An Exceptional Wednesday: Another Monkey Just Got Its Wings

On occasion the stars align and I get to have a well-timed adventure or two. Such an occurance happened a couple of Wednesdays ago. I got horny during the day at work and started emailing my list of fuck buds to see who might be in a similar mood and respond.

On this particular Wednesday two of my buds were in agreement. I worked out the logistics with each via email, completed my day at work and then set out to make some magic happen.

My first trip took me to St. Paul, to the apartment of my longest-running fuck bud. We met about ten years ago. At that time he was a struggling grad student. His financial circumstances seemed so perilous to me one year that I was concerned he would freeze during the winter and gave him a leather coat for Christmas. The apartments he occupied were always quite untidy and he had this long-haired white cat that shed like crazy; that fur was everywhere. The other thing that used to bug me? No bed. He slept… well, to tell you the truth I’m not sure where he slept. He was never asleep in my presence. But there was no bed; which meant we had to fuck on the floor and that always resulted in rug burns and my sweat soaked body being covered in cat fur. Not fun. But then it so was! Fun. Wicked fun.

When I first met him I thought he was middle-eastern; he’s not, it turns out he’s Hispanic. Muy caliente! His chest is huge, his arms well-defined with muscles, his face an amazingly handsome sight and his dick: nicely thick and sized. His legs are beautiful. Oddly enough, considering he’s a top, his best feature is his ass. Buffed to a high sheen, it’s immaculate and so firm it’s like gripping a pair of well inflated basketballs. He has always been an intense lover, very passionate, though a bit on the rough side. Sexy as all-get-out, we’ve been in sync since the get-go. Whatever little experiment he wanted to explore, I was only too willing to go along with it, even the ones where I ended up with a big lip or the occasional bruise (yes, he had a tendency of getting carried away). He’s a bicyclist and a runner, very strong and his virility and masculinity are not to be questioned for a second. I love his eyes and he’s not above murmuring amazingly sexy compliments as he plows my ass. I keep imaging that I’m Melanie Griffin and he’s Antonio Banderas: the comparison works; I don’t get what Antonio Banderas sees in her (she’s kind of a train wreck), though he’s incredibly devoted to her and I do not doubt for a second the sincerity of his love. The same could be said of me and my Antonio – I don’t get what it is he sees in me, I just hope he continues to see it.

When I first met him, I was not much of a bottom. He helped change that. From day one he wanted my ass. I finally gave it up to him and have kept doing so for years.

Then we lost touch. A couple of years had gone by when, out of the blue, he contacted me. He was back in town. My grad student was now… well, I can’t tell you what he became, but it’s a great job and to be honest I’m a little jealous. Then again, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Turns out he was in another state for a year or two. He hated it and when an opportunity came to move back to Minnesota he grabbed it. Lucky me. My Antoinio is a bit older now, more filled out. I think age has also tempered his tendency to get carried away in the sack. Plus; he now has a bed, for which I am very grateful in a number of ways (and so are my knees, elbows and back). Also, he hasn’t lived in this apartment long enough to really mess it up and the kitty cat is no more. Adios, el gato.

My Antonio loves music, so when I arrive on this occasion he’s playing some European dance station which immediately sets the mood. While we don’t exactly tango, we are both into the mood and feel of the music and it always adds a sense of theatricality to our fucking. On this occasion he’s impressed with my work clothes (he’s a bit of a label conscious fashion fascist) and takes great joy in undressing me. He’s dressed in only a pair of running shorts and a white tee. Even his bare feet are sexy and I can’t wait to get my mouth on him. We kiss as he undresses me and our dance begins. Once stripped, he grabs my ass and tells me how much he loves it; which is really generous of him, considering my melon is no longer as firm as it was ten years ago. It doesn’t matter. I slip down to my knees, shuck down his running shorts (the elastic band of gets caught on his rock hard disco stick - boing!) and take his dick into my mouth. After that we just get lost in one another. My mouth is all over his body which is quite sensitive in certain areas (arm pits, nipples). Surprisingly, for such a macho motherfucker he has no problem with me eating his ass. I dive in deep, sucking and licking like it is some divine pussy that I will get to seed. Not that that would ever happen, but I like to pretend. At most, I manage the tip of my index finger up there while I work his balls and dick with my mouth and throat.

While the passion, basic mechanics and intensity of what we do sexually with one another has remained the same, some things have changed. Gone are the experimental desires that used to color our sessions. I think he got it out of his system or realized that water sports hold only so much fascination and that wrestling and bondage to the point of inflicting injury really is not sexy at all. Maybe he just cherishes me a bit more now that I’m back in his life. He hasn’t spoken specifically about his time away or the lovers he encountered, but I do know that whatever he found there, it’s left him wanting and a bit unfulfilled. Another thing that has changed? He now pays a lot more attention to my dick. He used to never suck my dick. Now? Sixty-Nine is his favorite number.

We roll around on the top of the bed for over an hour. I love it best when he’s lying on top of me. There is something about the weight of him, his massive chest, his eyes melting into mine – it just makes me feel so fully possessed.

And that’s the thing about my Antonio, I welcome that sense of owner-ship. It’s not staged or blatant like it is in a role playing situation with a leather dom. It’s as if that sense is infused in the sweat that eventually rolls off his magnificent back as he pounds my ass into submission. Maybe it’s his eyes. It’s definitely in his kiss.

Normally, he never cums in me while fucking me. I think the condom prevents him from doing so. Usually he pulls out, removes the condom and then I get him off with my mouth. But today is an exception to the rule and he takes great relish announcing that he is going to cum. He finishes with a fine crescendo. We are both covered in sweat and the after glow lingers intensely. We swim in it, enjoying the intimacy, both of us a little reluctant to end it. As we are getting up to head to the shower I realize that I somehow managed to complete this entire rather intense encounter without one sniff of poppers. I guess I really got swept up in the moment. There was a time when any playtime with my Antonio had to include multiple hits of poppers due to potential pain and/or the marathon nature of our get-togethers. Ah, yes, the intensity has remained, but it is now tempered by common sense and experience. In short; we’ve both become better lovers during the intervening years.

