walked a guy, probably 55, kinda middle managerial looking and wearing a wedding ring. Glasses, hair slicked back. A little better looking than the average guy, but not too much. Very Eastern European looks. Without really looking at anyone - very straight ahead gaze - he went directly into a booth and mostly closed the booth door. I hustled right over to seize the advantage. The door stood open enough that I could see him standing, staring intently at the screen, not looking back. After a few moments, I pushed the door open a little further. He did not react. So I stepped inside. He looks up, catches my eye and nods. I mince no words: "You looking for a blo?" "Yeah." The deal is sealed.

    I sink directly to my knees as he hauls out . . . a huge, beautiful uncut cock. I mean fat, and long. Probably a true 7, and thick. Thick enough it didn't look all that long. Nice untrimmed bush. He takes the seat, and I commence a good 10 minute blo. I'm so loving this dick. And the guy's good, encouraging me with murmurs of enjoyment, guiding my head to maximize his pleasure; and he's considerate of my gag reflex. He builds up audibly to his orgasm, and floods my mouth with a huge, seriously flavorful load. This whole thing could not have been better.

    Evidently he liked it too. He inquired whether I lived anywhere nearby, and specified that "the wife" doesn't put out. Sadly, I live too far away from him to be convenient, but when I told him I'd meet him here at the bookstore anytime (I'd drive 20 minutes for that cock any time of day or night) he brightened up and solicited my phone number. I didn't blink before giving it. He entered it into his cell phone's contacts along with my name.

    And then I never heard from him again. Damn.

    A couple weeks later, encouraged by my return visit to bookstore one, I tried bookstore two. These two XXXs are located a couple miles apart on a seedy commercial strip the likes of which inspired Lady Bird Johnson to launch her Beautify America campaign. Cheap hotels, car dealers, gas stations and fleabag apartments. Nasty. Just the place for a XXX.

    This second place has the strange distinction of sharing a building with a car mechanic's shop - the kind of a shop that has lots of guys milling around out front while their beaters get patched up enough to last a few more months. At 11:30 am, the bookstore's long, narrow parking area was completely full - I had to wait for someone to leave to get a spot. Amazing. Lunch hasn't even started.

    Inside the place was just as congested. But it's not a promising crowd. All the gloryhole booths are occupied. I hang around a bit, and manage to get into two of them. No reason to stay long in either, if you know what I mean. Lots of guys standing around, waiting for their shot at the holes. One was a tall pale skinny string-bean guy wearing a sweatshirt with the logo of one of the nation's leading Catholic universities. He looked about 35. Dweeby as all hell, but not unattractive. He kept checking me out, but I was feeling not interested.

    Then he moved into a non-hole booth directly across from where I'd been reduced to leaning against a booth (the place was that crowded - milling about was not really feasible). He fed the machine and left the door open enough for me (and several other guys, given the density of the crowd) to watch him paw his sweatpants. And the pawing is showing something interesting. Big, I think - though in my experience big bulges can often disappoint. But this one's transfixingly big, at least in this preliminary stage.

    What the hell, I gotta check this out. I step into the booth, close the door and reach for his crotch all in one smooth, easy motion. Goddamn! It feels as big as it looks! I reach past the elastic of his sweats to grab this monster - and in my hand, it doesn't disappoint, not one bit. I haul it out and sink straight to my knees without asking further. A monster it definitely is. Almost freakishly large - I'd say a true 8" or more and extremely fat. It looked completely out of place on this tall skinny guy. But that wan't stopping me. I went down on him and sucked for all I was worth. He wasn't super rock hard - really big dicks usually aren't, I've found - but wow, what a mouthful. I stretched my jaws and relaxed my throat as best I could for a good 5 minutes. This was competition level cocksucking, I tell you.

    At some point I clearly got tired, and he encouraged me to stand. Which was nice, as it gave me another vantage point from which to admire his enormous meat. He reached for my hard cock when I stood - I'd been jerking the whole time I was sucking him. He stroked me a couple times, and then dove on my cock, sucking like a champ. A fine cocksucker, which came as a surprise as he just didn't look the type. And a good surprise as I was (1) already close, and (2) needing to get on with my day. I decided to give him my nut. I gave him plenty of auditory warning before I started to cream, but he reacted to my shot by pulling out and spitting suddenly. What a downer to go from a great blo to cool air and vigorous jerking.

    Not a good finish. I was out of there and on my way within minutes.

    Tuesday, December 22, 2009


    Oh, yeah. Trevor was fun. But I was out in the 'burbs. And that means the suck woods. Oh yeah.

