A Dreadlocked Vision of Things to Cum

The other night; I had an ad out on Craigslist.  There were the usual six replies.  I’ve gotten quite good at eliminating the spam (I request that they put a certain phrase in the subject line of their inquiry, like ‘Use You Now’, or ‘Fill Your Holes’).  Though I will respond if from an I-Pad or I-Phone, because, apparently users of these devices are either unable to change the subject line of a reply to a Craigslist ad, or are simply incapable of following directions.  I also don’t respond to emails that don’t follow the whole stats-and-pic in the first email directive or are off-topic.

Out of the six replies there are always two stinkers; dudes that send poorly conceived dick shots and leave either their age or weight out of the stats equation.  All three are red flags for me. It’s not that difficult to take at least one good photo of your dick and omitting a basic stat merely draws more attention to it and makes me think they’re trying to pull one over on me.  

That leaves four real possibilities.  One will be eliminated because he asks too many questions or gives me the impression that he is rather skittish when it comes to anonymous encounters.  Another will be eliminated because he wants to morph my scene into something it was never intended to be by requesting that there be at least one other guy present, or that they want to do it the next day, or they want to do it in a different city, state, country, planet, or galaxy.  I have never understood why either of these people answer my ad, other than to waste my time.

That leaves two good prospects.  One will commit right up until the moment that ‘something else’ comes up.  That is always such a letdown, though I frequently suspect that they had no intention of actually meeting me (or anyone). 

As for the one that does show?  It’s always a gamble, always a surprise – sometimes pleasant, sometimes a crippling disappointment.  Typically, I don’t bother blogging about the less-than-stellar encounters; there’s nothing very entertaining about whining about bad sex.  But those that do deliver?   Oh, yeah.  Think of it as a way of reliving the adventure.  Those that I do write about?  They should take it as a compliment.

Now, I have a horrible habit when it comes to trolling the net.  I will post an ad, or sign into a site, work it for a half hour or so, and then walk away from my laptop.  Sometimes it’s laundry, sometimes it’s dishes, or the dogs, or sometimes it’s doing my prep work in order to get fucked.  In any case, I kind of forget to check back in a timely manner.  This has cost me some tasty possible hook-ups, and that was almost the case on this day.

I’d been away from my laptop for at least thirty minutes and had, in fact, given up on the hope of getting any.  About to cancel the ad, I noticed an email from someone with the handle ‘needitnow’.  He didn’t bother to change the subject line, as requested, but I decided to bite anyway.  His stats looked somewhat promising, (“Blk,ddf clean, 220, 5'11", 7" cut”), his intent well-stated (Looking for great head now.), and he indicated that he was close by.  All well, and good.  His weight gave me reason to pause (220 on a 5’11” frame?), and he failed to give his age, but those concerns were quickly pushed aside once a saw his dick pic.  It was a beauty; lovely slight curve, big flaring head, thick, and nicely veined. Like a fatty jonesing for a Big Mac, I had to have that motherfucker now!

Problem was, 25 minutes had elapsed.  I hit the reply button, sent him some pics of me, and hoped for the best.  His answer came quickly.  “I have a family thing I have to attend. Damn.  I sure could have used a trip to your garage.”  Hopes dashed, I replied that I hoped another time might work in the future and wished him well. I sent a couple more photos, in the hopes that he might find me worth remembering.

His reply pleased me, “Maybe I could stop by on my way to my family gathering.”

A time was set.  I was excited and ran to the garage.  It had been a warm day, and now, as dusk swiftly fell, the temp in the garage, which tends to hold the heat or cold of the day, was perfect.  This was to be a suck job only.  More and more I find that I like this scenario, as there is a lot less prep involved. I threw a nice quilted packing blanket on the floor next to my vehicle, got out some wet wipes, my pistol pete jock, my two favorite chrome cock rings, a bottle of mild poppers, and a pair of clean, white gym towels. Stripping, I slid into the jock and the cock rings and waited, hand on the button to open the garage door.  I didn’t wait long at all.  Once his vehicle pulled into the drive and he shut off the engine, I powered up the door, standing there in nothing but my socks, jock, and a cap.

Yes, it was kind of risky. I do have neighbors.  But given the hour and the brief time the door was open, I felt pretty safe, the potential thrill worth it.

--  --

In swiftly strides ‘needitnow’.  And my whole image of what is attached to that beautiful dick pic has to be immediately rebooted.  The man is… gorgeous.  He has a headful of dreadlocks that drape down to his broad shoulders.  Former high school football player is my immediate guess.  He is tall, built solid, with not an ounce of flab anywhere to be seen.  With his square jaw and masculine, good looks, his whole demeanor makes me think that people know better than to mess with him. 

