Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

I am headed out tonight to a venue where I should find great material for a new post!

I am taking a break from the History write-ups as I need to do some research.  I am right at the point of coming out and losing my virginity.  Fortunately, I kept a college journal.  I just need a little time to decipher my very cramped cursive.  It is interesting to read my perception of things at 20.  Surprisingly similar…

When I post again on Sunday, it will be back to business as usual—reporting on current sex.  The History posts will likely be about once a week from here on in.  (Once I’ve started them, I don’t think I can stop…though I’m not likely to use any photos of my horrible mid-1970’s hair…)

History: Jerking Like Crazy

 

I was a very fat baby at birth.  And I didn’t want to leave the womb.  I was expected in late November and showed up just before Christmas.  The story that my mother didn’t tell me (until a touch of dementia loosened her up a little) was that I came out pissing.  A geyser.  Everywhere and all over everybody as the doctor held me aloft.  How perfect for a man who loves to include some piss in his sex.  It goes right along with a recurring childhood dream of swimming in a pool of piss.  I had it nightly for years…

At around six months old, I lost all that baby fat.  I was thin.  Painfully thin for all my childhood.  I am still under weight for my height.  And now I am thankful for it.

I took my time learning to walk.  I am told I could crawl so fast, I didn’t bother with the other.  But once I did, I ran.  The old homestead was the perfect place to race with the wind across the fields.

But I digress.  We left me with a dry orgasm…

 

I desperately wanted sex.  But I didn’t know how to go about it.  I was still pretty much a loner.  I had friends, but not anyone that I thought would do that “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours” thing.

So, I read Dad’s books when I could find them.  And rubbed.  Wrapping my hand around my shaft took me some time to figure out.  I did not shoot.  I just got an occasional pearl of liquid.

My Ninth Grade ID Card

I was now in ninth grade.  My last year of any kind of gym class.  And everybody was maturing.  But not me.  A kid, destined for the football team, had matured earlier than most.  He knew it and paraded around the locker room stark naked showing off his man-sized dick.  As the fall semester progressed, it seemed like everyone else was catching up with him.  Lower voices, pubic hair.

And me?  Nothing.

That November my church presented the opera Amahl and the Night Visitors.  I was playing Amahl, singing boy soprano.  The first show went smoothly.  By the second one (on my 15^th birthday, no less) I thought I had caught the cold that had progressed through the company.  I had to really work on my high notes.

It wasn’t a cold.  In two weeks time, I was a baritone.  Puberty was upon me.  Hair—below the waist I was a forest.  But nothing on that scrawny chest.  But best of all, I was getting more and more semen.

In one of Dad’s books, there must have been a mention of self-sucking.  I don’t think at the time I would ever have thought of it on my own.  I tried it.  I bent forward.  Nope.  I lay on my back and curled my legs over my head.  My cock was right in line with my mouth.  Bingo.  I licked and shot a load in my mouth. 

And loved it.

The bunk beds were now side by side twins in my big room that I had all to myself.  The headboard was slatted.  I found I could use my toes and get them into the space between the slats.  I could grip the head board with them and stay in place. It was uncomfortable if I stayed that way too long.   So soon, I would just roll up and over when it was time to shoot.  It was so much easier on clean up.  Otherwise, I’d have to haul out that yellowing athletic sock I kept under the bed.

During the summer before I went to high school, I was doing one of the jobs around the farm I hated—picking up the litter along the road.  Our once sleepy rural road was suddenly connected to a new portion of an interstate.  Traffic doubled—then tripled.  In 1972 we were still a nation of litterers.  So at least once a week I was tasked with picking it all up.

Well, this hot July day got hotter as I picked up a piece of newsprint.  I seemed to be a newspaper for swingers.  There were ads looking for thirds to add to couples, a couple looking for a Dom, etc.

But there was also a picture of a man fucking a woman.  I could see his dick going into her.  A first for me, in this age before the internet.  The covers of all those porn novels were drawn—and never showed anything that hardcore.  It was always a tease—a moment depicting just before you did the deed.

