Saturday, May 23, 2009


Yeah, that pic was in the ad.  Goddamn, I gotta have that fattie.  Look at it: it's at least 4 times the width of that thumb.  I don't care if he's married (he's not).  I don't care if he wants to reciprocate (he doesn't).  So what if he's in the suburbs.  It's the weekend.  According to Google Maps, I can get out there in about 15 minutes.  No problem.  Well worth the effort.

Ooops.  Traffic.  Lots of it.  Damn.  Who'd have thought a weekend would be so f'n slow on the road.  Shit.  And then I get where I'm going, I go one exit too far, and I've gotta backtrack.  I'm getting aggravated.  But the drive through the pleasant, verdant, prosperous older suburb to his house is soothing.  So many nice, well ordered and properly funded lives in one place - well, it is kinda soothing.  But only kinda.  I'm late for a huge slab of non-reciprocating cock.

I pull into the parking area of some pleasant townhouses, and quickly find the right door.  I'm greeted by a somewhat heavy guy in basketball shorts.  Nothing special to look at, except that there's definitely something heavy in those silky looking shorts.  It swings slowly, tantalizingly behind the fabric, but it's not hard.  Not yet.  That's going to be my job.  

The place has bachelor written all over it.  No attempt at making it look nice.  The furniture's for comfort and easy TV watching.  There's a baseball game on the screen as I walk in.  Conversation reveals he's an accountant, and works from home.  Dude's very calm compared to my agitated state.  I ask to use the bathroom, as I've worked up a bit of a leak while stuck in traffic.  I note a home office next to the bathroom.  As I'm pissing, I note a discarded prescription bottle in the trash.  I fish it out and recognize it as an anti-depressant (weird side-effect of my work: I know a fair amount about prescription drugs).  OK, that accounts for his highly placid manner.  Curiosity piqued, I check the medicine chest.  There's another bottle of the same stuff, but no other prescriptions.  OK, no problem.

I step back out into the living room, and he chats amiably with me.  He's shy about getting me into his pants, so I deploy the time-honored ice-breaker: I stare.  He gets a little embarrassed and says something totally unoriginal like "you like that, don't you."  "Whip it out, bud, I'm here to blo you!"  I reach for the waistband of his shorts, and he does the same.  Together, we shuck his shorts in one smooth move.  He's commando, and I'm slightly disappointed.  Yeah, it's heavy, but short and not as fat as the pic had looked.  No time to back out now, though.  And it's still a tasty piece of meat.  I drop to my knees and start to work on getting him up.  He responds slowly, but steadily.  

He drops onto the sofa and I stay on him, highly encouraged by the progress of his hard-on.  His slow progress continues.  And continues.  And continues.  OMG this thing is HUGE.  I slow down to admire it periodically.  A true 6.5" long.  (Note my use of hte word "true".  A "true" 6.5 is big, well above average.)  But that's not what's so impressive.  Dude's got a serious fatty.  I mean I can't close my thumb and middle finger around this beast.  There's a good half-inch gap, even with a firm grip.  Wow.  I'm impressed.  I've handled a lot of cock in my day, and this one's a standout.  My jaw is straining to the limit. And my throat is totally stuffed.  I keep jamming as deep as I can go and loving it.  Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and my saliva's running like a stream.  Oh, god this is good.

But it's going on a long time.  I come up for air and he asks if I've had enough. Oh, no.  I can always use more of this.  Always.  I go down for more. But he's starting to lose his erection very slowly.  Damn.  I'm starting to think maybe I need to give him a graceful out.  I come up for air again.  He asks again if I've had enough, and I allow as how I don't think my jaw can handle the strain anymore.  "That's OK, because I don't think I'm gonna cum."  I pushed the idea of maybe he could beat off, but he shies away from that.   Not gonna push the dude.  "That's cool."  I compliment his meat again, and he pulls up his shorts.  I thank him for the opportunity to work on his exceptional meat.  He's clearly pleased to have the compliments, and he returns the favor, praising my cocksucking skill.  We part with mutual admiration.  Yes, I'm disappointed that there's no load to be had.  But the cock alone was well worth the effort.

In the car I note the time.  I was on his cock for at least 45 minutes.  I had no idea how long it had been.  Proof, once again, that time flies when you're having fun.

