Oh my dear reader, where and how to begin? I have just had the most wonderful experience, a beautiful night with a fantastic man. He showed me things I have never known, our chemistry was like a nuclear explosion, he just showered me with love and affection and adoration. How can I possibly be so lucky? I'm still wondering when I will wake up from this incredible dream.
I always thought that if I finally ever had a gay experience, I would feel riddled with guilt. That I would become a monster of self-loathing. That I would second double guess and re-confuse my feelings, that I would place such harsh judgment on myself and fall deep into depression. Man, was I wrong. I feel whole, complete... utterly content. If only I had known that affection with a man could feel so comfortable, so right, without any reservations, regret or disgust... Yet if I had been with a man earlier, I wouldn't have had the same magical first time experience that I enjoyed last night.
As I pulled into Patrick's driveway at 6:55 PM, I thought, "oh my God, what if this is totally weird? What if he is a fucking serial killer!?" But somehow I managed to park and found his patio just as he had described, with a tiki torch lit for me, and with the porch light on. I immediately admired the design elements of the large, walled, covered patio. Nice brickwork, impeccable craftsmanship and style, garden beds, benches, a modest hot tub in a discrete corner of the yard, open to the sky, and large enough for only two, maybe three people. At this point my anti-adventurous and negative side yelled at me inside my head, "dude - RUN - A - WAY," But instead I knocked on the door.
I was a few minutes early, and at first I wondered if he had even heard me knock, I nervously pondered ringing the bell too, but within another moment he came to the door and it opened. I must have been very eager, because I guess I was standing too close to the door and as he opened it he stepped right out, nearly trampling my feet. He jumped back - startled to realize that I was a mere three inches from the door - but his surprise instantly turned to a smooth, inviting and generous calm. He backed into his home, and his warm smile drew me in like a magnet. For a moment I thought of the spider and the fly, but if this was indeed his wicked web, then I was as content as the fly to just give in to being eaten alive.
I felt comfortable right away, and he had a very gentle manner about him, just like he had during our phone conversations. I honestly did not feel attracted to him right away. He had said he was a young looking 49, and when I saw him I immediately thought that he looked young for maybe 55, "I've seen a lot hotter 49-year-olds along the way," I thought to myself. But it didn't really concern me because we had talked at length about what I might not feel entirely comfortable with, and we had prefaced our meeting on having absolutely no expectations except honesty. We would be meeting as new friends and to connect, to talk about whatever comes up. It was a relief to have such freedom when considering having my first sexual experience with a man.
Once inside, he immediately went into mothering mode, doting and pampering me, "Do you want to smoke some pot? Do you want a beer? Are you hungry? Can I make you some food?" Already I was saying yes to everything.
He made me a knock-down delicious salad with his homemade dressing, overflowing with avocados, olives, gorgonzola cheese, and ground black pepper. He laid out carne adovada, meat slices and crackers, grapes and blackberries. About the beer he got me, he said, "I don't know if this is what you like, I think it's imported," and he handed me my number one all time favorite beer in the whole wide world. I had told him the name, but this is no imported beer. This is rich and delicious handmade microbrew from the finest brewery in Oregon. He had remembered the exact type of beer that I had briefly mentioned during one of our phone conversations. His thoughtfulness and nurturing immediately notched him up on the attractive scale. Points scored for Patrick, I thought, though my inner negative was telling me to keep a critical eye out for rufies.
We relaxed and talked on the couch, and I could tell he wanted to get closer and start to get all touchy-feely, and he could tell that I wanted him to, but also that I was kinda still grappling with the idea. Though I felt comfortable, I was also pretty tense. He kept accenting the conversation by reaching out with his legs and feet to brush a touch off my knee or calf, and the more he did, the less I felt weird about it. Soon we were laying at opposite ends of the couch, our feet so close that it was inevitable that we started playing footsie. By then I had told him about my blog and we joked that tomorrow I would be pouring out all the gory details to my readers about how I finally played footsie with a man. We laughed and laughed and soon we were headed for the hot tub.
