April 30, 2005
I finally felt well enough to visit The Adonis again last night. There was a big gay event in town this weekend so I expected there would be a bigger crowd and some new faces. Well, not faces, I guess, but you get the picture. the crowd was pretty good but it came and went, so to speak.
In the dark room someone grabbed my hard dick within minutes. He said, “Oh fuck, sir. Feed me some hot piss.” No thanks. In the two hours that I was there, he did and said the same thing to me, maybe six times. Such are the minor annoyances of spending time in nearly complete darkness.
Luckily, another guy wrapped his hand around my cock a minute later. In the dark I could feel he was muscular, furry and had buzzed hair and a beard. It didn’t take him long to get on his knees and start sucking. I’ll tell you, after almost a month of having sex only with myself, it felt amazing. He was exceptionally good at it, too. I wanted to shoot immediately but I managed to hold off. He said he wanted to back up onto my dick and suggested we find an empty booth. (Frankly, I’m not sure what difference it would make because the booths have no doors but I agreed.) There was enough light for me to see his handsome face. He pulled his shirt off, exposing his beautiful, sweaty, furry chest. We kissed a while. He got back to work on my dick. On his way back up, he nibbled and licked my nipples. Then he started putting lube on my cock while he guided me into the corner of the booth. As he lowered his pants he asked me to not shoot inside him because he wanted to swallow it. No problem. He turned around, bent over and backed onto me. His hairy hole felt amazing, easy entry but tight enough for a great fuck. Despite his height, we fit together nicely. We fucked a good long time. When I got close to shooting he pulled off, turned around and started working on my nipples and armpits. I kept stroking. I wanted it to last longer but I wanted to shoot even more. I told him I was ready and he put his wet mouth around my dick head, ready to take my load. I swear, I shot for a solid minute. He kept my dick in his mouth until I got soft. When we were done I noticed we had an audience. Nice.
I spent the rest of the time walking around stroking but without much luck. (Not that I’m complaining or anything.) I got two very good blow jobs at the gloryhole but, despite the skill of the cocksuckers, I just couldn’t get into it. Eventually I just zipped up and headed home.
Technorati Tags: Gay Sex
April 27, 2005
In the Realms of the Unreal
I saw “In the Realms of the Unreal” with Margetty and Karen tonight. It’s a stunning film about artist Henry Darger. He was an emotionally damaged man who made incredibly beautiful paintings which no one even knew about until days before his death at the age of 82. Along with the paintings, his landlords found a hefty autobiography and a detailed 15,000 page account of a war against chidren in a world that existed only in his imagination. The paintings, all of which illustrated the war, were done on both sides of cheap newsprint and many were over 10 feet long! He spent his life collecting pictures from children’s books and clothing catalogs to use in his paintings. The work is beautiful.
Luckily for us, his landlords realized the importance of what they’d found and didn’t just trash the contents of his room. This is a fascinating, kind of sad story and is captured brilliantly in the film by director Jessica Yu. Go see it.
Technorati Tags: Film
Man of the week
And he’s in a toilet!!
Technorati Tags: Gay
April 26, 2005
I was really hoping the days of tea-room sex raids were over, but apparently I was wrong. The Philadelphia Police, our District Atorney’s office and crews from four local news affilaites descended on a traditionally “cruisy” department store bathroom last week and the results were 1predictably appalling. All four local news programs splashed mug shots of the twelve men arrested on both their early and late night editions. Oy.
If this were a sincere expression of the City government’s feelings about gay sex, I would disagree with it but somehow accept that it was about some legal issue or other and I’d find a way to deal with it. But it’s NOT. It’s about making a splash in the press because our DA is up for re-election this year. In the past this kind of thing only happened here when the State DA was stumping. Apparently, long-time City DA Lynne Abrahams (who, by the way, is quite obviously a lesbian) must have some actual competition in the upcoming election because she’s stooped much lower than she was previously willing just to get some votes. I mean, why else is sex in a Strawbridge’s bathroom suddenly so fucking important? Well?