Back home, I have a flash: anti-depressants can impair orgasm.  Google confirms it.  It's a side effect of this particular medication.  Poor guy: one of the finest cocks in the entire state, and medication's keeping him from cumming.  

My jaw muscles are aching for the next couple days.  It truly was that thick.

I keep going back and forth as to whether I'd do him again.  Answer: yeah, maybe so.  But next time, I'm gonna make it an hour's worth.  Even if he doesn't cum.

Sunday, May 17, 2009


Saturday night, I just plan crashed.  Tired.

But, Sunday.  On Sunday I was horny.  After running a bunch of errands in the morning, a quick romp on Craigslist landed me  a MWM who wanted head (a specialty of mine as regular readers know). I like when a guy knows how to ask for it, and he did directly.  In our email exchange I quickly learned he didn't want to reciprocate.  Ideal.  Use me, dude.  Within 5 rounds of emails, I had my destination.  One of our city's upper mid-range hotels, a grand old place that's now popular with the convention crowd.

I bike to his hotel, and arrive with a fine glow of sweat on me, and carrying my bike helmet.  (READERS: always wear a bike helmet - if you've gotten this far, we know you can read.  And if you can read, you know how to use your brain.  And your brain is why you need to wear a bike helmet.  Enough said.)  There's a hotel maid cleaning up the room across the hall, her big cart blocking the way.  I knock, and there's a long pause.  And the maid's right there, messing with some damned towels or the like.  I stand there, feeling awkward -- Hi!  I'm just a sweaty guy knocking on random hotel doors!  She disappears into the room she's cleaning, and my guy's door swings open, and he waves me in hurriedly.  Thanks for leaving me out there, bud.

There's the dude's photo, above, suitably blanked out.  As advertised, in his 40s, 5'9" and 160.  There's a blond next to him in the photo, not that means anything.

He's wearing one of those currently fashionable gothic lettered long sleeve t-shirts, and expensive jeans.  He's got gel in his hair.  A bit going gray.  Very nice looking man.  Is this as advertised?  The wedding ring, though, that's there.  Hmmm.   But he opens his mouth: southern.  OK, I get it.  Southerners are well dressed guys.  He's just a tad more fashionable than most.  He doesn't say much tho, and I simply reach out and grope him.  Already hard, that's nice.  He'd advertised 7", but it was an internet 7.  That's OK, the dick may be very average size - thickness and length (one of those ones that could be any size in a picture, because the proportions are so . . . average), but it's as hard a crowbar.  Sweet.

I go right to my knees and he goes right for his zipper.  I'm faced with a 5.5 incher that stands proud as a flagpole, and it's backed up with a neatly trimmed dark bush.  Lovely.  I'm swallowing the whole thing in a flash.  After a few moments, he sinks to the bed and lays back.  I keep swinging on that hard little fucker.  It's got a pronounced bend to his right, and a strong kink where it comes away from his pubic bone.  That's how it stands so proud.   And the last 2/3 swell up notably.  It's a real pleasure to suck this cock.  He's just big enough to touch my gag reflex occasionally, but I'm still giving him what must feel like full deep throat service.  He's lasting a long time, so I decide to mess with him more.  I go for his nips, I climb up to nuzzle his neck.  He lets me do it - no particular reaction, but he's a quiet guy from the start.  But he turns away decisively whenever I get anywhere near his lips.  I'd sure love to stick my tongue in his mouth, but he's clearly looking to avoid that at all costs.

At my suggestion, he straddles my chest, and I go back to work on him.  After a vigorous suck (he's lasted a good 15 minutes to this point), he pops.  Quietly, but copiously.  He's a good shooter, as I can feel him spurting.  Sweet.  Nice strong tasting thick load, a solid producer this dude.  I stayed on him to keep him warm for a while.  He was sensitive, whimpering at the slightest movement.  And there was some movement, because I wanted to cum, too.  He pulls out, and pivots away so that he's no longer blocking his own view of my meat, or my chest, where my load's clearly going to land and soon.   

