8/2/09

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.

7/19/09 . . . continuing on

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7/19/09

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.

7/12/09

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.

UPDATED UPDATE: Posted!

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.

7/3/09

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.

7/1/09

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VIDEO ALERT

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:

Healthy Prostate Demonstration

(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?

6/29/09

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7/12/09

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.

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?

6/21/09

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.

6/20/09

The final chapter with Mark.  Regular readers will remember Mark (and more about Mark), the guy who wanted me to be his bitch.  Mark proved too much man, and too demanding, even for me.

And as regular readers will recall, I went back and forth and back and forth about what to do about Mark.  Did I want to try to become bitch enough to handle the invasion of his considerable endowment and his urge to bury it hard and deep?  Or was I going to be sensible and call him off.  And if I was going to call him off, was he going to respect that?

I finally resolved to call him off.  I may be a bitch, I may utterly desire all he's got to ram into me.  But I really couldn't handle him.  Mark doesn't know what it's like to be fucked, or to have your throat reamed hard.  And so he just can't appreciate what he's doing to me - even after I had a frank talk with him.  So I sent him the following e-mail:

Sir:  I'm sorry.  I know I've been keeping you waiting.  But I can't keep going with you here.

 

It's like there are two little angels, one on each shoulder.  The dark one is saying "let him breed you, who cares how hard he uses you?"  The white one is saying "You've gotta be kidding, you can't handle him and you know it."  The two of them fight.  I listen to the dark angel, and I get a hard-on, and start itching for another round.  Then I listen to the white angel, and sober up from my testosterone buzz.

 

Please accept my apologies, Sir, for not getting back to you timely.  It's been a difficult fight for me to decide between the better angel and the testosterone angel.

 

But finally, I've gotta listen to the sensible one.  I can't handle you, Sir.  Your cock is massive, and you want to use it hard.  I thought myself bitch enough to handle you, but I'm not.  I'm not faulting you, not at all.  You've never been anything be up front about exactly what you want.  And you've been absolutely true to your word as to what you were going to do to me.  Sir, you totally deserve what you want here - you've got the physcial equipment and the attitudinal werewithal to demand it and take it.  That's a beautiful thing, Sir, and something I wish I could handle.  But I've got to honest with myself and recognize I can't.

 

There are bitches out there who can take it, and you deserve one of them.  I just wish I could conjure up a bitch who could handle you and just offer him up to you right like that.  Really, I do want to see you taken care of.  But I can't do it.

 

Thank you sir for trying me out.  I know I've been a disappointment, both to you and to myself.  You deserve better.

Mark got back to me shortly:

I do have to say I enjoyed it. I found a whole new side of me as well. I have never been into spanking/physical abuse, but I think that has changed now. I have a fantasy now of belting some bitch's ass whie he deep throats my cock. Hope you find the right cock that fits your tight pussy. Mark

So that was it.  It was over.  Mark was as much a reasonable gentleman as ever.  I kept telling myself: stop regretting it.  It wasn't working for either of you.

What's inspired me to write about this today was that Mark's looking to get back in business.  I was wandering Criagslist, and what do I find, but Mark on the hunt for a new bitch:  

Hey Guys. I am looking for a quality guy who can bitch out for a few hours at a time on my cock. NO FEMMES. I am looking for another masculine guy who can appreciate a good M2M session. Me: MWM. 6' tall, 210#, Brown, Blue, Professional, Hung. Looking for ongoing with a discreet buddy. I tend to be dominate, so subs are a plus. Thanks. 

Bless his horny self.  I hope the next guy can handle him.  I've half a mind to write him and say I'll give him a sterling recommendation.  But I think it's best to just let it rest.

Best of luck, Mark.  I hope you find yourself a serious loose bitch of a guy who can keep you totally happy.  I really, really do.

And, readers, do you all think I did the right thing?

5/30/09 - 6/7/09

Vacation! It's summertime, and I'm due some time off. So I took it. Went to my native region of our great nation and had a great time moving about, seeing people I hadn't seen in some time, and sneaking occasional short visits to various dens of iniquity squeezed into my official schedule. Sadly, sexually, it was a bust.