As if that wasn’t bad enough, local gay bar-owner and slumlord Mel Heifetz, described in the press this week as a “gay advocate,” expressed his disgust towards the arrested men with this gem: “It’s also very much in bad taste. It certainly doesn't have to be with all the freedoms that gay people have today.” Thanks for the advocacy, Mel! Sorry they offended your sense of good taste. No, it doesn’t “have to be” but did it ever occur to you that they might just like it??
Worst of all, though, are the reactions I’ve seen in local chat rooms. They range from the usual jokes, which are fine, to characterizations as brutal as anything you might hear from the religious right. It’s very sad to me how utterly conservative gay youth have become. ”Pathetic, ugly old trolls“ who have to use a public bathroom to find sex. The idea of sexual diversity is completely foreign to them. How the hell did that happen? I remember when gay people weren’t just on the cutting edge of style and sexuality, they were the cutting edge. Not any more. All these guys seem to want out of life is the sappy, sickening idea of romance and eternal love sold to them by television. They think anyone who wants something different is either sick or crazy. Most of these guys are glad a dozen gay men got arrested for having sex! They sound like their parents. How sad is that?
And they call me a “hater.”
April 22, 2005
I’m having a terrible bout of bronchitis, so I may be MIA for a bit. I bought and watched DIG! this week and I’m writing up my thoughts about it. That might appear before I’m better but don’t count on it.
April 19, 2005
The kindness of strangers
I spent most of yesterday wasting time in Providence. Hotel check-out was 1PM and my bus to the airport was a few minutes after 6. So I left my bags at the hotel to pick up later. I thought it would be a good time to visit a Sprint Store and finally get the software on my cell phone upgraded so my Picture Mail would work. The closest store was in Cranston! They couldn't do it but It took up the entire afternoon anyway, which was fine. I sat on the bus with my iPod on shuffle (It seemed to have a thing for Leonard Cohen yesterday!!), either looking out the window or reading some Dreiser.
Anyways, I lugged three extremely heavy suitcases from the hotel to Kennedy Plaza. (The Crusher had some things in storage for me so I brought empty suicases up there so I could bring stuff back with me.) Why did I decide to walk?? It was a beautiful day and I am insane. It was tough but I made it.
I had a little while left to wait for the bus and it was rush hour. There were tons of skateboarders and children making lots of noise. Then an old black woman came by handing out candy to everyone from a CVS bag. Just what I needed, too! It was delicious.
The bus to the airport is a regular city bus with no place to stow bags, so it’s a bit of a stuggle. As we were boarding a young black man asked me if I wanted some help with my bags. Already feeling horribly conspicuous and pathetic, I said, ’No thanks, I'm OK. I’ve been dragging them around all day anyway.’ Then a woman standing next to him said, ’Well, that’s the time you should say Yes.’ She was right, of course, so I apologized and accepted the offer. Then, before I knew it, the young guy, the woman and her kid had my bags on the bus for me! I was so grateful I nearly cried. I think they were a little embarassed.
The ride was only twenty minutes and I sat across from a guy in a Guatemalan hoodie who was reading a Gothic Romance called ’The Harrowing of Gwynedd.’ I think to myself that maybe I’m not so pathetic after all. So doesn't the guy get up and hand me down my bags when I get off the bus? And he wasn’t even getting off there! Again, I was flabbergasted. These gestures were so genuine, and made me so much less miserable, that I don’t really know what to say except, ’Thanks folks!’ I’m sure they have no idea how much these kindnesses meant to me.
Check-in was ridiculous. Southwest has new weight restrictions and I had to repack my stuff at the counter. The woman at the ticket counter was really helpful but god only knows what I looked like pulling crap out and stuffing it back in and changing jackets in a frenzy. Of course, TSA chose me for bag screening. I’m sure they thought I had escaped from somewhere. The screener was baffled by my Todd Oldham floor lamp in a film cannister. He was afraid to open it! Finally, I was approved for flight. I was so tired.
The flight was full of people from the Boston Marathon, I think because Amtrak’s Acela service is down. (Come to think of it, that’s probably why I couldn’t get an earlier flight.) I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy to get to Philadelphia before.