I raced through the rest of my chores.  I dumped the trash, washed my hands and took my find into the barn where I couldn’t keep my hands off myself…

*

High School.  At last.  I was growing taller—and fast.  I remember sitting in class and picking at the cuffs in my grey corduroy pants.  I had to let them down—I just kept growing.

I was still unsure of how to approach anyone.  I’d found my group easily—the drama club—and there were boys there who I knew had to be gay.  But I didn’t make a move.  There was one who actually lisped and walked like a girl—I couldn’t.  Another I was sure was queer one minute and then he’d do something that left me doubtful.  Yet another was just strange—but he seemed to have eyes for me.

I also wasn’t encouraged to partner up from watching the hetro side of things.  There was a nasty break up of a couple while they were currently cast as the love interest in the play we were doing.  I hated the tension and nastiness of it all and wanted no part of it.  Add to that my parents wondering when I was going to start dating, I just told myself to wait.

And I did.  I waited until I got to college and was in my own space.

*

There was one more discovery during high school.  The summer of my sophomore year, my brother came home for the summer and moved back into that tiny room.  He brought with him a metal box, the kind of locked box where you keep your important family papers.  Of course, I snooped when he was away at work.  They were magazines.  Not the over-the-counter gay magazines, but stills from the fledgling gay porn industry.  He had seven of them that were gay and one straight one.  A light bulb went off.  Was he gay?  Did he have the same feelings about guys I did?  But I knew he’d be brave enough to act on it.

I looked at one of the gay mags.  Then I made myself look at the straight one.

I knew which turned me on more.

I waited.

And dreamed…

I won a scholarship to college—and made the newspaper, so end of my senior year.

History: Another First

 I am typing this while I keep an ear open for the call from the auto repair place.  My car should be done today…

 

I was devasted.  As my older brother hit adolescence, he wanted his own room.  Didn’t he love the bunk beds as much as I did?  I really didn’t want to sleep in the big room all alone.  But he was adamant.  He was now a teenager; he wanted privacy.  I was going from playmate to just the kid brother he had outgrown—and I was not happy about it.

The only room possible for him to have was a tiny space at the top of the stairs.  It had been my great grandmother’s sewing room and storage for my parents.  There was just room for a single bed and a chest of drawers.  As time went on, he fit a desk in the corner and made room for his first stereo.  He could sit on the bed or at the desk, but that was about all.  But it was his.  Best of all, there was a door he could shut.  And maybe lock, I don’t honestly remember.

I got along just fine without his constant presence.  I had to.  He had a paper route now.  He had new friends from junior high.  I was happy alone in my make-believe world. Or walking to my elementary school.  It was across the field and then around a subdivision that was being built right up to our back property line.  As families moved into the cheap looking houses, my brother soon created a baseball team.  He made them work hard to build a diamond in our back field.  I sat in the tree, quite content to watch…

*

I continued my exploring, to see if my dad had hidden anything else around the house.  Our farmhouse had a Michigan cellar.  It was finished stone for most of it, but there was also an area of bare soil so you could bury your vegetables for the winter, in those days before refrigeration.  I loved to go down there.  It was slightly spooky with a single bulb lighting it.  The finished space was filled with chests and crates from my parent’s college years and early married life.

I sifted through the contents:  school books, maternity clothes, photographs of my mother’s college friends.  Another box:  my father’s scrapbook on young princess Elizabeth, his Eisenhower jacket, an army duffle bag and a tiny box of medals. 

I moved on to the shelf unit, built into one wall:  paint, old tools and a box of odds and ends of hardware.  And in the bottom of the hardware box was another paperback novel.  The cover wasn’t as lurid.  It showed a very fit guy in a cowboy hat chatting up a waitress who could barely keep her breasts in her tight blouse.

I put it back, just as I found it.  Was Dad reading it now—of was it as forgotten as the two in the barn?  I waited.  I checked on it constantly.  I had placed an old kitchen faucet so it just touched the top corner of the book.  Every time I checked back, it was always in the same place.  He wasn’t reading it.

So, I did.  Sometimes I felt aroused.  But even at my young age, I hated the verbiage of “his thick column of pleasure parted her swollen gates of heaven…” I finished it, but it did little for me.

*

In no time, I was 11 and my brother was in high school.  Both busier.

