Memory and Longing

I started this blog as a way to record my sexual experiences so they wouldn't be lost to fallible memory. I would have flashes of intense, beautiful experiences with strangers, or humorous experiences with odd guys, or improbable situations that I felt like I wanted to get down lest I forget them. And ironically, I would find that reading back over a few years' worth of sexual experiences, I forget many of them. And even more ironic was the experience I just had last night. It was in fact related to one of the improbable, only-happens-to-me kind of thing I wished I'd recorded when it happened, and which I've certainly never forgot in its general shape. But memory is a slippery thing, and when two people are involved, the asymmetries and changes due to the passage of time can be a little heartbreaking. In short: I ran into a guy online who I fucked for or five years ago, in an extremely intense, fulfilling experience that (unusually for me) I intensely wanted to repeat, but couldn't. And I fucked him again-- I was so excited to be with him again I ran all the way down to City Hall in Manhattan in a freezing, driving rain, full of anticipation, head full of the memory of the time before. But he didn't remember me at all, and was not himself, and the extremely hot start to our reunion dissolved into strangeness. I'm not sure what I think.

Four or five years ago, my partner was back in school doing a grueling two year program that took up all his time. I was essentially single and lonely, especially on the weekends. He and I had had a bit of a tiff one night and I left the house, leaving him to his endless toil, and checked BBRT on my phone as I walked around the neighborhood, not sure what I even wanted to do with myself. Immediately a very hot hairy body unlocked his pictures, and showed me a slightly-funny, big-eared but essentially handsome and open Latino face. He was 5'8, very muscular, very bottomy, and very into me. I told him I was very into him. He sent me his number instantly. I had his address right away. I got off the train where he said, and tried to follow the directions through the maze like streets of Lower Manhattan but was instantly lost. He told me to stay put and that he would come get me. I was standing under the FDR, looking all around, when I saw him coming down the way for me, his muscular chest and arms bulging through a bright orange shirt, and his ass filling out his jeans beautifully, moving towards me with a smile on his face. I couldn't resist putting my hands on him as a hello, right there under the highway, and then followed him back through the unfamiliar streets, to a big city Housing Project. We chatted in a friendly way but all I could think was how bad I wanted to put my dick inside his beautiful body and feel him all over naked.

We got into his rather decrepit building's elevator, crowded in with a bunch of young black girls, and went up about four floors, when the elevator jammed between floors. The girls all started screaming, freaking out, trying to pull the doors open, and my handsome muscular bottom looked at me with a little bit of panic in his eyes. I thought of my partner back home working away, and I'm stuck in an NYCHA  elevator in search of illicit bareback sex with a stranger. I wondered how long we would be stuck in there, and how desperate the crowd would get. But after about a minute or two, someone managed to get the elevator going again, and we all got out and took another one. And before long I was in my handsome bottom's apartment.

I can't even remember what time of year it was. I felt like it was steamy from the radiator in his building, and had been very cold when I was texting him, but I also vividly remember the bright orange shirt stretching over his beautiful body. It must have been summer. He kissed me with a lot of tongue, too porny for me, but when he saw how I was treating him, how I was kissing and touching him, he changed. He was hungry to be adored. And despite my knowledge that there is an army of bottoms out there who want mean tops who use and abuse them, I prefer to adore my bottoms. The gift of another man offering himself up to my pleasure completely is one I feel intense gratitude for, almost disbelief, and I show it. A guy I plowed for an hour and a half in Gramercy park lit up a joint afterward, started at me in a smoky haze from the pillows, and said matter of factly, "You fucked me and made love to me at the same time." And I do that. I held his face, I embraced his body completely, I fucked him with a dick that was tender and sensitive and battering and hard all at the same time. His eyes grew softer and more helpless as he opened more and more layers up to my fucking, and agreed to adore me as well, and it was pretty much one of the best fucks I ever had. I must have squirted a gallon of joyful semen into his gorgeous meaty body that night. I feel like I pumped and pumped and pumped all the sexual energy I had ever produced into him when I climaxed.

We showered afterward-- we had become disgustingly, utterly sweaty from all that fucking-- and he showed me his very sweet personality, and we talked enthusiastically together, soaping each other up and exclaiming about how good we made each other feel. And then he asked if I was single.

I told him the truth, and he nodded a bit, seemed clearly disappointed, but we kept kissing and soaping each other up and rubbing our dicks together. And I dried off and we kissed more and I went home.