We undressed in his bedroom and the first thing I noticed was his nice, naturally toned shoulders, arms and gorgeous veins running the length. His chest was huge compared to the rest of his body. Not in a muscular way, but more skeletal: his ribcage was as big and round as a barrel keg, and it made his hips and ass look comparatively tiny. As soon as I was naked, he said, "you have a beautiful body, I don't think you are skinny one bit, you are very well proportioned, thin and very very sexy," and thus started a night of endless compliments and adoration. My cock had not yet responded, but I was honestly pretty glad to be rid of the inhibitions of the clothing.
The hot tub was the perfect temperature to the crisp night air. The stars were out and blinking at us, not a cloud in the sky. Soon our footsie game from inside evolved to having each other's feet in our crotches under the water, and I felt for the first time the softness of his cock and delicate sack. His hands inched up my legs and soon I was squirming with the anticipation of having him touch my cock. He teased a bit, and my boys instantly swelled just a little with the possibilities of the night. I could see him trying to sneak a peek through the water, to get a look at my cock on the sly. I knew exactly what he was up to, and neither gave permission nor shied away.
In a few minutes, he leaned toward me, staring into my eyes and said, "may I kiss you?"
"No." I said as kindly as I could. And he fell back onto his side of the tub, clearly dejected. I felt bad for turning him down, because I could tell he was getting pretty horny, that our stimulating and playful conversation just had him doing back flips with desire. At that moment, I knew I had him and that I was in charge and whatever was going to happen that night would be without question up to ME. It made me feel so empowered and free.
After only ten or fifteen minutes we got out of the water and went back inside. I dropped my towel and told him that I normally don't wear clothes and since I felt comfortable with him, I was just going to go nude. "Oh, okay," he tried to say nonchalantly, but I could tell that his heart had just literally dropped to the floor.
He asked if I thought I still might like the Tantric massage, and I tried to nonchalantly say, "sure," though my own heart had just literally dropped to the floor also. I didn't know if he noticed, but I certainly did.
We went to his bedroom and I laid face down on the bed while he fanned a warm towel over me and then put his knee between my legs and stood on my back with his arms, pressing on me and flowing into me a very deep intense feeling of spiritual voltage. It felt like waves of love and goodness pulsing through me like lying under a love-wave energy magnetic Tesla Coil, if there ever was such a thing. It was transcendental. He seemed to fall into a trance of loving sensual massage that felt truly divine. My spirit inside my body was floating unleashed through time-space, like I was having an outerbody experience, yet his rough and masculine, strong hands kept me tethered to the bed, tethered to this Earth. His touch was at once sexual and sexless, sensual yet ethereal. It was simply amazing and nothing short of heavenly.
That's when I realized he was now massaging my feet with his boner, and I was promptly returned to the physical realm. Even though my feet felt ice cold, he was emphatically saying "you have such sexy feet, you're just so fucking hot," and I realized he was also massaging me with his words, praising me like I was the most beautiful being in the world. I said I liked feeling his cock on my feet, and how warm it felt. He asked if I wanted to flip over and I did, and a little wave of insecurity came over me because all of this had not yet gotten me hard. I mean, he had just been massaging my perineum, my ass cheeks, my balls, my asshole. He had been fucking my feet! It had not gotten me hard one bit and I worried that it would turn him off or let him down, or that maybe it meant somehow that I wasn't at all gay or bi or queer after all.
But that's when I saw his hard cock, just sticking out so proudly and beautifully, to see it swing back and forth with his movements, and to see his cute little dick hole peeking out sheepishly from behind his foreskin, seeing the beauty of that just swelled my cock half-mast in about half a second. That was the first time ever I had seen another man's erection in real life, and my God it was just so hot. Way better than any magazine, video or DVD I can just tell you that. He proceeded to massage my now-pulsing cock for several minutes, just like he had all my other muscles, parts and areas and it just felt so good.
Soon he crawled up on the bed and brought his cock closer to me, he could see that my eyes were fixating on it, and he asked if I wanted to touch him. And with near a whimper I said yes, and timidly reached out my hand to caress and cup his balls, and my own cock throbbed to a granite obelisk in an instant at the release of repression and fulfillment of fantasy. I explored his balls and scrotum and cock, squeezing, stroking, massaging. I felt like a seventeen year old boy and I giggled with the curiosity and fascination of it. The utter strangeness and alien feeling of actually jerking another guy's cock, that here I was finally doing it at 39 after so long. Too long. If I was dreaming, I did not want to be woken up - dear God not right now, don't wake up!
