And there endeth the year!

Yes, guys. There it was. A year's worth of sex. That guy was my last cock of the year. I had a heck of a good time having all that sex, for sure. And writing about it has been fun as well.

But quite a bit of work, too. It became a duty, and that made it onerous. (Just witness the fact it's taken me to April to complete last year.)

So I've decided that from here on out, I will continue reporting, yes. But it won't be comprehensive. Not every time I get my hands on some cock will you guys be getting comprehensive details.

Will I be getting as much cock? Probably, or close thereto - but since I was at least in part doing it for you guys, I might have worked a little harder, or taken on some guys who were less than 100% exciting.

But from here on out, where a guy is 100% exciting you all will hear about it. Promise.

12/23/09 - Round 2

Ah, one blonde is not enough. Not two days before Christmas. I deserve a present, and TWO BLONDES oughta do. Yes.

And hark, there's one now! Right there on Craigslist!

29yo bi guy looking to host at [street] and [street]

6'3 225 blond blue 7c big balls average guy here

looking to have my cock sucked, my big balls licked good all over (my fave), my ass eaten and my load swallowed ... no recip

you be under 50, clean and neg (a must), masculine, in athletic to average shape, willing to travel and send pics/stats in 1st email for mine

A quick email promising not to waste a drop clearly got his attention, because I had a response within two minutes. An enthusiastic email it was, including a photo of his face and one of his cock and big seriously low-hanging balls, along with a request to IM. In the IM, I learned that he was meeting friends for drinks later. Did I mind? He was unfailingly courteous - even offered up without prompting that rimming was optional. Thank you. And he really likes having his big nuts played with. You got it, buddy. Eight minutes later, I'm out the door. (Thank you, Yahoo, for putting little time stamps on everything - makes a scrupulous blogger's life easier.) A fifteen minute drive got me to his front door, complete with convenient parking directly across the street.

He had a nice place in a new condo building. Furniture he'd purchased in a package, I think, because it looked coordinated and he just didn't look the type to be coordinating furniture much. He'd accessorized with empty beer cans. And a huge flat screen TV. College basketball in full swing. His laptop lay on the sofa, playing MMF porn - I guess he's serious about that 'bi' thing from the ad. He himself was also precisely as advertised: 6'3", 225, and looked his 29 years. Built like a brick shit-house. (I immediately wanted to fondle his ass - but it wasn't quite in the program.) Thinning red-blond hair. And very much a regular guy, per his own description. Homely would be a good way to describe his face - and I don't mean that in a bad way. It's a face you could really get used to, actually. But there isn't really a handsome line in it. He's just not built to be vain, and it seems to show in his warm, easy-going personality - not that I can say I know him well, at least not that way. It's a very attractive quality in itself. Along with the brick-shithouse body, he ads up to HOT in my book.

But we're not here to praise him. We're here to blow him. He drops down to the couch, shoves the ottoman aside and pushes down his sweatpants. His cock's small and soft. Grower, clearly. And his balls are serious low hangers. Because he's said he likes having his balls worked on, I start there. He totally eats it up, moaning and groaning and telling me how good that felt. A solid B+ in the vocal department. His cock quickly stiffens up to a solid (real inches here) 5" maybe plus some. On the skinny side of medium. And hard as a concrete fence post. Springy hard. Really nice. And a size I can throat with ease. He requests frequent attention for his heavy nuts, talking about how they're heavy with a big load that I was gonna get. This is great. And he's got tons of fine red-blonde pubic hair. Give me a nose full of that any day.

He's clearly not a quick cummer, so I up the ante from no hands to wrapping my fingers around the rigid base of his cock and working him deep. His balls hung so loose I was able to gather and pull them up to where they were rubbing against my chin when I buried his cock in my throat. He lasts impressively, and he's unflaggingly enthusiastic throughout. Suddenly, through clenched teeth, he mutters something about "getting load" and he pops. Forcefully - I can feel the squirts. Big warm mouth of nice, clean tasting load. I stay on him and keep him warm for a few. When I come up, I look him in his dazed eyes and gulp audibly. It brought a smile to his face. When he stood a couple minutes (of ball warming) later, his cock was still pointing upward sharply. And as I left, and I grabbed it again for a last squeeze, it was still springy as steel.

