Mr. Smokescreen: Somewhere, Out There...
Lucked out last Friday. I happen to be cruising Grndr, when my one and only favorite – as in, the one dude on that site whose little yellow star I lit up and designated a favorite – was on-line and looking. He’s an incredible find: black, 6’3”, in perfect shape, around my age, worked-out, handsome, and possessing a nice thick 9” plus dick! He’s the kind of dom top I like – very direct, very meat and potatoes. He never wastes a word, and knows how to throw one hell of a fuck. When we get together it is pretty intense. He doesn’t kiss (much), but my mouth is usually busy either deepthroating his massive rod, or gasping for air in between butt attacks.
We met last year, on Martin Luther King Day, and have played two or three times since. The last time I went to his suburban condo, as invited, I knocked on the door and his ‘roommate’ answered, looking as shocked as I was. Mr. Smokescreen swept down the stairs and ushered me quickly outside. He’d texted me in between the time that I had left my place and had arrived at his doorstep. He had to cancel. I apologized, though I really didn’t know what to make of the situation. I did feel like I’d stepped in something not kosher.
Fast forward a few months and here he is, hitting on me again. He texts me that he needs to fuck my ass today. I had been looking, so I was all on board. I had a couple of meetings to finish up and then I would be free for some hot lunch at his place. At the last minute he clues me in. He’s now living in a completely different part of the city. I don’t need to ask why: two and two (or in this case two and one) always equals the same thing. Obviously Mr. Smokescreen has split up with his ‘roommate’.
I arrive, cleaned out and pre-lubed. I mention the lube, because just before I arrive I text him and inform him that he will need to use plenty of it on my ass; dude is big and I like to minimize the damage. He says no prob. Ushered inside, Mr. Smokescreen is covert as usual. The house is okay, a definite step down from his last digs, but nice all the same. After a quick grope, we head up the steps to his room. All he has is a dresser, his record collection, a desk, and some kind of futon mattress on the floor, but it looks inviting all the same.
I strip off my shirt. I have a cock ring and some poppers with me, that is all. Turning around I see he’s taken his shirt off as well, already has a cock ring in place, and has his dick out. Say no more. After a brief embrace and a kiss to his neck, I drop and take that semi-hard fucker all the down to the base. He moans. I like that about him. Not much on talk, but definitely knows how to communicate his pleasure levels.
Tugging on his balls, I feel sexy and powerful. I hadn’t had sex since the 23rd of December, so I was ripe for this particular encounter. He, on the other hand, isn’t ripe at all; no funk. Smells like he had just showered. I am a little disappointed, but then I have a nine inch dick down my throat, so what the fuck do I have to complain about, am I right? I suck on him for about five minutes, my hands wandering up his chest to play with his nips. He’s thinner than I remember. Just as handsome as always. Worked-out. Sexy as fuck.
He leans over me and touches my hole. Now it’s my turn to moan. This has become one of my favorite moments – when I have a top’s dick stuffed down my throat and he then reaches over to play with my hole. It never ceases to send a jolt of sexual electricity throughout my body. Mr. Smokescreen pushes me off his dick and towards the nearby mattress. I grab the poppers. I know I’m going to need them.
First, he lies down spread eagle on the bed. I kneel between his legs and swoop in, my mouth greedy for more dick. “Fuck yeah, suck that dick. You like that dick, huh.” I’d answer, but the answer should be obvious. He sits up and plays with my ears, using them as handles whenever he wants a little bobbing action. There’s something about Mr. Smokescreen’s energy I like. He’s intensely masculine, distant, reserved. Another five minutes or so go by and he announces, “Okay, now I need to fuck that ass.” Cool by me.
I move to the head of the bed and turn around. He kneels at the foot of the mattress and I am quick to get my mouth back on that dick. He’s not only long, but thick as well. Sometimes I can have a bit of difficulty creating enough fluidity with my throat, but for some reason, his dick goes down nice and easy, just as it should. Continuing to suck, I lose myself in the moment. I don’t need poppers for this; this is what I was born to do. I change up my technique just enough to keep things interesting, though he lets me know – no two bits about it – that he prefers his dick lodged as deeply in my throat as possible. Not having any problem breathing through my nose, that’s not a problem for me, at all. I flex my throat, swallowing and massaging his massive member with the muscles of my throat.
