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Friday, April 30, 2010

Bumping My Head Against the Latex Ceiling – Part I: Night of the Living Vulcan Mind-Melds

I might be missing the whole point of having sex; the whole quantity vs. quality thing seems to be evading me lately. There are plenty of other guys who do the same type of things I do – hang out at places where they are likely to meet someone to have sex with, troll the net, etc. Engaging in these types of activities, there is a kind of bond that forms due to the frequency with which you bump into one another. However, I have found that in social situations, while these men are polite and cordial, they are not inclusive. So it leaves me feeling… well, excluded. I want to be privy to all that they know and be included in their reindeer games, but there seems to be an invisible barrier that bares me from entry into their world. Sort of a latex ceiling, I guess. I keep trying to break through it, but it seems airtight.

The odd thing is, when I’m alone with one of them, they talk to me like one of their own, but when in pack mode I get not-quite-the-cold shoulder. Being quite sensitive to the posture of other people, I tend to take the slightest hint and make myself scarce in these situations. That could be part of the problem, or it could just be me doing the correct thing – taking a hint.

There are several reasons these guys may behave this way. Perhaps I intimidate them (doubtful). I’m hardly all that. Maybe they view me as competition (as I do them, sometimes). It could be that I’m too competitive and territorial. Maybe it’s my mode of operation that separates me from the herd (and not in a good way). Maybe I just work too hard at this whole sex thing and it’s a big turn-off to be around me. Maybe there are levels of slut-dom and I am at a level that makes them uncomfortable, but I sincerely doubt that. Keep in mind that I am talking about dudes who have been bent over a bar stool in Chicago and roundly fucked in full view of others. I know this to be the case, because they share such things with me in private. And out on the Prairie, we’ve caught at least a glimpse each other’s business in action, so I’m pretty sure, that if they are judging me for my behavior, then that kettle is beige.

Maybe, beyond the seeking of sexual partners, we have nothing in common (somewhat true). These are people who regularly go to the Eagle for beer busts and happy hours; that is one of the environments in which they bond. I don’t go out to bars and maybe that is enough to exclude me from the pack. Another place these guys tend to bond is at sex parties and I had never gone to one - until last Saturday.

Initially, I thought the whole thing was a big hoax until I got there and they actually opened the doors. I received an invitation the same way I always learn about these things – by total accident. The difference is… this time I actually went! It turns out to be much nicer than I expected.

The space is clean and there is nice (covered) furniture throughout the building. On the first floor there is a place to change and store your clothes, a bathroom, a shower, a room with refreshments, condoms and lube, and another where dudes sit on couches waiting for blow jobs. The basement is where most of the action takes place. It is all painted black and consists of three rooms. The first room has a video screen playing porn, a couple of chairs, and a bench along one wall. Three large black wooden boxes with glory holes line the opposite wall. There is a lot of room to walk around behind these boxes and it is quite dark back there. The second room has another video screen playing porn, and an arrangement of couches and chairs. There is also a loft level just behind this video screen which you reach by climbing a small staircase. There is a single couch in the loft space and it is pitch black back up there. The third room is the largest room. It has a couple of bar tables, two slings and a series of couches and chairs.

After storing my clothes on the upper floor, I head to the basement wearing nothing more than my mid-calf black leather boots and a b-ball cap. It only takes me a matter of a few moments to establish home base for the night: in the second room by the couch farthest away from the loft end. I stuff my duffle bag full of supplies (a towel, lube, condoms, wet wipes, a blanket (?), and a ton of bottled water). Okay, so this is my first time at one of these things and I have no clue what is required. I just didn’t want to find myself sitting in a freezing warehouse, cold, dirty and thirsty. Once my stuff is secure beside the couch, I begin to wander around.

Now, even before the evening begins, I resign myself to lower my expectations. Earlier, as I sat in my car watching other guys go in I couldn’t help but notice that most of them were a bit - to a lot - older than me and woefully out of shape. If this is going to be a troll camp then at least I can comfort myself in the fact that I will probably be one of the better looking trolls. Fortunately, that is not the whole case. By the time I start exploring the rooms many more guys have shown up. I would say the mix ends up being 33/66 – 33% out of my league or doable and 66% not my thing at all – but God bless them all for showing up and for putting up with my presence, for I know I’m not better than anybody else. I am just different.

Everybody’s walking around like zombies, me included. I made a conscious choice not to drink any alcohol before I arrive. In fact, even though the invite says BYOB, I decide to bring only water for there is nothing less sexy than a drunken letch who doesn’t know he’s a drunken letch. After I have done about a dozen rounds with the other zombies, I decide it is time to actually commit to doing something/someone. There are now about 50 dudes to choose from, and while many of them are not to my liking, there are a number that I find more than acceptable. The very first guy that catches my attention is a really cute, slim, brown-haired guy who is about 32 years old with a cute goatee. I notice him for the first time while he is standing naked in line to store his clothes. He is, of course, also the first person to crawl into the sling for a butt fucking – administered by someone else. A good size crowd gathers around them and I watch for a few minutes before moving on to another room.

As I walk through the maze of men and shadows I notice there is a common way of greeting others, or at least what passes for a greeting here. Seems it is perfectly acceptable to simply reach out and grab a guy’s dick as you pass them, probably due to the fact that this also seems to be the only way to get someone to look you in the eyes. Working up my courage I give it a try. I grab the first, large, semi-hard dick I see and it just happens to be attached to a mousy-haired, bearded man about my age. If I was a casting agent, I would cast him as a charming, handsome college professor. He’s Caucasian, a bit taller than me and his body, while a little on the soft side is reasonable. And he has a big dick – did I mention that? Because that seems to have been my sole motivation for grabbing it. Size queen? Moi’? Initially he tries to pull away with a shy smile, but then our eyes meet and that seals the deal.

This is a scenario that will repeat itself three times that night.

It’s as if once you lock eyes with someone, even for a millisecond, the contract is signed, the deed all but done. A magnetism is created midair between the two of you and after that it is just a matter of that all important first kiss. Is it like that for everyone? I don’t know. I know it isn’t like that for me with everyone, but when it does happen the instant intensity of this type of encounter always blows me away. It’s as if gay guys are hardwired that way. We get sucked into each other’s energy vortex and suddenly, for the length of the encounter, there is little separation between the individual psyches involved. In other words, it’s kind of like a gay, sexual, Vulcan mind-meld.

And so it is with this guy. He has a killer smile; just brilliant, and I find myself being swept away. Our first kiss nails it. We grope on each other, I suck him for a bit, we kiss each other deep and long. Keep in mind this is happening in one of the better lit corners in the first room with the glory hole boxes, so people keep walking up to us. Some make a vain attempt to get in on the action, however, we’re so lost in each other that there is no penetrating our dome of sexual bliss and they end up walking away, ignored.