I told him I'd do him anytime, and he said, "well, we've got each others' emails." I think he'd like more. Hope he does. 'Cause he mentioned he's a multi-cummer, if he's not pressed for time.

12/23/09

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.

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.

11/30/09

A couple months back, I'd corresponded with J. He'd posted looking for someone downtown who wanted to suck off two bi guys. OK, I know. It's got gamer/pic collector written all over it. Can't be serious. But I cut and pasted a quick response, and was astonished to get a reply. A sincere sounding one. He was going to check with his buddy and see if he could work it out for this very evening. This still had the feel of a guy off in fantasyland, but I'll play along as long as he's amusing.

And he remains amusing. Oddly, there's something sincere and steady about him that keeps me answering his emails. Tonight's not going to work - his buddy isn't available after all. J urged me, though, to stay in touch, because he wanted this to work out someday and was confident it would. Sure, bud.

We exchanged emails again, back and forth every few days. We'd been going that way, slow volleys of email back and forth, for two months. One evening I answered one of his emails and he shot directly back and sounded enthusiastic - for tonight. At this point, though, I'm losing faith in him. He seems definitely sincere and genuine and he's got staying power. But the scenario - two bi guys want a cocksucker - is implausible. He's definitely not just a pic collector. And he doesn't have the nasty edge of a game player. So I'll keep playing along - he remains amusing and sincere after all.

Ah, no, once again it's not going to work. He's neglected an obligation this evening - we'll have to try another time. Again. I'm feeling pretty much done with this. But several hours later, as I'm heading out of the office on my way home, he emails. He'd had a cancellation, and wondered if I was still available. Aww, geez. Yeah, I'm still available. He says he's going to scramble to get his buddy lined up. OK, OK. I'll play along again.

About the time I get home, I get the inevitable third-guy-can't-make-it message. Yeah, I know. Thinking, what the hell, I decide to test his sincerity: does he want to come over, just himself, no porno fantasy two-bi-guys-and-a-cocksucker scenario. To my great surprise he bites on the opportunity without hesitation. This is a switch. Does he think himself, alone, is inadequate, and he's pleased to get the invite? And by god, this time it does work. He arrives on time, and as advertised. Amazing.

As advertised, in this instance meant: 41, 6'1", 205, normal professional guy. Very square and dependable looking. Neatly groomed. Chunky build, but in solid shape. He's got really nice skin. I don't know how else to put it. But it makes him far more appealing than one would expect. He carries the IT guy backpack I somehow expected. The small talk is polite, as one might expect in a business setting, faintly stand-off-ish.

"How about we get out of our clothes?" I suggest, hoping to start up a spark. We move closer, face to face. I start in on his shirt buttons, one by one. He slowly keeps moving has face closer and closer to me as he fumbles my shirt buttons. I'm getting the feeling he's going to kiss me. Yup, he's turning his head so our noses won't bump. But wait! This totally doesn't fit! He's all bi and closety! He's even alluded to a fiancee! He's just here for a blo! Plain and simple?

But he's getting closer and closer and -- goddamn, yes - he really is gonna kiss me. And damn, he's good. I mean a really good kisser. A totally rare, one in a million good kisser - the kind of good kisser I hope I am. A few soft, glancing, exploring kisses evolve quickly into a bona fide lip lock/tongue swap. We both wind up looking all nerdy-guy-glasses-askew and scramble out of our clothes (and our glasses) and onto the bed.

Either he warned me, or I quickly intuited that this guy was a speedy cummer. So I took the edging approach. A few nice slow wet strokes, and then some ball polishing. And inner thigh kissing and . . . anywhere. He responded well to attention to his neck, his nipples, his . . . you name it. This guy was totally wired to his touch nerves. Totally alive with a lover. And he reciprocated well - something about the way he touched me lit up a lot of my nerves at one time as well. He had a firm hand on me. He wanked my cock, but my efforts to get him to take a taste came to nothing. Yeah, he was that good: he didn't even blo me, and I was having a totally great time. I realized later that pretty much the whole time we were going at it I was emitting a pretty constant slow stream of moans, signs and whimpers.

