Blowing Off Steam

For the past two weeks, I've been dealing with fallout from some seriously stressful health issues that my mother has, which have left me completely uninterested in hooking up (or really much of anything other than my family), and for a while I've been quasi-relocated to the wretched city of my youth here in the South for the time being, until my mom's situation stabilizes and I can go back to a Brooklyn that suddenly feels far away and unreal. But today there was a bit of a breakthrough with my mom, and I got no sleep last night, so I decided I deserved a break. I made only perfunctory visits to the hospital to see her after spending the morning there, and once I'd dealt with a ridiculous disaster in her condo involving two sudden leaks, one originating in her apartment and one intruding from the apartment above, I devoted the rest of the afternoon to me. And when I say me, I mean my dick, which has been utterly neglected for the past 12 days. After a couple of highly-sexed visits here, the dudes in this town seem to be back to their insane, useless selves, and the usual half-dozen or so guys who hit on me every time I come down here and have never followed through for the better part of a decade hit on me once more like clockwork as soon as I set my location to here, and I despaired of ever ejaculating again. I had just decided I was too tired for this and would just go read when a guy who looked rather like an unlikely cross between Opie Taylor, Rick Astley, and Junior Samples hit me up on Grindr. As luck would have it, he was actually close enough to walk to-- a near-impossibility in this crazy-sprawling city. It seemed like fate that I should squirt my semen into Junior Opie Astley. So I went over.

My landmark for his house, on a rather crowded cul-de-sac on this insanely dark night, was a red pickup in the driveway. I got confused by a different truck with a red bed and a mismatched black cab-- always the sign of class-- but managed not to embarrass myself by walking into the wrong home and demanding a blowjob from the wrong southern gentleman. He opened the door right away and let me in to a reasonable nicely appointed 90s-inflected apartment, which rather reeked of something greasy cooked with onions. He didn't have a shirt on, which showed off his rather doughy physique-- he had a serious belly going on-- but he looked a bit cuter than his pictures in the face, actually. "Are you ready to suck some dick?" I asked, swaggering into the living room with my tender, overinflated nuts swinging in my pants. He nodded and guided me to a rather grubby little chaise longue, which didn't match the other stuff in terms of quality, and must be his Cocksucking Area or something. "I really need this," I said, ripping my socks and pants off unceremoniously, "so let's just get to it, shall we?" We kissed a bit and he had a rather nice touch, which I didn't expect from such a good ole boy. He had a large phoenix tattooed on one shoulder and a symbol for the astrological sign Leo on the other. He knelt between my legs and went to work.

He did a great job, I must say. At first he was very nibbly and licky in a not-very-effective way, but I indicated to him how he should use his tongue and where, and he immediately zeroed in on my favorite hotspot and, seeing my reaction, basically hit my fun button over and over for a half an hour, taking time outs for the nibbly licky thing around my cum hole, running his lips back and forth along the very thick vein that snakes up the right side of my tool, and basically rubbing my dick all over his face with an accompanying look of bliss.

We took a few kissing breaks too, and I rubbed my out-of-control beard along his neck (I forgot to pack my razor or a beard trimmer in my frenzy to get to an immediate flight last week, so I look pretty homeless at this point), which seemed to thrill him and stop him in his tracks. I must say that Opie Taylor's jawline, on a man's face, is very nice to caress when your dick is in his mouth, and his ears are very nice to fondle-- again, when mixed with an adult Rick Astley's. He almost made me cum over and over but read my signals and backed off and let me build up a good amount of pressure. But the position he was in, kneeling with his head bent, and his extremely wide, actually quite muscular shoulders straining right at eye level, and his hard bulging biceps flexing under my grip, and his *extremely* rough hands (he clearly labors with them, for real; I never felt such sandpapery hands) were all hugely turning me on. Without the gut and fluorescent skin he'd really be kinda hot, actually. I just gaped and groped at this sight as he dinged my bell one too many times, and I couldn't get him to quit fast enough, and suddenly I was firing into him. I felt a searing wet streak of something down my shaft, down between my balls, and along my perineum, and I actually reached down to feel if hot cum had somehow run out down there, but it was dry-- it was just all that pent-up sexual electricity dancing along my most sensitive skin; a unique sensation that I've never felt before. As you might expect after almost two weeks, it shot hard, and did not stop for almost a full minute. He stopped sucking on me after a typical orgasm's interval but I whimpered "aghk don't stop still cummin" and he resumed that sweet tonguing and I resumed my mindless pulsing and he swallowed and swallowed everything I unloaded. He stopped again after another 10 seconds and I said "no ahhhhgk still cuming" and he tongued me some more. When I was finally done and flopping like a fish on a beach he just grabbed my tool and admired it and squeezed it rather roughly, trying to get more drops of jizz out of it and licking them off. It was nice.

I'm still left with a nontrivial residue of stress, even after this act of altruism from this unexpected character. I have to deal with a plumber first thing in the morning, then handle my mother's discharge at the hospital, then deal with the insurance company and absentee landlord upstairs, then live with my mom for an unknown amount of time till she's back on her feet... or, well, not. I love my mom but she also drives me up the friggin wall, and I worry she is getting too old to live alone now. It's not something I want to face at all. She and I are both very youthful at heart-- I feel like I stopped aging mentally at 19; she says she stopped at a wide-eyed 7-- and when she talks about the dismay she feels at seeing her body run down right before her eyes with a bright spirit still burning inside, I know exactly what she means. In the past couple of years I have uncovered some arthritis from an old shoulder injury, and a general discomfort with how my skin is changing, how much hair I'm losing, those horrifying, multiplying gray hairs on my chest. Going without my usual level of sexual satisfaction will probably be a fact of life for a while until she's settled and I can go back home to the land of Selfish Pleasure Sluts. But hopefully my readers won't abandon me! My partner comes tomorrow night to bring me our car and spend a few days. I just wish we could spend a whole day sleeping together... literally: sleeping, together. Eesh, this is tough. Some things are more important than getting off.

...But I did get off!