Tuesday, December 22, 2009

8/29/09


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.

8/29/09

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

12/19/09

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

9/12/09

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

8/16/09


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

8/26/09

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

8/15/09


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

8/2/09

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.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

7/19/09 . . . continuing on


When I hit the street, I checked my email. There's Mr. Blue Collar. He's back from his run. Sweet! I hadn't expected to hear anything further from him. I quickly fire off an email, and he quickly responds. I'm off his way, maybe 5 miles southeast of my current position.

Getting up to his apartment's a bitch, as I can't find a good place to lock up my bike & the doorman's off on break and the alternative call up and get buzzed in method isn't functioning. Finally, some lady sees me, and lets me in. It's not something I'd do, but it's not my building either. Perhaps a sweaty cocksucker isn't her idea of a danger to the neighbors. I march in.

I note in a mirror in the elevator on the way up just how sweaty and bedraggled I am after all this cycling and massaging. I've ridden a fair distance, and worked up a sweat massaging Denial Man. In our conversation, Mr. Blue Collar had raised one point forcefully and repeatedly: he would like to spend some time face down on my ass. I won't say no to that. But given my ragged condition, I resolved to ask if he'd mind me taking a shower. He'd probably appreciate that.

At the door, he's as handsome as his picture. Italian, maybe 55. 5' 9", maybe 185. Wavy mostly gray hair, striking light gray eyes. He'd definitely taken the run he talked about, and clearly makes that a regular habit. Not a gym god, but totally healthy and very appealing. Tasty. And his speech carries the working class Italian vibe his ad had mentioned: "Blue Collar Bi" had been the title. He's not a warm person, and indeed, there's a steely hint of someone you wouldn't want to mess with. I'm liking this plenty.

When I come out of the shower, he's waiting for me in the bedroom, still clad in athletic gear. I dropped my towel and he quickly followed suit, peeling off his running gear. I wasn't sure how this was going to go - did this guy kiss? It didn't take long to determine that yes, he loved swapping tongue. Indeed, I'd say this guy fairly lived through his tongue, and I was going to be the lucky recipient of that. We quickly collapsed onto his bed where I went to work blowing him. He wasn't big, and took a while to come to full strength. But I've got no complaints - the cock's nothing special, but the owner's a very hot roll in the hay.

After some solid suck time on his cock, he wastes little time getting me rolled over and his tongue planted on my ass. And he goes to work. Hard work. Dude must have eaten me for a solid 20 minutes, working his tongue vigorously into my ass. He's pulling my buns apart to get better penetration. He's projecting his tongue as far as it could conceivably go into me. And I'm in heaven. He just plain wants in. This guy eats ass like no other I've ever had. I'm talking serious talent here. I'm regretting that I'm not feeling into getting fucked, because I bet he's a great top.

When he's had his fill of my ass, I go back to blowing him, and he takes a taste of my cock as well. Eventually he finishes himself manually - good sign to me that yes, he's gay all right, and a little too used to his own right hand. A shame. This guy deserves a regular fuck buddy. He really deserves it. But from the look of his place - conservative furniture, family photos, etc., he's pretty deeply in the closet. I don't think he'd allow himself a boyfriend. Makes me want to hold him close and tell him he deserves to be loved. But I don't want to go all Dr. Phil on him. I go down on his cock to take his load, and then make him taste his jizz. He fights me a little, but gives in to tongue play. Like I say, this guy lives through his tongue. I finish myself all over his chest - huge load from all the stimulation of the morning - big shooting, which he admires.

We talk pleasantly as I pull myself together. Turns out that no, he's not a hot construction worker or the like. He works in IT for a large institution. I guess that's 21st Century blue collar, right?

7/19/09


Sunday. Once again, a Sunday double-header. I'm starting to notice a pattern here: Sunday mornings are prime cocksearching time. I don't think I would have recognized the pattern if hadn't been blogging here, keeping track of my various conquests. But now I see it. Sunday morning is big.

This morning, I start out talking to a guy who describes himself as "blue collar". I like that. We go back and forth a bunch of times, and when he says he's got to go somewhere but will get back to me when he returns I figure that was pleasant, but a waste of time. Conveniently, moments later, up pops a MWM who needs a massage. Downtown. Handy. He alludes to sex in his ad only where he says: ". . . whatever pops up." That's it.

A mere 4 emails does the job, and I'm on my bike and off to his place in the furthest edges of downtown, into an area that's filling in an urban no-man's land. He comes down to meet me on the street, and takes me directly up to a smallish new apartment in a brand new building. He's about 6'2", 190. Early 30s. Nice wavy dark hair, but nothing else notably attractive about him, but still good enough. Pleasant, seems bright but not too talkative. A little shy, not one to quickly establish a personal connection. No ring, but there's a woman's touch about the apartment. All his guy junk seems to have been shoved into a small study, and somebody else went to Target to try to make the place look nice. And succeeded, in a budget store kinda way.

