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2011/08/20

Elevating One’s Taste While Elevating One’s Legs: The Current Value of My Sexual Brand Stuck in a Downward Economy

I suppose it is possible to elevate one’s sexual taste level over time. Otherwise, I have no explanation for the lack of enthusiasm I have for many of the encounters I’ve engaged in recently. Granted, this malaise sets in after the fact (and the act), but then when else is one able to develop a fully informed opinion about something except after complete consumption? Mid-act there have certainly been a number of red flares that have gone off and warnings that should probably have been heeded, but I tend to ignore the presence of such in order to bring the whole thing to fruition.

So these aren’t cases that I would categorize as mercy fucks, or instances of being caught in the middle of something I couldn’t get out of. These are encounters which held great promise at the start, only to fizzle, as if something was lost in their execution, leaving me feeling less than fulfilled. Like a bad movie, these are trysts that I will see to the end, if only to take time later to analyze just what the hell went wrong. Maybe it’s my need for completion, or maybe it’s my desire to rescue and fix things – but I will remain at my post – taking it up the ass, in the mouth – until the very end.

There is also a possibility that my last adventure(s) at the warehouse party have left me horribly spoiled. When the bar is raised so high, how can single incidents of sexual contact compete? Given that, I will probably never write about my last night at the warehouse. It was too all consuming, complex and intense; I don’t think I could ever do it justice. Suffice to say that I left that night feeling truly, thoroughly fucked. (Yay!) And in light of the events of that night, maybe everything since then suffers in comparison.

Maybe.

Yesterday afternoon I had the opportunity to be pig-roasted by two dudes. We dickered about where to do the deed, but there was no doubt that the deed would be done. It involved a recent find of mine; a rather sweet, cute, salt and pepper type, ten years younger than me, tall, slim, smooth and with a nice sized dick and nice skin. A total top, we’ve played in my garage and my basement at various hours in the past. He’s partnered, so opportunities when both of us are available are few, but when we do match up, we take advantage of it. I like him a lot. He’s a little quiet during sex and he no longer kisses me as much as he used to. Still, he’s very meat and potatoes about his sex and enjoys taking his time – within reason. As much as I like his dick – and I do, it is very pretty, nicely shaped and sized, it is another part of his anatomy that my eyes are constantly drawn to: his feet. Once I even caught him with nail polish on them. They remain an object of desire, for we haven’t had any opportunity to explore that fetish; for when my mouth isn’t busy sucking his cock, it’s turned around in the opposite direction while my bum gets the attention of his rod. Yep, he’s a good fuck, and for this particular three-way, our first, I can honestly say that he more than held up his end. He always leaves me smiling.

It was the other guy that left me wanting. Upon arrival, I introduce myself, but apparently needn’t have, as according to him, we’d played before. It must have been a long time ago, because I don’t remember him. But as time goes on, with the many one-moment stands that I have, that is more the norm than the exception. Unless I’ve made a really deep connection with someone or played with them over a period of time, my memory is – how you say – not so good. Not so good would also help explain why this particular dude didn’t ring a bell in my sexual history.

The dude is fine looking; tall, very tan, slim, with a nice face and a nice long, fat dick. I like his nipples. Maybe my only complaint with him is that he needs to get back to the gym, because I swear his skin is a little loose. But then gravity wins and you just wait; wobbly skin comes to us all, Mary Margaret. Someday I bet I’m in the same boat. Regardless, he is an attractive man, maybe a few years my senior, but not much.

Initially, he’s lying on the bed, spread eagle (let’s call him Mr. Tan), and I move in and take his cock in my mouth. I’m able to bring it to about sixth-eighths hard and he seems to be enjoying what I’m doing. All the while I’m sucking, Mr. Sexy Feet (you know who I’m talking about) is working his dick in my ass doggy style. Mr. Sexy Feet is hard as a rock and I am loving that portion of this double feature. This last about ten minutes. Please keep in mind that we only have thirty minutes to play because one of the tops has to get his ass to work. Yep we’re working with a time schedule.

Now – I had been promised a tag team – something I have only truly experienced a few times (like the last time I was at the warehouse – hoo-boy), so I am thinking this is going to be about them taking multiple turns using my hole. In my favor is the fact that Mr. Sexy Feet can last a long time when he wants to, and while we are on a deadline (2:30 pm, to be exact), he has the stamina required. Mr. Tan on the other hand, never gets his mast up to full sail. The third time Mr. SF takes his cock out of my ass, I decide to change up the game and give Mr. Tan his call to arms. My mouth leaves Mr. Tan’s more-or-less erect penis and soon finds its way onto Mr. SF’s primed member. Mr. Tan takes the hint, gets up off the bed, moves behind me and manages to cram his dick in my hole. Something nice does happen at this point. Mr. Tan is a more aggressive fuck than Mr. SF and I find that we quickly establish a rhythm where he pounds my ass, pushing my mouth down the length of Mr. SF’s rock hard cock. So essentially I am just part of an automated motion machine – in other words, the perfect piggy in the middle. This lasts a good seven and a half minutes, during which I experiment flexing my hole and my throat with different intensities all the while maintaining the established rate of motion.