Nonetheless, I wanted to share here some of the details. First, I got visit my favorite out-of-town XXX bookstore. No joke, in the arcade section of this place, they label the doors to alert customers what they might find within: "Glory Hole" or "Buddy Glass" or both! Check out the picture. Sadly, during my brief visit, I scored nothing. Sunday, mid-morning, is clearly not a winner time for this place.

A visit to a second XXX bookstore netted me only a blo. Yeah, I got the blo this time. The place was moderately busy, but I didn't have much time to mess around. Shortly after I got there, in walks an attractive, prosperous-looking guy in his late 50s, wearing a cap which proclaimed some link to the United States Navy, a t-shirt proclaiming a link to the area's most prestigious golf course and a wedding ring proclaiming . . . . He's cagey, looking like he didn't know quite how to handle a dirty video arcade. Naturally, I'm intrigued.

After a good 5 minutes of cageyness, he steps into booth number one - the one closest to the entrance. Indeed, this guy has no clue how to handle himself in a XXX arcade. Cruising-rituals-'r'-NOT-us. He leaves the booth door open, and gives me a welcoming look. I step in and close the door, fully expecting that this guy wants a furtive blo-job --from me. But I called that wrong. He immediately reaches for my crotch, and fumbles with my Levi buttons to extract my cock, and without so much as a word he's going down on me.

Was this what I planned? No. But I am in a hurry. And I could use to get off. And gee, he seems to be enjoying himself a great deal. Fine, he gets my load. He definitely sucks cock like an inexperienced closet case. Only the first two inches are getting in. But he's diligent. I manage to start fucking his face adequately, and I can feel the load building. I inform him I'm gonna cum. He keeps at it, sucking hard. And I unload a good 3 days' worth straight into his mouth. And like a trooper he stays on me and takes the entire load. No pulling back when he tastes the squirt, no panicked "oh-my-god-he's-cumming-in-my-mouth" reaction. Just the steely dedication to duty of a Navy man.

And when I pull out, he just looks up at me with his mouth slightly open. Not a drop will be spilled. He's already swallowed the whole thing. Wow! Even I spit most of the time. I button up swiftly and exit. Done.

In another city, a few days later, I am able to get an hour to sneak into a XXX theater. We don't have those in my hometown (or it's suburbs), so I was happy to get a chance to spend a lunch hour in one. I'm expecting horny office workers -- this place is downtown. Nope. Troll city - actually, troll town, as there aren't even that many of them. The only action of any interest is a young guy who walks in and stands at the back wall jerking his cock behind his shirt tail. I go back and jerk with him, but he's not showing anything, and certainly not letting anyone touch him. A guy seated in the last row asks to see his ass, and the he complies, giving a brief flip of his shirt-tail and a flash of his ass. But that was it.

I slid closer to him and whisper that I'd love to jump his sweet ass. "I'm looking to pay the rent," he responds. OK, that's what an attractive young guy is doing here. Whoring. "Not that I'm looking for that, but what's the rent these days?" "$200." "Good luck, buddy." I say this nicely, not sacastically, as, oddly, I do wish him well. I looks surprisingly wholesome for a theater whore. I'm just not into paying. I go and sit down, and a few minutes later he parks his naked ass a seat away from me and drops the shirt-tail and lets me watch him jack. He doesn't attempt to make this into a commerical transaction, so I can only assume that it was a friendly gesture -- also a way to kill time -- and no more.

So the XXX theater was a bust. Shame. I started pondering the theory that the internet, and Craigslist and Mansearch and Yahoo Personals and the like have killed places like this. Only the internet-unsavvy go to such places anymore. A shame, as it's nice to meet your meat first, if you get my turn of phrase.

Two days later came my class reunion. In walks the love of my life (this is a very long story - suffice to say that he and I having started at age 13, are now in our fourth decade of occasoinally getting it on), now married, with his wife whom I'd never met. And damned if I didn't wind up spending more time talking to her than to any one other person in the room. Partly she didn't know anyone there, and got introduced to me upon arrival. And partly, I liked her & she seemed to like me back. Here I am, her husband's long-time lover, and we're hitting it off. I got a weird kick of out that. And at the end of the evening, on the way out, the wife warmly urges me to come and visit them sometime! Weirder kick! (A wise female friend I discussed it with later said: "What's so odd about that? You both love the same man, why are you surprised that you'd like one another?" Ah, female wisdom.)

