Slipping One In Just Under the Wire / Codename: Piledriver

Slipping One In Just Under the Wire

Codename: Piledriver

March 1st. 

Before I get ready to go to work, I always sip a big mug of coffee and watch an hour's-worth of news. This week... and the week before: New York. China. Covid-19. Watching, I'm not sure how seriously to take it all. Is this media hype? Or the real deal?

I get to work. Super early… 5:00 am, most days. I don’t need to, I just do it. That way I get through my emails, have my little meltdowns, swear a lot, make some coffee, peruse the news… That's how I ease my way into my day.

Some mornings I’m feeling a little frisky, too. 

But this morning...

There’s something in the air that morning. A weird vibe. A strange electricity. I know something is up. But what?

I’m feeling edgy. In need of release.

Morning sex? Typically not my thing. But then I get up really early. By the time most people are rolling out of bed, I have a couple of hours at the office under my belt and am in need of… a break.

That’s where apps like Grindr come in handy. I’m mobile. It’s mobile. And it’s entertaining, as long as you don’t take it too seriously. It’s like donuts at the office. I don’t typically eat ‘em. I never make the effort to get them. But if something comes my way? 

Sure, I’ll take a bite.

I’m finalizing a spreadsheet that is due that day when my phone makes that little purring sound, meaning someone on Grindr is hitting me up. 

I take a look.

Oh, yay. Another faceless, no-picture, no-nothing profile. I don’t know what it is about me, but I am very popular with this demographic. I know I should ignore, but, I do have that itch that needs scratching… so?

His profile has a name.

Piledriver.

My hole twitches. I am intrigued.

There are a few stats: 34, Black, 5’9, 165
Instead of the usual: how are you, what you doing, what you looking for, what you into, got pics, I got pics, you got pics, I got pics, send, send, you host, no, you host, no… *radio silence* - Piledriver is direct and to the point.

PD: You’re up early.

Me: At work.

PD: You wanna come over, climb on my bed and get fucked?

My heart races.

Me: Yes. Where?

He sends me his address. I Google map it. He’s twelve minutes away.

Me: Wait. Who is this?

He sends me a pic. It’s his body, minus his head. Naked.

Me: I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

Dude’s bod is sweet. And his dick! Seals my deal. Somewhere between 8.5 and 9 inches I am thinking. I am excited.

It’s 5:45 am. And I have me a date.

And now I have 19 minutes.

While getting ready at 4:00 am, something - my spidey senses? - told me that today was going to be very different. So, whenever I get that feeling, I do what what comes natural - I prepare to get fucked. That's simply my go-to. Most days, I make sure I am fuck-ready before leaving the house. 

However, morning douches? Terribly, terribly unreliable. A bottom's ass should come with a warning sticker: contents may have shifted during flight. Meaning, one should always check. And then recheck. And then check again.

I grab my bag. 

My bag. It’s larger than it needs to be, black leather, but it does hold everything I could possibly need in the event of a zombie apocalypse or a Nazi invasion. I run to my favorite mens room, right near the exit where my car is parked, and do a pre-flight check. I am good to go. I brush my teeth. I gargle. I hit the runway.

I have 12 minutes.

Google maps. I follow the directions. Only, there is something wonky going on with maps, and it keeps sending me in a loop. The second time I make the loop (it happens), I realize what's going on and start scanning street signs with my own eyes. Yeah. Google maps was totally wrong. The address is actually at the opposite end of this particular neighborhood. 

I pull into the apartment complex's parking lot and find a spot near an entrance door. At least I think it is an entrance door. It is not. I have to walk all the way around the building. I am now ten minutes late. It also occurs to me, in that moment, that this whole thing could be a case of catfishing (it happens), but I am determined to see it through.

I find the entrance and press the button for the apartment. The door buzzes. I try to open it and no-go (it happens). I push the button for the apartment again... no, again. One more time, door buzzes long enough to let me in. 

