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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.

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