The String is Broken

The Playroom--March, 2012

I met him at a motel party.  He was a fun group bottom.  He was always eager to jump into any combination of guys.  But I wasn’t sure that there was enough there for an extended playtime at my place.  But he wrote repeatedly.  He begged.  He said really nice things.  He told me he had more of a kink side than he could show at the motel.  He hoped for piss in the ass…


Well, that did it.  Sure he could come over.  We had to work hard to make our schedules mesh--I’d had all that travel for work, and an incredible amount of play.  But we found one.  Finally.  He drove in and arrived mid day.  I took him upstairs. He undressed as I went back down to my bedroom to change.  Soon I am clumping up the stairs…


He is on the floor, right where he should be. Kneeling.  Looking expectantly at my bulging jock.   He is carrying more weight than he should, but I concentrate on his fine ass.  It is framed in some sort of ass-less brief, now all the rage.  The large globes of his ass look delectable, framed by the fabric.  

I stand before him.  “Get my cock hard.”  He leans forward.  His mouth is all over the pouch.  He moans.  I am getting hard quickly from his hot breath and his eagerness to serve.  Soon the big head of my cock pokes around the fabric.  His mouth is all over it.  I push the fabric back. My shaft springs out, slapping his face just below the eye.  He swallows it down.  Ah---yes.  I remember that mouth.  He’s good.  He knows how to  suck creatively.  I am hard and dripping on his tongue.

And I’m ready to fuck.  I get him on all fours on the bed.  I kneel ready to rim…

But there’s blood.  Not coming out of his hole, but in a ring a half inch around it.  I grab some paper towel.  I dab at it.  It’s still bleeding.  There is no way I can bury my face in his ass.  I slip on a Magnum and try to fuck….but the moment is totally broken.

I tell him.  He is devastated.  I explain that if I can’t rim, I’m not going to be any good fucking.   And he knows that from our previous play.  I try again, but there is even more blood  flowing.

We try to talk as he dresses.  Neither of us know what to say.

Empty promises are made about playing another time.

Then he’s gone.

And my string of great play dates screeches to a halt…