We shower together. He loves to soap up my body. He comments on it and springs a hard-on once he slips the bar of soap between the cheeks of my ass. I soap him up, too, but I’m a bit more tongue-tied when it comes to doling out the compliments. I’m always afraid that whatever I say will sound stupid. We spend time deep kissing under the cascading water, towel off, tell each other a bit about our lives as we dress, give each other a peck on the mouth and… I’m out of there.

And I’m late. About fifteen minutes late.

The problem with setting up multiple fuck sessions is the timing. While you can approximate how long a given session will last (especially if you’ve played with that person before), you really never know. And with my Antonio, I really should have known better. He is a marathoner in more ways than one.

So I’m now heading out of St. Paul smack dab in the middle of rush hour. There is no way I am going to get to Uptown, find a parking place and have my ass in place on time. So I do something I never do… I use my cell phone while driving. This is something I avoid doing at all costs and is one of my pet peeves about other drivers. But desperate times call for the breaking of one’s hard and fast rules. I call. He answers. I tell him I am stuck in traffic and will be at least fifteen minutes late. He’s cool with that.

Somehow I manage to arrive in record time. Traffic was bad, but not that bad, plus the lights on Hennepin were all in my favor (that, and nobody was trying to take a left turn – always a real pain in the ass). I also snag a huge parking spot on a legal block, so I won’t have to wonder if my car is being towed while I am on all fours with my ass in the air.

I buzz the door and wait for my Iowa Farm Boy to appear. I call him my Iowa Farm Boy, not because he is from Iowa (he’s not) and not because he is a boy (he is not). It has to do with an odd mix of clueless innocence, a total lack of sophistication, and a muted emotionality that he exudes like cologne. We hooked up for the first time two years ago around Christmas time. In the two years I’ve known him I have learned very little about him. He’s a good boy. He loves his parents. He loves his cat. He has some very unique (?) hobbies. Maybe he’s a little boring; his affectation is very flat. And there’s something very country hick about him. Maybe it’s because he’s so tall and lanky. His face, however, is quite handsome in a Tab Hunter sort of way. And he’s not unintelligent. He’s quiet. And not lonely. He’s my age or older (I suspect older), but in great shape – in fact, I’m sure his fat index is probably in the negative digits. And speaking of digits! OMG!

Now there are many ways to assess the value of a dick; length and width being two. I am not a size queen, although I am always impressed by those blessed with abundance. My Iowa Farm Boy (let’s call him Duane – not his real name) is blessed. I think his dick is probably 8.5” plus and the thickness is nice, too, probably in the ballpark of 5.5 – 6”. That is all well and good (very, very good), but that is not the remarkable thing about Duane’s appendage. I should also mention that he has a nice pair hanging in his ball sack; totally edible and mouth watering. But that’s not what I am referring to either. There are two other features of Duane’s dick that make getting fucked by him a unique and highly satisfying experience. One has to do with the angle of his dangle. Even rock hard, it points down and curves to the right. This makes for an odd presentation when photographed, but works wonders for deep-throating and the inside of my hole. The other unique feature has to do with the head of Duane’s dick. It is very large with a rather unique shape. I want to say it is like a large strawberry, but strawberries are too pointed. Maybe a small egg is more the thing it reminds me of; the head of his dick is incredibly smooth and long. When I take it in my mouth I find myself not wanting to go further because I am completely satisfied. In fact, I would love to spend an afternoon sometime with just the head of his dick lolling around the inside of my mouth. Yes, I feel it is that unique and satisfying that it deserves its own afternoon.

However, an afternoon with the head of Duane’s dick in my mouth is really a pipe dream when you consider what sex is like with Duane. Okay, so there is something very, very perfunctory about it. Kind of like, let’s cover only the necessary material. There will be no discussion during the exam. Concentrate on the highlighted areas only. And you know what? I’m alright with that. Not just because he is my second fuck of the day, but because he is Duane. And Duane is unlike any other fuck. His predictability only helps satisfy my getting-dicked-ability.

First off, there is that dick of his. Duly noted. Second? The location and setting. His apartment is on the top floor of his building and his bedroom overlooks a very active part of uptown. This does not dissuade Duane from leaving his bedroom window uncovered. Once I arrive, he usually walks straight into the bedroom and turns his television on. There is always some gay porn tape at the ready with the volume up. He takes off his clothes as he watches the porn tape. I remove my clothes watching him watch the porn tape. This all takes place in front of the uncovered window. During the summer, he leaves the window open and the sounds and conversations from the street waft in. I know the fact that he is on the top floor really moots the whole ‘but people can see us’ thing, but there is still something very intimidating about it. And sexy, too, especially when I'm naked and I get on my knees between Duane and the television to take his dick in my mouth.

I usually get to spend about five minutes throating Duane’s dick. During that time I also pay some attention to his ball sack, but mostly I just enjoy the luxury of deep throating a man whose dick I can suck while he is standing by approaching his dick from below. It's a unique perspective. This is really the way whoever designed humans should have designed all men – with erections that point down. They slide down the throat so easily. Also? The cock sucker gets to enjoy the sensation of looking up at the object of their submissiveness. It’s hot.

Once the cocksucking portion of our play session is completed I am ordered to kneel on the bed while Duane slips a condom over his downward curving meat. There is no kissing. There is no conversation. In fact, throughout the entire session Duane usually remains mute, save for the occasional moan, groan or grunt. And this is where things start to get interesting. You see, it has been quite awhile since I have been fucked by Duane. His work schedule got all screwy during the summer months and so my summer was spent Duane-less. Something tells me that Duane’s summer might have been spent fuck-less. Why do I think this? Because Duane actually talks this time. And instead of entering my ass and then building up into an intense ram-fuck, he actually changes up his game significantly (for Duane). This time he seems to be concentrating on taking it slow. And the slow fuck is so the way to go. I am having a hell of a good time and Duane is telling me how amazing my ass feels. We don’t change positions – it is always doggy-style with Duane (I think he doesn’t want to look in my eyes), but we do change direction and rate of speed several times. He also changes his angle of penetration. This yields mixed results, but adds interest. He even bends forward over my back to put his lips near my cheek and breaths heavy in my ear. Fucking hot. And he tells me… he TELLS me when he is going to shoot his load. Usually Duane is good for a twenty minute fuck. And today is no exception. It’s just the way those twenty minutes are spent are so different in such a good way that it leaves us both breathless. When he shoots his load into the condom up my ass he does so moving so slowly and deliciously that my ass feels positively orgasmic.