Ten minutes into playtime, I turn around and rub the crack of my ass on his dick. He tells me he doesn’t want to fuck yet, but then changes his mind in a matter of minutes – victim of the undeniable power of the almighty butt crack? (Perhaps.) He mentions that he doesn’t have a condom with him – not a problem. I run to my duffle bag and grab my little kit (a plastic sandwich bag with lube, condoms (two sizes), poppers, and wet wipes), but before I go I ask him if he wants to follow and do it somewhere more private? I don’t wait for an answer before going to get my kit. He doesn’t follow, which means he wants to do it in that little corner. When I get back to my duffle bag I think about the fact that he hasn’t followed me. Do I really want to get fucked in front of a whole bunch of dudes I don’t know? I then reason that if I’m not cool with that I shouldn’t be here, grab my kit and head back to where I left my new fuck bud.

He’s still there and nobody has moved in on him, so I guess we’re good to go. We go back to kissing. I hand him the condom, lube up my ass and grab my poppers. Turning around, I take a big hit of poppers as I offer up my hole. He enters slowly and I feel myself melt onto his dick. It’s such a wonderful feeling. As he begins slowly thrusting in and out, I open my eyes and discover a bunch of guys standing very near us, watching. Some of them make a play for my dick, but my fuck bud makes it clear that it belongs to him. About five minutes into the fuck – which is really quite tasty, three young, hunky dudes come and stand in front of us. One of them gets on his knees and starts sucking on the other two. It’s a porno scene come alive right in front of me in the middle of an awesome fuck. Soon my dick is also being sucked by the young dude on the floor. I think my playmate is so in awe of the sight of the three of them that he no longer cares about protecting my package, but I’m cool with that. They’re good looking dudes and are definitely adding something to this experience.

Next thing I know, one of the cute, hunky dudes is bent over a bench and the dude that was sucking my dick is now banging the hell out of his ass. None of this is lost on the guy fucking me, and it actually seems to spur him on, as he is now pounding away at my butt, matching the other dude thrust for thrust. Other guys move in all around me and I am now standing straight up while having my ass assaulted. I lean back and kiss my dude and then he whispers that he is about to cum. By now we are swamped with dudes. Hands are going everywhere. I lean over, pushing guys aside as I do and make a bit of a show of taking this man’s load. As crowded as that corner is at that moment everyone else melts away and it is as if my fuck bud and I are the only people in the world. That moment holds, frozen in time, for just a second before reality crashes in and everything rushes forward once again. Guys crowd in once more. I turn my head and give my dude a deep kiss as his slick dick slides from my hole. He pulls the condom off as we make sexual small talk and kiss. His smile cuts the darkness like a ray of bright white light. Even in this crowd, I lose myself in the afterglow of a mighty fuck.

I barely have time to catch my breath when I feel another dude pushing his way between me and the guy that just fucked me. That’s when things get a little surreal. Guys are milling about, standing way too close for my comfort level. The three hunky dudes apparently finished their little show about the same time as the dude fucking me lost his load. I’m attempting to talk to him as this other guy is pushing his way sort of between us. The other guy positions my ass so that he has access and he places the head of his dick against my recently fucked hole. I turn just slightly and catch sight of him, and as I do I grab his dick and remove it from the crack of my ass. He says something, but I can’t hear because of all the buzz around me. I turn back to talk to the guy that just fucked me and the other dude moves in again, pressing the head of his dick against my hole. This other guy is a big football player type – and not like those fat dudes on the internet who tell you they have a football player’s build. This guy’s shoulders are broad and big enough where he doesn’t need shoulder pads. The rest of him is in great shape, too. He’s in his late 20’s, a head taller than me with a round face, apple cheeks, child-like eyes that have a definite twinkle to them, and a cupid mouth. Imagine, if you will, that the Campbell’s Soup kid grew up to be big and strong and looks like a football player. Everything about him is smooth and big, except for his dick, which, while nicely curved, is just under six inches and on the thin side.

So I decide to ignore him and try to carry on a conversation with my previous partner, who may be perplexed by what is going on between me and the football player dude, but doesn’t seem able to acknowledge that it’s going on either. Next thing I know, the football player has slipped his dick in my hole and proceeds to start fucking me. I’m sure my eyes go big, but given the circumstances, I don’t know what an appropriate response is. I suppose if I was one of those people who get all uptight about an uncovered dick using my ass, I might turn about, pull out his dick and tell him to fuck off. But I don’t. Instead I stand there and sort of pretend it’s not happening.

But it is! It really is…

End of Part I

Friday, April 23, 2010

Ring My Bell: Return Business and Being the Sexual Equivalent of Fast Food

Some fast food joints are mounting a brass bell to the wall on one side of their exit door so, that if you feel you received excellent service, you can clang it to let the staff know that you appreciate their efforts. A lot of clangs translate to a lot of happy customers. Another sign of having given good service is return business; that is the heart of what keeps most restaurants from financial ruin. If someone liked what they got the first time they visited there is a high chance they will be back for more.

Sexually, I must be doing something right, because my return rate seems pretty high lately. Or maybe I am more of an annual/seasonal kind of thing.

Last year, at the Prairie, I met this striking black man. He’s in his 30’s, bald, tall, thin, muscular, and handsome. His strong chin sports a sculpted beard which makes him look a bit like an Egyptian king. Overall he gives off a vibe of intensity and danger; the danger aspect probably due in part to his marvelous, flinty eyes and the green-ink tattoos that decorate his hairless torso and arms. I love his dark, smoky ash skin.

Standing in one of my favorite enclaves last July, surrounded by tall grass, I catch sight of this man on the main path. He’s moving quite swiftly, deftly surveying the landscape for signs of life. My heart does a bit of a flip at the sight of him; his intensity is that palpably magnetic and potent. He spots me, of course, but doesn’t zero in on me in an obvious way. He seems a bit leery of the scene and sensing that others are about, remains vigilant and guarded. Walking quite a distance around the part of the Prairie where I am standing, he disappears into the wooded area behind me. I look over to one of my fellow sun bathers in a neighboring spot and receive the raised eyebrow look before he walks away to the other side of the meadow.

Not sure how to interpret that look, I decide to stay. Knowing that no one else is back in the wooded area behind me, I decide to wait to see if I have a chance of becoming this hunter’s prey. Sure enough, in a matter of moments, peering over my shoulder, I catch sight of my mysterious stranger. He’s standing stealthily beside a tree, scoping out his surroundings. Noting that the other guy has left, he eyes me warily. All I’m wearing is a pair of gray athletic shorts kept up with a drawstring tie. I bend straight over to retrieve my poppers, lube and a condom from a side pocket of my duffle bag, giving him a very obvious chance to check out my ass. Straightening up, I again look over my shoulder to see if my little display has gotten any kind of reaction. Based on his change in posture, I’d say it has.