Exploring his half-erect cock and dangly balls with my hands and eyes, while his strokes were getting more and more intense, he asked me, "do you want to get me hard?" Which was a little disconcerting because that's exactly what I'd been trying to do all this time. Using my left hand and having no skill-set to get anyone hard except myself, I felt like a virgin teenage boy again, which added a wonderful, innocent, time-traveling quality to the experience. Here I am trying in earnest to get this wonderful guy hard, and he asks me if I want to try to get him hard? I told him my trip and we laughed and laughed together, and he collapsed on top of me, looked up playfully and asked if he could suck my cock. I nodded yes and managed a Cheshire smile, I could feel my eyes sparkling with delight, and tried to act calm, though my heartbeat was stuck in overdrive.
He took me into his mouth just a little at first, and I had to look away, I had to lean back to try to usher out that last little gremlin inside of my personality, the homophobic bigoted gremlin with the bony finger, poking my left shoulder abrasively, saying with venom and rancor, "dude... there's a freakin' guy sucking your cock. What the fuck?!" And as I struggled to finally push him out the door of the party inside my head, meanwhile my cock got soft, and then hard, and then soft again, and I was off in my own world battling my own demons and gargoyles, telling them all to finally FUCK OFF and just let me have a good time already. It felt like a goddamn sexual exorcism inside. "BE GONE YE CRIPPLING INNER BEASTS!"
Patrick sucked my cock like a fucking Electrolux plugged into 220V. A big wet schloppy perverted human vacuum cleaner with no off switch. He twirled his tongue around my cock tip like an impeller, his blowjobs felt like a moist rotary engine with all the loud noises and intensity of a skilled craftsman who really knows their way around a cock. Like a frenzied cock mechanic on speed, and he certainly had my undercarriage up on the lift and was definitely lubing my chassis. Damn near perfection of intent, this guy's blowjobs could be a fucking patented design.
Taking a break from sucking me off for a moment, he knelt over me and I told him I wanted him to cum on my chest. He grabbed my cock like a fighter jet joystick and set the controls for the sun. He vigorously jerked his cock over me while I watched his cock and soon he was dumping hot gobs onto my chest, thick cum blobs that nearly burned my skin as they landed. It was thrilling to finally see a cumshot right in front of me, and I set off with intensity to jerk one out myself and add my own to the cum parade strewn across my pecs; but alas, I could not come no matter the technique so we said fuck it, put on robes and went back into the living room. It was nice to not feel judged for not actually being able to come, it just was what it was and that didn't seem to matter one way or the other. I liked that. No drama. No talk of visits to the marriage counselor for help.
So we just hung out on the couch together again, talking and laughing, smoking pot, and I had another beer. Patrick got out some Maplethorpe books and some other book that was just so fucking sexy and beautifully photographed of this insanely hot and charismatic model, I mean hotter than the hottest movie star kind of hot. And I let my robe fall open so he could see I was hard as a rock again, and he nearly jumped my bones and pleasured me again with his fantastic technique. He has a full length mirror in the living room and I stood up and watched him suck my cock while I enjoyed my own voyeuristic world, he pushed me all the way down his throat and just showered me with compliments, "I love your cock, I love to suck your cock, you are just so fucking sexy, oh my God I just want you inside of me, I want you to come," and on and on with such praise and assurance and sweet dirty talk. It was a real turn on to have my ego so stroked, not to mention the masterful cocksucker kneeled before me, and watching in the mirror our own live gay sex show.
We hung out again for a few hours, late late into the evening, and I was content to just be pleasured on and off. And somehow I didn't let it bother me that I couldn't seem to cum, and it didn't seem to bother him. After a while though, I started to get horny again and I decided in my mind that if I was going to ever suck a cock, now's as good a time as any. So I shed my inhibitions and opened up his robe, pulled down his underwear, took his cock in my hand and began to kiss it, slowly at first, up and down the shaft, gradually letting my kisses get wetter and wetter. I smelled his cock to see if somehow his scent grossed me out, but it didn't. He smelled kind of good actually, and soon I found myself more comfortable with kissing the tip, and I timidly took him into my mouth. It felt so good, his hardening cock still so soft and smooth against my tongue and mouth and soon, my curiosity building, I was taking his cock into my throat. He was so gentle and never thrust, letting me find my own way and what worked for me. I was amazed to find his 6" cock fitting nearly all the way into my mouth! And I felt like such a dirty slut that my cock raged to rock hard once again, and I kissed his lips.