    I pulled into a spot I know is good. It's an unusual one, as it's just a parking lot off the side of the road, not particularly remote or anything. This day, it was busy - legitimate park use kind of busy. Very rare, but somebody had a big picnic going. I've no idea why they'd choose this place. But there they were, occupying the bulk of the area. I drove the length of the lot, and parked in the turn-around, just to check whether there was maybe something residual going on. Made a quick phone call and reviewed some email while I checked things out. I concluded that no, the picnickers were pretty much sucking up all the oxygen. Time to move on.

    But before I could get off the phone, an older red Sedan de Ville rolls by with a younger guy in shades at the wheel. Maybe 30, longish dark hair, and a little heavy from what I can see. He gives me an unmistakable look and keeps rolling. I think I catch a glint of gold off his hand resting on the steering wheel. He drives slowly past the picnickers toward the front of the parking area, and backs into a space. Not even subtle. I followed, parked head in across from him and walked over, approaching his car obliquely to afford myself a view into the driver's seat. Yeah, I probably wasn't too subtle, either. At least not to a knowledgeable observer.

    But my lack of subtlety was rewarded: he's got his hand in his crotch, covered by his T-shirt. Score. I stood, unsubtly, on the curb about 20 feet away - trying to look nonchalant -as he glanced occasionally in my direction - also trying to look nonchalant. After a minute or two he drew aside the T-shirt and flashed a hard fat short upward-curving cock. A thick, vital beauty. I walked directly over to him (he'd covered up again) and unsubtly asked him: "you looking for a blo?" He nodded yes, and then made sure to tell me he didn't do this kind of thing very often. Oh, so that's why you don't know any of the cues?

    That's OK, though. He's cute and kinda guilty seeming in a really ordinary way. Italian, as confirmed by his (and his wife's) name on the stack of mail on the passenger seat. Yeah, I did see a ring. A short discussion follows. He's mostly mono-syllabic. But we agree this place is a little busy. He suggests we head down the road a ways, and I tell him I'll follow. About a mile down the road, he pulls into another parking area with me in tow. This place is fairly deserted, except for a number of cars backed in . . . . OK, I can read this. He pulls in way at the end of the drive, and I pull next to him. He pronounces the place too busy. I'm thinking he's going to get cold feet, but he doesn't. Later I decide he just didn't like the vibe.

    He proposes another area, and I follow him off another mile or so. We pull into an area that looks quite busy to me. At least it's busy at the entrance area - loads of people getting onto a bicycle path. And at the other end, a boat launch. In between, though, it's very quiet, and he pulls into a spot which affords good views of the approaches. Very strategic. He knows exactly where he is. I park down a few spaces, and walk over to his open passenger window. He's cleared the passenger seat, and waves me in quickly. He checks repeatedly over both shoulders behind him, watching for traffic, then produces that sweet hard fat cock, showing off his heavy, thick untrimmed dark bush.

    I go straight down on him and he promptly starts fucking my mouth with short, fast, sharp jabs while keeping up a running commentary on how he doesn't do this very often and how there might be this or that car coming and how we better do this quick. Undeterred, I keep up my labors on his cock, and as he gets more into it he sinks lower in his seat, finally bracing himself between the floor behind the brake pedal and his seatback and commences to fucking my mouth so fast that what he was doing would best be described as vibrating. He lasted for several minutes of that before he popped a huge thick load that had a powerful chemical taste. No other way to describe it. Smoker, I have noted. Maybe that's it.

    I quickly pull myself together, pop the door and spit. I shake his hand, ask if he's ever been told he shoots huge loads (monosyllabic grunt in response), thank him and I'm out of the car before he can utter another monosyllable. As I plunk down in my car, he's already revved up the Caddy, and I subtly snag the above photo before he gets away.

    Two in one day. That's the way cocksucking outta be.


    Ah, Trevor. His CL ad was a rare one: he's 34, and specified that he prefers men older than himself. Imagine that. OK, I like imagining that, given that I'm over 40. And he's strictly wanting a massage and a blo. And he's in a blue-collar suburb of the sort that gets me all hot and bothered. I'm on this, big time.

    It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, and he writes back promptly and enthusiastically, proposing we get together right away. Excellent, I'm there. I even have an errand to run out his way. I roar off in the direction of his particular suburb, and call when I get close. He answers, apologetically: he's stuck in a nearby parking lot with a dead battery - could I come over and give him a jump? Huh? I was here for sex . . . but OK. I locate him, sitting by a huge SUV with its hood up. "It belongs to a friend, he keeps it in my driveway - and it doesn't get driven much. I think the battery's shot." This is making sense again. And he's hot. 6' plus, a little chunky, rosy cheeks and curly hair. Wearing soccer gear. Friendly and sincere - an immediately likable guy. He explains he's got soccer teammates coming over this afternoon, so he wants to get going. We get his machine cranked up and running. I trail him through suburban streets to a well maintained 1960s ranch house, and follow in through the kitchen door.