A few weeks later I texted him again, saying I hoped he remembered me and would like to get together again. He said of course he remembered me, how could he not? But he decided to cancel his profiles online and focus on finding a boyfriend. It was very poignant to me. I wondered how long it had been since anyone had made love to him like that, made him really feel his beauty like that. And here comes some stranger out of nowhere from this seedy website, who fucks the hell out of him, makes him feel like a prince, and then says he's unavailable. I told him I wished him good luck, that he would be a great boyfriend, and cursed how things work. And wondered what I could really experience with this guy anyway, that maybe that was the best that could happen.

But I never stopped thinking about him and comparing other experiences to that one. And thinking how funny it was starting out with being trapped in an elevator in the projects. The things I'll endure to ejaculate inside beautiful men!

Years go by, and he's suddenly back online. He opens his pictures for me from time to time, and I say, "How have you been, handsome?" and he never engages me. I thought maybe he remembered whatever made him not want to give himself to me again in the first place, and just decided the easiest thing to do was not reply. But last night, I was in Union Square, with a couple of free hours, desperately trying to rid myself of the week's semen backup, and there he was. I hit him up, and he seemed game, but seemed not to remember me at all. I told him we had hooked up once before, and mentioned getting stuck in the elevator-- who would forget being trapped in a small space with a bunch of hysterical girls and a trick? He just said "Oh cool" and gave me the address and I went down.

When I got to his place, he flat out said, "I don't remember this encounter! Was it here or at your place?" I gave him some more detail, and he scanned my face rather helplessly. I just laughed. "Well then, you get to discover the joy of being fucked by me all over again!" And we kissed, and it was everything I remembered. He had gotten a little paunchier as he entered his forties, but still those fantastic shoulders, those rock-hard arms, the wiry, hairy forearms, the incredible muscular ass, the meaty chest that you almost wanted to chew off, the beautiful deep soulful kissing. Before it got too hot I said I wanted to take a leak, and he wanted to watch, so I showed him. And before I could wipe off my dick with paper he bent down to clean me off, and suckled at me gently, with a look of complete worship on his handsome, funny face, eyes closed in bliss. And we began.

Honestly he seemed a little sluggish in talking. And I began to wonder if he was high. He certainly hadn't been the first time. But it is a hazard in the bareback world. I suppose what I do is crazy and self-destructive, and attracts reckless intense pleasure-seekers with bad boundaries and bad impulse control who love drugs for the same reason. I don't feel like that kind of guy, and don't do drugs at all myself, or see the appeal, but it comes with the territory. We got deeper into each other's body and my dick was so hard it was almost painful, and he sucked me and showed me his beautiful body in the bedside light as he worshipped my meat, and we tangled and stretched against each other, and we did all the things I love and it felt incredible and finally I was inside him completely, on top of him, pushing his knees back with my hands, drilling into his velvety slick insides while my brain screamed silently with intense satisfaction; I ran my tongue down his throat as I ran my dick up his guts and the fucking was everything I had been longing for all these years.

And he breathed hard and said, "Let's slow down, let's slow down," and he pushed me off him. He sucked my dick a little, and then asked me a strange, slurred question about who was so-and-so. I didn't know what he meant. "In the email, who was so-and-so?" I couldn't even make out the name. I smiled in his face, a little crestfallen that he was out of it, and said I didn't understand. And he said he heard a noise outside. I hadn't heard anything, but his little dog was twirling and barking. He left the room, striding on those meaty, legs, showing me that fantastic ass as he left the room, and I lay on the bed, bone in hand, incredibly frustrated.

He came back, and lay next to me, saying he wanted to talk. He asked where I was from, he asked why we never got together before, he asked if I was sure it had been in his place. I didn't want to get into it-- talking on a certain level is a complete boner-killer for me-- so I pulled him to me, kissed him deeply, circled his body with my arms and felt the warmth rise again, and promised we could talk more after. And he fell into my lap and sucked my dick more, sleepy-eyed, fulfilled to be pleasuring a man's dick. More time passed, and the heard more noises, and went out of the room again. After at least a minute I followed, and he was in the kitchen, closing the window. He was clearly paranoid. "We should do this at your place next time," he said. "My dog is very upset by sexual things." Ugh, the dog. "Let's stay in the living room," he said, and pushed me back on his couch. He sucked me hard again, then stood up, turned around, and lowered himself onto my rod, grinding with slow, hypnotic movements, feeling my length probing inside him. I stroked my hands up and down the hairy, meaty, beautiful front of his body. I hate being ridden but I was so crazy about this guy, I let him do what he wanted. I just wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck him. I just wanted to be inside him for as long as I could.