He’s bare-chested and wearing only a ratty pair of dark green sweat pants. My heart leaps once again as I notice his right hand slipping beneath his waistband. That’s when I first notice his tats – kind of gangsta; they look like standard issue prison fair. The sight of those tats and his hand working his groin gets me right where I live and I feel a throb echo deep in my own pelvic region. Working on the assumption that a black dude hangs out at a sun-bathing area renowned for gay cruising with only one thing in mind, I decide to up my game to see if I can draw this one closer. Undoing the tie at the front of my shorts, with my back facing him, I slowly allow my own waistband to slip past my hips. I then let them fall to my ankles as I drop to my knees. I decide a posture of ass-in-the-air might be the thing to take this to the next level. Languidly, I expertly arch my back creating the perfect gay porn entry point. My heart already racing, I take a hit of poppers and feel the warmth rush and move through me. The anticipation is intense. Seconds later, without turning around, I know he is hunched behind me, his physical proximity sending yet another wave of blood coursing full speed through my system.

Gently, tentatively, he places his index finger on my pre-lubed hole. You see, when I go to the Prairie, while I may settle for other activities, what I’m really wanting is to get fucked, so I do my best to remain ever ready, ever clean, and ever lubed. He presses the tip of his finger to my hole and instinctively I feel the rim open up a bit. Stealing a look over my shoulder, I see that the dude is already ripping open the foil of a Magnum gold condom. Handing him the lube, I decide to let him do all the work and not to speak unless spoken to. There is something very sexy about being so covert. I do raise my head just high enough over the wall of grass to make sure no one else is standing by, watching. We seem safe enough for the moment and that may well be all this will take. I’m pretty sure, given the sense of urgency and secretiveness, that this will not be a long fuck – but fulfilling? Fuck, yeah. Or maybe I should just say filling, because it certainly turned out to be that as well. There’s a reason this dude carries those Magnum golds – and it has nothing to do with grandiosity, more like necessity. But at the time, I have no clue about that, having decided not to reach around for a feel. For once I just want to see what it feels like to be nothing more than a receptive hole.

The sun beats down upon us as he eases the head of his dick past my puckered rim. After that, he just keeps coming and coming… it is a slow, endless parade of firm, hot, liquid sensation filling my ass. He’s thick, too, which has me taking some major hits from my bottle of poppers. Buried deep inside me, dude pulls his way out in slo-mo, causing me to gasp the tiniest bit. I don’t know if it is the combination of the sun, the sense of danger, the anonymity, this particular man and the poppers or what, but this feels epic. Pausing momentarily with only the tip of his dick at the edge of my hole, I find my legs trembling as I try to anticipate his next move. He rocks me forward with a deep, hard slam. I manage to remain on all fours, steeling myself for a full out ass assault. He doesn’t disappoint. Piston fucking my ass deep, my face is ground right into the Mexican blanket beneath us and I feel totally used and abused. It’s everything I wanted. He eases up just enough for me to fuck back onto his dick. I make an attempt to play the power bottom, but he’s not having it. Grabbing me by the hips, he firmly holds my ass down onto his lap and proceeds to bounce inside me with short, staccato thrusts. If I was in a more secure environment I would be making a noise like: ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah. It’s like a really fucking awesome ride on a bumpy road. At this point I am pretty much sitting upright on his lap with his lips almost pressing against the back of my ear. It is only because of this proximity that I am able to detect that something is about to change. A very short, sharp intake of breath would seem to be my only indication that this dude is about to spill his seed deep inside of me. I tighten and flex my hole and pick up the bouncing rhythm on my own, increasing its frequency until I am sure I have every last drop of his juice in the tip of that condom.

Suddenly, he holds me very tightly and still upon his lap. My hole and his dick both continue to throb like some magic, expansive joy mechanism. After a bit, he loosens his grip and we begin to pull apart. His dick has softened somewhat, but still feels fierce as it glides slowly out of my ass. I turn around for the first time and take in the sight of this magnificent man as he removes the used condom from his spent dick. Once the condom is off, I move in swiftly and take its entire length in my mouth. He flinches just the tiniest bit, but makes no sound. His hands move to press the back of my head firmly into his crotch and I get the most wonderful whiff of his man scent, a scent almost as potent as poppers. Gently he eases his cock from my mouth and, still in a crouching position, pulls up his sweat pants. Studying his face, I see that the wariness so prevalent before has been partially replaced with a sweet softness as a small, warm smile plays across his lips.

“Thanks,” I say. “That was hot.”

He leaves me, as quietly as he appeared. Watching as he swiftly exits the Prairie, I wonder: Who was that tattooed man?

I remember capturing this event in my sex diary and relived it this past March compiling my sex stats for the year. It remains one of my favorite moments on the Prairie. I felt like such a slut, lowering my shorts and offering up my ass.

So imagine my total titillation when last Monday, while visiting the Prairie in the hopes of a little something-something, whom to my wandering eye should appear?

It’s him all right. No mistaking it. I think it’s the way he moves, maybe his energy. Standing behind a thicket of budding branches and underbrush, I’m pulling up my athletic shorts, having just checked my hole for cleanliness and readiness, when in the far corner of the Prairie he appears. My heart skips a beat as I grab my duffle bag and decide I need to head in whatever direction he is heading. He moves toward the same area where we fooled around last time. It’s game on.

Booking across that Prairie with certain urgency, out of the corner of my eye I spy this little Hispanic kid that hangs out on the Prairie a lot. I have no idea how old he is – other than that he is older than 20. Cute – in a soft puppy dog way, he’s always dressed in the same white, obnoxious brand name jogging suit with matching cap, listening to his IPod and scoping out the action. In other words, he always looks a little out of place and always appears to be skulking around the perimeter of the scene. I don’t know what his game is, but I know he wants nothing to do with me. He once sort of fooled around with me and another dude. The other dude kept trying to get him to let me suck his dick, which was out of his pants at the time, but only semi hard. The other dude had his dick up my ass and was pounding away when the Hispanic kid wordlessly walked away. Since then, when he sees me and it is obvious that I am there to stay, he walks away in the other direction.

Sensing that the Hispanic kid has every intention of checking out the object of my erection, I redouble my efforts just as he begins to make his way toward the far side of the Prairie. I beat him of course and follow the path a bit deeper into the woods, because the grass is still very short and there is no cover around the spot the black dude fucked me last year. The black dude is standing at the bottom of one of the mini-gullies, amidst a group of trees. He looks concerned and wary and is staring at the Hispanic kid now standing on the main road, about 10 yards from where we stand. The Hispanic kid just stands there, shifting on his feet every so often as if waiting for something to happen.