PS. I realized that I have five Leonard Cohen albums on my iPod. I thought over the past few days how much I really like his stuff. His lyrics are finely wrought, never overwrought; the melodies are beautiful; the arrangements are still interesting and his delivery is deliciously, icy cold. I think he’s brilliant. And he’s still recording!
Also the iPod has taken a liking to the soundtrack from Psycho by Bernard Herrmann. This music is famously all strings. The CD is a lot of very short pieces, each one a gem. They’re tiny masterpieces. I’m not big on soundtrack albums. Almost every one I have is by him. He was the best.
I’m back home finally. It was a grueling couple of days. I’m going to bed. Good night.
April 17, 2005
Talk, Pt. 2
Now where was I??
Oh, yeah, I was “computing.”
Firstly, rather than go back and edit my previous entry, I will admit now that, during Comcast’s extended outages, I complained. Maybe a lot, but not very vehemently. (Actually, I was more concerned about repeated kernel panics in OS X.) I imagine that, to someone who was horrified by the fact that I even had a computer in the room, AT ALL it was unacceptable. Sorry.
Anyway, our discussion on Saturday boiled down to a couple of related things: I am unsanitary (we already went over this); having a computer in the room proved that his recovery was not my Number One Priority; my “unrelenting search for dick” will someday result in my death or severe injury; I threw retail fits in the mall on Friday (while he was in the car, mind you) which negatively affected his recovery and I am selfish.
Am I selfish? Sure I am. More than some, less than others. Are this blog or my “computing” a sign of my selfishness? No.
Did I throw fits? Yes. Did he witness them? No, I told him about them. I have
very little no patience for retail incompetence and I ran into a lot of it in a very short period of time. I threw a DVD down on the seat of his car and complained. Big deal.
Am I unsanitary? Not really. Not for everyday use, anyway.
Now, about my “unrelenting search for dick.” This seemed complicated to me at first but it really isn’t. The Crusher, like my ex-lover Cecilio, thinks the words “computer” and “internet” are synonyms. They aren’t. Cecilio also thought that the computer was only good for one thing: finding dick. Fortunately, The Crusher doesn’t believe this. On the other hand, he thinks that’s the only reason I’m on the computer at any time and, while he claims to not be morally judging me, he really is. I mean, judging is what he does. So do I and it has been a basic part of our friendship.
When my computer is connected to the internets, I am usually signed onto, at least, ManHUNT. I am 51 years old and I love having sex. As I’ve said before, it’s important to me for a number of reasons. Besides, at my age, if I want to get laid—and I do—I gotta have the net out all the time. I am not so obsessive that I constantly flip through profiles looking for likely candidates. I let them find me. One thing I refuse to become is a predatory old troll. (I hate that term, troll but that’s what I’d be called, unfortunately.) Certainly, I have sex more than the average man my age but I don’t plan my day around it, except occasionally when I’m traveling.
I guess, since The Crusher is “over” having sex and being online, I’m supposed to be over it also. Sorry, but I’M NOT.
The discussion devolved into near-total insincerity with him saying he was really sorry to see me sitting around searching for dick all the time and wasting my graphic talents which could be making me RICH. As I said to him, believe me, I was wasting them long before I was online or having sex regularly. Besides, he clearly said it’s perfectly fine for him to be wasting his enormous talents because he has decided to live in and maintain the family house on The Cape. Please. There are these things called the internets now. People can work from anywhere.
Here’s how I see it: If I had been doing nearly anything else—reading a book or a magazine, polishing my jewelry, doing a Word-Search puzzle, knitting a gay tea cozy—there would not have been a hint of this insanity. Not a whisper. It was all about him finding it morally reprehensible when someone other then him looks for sex on the internet. What a steaming pile of shit.
That being said, am I a sex addict? Maybe. My suspicion is that I’m depressed and that being online, not having sex really, helps me think I’m filling the empty spaces. I’m not, of course, but that’s a discussion for another day. Right now, I’m exhausted. And I should get out of this place before they sweep me into the trash can.
Well, here I sit in The Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans MA, waiting seven hours for the next bus to Hyannis. My friend, who can now be identified as THE CRUSHER, read my unfinished blog entry of last night and was really infuriated.