    The place has the feel of having been lived in a long time. The kitchen is tschoke'd up like crazy, something an older woman would have done - lots of cute items that do not look like my new pal's doing. The living room is similarly filled with furniture and decorative items, and a lot of very English looking reproduction paintings. Nice reproductions. But the living room also had a decidedly masculine flair from several hunting trophies on the wall - above a huge illuminated glass-front china cabinet. I'm confused. It appears to be his house, the way he treats it, the way he casually has a cocksucker over. And yet it doesn't seem to be the kind of place a soccer loving 34 year old guy would live. Working theory: he inherited the house, including its contents.

    Upstairs, he selects a bedroom that's as full of stuff as the rest of the place. He undresses himself, leaving on his boxer briefs. He invites me to do the same. Dude's build like a brick shithouse - 6', 200 lbs, and solid. His torso had been shaved at some point, but his natural body hair had come back to about the half-inch length. I inquire whether he's got any massage oil, and he looks a little surprised, but steps into another room and returns with a big bottle of cheap - I kid you not - hair gel.

    While he's out of the room, I notice the strangest thing ever. Not about him. It was the bedside table. I recognized it. I kid you not, I once owned this table - I inherited two of them, didn't like them, and sold them through a local auction house. They were overly frilly, not my taste at all, but of good quality and old. Not something to give the Goodwill, and indeed, I got a few hundred bucks for the pair of them. And all of a sudden, there's one of these tables sitting right here in front of me. I am sure it was my former table, as I was very familiar with it having cleaned it up and made a couple small repairs before unloading it. I resisted the urge to ask him where it had come from. But you want to talk about a weird random chance - of all the countless homes it could have wound up in, it's here, where I'm serving as cocksucker of the day? Just what are the odds of that, I ask you?

    He flops face down on the bed and encourages me to go to it. The hair gel works unexpectedly well as a massage lube, and he's enjoying himself. As I am - I'm getting a serious hard-on. Once I've worked over his upper body thoroughly, I propose he lose his shorts. He slips them off quickly, and I go to work on his legs and ass. Nice meaty legs and ass. So far there's been nothing terrifically sexual about any of this, so I up the ante and let my hard cock rub in his ass crack as I go back to working his shoulders. No response, one way or the other. He doesn't squirm away, but he doesn't get into it either. This guy's kinda resistant. But hot.

    Not getting any response, I suggest he roll over. And over he rolls, revealing a true 5", skinny, backed up by a thick but trimmed bush. Nice, even if not outstanding. I go face down in his crotch immediately, licking his balls and all the sensitive parts before going down on his cock. He's enjoying himself, but not vocally. The blo-job goes routinely - he lasts a solid length of time, but doesn't need to jerk to finish. He squirts a good solid load of sharp tasting cum, and courteously offers me a Kleenex. I'd have swallowed if he'd asked, but he didn't seem interested in that.

    And that was it. He hadn't touched me. He remained very friendly as we dressed, urged me to come back sometime. As he showed me out, I commented that we'd beaten the impending arrival of his friends. He seemed non-plussed by that: "Ah, I'd just tell 'em you were a friend from the neighborhood." What a stud, huh? Ready, willing and able to introduce his cocksucker to his friends without embarrassment, even if he didn't appear to have any sexual interest in me - short of getting his rocks off. Interesting.

    I want me some more of this.

    Sunday, December 20, 2009


    OK, this one was totally worth a try - if only for novelty value.

    Snow Plow Driver - 29

    Hey 29year old bimale out on the streets working tonight. Looking for someone to meet me near where in working, hop in the truck and lets have some fun! Six foot three brown hair blue eyes two hundered pounds 8" cut. Send pic with reply. Looking for now!!!

    How could I not hook this one up? My response got an almost immediate reply asking for a phone number. It's not my usual M.O. to go handing out my phone number, but the idea of blowing a random snow plow driver . . . that was way too much to pass up. Besides, I owe it to my readers to follow up on opportunities like this one. So I sent him my number, and got an immediate return call. No fuss, friendly, he just gave me his location and asked how long it would take me to get there. Ten to fifteen, I estimated.