Good in bed? You don't often get it this good. I could get used to this kind of good. Damn. And all in such an unassuming package. I can't put it into words exactly why he's such a great fuck. No words can adequately capture or explain what it was about the way his hands manipulated my flesh that made it so good. We were just on the same wavelength, our central nervous systems working at the same frequency in some crucial respect.

I edged him for a solid 45 minutes - 45 minutes with a speed shooter, see what I mean about being on the same wavelength? He'd quickly pull me off as needed. When he finally wanted to cum he wanked his cock briefly, told me "I gotta cum", and pushed my head onto his cock for a few last strokes before he shot a big, watery and strong-tasting load.

After he came, he dressed quickly, pleading that he needed to get going, he was expected at his gym. And on the way out, he did the oddest thing: he kissed me on the cheek. Just a quick peck. Sorta like he was supposed to, sorta like he might do for his grandmother. It was like Superman had popped back into the phone booth and re-emerged as Clark Kent.

Next morning he emailed: "Cheers. Enjoyed last night."

UPDATE: After the first of the year, after thinking about what a great tumble I'd had with J, I wanted to get in touch with him again. Who wouldn't. And his *&@$%!ing email address no longer existed. 505 error. I was completely bummed. Inconsolable, almost.

11/12/09

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11/16/09

Ah, my old pal. From high school. The one who never got into my pants. Or was it the other way around? We once, under interesting circumstances managed to play a game of footsie - or maybe crotchsie/footsie is a better explanation. (Yes, there was alcohol involved.) So we'd sort of had sex. A little bit. Partially. We'd reconnected through someone who knew someone on Facebook, and I was delighted to get a message from him that he was coming to town for business purposes and wanted to see me. Immediately, my mind raced to games of footsie/crotchsie.

We met up late after work, and after he'd managed to find a church for a quick round of worship. (Me, I worshiped at my gym to kill time while he did the real thing.) I didn't take that as a good sign. We hadn't even seen each other in nearly 25 years - save on Facebook in recent months - so I knew little if anything about what he was thinking these days. We met up, he was looking good. The years had been kind to him, for sure. His slightly alternatively good looks had matured and become more mainstream. His hair had thinned, but in a way that said: 'testosterone is doing a number on my hair follicles' not 'I'm falling apart'. He was even more attractive than in the 1980s.

It turned out I had no reason to worry about religion having taken over his life. He immediately proposed we retire to a bar. A couple drinks later, food seemed in order, so we repaired to a restaurant known for its drinks. And had another drink and some appetizers. Alcohol was having a nice mellowing effect, turning up the warmth of our long dormant friendship. It was also making him kind of touchy/feelie - he'd touch my arm for emphasis as we spoke, or rest his hand on my shoulder or wherever it might seem appropriate. No, nothing untoward, not yet. But boy did he have my mind running in that direction, and running hard.

We wandered off to yet another restaurant for another drink and another round of hors d'ouvres. I had detected a pattern here: each place we went was getting us closer to his hotel. And at the third place, he began to wax ecstatic about the view from his hotel room. Bingo! I would surely have to come up and see. No question about it. After polishing off a few more snacks, I commandeered the waitress and demanded the bill while my old buddy was in the men's room. Yes, I considered following him. But no, I didn't want to be that obvious, and he didn't seem to be actively inviting it. So I stayed at the table and took care of the bill in order to smooth our way out of there.

Swirling the last ice cubes in my drink I casually inquired whether we needed to hit a fourth watering hole. I meant this to be an opening for him to say: 'how about you come check out the view in my hotel room?' But he fumbled the opportunity. Maybe alcohol was to blame - I, for one, was fairly well lit at that point. Sufficiently lit that when he fumbled it, I didn't even need to screw up my courage to say: "Or we could head back to your hotel." I was briefly mortified to realize I hadn't even thrown in the view excuse. But no matter, he quickly took me up on the offer and we were out of there in a flash.

His conversation become somewhat stilted as we entered the hotel. He seemed nervous as a cat - even if half-smashed genial - in the elevator. Up in the room, the view was indeed expansive, through a glass corner. Quite nice. He reclined on the bed to admire it, I sat on the corner of the bed. Now I was being the awkward one. Yes, imagine that. Your old pal Mr. Cocksearch being reluctant to make the first move. Maybe something about the weight of history. So it wound up being he who made the first move by inviting me to get comfortable on the big hotel bed. And when I did, laying next to him, pretending to look at the view, he reached for me. He grazed his knuckles across my chest, pausing to give attention to my nipple. He didn't say a thing. I rolled toward him and the race was on.

