The Care and Feeding of Cocksuckers

The psyche of men who love to service meat above all else is endlessly fascinating to me. Not guys who are theatrical about submission-- the trappings, attitudes, and cultural shibboleths of Dom/sub stuff has always left me completely cold. But a genuine love of dick, a genuine deep hunger for it, an endless desire to be near a man's erection, sucking it, holding it, smelling it, admiring it-- that gets my attention. I am a top, of course, but I confess I have an abiding love of dicks too-- one of my earliest memories is looking around at all the males seated in the congregation at church when I was 6 wondering what their dicks were like. Not am I alone-- "Guys just love big, hard dicks!" I remember exclaiming to my boss and his wife once, practically pounding the table with my fist and shouting above the din of a crowded art nouveau coffee shop in Lisbon, trying to convince them of my theory why humans have unusually large dongs in the primate world (it's true, look it up!), telling their amused faces that I thought it was the vestige of an earlier, clothesless time when big-cocked males were granted access to all the females by other normally jealous males just so the latter could watch the amazing spectacle, and hence hung proto-humans sired all the children. Even straight men love big dicks, it's just obvious; they certainly are more impressed than most women. Dicks are just fucking fantastic; I love mine. I probably love yours. You'd probably love mine. But you know who *really* loves mine? This guy-- who spent an hour of unashamed ecstasy lost in my groin yesterday, so full of awe and admiration and pleasure that all he could say after was "thank you."  You're welcome, cocksucker! The pleasure was literally mine.


I don't remember him as giving particularly good head honestly-- I mostly remember him rhapsodizing  the first time we hooked up, also ostensibly to get my cum down his throat, but ending up with me confiscating his ass and drilling it raw quite without permission or negotiation while he just looked up at me with a thrilled admiration of my arrogance. And afterward he just kept saying, about my bare bone, "it was so velvety, so *velvety* inside me". It was indeed a fantastic fuck, but he's not really my type and as I recall gave barely-there head with a little too much tooth, a deadly combination. But yesterday after a sleepless night and a suddenly stressful day of work with a needy client, I just wanted someone to make me cum. I hadn't seen the guy in ages, and he usually just rather forlornly cruises my profile a few times without saying anything, knowing I rarely want to put it in him again, but this time he wrote me, saying, "Up for a blowjob?" I was! Just from a hairy hunky dude. But I could either cruise endlessly for one and get nothing or, in keeping with my New Years resolution, take good orgasms when they are offered to me and not be a little bitch. So I said yes. And put on my coat and went out into the extremely cold early evening and trotted over.

It was the kind of cold that really makes you feel the second law of thermodynamics-- the sidewalk seemed to be actively draining  the heat out of the soles of my feet as if by some new industrial mechanism. By the time I got to the guy's place my dick felt like a shriveled little knot in my pants, the tied little end of a balloon, instead of the meaty, swinging sausage it was in my hands at my apartment before I left, taking a leak and feeling satisfied and plumped up with the knowledge that another dude was going to be completely prostrating himself before it and spending all his energy on making it feel as good as possible in fifteen minutes. When I got there he instantly buzzed me in and I began taking off my gloves and coat, which had become half frozen outside and just served at this point to bring the cold in with them, and made huffing noises about the extremely bracing walk over. He was getting undressed already too, stripping down to just a pair of black American Apparel briefs, then arranging the bedclothes just so. I pulled off my icy pants, tugged once or twice at my sad congealed nub of meat to give it at least an inch or two of length, leaving on my t shirt and sweater. Then we switched places-- he got off the bed, I got on, lay back with my hairy thighs relaxed at their respective angles on either side of the bed, and told him, "Let's get to it!"

He got to it.

He made movements to suck me right away, but then I softened. "Don't rush it," I cooed, "Take some time," and he made an "oh YEAH" noise, muffled by the fact that he was licking the oddly hairless sport on my upper inner thigh, then working his way to my roughly bushy balls and my gooch and the shaft of my meat-- it actually had a shaft now, it had warmed up nicely and was flopping itself this way and that around his face in anticipation of being properly sucked and engorged with hot blood. But he teased me just like I wanted and avoided my dickhead for a while, just moaning his pleasure at being granted full access to my manly garden of delights for as long as he cared to roam in it. I was just completely slack, back propped up by half a dozen pillows, arms spread across the top and hands hanging limp on either side, eyes closed, head back, feeling what it feels like to be a man being serviced.

Feels good.

Finally he had to really have it-- he's done an awesome job of relaxing me and waking up my genitals, but he wanted to taste it and be filled with it all, so into the mouth it went, and he just held it there, feeling my heartbeat pump length into my sex centimeter my centimeter, feeling it inch across his tongue into his throat. Fuck, I love the feeling of getting hard inside a cockscuker. I got hard.

And he sucked the holy living shit out of me for an hour or so. "It's not a real blowjob if it doesn't last an hour," he said brightly halfway through, when he had already gotten me to the edge twice and I begged him not to stop. "I fucking love your dick," he said later, gripping it in his hand, gazing intently at the shape of the meaty knob at the end, the edge of the helmet, the lobes where it curled into the slit for the cum, the far vein up the side, all the hair I have on the underside. There is true love in the world and it's most purely expressed by the cocksucker with a cock in his face.