He dismounts and stands by the side of the bed catching his breath. The condom is still on his dick with the filled end tip dangling deliciously. Normally Duane doesn’t allow me to touch him after he comes and he whips that condom off and disposes of it as fast as he can. But as he is catching his breath, I steal down to my knees in front of him and play with his still wrapped cock. He shot quite the load. I pull at the filled reservoir tip and squeeze it. Then I unroll the condom and unleash his dick. I then take the head of his dick in my mouth and work that last bit of cum out of the slit. This sends Duane over the edge. He moans deep. He doesn’t squirm away like most dudes. He seems to actually enjoy the intense sensation. After a bit I release his dick, clean up, get dressed and say good-bye. Duane is a bit chattier than usual and I suspect that I will be receiving an invitation to come back again soon.

As I get back to my car I realize that I have just experienced a most exceptional Wednesday. I also question my taste and wantonness. Maybe one guy a day really should be enough. I always feel like I am cheating. Not on them, but myself. Both the experiences I had were definitely worth their own, separate day. I wonder if by cramming them both into the same day I’ve cheated myself out of enjoying them completely. I think about the horrors of navigating all the logistics involved in arranging multiple fucks and am not sure the hassle is worth it in the end. I also wonder if it actually has a negative impact on my enjoyment of the moment.

Being a slut is hard work. Being a multiple-fuck slut is even harder. I don’t like working hard. Maybe that is why I’m a bottom.

Eh… don’t kid yourself. A good bottom works just as hard as any top.

But back to the issue at hand. Maybe my Antonio is not the only one tempered by common sense and experience. Maybe I am becoming... dare I say it... satiable.

Yeah. And monkeys fly out my ass.

And in a way, they do. Every time I tell an untruth another monkey gets its wings.

Remember that posting I did about never doing anyone twice? Well I am such a liar. There are exceptions to that rule; these guys being two of them. They are sort of my version of long-term-relationships. Long-term booty calls? And there is value in that. Well, maybe not value. Maybe I am confusing value with enjoyment, but hey… there’s value in enjoyment, just as there’s comfort to be found in the familiar. It’s also nice when the familiar changes just enough to keep things interesting. That kind of change I like and encourage.

Maybe I should change. Maybe I should only fuck one guy a day. I will try to be more chaste. I will mend my wicked, wicked ways.

Oops. Better stand back. Another monkey just got its wings.

Holding Up a Mirror to the World: Object Should Be Closer When They Peer

What people have to say about me has more to do with who they are and what they want from me than it does with who I am.

That’s it in a nutshell, folks.

It’s taken me years to get to this point, but I am finally able to articulate what bothers me about the comments people make when they assume they know me. I’m thinking of adopting it as my mantra.

Truth is subjective. Points of view, opinion, the way one sees something; while valid for the source may not be an accurate reflection of the subject.

When it comes to other people I do my best not to judge and I really try never to judge quickly. I don’t walk in their shoes and there is usually a part of the story I am not privy to. I hate to make a call if I don’t have all the info. Not that I haven’t on occasion read somebody’s beads. But usually I don’t offer up my full POV unless it is time to draw a line in the sand or in the hopes of altering someone’s history of bad behavior with a good old dose of reality. In either case, I have a history with those people… a long history, and the level of my disclosure is based solely on the trust level achieved in the time I’ve known them. And if that’s the straw that breaks the camels back? So be it. We’re both better off.

If I don’t know you well enough and you say or do something that I find disagreeable or leads me to suspect that we aren’t on the same page (or book, or library) in the long run, I keep it to myself. Because if you jump on someone’s shit right at the start of a friendship, that person will clam up fast. Once that happens? You are no longer trusted with information regarding what makes that person tick – so your relationship will seize like an engine that’s run out of oil. When I’m getting to know someone, I try to ask questions and withhold judgment. That way the information keeps on flowing and nobody’s sensibilities get messed with.

Keeping such an open mind is why I end up exploring, talking about, and commenting on the things and activities that populate my life. If I closed my mind, I would never explore anything new and I would only be able to see things from the limited point of view based on my very limited experience. That’s why I think of my life as one long learning experience and myself as a life-long student.

Remaining open to change and leaving room in my life for new experiences is very important to me. This is why I chafe when someone makes blanket statements about me based on whatever is currently occupying most of my time and focus. You can’t pigeon-hole me. By the time you do, I will be focused on something else. No, I don’t suffer from ADD. I merely learn everything I want to know about a given activity or topic and then move onto something else. I am an inconspicuous consumer of knowledge; experiencing things first hand being key to my obtaining such knowledge. So don’t jump to conclusions about who I am based on what I’m currently preoccupied with. Trust me, in a week or two it will change.

Of course some changes happen without my consent or knowledge. One day, I just happen to glance over to the right and boom, there it is; something’s changed. To be honest, I don’t like surprises much. But then life does have a way of sneaking up on a body. A somewhat recent change that I’m still getting used to? I don’t have a lot of friends anymore. I have acquaintances and people I work with. I have neighbors. I have family (some of which are my very best friends). But friends? No. I used to look around and wonder why. What happened? What changed? The answer? I did; me and my expectations. I no longer put a lot of trust or faith in friendships. They don’t last. That whole BFF thing is just a marketing ploy guaranteed to set you up for some major disappointment down the line. I’m not bitter, just sadder, but wiser.