After we loaded my stuff into his car for the half-hour drive to the bus station in Hyannis, I was informed that he had read my the blog, that I was being dropped at the bus stop in Orleans instead and that I should be grateful I even got that much. The drama was un-fucking-unbearable, I swear.
The best part was, “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” referring to his FORBIDDING ME in grand fashion to blog about this incident.
Anyway, before I start getting needlessly spiteful…
I was dumped at the Orleans bus stop at coincidentally exactly the time the bus to Hyannis was supposed to arrive there but, sadly, it was early, so here I am writing instead of soaking up the soothing atmosphere of the baths. Luckily, The Sparrow has free wireless internet access, though they oddly don’t advertise it. It’s certainly more comfortable than it was at The Crusher’s house.
Now, back to finishing last night’s entry.
We had it out today after a nearly silent ride to the drug store and The Sparrow coffee shop. First, of course, there was a ridiculous “I don’t want to talk about it and, if you continue to try to talk about it, you will have to leave immediately” fit. I don’t give in to that kind of crap so the talk continued.
Some of his complaints were valid but, in my opinion, could have been resolved instantly with a couple of words. For instance, I bit my nails on the way home from the bus station, two days before his surgery. Then, after he got back from the hospital, I tried to arrange a rubber band thing around his head that was holding a bandage on the bottom of his nose. The nail-biting aside, I didn’t wash my hands first. My mistake. I didn’t think. I’m not often in this situation. Without saying a word, he immediately decided that I couldn’t do anything for him. And that was that.
Before I came here he said, “No computing in my room.” I thought he was kidding. It’s pretty typical of stuff he says as a joke. In fact, I said, “Tough,” and got no reply. So, when I put my laptop on my lap while we were watching TV, he again said nothing. In fact, he suggested a table for me to put it on! Coincidentally, Comcast internet was basically down for two days anyway, so I was siting in the room with a laptop but doing nothing on it.
The truth is that my “computing” bothered him for another reason altogether. That will have to wait until tomorrow. I have to go to sleep now. Good night.
By the way, I LOVE Google satellite maps!
April 16, 2005
I volunteered to come to The Cape this week to care for a very good friend who was having
a sex change sinus surgery (with a nose job on the side I wasn’t told about). On Wednesday morning we drove to the hospital. After he got settled in, I took the car, saw Sin City, wasted a couple more hours and picked him up when he was done. He was very groggy and in quite a bit of pain. We filled a prescription for percoset and an antibiotic on the way home. So far, so good.
Then he started acting like a two year-old. I’m 51 and my small circle of friends has always been a little “eccentric” and I include myself in that. But I have NEVER seen anything like this. This guy is 42 and should know much better. His lack of impulse control is shocking. For instance, his discharge instructions said to do as little as possible and to keeep his head elevated. Sit still?? Not him! He insisted on walking the dogs, poaching some salmon and whatever else he felt like doing, insisting his discharge papers said something completely different than they actually did. I was relegated to getting him a glass of juice when he didn’t feel like getting up. The next day he drove himself on percocet to the doctor for a follow-up while I was asleep because he “didn't want to bother me!” Well, then WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE??
I asked that very question when he got back from the doctor and was accused of making his recovery “all about me.” Well, excuse me for wondering why I spent an entire day traveling to The Cape to end up merely driving him from the hopital and going into convenience stores and coffee shops for him. He would sit in the car with a hood and dark glasses on so no one who knows him on “The Cape” could see him with a cast on his nose! God fucking forbid. It might ruin his glamorous image.
Tonight he’s lying in his room with an ice pack on his eyes, continuously coughing, insisting that nothing’s wrong and he needs no help. I give up.
As a friend, I feel abused. If I could have gotten a flight out of Providence before Monday, I’d already have left. As it is, I leave first thing Sunday morning, spend a soothing afternoon at the Megaplex bath house in Providence and Sunday night in a hotel. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
April 14, 2005
HarwichDude: what about glory holes? Spent most of my teenage sexual prowless in a Sears bathroom with my prick shoved through a glory hole
HighStrungLoner: Well, no wonder you don’t know how to turn your picture the right direction. Maybe you should have been in school. And what is “prowless?” By the way, my profile says clearly that my list of interests is complete and gloryholes are not on it.
