[Promiscuous Top] Yikes

[Feeder]

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Today I fucked a seriously pent-up wad, saved since Saturday and augmented by repeated prick-teasing since then, into the hairy little body of a dude who turned out to be high as a kite on crack or whatever it is the kids are doing these days. And afterward I kinda wanted to dip my dick in bleach.

He seemed a *little* off online, constantly asking me how quickly I could be at his place, which was not too terribly far away on the Clinton Hill/Bed Stuy border, but I chalked that up to maybe being as pent-up as I was and very eager, as his profile was pretty normal and didn't seem like it belonged to a crackhead. I didn't have a lot of time to hook up this week and had to turn down two awesome possible fucks on Tuesday. One was a bodybuilder who is clearly not into me but loves how I fuck him and keeps coming back for more (no big loss there for me, since I'm not too into just being someone's stud service, though he's got the most beautiful body I've ever stuck my dick in and I wouldn't mind getting it in there again). The other was a muscular guy I've been trying to seed ever since I moved to NYC, but it never works out whenever we start up a round of negotiations, and then we let it drop again for long stretches of months before trying again. I haven't been thrilled with my hookups lately, so it was very frustrating to be hit up by two hot bodies on the one day there was no hope of me being able to fit in a fuck.

Today I had off and did a bunch of useless cruising all afternoon with guys who drove me crazy. One guy hit me up, knowing full well where I am because it's in my profile, got me all wound up about getting my nuts drained long and slow, then asked where I am and said it was "too far" because he's in the West Village, which is honestly barely a 20 minute subway ride away. He said he could host but didn't have time to wait around for me to travel "all that way"! I don't know why these Manhattan have this bizarre notion of geography-- and time; the only way he could do better would be to find someone else within 10 minutes, because it would take anyone who wasn't right next door at least 10 minutes to get there. I told him when I could be there and he said, "I'm really just pressed for time." UGH. Infuriatingly, the same exact thing happened with someone in the West Village yesterday. I am not far from the West Village! It's one of the easiest parts of Manhattan to get to!

Another guy who's played footsie with me a bunch on BBRTs for a while, who I had buddy listed, signed on after that, and enthusiastically returned my hello and re-unlocked his pictures for me. Very handsome latin guy who loves giving head. When I asked if he wanted my dick, he said "Most definitely", then asked how long it would take me to get there (he's in the EAST Village, even closer), but when I went to reply, he'd blocked me! WTF! Dudes be crazy! What old lady did I beat up in a past life to deserve this?

I was pretty much ready to give up and go have a sexless day, figuring I'd wasted too much time already, when Little Hairy Tweaker showed up. We made arrangements pretty quickly and I ran over. I knew the corner of Brooklyn he lived in because I had a friend who used to live not far from there, but it was a rather skankier area than I expected. I buzzed him and he told me through the intercom, "Third floor, door on the right." The hall and stairway reeked of dank cooking and I felt a little like Jacob Riis valiantly diving into tenement squalor. Distracted by the misery of this building, I went up three flights instead of two, and knocked on the door on the right, which had no number or label of any kind-- none of the doors did. It opened a crack and I kind of pushed it open, used to guys answering naked and not wanting to fully expose themselves to whoever else might pass in the hall. But it was of course the wrong apartment; a bearded hipster nerd was there, kinda freakin out that this other bearded dude was pushing his way into his apartment. I realized it wasn't the guy I was supposed to fuck and recoiled, and said, "Is this #7?" He looked even more perplexed, and I said, "I mean, buzzer #7?" And he laughed at me, and I asked "OK third floor?" and he said "No, fourth." I apologized and ran down the stairs, humiliated.

The same thing basically happened a floor below, only this time there was a naked hairy little man there who did want me to come in. It was all candlelit inside and very, very warm, but was tidy and smelled clean. When I looked into the guy's face, he had seriously crazed eyes and was talking low and chatteringly as dudes who are tweaking do. I thought, Ay Chihuahua, am I gonna do this or bolt? But I was so horny! His body was much thinner than I expected but I did want to cum in it. I thought, well, maybe this will be OK.

