Blue Balled

Upstate New York—January, 2014

After the terrific sex on Sunday, it took another week to find anything I’d bother to write about here.  I had the usual time wasters on the sex sites.  But I also had two men who I’d met last year expect me to take another turn up their asses.  The first was a man who had refused to clean out when we fucked (I’d found out the hard way.)  I told him no.  The second was a man who had wanted to tied and abused.  I had done just that, and then he whined so much, I had faked an orgasm and left.  I told him no, too.

The arcades were dead.  I did start to suck a Black man who I found jerking.  Until he said he wanted to see my pussy.  I said no.  He lost his erection so I left.

Another bitingly cold day, a man suggested I drive 20 miles to him—and we’d fuck in the front seat of his compact car in some snowy roadside park.  I said no to him, too.

A visitor to the city (who I’d met last year) invited me once again to his motel after work.  He was on the bed, looking inviting on all fours.  I entered him   Suddenly, he was bleeding.  Copiously.  We stopped.  I went home.

I did meet up with the Fireman who I’d fucked and fisted last year.  He’d asked for latex back then.  I looked for him online when I first got to town, but could not find his profile on Adam.  I found it on BBRT.  My cock leapt.  We talked.  He’d found the joys of topping bare, but wanted it covered if it was going up his ass.  I sighed but agreed.  We met up.  He was still as hot as ever.  Great pecs, hot butt.  He had a new Raw Dawg  he wanted to use so I wouldn’t have to condom up.  We tried.  I barely fit.  We re-lubed it.  It hurt more than any condom I’d ever worn.  I stopped and grabbed a Magnum.

The fucking was nice.  I’d just gotten my right hand up him when his ever present phone rang.  It was the station.  He had to report back in—not an emergency, but he had to go.  I got dressed and left.  But I couldn’t.  My car would not climb the steep hill of his driveway.  The snow had been packed to ice and I could not get more than a few feet up it.  He had to tow me out.

I was now angry.  Not just blue balled for the sixth day in a row.

I had to pass by the largest arcade on my way home.  I took the exit and stalked into the dimly lit corridor.

 

There’s activity.  I hear grunts and moaning.  I listen closely.  They all sound like movies, nothing happening live.  I pass a door with the red light lit over it.  Locked.  The next one is lit, too.  Locked as well.  I wonder if the shades are up on their buddy windows.  I pass several empty ones.  The corner booth has the door ajar.  I open it—feigning that look of ‘I’m so sorry--I didn’t know someone was in here.’  I like what I see.  So does he—he gestures me to come in.  I do and lock the door.  The man looks like an ex-boxer—built tough and with a nose that took some abuse.   He’s wearing denim’s and a flannel shirt.  A leather jacket is open.  He’s been kneading the front of his Wrangler’s.

“You suck cock?” he hisses next to my ear. 

I nod.  I get down on my knees.  It’s a tight fit in the cramped booth.  I open my fly and let my raging cock out as he unzips.  It’s a nice thick cock.  It lengthens a little as it goes in my mouth.  He can’t wait.  He starts fucking my face.  I jerk as I suck.  The tough guy has his eyes closed.  His fingers are all over my ears.  He’s not using them like handles, but caressing them— surprisingly softly and delicately.  He pulls out just as think I might have him on the edge.  I look up.  He’s staring at my cock which is swinging as heavily as I’ve ever seen it—almost hitting the floor.

“You fuck with that thing?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes his pants down, underwear and all.  He turns toward the screen. His ass is full. Hairy ass cheeks are right at eye level.  My tongue goes into him experimentally.  Shower fresh.  I dig deep.  He grunts louder than the guys on the video.  I get him good and wet.  I stand up.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

I don’t say anything.  I just look at him.

“You got a condom?” 

“No.”  And I don’t.  Not on me.  And I’m not going to the car for one.

He looks at it again.  Silence.  “Put it in anyway. Easy, though.”

I add lube to my dick.  That I do have in my pocket.  I work it slowly up him.  He bites his lip and turns away.  I am halfway in.  I pause.  I can feel his ass relax around the invader.

“How much is that?”

“Half,” I murmur.

 He swallows hard.  I inch forward.  A little more.  I’m there.  I tell him.

“Fuck.  I really took that thing.  It’s been months since I took any cock.”  

I’m holding again.  I let him breathe deep.  Then I begin to fuck.  Barely.  But it feels great for both of us.  He is moaning under this breath.  I barely need to move to make his body react. 

It isn’t long before I can increase the strokes.  He bends over more, to allow for the deeper thrust.

“This is so hot,” he grunts out.  “Just don’t cum in me.”

I nod--wondering if I can keep that promise.  And if I want to keep it.

After all the blue balled days—and the play earlier—I know I have to shoot.  I can feel it building. Maybe he does too, for at that moment he twists away, pulling off me. 

“I got to get home.”  He is pulling up his pants and tucking his cock away.  I am pretty sure he hasn’t shot.

“You want me to take care of that?”  I gesture to the disappearing cock as he zips his jeans shut.

“Naw.  I just want to get out of here.  I’ll take care of it as I think about what you just did to me.”

He’s unlocked the door and is gone.

Blue balled again.

*****

I do get off that night.  I finally have to jerk off.  I watch Rod Painter take on a whole group of men in some sleazy bar in Berlin.  Soon enough it’s me who is plowing his piss drenched ass.  I waste a weeks’ worth of cum into a tissue...