I found more books at the bottom of a garment bag in the basement.   There were three or four.  And each time I checked on them, they were in a different order—so I knew he was currently reading them.  One night, when mom was at choir practice, I went to bed early.  I waited.  I heard the door to the cellar open.  I waited a little more, my mind racing.  I came down the stairs in my bathrobe.  Dad was just walking into the living room, in his robe and pajamas.  He looked surprised.  I went for my drink of water, feeling victorious.  I had seen the top edge of one of the paperbacks in his bathrobe pocket.

I was suddenly 14.  My brother was off to college.   My Mother had gone back to teaching once I was in middle school.  I had long afternoons while both parents were still at work.  This is when I discovered Everything You’ve Always Wanted to Know About Sex*…in Dad’s closet.  I read it cover to cover.  I didn’t know what to think…

More books turned up.  But with the 1970’s they were filthier now.  And I liked them more.  I found another three under the front seat of his car when he sent me out to bring in a box he’d left there.  Two were the usual.  And one had a picture of just men on the cover…

I tucked them quickly back in the bag and under the seat. The next time I could, I re-read the chapter on homosexuals according to Dr Reuben.  I was appalled—and fascinated.  I had looked at the men and boys in the Montgomery Ward’s Catalog; pouring over the underwear section.  But I did the same over the brassieres and girdles.  I knew I wanted to read that book—but being in his car made it much, much harder.

But good things come to those who wait, right?  For some reason Mom and Dad had to switch cars.  There was no way he would leave those in there.  I searched the barn.  Our travel trailer was tucked in the corner—and there they were, under a tarp.  And they stayed there, as if he’d forgotten about them.

Soon, there was a church dinner followed by a building committee meeting.  My parents would be gone for hours. They had no issues leaving 14-year-old-responsible-me alone.  I waited five minutes after they were gone.  Out I went.  They were there.  I grabbed the gay novel and took it inside.  I sat in the living room to read.  None of that bad porn writing was here.  It was straightforward—a young man having his first sex—with another, slightly older man.  I read.  The young man was talked into getting his cock sucked.  My own penis erected, hugged tight by my Fruit of the Looms and corduroy pants.  The older man now told the younger man to roll over.  I changed position, too, lying with my chest to the cushions, still with my nose in the book.  The older man began licking the younger guy’s butt.  What the hell?  I couldn’t imagine.  But the author had the young man moaning and telling him not to stop.

The older man did stop.  I flipped the page.  There was a very intense description of him working his large, hard cock into the young man’s asshole.  The guy taking it was begging him to stop.  My hips were grinding into the couch cushion without my even realizing it.  I turned another page and now the young man was begging to get fucked harder.

“I love what you’re doing to me…” the young guy groaned.

My hips had a mind of their own as I read.  They ground into the cushion.

“I’m going to cum,” panted the older man.  The author gave a vivid description of the thrusting.  Of the cock swelling.  Of a huge, overflowing load being shot into the young man’s ass…

My hips bucked—and I thought I’d pass out.  Oh, my God, I was having a heart attack!  I dropped the book and tried to sit up.  I could.  But only just.

As my breathing returned to normal, I realized my cock was no longer hard.  I found the good Doctor Reuben and re-read the section on male ejaculation.  I knew what had happened.  I opened my pants.  My cock was still slightly hard.  There was no ejaculate.  My first dry load.

I couldn’t wait to do it again.

The summer I was 11.

History: First Stirrings

 Well, my car is still in the shop.  I have given up trying to get someone to come to the house.  So, instead of the usual post…something a little different.  I’ve been talking about writing it for some time, that is, attempting to write my personal sex history—those 50+ years before I started the blog.  It won’t be all at once.  It might not even be in sequence.  Just some snapshots from the past.  I’ll just keep adding some around the usual reporting…  

 

My family lived on my great-grandfather’s farm.  It had stopped being a working farm in the 1940’s, long before my parent’s moved in at the top of the 1960’s.  The farmhouse was old and drafty, built in the 1860’s.  My older brother (by 4.5 years) and I shared what was once the master bedroom upstairs.  (My parents, being smart, took the smaller, but warmer, bedroom downstairs.)  The only heat upstairs was through an open iron grate in the floor.