Terrified that the Hispanic kid might swoop in and steal my trick, I move to a nearby tree, just out of the sightline of anyone standing on the main road. I tell you, the more time I spend playing at the prairie - the more territorial I am becoming. Sometimes I feel like a prostitute guarding his turf. In a desperate bid to garner the black dude’s attention, I decide to drop my shorts and show off my ass for him – hey, it worked last time. But I feel a bit rattled, so I decide to take a big hit of poppers? Yeah, like that is going to put me in a better place? Of course it doesn’t, but it does make me a bit braver. As the rush hits I drop my shorts, thinking maybe I can lure him closer. Checking over my shoulder I can see it is having some effect – dude has his dick out of his sweats, but his attention is still on the Hispanic kid on the main road. His head keeps swinging back and forth between the two of us and his body is moving no closer to where I stand.

Once the popper high has passed, I start to feel like an idiot, standing there with my shorts around my ankles. Hauling them back up and tying them into place, I decide to find out his intentions. I return to the path and stand on the ridge just above the gully in which the black dude is standing. He gives me a hard nod of his chin to acknowledge my presence, but says nothing. That hit of poppers is now making me a bit jittery and rather than maintain the cool quiet that’s been established I begin to talk. In such a situation even a single sentence consisting of three words can feel like babbling. I think I asked him how he was or something like that. I don’t recall his reply, but soon after he volunteers, “He’s a watcher.” With a quick nod of his chin he indicates that he is talking about the Hispanic kid. Unsure of what he means, I decide to just put it out there so I know whether or not I am wasting my time. “So, you want to play with him?” I ask. He shakes his head no. Emboldened by his reply, I then ask, “So, do you want to play with me?” He says something about not wanting to do anything with “that guy” around. I suggest we head to the other side of the tracks, but I get a sense that he is concerned that the Hispanic kid would follow us.

Suddenly, without saying anything, the black dude stalks off hastily in the direction of the Hispanic kid. Now I don’t know what to think. Does the black dude want my ass, or what? I watch as he reaches the main road where he turns right, walking past the Hispanic kid. I’m not sure if he tells the Hispanic kid to “fuck off” or what, but almost immediately after, the Hispanic kid walks away in the opposite direction, moving back to where he came from. The black dude follows the main road and makes another right, heading back in my direction. Or is he leaving the Prairie altogether? My heart falls just a bit before, he takes yet another right, stepping onto the back end of the path I’m standing on. Winding his way in my direction, I take this as a good sign and move back to the tree, where I stood before. I drop my shorts, take a deep hit of poppers, and stick my ass out like a beacon of light from a lighthouse in the hopes that he will drop anchor where I stand. Placing my lube and condoms in plain sight, I look over my shoulder and discover the black dude standing very close behind me with his dick out. He’s busy tearing open a Magnum gold. Wanting a little face time before that monster is sheathed; I immediately turn about and crouch in front of him, taking that beauty in my mouth. I feel him come alive and throb, but that condom he’s holding makes it quite clear that fucking my ass is foremost on his afternoon agenda. Well, who am I to stand in the way of a man’s needs? After sucking his dick for only about two minutes, I stand to turn around, grabbing the lube as I do. I tear it open and liberally apply some to my ass – keep in mind, I know only too well what’s coming (or cumming, if all goes well). I also turn about and apply some to his now wrapped cock. Setting the lube down, I grab my poppers and begin to take a deep hit as the head of his dick caresses the rim of my hole. I continue hitting the poppers hard so my ass can accommodate his dick’s width and length. It’s a lovely feeling, and with the dapple of the sun and the glory of spring all around us, I am in heaven.

He works my hole for about five minutes. It’s exactly as hot and intense as I remember; I love being used by this dude. There’s an immediate urgency to his pacing and it picks up from there. I think the fear of getting caught or the specter of that Hispanic kid watching us is still very much on his mind. Soon he is ramming into me like a jackhammer and I find myself lost in the sensation of being relentlessly pounded. And then… it’s over. His dick seeps out of my hole and I turn around not knowing what’s wrong. Turns out the dude shot his load already. Pulling off the condom, I bend down to coax the last drips of cum from the head of his cock with my mouth. As I do so, I look up into his eyes as he stands over me. The tats on his torso and his satisfied smile make me flush with sexual energy; he’s so fucking hot. I’m sure it has something to do with my warped sense of the world and all those unrealistic prison sex fantasies, but I feel so privileged to get me a little some of this.

He leaves me holding the condom, making his exit in the direction where he first appeared. The encounter leaves me vibrating and still not believing my luck. That dude just made my week.

That’s when my mind turns to the idea of mounting a bell on one of the trees in the Prairie for tricks to ring as they leave, provided they got what they came for and something they liked. In a way, offering up my ass in that manner is kind of like using a drive-up window. What I just delivered was the sexual equivalent of fast food.

Hey, I don’t mind. I get something out this equation, too. However, when it comes time to hang up that sign that says ‘Over 10 Million Served’, I will pause to consider the direction my life has taken. But until then - return business is my bread and butter, so butter me up!

Friday, April 16, 2010

The Right Size Tool For the Job: Fun in the Sex Garage

There’s this guy that responded to a CL ad of mine a while back. We kept emailing back and forth trying to figure out a time that would work for both of us. This Sunday it finally happened – and it was so worth the wait.

The original CL ad was for “Garage Service”, which is a scene where basically I ask for dudes to come over to my garage and fuck me. Sometimes it works out pretty sweet, other times it is a total waste of time. The biggest time wasters (after the pic collectors) on CL are those who reply to an ad, but are unable to make it on the date and time described in the ad. They dangle the promise of some future, undefined time when they would sure love to do what I have suggested in the ad. They don’t have the time right now, but are so supposedly turned on by the ad that they feel compelled to write me. They then proceed to eat up my time by asking me a bunch of questions and requesting more pics of me. Usually they send pics and stats, so I don’t doubt the authenticity of their emails or for that matter their sincerity. But seriously? Why bother? If the ad sets a specific parameter of time for the described activity and you can’t make it – why throw your hat in the ring? Sure, it would make sense if there was any chance that some future hook-up date would actually materialize, but in reality the return rate is way less than ten percent.

It was with a great deal of trepidation that I continued my email exchange with this guy I finally met on Sunday. Seems that we both suffer from the issue of limited availability, so actually arriving at a meeting time and date took a good month. All that time the little voice in my head kept telling me “this is never going to happen”. That voice is usually right, but, thankfully, not in this case.

Emailing back and forth, we whittle our way to a set time and place: mid-afternoon, his garage. We also decide on a few other things. I will drive into the garage – naked, where he will then rape my ass. I’m hot to do this, and all I have seen of this dude are a couple of dick pics! But based on his stats – H/W proportionate, in good shape, over 40, 8+ dick – and his general enthusiasm for my ass, I trust that this is something worth seeing through.