When Mr. Tan pulls out, his dick is in need of resuscitation, so I quickly turn around and give it a little breath of life. Mr. SF immediately pile drives into my ass and is hoping to repeat the automated motion machine, only with him in the driver’s seat. Alas, Mr. Tan’s dick is less than cooperative. I do remedy the situation by deep swallowing his half-hard member and then flexing my throat, as if swallowing very hard. Mr. Tan likes this and tells me so. Unfortunately that renders my front end fairly motionless and Mr. SF is unable to rock the house as much as he would like. Instead he goes back to the polite in and out that he had established during his first time up to bat. Ten minutes go by and Mr. Tan is not showing any sign of wanting another shot at my ass – in fact – he appears a little spent. Mr. Sexy Feet senses this, too, so he decides to shoot and score. He is a quiet fucker, even in this setting, and since my mouth has been busy since I got there, all I have added to the dialogue is a few deep, earthy grunts. Mr. Tan has been a little more forthcoming by pointing out when I am doing something that works for him, but this is sure no porno shoot. Nobody is talking dirty, tipping their hand when they want to cum, or cheering on the other team to score. So when Mr. SF loses his load, my only indication that he is about to do so is that he tenses up, makes a tiny sound, and then drastically slows his rate of thrust. Mr. Tan asks him if he’s cum, and Mr. SF answers in the affirmative.

That’s when Mr. Tan pulls his dick out of my mouth and tells me to kneel on the floor, for he wants to leave me with a nice facial. Only he doesn’t. Oh, he cums, but honestly I don’t have any idea where that cum ends up – but it does not land on my face at all. And so we’re done. We have run out the minutes on the clock. The buzzer sounds. End of game.

I retire to the locker room, clean up, douche, wipe down, and thank the participants as I leave… and am left wanting.

Maybe it’s because nobody paid any attention to my junk. But then again, that can be a real turn on – being just a couple of holes to be used by others to fulfill their needs. However, that’s not the case here. Maybe it’s because it wasn’t a real tag team match. I like it when the dudes trade off multiple times. Mr. Tan only came to bat once, and while his technique was nice, it still felt more like a bunt than a real home run.

So, I sit in my car and try to decide what to do with the rest of my afternoon. The three of us only had a half hour to play anyway, so it’s not like I had expected a marathon session. Still, I am left wanting and I decide to go to this park I know and tan a bit.

I get there only to learn that this is not the ideal park to score more fun, not on this particular day anyway. There is a company event in one of the nearby pavilions and one of the park maintenance crew is mowing my favorite layout spot. So I opt for my second favorite and get all situated. I know that between the mower and the group in the pavilion none of the regular cruisers are going to come by, but that is okay, because that is when I start to contemplate just how sexually unsatisfied I have become lately. Now keep in mind that I think Mr. Sexy Feet more than delivered. He is one of my current favorites and for good reason. But Mr. Tan, on the other hand, he brings to mind a number of others who have not been able to bring my wagons to full circle.

Just the other day, at the very park I was currently sitting in, I had the pleasure of sucking on two fine fellows at once. One, a dude I’d played with once before – a very, very handsome man with salt and pepper hair and a hot bod. He has a dark mustache and it lends him a bit of a Latin flavor. He was very skittish the first time we played, but I managed to get him off. That day I was not so lucky. Probably because we were interrupted by this vaguely Native American type with a thick dick and shoulder length black hair. He’s got a big build on him – not fat at all, but hulking none the less. The guy with the mustache, who wasn’t getting it up anyway, begs off and leaves me with the Native American dude – who also fails to really deliver anything of value. I let him jerk himself off and then let him steal my bottle of poppers. Again, the situation held so much potential, but the execution ended up very flawed. Both dudes paid attention to my junk though, so that was nice. Unfortunately I just didn’t feel that the Native American dude was worthy of my nut. Also, once the dude with the mustache left, the Native American dude quickly lost his appeal.

And so it has been. I look back at my sex diary and realize that since the night of the sex party at the warehouse one week ago, I have had sex with eight dudes. And out of those eight, only two were truly nut worthy – one being Mr. Sexy Feet (even though he never plays with my junk) and the other, a dude I’d never met before who fucked me in my garage. Hmm… he was also ten years my junior. Coincidence? Maybe dudes my age and older just can’t cut it anymore? Naw. That’s not it. Dude in the garage was also slim, shorter than me, furry, nerdy and scruffy. But he did have a nice dick and knew how to use it. I also liked the way he moaned when I pulled on his balls while giving him head.

Nope – I think it has to do with ability and commitment. I always bring my A game or I stay home. I’m not sure that is true of others. And yes, I realize that it could be something about me that left the other guys wanting, as in, they were not that into me, but, honestly, I don’t thinks so. I certainly recognize the signs of those less enthused. And I think I know quality. And I definitely know when somebody isn’t hitting the mark. Hmmm…I think the bar has indeed been raised.

Which is good. Maybe it will lead to me be more selective and less compulsive. Maybe I will start window shopping more and pulling out my sexual credit card a little less, and by that I mean, maybe I will be cruising more and offering up my lips and ass less often. Flirting is fun. I think. I can’t remember. Any encouragement in my direction usually leads to my clothes being shed. And given my age, maybe a little restraint in that department would be a good thing.

It all comes down to branding – and not the kind masters do to their slaves. I mean my personal brand. Maybe I’ve watered my brand down a bit too much. Spread my legs a little too thin. Just what am I worth in this current sexual market? Have I devalued my stock? Will the marked turnaround? Or will I be doomed to liquidate my assets and go out of business completely?

It brings to mind an old Rosanne Cash song, written by her ex, Rodney Crowell:

Now it's a brave new wave we're roarin' in
Hanging out, out on the rock 'n roll fringe
Speaking of running around
All over town, lettin' it show
That ain't no way to treat your lover
Ain't no way to act in public
Baby, better start turnin' em down
Baby, better start turnin’ em down


See, sometimes I forget: “no” is always an option.

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