FUCKIN CHELSEA GODDAMN IT

Today I had to have some medical tests done; I've inexplicably selected a doctor in Chinatown to replace the very local one with the horrible bedside manner who pretty much told me I am going to die before I'm 50, so I traipsed down there early this morning in miserable rain to have a Polish woman squirt my body with freezing cold lube and ram metal pads into my guts while she scowled at a screen and barked, "DEEP BREATH!" Once this was over, I decided I would work at a coffee shop in Manhattan to see if I could score any new ass over there. I wasn't getting much attention around the doctor's office except from the hung valley girl who has sucked me off and let me fuck my load into his ass a couple of times. He lives not far from Chinatown and always notices when I'm over at that doctor, and I told him he could suck the cum outta my nuts if he was willing to go for a quickie-- I don't really think I'm that into him any more but I do like how much he pursues me-- but he seems to want a long intense fuck like I've given him in the past. I don't think I have that in me any more, so I gave him my regrets and set off for a coffee shop on 14th St. There I had to field a bunch of intense work emergencies and couldn't really focus on finding any ass, not that much seemed available anyway. This coffee shop is not far from the Asian crackhead's place, so of course he saw me nearby and peppered me with "hey"s on every single app and hookup site. I didn't reply to any of his messages; I was really not in the mood to babysit someone while he sucked on a pipe and begged for nip play. Finally toward the end of the day when I'd made some progress, I focused a bit closer on some sites, and a cute little tight body about 10 blocks away-- in the middle of lovely Chelsea-- hit me up on adam4adam. I asked if he wanted to suck the cum out of me RIGHT NOW, and he said he did. I told him to text me his address and I'd leave, and he said, "I don't have a phone. Meet me in front of the Whole Foods." If I was not an idiot whose thoughts were addled by all the surplus cum backed up into my brain, I would have realized this was a huge red flag. But he wasn't far, and seemed willing to meet instantly, so I figured, what the hell. A couple of dudes suddenly hit me up on BBRTs and Scruff, but I had a bird in the hand, so I packed up my stuff and ran up there-- in some pretty messy rain-- and waited to meet my cocksucker.

Well, he was nowhere to be found. I was MAYBE two minutes later than I said I'd be. I got back on adam4adam, and msged him, "I'm here. Are you for real?" And he said, "I was just down there." I considered leaving then and there. I hesitated for a long minute, then wrote back, "Well, I'm here." And he said he would come back down.

He showed up and he looked fine, but again another red flag: The pix hadn't been him. They looked sort of like him, but weren't him. He looked fine though; this is always a mystery to me. He came up to me and said hello very slowly, as if he had some kind of speech impediment. He looked completely normal, though, and actually had an extremely cute ass. I figured I would give him a chance. Maybe the impairment was why he insisted on meeting in such an odd way, I thought. (I'm an idiot.) So I followed him to his building, just a bit up the block, admiring the tight little cheeks. I thought, if this goes well, maybe I can squirt a little ball juice up in there. We walked a looooong way to the elevator, and as the doors closed, he said, "You're very handsome." I leaned in to kiss him, and he eagerly accepted it, kissing pretty nicely actually, though his body flailed a bit. We didn't go up too far, and his door was near the elevator. I had to take a real serious piss, and when I came out, he was pouring a glass of vodka. Hm.

He offered me a glass too, but I said, "I have to be somewhere at 6, can we just get down to it?" He smirked at me and put his own glass and the bottle down, and came over and sucked my face and grabbed hard at my meat through my pants. Well. OK. At least he was ready to go.

His apartment was palatial, and must cost at least a couple of million bucks to be that size in that location. It was tastefully decorated with modern furniture. He led me to the couch and I pulled off my wet clothes and he dove for my dick. Suddenly little fluffy kittens came out of nowhere and gamboled all over me as he feverishly sucked my meat into his mouth. He gave pretty good head, but he had the telltale thick saliva of someone who was pretty high.

I figured, well, it's Chelsea. At least the head is good. I just had to keep batting the kittens away until they lost interest in the bouncy game their owner was playing with the contents of my groin. I lay back and let the dude work me over.

But after only a few minutes, the deep rhythmic strokes of sucking stopped, and he began using his hands, and popping me out of his mouth over and over. Nothing is more frustrating than head that has you constantly popping out of someone's mouth. I began to realize just how stupid I was, and just how cracked out this dude was. I kept trying to direct him to suck me like he did before, but he was in his own head space. Several times he let me go completely and sat straight up, holding my dick and looking at me, and slowly working his own dick.

Yep. Brain totally fried on God knows how many drugs.

After a while I asked, "Is it too much?" and he said "Nooooooooooo" and sucked me listlessly again, focusing only on the last inch of my head, an unbearable tease. I stood up and tried to fuck my dick into his mouth-- he really did feel good inside-- but he aimed my thrusting fuckstick into his cheek. Fucker! I gripped his head hard and fucked into his skull determinedly, but he kept gagging and pulling off. I asked again, "Is it too much?" and again he smiled beatifically and sat straight up. "Should I go?" I asked, and he said, "Nooooooooo," but sat there like an idiot. Finally I was done. "I think I should go," I said, and he let his body slowly sink backwards, all the way down to the floor, and he stared at the ceiling. I was very annoyed now, and put my clothes on without a word and without looking at him. As I was doing up my belt I heard him make a noise down there, and I glanced over, and he was murmuring, "Look at that cum come out." I noticed a shiny wet spot on his thigh. He lazily lifted his head and looked at me. "I just came!" he said proudly. "Well! Lucky you!" I said, pulling on my socks and heading back to the kitchen for my shoes. As I put my foot in them, I looked around the ample counter tops, and saw three syringes scattered around near the backsplash. WTF! Was he on heroin? What? Ugh, I'm an idiot.

I pulled on my jacket, went for the door, glanced over at him lying on the floor staring at the ceiling one last time, and left without a word.

A hot meaty dude on BBRT had said he wanted me to come to a hotel not very far away, about the time I left the coffee shop for the nutcase. I quickly wrote him back with my cell number. But 40 minutes or so had gone by, and he never replied. A bunch of other dudes had hit me up in the meantime too-- none of them were replying now. Everyone was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling except me, I guess. My nuts were angrily swollen from this little tease. The few guys who did reply to me couldn't host. I finally decided to ask the crackhead if he would suck the cum outta me real quick-- at least I knew he could perform, more or less. But when I told him I wasn't up for an all-afternoon druggy dickfest, he demurred. I hung around a bit trying to find anything else, but gave up after a while and took the train to Brooklyn, and drank a sad latte in the window of a coffee shop near my house.

Dudes! Keep me away from Chelsea! What is my problem? I never learn.