He hadn't thought of massage oil. Apparently he didn't know that an oily massage is a good massage. But on my inquiry, and after some banging around in the kitchen he came up with a large bottle of cooking oil, which would serve fine. He spread out a towel on the bed then stalled awkwardly. I sensed I needed to make a move here, and instructed him to take his clothes off. There's some denial going on here.

In order to preserve the deniability, I gave him an option: "Your choice if you want to take your shorts off. Either way you like it."

"Oh, that's cool," he responded, with not a flicker of emotion. He quickly shucked his clothes, whipped off his boxers and flopped down forward across the bed. I got a flash of his goods: unshaved, but trimmed dark pubic hair. Bigger than average flaccid cock, with a pronounced bend to the right. Laid out before me his body is a bit heavy around the middle. No effort at the gym. But again, not bad, and nice skin. I want to touch.

"You want me to strip down?" I immediately regretted requiring him to make an affirmative statement he might not want to make.

But he handled it easily by tossing the choice back to me: "Yeah, if you think you should." Of course I think I should.

"Yeah, probably the best thing to do if I'm using oil. Don't want to oil up my clothes."

I stripped quickly, got some oil in my hand and standing behind him I started to work on his lower back. I hopped up onto the bed to get a better position on him and casually let my throbbing cock rest gently in the crack of his ass, moving with me. If denial weren't so heavy in the air, this would be considered erotic. But he gave no sign of arousal. Or anything, really. I kept kneading away on his back, his neck, arms with my cock rubbing against his body - not grinding, mind you, just rubbing. It's there, it rubs against you because it's there. Nothing more.

I love this kind of denial shit. His eyes remain closed the entire time, and he makes only occasional noises of enjoyment.

I worked over his legs, and up to his meaty ass where my explorations become ever more intimate. But I don't grab his balls, and his cock is sticking up underneath him and not visible to me. Then I'm off the bed and standing at his head working his shoulders, moving up to his neck. I've got him with his head hanging off the side of the bed. My stiff cock's rubbing gently against the back of his head. But again, it just happens to be rubbing against him, just because, well, it's there. And still his eyes are closed.

It's time to get him turned over. "Let me work your chest." I don't have to tell him to roll over. He does. Eyes still closed. His cock is standing straight up his chest, good and hard. 6"+, and on the thick side of average. I start working his upper arms, standing to the side. My cock is not touching him. I work up to his neck, but still keep my cock out of it. So far as I can tell, he's still not opened his eyes. I start on his chest. My cock brushes the side of his head. And again. As I work he slowly turns to let my cock rub against his face.

Ah ha! Dude doesn't just want a blo, he wants some cock. To some extent. After a couple minutes I feel his tongue sliding along the underside of my cock. I manage to maneuver my cock to rub on his lips while keeping up the massage. And then, Pop! it's in his mouth. Not far. Only an inch or so. And he's not really giving me an active blo-job. But my cock's in his mouth. It's just there.

His eyes are still closed, and he's still not moaning or groaning. But his cock's stiff as a board, and there's a drop of pre-cum showing at the tip. I lean forward and go down on him. My cock slips out of his mouth but his face is quickly buried in my thigh. I down him fast and deep and start sucking him slowly. He lasts barely a minute before breathing "I'm gonna cum." I stay on him and take his flood. A nice big flood - a nice big flood that I swallow.

"So how was that?" I inquired as he struggled to his feet. "Thanks, I feel great," he said, kind of shaking out his shoulders. He was clearly referring to the massage, not to the orgasm he'd just had. He'd just happened to cum. Nothing intentional, and no acknowledgment that he'd just sucked my cock, or that I even had one. We chatted briefly about nothing while I pulled my clothes on. He too got dressed.

On my way out, stopping in the bathroom to take a leak - it's clear: a woman does live here. Makeup equipment on the counter. I'll just call him Denial Man.

I'd do Denial Man again.

7/12/09

Got to my gym just in time to swim my customary laps. And then hit the sauna, naturally. After dechlorinating and putting my suit through the spin-dryer I plunked my ass down in the dry heat. There was one guy in there. Late 20s, maybe, dark hair, pale complexion. Nerdy. An IT professional having a Sunday afternoon sweat.

I did my usual introductory trick: whipped off my towel and dried my hair vigorously. I say introductory, as it gives anyone who cares to look a great opportunity to examine my junk without fear of being seen staring. With a towel over my head, there's no way I'm going to catch the peak-sneaker. Done drying, I dropped the towel on my lap with it low enough on my hips showing my pubes and just a smidge of the anchor end of my shaft. If they want to look, they can . . . think of it as a free sample.

