Waiting for Convenience: Oxymoron or Just Smart Sex?
Is it my work load? No. I’ve had a great year at work, so far, and everything they hand me – while it may throw me off my game at first – I am eventually able to handle without much effort.
Is it the testosterone thing? You see, as you age, your testosterone levels decrease slightly after the age of 40. But I’ve had mine checked, and my Doc says I’m fine.
Is it that I’m getting older? Well, as I mentioned, my bod is in the best condition it has ever been. So I am healthy. And relatively happy. I don’t allow my past to rule my present. I discard resentments as soon as possible. And also, while it is something of a cliché’, to me, age is just a number… and I don’t feel the number I’m currently assigned.
Then what is it?
I just don’t wanna.
I’d rather stay home. I’d rather not spend all the time it takes to get ready to have sex or deal with the anxieties that arise when dealing with the many logistics involved in having some no-strings-attached fun. I’d rather not deal with the potential disappointment of meeting someone who turns out not to be who or what they said they are. I don’t want to deal with all the potential fall-out: dudes who don’t seem to understand that ‘no strings’ means that I may not want a dozen text messages from them in the following 24 hours peppered with requests to hook-up again, or experiences that fail to clear the bar and lead me to think I’ve wasted my time – regret is a huge bummer.
So, sex remains a matter of convenience and my definition of convenience has become somewhat more narrow over the years. Fortunately, on occasion, something really wonderful will happen – like last night, that more than strengthens my belief that waiting until it’s convenient is something that makes sense, for me.
I hadn’t gotten off in four days and was kind of jonesing, so, I’m trying my usual outlets – A4A, Manhunt, BBRTS, Grindr, and Scruff. Plus I’m looking at some pretty hot free porn on one of my favorite blogs. My attention is so split, that I don’t feel like I’m doing justice to any of it and, after considering putting an ad on Craigslist and then nixing the idea due to the fact that it seems like just too much fucking work, I shut it all down, get in my car and decide to check out one of my old cruising haunts.
I pull in. It’s dark. There are two guys in the lot. Both of them are lot trolls – dudes that are always there working that parking lot or section of the woods. And I mean, they have been there, probably every night, for the past six years that I have been cruising there. Neither is what I am looking for, so I head over to another part of the park.
Things are hopping here. But it’s dark. And the pickings aren’t exactly up to my new standards (YES – I have developed standards which I evoke whenever something looks like it might not be worth the effort). So after a half hour of getting hit on and walking the other way, I go sit in my car. Lo and behold, turns out I didn’t turn off Grindr or Scruff. There are like six dudes with messages. Most of them I recognize immediately as ‘this is going to go nowhere’ kind of inquiries. But there is one really promising dude. He’s from Texas, and staying at a nearby hotel. His profile pic indicates that he is cute and muscular – in other words – out of my league. He’s very direct, which appeals to me quite a bit – I hate time wasters.
I send him my pics and he keeps saying ‘hot’ – even my face pic! He sends me his pics – and that is definitely a word that applies – HOT. Amazingly, he’s a top who enjoys oral and kissing. We’re a match. Then he sends me his location. It’s that Grindr map – and I take one look at it and assume that trying to get to him is going to be too much trouble. I’m about to tell him I can’t make it, but decide, just for the hell of it, to enter the name of his hotel in my GPS Navigator.
Thank you, GPS! What a life saver. Amazingly enough, he’s only 2.7 miles away. I am still thinking, oh, no – there’s gotta be a catch. But there isn’t. GPS takes me on back roads, rather than making me get on any of the major freeways, and I am there in a matter of a few minutes. No sweat.
He tells me to meet him at the elevators. I’m wearing a cap, a white-T, and a pair of work out pants. So, I sort of stand out in the lobby, as everyone else is wearing business suits and the like. I go stand by the elevators, realizing there is a very real chance that he will come down, take one look at me, and say, “no dice”. He comes down. He’s in a white-T, dress pants and dress shoes. His pics do him justice and his smile is killer. Much to my surprise, he whisks me up to his room, making small talk the whole way. We talk Minnesota, the weather, travel, blah, blah.
