[Promiscuous Top] "Settling"

[Feeder]

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It's a twisted sexual world I inhabit, and I have a twisted sexual brain, I guess. Perhaps predictably, allll the dudes who were so hot to get with me on Monday, and whom I passed over to get with the Orange Cub, have since been completely mute, or lost track of time, or were suddenly "too hungry" after work, or had a meeting that was going too long to hook up with me since. It amazes me how someone can go from "when When WHEN can we fuck" to completely ignoring you in one day, but I'm well-acquainted with the phenomenon by this time. I thought I was at least going to get some oral service from a guy who hits on me constantly on Scruff and a4a and only lives six or seven blocks away-- we'd talked about a specific time today, and messages from him were already waiting when I got up on various sites, but when the time came, he was not responding to stimuli. I was in a pretty pleasant mood today and really wanted to fuck somebody good, but every place was full of the same faces that have turned me down in the past; hookup sites all seem to be dwindling and less and less used every month. Where are people going to get off? On Manhunt I saw the amazing, flawlessly muscular and insanely hung dude in the East Village that I have fucked a few times over the years (he's #7 in the "what I get" gallery that I posted last year), who is still on my buddy list even though I kinda lost interest in him after our last hookup. Suddenly he seemed like my only hope. I really wanted a new guy, a little otter, someone really cute and affectionate who wanted the stuffing pounded out of him, who wanted to simultaneously be fucked and made love to. This is not that guy. But he's unbelievably beautiful and it's amazing he lets me put my dick in him at all. What is wrong with me? Feeling an overwhelming sense of somehow settling for less, I msged him, "wouldn't mind eatin that ass and stuffin my meat in it again, big guy." (My poetry is the envy of Sappho.) Instantly he replied, "When?" And I said, "You free now?" He asked how long it would take me to get there, and I said 20 minutes, and he texted me his address. An entire afternoon spent casting around for and being ignored or teased or rejected by little nerds, and then I hit on a fucking greek god and I have his number and address and free access to his tenderest secret membranes within 10 minutes. Nothing left to do but sigh and go over and give him what he needs.

I'm not completely deluded. One of the reasons I don't hit on him much is that he clearly is not even remotely into me, except insofar as I do surpass some tolerance level for him. The first time we hooked up, after I was done pummeling his stupendously muscular buttocks, he stood up, looked at me with new admiration in his eyes, and said, "Maybe I need to be getting fucked by big guys like you instead." He'd told me that because of his incredible musculature and science-fiction erection, he only gets to top (he's a true 9 inches, which is infinitely rarer than people make it out to be on line; go get a ruler now and grip it around the 4" mark and hold that against your pubic bone, and tell me a dick hitting 9" is not a freak of nature). "But inside I feel like a bottom," he had whined. "People see my dick and instantly get on their back. I just want to be made to feel like a real bottom." I knew I could at least oblige him in this, and while I knew he was out of my league he was being nice and solicitous enough online that I figured he'd overlook my general schlubbiness for a serious quality fucking. So eventually I went over and did him and he was thoroughly satisfied, hitting me up a few times afterward for more. I didn't go back for almost a year, I think, because I knew he didn't want to kiss me or even suck my dick. His body feels amazing in my hands-- rock-hard muscle under taut, velvety skin, rough hair on his chest, arms like bazooka muzzles-- and it's surreal to see him splayed out on the bed with my own dick buried inside him. But that extra something is missing; it's too much like beating off and looking at porn, in a way. It's exciting but it's not the same as fucking the hell out of someone from the inside out. With a guy like this, who is simultaneously offering himself up to me completely physically, but not at all spiritually, I only experience the pleasure offered by surfaces. Amazing, hard, sleek, round, beautiful, head-spinningly hot surfaces, sensations that tingle in the most primitive part of my brain, but just... surfaces.

After several months I did give in and go fuck him again. And it was not that great. He whimpered and moaned and I dicked him valiantly but neither of us had any heart in it, not even the minimal heart we had the first time, when we were just enjoying the spark produced by a total top inside a needy bottom. That time there wasn't even that spark. So I wrote him off, and I think he wrote me off as well, and then got a boyfriend as I recall, and disappeared off Manhunt all together for about a year. When he came back he hit me up again, and I wondered if he even remembered who I was, as my pictures had changed and I grew a full beard in the meantime. But he did. It was nice that he was still thinking about my abilities as a top. But not nice enough that I'd forego possible deep-down full-soul fucking with a not-so-hot little bottom who nevertheless gave me more than a perfect body and symmetrical face. So I kinda let it go... but I kept him on my buddy list anyway, as a kind of badge of honor.

And today, well, I decided, fuck it, he's living porn; let's go touch some porn. I hopped on the train and got to his place at the appointed time. He answered the door in just a pair of shorts, and if possible he looked bigger and more cut than he even had before, much bigger than in that pic I posted last year. His waist was impossibly thin to support that massive torso, and his ass was like a planet I was to orbit around, so round and massive it was. He offered me water graciously, saying, "I know you're hot," but I just wanted to take a leak and stand next to the AC for a minute. He took off the shorts to reveal a black jockstrap and led me to his bedroom, which to my eyes was pitch-dark. I thought hm, maybe he's trying to minimize the visual here? I didn't remember him doing this before. But again I didn't care. I had gone into this with an attitude of taking what I could get from this, and I really just wanted to eat the fuck out of his ass and impale it with every inch of my dick, over and over, until the pleasure and his beauty were too much for me and I had to pop. I didn't even care that he doesn't let me cum in him. I just wanted to eat and admire and feel my meat raw inside him. I just wanted to squirt hot thick jets of cum all over his body.