And so I sat for a few. I had a definite feeling this guy was there for more than the heat, but I got no overt sign from him. His towel was wrapped securely around his waist, navel high. Nothing showing, and no visible stirring beneath. But still he had that air about him. I think he was looking my way, but being fairly blind without glasses I couldn't be certain about that. So I made a point of giving my pubes an unhurried scratch. And I gave balls a leisurely rearrangement, taking care to leave the towel positioned so he something enticing to look at. But still no overt interest.

A couple minutes later - this was taking a long, long time for this sort of thing - I repeated my rearrangements and scratches. Because I believed in this guy. And it worked. He reached under his still tightly wrapped towel and rearranged. I made a point of watching. And then he started clearly tugging on his dick. Thank you, thank you. I reached for my equipment to encourage him. He let his towel open a bit and I saw that he wasn't pulling on his cock, but was hauling fairly hard on his balls, letting his cock rub against his thigh in full view. Nice. I hate when I guy finally gets going but won't let you see his stuff because his hand is so firmly wrapped around it.

He opened his towel accomodatingly, and slapped on a little more lotion. (He was prepared with a little cup of lotion secreted behind him. I hadn't seen it, or this whole process would have gone much faster. But no complaints. I like the mutual tease, the thrill of the chase.) His cock wasn't big - maybe real 5" - and the shaft was unusually skinny - literally thumb thickness. But by comparison, the head was unusually fat. I kept thinking that if he'd been uncut this thing would have looked like a ball peen hammer. Now everything was out in the open, and I reached for him and commenced a nice well-lubed hand job he enjoyed thoroughly.

He enjoyed it so much he scooted closer and angled himself in my direction. I leaned forward into my task, and he reacted by just reaching for the back of my head and pressing me down toward his throbbing little hammer. Not a word, just a push. I like this guy.

I was slightly reluctant to go down on him because of all the lotion I'd been squishing around on his cock. But am I going to say no to a guy who gently but firmly is pressing my head down on his cock? Not on your life.

The lotion had a strange deadening effect on my tastebuds. All I could taste was gooey. I kept my well lubed hand on his shaft, stroking gently along with my suck. And I gave strong suction to his protruding cockhead. I wanted to get this reluctant guy off fast, before he could change his mind. I've had guys like this who, upon hearing some little noise outside the sauna, fled never to return. (Or, should I say: never to cum.)

We were in the sauna, I was face down and he was laying back to enjoy himself. I wanted to get this done. And I did in pretty short order. He half-breathlessly, half-casually informed me he was going to cum. He was clearly expecting me to pull off, but you all know me. I slowed my pace slightly to stretch out his orgasm, but remained as firmly committed as before. He warned me again, more breathlessly, but apparently resigned that he wasn't going to deter me and then started to shoot. My mouth filled quickly as he quietly emptied his balls. I stayed on him only a moment, given the public nature of the place.

When I came up, I let his jizz slide out of my mouth onto his cock. Dude could shoot - it was a healthy load. Thick, on the yellowish - rather than the whitish - side. I left a big wad in his dark trimmed pubes, and several more gouts dripped down onto his shaft and slid toward his tight balls.

"Heavy load, man. What was that, a weeks' worth?" He laughed briefly, but insisted it was only two days' worth.

The funny thing was I couldn't taste a thing. The lotion had so throughly coated my tongue that there was no sperm taste whatsoever. None. And I suspect his jizz was of a flavorful sort, given its thick consistency and coloring. Damn, what a waste.

Still randy, I urged him to taste my cock for a moment, as I had a raging hard-on. He declined - "I don't suck other guys - at least not strangers." But he happily stroked me for a minute with his well-greased palm. Nice, but I didn't want to cum.

We parted ways. I marveled in the shower how I still couldn't taste a thing. I marveled on the way out of the gym that I still couldn't taste a thing. I marveled all the way home that I'd just taken a big, thick, gummy slightly yellowish load of jizz and I didn't have even the faintest hint of cum aftertaste.

Damn lotion.

UPDATE: I ran into him again. Did another taste check. Will post soon.

UPDATED UPDATE: Posted!

Sunday, August 2, 2009

7/3/09 . . . a few minutes later


I cut out of Mr. Schlong's apartment, and immediately fire off an email to they guy I'd put off not more than half an hour before. He's moved since last I saw him, and it's a 10 minute walk from Schlong's place to his. He responds immediately with address directions and I'm off. For the sake of the reader's imagination, the details: 40ish, 5'10", maybe, 180 pounds, maybe. Not in great shape, but not bad either. A jock-y soup bowl haircut. Dishwater brown hair. Very ordinary looking guy. I likely wouldn't check him out on the street if the opportunity arose.

