My mild depression (due to the existential shit of career, money, place in the universe, yadda bladdy et cetera ad nauseum BOLLOCKS) seems to be lessening and, as a result, I'm able to slowly get back into the swing of Life As Usual (namely, this blog). In the last 1.5 weeks, I've made an interesting masturbatory friend. He posts on Craigslist a lot (and I mean A LOT). He's a self-declared hetero with a gf (who lives in Canada [Avenue Q joke]) and loves to get stroked off by men. Hmm. Just my type. The deal is that the stroker remains fully clothed (no sucking, no fucking, just stimulation for him). He and I emailed back and forth a few years ago, but only just now managed to connect. For some reason, I don't think I was what he was looking for then. I can't really say what's changed but, after making sure I knew the rules, he was very happy to meet me a half block from his apartment on Beacon Street. Naturally it was cold and the idea of waiting around for someone was far from ideal, especially when it seemed he was stacking the cards in his favor to blow me off if he got there and changed his mind. As I never saw his face pic, he could easily have walked right by me and I wouldn't have been the wiser. Trust me; I've done this once: arranged to meet at a coffeehouse, gave the guy the wrong stats, saw him show up and then just ignored him when he didn't live up to his description. Yeah, I know. Karma's a bitch and I've been repaid for THAT one several times over already.
Surprisinlgy, though, he didn't stand me up. I had a bit of a ditzy moment right before. He told me to meet him on the corner of Beacon and Exeter. I'd already assured him that if he was late I'd simply leave. I was 6 minutes early and was kinda hoping he wouldn't show. I really needed to get to the gym and it was already nearly 6p. Making that first leap back into a routine after a few weeks off is difficult. So there I was (no sign of him), having second thoughts and thinking I was off the hook when it dawned on me, "you idiot, you're at Exeter and Commonwealth." Yes, I'm a ninny. So at one minute til, I raced the two short blocks to Beacon and there he was. Taller than I(who isn't?), white (already knew that from the dick pics), stocky (very pleasantly so), bespectacled (self explanatory) and handsome (to me). Just an average, dark-haired, cigarette-smoking Everyday Guy with a Secret (yes, capital) - He likes other guys to stroke him off. This undercover thing really turned (and turns) me on. Not that it should be hidden, but that he has a "taboo" indulgence that can't be gleaned just from looking at hiim. Unless one is into the 24 hour slave thing, complete body modification or being Amish, I think that's true for most things (can't tell by looking. Oh, come on. You can always tell the Amish because they refuse to go anywhere without those lace hats. Or maybe I'm just thinking about old people? Whatever).
There wasn't much verbal exchange between us. The first thing he said, in true spartan Hetero Speak, "is this okay?" To which I responded, "yeah." That greeting could've been asking about anything from the the weather to his sartorial decision not to wear socks, despite the dropping temperature. But somehow I understood his question to mean whether I was okay with him. Though I don't quite comprehend the species, I have studied the male Heterosexual at some length. They don't talk much, as I've just pointed out. Or wear socks. And when they do talk (and wear socks), it's either about sports, pussy, doesn't make sense or a combination of all three. So it's best just to grunt, which I don't really do. I think I kind of purr more than I grunt. Anywhosit, we walked into the building and climbed the 3 flights of stairs to his apartment, ahem, room. If there were any notions about his sexuality, the state of that room cleared it all up. There were clothes all over the floor and the kitchen, which was nothing more than an alcove, was miraculously growing boxes of pizza from the countertop: approximately 16 large pizza boxes to be close (not exact). The trash was running over onto the floor, dishes were in the sink, THC buds were broken randomly about the shelving (well, THAT was okay). In spite of all this (oh yeah, and the bathroom was out in the hall), he had a magnificent hi-def flat screen (from which beautiful porn was being broadcast) and XM Satellite radio tuned to chillout grooves. Awesome, bro!
He didn't waste any time at all completely stripping down and lying back on the bed. An aneros, poppers, lube and a small dildo were at close reach for me to use at my discretion. I've just gotta say that there's something extremely hot about a masculine man offering up his hole for my intensely personal inspection. After teasing some fingers around his hairy sphincter, then easing a few lubed fingers up his butt, he asked if I wanted to use the toys. Yes! He started on his back, then moved onto all fours. Double yes! I started with the aneros (I have got to buy one of those fucking things) and watched him grind his hole around it. Fuck all! When I pulled it out, guess what? Totally clean! Before I made him bust his load, I got a chance to use the tapered dildo with ridges. It was only a half hour session. Once done, there wasn't much talking. (We've already covered this phenomenon among the species). I just washed my hands, got my coat on, said goodbye and left. A few days later, he invited me back over via email for more of the same. I went, but after a second time leaving with an impossible hardon, precum soaked jeans and no possible way during the session to relieve myself, I declined a third offer to go over. I'm not saying I won't go back, but I need a break. Just last night (it's now Saturday morning 12:27a), the sexy Italian from down the street, J, came by for a half hour session. God, that man gets me going. He SO wants to just come out and do the damn thing. By that, I mean, you know, just, like be GAY or something. I don't know. I just wish you could be here to witness how gentle and unafraid he is with my body. The way he trails kisses down my side and back. The licks and nibbles across my butt cheeks. The occasional, tentatively quick flick of the tongue on my hole. O-mazing. There has got to be a name for the position we ended up twisting ourselves into. We were both on our knees on the floor and were somehow jerking each other while licking each other's balls. I don't think we covered that in vinyasa but, if we did, I might miss a lot fewer classes. We still haven't kissed and might never, but I bet it'd be off the charts. He sat back on my face and let me rim him just a bit. The musk from that area was just right. He has such a great ass. I'm not even a top and I think I'd enjoy getting a few strokes off in that roundness. When we decided to cum, we jerked each other off. The favored position: on my back looking up at him. He wanted to see me cum. Since I haven't been masturbating lately, my load was not only visible it was actually decent. He was second to shoot. As always, his load was huge and fired several shots like a gun. He managed to shoot a big puddle up my stomach, along with hits to my neck, mouth and just to the right of my head. Whoa. Have you ever been hit in the face with cum? Silly, me. Of course you have. You live for it. You jump in front of cum intended for other people's faces. It's what you do. (I don't judge). Getting shot with sperm is always a surprise. I mean, I knew it was coming (don't even), but I didn't think it'd reach my head. I know. I'm naive. So shoot me. Oh wait. Someone already has. *big grin*