I laid back with my feet up on the couch, he stood up to stick his cock in my face and I took him into my mouth again while I jerked my cock furiously, his hand cupped under my balls, his finger gently rubbing my asshole, I fucked him with my face and it got me ever closer to that orgasm that had thus far eluded me. I could tell that if we could get me there, this was going to be a cumload for the Ages, because we had been fooling around for some five hours, and my cock literally felt like a stick of dynamite finally reaching the end of it's mile-long, lit fuse.
As I built toward my climax, he put his face between my legs and sucked on my perineum and licked my balls and sucked the base of my shaft and that sent me over the edge, "oh yes, Patrick, I'm cumming!" and I shot loads upon loads of voluminous, wet hot cum all out onto my chest like a Mississippi flood. He was in his own world down there between my balls and hadn't even seen the eruption, and he laughed and said "HOLY SHIT THE VIGOR OF YOUTH!" once he saw what had actually happened there, and he ran to get a roll of paper towels before I spilled over my chest and arms and soiled the couch.
I was too drunk and stoned to drive home, and he made up the couch as a bed for me to sleep. Sweet man even gave me a valium, and he said that if I slept in his bed he would not be able to keep his hands off of me and he'd want to suck my cock until the morning light, but obviously we both needed sleep as it was already four o'clock in the morning.
All night I dreamt of making love to Patrick. My gremlin and demons and gargoyles even returned to the dream to try to make me feel guilty about fucking a guy and loving it, there at the party in my head they outed me in front of everyone but they all said to them, "yeah, so fucking what?" And in my dream, they were laughed out of the ballroom, and Patrick and I continued to dance, the focus of attention and the life of the party. It was a crazy, fitting dream. In the morning I told him about my dream and he fucked me with his masterful mouth again.
I can't wait to see him again. I can't believe I have a boyfriend, and it feels really, really good.
I always thought that if I finally ever had a gay experience, I would feel riddled with guilt. That I would become a monster of self-loathing. That I would second double guess and re-confuse my feelings, that I would place such harsh judgment on myself and fall deep into depression. Man, was I wrong. I feel whole, complete... utterly content. If only I had known that affection with a man could feel so comfortable, so right, without any reservations, regret or disgust... Yet if I had been with a man earlier, I wouldn't have had the same magical first time experience that I enjoyed last night.
As I pulled into Patrick's driveway at 6:55 PM, I thought, "oh my God, what if this is totally weird? What if he is a fucking serial killer!?" But somehow I managed to park and found his patio just as he had described, with a tiki torch lit for me, and with the porch light on. I immediately admired the design elements of the large, walled, covered patio. Nice brickwork, impeccable craftsmanship and style, garden beds, benches, a modest hot tub in a discrete corner of the yard, open to the sky, and large enough for only two, maybe three people. At this point my anti-adventurous and negative side yelled at me inside my head, "dude - RUN - A - WAY," But instead I knocked on the door.
I was a few minutes early, and at first I wondered if he had even heard me knock, I nervously pondered ringing the bell too, but within another moment he came to the door and it opened. I must have been very eager, because I guess I was standing too close to the door and as he opened it he stepped right out, nearly trampling my feet. He jumped back - startled to realize that I was a mere three inches from the door - but his surprise instantly turned to a smooth, inviting and generous calm. He backed into his home, and his warm smile drew me in like a magnet. For a moment I thought of the spider and the fly, but if this was indeed his wicked web, then I was as content as the fly to just give in to being eaten alive.
I felt comfortable right away, and he had a very gentle manner about him, just like he had during our phone conversations. I honestly did not feel attracted to him right away. He had said he was a young looking 49, and when I saw him I immediately thought that he looked young for maybe 55, "I've seen a lot hotter 49-year-olds along the way," I thought to myself. But it didn't really concern me because we had talked at length about what I might not feel entirely comfortable with, and we had prefaced our meeting on having absolutely no expectations except honesty. We would be meeting as new friends and to connect, to talk about whatever comes up. It was a relief to have such freedom when considering having my first sexual experience with a man.
