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2009/10/30

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.

2009/10/23

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.

2009/10/16

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.

2009/10/09

Relighting My Fuses, and Tending to My Bruises...

As we move into the fall I have such trouble keeping my spirits up. It's as if each time the summer dies, a little of me goes with it. I keep reminding myself that it's only for a few months – five at the most – that the outdoors will be less than friendly. Minnesota winters are always anyone’s guess, but I am anticipating the worse this year – lots of snow, lots of bitter, bitter cold. So the prospect of pursuing indoor activities should be enough to occupy my thoughts and find me happily devising a new means securing sexual encounters, or at least returning to the tried and true methods of winters past.

But I can’t. I’m stuck. My heart just isn’t in it.

I’d like to write it off as just a symptom of my reaction to the current seasonal transition, but it might run a bit deeper than that. So, I’m contemplating taking a sex break. I want to recharge my batteries and allow my body to heal and stabilize. It’s like that old Melissa Manchester song… this lady’s not home today. I need time off for good behavior – or in my case time off from bad boy behavior.

There are a number of things that are just not sitting right with me at this point in my life. I need to concentrate on devising a plan to fix those areas. It would also be nice to see some friends for a change. I think the whole recession thing kind of put a damper on my usual going-out-to-eat and drink with friends. But it’s not like there aren’t other things I could have suggested. I just got wrapped up in the summer and trying to be outdoors as much as possible (and have as much sex as possible). Now that the summer is nothing but a memory, I’ll need to find something to fill that hole (no pun intended) (or maybe it is).

I’ve never been a bar fly. I fell out of love with dance clubs in the early 90’s and the idea of sitting around drinking and cruising guys in a bar just leaves me cold. I would do it, but only as a tourist. The last time I attempted something like that was in Chicago three years ago. A DJ who frequently remixes tracks for Kristine W. (I do believe it was Tony Moran!) was going to do a set at this little corner club and Kristine had just released Walk Away. I tried to get into the spirit of things, but I ended up drinking one too many gin and tonics and sitting by a fireplace for most of the night gazing out at all the bright young things. In my heart of hearts I would have much preferred to have been at Steamworks walking around with the rest of the sex zombies or getting it on in some back alley.

Maybe a trip to Chicago in a few weeks would be a good idea. I have wanted to check out this bar called Hole. An acquaintance of mine from the prairie raved about it and shared some of his experiences there. It seems to be an honest-to-god, no-holds-barred kind of kink club. It’s a hardcore leather club in the basement of this dance club. They lash people to crosses, use people as urinals and fuck guys bent over the bar stools. Am I brave enough? Do I own enough leather to gain admittance? I don’t know. I have also always wanted to check out the movie theatre near downtown Chicago where guys cruise for sex. I’ve read interesting stories about that place. I would also like to find a bookstore with a glory hole, because I have never done that scene and think it would be interesting. I sure enjoy the clips of guys chowing down on anonymous dicks and taking it up the ass on Xtube. And then there is always Steamworks; a really safe environment to pursue anonymous encounters. So Chicago is a good bet.

But in the meantime… I think I will just lie low. One would think that anonymous sexual encounters wouldn’t take much of a toll on one’s emotional state, but I guess they do. The emptiness – the blah – I’m feeling can’t just be written off as seasonal depression. I think the manic surge that I was enjoying this summer has resulted in some type of backlash and now I just need to sort it all out and feel my way through it.

Everything is temporary. That is the one thing I know to be true, based on my life experience. I try not to read too much into anything, because by the time I place too much weight in something, the world as I know it shifts and something new appears. It’s riding through the transitions while remaining grounded that become the real challenge.

But don’t worry, I have one super story from my days on the prairie I have yet to share… and that will probably be next week’s posting. I also have a couple of freaky encounters in an empty house to share from last week. So you’ll still get a supply of sex stories, even though I’m technically going to be on a sex break.

I’m sure I’ll be back in the saddle in no time.


"I'm relighting my fuses, and tending to my bruises, and trying to find my direction, lord..."

Yep, everything is temporary. Yee-haw!

2009/10/02

Garage Sex: Let Me Show What The Hood of That Truck Is Good For

So there’s this guy on Adam4Adam that keeps hitting on me. No face pic, but his stats are pretty hot – 34, brown hair, 32” waist, 5’ 10”, 160 lbs., 8” dick. He advertises himself as a top and claims to work out a lot. The body shots of him are good and while I’ve always been intrigued, timing has never been on our side; he hits me up and I’m not looking (rare, huh?).

But he’s persistent. And I appreciate that. In fact, it makes him more intriguing. With those stats he could get anybody he wants. Why are his sights set on me? I’m not on-line that often these days, but he seems to hone in on me when I am and makes a point of inquiring when I might be up for getting my ass fucked. I give him my email and tell him to hit me up some time. I also promise to send him the self-pics I took this summer when he emails me.