I don't think much of my dick-- often all I can see is the missing inch I want so badly. But he made me feel like I had the biggest hottest dick in the world. I watched its steely length glisten, sliding in and out of his mouth, and stroked it affectionately with my finger between my bush and his lips on an out stroke, saying, "look at that fucking dick. Look at you suckin my dick."

Not exactly Fitzgeraldian dialogue, but other than dick, a cocksucker needs one thing, and that is talk. He wants to hear what you feel. He wants to know what you want. He needs to know that he is doing exactly what it takes to get you where you want to go, and he wants to hear every detail. I've been told many times by a head-shaking, trembling cocksucker whom I've just drowned with gobs of fuckjuice, "You really know how to give it." And I guess I do. Between the verbal feedback and the judicial resorting to skull-fuckery-- mostly the cocksucker wants to master your fuckstick, but it helps to remind him that it IS in fact a FUCKstick, so you must grasp his skull with hands that mean business from time to time, signaling that he's got you so hard and horny that you can't stop your hips from thrusting, and that he should go slack and open up and accept the barrage. And you tense up your thighs and arms and hold your body rigid while you ram your tool into his head, long fast precise intense strokes into and out of him, no careless bouncing, but militarily controlled motions, that say you're MINE, cocksucker, you do it right but I need to fucking FEEL. And a good cocksucker just wants you to feel, too, and his while body curls around yours, his arms hold you around your waist while he takes the barrage of your fucking hips with moaning sounds of complete submission and bliss. That's a fucking cock, he thinks, and I made it that hard. It wants to be in ME.

I confess it was hard not just to flip him on his back and fuck my load into him. His skin felt impossibly soft and warm, and his body looked kind of nice to me in the soft light, with more bulges and hard muscle on his shoulders and arms than I think I remembered. After 45 minutes of having my meat pleasured and edged I was practically in love with him, out-of-my-mind intoxicated on my own hormones. But I was tired and happy to just let him do his thing. So I let him edge me two more times, drunkly moaning-- practically whining-- "So close, man, you got me soooo fuckin cloooose, lemme feel it, fuckin suck it," which is all they want, they want that moment when you're helpless and putty in their hands and couldn't avoid cumming if you wanted to, they want that to last forever while they ceaselessly suck and suck and suck on you, feeling you radiate that energy. But he backed off, and told me more how beautiful my dick was, and pressed it to his face and stroked it with his hand and gaped at it with a half-open mouth. And then sucked me some more, while I idly rotated my foot around the hard lump in his black briefs-- "I've been rock hard this whole time," he had said, and it was true. He was coiled around me, holding me tight, sucking me, licking and sucking at me.

Very slowly, just enjoying the heat of me and the taste and the hardness, nothing special. But suddenly, I ejaculated. Pretty much out of nowhere. Even I didn't expect it. 

Very nice.

He drank it all down and kept sucking me more and within seconds of my last pulse, that hot wave came up out of nowhere inside me and I came again, dry but pulsing for a few almost unbearably intense seconds. When he realized what was happening I thought he would go out of his mind. What a happy cocksucker.

When it was clear I was completely done, he melted down onto the bed beside me, curled his body against mine, and signed, "That was a lot of cum. I love your dick. I love your dick."

"GOD," I said, and slowly raised my hands to my face and rubbed it. "God," I said again, as the room slowly came back into focus. I held my face in my hands for a long pause. And then, out of nowhere, I said, "I want a pizza."

Cuz I did.

He laughed and just held my dick, which would not get soft, staring at it across the expanse of my hairy chest. 

I woke up a bit and sat up a little. "So what's the appeal?" I asked. And he just riffed on how much he loves dick, especially my dick. And that statement again, "You just really know how to give it. I love it when you tell me what you want, you just… TELL me. I love everything you say. It's so sexy. And then… you just CUM. I didn't even know, I just made you CUM, and it was so much, I love the way you cum." 

So that's the appeal, I guess. Bad dialogue and buckets of semen.

I wanted to talk about life and things, but all he wanted to talk about, really, was my dick. So we talked some more about my dick, somehow-- two completely intelligent grown men talking about a few inches of hairy meat. And he said, "Now I have to find someone to do to ME what I just did to YOU." 

"That's where you cocksuckers are lucky. You get another main event, or as many as you want. After all that, I'm totally done."

I slowly dragged myself out of the bed and began pulling on various items of clothing, dreading going back outside after being warm and pampered for the past hour at the hands of this very attentive guy. We talked a bit about where he spent New Year's, in St Petersburg, and about a time I went to Montreal and it was 40 below wind chill and we thought we were going to die but all those Canadians were running from bar to bar with rosy cheeks and loud voices, oblivious to the loveless, temperatureless void they populated. I was moving in slow-motion, having just had my senses extracted from my brain through the tube in my cock. He pulled on a sweater and I saw a wet spot in his black briefs, and so I slapped him on the back, pointed to his phone, and said, "Get to cruising!" He laughed, and I left, out into an unbearably sun-forsaken world.

I instantly pulled out my phone and texted my partner, "Pizza?" and he said "Yes!" and twenty minutes we were sitting at a brick-oven place we like, with a little candle between us, chatting about this and that. I felt like a million bucks. 

God bless the cocksuckers. You just need to give them a little… and they will give you everything in return.