And he's good enough to leave his softening - but still proudly vertical - cock close enough to my face that I was able to go down on him as I stroked off.  I spout off a major load pretty soon, a testament to my skilled hands and the extent of my badly pent-up need to pop a load.  And pop, I did.  Shoulder high.  He spoke admiringly of my shooting, pretty much the first thing he'd said past our initial greeting.

As we wiped up, he was pleasant.  From Georgia.  At an oncology conference - now I know why he needs some excitement.

I biked home through heavy traffic, enjoying the taste of his sperm all the way.

Friday, May 8, 2009


Saturday.  Nice day.  On my own.  And horny as a bear.  I'd been thinking of blowing off work the coming Monday and heading out to the burbs, and the wide open spaces of their forest parks.  Wide open spaces full of horny closety suburbanites inspired to get away from subdivision civilization to enjoy the freedom of the woods.  And if that means they feel freedom to open their trousers and show off their cocks?  Sure, I'm good with that.

Saturday proved such a nice day, I couldn't stop myself - even though I was undermining my Monday plans.  Weekdays are great at the forest parks, with a first wave of horny working men who show to fool around before work.  Go early, and you'll be rewarded with married guys who tell their wives "I'm going in early," when in fact they're in the park, looking for cock one way or another.  The best just want blow jobs, of course.  But Saturdays don't get that kind of trade.

Nonetheless, I was in the burbs, at my favorite spot, by 11:00 am.  And SHIT!  The road that goes deep into the forest, away from the recreational facilities and into the cruising grounds, was still closed off from winter.  In  freakin' May?  I'd noted online that there were more than the usual number of reports of park patrols.  Seeing the back shut off made me think: they want to stop the likes of me.  And there's a conclave of Pontiac GTO owners filling one of the parking areas.  Damn.  I'm not staying.  Except that first I gotta go pee.  

Coming out of the woods after taking a leak on a tree (which is such a very pleasant way to pee), there's a black Mercedes pulled up next to my car.  The owner - maybe 50, Polish (if the red and white flag on the side window means anything) gives me a nod and a wave, and says something conversational.  He's staring intently at my crotch, and that's giving me a little kick, so I'm starting to show.  We banter leeringly at one another and he winds up reaching into my pants from the driver's seat.  I'm wearing low-rise jeans, and quickly maneuver my cockhead above the waistband.  "Kiss it," I tell him.  He gives my knob a nice quick polish with his lips and pulls off.  That's it.  I think he felt off about the situation, too.  I dropped the remark that I'd heard there were lots of cops around here these days.  He quickly agreed.  I waved, got in the car, and drove off.

There was only one thing to do: to the big bookstore.  I was pissed that the woods were out of consideration.  Especially on this beautiful spring day.  The bookstore would have to do.  But I wasn't terribly psyched.  I was, however, sufficiently horny.

There wasn't much going on when I got there.  After a few minutes of milling around in wanders a heavyset middle-aged guy.  Greek, if I had to guess, wearing a mustache.  With a big gold cross on a substantial chain around his neck and a big gold band on his ring finger.  Married.  He wandered briefly around the place, and took a regular booth - no buddy window system.  But he left the door open.  I had followed him there and stood, as nonchalantly as possible, peering in the couple inches he left open.  Not looking up at me, and watching some straight porn, he fished out his cock.  His big, fat cock.  Top 10% in thickness, cut.  Hairy.  

He looks up, I nod and step into the booth.  I lean directly down and stroke his fat cock.  This short but really fat meat would be a really  magnificent weapon, if only this guy would lose 40 lbs.  (Not that he's unattractive - actually a good shape for his build.  But still heavy.)  He rubs my cock through my pants immediately, and I fish out my piece for him to play with.  He strokes me mechanically.  I push toward his face, but he resists.  Dude doesn't suck.  But yes, on inquiry, he wants a blow.

I go down on him.  He's stretching my jaw, but not gagging me.  This is actually a great combination - short and fat - take my word.   His thick dark bush smells richly of man.  Not freshly washed, but a  long, long way from rank.  This smell would stay with me.  He doesn't last too long.   He unloads in my mouth.  Not a huge wad, but thick and strong tasting, in a good way.  Quality jizz.  This was a way better blo than I thought it would be.  Call me a satisfied customer.  He pulls his jeans up without looking at me.  I slip out and wander off.  I note he drives away in a Toyota Highlander.