We keep up a choppy email dialogue as I walk, during which I inform him that he's going to eat his load again. Every time I've done him, I've made him swallow his own spunk. This blo-job in an apartment scheme is pretty tame for us. First time we made it, we searched all over his immediate neighborhood for a dark spot to do it in. Failing to find one, we did it in a dark corner of his parking garage. A second and third time, we did it in his car, once parked on the street. He's never reciprocated, but he's always up for spermy tongue swapping, and that only afterwards. Odd.

As I power-walk my way to this second blo-job of the morning, a funny thing happens. I start to taste Schlong's cum. He hadn't tasted like much when he tossed his wad. I walked out of there, even, thinking to myself: nice big load, but it didn't taste like much. But, like a fine wine, the flavor developed with time.

Guy number two greets me at the door, and leads me directly into the bedroom. I'm surprised to note his apartment - 40 stories up, with a stellar view - is full of Catholic symbols. Here a painting of the Virgin Mary, there a cross. Big cross over the bed, where he crashes on his back and kicks off his pants. He's already hard as a rock - unusual for him, as I'm used to having to warm him up. He's been jerking off without cumming this morning. Clearly.

He didn't last long. Which, again, was not his usual. He generally took some effort to bring off. Like I said, definitely whacking off all morning. He pumped a solid load into my mouth, and I promptly administered it back to him, taking the opportunity to grind it in with my tongue. After clearing my mouth, I rose up off him, stroked his throat and told him to swallow. With dazzled post-orgasmic haze in his eyes, he submitted to my desire to see him swallow. Gulp. Audible.

And I left him there on the bed and showed myself out.

7/3/09




Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! I don't know what it is about Sundays . . . but guys seem to need it on Sunday mornings. Especially this Sunday.

I'm horned, and I hit Craigslist first thing - seriously, I'm on the hunt by 8:00 am. And hit #1 gets a quick response. Sounds like just a simple request for a blow job from a self-described straight guy of 40. And nearby. Regular readers know I'm on that right away. We go back and forth for 4 or 5 emails, then he just drops away. I'm thinking he's got a better offer or some such thing. Dang.

Then I happen across another ad, also from a nearby self-described straight guy of 40. He wants someone to jerk off all over his cock, then use then cum to stroke him off. Nice. I respond to that, too: "Let me one up your scenario: I come in, stroke off and cum all over your cock and then suck you off and swallow both our loads."

Almost immediately, I get a return email from a recently familiar address: "It's me, can you do this now?" Same guy. One word response: "YEAH!" Moments later, I get another hit from another guy I responded to. Also calls himself straight, also nearby. Damn, my cup runneth over. And I recognize the email addy. I've sucked this guy off at least 3 times before. And sure, I'd do him again. But I have to put him off. Told him I may be available in an hour or so, and I'm very motivated. I'm hoping he doesn't get another offer before I can get back to him.

This first guy is way too intriguing, particularly as I'd done some research on him. His name was popping up on his email, and it was easy. Found his job. Found his Facebook. Found his high school and date of graduation (he was definitely not 39. Add 10. That's OK, it's the internet). He's Jewish. His nickname. Photos of him at a stock car race. Yeesh. Watch which email you use, guys.

I'm biking it today, and arrive all sweated up at his stylish downtown building. Doorman directs me up, and as promised he's left the door ajar. I just walk in as instructed. He's there, crashed out on the sofa, watching straight porn and sporting a big slightly spongy hard-on. He's wearing a grungy bathrobe which carries the logo of the local NFL team. There's an electric guitar in the corner. The apartment's nice, because it's new, but there's been no attempt to pretty it up. It's a guy place, definitely.

He wags his cock at me with a devilish grin. "Suck it." I don't need prompting, even though this gets off our planned squirt-suck-squirt scenario. But I can't stay away from this cock. This one truly deserves to be called a schlong. A true 7", moderately thick, with a big, long slim head on it. Cut, of course. Oy. Totally tasty. Nice bush, hairy balls. Little bit of gray sneaking into the underbrush. He smells slightly sweaty - not freshly washed, but a sweet scent nonetheless. He's vocal about his enjoyment when I get slurping on him. And he doesn't want me to stop apparently, as he keep urging me on. I'm sucking long and slow because I don't want him to cum too soon. This cock's just too good to rush. I'd be pleased to really wear out my jaw with an hour long suck on this one. But he doesn't last all that long. He gives me plenty of warning. My attempt slow things down my lapping at his balls comes too late: "don't stop sucking me, I'm gonna cum," he begs.

And cum he does. He squirts hard enough for me to feel it in my mouth. I stay on him for his prodigious load - not very flavorful, but nice and thick - and keep his cock warm for him as he audibly catches his breath. "You gonna swallow, man?" I take this as a request, not a question. I come up off him, look him in the eye, open my mouth a little and roll the cum across my tongue and swallow visibly. He smiles broadly, thanks me and tell me that was good. No kidding, buddy.