I do my prep work, get in my car and arrive with about a minute to spare. Parking at the curb just to the east of the entrance to his alley, I remove all my clothes, careful that no one observes me doing so. Bare-assed, I tool down the alley and discover that the door to the designated garage is wide open. There’s a vehicle parked on one side, inside the garage. Trusting the universe, I drive in and park next to it. The door immediately descends behind me, sealing me in. There’s sufficient daylight streaming through the one window, but overall the garage is quite dark. I look around, a bit confused before realizing that there is a dude in a baseball cap and a white t-shirt sitting in the driver’s seat of the car next to me. He’s grinning like a madman, and when he raises his hips up to the steering wheel I start grinning, too; dude is sporting one hot, thick mofo disco stick. I want it.

He gets out of his vehicle first. Besides the b-ball cap and the white t-shirt he is also wearing jeans – inconveniently wrapped around his ankles. Awkwardly, he makes his way to in front of the side door, which is closed. Grabbing my poppers, I join him. He’s stroking that massive cock of his with a big shit-eating grin on his handsome mug. He has a good three days worth of stubble on his face, but it goes well with his overall energy and the twinkle in his eye. It just adds to his hotness level; think “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom” – only in this case the golden idol that Indy has in his hands is a big, fat cock.

Immediately he starts calling the shots, ordering me to suck his dick. Crouching before him in a flash, I don’t even bother with poppers at this point, because, in awe of my luck and his beautiful dick, I’m terrified if I don’t respond quickly enough this vision of hunkiness will evaporate. Fucker’s cock is huge – much longer and thicker than his dick pics or modest estimation indicated. Working my lips past the head, he releases this monster into my custody. My senses are in overdrive – so much to take in. I slobber all over that mother, licking his balls and swallowing as much of it as I can handle. He has a great voice and an easy smile. I like and trust him instantly.

Easing his white t over his head he exposes a chest full of curly, light brown hair. My hands immediately move up to his nips. So very manly and sexy as hell. He asks me when was the last time I got to play with such a big dick and my mind races back to a time late last fall when this handsome bicyclist with a big nine-incher fucked me under a bridge. “Last fall,” I manage to choke out. Reaching over my back, he works a digit into my primed hole. I gasp. He’s so fucking sure of himself, so in command. “I gotta have some of that hot ass.” Dude doesn’t need to ask twice.

Ordering me to lean on the hood of his car, I stand and turn around. A little fearful of the impact his big cock could have on my hole, I caution him to go slow. He does and after a bit of initial wincing, my ass relaxes and I’m able to accommodate all of him. The width of his dick stretches the rim of my hole to breaking point and I just have to have a hit of poppers. The poppers I have are old, and not all that potent, but they are enough to do the trick (so to speak). Soon I’m working my ass back and forth along the full length of his fuckstick with ease, giving him the go ahead to commence some serious fucking. And he does; deep and sure – it’s ram and jam time.

The entire time he is working my hole he’s talking shit about getting another big dicked top to come to his garage to use my ass. I play along; the idea does have its appeal and I am not at all opposed to multiple playmates. As he is pile driving my ass, I arch up and lean back. Soon his lips find mine and we are exchanging hot, staccato breaths along with our porno dreams. He’s very complimentary throughout our play date; seems the dude really digs my ass for some reason. I don’t see it at all – I mean, I am of a certain age and gravity has certainly taking its toll, along with that fucking 8-hours-a-day desk job I muddle through during the week. But here I am, naked in a garage, bent over the hood of some dudes car with one of the finest tools I have ever laid hands on up my ass, so I just go with it. The porn talk continues to build in intensity. Before I know it he is talking about a group of guys lining up to fuck my hole. Staying in my role as bottom slut, I talk some shit which sends him over the edge. He dumps his load deep in my gut. It’s fucking hot, for sure, but even he thinks it was too soon and says as much.

But it’s cool, because as soon as we both catch our breath and make sure his dick is nice and clean, I’m back, crouched before him, slobbering on his knob. This time, he’s sitting in a chair telling me that if I keep it up he’ll have another go at my ass. I haven’t shot my load yet, so that’s enough to inspire me to put in a little effort; very little, as it turns out. In a matter of a minute, he is back at full mast, hard as a rock. Figuring I’ll change it up a bit, I heave myself up, placing my feet on the outer sides of his thighs. This is heaven for a bottom – to have a rock hard, thick dick poised and ready, waiting for you to slide down on. I grab the back of the chair and slowly, very slowly, work my hole down the length of his monster meat. As I reach the base, I feel a pop, like something locking into place – it’s weird and comforting at the same time, as if to signify: goal achieved. With his encouragement, I remain seated on his cock for a bit, enjoying it’s fullness up inside of me. My knees are up by my ears as I begin to slowly ascend. He’s loving all this tension, telling me what a fine, tight ass I have. Soon I’m bouncing up and down on his dick for all I’m worth, my head falling back as hot gasps of air escape my gaping mouth. My dick slides, pressed along his furry chest and I am thinking it might be possible for me to cum from the friction alone. Frequently, I’m surprised by my own dexterity and today is no exception. Having exhausted this position, I can tell that he wants to be in charge again. I disengage and move to in front of his car.

Resuming the position, with my dick in my hand, he mounts me again and we fall into some hot rhythms, mixing it up real nice. Given the limitations of the situation (no place to lie down) we manage just fine. His porn talk turns to a scenario where we are two buddies working on our cars on a sweet Sunday afternoon, both horny as hell and needing to fuck. My legs are spread wide as he rams away, fucking the cum right out of me. It hits the dirty concrete between my legs with a series of satisfying splats and I feel every inch the porno bottom bitch this dude has made me out to be.

I never get that second load from the dude, but I do get a lot of promises of a return invitation. He’s serious about me finding a second big dicked top to share my ass with. I never hold my breath regarding such promises, but this guy sure seems sincere. Maybe I’ll put out an ad on craigslist for our next get together, if and when it gets planned.

I hand him a wet wipe – always the boy scout, I cum prepared. As we clean up, he again he tells me how much he is looking forward to our next encounter. I nod my head and smile as I get dressed. Conversation flows pretty easily between us – I guess talking like a porn star loosens one’s tongue. Both dressed, he opens the garage door. We say our good-byes and I back out.

Whether or not I ever see him again remains to be seen. But I quite like the idea of his garage hosting a bunch of tops to use my holes. Add Image

Hey, dudes? Line forms in the rear (so to speak).

Friday, April 09, 2010

Dreams Die: What Happens After the Fat Lady Sings?

