Mistaken Identity

My latest high-pressure, six-day, frustrated load of semen is now safely deposited inside an amazing, hairy, ripped body in Chelsea. This is one of those almost out-of-body experiences for me; did this guy really make out with me, suck my dick, lay back and let me ram my bone into him till we both popped?? He was absolutely beautiful, with a bushy beardo face; perfectly sculpted, lean muscles; a sweet fat dick; and ab muscles so rigid and wavy that I could have played "Diggin' my Potatoes" on them. And he loved it too; feeling my beard scratch against his balls as I licked all around his hole made him moan with pure pleasure, and when I put my own schlubby body on his perfectly formed frame, he hitched his rock-hard thighs around me in that tight, unmistakable way bottoms have of saying, without words, "I need you inside me, as deep as you can go." What a bottom! After a long spell of fucking and getting sucked off by regulars, he was an awesome new experience. But ironically, it almost didn't happen, and he almost wasn't even new! All due to some weird simultaneous cases of mistaken identity… and my age-old prejudice against fucking in Chelsea. But for once I'm glad I went to that stupid neighborhood, and stuck it out!

I hit him up on BBRT, with a generic wow-I'd-love-to-eat-that-ass-and-flood-it-with-cum message, not really expecting a reply because the body was just too amazing. But he unlocked his pictures right away and asked if I would come right up and load him up. There were more pictures of his fabulous body and one rather artfully lit view from behind that only showed his face from the side. Often this kind of thing is a red flag; the harder it is to see the face, I figure, the older the dude is now-- he claimed to be 38. Or the more likely the pix are fake. But there was one picture of him lying prone, with thick limbs bent on all sides of him, a deep muscular trench running down his huge back, showing off a meaty, platonically ideal ass that, if there was even a .001% chance it was real, I wanted my ejaculate inside it, I had to go see. His replies to me came pretty slowly, and he didn't say anything when I asked if he liked to suck dick too. These were more bad signs that maybe he was too high to maintain a conversation, however brief and focused on something simple like fucking, and maybe he was working tons of other guys and just taking on all comers. But when he did reply, he said "Dude please cum. I'd love to have you eat my ass then fuck it and fill me up with your big streams." And that was just music to my ears, so I asked for his cell number, and he sent it pretty quickly. We had a quick text conversation where he seemed to be acting normal, so I started getting excited. I've been out of the saddle for so long, just having guys I already know come over and service me, that I felt a little nervous about traveling to a stranger's place, getting it up, performing adequately with an amazing built dude like this, all that. But damn I wanted to fuck. So I went over.

The train took forever to come, and I was out without my splint on, which I'm supposed to wear outside at all times. But I was like, how is it going to look if I show up at this stud's house with my arm in this ugly thing? So I kept my arm clutched to my side the whole way, convinced I would hurt myself all over again in the jostling subway, or, even worse, if I or he lost our head during fucking and stuff started getting a little, shall we say, vigorous. But you gotta try, right?

So it took about fifteen minutes longer than expected to get there. When I was out of the train I texted him to tell him I was late but only about 7 blocks away. He never replied, which made my heart sink a little. And then when I arrived at his place, there was already a big-assed prissy queen waiting in the dingy little vestibule. He looked terrified to see me there, and when I nodded and reached past him and buzzed the buzzer, he looked at me even more intently. Nothing was happening, so I texted the bottom to tell him I was there. Nothing. It was ridiculous to stand in that confined space with the trembling queen, so I went outside into the breeze and texted the guy again, saying I would go get a drink and come back. But I knew what was going on, or thought I did; the dude was high, was laying on the bed with an open oozing hole, he would let anyone cum in him judging by the dude waiting in the vestibule, and my ideas of having a lovely special top-to-bottom hour of vivid pleasure were foolish dreams. Fucking Chelsea! I texted a quick "Not cool man, I'm leaving" message and decided to go deposit a check at the bank and see if I could find someone really quick in the vicinity to at least suck a load out of my nuts.

I walked a few blocks to the bank and made my deposit; on a4a I saw a guy like 150 feet away who wasn't that cute but often begged me to let him suck me. And another guy a mile away, with a very nice little body, handsome latin face, and big ass had said hello maybe 10 minutes before. I wrote both of them, hoping one of them would pan out quick so I could get back home to work, but then the calls and text started coming from the Beautiful Specimen. I declined the call, and he left a voicemail, and sent me a text begging me to come back, saying the buzzer must be broken and his cell was charging so he didn't hear it buzz. This all seemed unlikely when you are expecting a gentleman caller. So I ignored him and focused on the other guys. But he texted again, "Are you coming back man? Please say you are. I'm so sorry." I looked at the picture of the greedy cocksucker, who was way, way, WAY ready, but paled in comparison. So I texted, "Are you high man? There was another dude there waiting too. Not into pnp or groups." And he said it was a guy who he thought was me when he buzzed, but it was someone he had told not to come but did anyway. He said he had partied some "last night." Ugh. I told him I was in two minds… "I like good sex with dudes who got it together." And I listened to his voicemail. He had a really nice voice, sounded completely reasonable, and was melting my nuts with all this wheedling. "Ur call," he said. "I don't blame you if you don't care to. I'm still pretty normal." So I told him I'd come if we wouldn't be interrupted by a stream of other dudes and texts and calls, and he said he would be alone. I thought maybe this could be an experience to rival the number one post on here, in hits and in my memory; it was definitely starting out similarly. Always hopeful in the face of idiocy, I told him I would come over. When I got there, an old lady was in the vestibule! I was like WTF. But I texted that I was there, and buzzed the buzzer hard. And it buzzed in a way it didn't before. Hm! Maybe this guy was for real after all.