    I dashed for the car and headed off. And just as advertised, there was a plow truck racing around clearing snow off a big parking lot. I was slightly disappointed that he wasn't in one of the big city-supplied trucks I'd imagined. This was just a big diesel Ford F250 with a plow on the front, and a landscaper's sign on the side. He drove out of the lot and picked me up on the street. I swung up into the cab and told him "I like the way you think, buddy." I liked the way he looked, too. As advertised, a big guy. Dark hair, a full beard. Otherwise, a very average looking white guy. Ideal.

    He didn't respond much - not an outgoing type, I guess - and he was concentrated on wrestling the big truck and its unwieldy plow back into the parking lot. The moment he hit the lot, he lowered the plow, dove on the brakes and started tugging at his zipper and fly. Out popped a short, fat soft cock and I dove on it immediately. He gunned the truck and started scraping through the lot. I'm bouncing up and down on his stiffening cock, and the truck's bouncing up and down over the pavement, and he's backing and filling and covering the lot while talking dirty to me: "you love that big cock, don't you?" and jamming my head down on his rapidly expanding meat for maximum penetration. He was reaching the size where I was starting to gag.

    "Mmmmfmmf!" (That's me trying to sound enthusiastic with my mouth full.)

    Then all of a sudden he stops the truck: "I think my boss just drove by." I quickly take the cue and immediately hop out of the truck and ask if I ought to stick around so we can finish this. It had been a promising start, after all. He grunted something and roared off with the plow scraping. I walk out of the parking lot, making my way back to my car. When I get to my car I text him: "You want to finish this?"

    He quickly responds: "Get lost." Rude fucker.

    I respond back: "Did I do something to piss you off?" I was baffled. He was clearly enjoying himself, talking dirty, hard as a rock, enthusiastically hammering my throat. Now he's changed his mind about this? No comprende.

    He didn't respond to my text for several hours when, at about 1:oo am my phone bleeped. "Bye." That was it.

    I remain baffled.

    Saturday, December 19, 2009


    Another round with Mr. 7/3/09. A totally simple affair. I thought I recognized the simplicity of his CL ad, and true to form, he responded quickly and committed just as quickly. Two emails later - the first of which said: "we've done this before", he'd articulated that what he wanted was for me to find his apartment door ajar and walk in where I'd find him crashed out on the sofa apparently asleep. From there, I was to simply suck him off and go, leaving him there still "asleep".

    Whatever rocks your boat, dude.

    I hustled off toward his place, as before, on my bike. Past the doorman and upstairs, as promised, his door was ajar. And as promised, there he was, crashed out on the sofa with an augmented tits straight porn hammering away on the TV across the room. Eyes shut tight.

    Playing along, I tiptoed quietly over to him and knelt down. His lower body was covered with a blanket that was visibly tented. Nice. I carefully lifted the blanket, and there, as before, was his fat chunky cock standing at attention above his generously bagged balls and his thick untrimmed bush. Taking care not to use my hands (wouldn't want to wake my 'sleeping' target!) I started into blowing him, licking his weighty nuts and burying my face in his thick bush. He made not a sound until, a respectable few minutes into my efforts, he breathed several short, sharp breaths that made it clear: dude's about to cum. And cum he did: a boatload of thick jizz. Once again, not a particularly strong tasting shot, but copious and very, very viscous. Nice.

    I slip out as quietly as I slipped in. He hasn't looked at me yet, unless he was looking at the top of my head bobbing up and down as I sucked him off. Out the door, down the elevator and I was gone.

    It's been a while

    To my readers:

    Thanks for staying with me. No, it hasn't been a dry spell sexually for me. Not at all.

    What it has been is a dry spell blogging for me. I'm not sure why - at various times I blamed it on: I'm busy at work, I had a cold, writer's block, etc, etc. But the truth of the matter is that blogging takes a fair amount of effort, and I was just kinda tuckered out. And as the unreported sexual experiences piled up, the task of getting caught up got bigger and bigger and tougher to overcome.

    But I'm back on the horse, guys (and gals - yup, I have women readers, bless you Ladies!). I've compiled a list of unreported encounters, and I'm going to start working through the backlog. I regret to say that I'll probably miss a couple, as I wasn't taking notes. I've been able to reconstruct my activities from emails where I was hooking up that way. Alas, there are going to be a couple experiences I miss - things that happened at my gym, or maybe a random visit to a XXX bookstore, where I have nothing to remind me of what and when.

    So thanks for sticking with me, folks. Your loyalty will be rewarded.

    Sunday, September 20, 2009


    Feet. Though I once got it on with a guy who liked my feet a whole lot, I've never had the desire to get up close and personal with anybody's feet. But there's this guy who's posted a number of times on CL, and he posts this pic of his feet with his ad. And for some strange reason, they look tasty. Don't know why. I've never looked at a guy's feet at, say, the gym, and started to drool. But this time . . . .