The grey stucco house was on six acres of land.  What once were fields of corn were now mostly high weeds.  There was a small stand of trees near the old chicken coop.  A huge maple stood in the back yard and the largest lilac bush I have ever seen grew on the site of the old privy.  But best of all was the barn.

It was painted grey to match the house.  The two family cars were able to be parked in it, but more importantly, it served as an amazing place to play.  Two creative boys could make it be anything:  a fort, a police station, a house, a castle, whatever we could think of next.  This was helped along by the hodge podge of things stored there: tables, chairs, china, a bed under a green tarp and a huge trunk that looked like a pirate’s chest.  (It was actually the trunk you tied on to the back of your Model T and it currently sits in my sun porch.)

We spent hours, well, weeks, cleaning that upper floor.  And playing.  And needing a bath before dinner we were so filthy.  (I still think my incredibly robust immune system benefitted from all that dirt I inhaled.)

But the barn also held the first inkling of sex.  Sometime during that cleaning, while my brother was out at the hose getting a drink, I found a brown paper bag wedged into a small space where the floor met the wall.  It held two paperback books.  They were porn, though I had never heard the word.  I was likely 9 years old.  I stared at them.  Unbelieving.  Then I heard my brother on the stairs.  I shoved them back in the bag and back into their hiding place. 

“Mom wants us to clean up and help with dinner.” 

I nodded and followed him into the house.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about those two books.  Were they Dad’s?  They must be, I reasoned.  I lay on the lower bunk of our bunk beds and thought back to what I had seen. Now, by this point, I’d looked at a copy of Playboy belonging to a friend’s dad, but this was different.  I closed my eyes and thought of the two covers.  The first one was a young woman running naked on a beach being chased by a naked man, ass shots of both.  The second was racier: a woman in garters and hose, with a black lace bra showing off for a half-naked hunk on the bed—all while another man was behind the head board snapping photos of her seduction of the guy.

Did my prepubescent dick get hard?  Probably.  I knew I had to go look at them again.  I did, of course.  Carefully.  Never sharing with my brother what I had found.  But I didn’t think to actually read them for almost a year.

But that summer held another surprise.  Just before we were headed back to school, my brother announced that a guy he knew was coming over.  I vaguely knew him, too; his younger brother was in my class (and the source of the Playboy.)  What was different, was that my brother said they’d be upstairs in the barn—and I was to stay out—and should go play in the house.

What!?!  I couldn’t believe it.  But I did what he told me to do.   I lasted maybe 30 minutes until the pull back to the barn was too strong.  I wanted to know what was going on.  I’m not even sure what I thought was going on; I just hated being excluded.  I went quietly in the big front door.  The sliding door to the stairs was partially closed, but my skinny body could slip between the door and the frame with no problem.  I paused on the first step.  I listened.

I heard murmuring.  I heard the guy laugh.  Then my brother did, too.  More low sounds. 

I started up the steps.  Softly.  Like a cat.  But I hit the step that was cracked and it squeaked loudly.

“Don’t come up here!”  My brother’s voice was loud.

I froze on the step.  “I just wanted…”

“Go inside,” he said firmly.

I turned and went down.

I heard the bed squeak, the noise the springs always made when we sat on it.  What were they doing?  And why couldn’t I join in?  Now they were laughing as I shut the sliding door.  I went into the backyard, climbed the huge maple tree and felt sorry for myself.  

The next day, the sliding door in the barn now had a lock on it from the inside.

Many years later, when I was no longer the pesky, inquisitive kid brother, I asked my sibling what they were doing upstairs.  He was indeed getting his first blow job that day from his friend.  Something that at the time I didn’t even know what it was…

Here we are a little younger. 

I have always loved this picture.  

The hero worship in my eyes. 

He was and is a great mentor.

A Grouchy FP

 My Desk—October, 2025

 

Well, hell.  For the first time since the height of the Covid epidemic, I have nothing to write about.  I have written up every meet I’ve had…

It didn’t help that I while I was away in Indiana, I couldn’t find time to play for eleven days—but I could on the last day in town (the bathhouse post).  And then again on the way home at a video store.