In the room, I ask to use the bathroom. When I come out he’s still fully dressed. We approach one another and meet at the foot of the bed. He’s just under a foot shorter than me, but the first kiss hits the mark. We strip and he climbs onto the bed, which he has actually opened up – so we’re not fucking on the comforter, but on the actual sheets – in other words, this Texan is a gentleman.
And a hot gentleman. Did I mention that he’s muscular? Did I mention that he’s handsome? His pecs are a work of art. His waist, perfection. His ass, sweet. I can’t keep my hands off his biceps. In situations like this I always feel a little bit like Barbara Streisand – the ugly duckling who manages to land a swan. Well, this particular swan has me swooning. How lucky can I get?
He’s perfectly tan. Around my age, too, so I can let go of that whole mindfuck. I can tell that he must shave/trim everything everywhere, because he’s a tiny bit prickly, but then I didn’t do my due diligence that morning, and I’m a tiny bit prickly, too. His dick is really, really pretty – like a delicious-looking, fat worm. He’s only about 7” but he’s nicely thick, so that makes up for it. It makes for some interesting frottage. By this point, our kissing styles have meshed. I was a little worried that he was going to turn out to be one of those kissers who kind of just open and close their mouths on yours, like a fish gasping for air – but after I take his bottom lip between my lips and hold it for a bit, he comes around and changes up his game. I suck on his dick for a bit. He’s not hard and the Chicken Little in my head starts running around screaming ‘he’s not that into you’. I, of course, am fucking rock hard, which he appreciates and shows said appreciation by expertly deepthroating my dick. I must say, it looks damn good in his mouth.
Now, it is late – for me – I arrived at 9:45 pm – and we both have to work in the morning, so I think that has a lot to do with why we get straight to the fucking. First, I’m on top. I’m teasing the bare head of his dick with my hole, making him want it. I’m pretty content with that, because my dick is rock hard and it looks good brushing up against his abs and pecs. But then, in a surprising move, he makes me sit on it – bare. I end up taking the whole thing at once and it hurts, but I keep breathing, telling myself it will pass. It does. Next, I get my feet under me, planting them on either side of his head and just go to town bouncing on his cock. He reaches over and gets more lube and a condom. I slide off his dick, he puts the condom on, and I slide right back on it. He’s lubed up my dick and is pumping it with his left hand, but I ask him to stop because between his palm and the pressure his dick is placing in my hole, I’m about to cum.
Then we switch it up with me on my back, my legs pushed back, riding on his shoulders. He’s an animal and keeps changing it up just enough to keep it hot. Lately, I am really into dudes going achingly slow, allowing me to feel every inch going in and out of my hole. He alternates between that and pounding the fuck out of me. I feel totally at his mercy. Throughout, he leans down for kisses. He mentions that he’s getting close and I tell him to go for it. He seems surprised at this, but then, it is late and he has an early flight and I have an early day. He grabs a bottle of poppers and takes a hit, offers me one (which I accept) and then takes another. I squeeze and release my hole as he pounds me. It produces the correct response. Loading that condom with jizz, he cums very quietly, which also surprises me – he’d been so vocal up until that moment, I was expecting a wave of drama.
Being the gentleman Texan he is, he stays in me, and encourages me to get off; talking sweetly to me and giving me deep kisses. I cum, shooting a nice puddle of creamy white all over my abs. Clean-up is easy. Before I know it, I’m dressed and headed down to the lobby alone. On the way, I send him a message via Grindr, thanking him. I leave with no regrets, amazed at the economy of time and activity I just experienced.
When it’s right – it’s really right.
When it’s right it all works – the timing, the logistics, the activity; which is why waiting for such moments is really the way to go, for me. The scattershot approach – having as much sex as possible to ensure that on occasion I get a choice piece – doesn’t work for me anymore. Such a strategy depletes my energy supply, works my nerves, and is a real drain on my free time. I guess I should trust the universe more often and stop forcing this particular issue.
Instead of being easy, I should wait until it is easy – and feels right.
Does that mean I’m losing my edge? No. It means I’m getting smarter about my sex. Quality, not quantity, does the trick (so to speak), every time.
See… I’m not getting older – I’m getting smarter.