    My response gets a quick return. Yowza - he's a 5 minute walk from here. And he wants some. Now. I quickly arrange to meet him outside his building, and scramble out the door.

    He ambles up to me, looking quite ordinary in cargo shorts, a t-shirt and sandals. 32, 5'10", 175. Cleancut, slightly olive complexion, dark hair. Mediterranean. Not particularly hot in any particular way, but nothing unacceptable either. And yes, a slight accent - turns out he's a Spaniard, to be precise. He wiggles his toes in his sandals, and indicates toward them: "what do you think?"

    "I think I'm ready for a try, sure."

    His apartment's a spacious one bedroom, decorated with more care than your typical bachelor exercises, but in a very traditional manner. Television's tuned to some movie, the laptop is sitting on the ottoman, glowing. He's not good at getting the ball rolling - a little awkward - so I direct him into the bedroom, and suggest he get out of his clothes which he does with dispatch. "You want me to get naked, too?"

    "Sure." Try not to be so indifferent, would ya? He plunks down on the bed, reclines and offers up one foot - "I just took a shower before you came over." So now's the moment of truth: I've gotta pleasure his feet. OK, here goes. start with little kisses. Not bad. Then a little licking - the top, the sole. Yeah, this is kinda fun. He's guiding his toes toward my mouth, and I hesitate before taking the plunge. Do it, boy: give him a toe job. I'm blowing his big toe like it's a small cock. And it turns out to be good fun. Not something I'm jonesing to do again. But good clean fun, and if it turns on a good man, I'm there.

    Toe sucking goes on a short while, but there's only so much one can do in this connection. He's not verbal about his enjoyment. Weak feedback isn't a good thing.

    "Do you like to give a massage?"

    I come up from the foot job, happy to get into something different. "Absolutely, you got any oil? Some lotion, maybe?" He steps into the bathroom, with his hard cock leading the way (yeah, he liked his toe job just fine) and return with a travel-size hand lotion and a towel. He flops down, and I strip down and I get to work. Knead, knead, knead his relatively hairless, relatively un-toned body. He's a tad heavy around the middle, without the saving grace of muscle underneath. Not bad, but nothing special.

    I'm trying to figure out whether he's into men, or he just wants to get off. My hard cock's rubbing in the crack of his ass, to no particular effect. I try dry humping him a bit, and nibbling his neck a bit, again to no particular effect. So I roll him over. Hard as a rock, his cock is. Not big - a true 5", maybe, and fairly skinny. Uncut. Slight bend to the left. Trimmed, but not shaved pubes. I massage his chest a bit, and try once again getting up close and personal - with a kiss, which he passively, but decisively resists, and instead pushes me down for head. After all, he was in this for a foot job and some head.

    You got it, baby. Head. He's not huge, so it's an easy suck, and I'm willing to go on a long time, if he wants. But suddenly, to my surprise, he offers to work on my back a bit. Reciprocal massage? Won't fight you there, buddy. One gets a few kinks working out the kinks of others, after all. I roll onto my front on the bed, and he begins awkwardly and not very effectively working the muscles of my upper back. This quickly evolves into him dry humping me, and whispering in my ear, "you want to get fucked, don't you."

    I beg off, not having planned on this. I have no proper lube, and he's not sure he's got a rubber. I promise I'll put out for him another time, and satisfied, he goes back to dry humping me. And then he does one of the best things anyone's ever done to me: he raises up, with his cock still rubbing the crack of my ass, and he lets drop a huge glob of spit. Right square into my crack. Totally unexpected. "Splat!"

    My god, that felt GOOD. Had this Saturday-afternoon-cornholin'-in-the-barn feel about it. I was about to get fucked by Gomer Pyle! Well, gollee!

    No, wait, this ain't Andy Griffith, and I'm not up for getting fucked. His suddenly spit-lubed cock caught, just barely, in my asshole and probed gently. I felt SO GOOD. If he'd pushed a little harder, and I'd pushed back and not resisted, he'd have been in. But after a nanosecond's pure pleasure, I broke from my reverie, clamped down and told him in no uncertain terms I wasn't looking to get plowed. But damn, it felt SO, SO GOOD while it lasted. I'm going to make a point of coming back for more when I'm properly equipped.

    From there we went into a vigorous blo. He finished himself the last 100 yards manually, and spewed seed all over the place. The guy did good distance. He encouraged me to stroke off - he hadn't touched my cock the whole time - but seemed fairly uninterested in the result. But the strange thing was he didn't rush to get out of bed after we'd both cum. He handed me the towel to wipe up, and we lay there side by side for a while, touching, and talking about one thing and another. It was pleasant, but baffling.