But he stood up, and lay beside me, and talked more, and I grew limp. I begged to go back to the bed, so we did, and we made out and fooled around more, but he again wanted to go back to the couch. I had been there over an hour at this point, and the last half hour had been almost pure frustration. I lay on the couch, and he arranged me how he wanted-- first, he wanted to rub his face all over the hair on my back, then put his head between my thighs and suck my balls, then suck intently on just my dickhead, clearly his favorite part of me. I knew I had to go before too long, and I didn't know if I could  come from any of this. My balls were on fire and aching like a teenager's at the prom. Finally I told him I would have to leave soon, that I needed desperately to cum. I coached him a bit in how to treat my meat to make me get hard and then ejaculate, but at this point it was clear he was high and those guys can't really follow directions too well usually. So I took what he offered, and without getting fully hard, just seeing his beautiful face, silhouetted by the lamp beside the couch, in profile, with his blissful closed eyes, the big funny nose, the beautiful lips, chin, thick neck, straining shoulder muscles, all that meat, that body, that intensity, that energy, that desire, all packaged in his shape, all aimed at my dick, finally made my nuts relent. And with a merely thick, rubbery dong, I shot a huge load into him. I came for a long time; it seemed over a minute, and I must have spasmed dozens of times. His brows knit as he felt my cum keep shooting into a pained expression of ecstasy, and he swallowed it all, and kept sucking greedily long after I was spent. I let him, just watching his face and his body, even though it was intensely sensitive. I was so attracted to him, and so frustrated he was high, didn't remember me, wasn't the same as before, so flitty, so paranoid, so unfocused. So I let him suck me for another five minutes, even though I was completely limp.

He stopped finally to say, "You came so much." And suck me a bit more. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him-- his breath was not acrid with my usual taste somehow, but very sweet and delicious. We made out languidly. And I touched his body all over, committing it to memory all over again.

I dressed and he expressed again wonder that we had met before. He didn't remember a thing. "And we just lost contact?" he asked, completely mystified. I told him why, and he nodded, and a lot more lucid than before, told me about his dating history a bit since we met. "So you have an open relationship?" he asked, and I told him how it worked, and he nodded, understanding, saying he figured he would need the same thing. "I wouldn't want sex to be the reason I break up ever again," he said determinedly, and I told him that was exactly why I decided on the arrangement I had with my partner as well. "I want to be with you again," he said. "I like the things you do and the way you move and I love your body and your dick." And that was very gratifying. But is he high all the time now? Is the spell broken? I kept kissing and touching him as I pulled on garments and checked for accessories before leaving. He reminded me of my umbrella. And I left.

In the elevator, an old guy got on, humming to himself, engrossed in a fistful of credit cards. "They weren't lying!" he said to me with amazement. I asked what they were lying about, wondering if he was schizo. He showed me the signature strip of one of the cards, which he had been wearing away with the edge of another card. "That's your PIN!" he said triumphantly. Improbably, four little digits showed up in the worn-away white strip. "You can recover the PIN!" He was delighted. I wondered where the cards came from. Dorkily, I said, "Maybe you want to change that PIN now, eh?" and he laughed and wished me goodnight. We went out together into the miserable drenching freezing shower falling all over the forlorn courtyard of the housing project. No one was around and I walked past all the flyers advertising a reward for anyone who could give information about a mugging and a beating that happened a week ago. And I trotted quickly through the deserted, ghostly streets down there, to the fancy vaulted and tiled entry to the subway, and made it home to warmth and familiarity.

In a way this guy was the whole reason I started my project of fucking and remembering online-- I didn't want to lose similar stories. I don't know if I have the full story with him. Would he remember if he wasn't high? When he told me he didn't want to hook up again, years ago, wanting a boyfriend, was I fooling myself that I had unlocked something in him? Was he letting me down easy? What does any of this mean? Is he addicted to drugs? Is he ok or on a collision course with oblivion? Does he remember anything we did or said last night?

I won't forget. The first experience was pure pleasure, absolute physical and spiritual perfection. The second was an exercise in complication. I wonder if I want a third.