Now I know, well, I was wrong
To live for a dream
If I had my life to live over
I would never dream, no
I still wish you gone
And I will live alone
Yes, I will live alone

- Planets of the Universe
by Stevie Nicks

The hidden danger of having a dream is that when it fails to come true it leaves a hole in your life. The bigger the dream – the larger, deeper the hole. And if you aren’t aware of the death of this dream then you have a propensity to unwittingly fill up that hole with something/anything else. That can get rather scary if you aren’t paying attention or when you don’t have anything specific to replace them with. That’s when that occasional cocktail after work becomes part of a daily routine which balloons into a reason for an intervention.

You get the picture.

So, without getting all melodramatic about it, I just noticed the other day that all my dreams are gone. Dead. I let go of them and they all died a slow, painful death. I don’t have anything to replace them with so I have been having copious amounts of anonymous sex with (mostly) strangers. Yeah, I know – not a big surprise for some, but if you knew that was my motivation, it would have been nice of you to clue me in.

One of my dreams, perhaps my main dream was to be involved in theatre. In some way and for many years, I was. I did it all – directed, produced, wrote, acted, sang, designed costumes, lights, sets, props, sound, stage managed, etc – for over 350 productions!. And while I occasionally experienced what one might term success, I personally found that most of my experiences left me wanting – that is, on those rare occasions when those experiences were not atrocious nightmares that still haunt me to this day. Some of that very bad stuff was my doing. I own that. But a lot of it was because I ended up working with a lot of very strange, very sick people in a very unhealthy, dark world. Toxic is the term that comes to mind. So, after clinging to that dream for many, many years and exploring all sorts of avenues in order to remain involved, I finally began to embrace an adage that I had long clung to regarding matters of the heart: if it hurts to get love, then it’s not love your getting (can anyone name what movie that is from?). Well, theatre certainly hurt – it hurt to be around those people and hurt when the art form I was once so enamored with began to suck so very, very badly. Theatre, these days? Just God awful stuff.

It hurts me to watch theatre. I recently went to a show, not knowing anything about the script, director, actors, company, etc. Within the first five minutes I found myself staring at the floor because what was going on up on the stage was so painful to me. At first I blamed the script, but ultimately the fault belonged to the director. The director failed to notice what type of script he as working with. It was an ethereal mystery with comedic overtones, peppered with liberal socio-economic soap-boxing (in other words – God awful). The director decided to pretend it was a show written by Neil Simon – which sort of worked, except for the ending. When the ending finally came it hit the stage like a dead turd. Once revealed it made everything – the acting, the costumes, the set, the lighting and music seem oh-so very, very bad. Up until then, it was just a below average production of a bad script, but once the ending came it was easy to see that the director had no clue what he was doing. So fuck him. And give me back the two hours that I wasted cringing in the dark, staring at the floor while watching a show he claims to have directed.

About a week later it hit me – I have no intention of ever working with people like the guy who directed that show ever again. Because I have worked with tons of people just like him in the past and I don’t need the pain. So theatre is dead to me now. Period. Dream dead.

This is not a death that happened overnight.

During this lengthy death thrall I found new and destructive ways to torture myself under the guise of ‘doing theatre’. I filled up that hole (no, not THAT hole) with a number of things. I wrote a lot of music, which led to me writing and producing a couple of ill-conceived musicals. I wrote a lot of music thinking I might perform with a band or at a coffee house. I continue to write a lot of music, but now I don’t fool myself – I will never perform any of it anywhere; it will die unheard. In a similar vein (or vain, as the case may be), in the hopes of cultivating another dream, I watch ‘Kitchen Nightmares’ – the British and American versions. I hate ‘Hell’s Kitchen’ and can’t watch it due to all the screaming, but ‘Nightmares’, especially the British version, can be quite informative. I began sketching out floor plans for restaurants, creating mock menus and looking around at available restaurant spaces. But you know what? Owning a restaurant on paper is one thing – owning one and operating one in real life? Well, that is a nightmare. One I don’t need. Dream stillborn.

So, I am currently dreamless. Unless you count some of my sex fantasies – but those are not the kinds of things I am talking about here. I’m talking about those lifelong dreams. You know… the ones that suck the life out of you and leave you a bitter hull (not moi!). You know… like the one where you find true love. I will never fall in love again. I have. And – in cases when that love was returned - either I squandered the opportunity or the person I fell in love with turned out to be even more fucked up than I am/was. So that bus raced past my stop and I did not have the correct change. Not a problem. I’m cool with it. I get it. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. It’s like couples who want children but can’t conceive; I could try to artificially inseminate romantic love into my life or I could adopt. But the kind of role play I like doesn’t lend itself to whispering sweet nothings and the idea of having a houseboy doesn’t thrill me at all nor do I see myself ever being that desperate. I pass.

So… those giant craters I call my life? I’ve been filling them with meaningless sex – for years. And as the dreams died and the size of the craters grew – so did the amount of sex I’ve had in order fill it all up. Because that is the very definition of a successful, happy life; as long as it is all filled up: with food, sex, television, a giant dick, clothing, debt, cars, awards, activities, useless trivia, causes, vocations, goals, desires, God… whatever! Just make sure for fuck’s sake that you fill it all up. Fill it until you can barely breathe.

Right up until the day when you can’t breathe anymore.

Yep. If you can’t breathe – then you KNOW you’re a success. And this success will not go unnoted. It will say so, right there on your tombstone.

What bullshit.

I would like to opt out, but suicide is cowardly, stupid and a bullshit solution (in my opinion). I mean if I am going to destroy myself and self-destruct, I want an audience and some airtime. And besides, the reality is: people depend on me. My dogs depend on me. So I don’t plan on going anywhere. Which is to say – I don’t dream of being anyplace except where I am. Oh, I may fantasize on occasion, say, that I’m at a bathhouse in Chicago, naked with my lubed ass in the air and a line of twenty attractive guys with eight inch plus dicks waiting to use my hole (though I would settle for a line of three unattractive guys with five inch dicks – just as long as I get to wear a blindfold). But fantasies are healthy and so is sex with strangers, as long as it doesn’t have a detrimental effect on the rest of your life. And other than the occasional STD scare, it really hasn’t impacted my life in a negative way. I think having fun is a good thing.

I don’t have any really close friends, but I’m okay with that. Like the love bus, the friend ship sailed past me as well. Bon Voyage. Personally, I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore. When I think of the many times I have been betrayed by those I counted as friends it just makes me not want to bother with people anymore. That is one of the reasons why I’m in such a good place with the idea of having acquaintances. If someone is only an acquaintance it limits the amount of pain they can inflict. And perfect strangers are even better than acquaintances – knowing someone’s name is highly overrated.

I’m all through with inviting pain into my life.

That is why I will never do another show. That is why I will never fall in love again. That is why I will never have a best friend again. That is why I will leave this world without anyone knowing who I really am (least of all me).