    I can't put his sexuality in any conventional box. He was very friendly, got passionate about wanting to fuck me, but didn't show the slightest interest in my cock and didn't want to kiss or enjoy other non-genital pleasure. Hmmm. The only explanation I can come up with is he's got no particular interest in men, except the easy convenience. But he feels no need to separate himself from me, either.

    It's all very Continental, doncha know?

    Friday, September 11, 2009


    Wow, I found Mr. Taste Free again! (Here's my account of our first meeting.)

    Did my thing at the gym tonight, and settled in for a quick sweat afterward. And yup, there he was again, the man whose jizz, though copius, didn't taste like anything. I didn't recognize him at first - I'm a lot nearsighted, and without glasses it can be hard to recognize someone.

    It's funny, when the third man in the sauna got up and left,Mr. TF said "how are you" to me very politely when I glanced up (he was on the bench above me, on another section of bench) to admire his powerful thighs. Really, I was only admiring his thighs because his towel was so securely wrapped that I couldn't see his goods at all. I mumbled back something non-committal but pleasant. Now of course I was keeping an eye on him. Hope springs eternal, after all. And just as eternally, cocks spring up.

    Shortly after saying hello, he clambered down onto the lower bench, the level I was on. And in doing so he succeeded in hiking his towel up to the point where, when he sat down and his dick got just a little hard, the head was showing prominently. And as regular readers might recall, this guy had one fat cock head, way out of proportion to his quite skinny shaft. The ball-peen hammer of penises. I still didn't recognize him, thinking - and here's that hope springs eternal thing again - that fat head must be backed up by an equally fat shaft. But I was to be disappointed. Well, not really disappointed - he's got a nice cock. But not like I was hope-springs-eternaling about.

    Once it was clear he was showing, and that his soldier was standing at attention, I gave a few tugs on my cock. He responded in kind immediately and I slid over and started giving him a well-lubed handjob. Yes, he was already well-lubed. And it was only when I got my hand on his cock that I recognized just who it was I was dealing with. It's Mr. Taste-Free!
    When I proposed to him he needed to get sucked off, he played reluctant. "Too many people around."

    "Naw, it's 7:30. Don't worry." I kept a skillful slippery stroke going on his cock.

    "I want to go cool off for a second."

    I followed him out of the sauna. His cock was jutting luridly under his towel. He wandered over and drank a little water, then I followed him to the showers for a couple minutes - good! he's washing the lotion off - then he headed back to the sauna. I followed at a respectable distance, thinking - last time, you couldn't taste his jizz because of the lotion, so pay careful attention now.

    In the sauna, he was standing leaned up against the corner of the sauna away from the door. I plunked down on the bench beside him and went down on him straight away. His cock, from this position, was flawlessly sized and proportioned to fill the back of my throat in a highly satisfying manner while still not triggering my gag reflex. Thump, up against the back of my throat. Dimensional fulfillment. It was cocksucking heaven for a couple minutes there. The he pulled out and requested to rub his cock on my face. Then I went down on him, and as he got close, he pulled out again, telling me "I want to cum on your face." A few manual strokes and he started to spew.

    And I anxiously awaited my opportunity, finally, to taste his jizz. He popped all over my face, rubbing his seed around my face and my tongue with his spewing cock. The load was copious and extra thick. More toward jelly than syrup, if that makes sense. Thicker than any cum I think I've ever had. And still no taste! Well, not NO taste, but precious little. The lotion didn't make any difference!

    He was enjoying rubbing his cock on my face (as was I), but we were in a public place, so it seemed best to wrap it up. "Does it turn you on to see your cum all over my face?"

    "Yeah, kind of." Kind of? Geez, thanks.

    I rose, wiped my face on the towel his hung around his neck. And just as I was dropping the towel, in walked another guy. Talk about timing. I pivoted away as the door swung open, and I don't think the guy was the wiser.

    I showered up and went into the again empty sauna to let my hair dry. A few moments later, in walks Mr. Taste Free with a big glass of water he pours on the floor where some of his jizz fell. "Got to clean up my . . . ."

    I'm still marveling.

    No taste.

    Monday, September 7, 2009


    This one was something else.

    The ad was titled: "Basically Str8 guy," and related how said basically str8 guy needed a blo, liked watching str8 porn and how he was stuck here for the day waiting for an evening train home. Sounds good to me! I responded, noting that I had errands to do but that if he could wait until early afternoon, I'd be glad to give him the blo and the porn he wanted. He got back to me very quickly "Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®" to take me up on the offer. He was wandering around, seeing the city, and said he'd just wander my way for my anticipated return from errands. Cool.