Surprise, surprise; he emails me. There’s a discretion issue at play here, so I respect that; there will be no face pics of him. I’ll see him when I see him. I send him my pics. He likes. I send him my availability schedule – which has opened up just the tiniest bit lately. Turns out he likes one of my time slots. I’m thinking he’s soon gonna be liking one of my other slots as well. He wants my ass. I suggest we meet at the Prairie or wherever else he might be interested in meeting up. He suggests his garage and I, ever the adventurer, am all for it. We set a time and I Mapquest his address. It’s an easy drive.

I show up a bit early and sit in my car. I love this period of time; the anticipation of a hot fuck with a total stranger in a non-traditional location just makes my heart race. I like to get there early for that reason and to make sure that I’m prepped and have all my stuff together and handy: condom, lube, poppers and a cock ring. I get out of the car and approach the house, unsure how I will get to the garage. The house is in a rather trendy area, very popular with students, artists and wannabes. The house is really quite striking. I see that there is a side gate that leads directly to the backyard with a clear shot of a partially opened side door leading into the garage. I make a beeline for the entrance, thinking that perhaps he is waiting to see me enter and then will follow. I always like this scenario, because it gives me a chance to strip naked and present my ass for their full appreciation as they walk into the room. I like the shock value.

But I’m wrong. I walk into the dark garage and am surprised to find my A4A top (let’s call him Ray – not his real name) standing, leaning against a work bench, stroking his very happy 8” cock. Lucky me. He tells me to come in and shut the door. I do. I walk over to the bench and place my supplies on its surface. All the while I can’t take my eyes off that marvelous looking dick he’s working with his hands. I drop my jeans and remove my t-shirt. I put on my cock ring and quickly get on my knees. He’s very verbal and I’m immediately rock hard. The head of his dick is very impressive and while I want to spend some time just whirling my tongue and lips around it, savoring the size and shape of it, Ray definitely has something else in mind. He wants my throat on the full length of his dick. Now! And often. Ray is a skull fucker. Fortunately for Ray I’m a seasoned deepthroater, and what he as to offer, I can handle.

I love an appreciative skull fucker. I’m talking about a guy who lets you know when you’re getting it right and when you’ve hit the right spot. I like it when a guy notices that I’m contracting my throat muscles on the shaft of his dick. Yes, basically I appreciate being appreciated. Sucking dick is hella fun, but there is also an element of it that is just plain hard work – especially when dealing with an aggressive, active skull fucker.

There are several factors you have to keep in mind as a cocksucker all the while you’re losing yourself in the moment when getting your face thoroughly fucked.. You have to remember to breath; through your nose, because your mouth is crammed full of dick (if you’re lucky). You also have to be ever vigilant regarding saliva control; too little and it’s no fun for either party (and potentially painful as well), too much and it can be a total turn off (not to mention that pool you can leave in their lap, on the fly area of their pants (if pants are up), or in the crotch of their underwear and pants (if pants are around their ankles). How much saliva is too much saliva? It depends on the individuals involved. Sometimes I’m embarrassed. Sometimes the guy I’m sucking off finds it to be a total turn on. I find it also depends on the lighting and the environment. A dark garage? Fine, let it flow. Under the stall of a men’s room? Fine, too, as long as you wipe up after you’re done. In the front seat of a car on a sunny day? Not so much. A big old wet spot in the area around the fly and crotch of a pair of pants are indicative of only three things that I can think of, and none of them are something you want to broadcast.

The cocksucker also has to be aware of the placement of their teeth and lips. Teeth rubbing on a hard dick? Rarely sexy. Then there is also the matter of suction, sound (A total turn on.), tongue placement (My fave? Running it along the underside of the dick’s shaft, all along that hot, fat vein filled with cum.), and throat constriction. I like to swallow. It’s a more natural wave of muscle constriction than just tightening or closing the throat.

The nice thing about Ray? He’s one of those easy-going skull fuckers. He’s not all about repeatedly ramming his pubic bones in to my face. I have had guys where I walk away wondering whether I just sucked a dick or was in a boxing match. The worse offenders are those with a metal cock ring on. Hey, dude, you could seriously fuck up my smile doing that. But Ray isn’t like that. He definitely lets me know what he likes, but sometimes he drives and sometimes he lets me drive.

The other nice thing about Ray? His ball sack. It is nice and fat and works as a great cushion for my chin. Seriously, I love that feeling. Also he hangs just low enough where I can pat his balls with the tips of my fingers as I suck him. I also like pressing his balls to the underside of my chin. Very comforting.