Recently, I once again got my hopes up thinking I’d found a new friend. In emails we seem to click. He made me laugh, we had some stuff in common and I could tell him things without fear. But then something went amiss; I failed to meet some unspoken expectation – a demand on my time, I suspect, and the next thing I know he’s reading between the lines of everything I’ve shared or the things I’d written in the past. He’d then offer up his analysis and in the process royally piss me off. I don’t like being judged. Especially harshly and prematurely. But then we live in an age where everyone (Thanks, Oprah. Thanks, Dr. Phil) fancies themselves some type of self-help guru and they just can’t help but jump all over your jock the moment they feel the need to enlighten.

Well, fuck that.

Want to analyze someone? Try holding a mirror.

I’ve had my head shrunk. It was a painful and relatively brief (in the big picture) time. Eventually, someone told me something about myself that led to my getting over myself in a big way – and that’s when my real life began. If the time comes that I feel the need to unburden my soul and seek emotional guidance, trust me – I’ll recognize it. But until that day? Don’t pigeon hole me! If I share something about myself with you – that is my truth. Don’t try telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about. Don’t try telling me I don’t know myself.
And don’t ever accuse me of being shallow.

Because, if there is one thing I am not… it’s shallow. And for you intimate such only proves that you have no idea who the hell I am.

Yes, I am incapable of a ‘real’ relationship. But I choose that. I have had ‘real’ relationships in the past – long term ones. They all ended for a reason and not all of them badly. And now that I have had several very ‘real’ relationships, I am in a position to tell you – as defined, they are not something that interests or suits me. I have my family. They matter. I’m not feeling the need for much more. The sexual relationships that I have? They serve a purpose. I learn from them. I learn about myself. I have fun. I get off. I’m not going to invest very much in them… because that is my choice.

And so… it’s Friday night at 5:30 pm and I am in a coffee shop finishing this post, sitting at a table with an herbal tea all by myself.

I will probably spend the rest of the night by myself. Unless I choose not to. But in any case…

I’m okay with it.

Getting caught up in outcomes? Not really my game plan anymore. I’m more interested in listening to the universe and seeing what it has to show me…. what it has to teach me.

So I’m not really disappointed that I don’t have another friend. This is just a lesson I have tried to learn time and time again. Only, this time? I get it.

Repeat after me: What people have to say about me has more to do with who they are and what they want from me than it does with who I am.

Amen.

Never Take Your Hole for Granted

On Manhunt the other day, this guy emails me. He likes my profile, and likes what he sees. He is the fourth guy within 15 minutes to write me saying basically the same thing, so I am thinking this has to be a scam, right? Four guys I have never spoken to before write to tell me that I’m hot? Not likely. But I’m a good sport, and curious to see if any of them write back with an offer to join such and such a site at a greatly reduced price or to tune into their webcam. When I return their emails, I pretty much write the same thing: Thanks for the compliment. You’re the hot one, dude! If interested in seeing more of me (I have more pics for trade), email me at: suchandsuch@email.com. I’m not a member so limited emails on this site.

Usually that is the last I hear of them. Guys are afraid to email. They will give you their cell phone number at the drop of a zipper tag, but an email? That is just too personal for them.

Anyway… this guy – we’ll call him Rob (not his real name), he emails me back. And he sends pics! Okay, all I can say is… this guy is a fucking porno wet dream. One of those seriously macho dudes: big, natural muscles (yeah, I can tell a roid case when I see one), nipples like pencil erasers, a nice coating of salt and pepper man fur, a neatly trimmed beard/goatee thing going on, a killer smile, bright, intense eyes and a granite jaw. Basically? He could easily pass as one of those Tom of Finland guys. I’m not kidding. His ass is all muscle and bubbled - totally edible. His legs are well-defined and his calves are legendary. Even his dick looks suspiciously oversized. Also – some of his pics are taken outdoors! He hides nothing. In on photo he’s standing in the middle of a railroad track; one that looks vaguely familiar.

I check back to his Manhunt profile and like everything I read. He’s a top. I’m in.

So I hit him back with my entire arsenal; every halfway decent naked photo I’ve taken this past year. I figure if they don’t scare him away, then maybe something will work out between us. Fortunately, he takes the bait and writes back. He loves outdoors sex, and knows the prairie area well. Everything else he has to say sits well with me. He wants to meet. I suggest a scene: he walks into this empty house I’m currently rehabbing, locks the door behind him and searches through the rooms until he finds me; naked, on all fours with my ass up in the air. He’s game. We set a time. I get there early and set up, figuring this is just going to be your basic suck and fuck. My ass is clean, I’m naked and in position. He actually shows up on time and walks on in, as planned.

I give him a bit of time to take in the view once he walks in the room. He can see me through the doorway of an adjacent room and chooses to strip and leave his clothes in there. I keep my ass toward him the entire time. I love the anticipation factor of set-ups like this. I’m so vulnerable, facing away from a complete stranger, my bare ass sticking up with my hole clearly visible. He walks into the room and gets on his knees behind me. He lightly touches my pre-lubed hole, caresses it, something I like very much. He comments about how nice my hole is. His voice totally matches the pics I’ve seen – hyper-masculine, deep, thick, throaty; the kind of voice that is used to giving orders and having them followed to the letter. He then proceeds to finger my hole, very tentatively at first and then with just a bit more familiarity. His touch is just right and I am really glad I lubed up ahead of time. He asks me if I like that. I take a slight hit of poppers and begin to push back on his finger, letting him know that, yeah, man… I like that.

Finally, he moves around to the front of me and gets on his knees. The view is so worth the wait. His pics do not do him justice and they certainly fail to capture one of his rather exceptional physical attributes. His dick. It’s super, super thick. Like a coke can. He is a Tom Finland icon. From what I can tell, he’s uncut. I look upwards. His chest is killer. Beautiful pecs with chewable nips. His shoulders massive, his arms more so. His face… his eyes. The boy in me melts. Daddy’s home.

We kiss.