Boy, do I want to mess with him!

As the door closes behind him, I get on my knees.  Hey, dude is there to get his cock sucked, and has to be somewhere else soon; might as well get down to business.  He smiles at this gesture of conciliation, revealing a nice set of even pearly whites.  He’s wearing a pair of pressed oatmeal-colored linen pants; the kind only African American males can get away with.  White guys wearing those same pants always look like they are on safari or are a douchebag heading to a casino.  His dark dress shirt looks silky and sexy; I want to tear it off him, but resist the urge.  Instead, I help him drop his pants and boxers. 

His dick is not hard; probably nerves, but I’m used to that.  A garage is a strange place to have sex.  I need to get him to relax, and know that taking his cock into my mouth will do the trick.  I tease the tip with my tongue.  I’m eager to wake this sleeping beauty, but don’t want to rush this, the discovery phase.  Mr. Dreadlocks is freshly showered, so there’s no funk to be found when nuzzling his balls.  That’s cool.  There’s plenty of stuff to keep me entertained.  At the moment, my primary directive?  Get his sail up and flying.  

I swallow him whole and begin nursing his cock.  Based on his posture, I can tell he is way too tense, and for a moment I am thinking this might not work.  But I persevere, pulling back on it, allowing the tension in my lips to coax him to life before swallowing him whole once more.  My eyes scan his abdomen. Nice.  Mature.  His skin is dark: a lovely baker’s chocolate hue.  My hands roam over his calves, thighs, and, finally, his ass.  All are as solid as rock.  Sure, he probably doesn’t hit the gym as often these days, but the man is hot and solid. 

I close my eyes and concentrate on the subtle sensations I am trying to achieve.  My tongue comes into play, cradling the underside of the shaft as I pull back on his cock.  Slowly, his dick lengthens and widens, reaching in, pressing against the insides of my throat.  As my lips hit his neatly trimmed pubic area, Mr. Dreadlocks emits a low, earthy moan. 

Pay dirt.

As it grows in size, I become truly impressed.  The pic was nice, but the real thing is a wonder to behold.  He claims only seven inches, but I am thinking it is more like eight.  And it’s width?  A true throat pleaser. 

Once hard, Mr. Dreadlocks really gets into it.  He takes off his silky shirt and pulls up his tee, exposing an awesome pair of pecs featuring two perfect, cherry-hued nipples.  Cock in mouth, I reach up and start playing with those pert babies which sets into motion Mr. Dreadlocks' hips.  He grabs my head, firmly but gently, and begins to slow fuck my mouth.  I grab a buttock with each hand.  Feeling them undulate, contract and release, I start to imagine what it would like to be fucked by this dude.

He is doing such a great job plowing my throat all I have to do is enjoy the sensation and concentrate on breathing though my nose.  As he picks up the pace, my eyes start to water and I find myself having to pull off in order to get my bearings.  He bends over and hands me my poppers. 

Taking a hit, I look up at him as he smiles down upon me.  He seems much taller than the 5’11” he’d claimed, but then, from the vantage point of a cocksucker on his knees, every man seems tall. 

Gesturing for the bottle, I hand it to him. As he takes a hit, I time it so that I reach the base of his cock exactly when the poppers kick in.  His cock throbs in my throat, as we both ride our high.  Soon my saliva glands go into overdrive, as I drool all over his dick, making it slick and easier to manage.  Mr. Dreadlocks reaches down to start playing with my nips, squeezing them gently with his big, meaty fingers.  I am hard as a rock, a fact that does not escape his notice, for soon he’s bending down further to give it a few strokes.

 

Oddly, there is nothing desperate or rushed about his movements.  That’s not to say there is not passion there. His strokes are more like the moves of a considerate, experienced lover seductively testing the waters.  My mouth, on the other hand, is going to town on his dick; slurping and gulping, licking and sucking.  Afterall, I am on a mission: I want this dude’s nut.

Given the time constraints we are operating under (his ‘family thing’), I am very surprised when Mr. Dreadlocks kicks off his shoes and steps out of both his boxers and pants. “Man, you are really good at this.”  I take the compliment. 

Handing me the poppers again, I pull off his dick and take a second hit.  He does the same.  My mind goes into a spin and I find myself concentrating solely on technique, changing things up every 4 or 8 swallows.  At one point I pull off his dick completely, allowing the underside of the head of his sweet cock to rest on the tip of my tongue.  Then I concentrate on the underside of his shaft, my tongue massaging that large vein; the delivery system of my heart’s desire.  Next, his balls get my full attention, as my right hand moves to gently stroke his spit-soaked member. 