On the last day of vacation, I got to make one final visit to the first XXX bookstore mentioned above. Nothing for about 30 minutes, and once again I'm in a rush. I gotta leave. As I hit the parking lot, though, I spot a guy pull in in a hopped up sports car. 40-something, a little heavy, appearance-indifferent straight guy look about him. I double back, and follow him into the arcade where he goes straight for one of the neatly labeled Glory Hole booths. I take the next one and he feeds me his cock immediately. Fat, ordinary length. Trimmed but not shaved pubes. He stiffens up smartly, and I work him to a nice boner. But he pulls back. I stay at the hole, except to feed another buck into the insistent video machine. He comes back and feeds me more. And pulls back again. I'm in a hurry, and this fucker doesn't want to cum just yet. GEEZ. After his third pull-back, I realize I'm going to be seriously late if I don't get out of here fast.

So yup, I left. I'm sure I'd teased up a huge load in him. It shoulda' been mine. But I left. Cursing all the way.

And that's the tale of my sexually frustrating vacation.

5/28/09

The (not exactly) annual physical: I am proud to report that my prostate was rated "1+". And my prostate has "firm margins", which sounds promising, don't you think? This was explained by my doctor to his hunky young intern before he invited the intern to perform a second invasion of my ass. He wanted to make sure the intern would be able to recognize a good firm margin. Not that I minded getting professionally intimate with the intern. Think of the nerdy athlete who always aced biology class.

When I asked my very gay doctor (how did the insurance company know to assign me to a gay doctor?) whether that 'plus' of the "1+" indicated something elevated, he said no, if my score were any lower it would mean my prostate had been removed. Phew. I feel better.

And I've definitely still got a prostate, as the video below shows. I've repeatedly boasted here that I can shoot a long way for a guy over 40, and I'm sure there are some skeptics. Watch the video: proof positive. Nipple high, when I'm leaning back in a chair? Pretty good shooting, if I do say so myself.

UPDATE: I can't, for the life of me, get the video to upload. If any of my readers know how to convert a .3pg to an .mpeg, I'd appreciate a walk-through.

UPDATE UPDATE: Thanks to a sharp guy from Queens who goes out on the Internet as BIFFtheSTIFF, I've managed to convert and post the promised video. Three cheers for BIFF!

5/21/09

Ah, how do I handle this one? The man in question is one who, I know, pokes around extensively on the internet. And finds blogs like this one. Occasionally he sends me something kinky.  He can't always bring himself to say this is what he would want to do next time we manage to get together.  (Yes, he's a repeater.)  So I've been highly reluctant to go into the highly distinctive details of our latest encounter. 

That, and I like him personally. If both he and I weren't shacked up (he formally, with the blessing of the state and a gold band on his left hand and I informally), I wouldn't mind having him as a lover. He cute, he's kinky, he's highly responsive to stimuli . . . and thinking about him is giving me a hard-on right now.

On the other hand, I've pledged to you, my readers, to play out my sexual shennanigans for 2009.  So I'm walking a fine line here, the line between informing my readers, and respecting my guy's privacy.

I'll start with some very basic background: he's married, with children. He's also probably more outwardly gay than I am - aside from the wedding ring, of course. He likes to get kinky, though not in a hard-core way. He's barrel-chested, hairy, and hung small. Cums easily.

We finally managed to arrange another encounter after many attempts that didn't work out. We drank a lot, and we got kinky, and while I was on top of him I just went for it: I stuck my tongue in his mouth, which he'd never explicitly resisted, but had also never had the nerve to seek himself. It was, though never discussed, a line both of us had respected since we met. And within moments, he came without even being touched. He just groaned a little something about how he was getting close, and I backed off but it was too late. After he'd spooged, he just lay back, the perfect picture of sexual contentment. I felt a stong temptation to snuggle up with him at that point, but I didn't. Like the kiss, it was a line that wasn't meant to be crossed. Not yet.

So that's the basics, missing many details I know you all would enjoy.  I only wish I could give you more.

5/10/09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5/3/09

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5/2/09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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