Once inside, he immediately went into mothering mode, doting and pampering me, "Do you want to smoke some pot? Do you want a beer? Are you hungry? Can I make you some food?" Already I was saying yes to everything.
He made me a knock-down delicious salad with his homemade dressing, overflowing with avocados, olives, gorgonzola cheese, and ground black pepper. He laid out carne adovada, meat slices and crackers, grapes and blackberries. About the beer he got me, he said, "I don't know if this is what you like, I think it's imported," and he handed me my number one all time favorite beer in the whole wide world. I had told him the name, but this is no imported beer. This is rich and delicious handmade microbrew from the finest brewery in Oregon. He had remembered the exact type of beer that I had briefly mentioned during one of our phone conversations. His thoughtfulness and nurturing immediately notched him up on the attractive scale. Points scored for Patrick, I thought, though my inner negative was telling me to keep a critical eye out for rufies.
We relaxed and talked on the couch, and I could tell he wanted to get closer and start to get all touchy-feely, and he could tell that I wanted him to, but also that I was kinda still grappling with the idea. Though I felt comfortable, I was also pretty tense. He kept accenting the conversation by reaching out with his legs and feet to brush a touch off my knee or calf, and the more he did, the less I felt weird about it. Soon we were laying at opposite ends of the couch, our feet so close that it was inevitable that we started playing footsie. By then I had told him about my blog and we joked that tomorrow I would be pouring out all the gory details to my readers about how I finally played footsie with a man. We laughed and laughed and soon we were headed for the hot tub.
We undressed in his bedroom and the first thing I noticed was his nice, naturally toned shoulders, arms and gorgeous veins running the length. His chest was huge compared to the rest of his body. Not in a muscular way, but more skeletal: his ribcage was as big and round as a barrel keg, and it made his hips and ass look comparatively tiny. As soon as I was naked, he said, "you have a beautiful body, I don't think you are skinny one bit, you are very well proportioned, thin and very very sexy," and thus started a night of endless compliments and adoration. My cock had not yet responded, but I was honestly pretty glad to be rid of the inhibitions of the clothing.
The hot tub was the perfect temperature to the crisp night air. The stars were out and blinking at us, not a cloud in the sky. Soon our footsie game from inside evolved to having each other's feet in our crotches under the water, and I felt for the first time the softness of his cock and delicate sack. His hands inched up my legs and soon I was squirming with the anticipation of having him touch my cock. He teased a bit, and my boys instantly swelled just a little with the possibilities of the night. I could see him trying to sneak a peek through the water, to get a look at my cock on the sly. I knew exactly what he was up to, and neither gave permission nor shied away.
In a few minutes, he leaned toward me, staring into my eyes and said, "may I kiss you?"
"No." I said as kindly as I could. And he fell back onto his side of the tub, clearly dejected. I felt bad for turning him down, because I could tell he was getting pretty horny, that our stimulating and playful conversation just had him doing back flips with desire. At that moment, I knew I had him and that I was in charge and whatever was going to happen that night would be without question up to ME. It made me feel so empowered and free.
After only ten or fifteen minutes we got out of the water and went back inside. I dropped my towel and told him that I normally don't wear clothes and since I felt comfortable with him, I was just going to go nude. "Oh, okay," he tried to say nonchalantly, but I could tell that his heart had just literally dropped to the floor.
He asked if I thought I still might like the Tantric massage, and I tried to nonchalantly say, "sure," though my own heart had just literally dropped to the floor also. I didn't know if he noticed, but I certainly did.
We went to his bedroom and I laid face down on the bed while he fanned a warm towel over me and then put his knee between my legs and stood on my back with his arms, pressing on me and flowing into me a very deep intense feeling of spiritual voltage. It felt like waves of love and goodness pulsing through me like lying under a love-wave energy magnetic Tesla Coil, if there ever was such a thing. It was transcendental. He seemed to fall into a trance of loving sensual massage that felt truly divine. My spirit inside my body was floating unleashed through time-space, like I was having an outerbody experience, yet his rough and masculine, strong hands kept me tethered to the bed, tethered to this Earth. His touch was at once sexual and sexless, sensual yet ethereal. It was simply amazing and nothing short of heavenly.