HarwichDude: I thought perhaps you over looked glory holes, I thought my picture would be a wonder, I AM college educated and prowless is my own word.
April 12, 2005
Technorati Tags: Cape Cod
On The Cape
I’m on Cape Cod this week staying with a friend who’s having surgery. I’ll be blogging from here. We drove into Provincetown and saw this incredible sunset, before a delicious dinner at Clem and Ursies. Mmmm-mmmm. Pulled pork sandwiches and corn pudding.
Technorati Tags: Cape Cod
April 10, 2005
Man of the Week
This one looks more like him. I’ll admit he’s a bit heavy on the macho accessories and he poses a little but, no one’s perfect.
Late Bloomer is a great Japanese film I saw tonight at the Philadelphia Film Festival. It was about a disabled man who goes on a murderous rampage because he’s jealous that his caregivers fall in love.
Technorati Tags: Film
April 9, 2005
Man of the Week
This one’s from ManHUNT in Orlando. We arranged a hook-up at the Parliament House last fall. I’m man enough to say it didn’t work out very well. In fact, he might be the man who first inspired my posting about cigar sex. I wish it had gone better but he wanted me to be something I wasn’t and, when the time came, I just couldn’t. He’s sure cute, though, Ain’t he??
When I left Provincetown, I walked away from the incredibly good Massachusetts State health coverage. If you’re poz there and you have no medical coverage, you’re pretty much guaranteed whatever you need. Doctor visits, hospital stays, prescriptions drugs, the works. One of the main reasons I didn’t stay in New Orleans was that none of that was available to me. In fact, this week I got a pile of medical bills forwarded to me from down there. They are shockingly high. (I’ll never be able to pay them but, luckily, my credit report couldn’t be worse than it already is.)
So, as soon as I signed my lease and knew my permanent address in Philly, I signed up for HIV case management at AACO, a City agency. I chose ActionAIDS as my AIDS Service Organization (ASO). Then. I. Waited. For six weeks. Finally, I called them. Coincidentally. the case manager on duty was mine. She said he had mailed me some material and called. Anyway, we made an appointment for this past Monday.
OK, I will not dwell on the fact that she was really, really fat. In fact, that wouldn’t have mattered to me at all if she had the slightest clue what she was doing. When I asked about Medicaid, she said she’d ask her supervisor about it. I mentioned the nearly debilatating depression that I suffered in New Orleans. She told me she “reached for the chocolate” when she’s depressed! (No kidding!) My mention of high prescription drug costs brought a comparison with the price of gas. Discount prescription programs for people with HIV (called ADAP in most of the country)? She’d never heard of it.
I stopped, stunned in the middle of the intake and said, “I don’t want so seem rude but you’re a case manager; you’re supposed to know this stuff.” She sheepishly confessed that she was “new.” I pretended to understand but I wondered to myself if ActionAIDS provides any training for case management. Maybe I was spoiled by The Provincetown AIDS Support Group. No. This woman is an idiot. She is a fat, white do-gooder who should be driving disabled children around in a van. That, really, is her level of competence.
I make my needs as an informed HIV-care consumer pretty clear. I’m interested in practicalitites, not emotional support. Since I am on disability for COPD, I ask for help applying for Government services. I expect my case manager to not just know the procedures but to know how to navigate them efficiently. This woman had no idea the programs even existed! I want to know how to get affordable prescription drugs for depression. All she can offer is her ear when I am depressed. Gosh. Thanks.
Needless to say, after asking around, I called AACO again and changed my ASO to The Mazzoni Center. (My intake there this morning went very well.) Unfortunately, the news of my decision didn’t reach her before she called me to follow up on a few things and I had to tell her myself. I did it very nicely, of course. Yes, I’m a coward. Yes, I will send off a polite email to her supervisor voicing my concerns. No, I won’t mention that she’s fat.
(Oh, I never got the mail she claimed to have sent me, either.)