It started with a lip lock, moved on to shucking our clothes, and progressed to me blowing him. But that didn't go well, despite the heavy passion in our kisses. He, being a tad middle aged, wasn't getting all that hard. I mean he got bigger, but not really rigid in the usual way. And it was clearly bothering him, and causing him to shy away from my attention to his cock. The good thing was that he seems pretty submissive in the face of available cock. He was pleased to just worship mine. He wasn't much of a cocksucker, clearly inadequately experienced. But he made up for it in enthusiasm and absolute adoration of my big dick. His tongue kept creeping lower on my balls. Is this going where I hope it's going? Does he totally want to eat my ass - because he's totally got an invitation to go there.

I telegraphed the invite with enthusiastic moaning and groaning every time his tongue went lower. He finally got the nerve to instruct me to roll over onto my stomach. Won't fight you there, pal. And what followed was what seemed like hours of the most adoring attention my backside ever got. My cheeks were fascinating to him as his nerve built (or maybe thought ought to be - as his inhibitions slipped). After an achingly tantalizing build-up, he went for it, right onto the target. And he licked and sucked and tongued and on and on like he never wanted to stop. And I didn't want him to, either. Except that at some point I'm gonna need to cum.

I finally begged him: "I've gotta cum here . . . let me cum." He let me roll over and flopped onto the bed on his back. I got the message. He wanted me on top, so on I climbed and stroked out a HUGE load all over his chest and his face before collapsing onto him in an extended lip-lock tasting of sperm. God that was good. We lay around all snuggly for a while. He made no move to get himself off. The real surprise was that he wanted me to sleep with him that night.

But I don't do well sleeping in others' beds, and I had to be up the next morning. I begged off, feeling like I was letting him down something terrible. In fact, I still kinda regret it.

I left him at the door with a big, deep kiss.

He was on a plane home the next morning.

Undated - Fall/Winter 2009

Ah, the restaurateur. The well-known restaurateur. The one with the TV show. And the wife, who's all over the restaurants (which really are worth the fuss - I'm a good customer) and the TV show. Watching him, you can't but conclude he likes boys - his manner is unmistakably sodomite. Indeed, there's vigorous debate on the interwebs as to whether he likes boys. And I have the answer. He does.

The restaurateur goes to my gym, occasionally. One of those occasions happened to be a dreary Sunday afternoon late this fall - or maybe early this winter - somewhere in there. The restaurateur was heading into the gym just ahead of me, close enough that I was able to spend a few moments mulling over 'which way does he go, anyway?' Frankly, I can't look at him, be it on TV, on the street or in his one of his restaurants, without mulling that important question. Little did I imagine today was the day I'd get a rock solid answer.

In the locker room, he undressed and appeared to head straight for the shower/steam/sauna. A good sign. Nice slim, athletic bod - particularly for a guy in the food business. Nice I suited up and headed for the weights. Call me virtuous (or, read some more of this blog and see if you can still say that with a straight face). Half an hour or so later, it was my time to shower/steam/sauna. The place was fairly empty, it being a dreary Sunday afternoon. I settled into the sauna, where I chatted with Mr. Taste Free for a few minutes (he and I now chat in a familiar way that pretty much rules out any more anonymous blo-jobs). Then I made for the steam and was surprised and delighted to see the restaurateur passing by toward the showers looking well heated and sweaty. Maybe he eyed me. 'Ha, spending a lot of time in the company of other sweating naked men, Mr. Restaurateur? Got ya!' I thought to myself. In my mind, at that point, he was as busted as could be.

I settled into the steamroom with one other guy sitting by. A few minutes later, in walks the restaurateur. And he sits down next to me, to my left, but at a respectable distance. On his towel, not wrapped up in it. Wow! I switch on my full telepathic communication capability and start beaming the message "exit the steamroom, now!" at the third guy in the steamroom, while simultaneously beaming the message "the other guy will be out of here in two seconds" at the restaurateur. And sure enough, my telepathic systems were in good working order, as the third guy left pretty much on cue.

