“This furry cub needs to be bred.” His picture showed a perfect bubble butt of fur. His face pic was engaging. He said 39. I guessed mid-forties, but that was fine. He was all the way across town and it was approaching rush hour. “Right now?” I typed. Yeah, right now. A no frills fuck. No sling. No piss. No toys. Just a good breeding. I got in the car. The 20 minute drive became 30. Texts flooded my phone. When traffic ground to a standstill, I texted back, saying I was a mile away---but not moving. Then the traffic began a crawl that got me to his exit, to his road and to his house. It was small and had an ancient car on blocks in the side yard. He answered the door in just a pair of jeans. I upped my guess of his age to 48 to 50. The pics were 25 pounds ago, but he wore them well. I stepped in. Inside it was immaculate. I was led to his rather western themed bedroom---Navajo blankets, watercolor landscapes of the desert and Monument Valley and cowboy boots sticking out from under the bed. We stripped…
We kiss for a long time. He’s good. Hungry. Receptive. First standing, then we roll around on the bed. It’s been a long time since I have had that big a man on top of me. My hand touches his furry ass—and I become rock hard. I work out from under him.
Eventually I stand and brush my cock head against the hole. He winces, though I don’t even try to enter. I just milk my dick head to get some precum to mix with my spit. I drop back down and eat. He is in no hurry it seems. And neither am I. His full ass is hot and sweet and making my dick drip.After who knows how long, I rise up and press my cock, dripping with lube, into his hole. He winces and clenches. I have just the head in him. I hold it. I flex it slightly. He groans. Not in a good way. “Take it out.” I do. I return to eating his hole and he sighs.
But soon enough, I stand up again. I get the head of my cock in and maybe an inch of shaft. “You are huge. I can’t….”I just look at him.
“Well, not in doggy.” He rolls over. I clamber up on the bed, fold my long legs under me and get his legs up on my shoulders. I wish for my sling---but smile. This is actually worse—I start entering him and he rolls away. “I can’t take you.”“Really? You saw my pictures.”
I go into the bathroom and piss—now wishing I was pissing on that expensive blanket we’d been trying to fuck on. I come back out when I’m done. I stroke myself to full hardness. He just looks at me from his fetal position on the bed.“Please go home.”
I toss my lube into my gym bag and kick into my jeans. It takes agonizingly uncomfortable minutes to lace up my boots. He stands, in an ancient terry cloth robe, just looking at the bulge in my jeans. I’m angry. And silent.He lets me out the door without a word.
At least the traffic has cleared…
And that was my last Nashville encounter. Not the way to go out. I headed home to Michigan the next day.