Technorati Tags: HIV
April 6, 2005
Look! David Copperfield cruised me on ManHUNT tonight!! Thank god I have a cold or I might have ended up in a black box, being sawed in half at Bally’s!
Last night’s Big Mess Cabaret
Last night’s Big Mess Cabaret was a benefit for The Jillene Ringle Solo Performance Fund. Jillene was a local performer who recently died from cancer complications. She was immensely talented, completely self-taught and will be sorely missed by her friends and fans. (The picture is not of her, by the way, but from last night’s show.) The Cabaret was shorter than usual and was put together hastily. Nonetheless, it was great! Again, I urge anyone who hasn’t seen Big Mess to see them the next time they perform. The show is always different and always hilarious. I swear.
I ran into some old AA friends who I haven’t seen in years, sitting at one of the front tables. They are more “old-fashioned gay” than I am and were there because they were fans of Jillene’s more traditional solo cabaret shows in Cape May, NJ. It was nice to see them and all but I realized pretty quickly that I don’t have a lot in common with them anymore. Mostly, I was glad to see that they are all still alive and healthy. I still go to AA meetings but my admittedly small social circle is a whole different group of people. They caught me up on a load of people I barely remember and many who I don’t remember at all. I just nodded my head like I knew who they were talking about. I mean, one of them still gets Christmas cards from the facilitator of a therapy group we were in over ten years ago! He was good but Christmas cards from a therapist??? Please.
It’s really hard for me sometimes being around regular gay people. I almost feel like they’ve been programmed to like certain things and somehow (thankfully) I missed that day in class. Why, for instance, do I hate everything about American Idol but to nearly every other fag in the world it’s practically like porn? I swear they beat off to it. It’s not like I’m some self-conciously macho, self-hating queen or one of those new ball-cap-wearing faux sports-lovers or anything (I even loved Madonna before she joined a cult!) but their entertainment choices are completely bizarre to me. (Josh Groban?!?!? Come on. What a milquetoast.) Remember when homosexuals were on the cuting edge of style?? Yeah, I barely do, either. But still.
So, where does that leave me at 51?? Well, I’m actually very happy socializing with other gay folks online and having sex with them in person. My friends are few but well-loved. Some of them are gay but none of them like show tunes.
April 3, 2005
Big Mess Cabaret is perfoming 8 PM Monday night at the Troc. Don’t miss it! If you live in Philly and you’ve never seen them, you should be ashamed. Admission is by donation, so don’t say you can’t afford it either. More details here.
Technorati Tags: Philadelphia
April 2, 2005
The 40 ouncer
I left Provincetown in June 2005 and stayed in Philly for a couple of weeks before moving on. As usual, I got together with a bunch men while I was here. Most of them were fun, some not. One turned out to be a little bit of a nightmare’not a major one but I could smell trouble a-brewing.
We met on ManHUNT, I think. When I got to his place in South Philly I saw that he was really tall. He was good-looking enough but he towered over me, at least 14 inches above my head. He lived in one of those South Philly houses that is smaller on the inside than it seems from the outside which made him seem even taller. Well, that and the grandmotherly clutter. At least there weren’t any statues of Saints.
I pretty much like to get the sex out of the way and chat later, if at all. No dice. He had to down a 40 ouncer before we could even start kissing. and, believe me, I tried. (If you ask The Crusher he was smart!) I took a break to piss and was horrified to see that the bathroom was decorated with framed pictures of old movie stars that he had cut out of magazines. I wanted to flee immediately but I couldn't find a convenient way to do it. OK, I’m a coward. I admit it. So there.
But wait! There’s more! He suddenly became obsessed with finding a Cher CD to play as a soundtrack for fucking. CHER! Oh god. There went another 20 minutes, rooting through drawer after drawer of old CDs. “Remember this one??” “Um...no.”
We finally had sex. I don’t remember much about it except that it happened entirely in bed, including all foreplay. I do remember that I enjoyed it and, before I left I politely said I’d be back, Big mistake. I am such an idiot.
