web log analysis Confessions of a Promiscuous Top: Birds and Bushes and Sure Things

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Birds and Bushes and Sure Things

Today I had assumed I'd be fucking someone on BBRTS who hit me up repeatedly during the week, after we planned a Saturday afternoon fuck, checking in and talking about how much he was looking forward to hooking up today. As I promised I texted him this morning to see if he was around-- despite not feeling very horny because of insane allergies dragging me down. He replied to the text 20 minutes later asking for my screen name, and then never replied to that. What is with dudes, what's the point of all that? Perhaps I was just an iron in his fire. Of course, I've done that to others, too, in a sense, though if I say I'm going to hook up at fairly specific time on a specific day, I'll come through. He was not actually online all morning, even while he was texting me, but I can only assume he went with some better bird in some more alluring bush. Other dudes who on various apps expressed great interest in having sex with me the first time we talked, but who ignored me that last time I propositioned them, had messaged me at 1:30 or 5:30 in the morning. I guess I am a bird in many hands, a pot on many back burners! Deciding not to be like this, and instead go for a sure thing, I took up the very handsome German guy's standing offer to blow me today. He's been after me quite a bit ever since our assignation a few weeks ago, apparently reminded of how intoxicating my sex organs are. I always feel a disappointment all out of proportion when I end up hooking up with a regular, but he is just extremely handsome and his lanky body is so lovely to look at and touch that I said sure. He came over about an hour later and we had sex for about an hour and a half.  I'm wrung out and certainly no longer feeling disappointed!

He was as usual very chatty but I wanted to get right to it, almost feeling bad for silencing him with kisses and gropes. He does a beautiful job on my tool and I love cradling his head, touching his face, and looking at his long lean muscles while he does his thing. I felt high and in a trance while he teased my body into the heights of manly pleasure. He is extremely focused and dedicated, getting into long grooves of hypnotic sucking that sends me to another plane and leaves him genuinely whimpering with the need for more and more and more. He would not let me suck his dick at all, from the very beginning saying "It is too much, it will make me cum, I'm very close." He is so handsome he's actually hard to look at for too long. Playing with his asshole makes him writhe, but today when I worked a finger into him he felt extremely tight-- I desperately wanted to put my meat in him, and he was hiking his legs back and looking at me intently and giving me all kinds of signs that he might have let me, but it seemed like it would be too much work and I would pop instantly. At one point, riding his long lean body with my dick sliding up alongside his own schlong and very meaty balls, feeling his thighs bent back along the length of my body, one hand full of his buttock and one hand full of his knee, I felt my dick revolt and prepare to ejaculate. I held myself motionless as soon as I did, and the room went fuzzy and grey as every particle in me fought my dick in a game of orgasmic chicken. I had not taken enough pleasure from him, I didn't want to let got yet, and I fought it back with every ounce of will I had. My dick seemed like it would relent, then spat out one jet of thin, grey fluid in a spiteful gesture before going dormant again and losing some of its bone-hard rigidity. This helped me last even longer, and left a cleft in his torso down by his thigh pre-slicked with my juice and perfectly primed for more frottage. I returned to it repeatedly.

