Wednesday, July 15, 2009


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.


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


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


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?


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.