He instantly buzzed me in and I went up the three flights to his place. (The old lady only went up one, thank God.) He opened the door and looked just fantastic. Craggy, manly jewish face, giant beard, covered with tattoos, shoulders broad as Atlas carrying the world. He smiled at me and let me in. I told him I was a little thirsty and he said he'd get me some water, and turned to go into the kitchen.

Across his back was a large tattoo of a word spelled out in gothic letters-- and instantly I realized this was an unbelievably hot dude I fucked a year and a half ago-- came in him twice in fact, once up the ass and once down the throat. He had been wearing a mask the whole time, and I never saw his face. He let me fuck him for as long as I could and then kept sucking my dick after I came to make me cum again, completely unhurried and happy to have my dick in him, even if it was just soft. I saw the tattoo and cried, "I fucked you once!" He turned around, flexing those amazing muscles, twisting his body for my viewing pleasure, and looked me in the eyes deeply. "We did?" And I said, "You were wearing a mask the whole time, so I didn't recognize you." He looked a little skeptical, but laughed. "You look different from your pictures," he said-- a new one on me-- "but you do look familiar." I drank my water, and he said "Well go ahead, get naked man!" and we went back to his bedroom. This apartment looked nicer than the one I remembered; that one was in Hells Kitchen, I thought, and he had me fuck him on the couch, I think. This was bigger and cleaner. But I actually felt a little disappointed, perverse as that may sound. He was fucking fantastic looking, a true prize bottom for the likes of me, but my mind instantly went to the little latino dude who I never put my dick in before and seemed to want to do it with me. There is really something wrong with me, to be disappointed this way just because I can't fertilize new flowers every time. But hey, it was too late now; I couldn't very well say "I'm going to leave you now and fuck someone else I never fucked before."

In his room he turned to me and sprung at me, opening his mount wide and taking my tongue deep into his mouth. His hard hairy body felt incredibly exciting in my hands. My wrist is not very flexible yet so petting his awesome pelt and groping his hard muscular body was a bit of a chore. But fuck, he was hot, and affectionate, and his dick was already fat and hard.

I had told him he would have to suck me real nice as a condition of my returning, so I said, "How about you get on your knees for me." "I can do that," he said, and then he was there before me, eye to eye with my dick. "Do it slow," I commanded, "I want to feel everything." And he obeyed, letting my meat thicken and dangle against his cheek for a bit, only slowly sucking it into his mouth and kneading it with his tongue. It was amazing to see my dick disappear into that manly hairy face and slide back out thicker, longer, wetter from his saliva. He was making me nice and hard, but slowly, slowly the way I like it, so I can feel every degree of excitement build in my nuts.

The sight of a man like this, perfectly formed, highly desirable, on his knees in front of you, is primally satisfying. I held his throat with one hand and put the other on the back of his head-- which was covered with a backward baseball cap-- and thrust my dick deep into him, and squeezed my muscles to make it throb and swell inside him, and he made a little sound. And slowly I fucked his skull and his mouth went slack to accept me how I wanted it. And this was beautiful… but then I had to get him turned over on the bed. And get lost in his hindquarters, licking and sucking everything in sight, sucking his fat dick with the beautifully formed dickhead-- perfect guys are perfect all over, seems like, how can this be?-- and plunging my tongue into the increasingly accepting knot of asshole he had there. My dick was now hard as a rock and I wanted to push it in right then and there, but I hadn't cum in a long time, I couldn't get overexcited, had to make it last with this guy. 

Any disappointment that I was fucking someone I'd already fucked was long gone. I thought to myself, when I flipped him onto his back, mounted him, ground my dick into his and looked into his face, pulling his body close to mine, that it was like fucking someone new because before I only had his body, and now I had his face. I had the comfort of knowing he liked how I fucked and wanted my cum inside him, but I had the newness of his handsomeness, his soulful tawny-colored eyes, the noble bridge of his nose. I moved my body against his and felt his thighs straining around me, aching to force my dick lower and into his guts, but he also moaned, as I moved, "God that feels amazing," and accepted my kisses as deeply as I wanted to push them. And then *I* had to go inside.

He took my dick with a sudden pop, lubricated with just spit, but he was tight and it was too much. So he fetched some lube, and came back and lay down, arms and legs all arrayed around that magnificent torso, slicking up his hole for me, open and waiting for my meat, looking at me expectantly, with pure desire. And then I slicked up my bone and pushed it back in. And he said, "GOD. So good." And we were fucking.

