web log analysis Confessions of a Promiscuous Top: Absolutely Beautiful

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Absolutely Beautiful

I'm in Portugal this week for work. And last night a handsome bearded Iberian dude came over and made me cum so hard I thought my nuts would come flinging out of my shaft whole. I think the men here are extreeeemely attractive and this guy was a perfect specimen: black hair and eyebrows, dense inky beard, glittering soulful eyes, tan skin, sweet sweet sweet ass like a ripe fruit from an exotic tree. Even when you have a lot of sex like me, you realize there are so many components to attraction, and mutual interest, and chemistry, and taste, and when all of it falls into place it feels like a minor miracle. So for a miraculous hour in Lisbon I stuck my dick in this beautiful guy who clearly wanted me as much as I wanted him, who enjoyed everything I did to him as much as I enjoyed everything he did to me. It was absolutely beautiful.
And highly unlikely, too. I'd flown all night and not gotten a wink of sleep, landing at 8am. My room wasn't ready till 2pm, so I spent the whole grey rainy morning with my colleague and his lovely wife, who adores me for some reason,  talking and eating and drinking coffee and feeling like I would die any minute. When I could finally get to the room and shower and lie on the bed and feel human again, I realized if I took a nap now I would never be able to get to sleep at a decent hour and get over my jet lag. So I decided to wait it out, force myself to stay up till 10 or 11, and get over it already. I figured having hot hot sex with a hot hot Portuguese dude would be a great way to pass an hour, and as I'm new meat here, I did seem to get a reasonable amount of attention. My beautiful sex partner actually hit me up pretty quickly, and instantly wanted to move it to whatsapp and have sex NOW. Welcome to Portugal! We texted a bunch there, though I was skeptical with how easily this was going. He also was pretty clear about safe sex-- he wouldn't even swallow me so I knew not to ask for more-- but he was so attractive to me I didn't care. He also asked if he could suck on my toes, which I agreed to without much fuss, but then he asked what size they were and whether I had sweaty feet-- "It's a fetish," he said. "Maybe you could put your shoes on without socks and get them to smell again." I told him I'd just showered, and thought, ugh, here it comes. I admit I am not very patient with the fetishes of others. If it's something small I am fine with it, but often guys with fetishes are really consumed with it, and once you give a little that's all they want to talk about, and fetishes rarely do anything for me at all except feel very in the way. But we made plans to get together after he took a shower and drove over, in about an hour. I told him I was verrrrry tired so not to dally, and he said OK. And I kept cruising.


In a half an hour or so he texts me, "Sorry, my auntie just came over, I have to take her to church." I've heard a lot of colorful excuses for why someone who found a better dick to suck than mine couldn't come over any more, that that took the cake-- on a Saturday, no less! So I said the minimum basic polite "OK too bad" kinda thing, and he said he'd maybe be free in another two hours, but I let it go. 

Nothing else was panning out either; another guy wanted to suck me off at 8am the next morning. Eesh. I didn't even know if I would be able to get up at 8am in NYC on a normal day! 8am in Lisbon when I'm jet-lagged was science fiction-- but this guy was jaw-droopingly hot too. These guys all look like cinema idols to me. But so far I wasn't getting my dick in any of them.

So I forgot about it. I packed up, dragged my exhausted ass out into the still-drizzly streets, and wandered over to a neighborhood that was supposed to be arty and intellectual and, inexplicably, full of bear bars. I didn't care too much about the bars, and only saw a little evidence of elevated homo presence, but I did enjoy all the Belle Epoque mansions full of warrens of little rooms full of neat little shops, and I ate in a ridiculously over the top restaurant in one of them, surrounded by tiers of dramatically lit moorish arches and portuguese tiles. It was pretty awesome.

And just before I got my table, Mr Beautiful dings my whatsapp. "I'm free now," he said, right on time! Well who knew. But at this point I was in tourist mode, and didn't want to rush back to my inconvenient hotel just to get my dick sucked by a guy who might only care about my smelly toes. (Ugh, what if he just wants to talk about how much my feet stink, I thought?) I told him I was out now, and would be having dinner before I went back to the hotel, and he said, "I will wait." That sounded nice. At least he didn't say "I will sit here waiting with my dick in my hand, dreaming about your ripe cheesy feet."  So I ate my dinner and strolled around a little more, and then, truly exhausted, decided to go back to the hotel, even though it was not even 9 yet. 

On the walk back, I texted him. He said he would leave as soon as I told him I was in the room. And then fifteen minutes later, he knocked on my door, and he looked so, so good. So handsome and serious. 5'8, sweet little body, intense expression, so beautiful. I invited him in, a little nervous. He was so, so attractive to me. I so, so didn't want to be disappointed, and I felt like a fat American.