He's showing no effort toward getting off the sofa, so I stand up, tell him it was great and suggest that we might do the squirt-suck-squirt deed we'd discussed maybe some other time. He seems amenable. And I'm out the door.

And off to the next guy.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

7/1/09

Work? Who wants to work.

Who wants to check CL on his smart-phone? Me! Me! Me!

I note an ad inquiring whether a nearby XXX bookstore was cruisy. I answer it, not really expecting to get anything out of the effort. "I've been there a couple times, and all I saw was a couple guys who had clearly pre-arranged a meeting." And then I tossed in "you looking for a blo?" Might as well ask, huh?

He wrote back quickly: "Sure. But my car in the parking garage down the street is probably a safer place." And he included his basic attributes . . . 49, MWM (cha ching!), 5", etc. Frankly, looking back, I feel like I was set up. Lured into a casual conversation that turned into a sexual predator's unquestionably pre-meditated car blo. Manipulated or not, I'm not going to say no. A couple more emails, he suggests we meet at the elevators on level 6 at 12:15. See you there, Mr. Manipulator.

I arrive on time, he's approaches a couple minutes later, coming from his car. He's no great beauty. In very average shape for his age. And not in a hot way. I don't know what to say about why he wasn't attractive - I usually go for plain old guy-guys. And it's not like he wasn't guy-like. Or that he was even off-putting. But he did nothing for me.

So I had no reason to back out of it. And I had a reason to stay, that was certain. And I'd committed to this. So dude's getting a BJ. He directs me to a late-model Toyota Avalon. Ick. Cheap, cheezy, self-satisfied ugly car. Tinted windows, and a booster seat in the back. We sit in the front seat, and he quickly fishes out the promised 5". Still soft. Small but not tiny. The one thing I'll say for this tacky car is that there's room enough for a cocksucker to kneel in the front passenger footwell and blo the driver. That's a big plus, though I doubt anyone at Toyota wondered "is the footwell roomy enough to accommodate a cocksucker?" as they designed this fugly ride.

From my face down position on him, if I open my right eye, I'm staring directly at his wedding right. I can also smell smoke on his hands. His cock stiffens up nicely to . . . medium-small size. And he cums after not too much attention from me.

You've heard that smokers' cum tastes nasty? Yup. It's got a strong - for lack of a better term - smoky taste. But not like barbeque smoky. More like filter-off-a-burnt-Marlboro smoky taste. Which is not necessarily bad for cum. I've always thought cum oughta taste like something. There's nothing more disappointing than a watery, flavorless load. Smoky, oddly enough, beats watery.

So, OK, this guy's got his virtues. Convenient, flavorful. OK, that's it.

I pop the door, spit his load on the parking deck and I'm out of there, leaving him to wipe up. Sadly, I didn't think to take a pick of the car until I'd walked away. I'd like to have shown you all the scene of the crime.

VIDEO ALERT

In May, I blogged about my prostate exam, and urged my readers to check out my latest attempt at film-making if they didn't believe me when I claimed to be able to shoot cum significant distances. Or, at least significant distances for a guy over 40.

But then I let you all down, and embarrassed myself when I couldn't get the video to post. All those who doubted my shooting prowess must have rubbed their hands with selfish glee.

Well, thanks to my willingness to ask, and to the bounteous supply of tech-savvy pervs out there, I managed get my .3gp file translated into a nice postable .mpeg file.

So, lower the lights, pop some popcorn, and click the link for the show:


(Roll down slightly for video.) Can you guys top that? I'm hereby offering to post video from any and all shooters who can beat that distance. Anybody up to the challenge?

Monday, July 13, 2009

6/29/09


The ad was simple: MWM wants blow job. Basic stats. A photo (yeah, that one right there). And he's in a downtown hotel.

You think I'm not going to respond to that?

He wrote back promptly with a simple: Are you free tonight? It was late, 11:00, on a school night. One more email established that he was at a hotel not more than 10 minutes away on foot. And it's a nice night out. Utter simplicity. There was no decision to make here. I was out the door one email later.

At the hotel, after a small hassle getting upstairs, I was presented with a nice looking, 38ish Indian guy with a distinct accent. I was slightly taken aback, given he'd explicitly described himself as an MWM. W may have been a fib, but the two Ms, they were there in abundance. He was solidly built, in obvious good shape. Wearing a ring. And really snug jeans that showed a sweet plump package. Oh, yeah, I'm still on board - I've had Indians before. They're tasty.

