Author's note - it is my intention to serialise this story. But this post is the first two chapters.
Determined to forget
I was head down, bum up in the dark room of Wet on Wellington in Melbourne. I could barely make out that about seven men were leaning against the wall - watching the show. The stranger jack hammering into hole as precum leaked out of my cock on to the vinyl fuck-bench. I couldn’t tell you if he was wearing a condom - to be honest I was past caring. His moderate cut cock was as hard as granite and he seemed determined to fuck me as hard as humanly possible.
I could tell he was Asian - he had straight pubic hair and he was clearly into me. I wasn’t there for pleasure - I was there to take loads and move on from the past. He was hitting my prostate with every stroke in the most unpleasant way I could imagine.
Frankly, it just hurt - not even liberally huffing amyl helped. But the pressure meant my cock was leaking - precum continued to dribble out of my foreskin onto the vinyl. I kept moaning with every abusive slam - not for my top - but to entertain the barely visible silhouette around the edge of the room.
This was a hate fuck from a man who I would never recognise - but I was determined to take it to show the crowd that even self-loathing chubby guys have their charms. To distract myself from the punishment I was taking, I started to think about how I got here.
In June it became obvious that Covid was back. My suburb was one of ten going into an extreme lockdown for two weeks to save the city from a second wave. The political system seemed determined to cover-up how, why and even who was responsible for our predicament.
I was angry and scared, and frustrated that the white-wash would mean other places wouldn’t be able to learn from our mistakes. And on day two of the two week lockdown, I was washing up. The man I loved and had lived with so long told me “You’re just not the guy for me - we’re a bad match”. Those two weeks lasted 147 days - and my city is still living with restrictions.
The rules were so strict it was illegal for me to move out of our home. I couldn’t stay with friends and I couldn’t even check into a hotel because they were all closed. Our only break from each other was an hour of ‘outside exercise’ every day - in the dead of winter. It was even illegal to get a haircut.
We both tried our best to be kind and civil during those 21 weeks - but the fact remains for nearly six months he and I were caught in a cage-match - I was trapped somewhere I wasn’t wanted, feeling hurt and abandoned, and he was trapped with someone who he once loved, came to resent and now desperately needed to escape.
It was crushing for both of us.
I had been with him for so long I had forgotten who I was without him. The most sensible thing to do was to live in a manner directly inverse to the life that we had built together. I rented a fancy apartment in the middle of the city centre, got myself on PrEP and downloaded the apps.
In short, a few weeks from my 42nd birthday, something had snapped in me and I decided to take every cock I could find until I forgot who I had become with my ex.
Moving day
My grandmother’s voice swirled in my mind - ‘When you move house, always pack a bag with a towel, soap, sheets, toilet paper and a pillow - your first job is to make the bed - the rest is a bonus”. I included my prep, a toothbrush, an old towel, a bottle of lube, and a fresh bottle of amyl in the bag.
After making the bed I had a shower and started working on my plans. I installed Grindr, Scruff, BiggerCity, and Growlr. And, then I did what the old me would consider unthinkable - I set my username in each app to “I can host”, and promised myself no matter what, I would say “yes” to any man who wanted to come over.
As I pottered about the boxes - “ding” from a guy called “thick” on Growlr -
“Hey”, he was 100 meters away and reported his age as 54...
“Hi - how are things?”, I replied…
“Good - just shopping - got any pics?”
I sent him a series of photos - one my cock, one of my butt, a few of my unremarkable face, and a body shot that showed I was a chub. While I would say yes to every man who wanted to come over, I wasn’t going to deceive them. Yes, my heart was broken, but my integrity remained intact.
He replied with three photos - one of a thick looking cut cock, another of a middle-aged body that looked like it was taken 15 years ago, and a clothed photo in front of Sydney Town Hall where all the cars in the background were from the mid-nineties.
I reminded myself of my obligation - I would say yes to every man who asked. My thumbs flicked back to the chat, and tapped out “nice cock. What are you looking for?”