More downtime.  There's a strangely beautiful guy in a black leather biker jacket hanging around.  Late 30s, maybe, pale complexion.  Dark hair, crewcut.  6'1" or so, slim-to-average build.  Big sorta sad eyes, and sweet cocksucker lips I can sum up in a phrase: Black Irish John Travolta, who doesn't think of himself as beautiful.  I hope that summons a picture for the reader.  

He's leaning up against the corner of a booth at the end of long line of them.  I'm seized by a strong urge to pat his ass.  So I step around behind him with my back to the wall and stand close enough so he can't help but feel my warmth.  He remains nearly frozen, not acknowledging my presence or moving out of the way, so I reach for his butt and gently stroke just one side.  He doesn't flinch.  I'm almost entirely behind him, out of view of the rest of the place, but he's exposed.  I continue, working both sides, and probing deeper in between.  This goes on, even as someone is walking toward us.  We're finally interrupted by others who come at us from the side.  After a couple more bouts of this, he wanders off down the long row of booths.

I follow slowly, at a good distance.  He walks the length of the long hallway and steps into the farthest booth.  I follow and he's looking out of the booth, his gaze directed downward.  Nicely submissive.  I lock us in, and grab hold of his ass, and look him in the eyes I tell him to pull down his pants.  He obeys quickly, as I nuzzle his neck.  "You desperately want me to dry hump you, don't you."  He turns obediently and without a word.  I unzip and rub my cock against his gently hairy ass.  He rides along with me, clearly enjoying being mounted - even if it's only a half-measure, simulated sex.  I'm reaching around him to want his fat, average length cock.  I give his ass a couple good smacks on the flank and ask if he wants me to beat him with his belt.  He moans something that sounds affirmative.  I push him gently to his feet, and he goes willingly and is on my cock immediately.  He can deep throat, and he's good.  He's gentle and smooth, using his hand to follow up where his mouth has been.  A very talented cocksucker, so good in fact that I'm starting to think I could pop him a load if this continued.  I pull him off and bid to him to stand again.  He turns for me to continue humping his ass, but I want to get my tongue in his mouth.  I want to taste those great cocksucker lips.  But he resists me: "I don't kiss" as he holds me back.

What?!  A guy who can suck cock with the best of them, deep throat suck cock with the best of them, but he won't kiss?  Man, I tell you, you get some funny variations on closety in the burbs.  

I hump his ass a few minutes more, push him down for a little more head and then tell him I'm not wanting to cum yet.  As I button up I tell him I might enjoy really taking a belt to his ass sometime.  He just looks down and grunts.  I raise his face by the chin: "you'd like that, wouldn't you?"  He briefly looks me in the eye, then away again, and assents.  Yeah, he'd like something rough.  I leave wondering if he ever gets it.  I really might enjoy giving it to him if I ever see him again, but I sort of doubt he'd let himself do it.

Kill some more time.  OK, 55 and married.  Slacks, a pressed shirt and shiny loafers.  A bit heavy.  Nothing inspiring about him, nothing bad either.  In the booth, him seated, he's fascinated with stroking my cock.  His own cock, which he struggles to pull out with one hand while the other is occupied stroking mine, isn't anything special.  Average in every way.  Once again, I push toward his mouth, but he's not sucking today.  I solicit a blow, he consents, and I go down on my knees.  He doesn't last terribly long, and unloads a small tasteless load from his small, flavorless cock.  Not much to write home about here. 

Black Irish has gone, but now there's a very small framed well groomed nice looking guy - nice looking in a professional sort of way; he's the helpful young fellow at the bank branch - wandering around.  Too cute to be straight.  I sidle up and stroke his left ass cheek gently.  I'm having one of my small guy rape fantasies.  But we're soon interrupted.  After some going around, he invites me to join him in a booth.  Like Black Irish, he enjoys have his ass handled, but heartily resists a kiss.  I'm thinking I might get some good head out of him.  But no, all he'll do is lick along the shaft after lots of urging on my part.  He just wants to bedry- humped.  So I give him some more of that, then excuse myself.

That's enough for now.  I'm going to remain sexually frustrated for now.  Regular readers might have noticed I like that from time to time.