After gagging out that long post last night, I felt rather melancholy… but also, horny. Because despite all the complicated emotions brought up by the repeat performance with the Ideal Bottom of My Endless Longing, he is still just an incredibly hot guy, I fucking loved fucking him even if he was high and paranoid and annoying, and even now I just wish my dick was back inside his perfect, humid interior, sliding up and down in his warmth, with my hands all over his hard hairy body and my lips pasted to his, breathing his breath. The way I came left me feeling completely unfinished. I had a few spare hours to myself. I knew that UltraMeat was on his own over the weekend; apparently his partner was away again, and he had hit me up late Friday night, knowing full well I was highly unlikely to be free. But he had been hitting me up a lot while I was in Portugal, and I made him jealous with tales of all the hot dudes there sucking my dick, and ever since he's been whining, "When is my turn? You whore! When is my turn?" And if one person can reliably get me off, it's Ultra Meat. So feeling like I wanted a stable, reliable, known quantity after my rainy, druggy, NYCHA adventure the other night, I trotted over and he sucked the holy hell out of my nuts.
We have a rather easy rapport at this point. I came in and pulled off my coat and he looked at my body, clad in a lightweight, fairly tight blue cashmere sweater, made a face, and said, "You look like you are losing weight." Maybe intense unrelenting stress does that. I waved my hand and said, "I'm pretty sure I'm fatter than ever, but thanks." He didn't mean it as a compliment, and looked at me sternly. "Don't loose to much weight," he scolded-- he likes em thick-- "and quit fucking guys with your bare dick." "All right, momma," I shot back, and we went upstairs and pulled off our clothes calmly, and I got in bed, opened my legs, commanded, "De-stress me!" and he dove for my wang.
But I pushed him off. "Don't rush me. Tease me a little. Let me feel it all." And he shifted gears so quickly I practically heard them grinding. He stuck his nose in my bush and inhaled deeply. He barely brushed his face against the head of my dick, and pressed his face between my balls and thigh and again breathed in slowly and fully. Lips across my nutsac, a tongue inside my thigh, hands gripping my shins as he very lightly refamiliarized himself with my genitalia. "You… smell… so… goooooood," he cooed, and finally slowly slurped my meat up into his mouth.
And he let me harden into his throat at my own rate as I stroked his ears and his massive ham of a shoulder and gripped his wide, meaty, overhanging lat muscle.
On his hands and knees between my legs he's just an incredible, impressive monster of a man. I let him suck and suck me.
Later I was beside him, looking at him spread out on his back, sucking blissfully at my prong. Then I was bent over him, then I was hammering my bone into his face, hard, fast enough to make my heart pound and my sweat pour, and he was fisting himself like crazy, thrilled to be completely pummeled by my groin, and I thought I would cum in him, but the intensity got too high, and it's like I skidded right past the goal post and into a ditch. My dick was actually a little sore from having been used for an hour, if even only in fits, the night before, then battering into Ultra Meat's gullet. So I lost it. I wasn't going to cum that way.
We slowed it down some, and mostly made out and stroked our own dicks, and I chewed on his trapezius, which was more like a fucking steak, and ran my foot up and down his inner thigh; I know he's super into my feet. And the dick got hard and slick and straight and I climbed on top of him and humped his huge meaty body silly-- he's almost getting too big to mount like this successfully, but last night he felt perfectly submissive and open to my flailing body-- and I made myself cum rubbing up against his muscular body, shooting long jets of hot wet jizz all over his torso, in a fanning pattern, jets landing this way and that, and feeling my body heat in my sexual fluid put him over the edge too, and he just kept looking at my cum saying "Wow, wow, wow" as he unloaded too.
And we flopped back on the bed and laughed, completely spent.
For another half an hour we talked about his school, my miserable past month, and then, at great length, race. It was a very interesting conversation, and probably the first time I ever talked that much with a black guy about it. We know each other pretty well at this point so it was easy and insightful in both directions, I think. He confessed that despite being very aware of the sting of racism in this country, he (like a couple of other black dudes I have talked to about sex) loves race play and all that jazz. And is mystified by it himself, but he loves it. There's a lot of sides to him, I see now, and I'm pretty much always me. He's an interesting guy, and I know he's had a rather checkered past with drugs and stuff himself, though I can tell with his intellect he is going to go way beyond whatever that was, and soon. He was a good simple antidote to how I was feeling before I went over, so I was glad I set aside my usual, insatiable need for new meat to spend an hour rubbing up against familiar meat.
I left with a spring in my step, just as my partner was texting me that he was on his way home. We met, and some friends came over, we found a tree in a lot near the house and carried it home on our shoulders in the freezing air, and all of us set it up together and then sat on the floor admiring it until 1am, with all the lights out except the ones on the tree-- we overdid it a bit, it blazes in the windows like Chicago in 1871-- happy together, tired, bathed with a gentle amber glow.