He rambled and I decided to cut to the chase. “I’ve just moved into this place and I’m looking to get fucked NSA”
He took the hint and about ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. He was not 54, but he was chatty. To break the ice (and to shepherd him into the bedroom), I gave him a tour of my new home. He wanted to do foreplay and he was bad at it.
Mercifully, after about 15 minutes of quite dull, uncoordinated fumbling our clothes came off and I’m pleased to report the cock was as advertised. I presented myself - taking a doggy-position at the edge of the bed. He started to rub his hands all over my body. I slathered lube on his cock and my backside. I reached for the amyl bottle and then he started to speak again…
“Do you have a condom?”
I thought about it for a moment - I had some somewhere in the apartment, but everything was in boxes, the boxes were in a random order and so I answered truthfully.
“No. I’m on Prep, so does it matter?”
Saying it out loud changed everything for me - in that moment I knew I was serious. I simply huffed the amyl and waited patiently.
My suitor seemed confused - but he was leaking precum and obviously ready to go. He dropped to his knees, and started to eat me out like a man who hasn’t had a meal in weeks. While his tongue was opening up my hole I realised he had finally shut-up, and so I enjoyed the peace and quiet.
He stood back up and started to rub his cock all over my crack - leaving a trail of precum. I kept huffing the little brown bottle. He slid into me a little too quickly, it had been months since I had been fucked - and I was living for it.
He thrust into me somewhat artlessly. I started to moan because despite his lack of technique, I could feel a certain tension leaving my body. My moans must have turned him on because he got harder.
“You like my thick cock, chubby slut?”
“Yeah, please keep fucking me, man”
“All you chubby boys are the same - look at you, you’re a dirty slut, taking a random cock bareback”
Well he wasn’t wrong. I clenched my hole around his rod that somehow was getting harder still and suddenly my moans became real: I was loving being dicked down by a stranger.
He kept pounding my hole, and we were both getting a light-sweat.
“I’m getting close - where do you want me to cum?”
My hole was singing - yes, it was slightly sore from the stretching, but after months of bad porn and being caught with my ex, it was finally being used for its intended purpose.
I was ready to say something acerbic like “Really dude? Take a hint” but, then I became aware of my voice in the room
“In me”
And then, without so much as a thought, I heard myself begging
“Please cum in me - I need you to breed my hole. I want you to dump your load deep inside me. I need your cum.”
Somehow, the truth had escaped while I was thinking about how I’d be sarcastic.
He slammed as deep into me as he could - and then I felt his cock pulsing.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Finally, two or three weaker pulses.
He collapsed on top of me. I gently squeezed around his cock - I was determined that every drop of his seed would stay in me.
He withdrew. I turned onto my back and relaxed. As he caught his breath, he started to yammer again. Eventually he asked me if I wanted to go on a dinner date with him sometime.
“No thank you, I’m just not in that place at the moment. But thank you so much for coming by today and giving me a load. Do you need me to walk you out of the building?”
“I was hoping to get to know you better”
I lazily motioned at the boxes in the corner of the room and said “mate, I’ve got a lot of work to do - some other time, perhaps?”
“Umm, ok”
He put on his shoes, and started to move towards the front door - but not before hugging me. A hug that I didn’t want.
I managed to overtake him in the hallway, and open the door for him and escorted him into the lift-lobby. I pressed the down button.
“You’ll be right to get out of the building?” I asked, in the form of a statement.
“Yes”
As I turned to return back to my apartment, I found myself speaking
“Good. Well thank you for dropping by”
Before he could reply I had closed and locked the door to my apartment.
Something else had shifted in me. I didn’t want aftercare. I wasn’t attracted to him. In fact, something about him was just ‘off’ - maybe it was his misleading use of photos from the 1990s? I wasn’t annoyed or ashamed or having been fucked by him - although I found his need to speak very annoying. It was just that he was no longer relevant to my day and I was done with him.
Then there was that unmistakable tone from my phone - Scruff.
My hole had cum still in it - I was coated in lube and I opened it - a 21 year old was 12 meters away and had messaged me
“Hi. I love bigger guys”...
