I Fucked a Kid in Elmhurst, Just to Watch Him Cum

I just deposited an intense load of semen in the ass of a 24 year old Persian kid in Queens-- an ass that would make any top weep with pleasure and longing-- after sweating copiously all over his lithe, tight body for an hour. He was so sensual, so open to pleasure, and so exotically handsome that my dick ached and throbbed and oozed the entire time, and after my orgasm I felt my body still trembling, all the way through the shower I took to get the sweat off, through dressing, and walking back in the car to sit in traffic home. Literally shaking. "I want to do this every day," he had whispered into my ear at one point, while I was heaving my hairy dad's body against his thin hairless boy's body, and I whispered back that I could fuck him all night long-- and I could have, if the pleasure wasn't so great that I had to spend the whole time inside him fighting an epic battle with my testicles about what to do with my burning spooge. This was one amazing fuck, the kind I am always searching for, the kind that makes lesser sex seem downright ridiculous and pointless. And to top it off, it was all these things despite happening in the house of a friend of his, whom he was "cat sitting" for, on a futon in the crappy cluttered living room, separated from the hallway and kitchen only by a flimsy fabric screen, while the friend's roommate was home, going back and forth from his bedroom to the kitchen, cooking a hamburger with onions, having two full telephone conversations, and washing dishes-- all to the tune of a crappy blues band on the television on some public-access channel, which the Persian kid had put on to cover the sounds of our rutting (I doubt it did). I am supremely distractable and can lose my erection because of an ice cream truck passing, but this was so intense, so fantastic, that a bubble of fuck energy surrounded us and I never missed a beat, diving deeper and deeper into him, deeper and deeper into sexual ecstasy, despite this worldly nonsense. God, what a beautiful fuck!

It was so mind-erasing that it only struck me on the drive home that the dude really was not the same dude in his pictures-- that guy had nice thick, natural muscles on a lightly hairy frame, and the dude I fucked was much more slender and boyish. But he had thick, sensuous lips, large facial features, a tiny waist with achingly round buttocks attached-- those at least looked just as advertised-- and spring-loaded nips that I apparently worked expertly, making his respectably meaty tool ooze threads of precum nonstop between our bodies and leaving him moaning and incapacitated with pleasure. After about 10 minutes of nothing but working on his nips, rubbing my cock in the aforementioned precum, and fingering his asshole, he said the magic words: "You can do anything you want to me." His profile had said he wanted safe sex, and we never discussed fucking (I didn't care; even if all I did was eat his ass for an hour, I would have been happy), but the abject surrender to my ministrations evident in his sighing tone let me know that I was going to be ejaculating in this kid as deeply and copiously as I could possibly ejaculate. That utterance sent me into another dimension of excitement, and I got to work making sure he wouldn't regret giving me carte blanche to the inner reaches of his body.

When I'd arrived he had an obnoxious hockey game playing on the TV, and explained that his "bedroom" was the living room; he apologized for the flimsy screen, and for the presence of the roommate, who had promised to leave an hour ago but wasn't budging. I looked at the fabric screen-- it covered the whole passageway from the hall, but each panel was separated from the next by like two inches of space; the entire Von Trapp family could fit on the other side and watch my hairy, schlubby body pump my fetid sexual fluid into this kid without crowding or sacrificing a view. Entirely uncharacteristically, I didn't care. I merely asked him to change the channel, saying, "I really loathe the sound of sports on the TV," and he agreed and looked all over for a music channel. The crappy blues band was the first thing he found. It was extremely distracting at first, but as I sank into the pleasures offered by his body, I blocked it out. As we went deeper and deeper into each other, I only registered the distractions very vaguely. "He's in the kitchen," the kid hissed at one point, and sure enough I heard cabinets opening and closing and the distinctive sound of hands swimming through Tupperware containers. But I fucked on! The hamburger sizzled and the onions released their stink; my dick just slid obliviously through the slick, warm, velvety innards of this beautiful kid. He held my body, I held his body, and I fucked and fucked him all through the roommate's plan-making phone call with whoever. The blues band switched abruptly to very pretty, jangly music as I told him I needed to cum so badly but it was so good didn't want to ever cum; "Don't cum," he said, and I told him I wouldn't, and we went higher and higher. The room grew dim and we fucked on. The band began to play a Chris Isaak song; as the singer, who suddenly sounded a lot better, crooned the keening chorus, the kid dropped into a deep well of need for my body, and the fuck began to feel incredibly romantic, despite the fact that I'm old enough to be his father and I didn't quite catch his name. "I want to fall in love..." the singer sang, and my nuts hoisted themselves into the trunk of my body, and by the next chorus, my erection was soaking him deeply with my genetic material. I felt his body clench around mine when he felt me shooting. "I want to see your face," he said, and I held my head slackly above his, unable to see, unable to do anything but squirt cum and gasp. The roommate was washing dishes and my soul was on the moon tending a garden of unearthly delights. My orgasm seemed to last forever.

I stayed inside him and worked on his nipples again, hoping to make him cum. He got close, then stroked himself, and moaned how good I was making him feel, and the band began to play Folsom Prison Blues. Now that I was no longer burdened with my sperm, I came to in the here and now again; it was an effort to pleasure him to his own orgasm with that ridiculousness playing, and I became acutely paranoid about the roommate standing behind the screen, watching me screw this kid up until he popped. But I didn't turn my head, I didn't break my stride, and I heard his breath quicken and his voice cry out while I was very firmly biting the very end of his right nipple between gentle, tugging teeth. I heaved myself up and stroked his body, admiring its curves. He wiped up his goo and stood up, saying he would get me a towel. I was shaking. I saw him visibly shaking. We had deeply affected each other with this fuck. I don't know if we had been watched or not. I wonder!

I bathed quickly, not seeing the roommate on my way to or from the bathroom. But as I was dressing he began moving around the apartment again, much to the chagrin of my bottom. I said, "I really don't care, just relax, if you want I can just head out." "Hold on, my pants, my shoes..." and he staggered around naked, looking for something to wear to escort me out, finally dressing and venturing tenderly out into the hall. The coast seemed clear. "Do you think he's stalling to check me out?" I asked, and he said he didn't know, but that it looked like the guy went down to the laundry room. So we didn't run into him. I skipped out and put the top down and drove back home as the sun set.

He had said he might want to fuck again before he goes back to San Francisco at the end of the week. He is one person I might break my normal habits for. Or maybe I should leave this a perfect experience. Either way... Wow.