I take a flight of stairs and begin wandering the hall, looking for the apartment. Instructions say the door is open and I should walk in. I try the door handle. It is locked. My heart sinks. My body flushes with shame. I am so stupid. I smell catfish (it does happen).

But then, to my left, a door opens... it's him. I assume. He ushers me in through a private entrance, which opens to a small hallway with a bathroom and the door to a bedroom. His? Cool. 

All he has on is a pair of briefs. His body is smooth and compact and in great shape. Beautiful contours. Great muscle definition. Dark ebony skin. He reminds me a bit of a dude I had a major crush on when I was manager of the music department at Woolworth's in downtown Minneapolis in the mid-eighties. 

"Be quiet. Roommate's sleeping."

I nod, promising to do as told.

I move to the far side of the bed and begin to strip. There's a big screen TV at the end of the bed playing some movie - not porn - an action flick. Not exactly sexy, but it is the only light in the room. He's naked now. Hard. Stroking his big dick. Waiting for me to get on all fours and present my hole for breeding. Once naked, I move back around to the other side of the bed, poppers in hand, and climb aboard. 

He crouches down and spreads my ass cheeks. "Nice..." he breathes, before burying his face between them. I'm in good hands. It's obvious he does this a lot. I unscrew the cap on the poppers and take a minor hit. No need to get greedy. Yet.

The small pull of the poppers combined with his wide, flat tongue, working my hole, centers me; making me feel as if I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I am doing. I relax. 

The logistics involved, the prep work, and finding my way there - all melt away. I frequently have no idea how much anxiety I am feeling until I have a moment to focus on it. That moment was right then. With the weight falling from my shoulders, I push my ass back onto his face just a tiny bit, enjoying the sense of power and added sensation. He responds by getting a bit piggy, rutting around in my ass crack like a truly hungry man.

About to take another small whiff of poppers, I take in my surroundings. Neutral earth tones. Generic pull curtains. The way it's set up, it might as well be a hotel. It certainly feels anonymous enough. It tells me a bit about the man currently devouring my hole. He's a basic, no-frills kind of guy. Neat, clean, but only what is needed. Nothing more. 

A harbinger of things to come?

Suddenly, he rises, gets to his feet and steps back.

"Don't move."

I comply.

"Spread your ass."

I comply.

"Want that pussy fucked? Want that pussy good and fucked?"

I concur.

He takes a step forward, dick in hand, and with his other hand pushes on on the small of my back. 

"Down."

I submit. 

I feel the head of his dick pressing against my slicked up hole. But I know my hole. That is not enough lubrication. I have some handy. I reach forward and grab my little leather kit that I had placed on the bed. In it: poppers, cock rings, a black thong, condoms, and lots of little packets of lube. I tear one open and liberally apply it to my hole. I take a big hit of poppers and nod my head for him to push on through.

Thus begins one of the oddest fucks I have ever experienced.

Dude uses his dick like a medieval battering ram. My hole being the castle doors. 

Pushing all the way in. Then pulling all the way out. Over and over and over again. His dick is thick and long and straight as an arrow. And feels great. But his approach and delivery is so deliberate.

In. Pause. Out. Pause.

Every once in awhile he stops, drops his dick, and admires his handy work; my freshly cleaved gaping gash. Then, resuming his stance, he to continues plowing his massive meat in and out of my ass. 

At first, I feel the pressure. There's resistance. A little discomfort. I hit the poppers and it melts away. But after awhile, I find myself lost in thoughts, all work-related, or planning my exit, or watching a bit of the stupid movie. Such a stupid movie! 

You see... in this scenario, I am but a prop. 

There is no engagement. No real heat or passion. Oh, sure, I participate, falling back on old reliable lines, like... 

"Oh, fuck, yeah... use me. You da man."

or

"Take it, man. That hole? That hole belongs to you."

But, I'm really just reciting lines. Not without conviction... but not with my usual fire - because, frankly, there is none.

