Near Home—May, 2016
I didn’t need or want sex for almost a week after all the play at CLAW. I came home on Sunday and I did not even feel a stirring until Friday. But I sure did by Friday morning. I woke up with an erection that just wouldn’t go down. I felt seventeen again. After all the butt sex in Cleveland, I was ready to suck some cock. I went to the bookstore nearest me.
I am on my knees, a dick lodged in my throat, five minutes after I walk into the straight theatre. We are against the back wall, next to the couch. A man is sitting next to us, stroking as he watches. The cock I’m sucking is nice enough—a good mouthful. The man’s an easy cummer. I suck him down often when I’m there. He’s little work—for, usually, a big payoff.
The door opens. A little gnome of a man comes in. He all but gasps when he sees me on my knees, working a wet dick. He shuts the door quickly, plastering himself against the wall. Down comes his zipper. He cups the band of his underwear under his balls and strokes in time with the thrusts into my mouth.
My man grunts and shoots a big load. I pull back just enough to make sure it pools on my tongue before I swallow it. I want to taste it, dammit. It’s why I’m a cocksucker. I won’t let go of his cock. My tongue is all over it, getting every drop. He writhes in that exquisite agony we all know. Finally, I’m satisfied. I thank him, get up and take a swig from my water bottle. Just like a wine tasting—a want my palette clear for the next load.
The man on the couch gestures he wants me on his dick by spreading his legs. I kneel and go to work. Thinner cock, upward curve. Slightly more work, but a man who I know will be able to get off in my mouth. The gnome changes sides of the room—all but waddling what with his pants around his knees. He never stops stroking as he crosses the darkened room. He can see better over there and he wants to see my every move.
I get the new guy off the moment my tongue hits his balls. I have to dive for the erupting dick. I don’t let any splatter on his worn work shirt. He holds my head in place. I am just able to taste his jizz (bitter) before it spirals down into my stomach.
He leaves. I swig my water and move to the spot on the faux leather couch the man has just vacated. The watcher sits next to me.
“I’m just a voyeur. I don’t want anything. But I sure want to watch you have sex.”
“No problem,” I tell him truthfully. Any reader of this chronicle certainly knows I like an audience.
“Do you know these guys?
“From here. I’ve played with both of those two before.”
“And you don’t use a condom?”
“I will use one for fucking a guy, if that’s what he wants, but never for oral, no.”
He looks slightly shocked, but beats his dick faster. He lapses into silence. It’s a good movie. My dick is rampant. I stroke. I look over. His eyes are plastered to my cock.
“I can’t imagine,” he sighs. I don’t know if he means taking me—or having sex like I do.
“I’m a germ-aphobe,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t like other people touching my…privates.”
And then he proceeds to tell me he’s married. To a woman. They haven’t had sex in forever. But he loves watching sloppy sex. The kind he can’t abide in real life.
As if on cue, the woman on the screen erupts—pulling off the man’s hand and squirts all over him.
“That is so nasty,” he mutters, jerking all the faster.
And hour or so later.
I am in the gay theatre. They are actually showing a bareback video. (It sure didn’t take long for Michael Lucas to change his tune when he saw where the money was…) And it’s hot. Nasty. Raw. I have just taken my third load of the night while the man watched the oral cum shots on the screen. He’s gone. I’m stroking and I dribble some of the man’s load out of my mouth and on to my dick to stroke.
I do so quite happily for ten minutes or so. Alone.
I do myself up and check the straight side. Deserted.
Back I go to the newly condomless boys. A man I know is sitting in the corner stroking a beer can of a dick. He’s ten years or so younger than I am. Hairy, with dark tight curls poking out of the top of his t-shirt. They cover his crotch, too. I remember having played with him here before. A good cock sucker. And better, he loves to eat my ass.
I shut the door, walk over and settle down between his spread legs. He smiles at me and tells me to suck his cock.
I stand up, when my knees can’t take it anymore, and feed him mine. He sucks me to the root easily. A pro. I hold his head and fuck his face.
The door opens. A Latino boy who always begs to be fucked walks in. He may want to be fucked but he never preps. I know that’s not happening.
My cocksucker pulls off me. “Let me eat your ass.”
In answer, I pull a chair around, kneel on the seat and push my butt out towards him.
The door opens. It’s the watcher.
The rimmer’s tongue spears me. No warm up licks. He’s into me with a vengeance. I groan loudly.
Out come the two dicks of the other men. They stroke—one on either side of me.
My rimmer is grunting and jerking his dick as he sloppily eats out my hole.
The Latino can’t stand it. He shoves his cock into my mouth. It’s not what I want, I try to move away. He holds me in place and fucks my face. Hard. With his stubby, uncut cock. Maybe in payback mode for all those times I’ve told him I won’t fuck his dirty hole.
The rimmer is now using his chin on my ass crack. His late night stubble grates up and down my slick ass. I moan around the dick in my mouth.
The watcher grabs the wastebasket out of the corner and puts it down in front of him.
I am moaning with the double invasion.
The watcher shoots. Arcing perfectly into the wastebasket. Not a drop gets on the floor.
My rimmer stands up. I get off the chair and spin around. I want to taste my hole on his tongue.
We kiss noisily.
I shoot all over the beer can dick. Nothing as neat as the Watchers orgasm. My jizz drips to the floor.
I fall to my knees and clean what’s left off his cock.
Tasting every drop as I swallow it down.