And before you ring the doorbell calling me out of my little pity party here, let me make one thing clear: I know very well that all those things didn’t happen and won’t be happening for one very good reason – I just wasn’t very good at any of it. Maybe I had potential once, but after a point unfulfilled potential has got to be chalked up as a case of never had it, never will or you’re just not living in the real world.

Also: I am glad those dreams died. You know why? Because dreams are hard work and I am a very, very lazy person.

Does this mean that I am an inauthentic human being? Does this mean I am just a shallow, cardboard replica of my former self? Does this mean I am just like everybody else? Does this mean I am unhappy? Well… yes and no. But in the end, who cares? Besides me. You could say God cares. But I doubt it. I mean, I don’t think he’s speaking to me since the last time I gave him the finger and read his beads. God and I? I think we have what’s called a détente; kind of a live and I’ll let you live sort of arrangement.

By the way, God – I am grateful to be alive.

As we all should be

Friday, April 02, 2010

Destiny Wins: The Continuing Adventures of Little Whore On the Prairie

Sometimes, no matter how fucked up the logistics of an arranged meeting become things work out as though it was destined to happen. Hooking-up with random strangers is fraught with peril and troublesome enough, but add to that the anonymity of the internet, the fact that you don’t know what a person looks like, and that the place you have chosen to meet is in the middle of nowhere, and the odds seem stacked against it ever taking place, let alone you having a good time. In such instances I operate on a kind of faith; an instinctual thing, and on occasion the universe totally awes me by making it all work out in spite of everything.

Take last Sunday as a perfect example.

Sunday afternoon, I am stuck, not sure what it is I want to do. I decide to get on-line and see if anything is happening. Logging onto my usual haunts, my prospects look none too bright. None of my regulars are on-line. Also no one is contacting me. I am really reticent to contact anybody I don’t know because I’m just in a mood. A couple of dudes hit me up wanting me to come over and top them, but I beg off; again, just not feeling it. Earlier that day, while cleaning my bathroom, I managed to find time to trim my pubes, chest hair and shave my ass. Nothing gets me hornier to bottom than having a smooth ass and in this case I took my time, getting it just right. It feels fucking fantastic, like the skin of a baby. So, I guess I really do have an agenda; I’m just not sure how I want to execute the task.

The weather is rather nice – near fifty degrees and sunny, so I definitely want to be outside, if possible. The Prairie is on my mind in a big way these days, even though nothing has leafed out yet. On a whim, I place a quick ad on one of the sites. If nothing else, at least I might get an email or two inquiring what it is I have in mind. The ad is short, sweet and tied to my profile:

“I just shaved my ass and am thinking about hitting the Prairie this afternoon around 3 pm. Check me out and hit me up.”

Of course I get hits from other bottoms / cocksuckers who want to know the location of the Prairie, but I’m not sharing with them. Who needs the extra competition? So I ignore those.

Then I get an inquiry from a guy whom I assume is new to the site. Or so I think. There’s no picture, no information in the stats section and he’s checked “ask me” for all of the required fields. All I know, based on his handle, is that he’s a top. He’s into the scene and something about his response to the ad makes me want to see where this goes. We email back and forth at a pretty quick clip. I don’t bother to ask him the basics – stats, pic, etc. Why bother? If they aren’t in his profile then he has no interest in sharing that information – asking for it is just going to kill the buzz. Even so, his emails intrigue me. I explain where the Prairie is in great detail, eventually sending him a map. We agree on a time and we’re off to the races.

I get to the Prairie in plenty of time. The weather is cooperating and I’m feeling pretty confident that in the event this guy doesn’t show (likely) that I will find myself a little something-something somewhere out here on the open range. I hang out for an hour and then decide that the guy either can’t find it, or had no intention of coming. Keep in mind I have no idea what he looks like. There hasn’t been anyone else about, so I’m pretty sure it isn’t a matter of him seeing me and deciding he’s made a mistake. But then I was also there early enough and have waited long enough to know this is also not a case of me missing him.

Tired of standing around, I decide to take a hike over to the other side of the railroad tracks. There is a spot over there that I was taken to once last summer. Now hang on to your hats (or whatever else you have in your hands) – I’m about to digress a whole lot, but bear with me. Once, last summer, this odd, bearded man kept hitting on me. I couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted until he finally just came out and said it. He wanted me to follow him over to the other side of the railroad tracks so he could fuck my ass. At that time, legend had it that on the other side of the railroad tracks there was a mattress that some tina-head had dragged out into the middle of a clearing. Here the tina-head would lie naked with his ass in the air taking on all dicks that dared to poke his drug-addled ass. Apparently, according to the former friend of said tina-head that I heard this from, all of the tina-head’s friends were horribly worried about him and that he had in fact been arrested by the cops once early in the summer. The cops took him in stark naked and stark raving mad. I hate tina-heads. They can all go to hell. Even the ones that manage to stop using, for they are never the same again. That said, I had and have no interest in ever actually laying eyes on that tina-head with his ass up in the air. Tina-heads and certain cocksucking trolls have one thing in common: they never seem to acknowledge the word ‘no’.

This bearded guy was a little strange, but did not strike me as a tina-head, so I followed him. All the while this bearded guy had been hitting on me, a really, hot, muscular, Hispanic dude had also been hovering around the periphery of my vision. I had the pleasure of blowing the Hispanic dude on a previous occasion and had also had the pleasure of blowing him on that day (yeah, I know – total whore). I was under the impression that the bearded man had also seen the Hispanic dude, so when I began to follow the bearded guy to the mattress across the tracks and the Hispanic guy followed me, I just assumed everybody was on the same page. Not so.

We get to the other side of the tracks, to this little valley where, sure enough, there is a large, thick foam mattress lying in the middle of it. As I approach, the bearded guy is already flinging off his clothing, getting totally naked. He stops short when he catches sight of the Hispanic dude. “Oh, no,” he says. “No way. I don’t share.” The Hispanic dude just shrugs and continues walking. My first impulse is to follow the Hispanic dude, but, no, I decide to stay. Bearded guy is now totally naked and urging me to do the same. All I’m wearing, besides my ball cap and tennis shoes is a pair of shorts, so I drop them to the ground and step out of them quickly. Bearded dude freaks out again, telling me that I have to take off my shoes. I tell him, “No.” We’re outdoors. I want my shoes on, especially if someone walks up on us. Pulling on a pair of shorts takes seconds, shoes are another matter. But he insists, walks over and begins to untie my shoes. That’s when it hits me – this isn’t going to happen because it doesn’t need to happen. I tell him, “No, that’s okay. I think I’ll get going.” He gets miffed, but you know what? I don’t dig controlling assholes. I really am a go with the flow guy, until someone else decides they need to make all the decisions for everybody. So I bail.

