Tuesday, March 30, 2010


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, March 18, 2010


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

Snow Plow Driver - 29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remain baffled.