This is shaping up to be an exceptional introduction.

Our kisses grow in intensity until they become deep and passionate. He pulls me into him and I feel physically smaller than I thought possible. My hands and arms experience his body. We embrace. We explore. There’s some beautiful friction between us. I love how he cups the cheeks of my ass with both his hands while allowing a finger to caress the pucker of my hole. I move my mouth to his left nipple. I hoover it, suck it, lightly nip at it. He moans. I move the other one and repeat the process. He removes the b-ball cap I’ve been wearing and places it on his head, backwards. For some reason this gesture immediately endears this man to me. I smile and raise one of his arms up. My hand follows up the length of his arm, pausing occasionally to give his muscles a squeeze of awed appreciation. My mouth moves from his pec to his arm pit. Trimmed hair. No deodorant. Fresh, manly. I suck and lick and deep tongue his pit. He likes it. He says, “Fuck, yeah… get my stink all over you.” And I’m like, “Yeah, man… mark me.”

Again we kiss. His hands and attentions return to my ass. “Let me eat that fucker.” And me? All I can say is, “Yes, Sir!”

He moves behind me. I bend forward offering up my hole once more. He spits on my crack and immediately dives in. I hold the cheeks of my ass apart as far as possible for him so he can gain full access. With his tongue, he works the same magic on my ass that he’s worked in my mouth. I want to give my all to him. And when he requested to eat my hole, he wasn’t just paying lip service to the act… this was one very committed ass muncher. I take another slight it of poppers and grind my hole onto his mouth. I feel so open. So fully consumed. If this is all there is to be of this session, I would walk away one satisfied fucker.

“Turn around and lick Daddy’s nuts.”

He leans back, on his knees, his massive thighs spread wide. Still in my crouched position, I move around to face his dick. His nut sack hangs loose and generous. I try approaching it from underneath, kissing it succulently with my lips. I then take one ball in my mouth, and then the other. Still leaning back and now resting on one arm, he reaches round with the other and pushes my face firmly into his crotch. I lick. I suck. I move up to his dick, still in awe of its width. I engulf it, my mouth stretching, my jaw relaxing. It’s a struggle, but because he’s only average in length, I’m able to accommodate him. As I’m blowing him, I reach under his nuts and feel my way back to his exposed hole. I touch it, finger it, enter it just the tiniest bit – like testing the water. I wanna eat it, but have a feeling that might not be on the menu today. So instead, my mouth still stuffed full of dick, I reach up and begin to work his nips with my fingers. I pull on them. Squeeze them. Pinch them firmly, holding on to them. He grunts encouragement and tells me to work those fuckers. Happily, I do.

He leans forward and pushes my shoulders up. He switches to his knees and dives face first onto my dick. I’m nice and hard as he expertly deep throats me on his first lunge. I push his head down, indicating he’s to stay there for awhile. He does. I begin to slowly face fuck him. Small movements at first, building, building, until I’m in power fuck mode.

Suddenly, he pushes down hard on my thighs, disengaging his mouth from my dick and pulling my lower legs out from under me until I am lying flat on my back. He lies on top of me and grinds his dick into mine. I love it. “Oh, yeah, nut fuck me, bud. Yeah. Just like we’re in high school.” He loves it and responds in kind, melting his powerful body all over mine. We kiss the entire time. Then his mouth leaves mine and travels down my body. Soon he’s taking my dick in his practiced mouth again. I reposition myself on to my knees, so he is forced up on all fours.

I take in the view. His broad shoulders and chest, his well defined lats , tapering down to a smaller waist and then blooming into those two mounds of mouthwatering temptation. While he’s busy downing my tool, I reach over his back and grab his ass cheeks. They feel incredible. I give them a smack and then move my right hand to the crack of his ass while spreading his cheek with my left. I pause to put my index finger into my mouth and wet it before touching his hole. I tell him I want to eat his ass. He doesn’t reply and instead just keeps sucking, so I assume I am barking up the wrong tree.

I feel close to coming, so I push his mouth off my dick. Without missing a beat he stands up and feeds me his dick again. I can’t get over its thickness and I’m beginning to wonder how the hell he plans to get that fucker up my ass. I take my mouth off his dick, and as he is standing over me, I take my freshly buzzed head and rub it under his ball sack. He moans with pleasure and proceeds to hump my head for a bit, before slipping down, lifting my chin and forcing his dick back into my eager mouth.

“Let me see that ass of yours, boy.” He says this without any trace of irony. I have a feeling we are not that far apart in the age department, but his tone is very convincing and I am only too willing to go with the flow of our role play. I turn around and get on all fours, searching for my poppers. “Daddy wants to open you up some before he fucks you,” he says, fingering my hole. Not sure what’s coming next, I locate the poppers and then turnover so that I’m lying on my back, my knees up, my legs wide and my naked hole exposed.

He starts with one finger, just as he did at the start of our session. He explains to me that he needs to give me a lot more in order to open up my hole. I start snorting the poppers like my life depends on it. I tell him I’ve never been fisted and am not sure I want to be. He tells me to just lie back and relax. So I start to reason with him. I tell him I trust him, and take another couple of deep whiffs off the bottle of poppers. I lie back and he cozies up to the opening of my spread thighs. He’s working some kind of magic with his hand, pausing to add more lube from time to time. I keep telling him how much I trust him and he talks to me reassuringly. I’m in good hands. I start to feel my self open up. It feels warm and expansive and I push my ass forward just the slightest bit in order to meet the thrust of his fingers. Occasionally I reach up and take hold of his nipples and pull on them. Each time I do this he increases the pressure and intensity with which he’s finger fucking me. I know he has at least three fingers up my hole by now. His look is one of great concentration and care.

I take another hit of poppers and finally say to him, “I surrender”.

I surrender. Four fingers. Up to the knuckles. Fuck.

I’m thinking he’s gonna go for it… he’s gonna fist me.

But then, just as I’m beginning to try to wrap my head around the idea of actually being fisted, he rolls me up onto my upper back and shoulders.

