Near Home—January, 2016
I need to get back to writing.
After coming home from IML, I have gone right into my busy summer where work takes huge amounts of my time. I’ve also been unsure where to start back up with my unwritten adventures. I certainly have a few stories from these last six months I want to share. I’m not sure they will be written in order—as they usually are—but I’m thinking I will write whatever I feel like talking about at the moment.
This is the oldest one. It’s January, right at the end of the month. Before January got bitterly cold and before Dad died.
I’m in the bookstore. I’m on the couch in the straight theatre. I’m here on, of all things, a Wednesday afternoon. And it’s working. I’m seeing new faces. This month has seen a fair amount of fucking: New Year’s Eve, Dean at the hotel, Derrick and Jacob in their playroom. Now I’m hungry. I want dick in my mouth.
And cum to swallow.
I stroke. I twist my balls. I feel like I could blow a load any time. I twist the hairy orbs again. My dick settles down. I stroke. Back in control.
The door opens. Two men come in—both about my age. The overweight bear sits on a chair near my couch. He looks at me and my dick, not at the screen. The other man sits next to me. He’s as thin as I am, quite distinguished looking with short, dark hair, greying at the temples.
He unzips the moment he sits down. He pulls out a bigger than average seven-incher. Hard and dripping.
He knows what he wants. He knows what I want. He reaches over, grabs the back of my neck and guides my head down to his erection.
“Suck it,” he whispers. “Suck it slowly.”
I take most of him into my throat, but it’s a bad angle. I pull away from his guiding hand and slither around to kneel between his splayed legs. I have the perfect angle now to deep throat him.
But he pulls me up and off him. “I said slowly. Don’t rush it.”
I take an excruciatingly long time to let my mouth travel the full length of his shaft. My tongue flicks at his balls as I bottom out. He sighs, holds me in place and then guides me back up his swelling column of flesh.
“That’s it. Slow and hot.”
I go down on him again. Almost in slow motion. I can hear the bear jerking off behind me. I am now being held by the ears and being used as a living Fleshlight. He is moving me up and down his wet cock at his tempo. For his pleasure.
And it’s all so slow. I have to keep swallowing and breathing through my nose—though he’s not so thick he cuts my air off totally. I am pulled up so just his dripping head is in my mouth. I swirl my ever-moving tongue around the wet helmet.
The door opens. I can’t turn my head to see who it is. But someone else witnessing my servitude sets my top off. He grunts and begins to cum.
He pushes me down. Slowly. I can feel every jet spewed into my mouth. I swallow and swallow and still he’s shooting. I’m only halfway down his cock. He’s still spurting—totally in control of me and my ever moving descent down to take his full shaft. We bottom out—his last spasm is shot deep in my throat.
He holds me there.
“Now that’s what I needed,” he whispers—leaning forward—and slowly pulling out of my mouth.
He leaves. I start to stand up, rather shakily.
“Where are you going?” It’s the new man. I know him. He has fucked my face many times—usually in the back corner of the gay theatre. He never gets hard. But he always delivers a load. He pushes me back down to my knees. “Suck this big dick.”
Of course it’s not. Not even if it were hard. But I suck him as if he were the biggest stud ever in my mouth. The bear stands up. He brings his cock over for a turn in my mouth, but Mr. Softie will have none of that. That is, not until the bear shoots his load all over my cheek. The man pulls his flaccid dick out of my face and scoops up the load with his right hand.
“Eat it. You know you want it.”
I lick his fingers clean. And again. And again until there is no more cum on my cheek. Or on his fingers.
“Get on your back. I want to fuck you that way.”
I do it. On my back and head over the edge of the couch—my legs splayed on the back of the couch.
“Oh, yeah.” He pushes his soft dick into my ovaled mouth. He grinds into me. A couple of thrusts and he’s over the edge. Another big load. Swallowed. And the even limper dick licked clean.
There’s a big Black dick next. He stands next to the couch and uses my mouth. But he wants ass—reaching down and trying to feel my hole. When I shake my head, he goes off to the arcade—where I’m sure he has a choice of butt.
After all the men, I get a boy. He’s barely 20, with coffee colored skin, and from Pakistan. He’s in and out of the straight theatre for a good half hour. Restless. A man tells me he’s never seen the boy do anything. Well, he does something today. When we are finally alone, he lets me suck his long, thin cock—a cock that has the most generous foreskin I’ve ever had in my mouth.
Well, he sticks it in my mouth. He cums in mere moments.
I go home. Well used. And happy.