While I’m doing this, he’s grabbing lube and working some into my hole. Then he pulls out a Magnum Gold and rips the condom from its foil packet. He’s hungry. He wants hole.
I hit the poppers. Hard. He’s behind me now, rolling on that Magnum. More lube. He tests the ring of my ass with the tip of his cock. It feels good. I’m… Imma gonna let him in. He slides in and I take it all the way to the root, then he just holds it there. He reaches for the poppers, takes them from my hand, and as he is taking his first hit starts working that monster dick in and out of my hole. I’m moaning like a total whore. This guy is good. And it has been awhile since I have had a fuck of this quality, so I am a grateful whore. Fucking back on his dick, I start to take over a bit. Soon we’re in sync, meeting thrust for thrust.
I rear up and take his cock from a higher angle. More poppers. There is something about his height that compliments my own in this position. I remember this always working - like a beautiful photograph - in the past. It still works. I know better than to turn my head and try to kiss him. He hasn’t kissed me since the first time we were together. I accept that and remain his grateful whore.
More poppers. Now I’m bent forward, burying my face in the mattress, biting the cloth of his comforter. He’s pounding my ass. Hard. Harder. Fucking animal. Nothing mean about it. He’s not mean. He’s moaning. He’s loving it. So am I. Soon, the animal in me takes over. I fuck back again, this time, just as intense as he was giving it. I’m a jack hammer in reverse, a fucking energizer bunny. It’s weird, because this has become part of a pattern for us. I always end up getting him off by becoming a dom bottom, using my special power on his magnificent dick. It doesn’t work this way with anybody else that I remember. I wish we could film it.
Again, I rear up. His chest is on my back. This is perfection. I’m still in control. I’m still bouncing. He warns me. “You’re gonna make me cum.” Those are the magic words. My ass goes double time. It’s a smaller movement, but rapid and tight all the same. I squeeze my hole for all I’m worth. I want it. I want to make this man cum.
We’re both crying out. I time it so I shoot, too. I’ve been hard for the entire session, a rarity for me, but a testament to just how long it’s been since I had a quality fuck. Then the come down… we’re gasping for breath. And gasping. And clinging to each other. I love how our bodies fit. His chest is still at my back. I love the curve of the mall of my back and how the rounds of my ass sit in his lap. It feels so natural. And beautiful. We stay in this position, like a heaving, panting erotic statue.
It seems to take forever for us to catch our breath and move apart. He lays back on the bed and I toy with the idea of cleaning up his still raging dick. I go for it and take him in my mouth, playing with him until he begins to go soft. He’s happy. Me, too. He apologizes for cumming so soon. He always does… apologize and, believe me, the dude has NOTHING to apologize for.
As I dress, my eyes fall upon some promotional postcards. I never knew what Mr. Smokescreen did for a living, but suddenly it dawns on me. There’s a reason he doesn’t have a day job. He’s a performer. Probably a vocalist with the local, internationally known singing group advertised on those postcards. That would explain all his record albums and the odd taste he has in music. We part with a brief hug. I explain that I am free during the day a lot more right now, due to a change in my work situation. Hoping Mr. Smokescreen takes the hint, I leave it at that. He’s reserved. Masculine. But warm.
I’m not too sure that we have much of a future though. He was the only person I had as a favorite on Grndr. No matter where I have been or how long it has been since he’s been on–line, his profile would always appear next to mine when I opened the app. Now it’s gone. Did he delete his account? Did he block me? (I think he blocked me!)
The fuck we just had? It was quality. You don’t fuck yourself to the point where you’re gasping for air after cumming and walk away from it thinking otherwise. So, I’m not sure what the deal is. If I ever find out, I’ll let you know.
In the meantime, it’s enough to know that we ended on a high note. And it’s enough for me to know...
...that Mr. Smokescreen is somewhere, out there.