That's when I realized he was now massaging my feet with his boner, and I was promptly returned to the physical realm. Even though my feet felt ice cold, he was emphatically saying "you have such sexy feet, you're just so fucking hot," and I realized he was also massaging me with his words, praising me like I was the most beautiful being in the world. I said I liked feeling his cock on my feet, and how warm it felt. He asked if I wanted to flip over and I did, and a little wave of insecurity came over me because all of this had not yet gotten me hard. I mean, he had just been massaging my perineum, my ass cheeks, my balls, my asshole. He had been fucking my feet! It had not gotten me hard one bit and I worried that it would turn him off or let him down, or that maybe it meant somehow that I wasn't at all gay or bi or queer after all.
But that's when I saw his hard cock, just sticking out so proudly and beautifully, to see it swing back and forth with his movements, and to see his cute little dick hole peeking out sheepishly from behind his foreskin, seeing the beauty of that just swelled my cock half-mast in about half a second. That was the first time ever I had seen another man's erection in real life, and my God it was just so hot. Way better than any magazine, video or DVD I can just tell you that. He proceeded to massage my now-pulsing cock for several minutes, just like he had all my other muscles, parts and areas and it just felt so good.
Soon he crawled up on the bed and brought his cock closer to me, he could see that my eyes were fixating on it, and he asked if I wanted to touch him. And with near a whimper I said yes, and timidly reached out my hand to caress and cup his balls, and my own cock throbbed to a granite obelisk in an instant at the release of repression and fulfillment of fantasy. I explored his balls and scrotum and cock, squeezing, stroking, massaging. I felt like a seventeen year old boy and I giggled with the curiosity and fascination of it. The utter strangeness and alien feeling of actually jerking another guy's cock, that here I was finally doing it at 39 after so long. Too long. If I was dreaming, I did not want to be woken up - dear God not right now, don't wake up!
Exploring his half-erect cock and dangly balls with my hands and eyes, while his strokes were getting more and more intense, he asked me, "do you want to get me hard?" Which was a little disconcerting because that's exactly what I'd been trying to do all this time. Using my left hand and having no skill-set to get anyone hard except myself, I felt like a virgin teenage boy again, which added a wonderful, innocent, time-traveling quality to the experience. Here I am trying in earnest to get this wonderful guy hard, and he asks me if I want to try to get him hard? I told him my trip and we laughed and laughed together, and he collapsed on top of me, looked up playfully and asked if he could suck my cock. I nodded yes and managed a Cheshire smile, I could feel my eyes sparkling with delight, and tried to act calm, though my heartbeat was stuck in overdrive.
He took me into his mouth just a little at first, and I had to look away, I had to lean back to try to usher out that last little gremlin inside of my personality, the homophobic bigoted gremlin with the bony finger, poking my left shoulder abrasively, saying with venom and rancor, "dude... there's a freakin' guy sucking your cock. What the fuck?!" And as I struggled to finally push him out the door of the party inside my head, meanwhile my cock got soft, and then hard, and then soft again, and I was off in my own world battling my own demons and gargoyles, telling them all to finally FUCK OFF and just let me have a good time already. It felt like a goddamn sexual exorcism inside. "BE GONE YE CRIPPLING INNER BEASTS!"
Patrick sucked my cock like a fucking Electrolux plugged into 220V. A big wet schloppy perverted human vacuum cleaner with no off switch. He twirled his tongue around my cock tip like an impeller, his blowjobs felt like a moist rotary engine with all the loud noises and intensity of a skilled craftsman who really knows their way around a cock. Like a frenzied cock mechanic on speed, and he certainly had my undercarriage up on the lift and was definitely lubing my chassis. Damn near perfection of intent, this guy's blowjobs could be a fucking patented design.
Taking a break from sucking me off for a moment, he knelt over me and I told him I wanted him to cum on my chest. He grabbed my cock like a fighter jet joystick and set the controls for the sun. He vigorously jerked his cock over me while I watched his cock and soon he was dumping hot gobs onto my chest, thick cum blobs that nearly burned my skin as they landed. It was thrilling to finally see a cumshot right in front of me, and I set off with intensity to jerk one out myself and add my own to the cum parade strewn across my pecs; but alas, I could not come no matter the technique so we said fuck it, put on robes and went back into the living room. It was nice to not feel judged for not actually being able to come, it just was what it was and that didn't seem to matter one way or the other. I liked that. No drama. No talk of visits to the marriage counselor for help.
