This afternoon I splattered my semen all over the beautifully hairy, meaty, bordering-on-pudgy but actually unusually exciting body of a man so handsome that seeing him with my dick in his mouth was like science fiction, like a special effect, like something that could only be accomplished by painting my dick bright green and filming it on a soundstage, perhaps hanging from the ceiling by an invisible series of guide wires. Getting that close to a face like that is its own kind of sex act, really; his face was so nakedly that it was its own kind of sex organ. I just wanted to stare at him and stupidly stroke my steel-hard, oozing, helplessly excited dick-- and for a while, I did, as he lay there himself, luxuriant against his pillows, stroking his own very fat, veiny choad, staring right back at me, and saying in a lazy Italian accent, "Oh yeah bud, you're so sexy too, bud," which honestly sounded ridiculous, and helped keep me from feeling like the sole intrusion of imperfection in the presence of his beauty. He is also a top, and improbably hit on me. Until I saw his body pictures I thought he was just too flawless for me to even bother talking to; his shoulders and chest are beautifully shaped and covered with a pelt of hair that looks manicured but is purely natural. I had checked him out a zillion times on different apps and hookup sites, and I guess he finally decided to be the one to speak. I almost felt let off the hook by the fact that he was a top too; I could thank him for the attention, tell him he was nut-zappipngly beautiful but also get to be the one to say no thank you, as I was not a bottom. "Two tops can have tons of fun," he said, and told me my dick was mouth-watering and that he wanted for us to suck each other off. Well, how could I say no? So today I went over to Brooklyn Heights, having taken the afternoon off work for a mental health day, and wow, what a fucking treat, even if I didn't get to put my load inside anyone today.
I had asked him to be wearing tight briefs and a t-shirt when I got there, and I dunno where he got these underpants-- my guess is 1973-- but they were full of holes and the weave of the fabric in the back was weirdly blown out, to the point that there was a transparent patch of threadbare cloth right over his ass crack. Not exactly what I was looking for-- those seriously need to be thrown out, dude-- but he tried. He kissed very beautifully and I almost passed out putting my face to his, feeling his unbelievably silky dark beard against my lips, again perfectly groomed but somehow naturally so. His eyes were a mysterious earthy green color, much more limpid than what we would call hazel; I've never seen that color before and it only made his impossible handsomeness seem even more unreal. I was very glad his body wasn't flawless as well, or I would probably have run out of there, unable to handle it. He was a little thick around the middle, but his arms and especially his legs were so thick and muscular-- again perfectly naturally, no sculpting or fussing there-- that his weight sat on his frame in a very pleasing way.
We kissed and sucked each other off and 69ed and stroked each other and stroked ourselves. He said ridiculous things like "Oh yeah just two bros helping each other out yeahhhhh" but with that Italian accent, which did not make it any sexier. And, more distressingly, he had a habit of doing a pretty seriously awful duck-face a la annoying Facebook girl, whenever he could see I was very excited and helplessly telling him how hot he was. But whatever, we *were* two bros helping each other out, having a great time with each other's tools. He let me put him on his back and climb on top and grind my fat dong alongside his fatter, bigger dong, his also flowing much more freely with very slick, delicious precum, and he obligingly wrapped his legs around mine tight, and his arms around my back, and locked lips with me and let me hump by admittedly bigger bulk into his, and I almost shot my fucking brains out through my urethra. But he was like me and wanted to keep on the edge and we kept it up for about 40 minutes or so, till I couldn't hold it back any more, and he said "Let it go man, let yourself cum now," and I said "I gotta cummmmm look at me" and he stared deep into my eyes with those beautiful green irises of his, glittering in that dark, handsome, almost brutally perfect manly face, and I felt my spine go slack as big jets of goo splatted all over his hairy torso.
He fisted his dick hard and when I was done spasming between my legs I reached down and just stroked my fingers up under his balls, just one stroke with one hand like that, and he moaned and tensed up and popped all over himself too. Very nice! Just a bro helping out another bro!
His perfect face contorted in the pain of ultimate pleasure was truly a sight to behold.
Afterward we talked a bit about what we do, where we are from. He was walking around the apartment naked as I lay spent on his bed, looking for something to clean up with, and then, finding a wash cloth, he worked at the spot of cum he found on his chest, then went down his torso, finding more and more of my slimy ejecta, and made the most priceless face of genuine impressed-ness with the size of my load. If only I could have just slipped it to him and put it inside him.
He was a very nice guy, a research psychologist, and had a very easy, affable Italian way about him. He put on a pair of stylish european hipster-nerd glasses that almost made my pants fall off all over again. We talked a bit more, and I left to go get groceries and cook dinner, and fought the urge to immediately text him more mindless exclamations about how incredibly beautiful and handsome and hot and sexy and perfect he looks.
Of course now as I write this I managed to find him, based on his name and profession, on LinkedIn and Facebook. But it's enough to look at him more, without him looking back at me. I just want to freakin look. The pictures don't do him justice, and there he is with the duck face again, the weird "I am very sexy in this pose" smirks that he really doesn't need to make. I remember him more blazingly hot with his eyes closed, lost in the pleasure of feeling our bodies together, our erections straining and slipping together between our legs. But I like the pictures, and I can stare as long as I want, and that is what I need.