“Daddy needs to fuck you now, boy. Daddy’s gonna plow you deep.”

And he’s as good as his word. I don’t even wince when he enters me. He allows me to catch my balance and my breath… to get used to him. And plow he does, hard, and deep. We’re in sync. I work his nipples, he works my hole. We kiss. His mouth explodes with a rush of air. He pulls back. He pulls me into him. I’m jerking my dick as he begins a low groan, which builds into a series of staccato gasps.

Daddy’s home.

He explodes. I follow suit. My legs are wrapped around his waist. He feels so close. He plays with my hole gently. Saying good-bye to it. He moves to the side of me and lies next to me. We curl into one another. I feel so small. So protected. Safe. Spent. Delicious.

We talk. About the fuck. About chemistry and hook-ups in general. About expectations. About exceeded expectations. Neither one of us is in a rush to get going, or to get away from the other or the scene of the crime. I compliment him on his body, his looks. He’s sweet. And smart, well-spoken, very social. I explain how I’ve never done that with anyone before… never allowed anyone to be that intrusive. I don’t think I could… with anyone else. We linger, enjoying each other’s warmth. My hands and fingers trace and follow the various curves of his magnificent physique. Our legs intertwined. Our breath close.

No longer Daddy and boy… just two men enjoying the afterglow. And what a glow it is…

Later. He gathers his clothes. He gets dressed. I clean up. One last kiss… he’s taller than me… and… he’s gone.

My hole. Feeling the heat. A sweet burn.

It’s not until the next day that I start taking note of the damage. It looks… bruised. The surrounding area, too. I look like those guys on Xtube, you know the ones: the ones that have had way too many very, very large objects up their holes way too often. Okay, so mine is not that bad. But it is dark. And the bruises get darker in the next few days. I hope that it’s not something permanent.

I don’t want to look ‘used’. I want to be used. I want my hole to look usable.

I keep my eye on the bruising for the next few days.

The entire week I try to sort out how I feel about fisting. I’m not mad, at myself or him. But I’m glad he stopped when he did. And I decide that fisting is not for me. I don’t need anything that big up inside of me. I don’t like the look of a bruised asshole. I don’t want to look ‘used’.

I give my hole a full week’s rest. I keep checking it in the mirror at the gym when no one else is around. It still looks different to me. Will it always look different to me? Is it something permanent, like a tattoo? Will others notice it when they look at it? Or is it all in my head? Will it go back to the way it was? Before…?

Another half a week goes by. Finally, I decide it is time to get back into the saddle. I’m online and I am talking to two different guys. I am pretty sure that something is going to pop soon, so I go clean out my hole. After I flush it out, I lube up my pucker and stick my index finger up there to see if everything is okay.

OMG… I’d forgotten. The interior… it feels silky smooth. Delicious. Tight. My finger, the perfect fit. The tissue that surrounds my digit feels healthy, strong, slick, and oh-so fuckable.

I’m relieved. And titillated. I feel a rush of excitement. My hole… wants… more.

But I resist.

I go and shut off my computer. I take a shower, resisting the urge to explore more, and then I head to bed, picking up a paperback I’d been slowly working my way through over the past week and a half. It is fall and the weather is just a bit more chilly than usual. Beneath the covers, with the pillows plumped up so my back is supported enabling me to read, I feel snug and secure.

Not unlike being in the arms of a certain man, whose real name is not Rob.

I sigh. And find my place in the open book. You know…

Some things you just don’t want to rush.

An Honest Freak

Note: This is the last entry in this year's prairie series. I meant to post it earlier, but life got in the way. Man, do I miss the sun. Enjoy.

Another late afternoon spent at the Prairie. It’s a hot, moist Friday and I am so relieved to be off from work for the weekend. I settle into one of my favorite spots and immediately spy someone of interest.

I’ve never seen him before. He is long and lanky with very pale skin on his body. His face sports a good two-days growth of beard and is deeply tanned. He’s cute, almost handsome, with a boyish air that disguises his true age. His blue eyes are pure and a bit cold. As I was approaching he had been putting back on a pair of shorts – perhaps preparing to leave, but upon seeing me, the shorts are shucked off, revealing a black thong with an inviting bulge.

I don’t bother with introductions or even a cursory ‘hello’; I just kneel before him and run my tongue along the cup of his thong. He responds with a sweet groan and I am figuring that for once, I have read a situation correctly.

His body is basically hairless. Once his dick slips out of the thong, I notice that he has taken great care to shave everything. His dick is not that large, but it is serviceable. He mentions almost immediately that his balls are very sensitive, so I ease up just a bit. There is not an ounce of fat on the dude and while I am almost certain he is a total bottom, I am pleased that he is allowing me to be of service. I instantly fall in love with his voice, which is gravely and masculine – the kind of voice that conjures up the image of someone who has spent years ingesting a steady diet of whiskey and cigarettes.

Before I really get into my task, we are walked up upon by a guy I call John Deere. He has earned this name because he is always wearing a yellow, faded t-shirt with a John Deere logo blazoned across his chest. His body is all taut muscle and steely reserve. I’ve played with him in the past and while he is a walking wet dream, the experiences have always left me wanting. His handsome face reveals so little emotion, and there is never much dialogue between us. Fully clothed, he crouches behind me and watches. He traces the crack of my ass through the cloth of my shorts with his index finger several times, with increasing urgency. Then he walks away, toward a wooded area, where we have fucked around before.

Like a dog responding to the call of a man he thinks might be his master, I pause after he leaves and wonder whether I am meant to follow. I rise up from my crouched position and catch a last glimpse of John Deere as he disappears into the shade of the wooded area. As the Clash so eloquently put it… should I stay, or should I go? The man lying spread eagle before me is of interest, but not exactly lighting my fire. I also sense a lack of commitment on his part, as in, he understands the nature of casual sex and hook-ups in this environment and he will understand.

“I’ll be right back”, I say, knowing full well that ‘right back’ means once I find out what John Deere wants, if that be anything at all.