He led me to another room-- he had the whole floor and it was a huge place, but railroad-style-- where there were more candles and a bed. Ironically, he'd said online he wasn't sure he'd want to make out but was dying to blow me, but in person he kissed me right away, very nicely indeed, and then proceeded to take my pants off and give me useless, barely-there head. I hopped back on the bed and invited him between my legs and tried to coach him-- "Press your tongue against my dick. Just press it, kinda hard. Press it, push against it, suck it. SUCK IT, PUSH YOUR TONGUE AGAINST IT," but he was perplexed by this apparently inscrutable instruction. Finally two synapses somewhere in the chemically-washed recesses of what remained of his brain fired together, and I got a little friction. I praised him like a puppy piddling on a newspaper and he lapped at me happily with his newly acquired skill for several minutes. But this was not going to get me hard.

I hopped on the floor, hiked his hairy little ass to my face with two arms hooked under his hip bones, and ate the fuck out of him. That got me hard. His asshole took my tongue in readily and I thought, this might turn out to be a nice fuck! I got myself hard enough to press into him, slicked myself up with my spit, and stood up to push in. He did take me, but was too squeaky clean inside; my dick was not sliding against his insides but rather stuck in there. I started to lose my boner again and was just accordioning my meat into him, basically, which he seemed to enjoy for some reason, but which did nothing for me. Adding to the misery, the bed seemed to be sagging on one side and was covered with a very thick, nubbly-knit throw whose texture was extremely distracting under my knees; I felt like I was sinking into Barbarella's fur bed. He had atmospheric, sexyish music playing in the background, but his speakers kept cutting in and out. His little body looked nice on all fours with my dick in it, and I liked reaching around feeling his hairy little torso, but this was all far too destracting.

I pushed him on his back and ground my dick into his groin, crushing my body with his and biting his neck, hoping to get hard again. He wrapped himself around me and whimpered with pleasure, but the bed felt like it was going to slide right off its base. I pushed a bunch of surplus pillows and the annoying comforter to the floor, and he looked at it with dismay, saying, "I put that there so I wouldn't get anything on the bed." It seemed like an absurd textile to use for that purpose, as it seemed to me to be uniquely unlaunderable. But such is the mind of the drug-addled. I informed him that the bed seemed near its demise, and he said, "Let's go back to my bed," making me wonder whose bed I was currently fucking him on. But I followed him.

The back room was better lit and much cooler, which suited me fine, and the bed there was firmer and had no nubbly comforter on it. I ate his ass some more, got myself rigid, and stuck it in his mouth; his technique was a bit better now, or maybe just felt that way because I was fully hard. Bottles of lube and poppers were rolling all over the fucking place, though, and I kept tossing them around the bed trying to get them out of the way; very annoying. I flipped him on his back and pushed his legs back and stuck my dick in him all in one fluid motion, realizing as I did so that the bed was completely covered with what felt like cookie or cracker crumbs. I glanced down and the sheets looked clean but the crumbs were everywhere and were grinding into my knees. I thought, what the fuck is the matter with me, why am I here, and I rammed my dick into him hard to make myself cum really fast to get this the fuck over with. His eyes were bugging out of his head and he gripped the crumby sheets like he was on Space Mountain, wailing with pleasure. I shot what I had in him and kept fucking till the pulsing stopped, then he fucked himself against me a bit more, saying with clear admiration, "That felt like your pictures look!" I smiled, indulged his self-impalement on my shriveling erection a bit, then pulled out. "I aim to please. Where is the bathroom?" He pointed me to the front of the apartment, babbling inaudibly the whole time I walked up there about his job in "High-end retail" and his boss-lady who apparently can only scream things. I washed my dick over and over and dried it on a hand-towel, making worldless acknowledgements of whatever the fuck he was talking about. I got dressed quickly as he told me about moving in the week that Sandy hit, and having no gas for the truck, and I said "Wow" and patted his hairy belly and thanked him for whatever and got out of there.

I hope I can have one more experience this year that's good and normal and hot to break this recent spate of OMG WTF experiences. I'm beginning to forget what good sex is like. Wish me luck, readers. I just want one nice fuck for Christmas.

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