Ray is cute. Sort of typical office-building cute. His hair is medium length and has some curl to it. He’s wearing bookish glasses, but on his handsome face it gives you the impression that he’s about to take them off and transform magically into the hunk of your dreams. His body is nice. I reach up and tweak and pull on his nipples. I love the look of his pubic area in relationship to his waist and the way the fly of his cargo shorts are falling open. Very preppy. Very hot.

After sucking on his dick for about five minutes, Ray remembers his manners and throws down a pair of big workman gloves for me to use as knee pads. Padding for the knees is always a welcome thing, as it keeps a cocksucker on their knees for a longer period of time. Plus, picking bits of ground in pebbles and twigs out of your knees? No fun. Ray and I settle into a nice rhythm and soon he is reaching over my arched back to check out my ass, which I am only to happy to raise up and help him find. He fingers me expertly and tells me he hopes that my ass is as good as my mouth. Just as he says that I purposely tighten my hole around his finger as a little promise of things to come.

Ray is in no hurry. He is enjoying the job I’m doing on his dick. He even relaxes enough to let me do a couple of things I like. I do eventually get to explore the head of his dick. I also manage to get his cargo shorts beneath his knees. I feel up his thighs and calves, both in excellent, worked out condition, probably having something to do with the racing bike that stands a few feet away, parked between a very large truck and a nice looking black BMW. I grab his now bare ass cheeks and pump his dick in and out of my mouth. My throat is now relaxed and flexible enough to take the whole of his dick in one fell swoop without choking or getting it caught up somewhere. It is way hot.

Finally, Ray orders me on my feet. He pushes me up against the hood of the truck. He’s quickly ripping open a condom wrapper and telling me how much he wants my ass. I reach over and grab the lube and apply more to my hole. Ray is worked up and sometimes that means a hasty, nasty entrance. As Ray lobs lube onto his fuck stick, I unscrew the top of my poppers, take a big hit and brace myself for a total assault. He smacks my ass cheek hard as he drives his meat into my hole. I gasp. It always hurts just a little. I take another hit of poppers. They’re old, so their not very strong. This means the hard on I’m sporting stays strong, but it also means I’m feeling the pain of Ray’s ass raper.

Fortunately for me, Ray’s style as a skull fucker is also his style as an ass fucker. He likes to change things up. Sometimes he grabs my shoulders and pulls my ass onto his dick jackhammer style and sometimes he lets off and allows me to do the driving. He loves it when I squeeze my hole around the girth of his dick. A few times our timing is off, and I squeeze his dick right out of my ass. That just ignites his need to be inside me and he grabs my hips and rams his dick back into my happy hole. I’m loving being propped up by the hood of that big truck. The dialogue running between the two of us is ripe with porno talk and we are both getting off on this scene. We are also both drenched with sweat, which, to me is a turn on. Sweat is not always so agreeable to preppie/yuppie types, but fortunately Ray either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He just keeps amping up the momentum and excitement.

Finally Ray pulls out and rips the condom off his dick.

“Get on your knees and suck this bad boy. I want to shoot all over your fucking face.”

(But… he didn’t say ‘please’.) (Yeah, right.)

I was on my knees in a flash. I noticed his balls where now riding nice and tight up against the base of his dick. That made me rock hard. I began to fist fuck my dick as I slammed my mouth on and off of Ray’s cock.

“Lick my balls,” he commanded.

He began working the shaft his dick with his hands as I licked and sucked away at his ball sack. I was only too happy to oblige since this is one of my favorite ways to cum when getting sucked off. Yes, I know how good it can feel. Just as he’s about to lose his load, Ray points the head of his dick down and against my left face cheek. The first spurt is massive, hot, like liquid fire. It feels so good, as does each subsequent burst of cum. This sends my own juice out the depths of my balls. I shoot my load all over the garage floor, Ray’s hiking boots, and the front of his cargo shorts.

Once spent, Ray is in no hurry to pack up his junk, so I grab it and pull it into my mouth, savoring the last drips of cum oozing out of his piss slit. Coming down from my own orgasm, his cock feels electric in my mouth and I gratefully deep throat the entire thing. Part of me would love to remain in this moment forever. We’re both still recovering and still in no rush, so relish the warmth of his crotch, the texture of his pubic hair against my face. My hands roam for a last time over the contours of his muscular legs.

We part. He hands me a towel. We wipe up, pull up and zip up. I grab my stuff. I thank him. He thanks me. We grin like mad dogs. I open the side door and burst out into the sunshine filled yard. The brightness blinds me momentarily and I feel like I’m sailing. So hot. And liquid. The feeling lasts all the way to my car, where I realize I have done a shitty job of wiping his cum off of me. It has actually dripped down the whole left side of my torso and is now soaking through the cloth of my t-shirt. I whip the t-shirt off and hold the fabric to my nose, inhaling deeply.

Yes, some things, like the final days of summer and the remnants of a hot encounter, are meant to be savored.