I stop in at my blanket for a quick wipe down with a wet wipe, a gargle of Listerine, and to re-lube my recently cleaned ass. I am ready for a good fuck. I make my way to the wooded area and find John Deere searching among the little grassy enclaves. He spots me approaching and makes haste toward our usual meeting spot. As I approach, he leans his handsome self up against the trunk of a tree and I notice that his fly is unzipped. Soon we are groping away at each others crotches and I wonder if I can get my John Deere up and running at full speed this time. You see, for all his physical perfection and rugged exterior, John Deere is a bit skittish and has a horrible tendency to only get half hard. I pull his limp dick from his open fly and move to my knees to begin working what I hope will be magic. I refrain from taking a hit of poppers and really concentrate on changing up my game as much as possible to see if I can find the secret code that will unlock his ever evasive hard on. To my total amazement, after a mere five minutes, I hit jackpot. John Deere is at full throttle and it is a beauty. My mind immediately moves to thoughts of his beauty ramming up my backside doggy style.

Unfortunately, our favorite spot is also quite near a major mountain bike trail. While there is little chance the bikers would notice us or see anything of value as they sped by (there are a number of layers of trees between us and the trail), the sound of the approaching cyclists spook John Deere and the magnificent hard on I have managed to awaken is quickly stuffed back inside his jeans. He immediately strides off toward the opposite side of the prairie and once again I try to determine if I am meant to follow. I walk out to the edge of the prairie and watch his back for any sign of encouragement. I catch the tiniest jerk of his chin, indicating that I am to follow and do so with haste, praying that his elusive hard on is still safe and throbbing away.

I reach the far corner of the prairie and find John Deere, chin in the air, scoping out the lay of the land like a hunter. This particular spot is a well-trodden area hidden behind a grouping of trees where those who are looking for a blow job wait for those willing to provide said service. The floor here is bare dirt. Behind it, there are a series of narrow trails well suited for hidden trysts and the swallowing of cum.

I approach John Deere and cup his crotch in my hand. The hard on of lore is once again absent and I wonder if I can make lightening strike twice. I work in vain. He is half hard, but horribly anxious. I drop my shorts and offer up my ass, as he has digitally been paying attention to it again through the cloth. He tells me he doesn’t have a condom. I produce one and dutifully slip it on his semi-hard dick. He says something about no lube and I assure him I am pre-lubed. I also, for good measure, take his condom wrapped dick into my mouth and wet it with saliva. It is orange flavored and reminds me of Skittles. I turn around, grab my poppers and prepare to be somewhat fucked. Without warning, he rams into me, causing me to wince just the tiniest bit. Normally when a dude thrusts the full length of his dick into me, I protest a lot, as it hurts a great deal. But due to John Deere’s semi-state of arousal, I take it in stride. He pumps away, pushing me forward into the depths of one of the trails. In the back of my mind I know this isn’t all that magical a fuck, but I pretend I am having a good time and keep up a good string of clichéd porno phrases.

He is working up into a mean fuck; lots of pounding, but very little in the way of sensual pleasure. After a particularly forceful thrust sends both of us off balance, John Deere withdraws and moves back into the clearing. I stand up and wonder what the fuck he wants now. He motions for me to join him in the clearing with the dirt floor. He quickly reenters me and pushes down hard on my upper back. After a minute or so of the usual hammer thrusts, he orders me to my knees. I comply. He then begins thrusting away again, pushing down on my back and then my head. Finally he has me on my knees with my face literally in the dirt. The right side of my face is being pushed into the dry earth as John Deer moves up on his haunches and begins to pile drive my ass. He makes some moans and his thrusts sufficiently slow as to indicate that he has unleashed his load. In my present position, I am unable to pay any attention to my dick, so am no where close to cumming.

John Deere climbs off and whips off the condom quickly and tosses it into the bushes behind us. It gets hung up on a tiny twig of a branch and he retrieves it and purposely throws it even further into the underbrush. He zips up, pulls up his jeans and strides off.

Now I have a rule… whatever you bring into the forest needs to leave with you. So I have every intention of retrieving that condom and disposing of it properly. I also am curious to see if John Deere’s desire to rid himself of the condom might have anything to do with the fact that he just faked an orgasm. I retrieve the bright orange condom. Yep. He faked it. I gather up my poppers, right my shorts, wipe my face and knees with the wet wipe I brought with and head back to my blanket.

What a freak. What a dishonest freak. What the fuck? I am used to John Deere walking off in mid-fuck, so why did he go to the trouble of faking an orgasm and tossing the condom? Probably because he’s ego based; his self-esteem tied to his performance. In any event, I decide that’s it for him. I’m still processing how I feel about having my ass banged while my face is being ground into the dirt, when I catch sight of another fool I know.

We’ll call him ‘Steven’. Steven is tall, built like a brick shit house, handsome with the squarest jaw I have ever had the pleasure of smiling my direction and one of the shiest people I have ever fucked around with. Steven is only into oral. When I first met him, he was only into sucking dick wearing a blindfold. That happened in my garage one brisk fall evening. At first I thought his shyness was due to a need to be discreet; maybe he was in the closet. He’d seen me several times at the prairie throughout the summer – and always walked the other way. I figured that was just as well, as I was looking to suck and assumed we were competition for one another.

On a hunch I follow Steven to the corner where John Deere had just fake-fucked me. As I come into the clearing, Steven is standing on the very spot I had my face fifteen minutes ago. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a nice, worn, tight t-shirt, hiking boots, a b-ball cap and a shy smile. I stand next to him for a moment and then move off to the side down one of the narrow passages engulfed by the shrubbery. Then I turn around and stare back at Steven. All I can see is his lower half, due to the encroaching branches. Steven turns to face the mouth of the trail and then begins to rub the crotch of his shorts. I do the same. He approaches and I get down on my knees. He unzips and hauls out his equipment.