Then began a few moments of awkward mutual checking out, and the sending of self-groping signals. But progress was swift, with no unnecessary face-saving gestures of disinterest. He wanted it. He wanted it in a sad, guilty, but very passionate kind of way. He was the first to actually take hold of his cock and start stroking. He reached for me before I reached for him. And he reached first not for my cock, but for my right nipple, which he wanted to stroke. I responded in kind, with my tongue on his nipple (safe bet he was a nipple guy) and moved on to the side of his neck. And he responded with a happy shudder, and began groping my cock as I reached for his. This was a lot of body contact, and a lot of passion for steamroom sex. My right hand (by this time I was completely turned toward him on the bench) found his cock - long, skinny, with short trimmed pubes - and stroked gently. He was clearly enjoying himself hugely.

I whispered in his ear, an inch away: "do you want a blo?" to which he responded with a quiet, husky sound that I took for a 'yes'. I bent down, and took one long slow gentle stroke. We were suddenly interrupted by the door opening. "It's OK, don't stop for me." Mr. Taste Free! Very considerate, thank you, pal. I went down on the restaurateur again, and he lasted but about three more strokes before urging me off his cock. Two pumps of his own hand and he spewed - good distance and quantity for a middle-aged guy, I might say. I went back to nuzzling his neck as he caught his breath.

He gave me a long look, with actual eye contact, that was tinged with what I think was sadness. Or maybe straight out guilt. And then he was out of there. When he was safely out the door, Mr. Taste Free asked me, with his charming Spanish accent: "you do know who that was?" I played dumb.

11/11/09

It should always be this easy.

Early morning visit to the 'burbs. Really early - my errand is done by 7:00 am. And I'm in the vicinity of the recently rediscovered bookstore. As I'm heading south down the big six-lane road it's on, I come to the bookstore and see its parking lot is all but empty - about the only vehicle in the place, a Dodge Dakota pick-up, is idling at the mouth of the parking lot waiting for traffic to clear so he can pull out. Darn, only one guy there, and I'm just missing him. I pull a u-turn and head back north again. The Dakota guy pulls out just as I round my U-y, and catches my eye. Yes, catches my eye. No way. That would be way too efficient.

But it's also way too good not to at least follow up. I wind up just behind him in traffic, then maneuver my way next to him at the next light. I glance casually his way, and he mine. But too casual to really draw any definite conclusion from. Good enough, though, that I'm not going to give up. I fall in behind him, and sure enough a couple blocks later he's got his signal on for a left turn. And he activates the blinker early, giving me plenty of warning he's going to turn. This is looking promising.

I follow him around the turn (and catch the above pic) and he goes on about a quarter mile into an industrial area. And then, again with plenty of signaling, he pulls into a parking lot along the side of a warehouse/office building and proceeds slowly down the long narrow parking area. I pulled to the side of the road, not being quite confident enough in my judgment to follow him. He pulls head into a parking spot, sits a second, then backs out again and continues to where he had to turn around behind the building. When he turns, he stops long enough to give me the idea he's looking. I plunge in.

On the other side of the building, I find him backed in in front of a freight forwarder's office. I nod, he nods back. My first clear look at him. 40ish, heavy-set, a working man. Married, with ring. Not particularly attractive in any noticeable way. I pull in and park. He nods again, and I'm out of the car and over to his passenger window directly. No games: just a simple "You looking for a blo?" "Yeah, hop in." As I haul myself into the passenger seat he says: "I thought you were looking for something back at the bookstore." "Pretty amazing we got this worked out, huh?" He heartily agrees.

He's got his hard cock out already, and pulls aside his shirt to show it off. "Nice!" It is nice. Short, but really fat. Cut. And plenty of unruly untrimmed pubic hair. He gives it a good wag and urges me forward. His crotch smells sweet and soapy fresh. Two minutes of good vigorous sucking, and some purposeful thrusting from him and he's spilling a big sweet load into my mouth. He thanks me heartily as I swing out of the cab and spit his hefty, tasty load. I give him a salute and thank him back, noting for the first time the kiddie car seat in the back of rear seat. Daddy needed to nut.

He dropped his idling truck into gear and was moving out of there before I even started my car. End of story.

Undated - Fall 2009

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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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

8/15/09

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