"Do you want to take off my shoes, and start with my feet?" I suggested helpfully, and he laughed at me a little. "We could just make ourselves naked and…" he said, pulling off his shirt. OK, well, at least he wasn't all about feet. He showed me his sweet, hairless torso and prettily bulging biceps. I pulled off my shirt as he was whipping off his pants, and is there any pose that is more beautiful than that, a good looking man bent over just so, leg lifted to the side, other leg planted on the ground with quadriceps bulging, tugging off the fabric, shoulders bent, one arm extended and flexing. I gulped-- so so so beautiful-- and pulled off my pants. He was wearing tight black briefs; I was wearing nothing and my dick was a little worm, hiding in my pubes. I am so not a show-er. 

He looked at me with an inscrutable expression-- I am practically autistic when it comes to sexual attraction and I just can't tell if someone is into me or not. But he dropped to the floor and slurped up my dick and I thought well! He's ready.

I moved us to the bed so I could be a little more comfortable. He stripped completely, crouched between my thighs, and-- looking straight at my face the whole time-- sucked on my soft meat. He lowered his body to the bed without me even asking and as soon as I saw that meaty ass shining there at the base of his perfectly v-shaped little body, I was lost.

I told him to take it slow, and he seemed to like that direction, instantly slowing down and moving to my balls, licking and bouncing them with his tongue, and then looking at me with that smoldering gaze, making me wait for him to take my dick into his mouth again. His amazing, soft, molten-gold mouth. It was like sticking my dick in warm honey. And my brain was so tingly and stunned by his looks that my soul left my body completely, or rather, burrowed into it so deeply that I felt like it was a new body all together.

He liked how I touched him and how hungrily, how franky I desired him. He liked being desired, and he liked pleasing me. Putting my body on his and pushing against him with all his weight made him yelp and squeeze me with pleasure; biting his neck sent him into a higher orbit of pleasure. 

He finally went for the feet, during a break in all this, rather theatrically sitting up and pulling my foot up to his mouth, and putting my toe in his mouth like an egg roll. And weirdly, that sensuous bearded mouth sucking on my toe was a more sexual experience than it ever has been before. I stroked my rock-hard dick while he did his thing with my phalanges, and I felt his beautifully viscous saliva on my dickhead at the same time he was slathering it all over my sole and heel an toes, and frankly, I loved it. It didn't help that he just looked even more beautiful, with a face full of almost pained delight at getting what he wanted. 

My dick was so hard and straight it felt massive in my hand. His own dick was small, but cut, and it was hard and it was his, so I loved it. We moved to 69 and it was the perfect symbol of how well we were meshing. That intense mutual pleasure. He felt it and I felt it. I just wanted to rub his meat all over my face while I felt him sucking and sucking at my dick, and when he felt my brow and nose and beard rubbing all over his genitals he sighed and went limp and sucked harder. You cannot fake intense desire, intense pleasure. It was real and we kept going.

He moved to curl himself around my big legs, resting his head on my thigh, gripping my foot with his knees, and my meat snaked into his mouth as he luxuriated in sucking me. And then turning around, back down to the feet, with his hips right in my face, and I ran my hands over that part of him, the waist meeting the hip, the hip curving around into the swollen meat of the ass, the side of his body swelling up and away, that perfect valley where all the best parts meat. In effervescent wonder I ran my hands over all these curves, this manliest part of a man's body, and he felt it, and he sucked my feet with abandon. I finally pushed him onto his back and humped my body against his, our slick dicks sliding together, holding him to me tight, bearing down with all my weight, kissing each other's mouths like we were starving for each other.

"You feel so fucking good," I said, and chewed on his thick black beard. "It's so good, so good," he cooed, and I just wanted to cum. I slid my dick between his ass cheeks and rammed it hard in his crack, and he let his head go back and felt me mock-fucking him and then looked at me and said, "Do you want to fuck me? I have condoms." I wanted to, so bad. But not with a condom. "Let's just do what we are doing, I don't want to break the rhythm to get a condom," I said. "I am tired and I just like what we are doing." He smiled and kissed me hard, and we pushed our bodies together more, and I just couldn't hold in my intense, intense need for him any more. I had to cum, I had to, I never wanted to, I wanted to cum right now, I wanted to hold it, I wanted to plaster the walls with it, I wanted to flood all of Lisbon with my need to release all the tension being up against this beautiful created created in my body. "I have to cum," I whined. "Let me just cum like this." And I slid my dick up against his sweet little body, wedged between us there, and he said, "Please let me see it, I want to see," and I knew it wouldn't be long, so I reared up and jerked it and a giant first jet flung itself cross his body, from his pubes to his neck. Hard evidence of how he made me feel. More jets, all shorter, some just dribbling thickly onto his body, others splatting this way or that, and he looked at them in a kind of awe, pulling on his own dick. I flopped back and just laughed and laughed. "You cum too," I said, and he lay perpendicular to me, on his back, and I saw him pulling his dick, and he said, "Give me your foot." So I gave him my foot. He sucked the toe and then more toes and I took the other foot and planted it on the side of his face, hard.

