Rules of Engagement

Jersey City, New Jersey—November, 2017

During the last days of my Indiana contract, I got word that my older brother (my only brother, my gay brother) was gravely ill.  I finished the contract and got back to Michigan.  I did laundry, repacked my bag and flew to Newark.  He was now in the ICU and things were not looking good.  My brother’s condition was unchangingly critical for my first three days there.  By the fourth, the antibiotics began to clear his blood stream and finally started attacking the infection in his lung.  He went from a 5% survival rating to 50%.

As things calmed, my libido slowly returned—but hooking up while living with my brother’s partner and his cat made for many challenges.  I couldn’t host at the apartment.  I didn’t have a smart phone to do the Uber thing.  Calling a cab was totally unreliable (as we learned to our dismay on a banking errand.)  I needed to be able to walk to my tricks.

I was new meat.  I did generate some interest.  But seemingly every man who contacted me was 5, 10 or 55 miles away.  I did talk to one promising pig, seemingly in our neighborhood.  We set the day and the time—but he vanished, never to be seen again, before he gave me an address.

 

I just stopped trying.

Then one night, my brother's partner went into the city for a rehearsal.  I got on the hook up sites with no real thought of finding anyone.  I got a hit on Asspig.  A cute younger man was cleaned out and looking for some fist.  He gave me an address three or four blocks away and a phone number to call.  The whole meet was set in three or four exchanges.  I finished my tea and went off on the adventure.

I find the building easily.  It’s a beautiful older apartment complex from the 1920’s.  I go up a few floors and find his door.  I knock.  A small dog barks.  Well, yaps.  I am let in.  He looks just like his pics—5’10” or a little less, a trim 160 pounds.  His hair is short and dirty blond.  He goes to the gym, but not excessively.  He’s only in a red jock—and his ass is magnificent, a bubble butt just dusted with the blond hair.

He shows me to the back bedroom after I say hello to the dog.  I find the bathroom and piss.  I clip an offending nail and file it quickly with emery board I was smart enough to slip in my back pocket on the way out the door.  I strip as we talk about my reasons for being in town.  I learn he has a partner in the city.  Totally open relationship.  But with a couple of rules.  No sucking, rimming or fucking.  Fist only.  I watch my absolutely raging hard on begin to deflate.

But I’ll take what I can get.  I like him.  It will be a pleasure to get at least one body part into him.  And there has been no mention of gloves.

He gets on all fours.  Fuck, I want to bury my face in those tempting mounds.  But I kneel behind him, caress them and finger his hole.  I lube up with J-Lube from the bottle he’s placed on a chair next to me.  Four fingers on my right hand easily disappear.  The same on my left.  I fold my thumb under my fingers and my whole fist presses against his hole.  He relaxes—and I enter him.  He groans and takes a hit of poppers.

His hole is great…responsive and trained.  He can push me out.  He can let me in.  He’s in charge. 

We fist in doggy for a long time.  He relishes that “pop” as his sphincter snaps around my wrist each and every time.

We switch to him on his back.  I love our eye contact as I enter him.  I can go a little deeper than up my forearm in this position.  I bend and put my cheek on his abs.  I feel my hand as it invades him.

We go back to doggy.

We switch for a brief moment of my supporting my elbow on the mattress.  He stands astride it and lowers himself on to fingers, which fold into a fist as they go into him.

“You can punch fist me if you want.”

I don’t need much encouragement.  He takes a huge hit of poppers.  My let goes in easily—then in/out/in/out/in and out.

We do it with my right hand.

He flops over onto his back. “Rape your boy,” he grunts out.

I punch now with alternate fists.  Left.  Right. Left. 

And he spurts.  All over those abs.  He allows a quick lick of his cum before he rolls away.

I am dressed and out the door.

I go home and shoot a very pent up load into the wash basin in the guest bathroom.

I wasn’t really planning this entry for Christmas Eve—it’s just where it fell. 

In early December my brother began to really improve.  He’s still in hospital—but in a recovery facility doing rehab after so many weeks of no activity.  I am back in New Jersey.  About three and a half hours after this gets posted, my brother will be marrying his partner of 23 years from his hospital bed.  I’m best man.  I need to stop writing and pack the rings.