Still, I do find it interesting. Something new. And I am always open to trying something new. 

As if sensing my detachment, Mr. Ram Jam changes up his game a bit. Now, once inserted, he remains in in my ass awhile. Long enough to get some nice mini-pounding done before pulling it all the way out again and repeating the whole process. 

This piques my interest. I think... hey, I like where this is going.

After banging my hole in that manner for a bit, he pauses again, stares at my hole, like a baker looking at a cake through that little window in the oven door, and declares...

"Yeah. It ready."

He rams into me one last time, stays and then begins delivering punishing blow after blow. My hole is so relaxed, warmed up and used to this treatment, it actually feels real good. And I mean really good.

Without touching my dick, I blow my load all over his bedspread. I'm mortified, but he's too busy to notice.

As that is happening, he pulls me back by my hips until my feet hit the floor next to the bed. He roughly pushes at the middle of my back to prevent me from standing. He wants me bent over. With hands back on my hips, he continues to jackhammer my hole... until... 

He freezes.

I can't see, but I can feel. I can feel his whole body tense, his head flying up and back. And then... he just holds there, frozen, as if defying gravity.  From the back of his clenched throat escapes a sound... a rattle, really, welling up in pitch and volume. 

His dick expands and contracts deep within me as he dumps his load. 

Then his whole body seems to re-form. Tension released, it morphs back to its previous form. 

And his whole demeanor changes. I turn around, to retrieve my clothing and get dressed. I look him up and down. In place of stoic Mr. Ram and Jam, I see a smile... a well earned smile. He moves in, pats me on the ass, like we just played a game of football, and cracks,

"Fuck, man. Thank you. I needed that." 

Now I smile. And begin to apologize for shooting my load all over his bedspread, but he waves me off. 

He saunters down the little hallway and disappears into the bathroom. He has that cute jock walk... you know, like a boxer, where they seem to bounce on the balls of their feet. 

Dude is so cute.

I dress as quickly as I can. I have to get back to work before being discovered. I poke my head into the open bathroom doorway, catch his eye and quietly tell him thank you, before making my way to the little side door I came in. 

I have a rule. I always exit the way I came in.

I am down the hall, halfway to the stairs, when I hear the side door, now behind me, open.

"Hey. We do this again."

I pause at the top of the steps.

That little gesture. It brings a big smile to my face. I nod affirmatively, turn and bound down the stairs. Back in my car, I finish putting myself together. I gargle with antiseptic mouth wash, even though neither his dick or lips ever came near my mouth. I pull my jeans and underwear down and do a quick wipe all around there, too. It stings so good. I wipe my nose (popper residue) and put in eye drops. 

Once back at the office, I make a beeline for my favorite bathroom and douche. Fortunately, I get to head to the gym in another 30 minutes. There, I keep my workout brief and to the point so I can hit the showers as soon as possible. 

When I return from the gym, I poke my head into my boss's office. He looks up.

"Busy day?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Pack your stuff."

My eyes go big. 

What does he know?

He catches the change in my expression.

"No, no. Covid. Everybody is to work from home until further notice. I'm just drafting an email announcing it. One will come from corporate headquarters within an hour. But I want to get out in front it."

I ask him to explain and then run to my desk. I water my peace lily, knowing that within a week it will be wilting and within another, dead. I gather up all my stored food. My plain oats. My trail mix. My protein bars. And as I'm moving toward the refrigerator in the kitchenette, I wonder...

What does this mean? What happens now? What will it feel like tomorrow?

And then I smile, knowing...

...I slipped one in just under the wire.

--- ---

Working from home, for entertainment purposes only, I get on Grindr at 5:00 am. 

True to his word, Piledriver keeps hitting me up a couple of times a week. Each time I beg off. Covid-19. Social distancing. 

After three weeks, I stop hearing from him. 

I hope he's okay...

The Piledriver Waltz - Arctic Monkeys