In the tiny highly high-concept-on-a-budget hotel room I quickly sank to my knees and started chewing the demin of his jeans. He sank back on the bed, and I followed, tugging at his jeans and boxers. He wasn't hard yet, and his shriveled cock is short, fat and very dark. And very uncut. Not the kind you can chew on, but a hood big enough his cockhead didn't show at all when he was soft. He stiffened up nicely, but still didn't seem as big as his picture. (Look a the picture closely: he's managed to make the whole cock look like just the half of it.) But this was nice. And his crotch smelled great. Call me crazy, but he had a spicy smell about him.

He was appreciative, but not vocal. And he came without the slightest warning, after not more than a couple minutes of my tongue. It was one of those rare times when I'm caught wondering: did dude just pop? I don't know, there just wasn't much cum there. Unclear as to whether he'd cum, I kept working on him. After another minute or two (when, in retrospect, he did seem very sensitive), he finally wriggled out and said something to the effect of "that's enough". It was really only then I was sure that he'd cum. But I scarely even felt the urge to spit. There just wasn't much there. Taste, yes. Volume, no.

I followed him into the bathroom, where he'd gone to wash up. I followed, massaging my hard-on in my jeans. I whipped it out and rubbed against him. He was interested enough to wank me briefly. But my suggestion that he might want to take a taste were met with a nervous giggle and a shake of the head, and his counter that I could jerk off into the toilet - which he said he wouldn't mind watching.

I was out of there. On the way home, I kept thinking: "how can a cocksucker of your considerable skill, experience and growing renown miss a whole freakin' orgasm?"

Have any cocksucker readers experienced that? You didn't realize he'd cum?

Sunday, July 12, 2009

7/12/09

Got to my gym just in time to swim my customary laps. And then hit the sauna, naturally. After dechlorinating and putting my suit through the spin-dryer I plunked my ass down in the dry heat. There was one guy in there. Late 20s, maybe, dark hair, pale complexion. Nerdy. An IT professional having a Sunday afternoon sweat.

I did my usual introductory trick: whipped off my towel and dried my hair vigorously. I say introductory, as it gives anyone who cares to look a great opportunity to examine my junk without fear of being seen staring. With a towel over my head, there's no way I'm going to catch the peak-sneaker. Done drying, I dropped the towel on my lap with it low enough on my hips showing my pubes and just a smidge of the anchor end of my shaft. If they want to look, they can . . . think of it as a free sample.

And so I sat for a few. I had a definite feeling this guy was there for more than the heat, but I got no overt sign from him. His towel was wrapped securely around his waist, navel high. Nothing showing, and no visible stirring beneath. But still he had that air about him. I think he was looking my way, but being fairly blind without glasses I couldn't be certain about that. So I made a point of giving my pubes an unhurried scratch. And I gave balls a leisurely rearrangement, taking care to leave the towel positioned so he something enticing to look at. But still no overt interest.

A couple minutes later - this was taking a long, long time for this sort of thing - I repeated my rearrangements and scratches. Because I believed in this guy. And it worked. He reached under his still tightly wrapped towel and rearranged. I made a point of watching. And then he started clearly tugging on his dick. Thank you, thank you. I reached for my equipment to encourage him. He let his towel open a bit and I saw that he wasn't pulling on his cock, but was hauling fairly hard on his balls, letting his cock rub against his thigh in full view. Nice. I hate when I guy finally gets going but won't let you see his stuff because his hand is so firmly wrapped around it.

He opened his towel accomodatingly, and slapped on a little more lotion. (He was prepared with a little cup of lotion secreted behind him. I hadn't seen it, or this whole process would have gone much faster. But no complaints. I like the mutual tease, the thrill of the chase.) His cock wasn't big - maybe real 5" - and the shaft was unusually skinny - literally thumb thickness. But by comparison, the head was unusually fat. I kept thinking that if he'd been uncut this thing would have looked like a ball peen hammer. Now everything was out in the open, and I reached for him and commenced a nice well-lubed hand job he enjoyed thoroughly.

He enjoyed it so much he scooted closer and angled himself in my direction. I leaned forward into my task, and he reacted by just reaching for the back of my head and pressing me down toward his throbbing little hammer. Not a word, just a push. I like this guy.

I was slightly reluctant to go down on him because of all the lotion I'd been squishing around on his cock. But am I going to say no to a guy who gently but firmly is pressing my head down on his cock? Not on your life.

The lotion had a strange deadening effect on my tastebuds. All I could taste was gooey. I kept my well lubed hand on his shaft, stroking gently along with my suck. And I gave strong suction to his protruding cockhead. I wanted to get this reluctant guy off fast, before he could change his mind. I've had guys like this who, upon hearing some little noise outside the sauna, fled never to return. (Or, should I say: never to cum.)