And the bookstore on Monday. 

A dental cleaning slowed me down the next day. 

And then my car died.  Radiator.  It is still in the shop.  That took care of my sexual road trip to the bathhouse in Cleveland.

But I had someone coming to the house the day after the car died.  He cancelled.

I had another man scheduled for this second week I’ve been home.  He needed to cancel.

My married cocksucker had a date set—and he cancelled.  Now he is back on.  He is coming in a few hours.  And an update:  he just cancelled!!

Until I didn’t have it, I hadn’t quite realized how dependent I am on my car to get me to places where sex is likely to happen.

Cross your fingers that I actually get it back next Monday…

 

Well, after this depressing post, a couple of pics to make me feel better….

Oiled Guy and the Old Man

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"You Don't Need the Condom..."

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Some Hot Pics as I Procrastinate

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The Man in the Parking Lot

 Northern Indiana—October, 2025

 

I drove home the day after my afternoon at the bathhouse.  You would have thought that the sex I had there would be enough.  Of course not.  I stopped at a dirty bookstore just before the Michigan border.  The lot had quite a few cars.  I parked…

 

There is a man sitting in the car to my right, as I get out of mine.  His eyes bore into me.  He’s mid-forties, Black and has a goatee.  I can’t see more—but he seems to like what he sees in me.  He smiles.  I smile, nod and continue in. 

I pay the clerk who hands me a wad of tokens.  This is the place that on one side of the back room there is a video theatre and there are booths on the other side—that still take tokens.  I start in the theatre.

I sit and take out my cock.  Behind me, a hot Black guy has his dick out and is jerking hard to the straight anal scene on the screen.  He is wearing camouflage pants and a tight, white A-shirt.  His muscles are huge.  He looks ex-military.  He glances over at me.  His face shows no expression at all.

A Latino comes in.  He is young and very average looking.  He comes over to me and sits on the other half of the bench.  In moments, he is stroking my cock.  And stroking it.

“You can suck it, if you want…”

But he just keeps stroking it.  Not offensively hard, but I want more.

The hot guy crams his dick into his pants and leaves.  I excuse myself from the stroker and go off to the booths.  There is the hot guy, scrolling on his phone, standing in the hallway near the restroom.  He gives me no more than a cursory look.  I go into a booth near him and leave the door open.  It is not one with a glory hole.  I find some porn to my liking and stroke to it.

The door opens and a man looks in.  “Here you are.”

It’s the guy from the parked car.  He is tall and instantly pulls his pants down to his ankles.  He goes to his knees just as fast and begins sucking me.  He’s good.  No, great.  One of those thick tongues I adore.  He clearly loves doing it.  He strokes himself while he sucks.  His free hand is caressing my balls, not working my shaft. 

He is now licking those balls.  Gently.  Reverently.  I sigh.  He digs in with a little more pressure.  I moan.  He slowly pulls one into his mouth.  He tongue-washes it.  Then the other one.  He releases the hairy orb and slowly licks his way up my shaft.

He repeats it all again.  Slowly.  And once more.

He pulls off me and sighs.  He needs to stretch.  He gets up.  I lean in and take his very hard cock into my mouth. He groans—but in moments it goes down.  He really is all about service.

We take a break.  I find a booth with a gloryhole that is not in use.  I go in.  Instantly a thick curved cock comes through it.  And it’s covered in a condom.  I jerk it a little.  I finally lean down and put it in mouth.  I can’t.  I can’t suck a latexed cock.  The guy had seemingly liked it, but it’s not for me.

I go back to the theatre.  The hot guy is there, just kneading his cock mound now.  I sit near him and stroke.  Then my cocksucker arrives.  He goes to work on me in front of others.  This pleases me a lot.  He’s good…and it shows that I am willing to play in public.  There are a few other men scattered around the room.  They watch, but don’t pull out their dicks.  Actually, it makes the hot guy put his cock away after a time.

Once again, I suck my sucker for a moment when he stands up.  I want the hot guy to know I am more than just a big dick to service.  But no.

