Albolene

Jersey City, NJ—December, 2017

I dropped the Professor off at the airport and made it home safely and much faster than my usual exit from Chicago.  It had been a great trip.  I waited a couple of days—and went to the bookstore.  Disaster.  There were very few men there.  And I chose not to play at all than ‘make do.’

I flew back to Jersey for the holidays and my brother’s marriage to his long term partner.  He was improving (and still is) at a faster than expected rate once he was finally out of the ICU.  His improved condition helped me relax a little and I realized I wanted to find some ass.  I still wasn’t in an easy position to head into the city, but when a bareback bottom wrote me, who lived just a few blocks from the apartment, I couldn’t say no.  Maybe I should have…

I’m in no hurry.   The last message he sent stated he needed some clean out time and to give him 30 minutes.  I grab my lube and put my cock ring on.  I’m starting to plump just at the thought of some ass.  I get into my winter coat, though it is a warmer than average day for December. 

It’s an easy walk and I have loads of time.  I go through Lincoln Park.  I walk around the fountain.  I take the long way to his street.  I arrive on his doorstep at the 35 minute mark.  I ring the bell.  Nothing.  I am on the edge of going.  And the door swings open.

He’s late 40’s, maybe 6 foot tall and an occasional gym member.  His face is pleasant—the dark hair rather shaggy.  The moment the elevator doors close he tells me he hasn’t even started his clean out.  He’s had to get rid of a sometimes trick who was bugging him online. 

We arrive at his cluttered (and under renovation) apartment.  He seats me on the couch and gives me a glass of water.  There is Raw Fuck Club porn playing on the very large television.  I settle in as he excuses himself.  The bathroom is just steps away—and he converses as he goes about his routine.  I answer the few times I am asked a direct question—but it’s mostly a monologue about the young man who comes over to smoke his pot and never puts out.  And ex-boyfriends. 

I find myself sharing the couch with a rather smelly mongrel who has decided to get up on the couch now that his Dad is occupied elsewhere.  The dog is friendly enough—he won’t take his eyes off me—except whenever he decides to lick his own penis.  I watch him.  Right now he’s having a better time than I am.

It’s a good 45 minutes and the movie has ended and switched to another.  But I’m glad he’s taking the time—I love a clean playing field.  The monologue has stopped for the moment as he’s stepped into the shower.  I hear it turn off.  He dries himself and emerges without a word and goes into the bedroom.   Am I to follow?  I hear him turning on porn in there—so I go in.  The monologue starts again—wondering if I like Black guys in my porn—but he never lets me answer.  I strip.  There are clothes piled everywhere.  I strip, but I don’t know where to put my jeans.  With the dog?  On the pile of clothes that look the cleanest?  I hang them on the door.  I put my boots back on—I don’t want to be barefoot.

He finally looks at me and pats the space beside him.  I sit and lean against the bank of pillows.  He takes a scoop of Albolene and coats my dick.  And then proceeds to give me a great blowjob.  It involves some hand movements with his mouth.  I’m not usually a fan of being jerked with a mouth glued to my head, but this is different.  He knows how to stroke—and he’s taking me deeply into his throat. 

And he can’t talk.

I let him proceed.  Finally I need to eat his butt and fuck.   I tongue him on all fours.  My tongue finds more Albolene—which tastes horrible. I line up my cock and enter him.  He takes about 5 minutes of fucking—I have yet to bottom out in him—he’s only taking ¾ of my dick.  But he can’t take it.

He goes back to sucking.

I ask if he wants to ride me so he can control it.  Nope.

He lets me try once more on all fours and me standing on the littered carpet.

“It hurts.  Can you hurry up and cum?”

Normally, I would just pack up and get out.  But it’s been a full week since SteamWorks.  I need to shoot.  I think about nothing else, willing it to happen.

“I’d rather you shot on me than in my ass,” he tells me.

I pull out without even another stroke.

I slap his ass with my dick and stroke one off—something that I could have done at home.

I go into the bathroom.  There is not a single towel.  He does show up with some paper towel so I can try to get the Albolene off me.

He prattles on as I dress.  Telling me it was good sex.  I am barely listening.

I look at the dog.  Is it me or does, he have a rather smug expression on his face now that his head is just resting on his paws?  His eyes follow me out the door.  

I can’t wait to get out into the crisp winter air.