Now keep in mind, I have never had the pleasure of sucking Steven. He’s always sucked me, usually on his knees while jerking his own meat. That said, I have never had the pleasure of seeing his fuck stick up close. OMG! It was an incredible eyeful; as in, it is a massive slice of prime dick. He grabs it at its base and rams it into my waiting mouth, repeatedly. Fortunately I am already kind of salivating, so it makes for an easy entrance.

I deep throat him and wrap my tonsils around his thick shaft. But he won’t let go of the base of his dick. Finally he pulls his meat out of my mouth and begins to power stroke it, fast and furious. I switch to his nuts, which hang nice and low and are a real treasure, rolling each succulent ball around in my mouth. Steven than pushes on my forehead to raise my face to his dick and, once in position, he jams his dick in my mouth and begins to shoot a huge fucking load. Dude shoots the largest load I think I have ever had the pleasure to wallow in; my throat is absolutely loving every pulse his cum-filled pole has to offer. He’s gasping, I’m gasping. I swallow.

I comment on what an amazing load he just delivered and the beauty of his massive appendage. He is blessed. Steven gets all shy. But then says something that just thrills me. He tells me that not only has it been too long, but that I owe him at least ten blow jobs! Happily, I tell him that will not be a problem, just say when and where. Steven packs up, zips up and tells me he is heading to the beach for a swim. I watch his massive shoulders disappear down one of the trails.

Still savoring the load in my throat, I get up and right myself. I have a date with a bottle of Listerine! I make my way back to my blanket and supplies. As I’m gargling and wiping my face with a wet wipe I glance over to the guy I’d first approached when I arrived at the Prairie – you know, the one I promised I would “be right back”. Apparently in my world “right back” translates to a minimum of one load later.

I honestly can’t remember his name, though I know he told it to me. Me and names… ugh. But for the sake of this posting I’ll just call him Dennis. Dennis was now sporting a bright neon yellow thong. He was busily digging through a knap sack that he had concealed behind him in the brush. I also notice that there was a good-sized pile of used wet wipes that he had stashed over to one side. Intrigued, I moved to go see what he was up to.

Without a word exchanged between us, Dennis lays back, spreads his legs and removes his dick from the confines of his thong. He’s not hard. He reaches over and spurts some lube into his palm, greasing up his dick to begin jerking himself. Apparently this is a one man operation. I watch. His efforts are to no avail. He then pulls a bunch of stuff out of the knap sack. The first items are these tiny clear plastic funnels with tiny rubber bulbs attached. I have never seen anything like them before. Lucky for me, he’s only too happy to demonstrate. They’re some type of nipple pump. He places the funnel portion over his nipple and then squeezes the air out of the bulb. The resulting suction keeps the funnel firmly in place on his chest. He does the same with his other nipple. Then he proceeds to pull out the largest black butt plug I had ever seen outside of a sex shop showcase. Well, at least now I know he’s a big bottom. Just as Dennis is lubing up his ass and preparing to insert the butt plug, who should reappear, but John Deere.

At this point I am in a crouched position just outside the mouth of Dennis’ grassy enclave. With a quick glance over my shoulder I acknowledge John Deere, but then decide to return my attention to Dennis, who doesn’t seem to mind the additional audience member. John stands watching as Dennis slides the oversized butt plug up his ass. I am impressed. As Dennis is busy manipulating the butt plug, John begins to trace the crack of my ass once more with his finger. I’m conflicted. I love getting fucked outside. There’s nothing I like better, so I am conflicted, but not much. I decide that I would much rather spend time with an honest freak like Dennis (and I mean the word freak in the sense that we are all, every single motherfucking one of us, freaks – in one way or another), than to fuck around with a dishonest freak like John Deere.

After a few more attempts at getting my attention, John Deere strides away to the far end of the prairie, where there are a group of trees. I’m beginning to pick up a pattern here. While I’m a tad torn, I feel I owe it to Dennis to remain still and watch his little show. I become more resolute once Dennis proceeds to pull a large, pink dildo from his little knap sack of naughty goods. Normally I loathe one-man shows, but since the dialogue in this case is nothing more than a series of throaty grunts and escaping gasps, I’m cool with it.

And speaking of things I don’t care for… for the record, I don’t like toys. I have never played with them. I don’t own any. I have only gone through the motions when a play partner pulls out an arsenal of latex goodies and insists that they be used on them. But I’m not a snob. If this is Dennis’ thing then more power to him. I say support your local freak, whatever their freak may be. In this case, I am only too happy to play the role of supportive audience.

Dennis deftly removes the oversized black butt plug (clean as a whistle, by the way – this boy knows how to douche!), and immediately replaces it with the large pink dildo. Now this is something I have never seen at the prairie, and as I am all for experiencing most things once, I look on with rapt interest. No one else is about, except, as I spy out of the corner of my eye, John Deere, who is now rather angrily moving toward the other side of the prairie where he last rubbed my face in the dirt. Poor thing. I’m sure he’ll find someone who will put up with his shit long enough for him to get his rocks off – maybe for real this time.

No matter. My gaze returns to Dennis, who was happily indulging in the joys of dildo-hood with all the professional glee of one of those Tupperware ladies demonstrating how to burp a bowl. In fact, the sound the dildo is making as it glides in and out of his well stretched ass makes a sound that is quite similar to just that. I decide right there and then that I’m going to fuck his ass right out in the middle of this field. And when I do, I am going to be standing fully erect (in more ways than one) with him bent forward in front of me, so anybody passing by can see. Why? Because if you’re gonna wave a freak flag, then you damn well better wave it high up where everybody can see.

And I do. I fuck him. With zeal and just the right amount of staying-power. Just because (and because he lets me). You see it’s the principle of the thing.

I would much rather celebrate an honest freak than go through the motions with a dishonest one.

So take that, John Deere. I’m sure you will find plenty of fields to plow for the remainder of the season, but alas, one them will not be mine.

At least… not until next year. When I’m over myself. And forgotten why it is I’m mad at you. And succumb to your devious, silent, dishonest charms once more.

Ahhh, life on the prairie… it sure is hell, sometimes.