So that's what I did. And I tell you what, it is now crystal-clear to me that fucking is all about the energy of the top. Much as wolves can smell your fear, a bottom can sense anything tentative in your manner and it will kill his buzz, and that will kill YOUR buzz. His ass was much more muscular and defined that I remember it being-- my face and his cleft fit together like new kinds of sex organs, and our skin was electric where we touched; all the desire I had for him was transmitted through our contact into his body and had nowhere to go but into his steel-hard erection. His whimpers were womanly and shrill and full of the sound of frustrated need being fulfilled. I found that when I licked with broad licks of my tongue up under the tendon holding his thigh to his groin, some new chakra was stimulated and he barely sounded human when he emitted his sexual cries. Any sense of inadequacy at my looks or build was about a zillion miles from my mind and I just took what I wanted from him, manhandling his mind-bendingly meaty body and probing his desperate, dilated hole with my tongue. "I fuckin love your sweet pussy-ass," I told him and he whimpered about what a little pussy-ass I turn him into. The energy was at megawatt level. It was time to put my dick in, for sure.

I'd been holding his own monster in one hand while I slurped at his butt; I could not close my hand around it to let my fingers touching my thumb. It was hard as quartz and was wide and flat on the upper side, more like a weapon than a sex organ. Beautiful fleshy head engorged with coursing blood. Small fuzzy balls, his one physical deficiency. Compared to this baseball bat of a dick he had, I felt like I was working with a Montblanc pen. But the pen is mightier than the sword, so it certainly beats a baseball bat. I stood up, aimed what I had at his ass, practically staggered back at the beauty of seeing them touching like that, recovered my faculties, and pushed in. He took me with only a small initial pop, and emitted a long wail of satisfaction as he felt those inches plunge in.

I truly fucked the hell out of him. There was absolutely no hell left in him when I was done.

"Don't you EVER make me wait this long again," he barked through gritted teeth at one point, as I shifted from digging down into his guts to standing behind him and just staring mesmerized at the sight of my shaft sliding into his body and then sliding back out, revealing the flare of my fleshy dickhead, pulling all the way out, seeing it glisten in the dark hovering there for a while, and then the velvety warmth, the merest tug at his asshole as it sank back into him. I perked up considerably, absolutely unable to hide my pride at eliciting such a response from someone who looked like this. "You like my dick, don'tcha?" I asked rhetorically, gloating, and he sobbed "ohfuckyespleasegiveittomepleasekeepfuckingme gahhhhhhh oh GOD". I reached around his inner thighs and gripped them proprietarily and fucked into him with all the weight of my body, an apelike posture that bottoms adore. "Oh fuck I'm gonna cum man, you keep fuckin me, I gotta cum, gaahhhhh I gotta cum," and I said "Don't cum till I cum man, lemme cum with you," and he wailed "no no no I gotta cum I gotta cum" and then something like "don't cum gahhhhhh on the gahhhhh" and I pulled out and sprayed the wall, his bed, the back of his head, and then, when my soul actually came back to inhabit my body after it sailed away during those first three or four spurts, I was able to aim the rest on his back and his glutes. "Awwwwwww" he said as he came, and then he whimpered, "You came on the sheets, the sheets!" "I think I hit the wall, too," I crowed, then realized that cumming on the sheets was actually some sort of catastrophic error.

He reared up and examined the bed, and said, "Yep, you hit the sheets." And he whined about how expensive they were. "It'll come out ok, right?" I asked, covered with sweat and still holding my dick absurdly. "I hope so!" he said. "Well, I can help you defray the cost if you want... I feel bad." He seemed to realize how ridiculous he was being, and he smiled at me and said, "Of course not," and asked if I wanted water. I told him I needed to rinse off. I was covered with sweat from this athletic endeavor, even though it only lasted about a half an hour. He said, "Let me take care of something first," and went into the bathroom and got in the tub, hidden by curtains, and splashed around in there; I was rather mystified by this post-coital mikvah. He keeps the tub filled for after he fucks?? I had never seen that before. I leaned back against the wall, asking him if he had renovated the apartment since last time (he had), and caught a glimpse of him squatting in the half-full tub, splashing water on himself. Wacky. I wandered into the kitchen, found a bottle of cold water waiting for me on the table, and stood there drinking it, feeling simultaneously schlubby and gross and radiantly beautiful. I drank the water with my dick swinging in the air. I felt like a million bucks. As he moved around the bathroom he kept exclaiming wordlessly, like he still couldn't believe how he'd just gotten fucked. Finally he said, "I didn't remember it being that good last time!" I considered saying something but figured it didn't matter, I'd done to him what I came to do and should just let it go at that.

Finally he drained the tub and put on the shower for me and put a clean towel out. I washed up, dried off, and he was very quiet, changing the linens on the bed. I got dressed pretty quickly, and told him I was ready to go. He thanked me for coming over, came up to me with a towel wrapped around his waist, and leaned in for a hug. He then opened the door and as I passed I reached for his ass and said "Let me just have one more..." and he said "C'mon man, no." And I laughed and just left. I guess when he's done, he's done! Won't even let me have a grope. Eesh.

I went to a coffee shop and ravenously ate a corn muffin and watched people go by on Avenue A. Guys like him are almost like a different species to me... when I am with them it is very hard not to be acutely aware of the difference in looks; today was a rare exception. I wonder how he feels about enjoying getting fucked by me as much as he does? I'm not hung, I'm not that cute, I'm a dork, but I got what he needs. And I don't even give it to him that often. It doesn't make me feel supercilious or anything, it's just so strange. We all settle, none of us gets what we want. What is this world?

And yet something about good sex makes my entire mood change. It makes me feel calm and happy in a way that nothing else can. I can't decide if it's a curse or a gift. But nothing compares to a good fuck.... even if it's not perfect.

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