I have broadband so I’m listed as online all day and night on hook-up sites. The next day I went out somewhere, probably to The Adonis or a movie. When I got back home there was a shit-load of messages from this guy. He went through an incredible internal drama, accusing me of ignoring him and of being “just like the other Philadelphia queens” who were only interested in sex. He thought I was “better than that,” even though I think I am pretty fucking clear that I am just looking to fuck. He finally realized that he was being a nut and apologized by the last message. He tried to excuse his lunacy with some crap about being mugged and needing someone to talk to. (Doesn’t he have any friends??) I got to read this entire insane diatribe when I got home. I promptly replied that I didn’t want this kind of drama in my life and that he should leave me alone. So far, so good.
I came back to Philly in February. Another message. He apologized for whatever it is that he had done and would I please see him again. (He had no clue.) I said there was nothing he needed to apologize for but i didn’t want him in my
drumming circle life. He replied in the affirmative but I blocked him anyway.
Thursday this week I dropped some prescriptions at the pharmacy and there he was, pretending not to see me, quickly burying his head in a magazine. I skedaddled, completely forgetting to give the clerk my information. On the way home, I figured I was glad I didn’t give any of my info out loud.
Today, there was another message on m4m-world: “I saw you today [It was yesterday but, what the hell?] I really want to see you again and only just for straight sex.” I blocked him. I’m unlisted, too.
I have a feeling this is not over. He’s a very lonely man. Sad.
April 1, 2005
Just finished up with this one.
We spoke briefly online a few times last summer, I think, but a hook-up never really worked out. I don’t remember why. It turns out that we’re now neighbors! If you can call someone four blocks away a neighbor. (And I do.) No offense to all you feminine guys, (I’m cracking myself up here!) but this man’s online pics made him seem not so masc. So I was a little hesitant to meet when we had chattted before.
Well, fuck me for waiting. This guy was a beauty. He was tightly muscled from head to toe. Very handsome face, closely trimmed goatee, cropped hair…very good package overall. A tight, sleeveless t-shirt showed off his muscular torso and his hairy, tattooed arms very nicely. Oh, he was very masc, too! ’Cause, as we know, musc ≠ masc.
His mouth was on mine as soon as I closed the door. Within a minute his shirt was off, revealing a beautifully hairy body and more ink. More kissing while I twisted the barbells in his nipples. He unbuttoned my shirt on his way down to his knees. I pulled out my dick. He took a hit of poppers and swallowed it immediately, pulling me closer to him to get it all. He was a greedy cocksucker! I was loving it. After he got down to business for a while, he said, “Why don’t you lie back?” OK, sure! The mattress is on the floor and I made myself comfortable while he took off his pants, revealing a nicely-aged jockstrap. He licked and sucked and rubbed his stubble on my cock and nuts. I was very happy and nowhere even close to shooting.
Then he said he wanted my dick and a nice load in his hole and asked, “How do you want me?” I didn't want to shoot right away so I told him to lie on his stomach with his ass on the edge of the mattress. That’s when I first got my forst good look at what you see in the picture. I swear, the sight of it with all that beautiful hair made me a little woozy. Still, I managed to stay concious and lube his hole. I used my fingers first to get him ready but, after getting four fingers past the knuckles, I figured he really didn’t need much more of that.
Someday I’ll think of a way to accurately describe what the head of my cock feels like entering a hairy asshole but today is not that day. It’s, well, indescribable. He wanted to be fucked hard and that’s what he got. He raised his ass to meet every thrust. I love holding my dick just inside to feel the hair rubbing against my cock head and then start fucking really hard. He’d make noise every time I did it, so I knew he liked it too.
I can fuck for a long time for an old man but eventually I just run out of breath. I can either take a break or just fuck really hard until I shoot (I discreetly keep the inhaler handy!) I had a lot of momentum and he was begging for my load so I pumped his prime ass unti I shot. I was exhausted and he seemed satisfied, too.
He asked me to take a couple of shots of my load leaking out of his ass. No problem! My hands were a little shakey so the ones where I’m spreading his ass to see the cum dripping out are a kinda blurry but I hope the one I used will give you something to touch yourself about.
He cleaned quickly and we made our goodbyes. Nice guy he was, too.
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