As I’m walking away I begin rationalizing my decision; dude is just okay looking, dude’s body is just okay, dude’s dick is less than I’d hoped for (you would think I’d check on that before following someone over to the other side of the tracks) and dude is really kind of fucked in the head. Maybe he is the tina-head of lore! But, no. Later, I check with a friend of the tina-head and turns out the bearded dude looks nothing like the tina-head of lore. In any case, I feel like I dodged a bullet. And that is how I discovered where the fabled mattress actually was. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

I reach the other side of the tracks and there it is, still snug and cradled at the bottom of its mini-valley – the big foam mattress. You would think that spending an entire year outdoors would be really rough on such a thing, but this one must be made out of some super industrial strength foam designed for all kinds of weather and butt-fuckery because it looks as okay as a foam mattress that has been left outside for a year and fucked on by all sorts of beasties can. It is amazingly clean. There is a little foam grit on its surface, no doubt due to the natural decomposition of the foam, but other than that it has held together well. I glance about me. Once things leaf out this will be an ideal place to get fucked, but right now it feels a little out in the open. I decide to climb the opposite ridge of where I entered the little valley. From this vantage point I can see the new bridge the Park and Rec folks put in that runs alongside the railroad tracks, as well as the eastern edge of the ball parks. I used to park over on that side before I got smart and bought a park parking sticker.

As I’m taking in the rest of the landscape, I see a lone male figure walking on the tracks. He’s wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and jeans and that is about all I can make out. I watch as the figure disappears from view, under the foot of the hill. Was he walking in my direction? Did he see me? Soon enough he reappears at the foot of the hill and my immediate reaction is to run and hide. I walk down the hill, my heart pounding, not from exertion, but due to a kind of mounting anticipation. Reaching the mattress, I turn around and peer at the ridge where I’d stood moments before. Sure enough, the dude in the blue sweatshirt appears. Momentarily, we both freeze in place, scoping each other out. I decide he’s not a threat, turn my back on him and move to the foot of the mattress. He comes down the hill and stops about two yards from me. Without exchanging a word, we continue to eye each other.

He’s younger than I thought, with a very handsome, rugged face which currently bears a very serious demeanor. He’s about my height, nicely filled out and obviously in good shape. His hair is a dull, brownish-red and cut in a moppish style. The whole look screams former frat boy; the boy being most evident in the tiny smile that shyly stretches his mouth on occasion, peeking out like the sun breaking through a grey sky. But the smile doesn’t stay long enough for me to get a beat on him and I remain unsure if he’s there for some fun. I also can’t tell if he’s interested in me. The notion that he could be a cop crosses my mind, so I remain extremely cautious. Taking a few steps closer to him, I turn around so he can get a good look at my ass. I’m hoping he will reach out and grab it if he’s interested, but I get nada. Glancing over my shoulder, I eye the crotch of his jeans, which is pretty much covered by the bottom of his sweatshirt, so I can’t tell what’s going on down there. His hands have been in his pockets the whole time. Usually, if a dude is looking for something, he will start playing a little pocket pool to make his intentions known, but, in this case, that’s not happening either. This has gone on for about five minutes now, which seems like an eternity when your fright and flight mechanism is working overtime. I decide to go for broke. Stepping closer, I stand so that my crotch is pushed slightly forward in his direction. Either he takes the hint or I leave.

He takes the hint. That smile that I had only seen a glimmer of before reappears in a big way. His hands come out of his pockets and move to undo the button and fly of his jeans. I quickly do the same; both of us hauling out our equipment at the same time. My equipment is definitely a little heavier duty than his, but from what I see, what’s not to like. A nice pink, bullet-shaped dickhead pokes out from the front of his open jeans and instinctively I go to my knees, pushing my jeans down as I go to expose my ass. As my mouth engulfs the full length of his dick, what to my wandering eyes should appear? But a mass of brilliant red pubes! OMG! I have myself an elusive ginger dick! His cock, though not huge, is quite nice and tasty. It may even be uncut, but he’s excited enough to where I can’t be totally sure. One thing of which I am sure, though, is that this dude likes what I’m doing. Sucking his dick, I let my hands wander over his body. He’s got a tight torso and a set of very sexy pecs. For fun I tweak his nips just slightly. Reaching down, he checks out my dick and then stands back up, pressing the back of my head firmly into his crotch. After working that dick over for a bit, he says, “I want to fuck that ass.” Music to my ears and he needn’t say it twice.

Flipping around to kneel on a corner of the mattress, I throw down the contents of my left pants pocket: two condoms (regular and xxl), a mini package of lube, and my poppers. My pants are still around my calves, so my legs are stuck together. My newfound friend also has his pants around his ankles, so together it makes for an interesting fuck. Turns out we work well with our limitations. In fact, it makes it pretty hot and tight. I take a hit of poppers as he enters slowly, after wisely choosing the regular size condom. As cramped as I’m feeling, this position turns out to have its advantages. I’m really grooving on the way he’s sticking it to my ass. When he pauses to catch his breath I decide to take over. Even with my limited range of motion, and perhaps because of it, I am able to power back on his dick with a fierceness that surprises and delights me. He’s liking it, too and it isn’t long before he jumps back into the game matching me push for push. We’re totally in sync and it doesn’t feel awkward at all – in fact, just the opposite is true.

“You’re going to make me cum,” he chokes out. “Is that cool with you?” “Fuck, yeah,” I say, without missing a beat. “Go for it.” We pick up the pace just a bit and soon he’s making those sounds I love to hear.

Having subsided, he pulls out and I whip around to pull the condom off his dick. It’s a habit I’ve started to develop. I think I just love the sight of that cum-filled reservoir tip, but I also want to be helpful. Standing up, we restore ourselves to order pretty quickly. Actually, not much time has passed, but then the lack of leaf coverage probably added a lot to the urgency of the situation – best to get off before getting caught and there’s nothing wrong with a fast fuck. I’m flush with the rush. I ask him, “So how did you find this place?” He grins. “You told me about it. Today.” I laugh. “So it is you. I wasn’t sure.” I then explain where the actual Prairie is in relation to where he found me and tell him how amazed I am that we just happen to find each other on this side of the tracks. He tells me he’s going to walk around awhile and we walk away from one another in opposite directions.

Heading back to the Prairie, I am still in awe of the fact that the hook-up worked. The odds were just not in our favor: two people who have never met before, a dude I have no idea what he looks like, a place he has never been before, an original meeting place selected and then abandoned, the fact that he was over an hour late, the fact that it was outdoors, the fact that no one else was around… you know, it really shouldn’t have happened at all.

But it did. And it was great.

I guess sometimes the universe wants what it wants and not even someone being an hour late or someone moving to a location not previously agreed upon or discussed is going to stop it from happening.

For that, I am grateful.

Trust the universe.