    When I got back from running around, I flipped him an email, and he popped back almost immediately. He was two blocks away, and rarin' to go. Said he was named Lloyd, would be wearing jeans and work boots, and - best detail ever - he had a tattoo of a naked girl on his forearm. Damn! In case I doubted his str8 guy bona fides, this took care of it definitively.

    I was out the door fast, and trotted off to see this tattoo. And there he was, exactly as advertised: 38, 5'11", 170, work boots and yes, the naked lady on the forearm. He looked a tad scruffy, and was carrying a tidy, well-stuffed knapsack. This was feeling slightly weird as we walked and he explained himself. He had come two days ago from a neighboring state in response to an online ad for a carpenter that promised two weeks' work, though at somewhat less than his usual wages. He had been glad to get work, as his carpentry skills weren't in hot demand with the housing busting full swing. But the employer had cut him off after two days, and paid him with a check Lloyd didn't think was good. He told the story without embellishment, and with surprisingly little rancor. It was just a bit of hard luck he'd overcome. In the meanwhile, he was waiting for the six o'clock train to get home.

    His whole story had kind of a Great Depression feel about it. And he had a distinctly redneck feel about him. I had brief moments thinking I might be up against a scam. I was thinking of ways to bow out - a sudden faked phone call from someone stopping by, might do the trick, I was thinking. But as he talked some kind of basic decency shone through. I didn't feel manipulated, I didn't feel scammed. He wasn't asking me for anything, and didn't seem needy. This was just real life in a different social stratum walking beside me. He was OK, I concluded. And his jeans looked very nicely stuffed.

    Nonetheless, I took the measure of taking him up the back way in building, via the freight elevator. Which to my chagrin was packed, and in which Lloyd was gregarious and outgoing with people who appeared to be arriving for a party on another floor.

    Once upstairs, I popped in the porn, and he shucked his clothes completely and settled in on the sofa for a good long blo. "Or two," he noted. I was a little surprised to hear that, given he's a grown up, and given he'd said he requires a good long hard suck. Multi-cummers, in my experience, are also quick cummers. Maybe he was joking around. I got down to work. His cock was soft, but still a healthy size - a full 3-4" in its resting state. His body, a working man's body. No pumped up pecs or cut abdominals. But clearly in good shape from actual use. Lightly hairy. Sweaty, but clean. He smelled like a man, not like a bar of soap.

    His cock responded quickly, and stiffened up to a true six and a half - bigger than average, but no monster. And stiff as a board. With me on the floor at his feet, he was big enough to really pound the back of my throat. And pound he did. With a rousing str8 porno on the DVD, he was happily thrusting away at my throat. And enjoying himself audibly, giving me commentary on the porno and my cocksucking. I remained clothed. He showed no interest in me physically, except for my mouth. I was there to be used, plain and simple and hard. And he lasted a long time, as promised. Twenty minutes or more. He gave me an excellent build-up to his orgasm, lots of warning, instructions to slow down and stretch it out for him, and a request to stay on him after he shot. "I like a cocksucker to keep it warm for me." Aye, aye, Sir!

    And shoot he did. Big. Strong tasting. Copious quantities. As requested I stayed on him several minutes while he laid back and caught his breath. When I came up off him, he thanked me for my good cocksucking, and brought up again the second round. "Just give me five minutes here." So I plunked down next to him, and we chatted about one thing and another as the porno rolled on. And sure enough, 5 minutes later, there were signs of life in his crotch again. And down I went, marveling at how a grown-up, pushing 40, could get it up again so fast.

    I went at it again for another good long suck. Not as long - he popped off a little faster this time. And way less juice.

    Having cum twice, he got up and asked if I minded letting him have a shower. No problem. Out of the shower, he walked around naked quite happily. Teasing me? No, I think he was just comfortable in his skin. As he stared out the window at the high-rise view, his phone rang. After he rang off, he told me it was his best friend, Parks. Parks was supposed to be arranging his ticket home, and was having trouble getting it done. Damn Parks.

    "Any chance you could let me have a sandwich?" It was then I put two and two together: Lloyd was out of cash. He'd come up here, been paid with a bad check, and had spent most or all of what was in his pocket in the meantime. He wasn't going to say it, but clearly he was in a jam. As I slapped together some provolone on multigrain for him, I quizzed him a little further, and learned that with some frequent rider points, his Amtrak ticket home was only 15 bucks. I pushed the sandwich into a bag for him, along with some chips and an apple. And I pulled $20 out of my wallet: "Here, this will get you home."