The sensation was so intense. Fucking a beauty like this fries the circuits of the brain, shreds time into rags. It was all I could do to keep it up and command my balls not to cum. I slid in and out of him, holding his one hard hairy leg high, so I could get some body contact but also see his perfect form, and not get too over excited. He loved the angle. "That sliding in and out," he said, shaking his head. "It feels… oh my god, just keep going in and out, oh my god." And we both felt it. A fantastic perfect fuck.

"Do you really cum in streams like that?" he asked me, full of hope, begging me with his eyes to say yes, as I slowly gave him the deep dick. "I do," I said confidently. "And I haven't cum in like a week, so you will get a lot." His eyes grew wide. "A *week*!" And he laid his head back and smiled and just sighed with pleasure at being penetrated deeply, slowly, with a hard thrust at the end to make sure he took it all, but then a long slow stroke pulling out. 

My wrist was a real worry. All I could do was ball it up tight and put my knuckles on his chest to support my upper body when I was really whaling my cock into him. His pectoral muscle was like a hairy boulder and I was amazed that he was taking all my weight through a clenched fist onto one muscle like that without pain or having the muscle even deform an inch. This guy was built like a fucking brick shithouse and he could take a pretty intense fucking.

I held his dick in my hand like the horn of a saddle as I rode him. On very deep thrusts his dick zinged, engorging even harder with blood. He was a born bottom. But he pushed my hand away, and said, "I am too close. If you do that you will make me cum." I let go instantly, and said, "No, we gotta make this last." I bent down and kissed him close. "I never wanna fucking cum," I cooed as I sucked on his neck, pushing his legs back with my arms, drilling into him deep. "It was meant to be," he said. "Just let yourself cum if you want to." I pulled up a bit, watched my dick slide in and out of him, pulling some of his guts out with it on each out stroke. We shook our heads in helpless pleasure. "Fuck," he said after a silence, tightening his lips in determined enjoyment. "Fuck, fuck." 

"Do you want me to cum?" I asked, and he nodded. "Please cum in me, cum like in the pictures." So I started fucking him hard and deep, vaguely worrying about my wrist but really not caring any more, just wanting to feel as much intense pleasure inside him as possible before the end, and as it rose in my body, I growled, "Look at me when I cum in you," and he opened his eyes, locked them on mine, and I pounded him almost off the bed, watching that big meaty body bounce from my thrusting, holding him close, fucking him deep, feeling the cum boil in my nuts, flood into my ducts, and wait for that magical moment when I lose all control and my sex takes over completely…

…and then I pushed in deep and let it fly, growling, "Feel that? Feel that?" and he said "Are you cumming?" and I pushed in deeper and he felt me throb inside, and we stared at each other as I pulsed my life fluid into him, and then, beautifully, he reached up for my neck, pulled my face to his, and sucked on my tongue while I finished ejaculating into him. What a sweet, beautiful bottom, what true, beautiful desire. 

And when I was done, he let me go, and fisted his beautiful fat dick hard, and said, "I'm gonna cum too," and thick white goo shot out all over his hairy belly, firm clumps of sperm. Writing this, I wish I had bent down and sucked them up and swallowed them. This is a guy I would happily swallow.

I pulled out and he ran off to do something. I was in a haze and not clearly thinking, resting a bit, feeling my wrist tenderly to make sure I hadn't damaged it in the frenzy. He came back and lay next to me and we panted and laughed a little. 

"So you sent that poor kid home?" I asked, and he said he never wanted him to come, and he buzzed him up thinking it was me. We got up and started dressing, chatting aimlessly about my neighborhood, where he used to live, and other Brooklyn hoods he'd lived in. "And now you've graduated to Manhattan!" I said. I told him I thought he'd lived in Hells Kitchen when we met before. "I've never lived in Hells Kitchen," he said. "Are you sure we've fucked?" And I said, "Well, the only reason I recognized you was the tattoo," and he laughed. "Let me see it again." He turned that fantastic body, that engineered marvel, to show me.

And it didn't say "Well-Bred." It said, "Blessed."

WTF!

I burst out laughing. "That's not what it said!" I confessed. "It wasn't you at all!" He smiled-- what a beautiful guy-- and we kissed a little, and I felt him up a little. And then I pulled on my splint-- no sense hiding from it now, I'd already cum in him-- and he sucked in his breath. "Wow, you really hurt yourself," he said. At some point during the festivities I'd told him I had to be careful. "Yeah, I think that was pretty good physical therapy though!" 

Not wanting to be a pest, but kind of wanting to live with him forever just staring at his body, I finished getting ready and went to say my goodbye. And out I went, feeling fucking amazing.

A couple hours later I couldn't resist texting again. I apologized for the bad beginning, saying I was glad I gave him a chance and went back. "Thanks for coming back," he replied. "Super duper hot."

Awesome!