So we just hung out on the couch together again, talking and laughing, smoking pot, and I had another beer. Patrick got out some Maplethorpe books and some other book that was just so fucking sexy and beautifully photographed of this insanely hot and charismatic model, I mean hotter than the hottest movie star kind of hot. And I let my robe fall open so he could see I was hard as a rock again, and he nearly jumped my bones and pleasured me again with his fantastic technique. He has a full length mirror in the living room and I stood up and watched him suck my cock while I enjoyed my own voyeuristic world, he pushed me all the way down his throat and just showered me with compliments, "I love your cock, I love to suck your cock, you are just so fucking sexy, oh my God I just want you inside of me, I want you to come," and on and on with such praise and assurance and sweet dirty talk. It was a real turn on to have my ego so stroked, not to mention the masterful cocksucker kneeled before me, and watching in the mirror our own live gay sex show.
We hung out again for a few hours, late late into the evening, and I was content to just be pleasured on and off. And somehow I didn't let it bother me that I couldn't seem to cum, and it didn't seem to bother him. After a while though, I started to get horny again and I decided in my mind that if I was going to ever suck a cock, now's as good a time as any. So I shed my inhibitions and opened up his robe, pulled down his underwear, took his cock in my hand and began to kiss it, slowly at first, up and down the shaft, gradually letting my kisses get wetter and wetter. I smelled his cock to see if somehow his scent grossed me out, but it didn't. He smelled kind of good actually, and soon I found myself more comfortable with kissing the tip, and I timidly took him into my mouth. It felt so good, his hardening cock still so soft and smooth against my tongue and mouth and soon, my curiosity building, I was taking his cock into my throat. He was so gentle and never thrust, letting me find my own way and what worked for me. I was amazed to find his 6" cock fitting nearly all the way into my mouth! And I felt like such a dirty slut that my cock raged to rock hard once again, and I kissed his lips.
I laid back with my feet up on the couch, he stood up to stick his cock in my face and I took him into my mouth again while I jerked my cock furiously, his hand cupped under my balls, his finger gently rubbing my asshole, I fucked him with my face and it got me ever closer to that orgasm that had thus far eluded me. I could tell that if we could get me there, this was going to be a cumload for the Ages, because we had been fooling around for some five hours, and my cock literally felt like a stick of dynamite finally reaching the end of it's mile-long, lit fuse.
As I built toward my climax, he put his face between my legs and sucked on my perineum and licked my balls and sucked the base of my shaft and that sent me over the edge, "oh yes, Patrick, I'm cumming!" and I shot loads upon loads of voluminous, wet hot cum all out onto my chest like a Mississippi flood. He was in his own world down there between my balls and hadn't even seen the eruption, and he laughed and said "HOLY SHIT THE VIGOR OF YOUTH!" once he saw what had actually happened there, and he ran to get a roll of paper towels before I spilled over my chest and arms and soiled the couch.
I was too drunk and stoned to drive home, and he made up the couch as a bed for me to sleep. Sweet man even gave me a valium, and he said that if I slept in his bed he would not be able to keep his hands off of me and he'd want to suck my cock until the morning light, but obviously we both needed sleep as it was already four o'clock in the morning.
All night I dreamt of making love to Patrick. My gremlin and demons and gargoyles even returned to the dream to try to make me feel guilty about fucking a guy and loving it, there at the party in my head they outed me in front of everyone but they all said to them, "yeah, so fucking what?" And in my dream, they were laughed out of the ballroom, and Patrick and I continued to dance, the focus of attention and the life of the party. It was a crazy, fitting dream. In the morning I told him about my dream and he fucked me with his masterful mouth again.
I can't wait to see him again. I can't believe I have a boyfriend, and it feels really, really good.
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6 comments:
fantastic dood! just fantastic!
awesome my man. and the day after, you are still you. nothing has changed, yet everything has. as hot as this is (and it is!) the best part of it is that you let yourself go. and you are still at one
peace, mm
Congrats! (And is that your cock? Very impressive.)
Welcome to the wonderful world of cock! Better late than never.
Thanks for the good wishes everyone! Nick, that's just a pic off the internet that reminded me of Patrick, here's a good one of me if you like big cock ;)...
Forty years after Stonewall and you wonder if he's a serial killer.
Pathetic.
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