Friday, August 28, 2009


The ad read:

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

So I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?


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.


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.


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.


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.