    "Are you sure that's OK?" he asked with wide-eyed gratitude. That was a polite question, given he was standing in an apartment a quick glance at which would reveal that $20 was definitely not going to break me.

    "Not a problem, Lloyd."

    He accepted gratefully, and pressed on me an invitation to visit his house - which he specified was in a middle-class neighborhood; he clearly understood we were from very different places - should I ever get to his city. "I got huge collection of pornos, anything you could be into," he said, indicating toward a wall of bookshelves, "they'd fill up all those shelves!" It was a sincere invitation.

    He'd dressed in fresh clothes he'd produced from his knapsack, and was looking good and feeling good as he headed out the door. He had just enough time to make it to the train, and the means to get his ticket. And a sandwich, and his balls were good and drained.

    Thinking back, I realize that Lloyd was a very genuine person. He asked nothing of me, even though he was in a tough spot. And he inspired me to lend a helping hand. You can't beat that.

    A couple hours later, he emailed from the train to say thanks again, and to urge me again to visit. It did my heart great good to hear he was on his way home.

    Friday, August 28, 2009


    The ad read:

    Built married guy looking for discrete fun right now. Visiting . . . staying at downtown hotel. Have an hour free. Six foot two 200 lbs white athletic. First timer so must be reasonable and limited expectations. Must be under 35. Reply and I will meet you downstairs and if ok let's have quick fun.

    So I replied.

    And he got right back to me (even though I wasn't under 35):

    Sounds perfect. Am watching porn now! Meet me at the Sheraton by the gift shop in the lobby. How long? I have to be somewhere at 7.

    And there he was, as promised, out front of the gift shop. And as promised, big, tall solid guy. Dark wavy hair, handsome enough. Take about 20 pounds off him and chain him to a Nautilus machine for a month and he'd be hot, hot, hot. Now, he's just a nice-looking big lunk in better than average shape. Wearing sandals, a t-shirt and up-to-date jeans. Somehow I looked like what he expected, because he came straight over to me. He was friendly, but a little awkward as we walked across the lobby. There was a big convention in town, for a profession of which I am a member. I asked if he was here for the convention, and he said no, so I tried to make other small talk.

    He was even more awkward in the crowded elevator on the way up, and sorta tried to act like I wasn't with him. Once off the elevator, he was apologetic. "sorry - I keep worrying about I'll run into someone from work."

    In the room, I saw immediately why: he was attending the convention. There was a convention schedule folder right on the desk. Dude's nervous here. He moved away from me, to the other side of the bed, and immediately began shucking his clothes. I followed suit, and we dropped down on the bed next to one another. His cock was of medium size - maybe a little small on such a hunk of a guy. We lay next to each other, jerking to the hotel porn. He was stand-offish, nervous, and didn't voluntarily touch me. For a while.

    I reached over and jerked him for a short time, then wagged my big dick at him. "You want to take a taste of this?" He promptly got up and positioned himself above my cock, then looked at it for a good long time, stroking me slowly. It was as if he was contemplating my cock, maybe working up his nerve? Or just mesmerized by the prospect of having a big hard cock in his hand? Very deliberately he went down on me. Slow strokes, not very deep. But he was taking this very seriously. And once started, he kept going for a good long time - this was not "I'm curious, I'm going to taste it, now I'm done" kind of a blo.

    When he came up off me, he didn't even look at me, and stayed in position above me. I leaned forward and sucked his cock for just a short minute, when he pulled back and out. Dude was thisclose to cumming, and said "no, no" as I reached again for his cock. Quickly he got back on me and kept sucking in the same deliberate, careful way. I kept thinking he could be good, with some more practice. But dude was close. Without warning, he pulled off and dropped back on the bed jerking himself very gently, as if handling a hand grenade. And in seconds he spewed shoulder high.

    I started jerking myself for a finish when it became apparent he was going to pop. As he milked the last squirts out of his cock he urgently asked me to cum on his chest. All too happy to oblige, I hopped up straddling one of his legs, and stroked out a big load all over his chest. I always like to put on a good show in a situation like this, and succeeded nicely this time.

    I grabbed him a towel out of the bathroom, and he wiped up. Immediately he was up on the other side of the bed pulling on his clothes. He was fully dressed before I was. He was feeling very awkward now.

    I left feeling sorry for him. He clearly loved sucking cock. He probably desperately wanted to get fucked. But he was obviously afraid to have the least personal connection.

    That's a big waste. Dude's got potential. And he's a hunk.

    Postscript: I've never left something behind in a situation like this. This was a first: my (prescription) sunglasses, left in his room. He was responsive to my email, and my glasses were at the front desk for me the next day. Thanks dude. Like I say: you got potential.