And he just fucking fell apart. His face dissolved into his hopeless pleasure. He couldn't even look at me any more; his brows just knitted into a diagram of need, and I pushed my sole into his cheek, against his eye, and wiggled my toe against his eyebrow, and he looked like he would cry or explode or liquefy. And then he did all three-- let out a yelp, and his dick blew up into a cloud of jizz, and more fluid collected on his sweet little body to mingle with mine.

So fucking beautiful.

I offered to get him a towel, but he said, "Can I just shower?" And he hopped up and went to the bathroom, and I stood there, watching him clean himself up behind the pane of glass as it slowly fogged up. We talked for a long time while he luxuriated in the steam and hot water, about where I'm from, what we do, a little about some political situations here in Lisbon, about music, this and that. His body was so beautiful to watch. He dried off, we kissed and talked more, he kept saying, "If you need anything, advice on where to go, sex, tourist ideas, anything, call me." We kept kissing and holding each other as he dressed, joking and teasing and kissing. When we opened the door, someone was standing right there, grinning at us! I don't know if he heard the whole thing or what-- it was jarring. But I patted my friend's ass and sent him on his way, and got into bed, and conked out.

I slept for 14 hours. When I woke up, he had texted me, "Welcome to Portugal."

Welcome indeed!


  1. Barely got your bags unpacked and scored?! lol Good for you!

    1. I was surprised, Jack. But sometimes even I get unusually lucky!

  2. Hot as fuck! Your writing is exquisite. Something that struck me the other day is when you said a lot of men are not in touch with their sexuality, especially white guys. And here you are, a man who has little if any attraction to feet, and know instinctively how to turn on this toe/foot worshiper by jamming both feet in his face. Can you reflect on that just a bit (or longer), about the fact that a lot of people aren't in tune with themselves, and why do you think you are more in tune than others?

    1. Well thanks Anonymous, I'm glad you like my blog. I ran into that dude on Growlr or something last night and we chatted a bit; he has started calling me "American bigfoot" now, intending it as a compliment, so I guess I did turn him on indeed (my feet are not actually big). I think I am just sort of observant and sensitive in general, and I always like the best, and it extends to sex. This guy I think was in many ways like me-- very physical, even in his inscrutable fetish. So OK, I can see how he is treating my feet, and it's kinda nice, and I have a vague notion of what the aesthetics of being into feet might be on a physical level and maybe it means he wants to be walked on, so I planted them there, saw his expression, and followed his cues. He was so beautiful in bed and his pleasure was so plainly written on his face that I was happy to create more of it for him. If he was a super porny fetishist and wanted to say all kinds of ridiculous nasty things, or wanted me to, it would have been a different story-- I find that kind of thing very hard to take seriously and it turns me off. So I don't want it to sound like I can do whatever it takes to get off anyone in the world; if you read this blog enough you can see there are plenty of not-so-hot connections in my sex life. But for a sensual guy like that, I can sort of work things out, or experiment till I find what cleans his clock, so to speak. Like with dudes who have sensitive nipples; mine are purely decorative and actually don't like much attention, but I am intrigued by the guys who like it and how different they all are in what kind of touch they need. It is on a physical level and elicits a genuine physical/emotional response that turns me on, so it is easy for me. Guys with elaborate mental or verbal needs/fantasies I cannot ever get in tune with, and I try to filter them out before I even meet them.

      Not sure what I can really say about those poor guys who really just don't seem in tune with themselves or their partner. I think some people just don't have very rich sex lives and don't need or want much and can't imagine investing time or energy in it. They get horny, they get off, and it's hot to them cuz that happened. Some people say sex is like pizza; even when it's bad, it's pretty good. But bad pizza is actually horrible; it's barely pizza, to me. So I guess that is the difference. Why do I want to invest so much thought and energy and time into sex? I often wonder that myself, but it's one of the best things in life, and when sex is truly truly good, it is the crème de la crème for sure. And I want that.