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!