Is he enjoying this?  I don’t know.  So focused am I on the task at hand, I become oblivious to all else.  My mouth soon joins my hand, as I begin a technique I think of as ‘the old whore’s trick’. With my hand wrapped around the base of his cock, I first dive deep, taking as much of his cock as I can into my mouth.   As I pull my mouth up off his dick, my hand follows.  Once I reach the tip, I pull my mouth barely off his dick, as I run the palm of my hand over the top of his dick.  That done; the hand grasps the shaft, as my lips part over the head of his dick, before my mouth follows my hand back to the base of his dick.  It’s a very rapid movement, but it never fails to bring a dude close to the edge.

Apparently, this is true of Mr. Dreadlocks as well, for, after only a minute, he pulls me up onto my feet saying, “No.  I… I don’t want to cum yet. You are too damn good.”  I smile.  Face to face, I’m not sure what to do next, so I move in for a kiss.  Surprisingly, I am not rebuffed.  Frequently these anonymous types of scenes tend to be ‘no-kissing’ affairs.  Given his über masculine stance, I figured he wouldn’t be into it. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

The first couple kisses are rather tentative, but before I know what’s hit me, we’re macking like horny teens in the backseat of a sedan at a drive-in movie. His kisses are masterful, our tongues mingling, I get swept away.

Taking my dick in his right hand, he begins to play with it.  I do the same for him, loving the feeling of his powerful cock.  Soon, I take over for the both of us, mashing our dicks together.  We’re actually pretty much the same size, so maybe he is only 7.5”.

Mr. Dreadlocks starts playing with my nips again, and that leads to me grabbing his ass for a little nut fucking.  Bouncing into each other ignites something, and soon our tongues are down each other’s throats once more.   Man, I like kissing this dude.

Our pelvises still grinding, this gives me the opportunity to explore the rest of his body.  His arms are nice, worked out, hard, muscled.  I caress his wide shoulders and back.  This ends in a tight embrace, our kisses ardent, as I find myself getting lost in the moment.

But there is work to be done, and nut to be had.  I move back to my knees.  Normally I would suck him bent over, standing up, so he could play with my ass, but, not only do we not have time for that, I am also not prepared.  Going into maximum overdrive, I work his cock like a whore who only gets paid if the client gets off in ten minutes or less. Sometimes this gambit comes off a bit too frantic, desperate, needy, but all that deep kissing has both of us ramped up and Mr. Dreadlocks is now definitely on board with coating my throat with his juice. 

He lets me drive, and I put all my skills to work.  I resist the urge to use that old whore’s trick with the palm wrap, simply because I want him deep in my throat when he shoots.  

He doesn’t disappoint. 

It’s that low moan, the one that just hangs there in the air, deep, rich, and guttural.  Gets me off every time.  As I feel his dick expand and contract, locked deep, I know that he’s unloading.  I shoot mine at the same time, a high, muffled cascading whine escaping from deep within.  My jizz splatters between Mr. Dreadlocks' spread legs, all over the dark blue quilted packing quilt; a nice display I point at with pride later when he asks if I came. 

Mr. Dreadlocks takes his time extracting his spent cock.  Dude stays hard, enjoying the tightness of my throat.  Seeing as his nut was buried deep, I never get a sense of how it tastes.  And the little bit coating the shaft of his dick once he does pull out doesn’t offer much of a clue either. 

Amazingly, he seems in no hurry to go.  He allows my tongue to clean him up as much as possible.  His only concern seems to be that I shot my load as well.  He is duly impressed with the puddle I point to, as I hand him a gym towel.  I grab a wet wipe to complete the clean-up work on his dick, which is still hard as it disappears into his boxers and linen slacks.

Our small talk is perfunctory, tinged with a kind of sweetness.  Seems we are either both a bit shy or maybe a bit taken aback by how explosive and intimate this anonymous, random encounter played out.  Now dressed, he reminds me that he has to get to his family gathering.  I tell him I’m happy to have helped him out and willing any time; discretion assured. I hit the button for the garage door and Mr. Dreadlocks makes a quick exit.

Long after the mouth wash I keep handy has nullified his seed, Mr. Dreadlocks' quiet intensity stays with me.  We’ve been emailing back and forth.  Not wanting to come off as a stalker, I did wait for him to hit me up first.  He wrote, “You were amazing.”

Well, I hope for another opportunity to prove him right.

Because, he is right…

I am an amazing cock sucker!