And then, one of the times I was lying beside him, making out with him and working my knuckle into his body and stroking my fingertip against his gland, he grew very quiet, and when I withdrew it and touched his body and kissed his lips, he said very quietly, "I am coming," and I pulled away quickly, and looked at his rock-hard tool. It was pointing straight up so that I was staring right down the cumhole. It was merely shaking with his heartbeat, engorged and bright red, but showed no signs of ecstasy. He didn't touch it, and I held my breath. Several seconds passed... and then cum came shooting out of it and he groaned and groaned, writing and looking even more handsome than ever in his moment of pleasure. When he came to, he said, "I told you I was close!" I laughed and wistfully joked, "And when you're done you're done, right?" He laughed and pulled me close and I did something I never do-- put my hand in his cum and then slicked up my dick with it to jerk off. He just looked so good I wanted it. But then he pushed my hand away, and slid down beside me and sucked my dick down his throat. It had shrunk and grown rubbery but looking at his beauty and feeling the uniquely sexy feeling of his bristly bald head had it hard in seconds. I pushed him back and found my slimed-up fuck pocket on his torso and slid my dick along there again, and we held each other very tight while I humped his body into the bed, into the pillows, looking into his blissed-out face and watching it jerk from my manhandling. Feeling close again, I laid back, guided him back to my dick, and let him suck me into that beautiful semen-squirting heaven I endlessly seek and only get to visit for a few minutes here and there. He sucked me too hard and too greedily and too close to the tip while I was unloading in him, so I had to pull out and jerk my dick through the most intense part of the orgasm. But he wanted it, and as soon as I let go he took the tip back in his mouth, and made it spasm and ooze a little more. He sucked and licked me clean and then slid back beside me, saying, "That was good!"

We talked about movies, our partners, things to do that were coming up in NYC. He's a really nice guy, and I wonder if we could be friends. We both have partners who like movies less than we do. He's extremely talkative, something I really like in a friend, and inquisitive too. When we parted he kissed me over and over, and said he'd like to see me again soon, and something in my instinctively recoils from that-- does he have a crush on me? Is it really just about my dick? Does he want to be friends too? Would being friends lessen my attraction for him, or his for me, take away a sure thing in the neighborhood? Would it cause weird complications with my partner, his partner, someone's emotions? Hard to say. I don't have romantic feelings for him at all, except maybe for 20 seconds when I'm ejaculating down his throat-- who doesn't feel romantic in that moment?-- but it would be cool to get to know him. Who knows, we shall see.

But I'm totally gonna chew out that fucker who was supposed to let me fuck him today! Pricktease!


  1. Funny thing is that I don't "instinctively recoil" from the suggestion of another tryst, but I'm totally unaware of being disingenuous by promoting that thought. I'll say "fuck yeah, lets do it again" but my actions are the complete opposite when they message.

    By the way, love the new pic. For some reason, the way you talk, I'd expect some wildly colorblocked thing with an asymmetrical collar or shoulder seams or something. Instead, you just wear clothes that fit amazingly well that make wanna rip them off you pounce. Well, the latter might be because of the bulge.

    1. I think most dudes who fuck for sport have the same psychology, Bruce... even though you've had really awesome sex with someone, the lure of the novel is just too great. I find that if I want a really fantastic repeat performance with someone, I have to wait the better part of a year, or at least six months or so. The guy I called Brooklyn's Finest Ass would not have been so fun to fuck again a couple of weeks later, I don't think, as he was a year later.

      Thanks for the compliment on the pic! I felt like the last one was really just too skanky, especially when I comment on other people's blogs that are maybe not quiiiite so explicitly sexual as this one. It's funny you comment on the shirt; my partner calls it my "douchebag shirt" because it is tragically unhip, but it does somehow accentuate my nonexistent chest and shoulders, so I like to wear it to go fuck dudes. I have a tendency to gravitate towards wacky colors that probably would not appeal to a bottom... so I have this alternative Fucktime Wardrobe that I can slip into for that.

  2. It does read a little fratboyish...

    I edit my wardrobe choice for a fuck, too, but dammit, that shit has got to stop.next trick is getting me with pink corduroy cutoffs, paisley print button down and top siders with neon yellow piping!

    1. I say do it! If I had a nice body like you I would probably care less about what I was wearing. I do think I once showed up to fuck someone in midtown or something wearing a flowered shirt and a yellow belt, because that's what I happened to be wearing for a day out on the town when we arranged the hookup online. And I do routinely wear my *orange* corduroy cutoffs to fuck because they somehow showcase my legs. But if I had a hot body I'd wear all kinds of fucked-up stuff just to be that peacock who doesn't give a shit and is just gonna ream your ass! Alas, I am not.