We were in the sauna, I was face down and he was laying back to enjoy himself. I wanted to get this done. And I did in pretty short order. He half-breathlessly, half-casually informed me he was going to cum. He was clearly expecting me to pull off, but you all know me. I slowed my pace slightly to stretch out his orgasm, but remained as firmly committed as before. He warned me again, more breathlessly, but apparently resigned that he wasn't going to deter me and then started to shoot. My mouth filled quickly as he quietly emptied his balls. I stayed on him only a moment, given the public nature of the place.

When I came up, I let his jizz slide out of my mouth onto his cock. Dude could shoot - it was a healthy load. Thick, on the yellowish - rather than the whitish - side. I left a big wad in his dark trimmed pubes, and several more gouts dripped down onto his shaft and slid toward his tight balls.

"Heavy load, man. What was that, a weeks' worth?" He laughed briefly, but insisted it was only two days' worth.

The funny thing was I couldn't taste a thing. The lotion had so throughly coated my tongue that there was no sperm taste whatsoever. None. And I suspect his jizz was of a flavorful sort, given its thick consistency and coloring. Damn, what a waste.

Still randy, I urged him to taste my cock for a moment, as I had a raging hard-on. He declined - "I don't suck other guys - at least not strangers." But he happily stroked me for a minute with his well-greased palm. Nice, but I didn't want to cum.

We parted ways. I marveled in the shower how I still couldn't taste a thing. I marveled on the way out of the gym that I still couldn't taste a thing. I marveled all the way home that I'd just taken a big, thick, gummy slightly yellowish load of jizz and I didn't have even the faintest hint of cum aftertaste.

Damn lotion.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

6/21/09 . . . on the way home

I stopped by another suck-woods on my way home.

The bastards have cleared a lot of the underbrush, so the woods don't hide much any more. You have to go way back deep into the forest to get any cover. And surprise, surprise, the men have simply migrated back there. I walk back a ways on a dirt road, looking for life. And yup, it's there. First, in off the road in the woods, I spotted a middle aged married Hispanic guy stroking his pants and staring at me. I stepped off the road and headed for him. He headed deeper into the woods. When I caught up to him, he whipped it out. But it quickly became clear he wanted to blo me. I was preparing to excuse myself when I spotted a fully naked guy about 50 feet away. Wow! That was unexpected. He had moved into a sunny area, and was stroking his cock.

The Hispanic guy and I made our way over to him. He had a blanket, cooler, and a book sitting in a patch of sun. He was ready for some serious backwoods nakedness. He was maybe 35, skinny and fit, with a long sort of droopy cock. Longish hair. And unfortunately, a shaved crotch. An odd duck. After a minute or two, I excused myself, leaving the Hispanic guy and the naked guy to enjoy themselves.

I just wasn't inspired in the least by either of them.

On the way back, I encountered a 40ish Eastern European on the road. Tight jeans, natural blond hair. He heads into the woods, and I follow right along. This might be good. But it isn't. He's wearing some cheap cologne, a tight euro-style T-shirt, and very Old Country pointy-toed shoes. Sadly, he's shaved himself clean below the belt. Damn. He's kind of a cut-rate, second-world imitation of a gay guy. I help him jerk off - his cock's big, but floppy. He seems very grateful. I compliment him on his shooting after he's unloaded, and he looks at me like with the apologetic, uncomprehending look of one whose English isn't so good.

Zimne Piwo, dude. (That's the only Polish I know. It means "cold beer.")

Any of my readers ever score a genuine Polish keilbasa?

6/21/09

Aw, geez. Out in the 'burbs, and the two inevitable magnets pull me further, on beyond my original destination. The suck-woods, and my favorite XXX. The suck woods, sadly, are a bust. I've mentioned the layout before - the regular park up front, and the long road way off to the back of the park. Traditionally, the back road is closed during the winter because they don't want to bother plowing the road. But this summer, the back woods haven't re-opened. There's a couple sawhorses festooned with yellow 'Hazard' tape and a sign saying "Road Closed."

I am personally convinced that they're doing it because of all the illicit sex that goes on back there. Nice. Stupid, too. Lust is like hydraulic pressure: cut it off one spot, you're guaranteed it'll burst out someplace else. And when you re-open what you've cut off, everything's gonna flow right back again. Note to self: figure out where everyone's gone.

So the suck-woods were a bust.

But the XXX was humming right along. I didn't have a long time to mess around, but that was fine as my luck was with me. Target #1 walked in not 5 minutes after I did. 40ish, average height, average weight of a suburban dad who likes him some fast food. Not sloppy, not svelte. Dark blue t-shirt, and shorts & sandals. He hadn't spent a long time on his outfit this afternoon. Really nothing special to look at.

