Just Look at Me

St Louis--February, 2012

I didn’t know if I would find someone to play with on the penultimate night of my stay in Saint Louis. I didn’t know if I even wanted to--the night before had been so good. But of course I got online after my work day was done. And had long chats with time wasters or all-oral-with-no-picture-in-the-profile guys. Just as I was about to settle in with an ‘apple and a good book,’ a message from a incredibly built man arrived. We worked out details in five exchanges. He touched up his cleanout and was over.



I still have the red bandana over the lamp from the night before, but it’s more than enough light to show off the muscle man standing in front of me. It’s an angular face, with that slightly scarred skin from a massive case of acne in the past--a look that is often rugged and hot on many men. He is certainly one. A former bartender at the leather bar, he tells me. And in the Army before that. It is cool outside in St Louis on this February evening, but he’s worn shorts, gym shoes and a tank top. All to expose his muscles. As he should. They are tremendous. He’s out of his clothes in flash. I join him, conscious that he makes me feel even thinner than I am.

He’s left on a black jock with yellow piping. But I think he just likes the color--no mention has been made of piss play. He sucks me for a bit. He’s good. But he needs me up his ass. He gets on all fours at the edge of the bed.

“Do you like to rim?” he asks.

I don’t even answer. I pull apart the muscled cheeks and get my tongue as deep as possible into his hole. He moans in appreciation, turns to look at me, then covers his head with his arm. I’m soon standing and slowly inserting my cock. He grunts encouragingly as I slide into his wet hole. After a few thrusts he wants more lube. And his lube. Mine won’t do. He pulls away from me and gets his Gun Oil out of a pocket of his shorts. I apply and re-enter. Again he looks back and me, then burrows his head under his arm.

I am doing my typical rim, fuck, rim, fuck as he stays on all fours--but he never looks at me again. I ask if he wants to ride my cock. He does. I lie down and Army Dude chooses to sit on it looking away from me. “To warm up,” he tells me. This position really shows off his technique. He knows how to stroke my cock internally; to milk it as he sits still. He can clench his ass down to be extremely tight or leave it loose. I watch the muscles in his legs work as he bounces. He never settles back onto his shins. And he never turns to ride it facing me. When he finally pulls off my erection, he asks to lie face down and for me to just pound him.
Of course I do. I fuck. And hard. His ass is a mound of muscle. My hips and pelvis smash into him and make loud smacking noises as we fuck. He never turns this time at all. His head is buried. I briefly wonder if he’s high and trying to hide it.

We break. We talk about his growing up in St. Louis. He tells me about fucking girls and fucking his Drill Sergeant. We both talk about losing partners. He’s more open then--and looks at me. He’s certainly not high. To test this new intimacy, I tell him I want him on his back. But the moment I stick my cock in him, he will not make eye contact. He looks anywhere else in the room, but at me.

Time is short tonight, with starting late and still one more day of work. I let him know I have to cum and get to sleep. I get him into doggie and I fuck as hard as I have any time that night. His head is still covered--not daring to look at me.

I cum. He does not give a single drop back to me as I sink to my knees and run my tongue down his hairy ass crack.

He is up. No question of his getting off. At the door he seems appreciative. A quick hug…but he still can’t quite bring himself to look in my eyes…