A hot, young and ripped Latino comes in.  He’s been making the rounds since I got there.  Now he finally takes out his cock.  He’s rampant and he looks right at me.  And I lose out for lingering 20 seconds.  The Latin guy who gave me the hand job is on him and he’s sucking him, dammit.  Granted, it fits down his throat with ease. 

It takes the guy forever to get off.  I leave the room for another round with my sucker in the booth.  When we come back, the guy finally gets off.  And the sucker spits his load out.  Now I’m incensed…

I am treated to a quick sucking from an older man.  He’s fine, but nothing special after this guy who’s worked so hard on me.  When his knees tire, my sucker, who’s been watching us, goes down on me for the last time.  I take a hit of poppers, hoping it might send me over the edge.

Not today.

My sucker has to leave.  We exchange phone numbers.  He wants playroom time.

I use up my tokens.  And some others that men have left behind.  But nothing else is happening.  The hot black guy is back on his phone.  I haven’t seen his dick for an hour.

I realize that I need to continue my journey home.

It was a good diversion.  Just not explosive…

Bathhouse Relief!

 Indianapolis—October, 2025

I finally had a break from my work gig in Indiana.  I went to the bathhouse on a Saturday afternoon.  I am always amazed that a smaller city like Indianapolis, in a deeply red state, can support two bathhouses.  I have been to both and like both.  The Club, part of the chain, is right downtown and the clientele seems to be younger.  I go to the Works, which is on the north side and an independent bathhouse.  It has a new owner and major renovations were just beginning when I was last there in December.  I was intrigued to see what was new.

 

The changes are apparent from the moment I walk in.  You now buy your admission in a small lobby before being buzzed into the building proper.  I ask for a locker.  They are in a new location on the first floor and not the basement.  It was a room that once, back in the 90’s, had been a ‘movie theatre’ showing actual films for those who were staying for extended times and wanted a break from porn.  It has sat empty and unused for years.  It is a much more comfortable place to change than the crowded corridor the lockers were jammed into before down in the basement.  The first level has also changed the location of the vending machine to a small inhouse store for the usual lubes, jocks, etc.

I go to the basement first.  Everything here, minus the lockers, is the same.  Steam (working!) and the sauna, showers and a few rooms around the exercise equipment and four screens of porn.  There is still a glory hole room here. 

On the second floor is the biggest change.  The small television room and a room with a fuckbench are totally different. The rooms are combined.  There is a big screen television and three glory hole cubicles in the first area that connects to a four-screen viewing lounge, with comfortable seating, in the second.  It also has a flat padded space for play.  The bigger television room down the hall has gotten an upgrade, too.  Much more comfortable seating though not likely as playful an area because of it.  The sling remains in a separate playroom.

I am impressed.

There are not many men about yet.  I had undressed with a hot guy with what looked like a big dick.  We meet again in the sauna after my tour.  I have kept my uniform of boots and jock on.  He’s in a jock, too.  And he is stroking his dick to hardness.

A guy my age comes in from the steam room, lackadaisically drying himself and leaning against the wall.  He has huge, pronounced nipples.  Then a much younger man than any of us comes in and sits on the lower bench, just below me and off to the side.  He is a big man—a mix of thick, worked out arms and some extra weight he is obviously working to lose.  He is a talker and strikes up a conversation.  The two other men leave.  We converse about the new changes.  He hasn’t been upstairs yet.

Then: “If you’d ever like some head, let me know.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He moves around to kneel on the lower bench.  He opens wide and swallows me down.  Fuck!  He’s great.  It doesn’t hurt that I haven’t had sex in two weeks.  (I can’t believe that I just typed that, but it’s true!)  He adds his hand, a little too tight on my shaft, thinking he’ll get my load faster that way.

I ask him to ease up.  He does.  It feels so much better.  I lay my hand on the back of his head to urge him deeper.  He does it.  And chokes.  He comes up for air and attacks me again as soon as he’s filled his lungs.  He bops up and down rather shallowly and then goes deeper and deeper.  He chokes again.  This time bring up spittle.  He wraps it around my cock.  I let him clean it off, before I suggest he lick my balls.  He loves how sweaty they are from being in the warm sauna.

He finally needs a moment to catch his breath.  I suggest me meet up later after we both wander a little.