He ducks straight into a booth, leaving the door ajar. He knows the drill. I catch his eye, nod and I'm in. I reach for his crotch directly. "You want a blo?" He just nods yes and fumbles with his zipper. He quickly extracts about 4.5 inches of already hard cock. Thicker than most, not a skinny little thing. But not exactly a fatty, either.

He remains standing as I go to my knees. He lasts about 2 minutes under my ministrations. He's quiet, no warning that he's about to cum, just a warm rush in my mouth. Nice healthy flavorful load. He's not chatty afterwards, so I just button up and beat it. He drives off in a 5 year old Camry. He was not bad, overall. But nothing to get too excited about.

I've tasted cum, though. That's a good day no matter what.

A little more waiting nets me a much hotter guy. He's probably in his mid-50s, very fit. Tan, but the natural kind. And a glint of gold from his ring finger. He's got a very winning way about him. He checks me out sideways. I check him back straight forward. We start chatting in the hallway. He asks me where I come from. "The city. But I like to drop by here."

"Boy, you guys in the city - you've got Boystown, and everything."

We go back and forth in a flirty banter for a few minutes. He's fun. I'm enjoying this. If we were in a bar, I'd be thinking "I'm taking this one home." I keep looking at an obvious bulge in his shorts. I make it a point that he should notice where I'm looking. He gets faintly nervous as I get more forward, but he's clearly liking it, too. I suggest a booth. He resists slightly. We chat further, I leer further. He starts looking toward an open booth. I suggest it again, and this time, he's game. He steps in, and I follow promptly and immediately sink to my knees and bury my face in his crotch. I can feel his hard cock under there. It's not big, but it's decidedly hard and ready to go.

When I go it to extract the goods, he shoves his pants down and hauls out a shortish, thickish cock. No shaving, he's nicely hairy down there. When I start making toward his cock to blo him he turns me away. He's not going there. Curses! But he wants to wank for me, and wants me to wank him. He even wants to wank me. I snuggle close to him while giving him my very best hand job. He's very responsive and sensual, and starts kissing my neck, my ears. Oooooo, that's giving me chills. Good chills.

As always in situations like this, when I can't get the cock in my mouth, I suggest that maybe I can go down on his balls. Again, he acts reluctant, but when I nuzzle him and whisper in his ear, pleading, he relents. My face is buried in his hairy balls in no time. Sweet. His sack is taught across his nuts. Nice big nuts, I might add. Nice big sweet manly smelling nuts. Rarely have I been so happy just polishing the family jewels. He starts making noises like he wants to take a break. He promises we'll continue this shortly, and pulls up his pants.

When he steps out of the booth, I'm not sure what to do. Has he wearied of me? Is he afraid I'm going to push him into a blo-job he doesn't want (he oughta be afraid of that - I'd love to taste dude's seed)? He wanders off toward the other end of the room. (I should explain - this complex of XXX booths isn't arranged in a small spade in a tight row, as most XXXs are. It's a big warehouse-y space, with booths scattered about in pairs. Unusual, but nice, in that if you want to get away from some troll, you can just wander off to another area.)

I lose sight of him for a few, but wander in his general direction. And yup, soon enough, I find him waiting in a booth with the door ajar. Oddly enough, he's in the same booth (out of 36 or more booths, if memory serves) in which I had just 30 minutes before scored a load. He beckons me in. Good, he did just want a break. He's all over me. We're doing everything up to, but not including, swapping tongue. He's pawing my shorts, grabbing my ass, kissing my chest. He strokes my cock appreciatively, and with a good hand. I start nuzzling him again, whispering in his ear that I'd sure love it if he's up to take a taste of my meat. No, no. So I suggest my balls. He plays reluctant again, but breaks down as before.

And then he does the weirdest thing ever: he extracts a wet-nap from his pocket. "Do you mind?" he asks as he tears open the package. He mutters something about being married. I'm so surprised I just let him go at it, and he sinks to his knees andthoroughly swabs down my low hangers. And then he plants his face in my crotch. He tongues away happily for a good time. He's not a great ball licker, but I don't mind. He's clearly having such a good time, I'm happy too.

He rises suddenly. He's been wanking the whole time, and it's had its desired effect. "I'm getting close." I quickly sink to my knees and position myself directly in front of him. I quickly yank my shirt over my head, trying to convey that he might want to shoot his load on me. But no, Mr. Clean turns 90 degrees. I've got a front row seat for his ejaculation, but I don't get so much as a drop. When he's done I rise and start humping his hip. He's not a post-orgasm sensualist, though. He just wants to get out, really. He remains friendly and flirty, but he doesn't want to be touched any more. And my dick's no longer of interest. Some guys just switch off, and he's one of them. After a quick wipe-up, he's gone. He drives off in a Grand Cherokee.

Boy he'd be good stripped of inhibitions and tucked into a king-size bed a thousand miles from his wife.