I sit along the side wall in the basement, stroking to the four-screen porn down here.  The guy with the big nipples comes over.  He drops his towel and kneels on it.  His head feels entirely different.  Maybe more suction and a tighter grip with his lips shielding his teeth.  It feels just as good.  He can’t keep away from my balls either (no urging for him to find them) and he leaves them wet and slimy.

He stands up.  I think he wants some reciprocation.  And I’m fine with that.  But as I go to my knees, he turns and leans against some of the equipment, jutting his ass out at me.  Yeah, I want him as my first fuck.  I move to rim his hole.

I can’t.  It’s totally foul.  I suggest a shower and he looks daggers at me…

I wander and end up in the new porn room upstairs with the four screens.  I stroke.  The big guy comes in and sits with me.  We chat some more.  He asks what I like to do sexually.  I tell him my fetishes.  All things he’s says he’s never tried…but is open to experience. 

We move on to fucking.  “I’d love to feel you in my hole.”

I nod and he gets on all fours on the new padded area next to the padded bench we were on before.  I get on my knees and pull his generous cheeks apart.  My face is truly buried by his mounds of ass as I tongue his hole.  I love it.  He loves it.  He keeps telling me to eat him out, get him ready for that big cock.  I do just as he asks.  Longer likely.  But both of us are right where we need to be.

I stand up and slide in.  He gasps, but adjusts quickly.  I fuck him.  Slow and deep.  Then hard and fast.  I pull out and taste his hole again.  The man is awash in his own juices.  I devour his fucked butt.  I reach down.  He has massive balls and his cock has retreated so far into his body I can just feel the head.  But he is leaking precum like crazy.  I cover my fingers and rub it on his ass. 

“You are so dirty…” he mumbles. 

I do it again.  His juices are so sweet, I can’t stop licking them up.

But I do, so I fuck him once more.

I keep licking and fucking him until I’m truly winded. 

We take a break.

I wander. 

I find a slim boy on all fours in his room.  He has a collar on and a chain leash that runs down his back, where the handle hangs down his ass crack.  (Was he blindfolded?  I don’t remember…)  I touch his ass.  There is so much lube in his hole I don’t rim him.  I just enter him.  Easily.  But he gasps and tells me to go slowly.  I do.  But he’s one of those men that needs to tell me how to fuck his ass.  After the complete surrender of the other man, this looks hotter than it feels.  I fuck him a little longer.  And go on my way.

I wander.

I end up in the same four-screen lounge.  A few men check in, but there is not the crowd in the daytime on the weekend like I have seen it during the week.

My big guy arrives for round two.  I have him suck me again.  I sit, legs splayed, on the platform.  He sucks me.  He knows I fucked the other guy, as he’d stood at the open door and watched.  He moans at the idea my cock has been in another man.

Soon we are fucking.  And the guy in the jock brings the other bottom into the room.  The fuck temperature of the room skyrockets.  I fuck the big guy on all fours, while the other top fucks the slim one.

“Wanna change?” I ask him.

“You bet.”

We pull out at the same time and slip into different asses.  He groans at the incredibly wet hole I’ve been in.  I like that I’m no longer being told how to fuck by the slim guy.

“I want to watch you fuck him,” says the other top.  He has pulled out and is moving so the big guy can suck him while I fuck.  He sits where I did and now the big guy has two dicks inside him.  The slim bottom comes over to watch—to his credit he’s supportive, not pissed off.

“Fuck him harder,” the other top instructs.  “Slam him so I can feel it.”

I do.  Hard and fast.

“Fuck him, daddy,” says the other bottom.

“That’s it!” crows the other top.  The room fills with the slapping sounds of wet flesh.

“Ah, fuck…” the top is shooting, convulsing in the mouth of the larger man.  He shoots and shoots, but he can’t take a cock cleaning.

The other two take off.

I slow the fuck and pull out.  I want to taste his hole again.

“I’d love to have your load in me…” he groans as I lick him out once again.  I use his precum again for more lube. 

And the act of wiping it on his ass makes me realize that I’m there.  I stand up and fuck it as deeply into his guts as I possibly can…