[Promiscuous Top] Every Time

[Feeder]

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Yesterday had all the makings of a sexually frustrating disaster. The weather was beautiful, sunny, breezy, and it just made me want to mount a meaty little dude and run him through with my hard bone and ejaculate deep inside him. All that remained was to find the dude! I was getting a fair amount of attention but much of it was of the "I really want you to fuck me tomorrow"variety that never pans out-- who are these guys who get horny, log on to a hookup site, decide they are too busy, and then never sign on again? In any event, towards the end of the day, I was suddenly hit up by two guys at once-- one, a muscular but rather kinky and messy-sounded muscle dude in SoHo on BBRTS, and the other, a very cute little 22 year old on Scruff. The 22 year old was only a few blocks away working, but would be done "soon", and always asks if I have poppers or pot and then turns me down because I never do. This time he claimed he would be OK sucking my dick and drinking my cum without enahancements, but I hate to set up a meeting with the other guy already disappointed about something. The muscle dude was obviously a subway trip away but very hot to trot, and clearly wanted to be seeded. So I foolishly chose him, telling the kid something came up. When I got out of the subway, I had a voicemail and a ton of texts, asking what he wanted me to wear etc-- but this kind of behavior says one thing to me, and that thing is, "I am high as a kite and out of my mind." And when he finally buzzed me up to his palatial, extremely expensive-looking floor-through apartment-- the elevator opened right into the living room-- I saw that my suspicious were correct. Not only was he so high he could barely stand straight, he was much older and chunkier than the pictures, and the drugs were in the process of melting his face off. He lumbered over to me and leered at me, fingering the end of very big-looking dick in his boxer briefs, but I said, "This isn't going to work, sorry. I think I ought to go." He acted amazed, and as we waited for the elevator to come back, he kept standing there, staring at me, imploring me to tell him what the deal was. I gave him bland assurances that it wasn't a big deal, it happens to me too, blabla, but wished desperately that I could just get out of there without waiting for the elevator. Finally it came, and I went back home, cursing myself for not just going with the very cute little kid, who will probably never hit me up again. When I got off the train, there were more texts, voicemails, and BBRTS messages from the drugged out nut, saying it must have been that he was wearing a hat in his pictures, and that he shaved recently, but that it was really him, and that I should have stayed to see him naked, yadda yadda. Egad! I told him to give it up and that I wasn't interested, and he said, "Too bad. You actually were hotter in person. Not as fat. Too bad about the attitude." Eesh, the things I get myself into. My cum resigned itself to spending another night in my balls, and I went home and started dinner for my partner. We had a nice time eating and talking, and he left to meet a friend for drinks. I texted the kid back, asking if maybe he wanted me to come by. Predictably, he didn't reply, but just then I got woofed on Scruff by the extremely handsome German cocksucker who lives on the other end of my neighborhood. Me being me, I really wanted to cruise a bit for fresh ass. Hoping the kid might reply, I told him I might have plans but would let him know within a half hour. He kept up a stream of messages to me: "Cancel the other thing and come over! Want to make you feel good!!" and "I want your cock, man!!" and "I need that load!!" Well, that worked it's magic. I could do worse after a day like today than having my manhood sucked by an extremely handsome dude who is crazy about my dick and wants to have my cum inside him, even if it's just in the belly. So I gave up on the kid, who I never did hear from, and went down to get with the German guy. And after every experience with him, I wonder why I don't put my dick in him all the fuckin time.

He always prefers to host because he always wants to smoke first-- he rolls his own mixture of half pot, half tobacco, and sits in the window overlooking a street full of ultraorthadox Jews dressed in their 19th century garb. He's extremely friendly and happy to see me every time. His long lanky body is always a surprise to me-- not my usual type, but so beautifully shaped, and so lovingly clung to by his tank tops and nylon shorts, that it's irresistible. He smoked with his european elegance and lifted his beautiful head at just that angle on his regal neck, to blow the smoke out the window, and I slipped up close to him, so that his knees were touching my thighs, and reached down under his legs to feel his firm, sweet ass and his beautiful schlong through the nylon. He in turn stroked my meat through my shorts. We kissed very lightly, cupping each other's dick, and then I stroked my beard along his neck and put my face close to his, feeling extremely light and happy. When he took the next drag, I pulled his face to mine, and said, "breathe into my mouth." He shook a little, and closed his eyes, and turned to me with lips parted slackly, and I covered them with my own, sealing us together, and as he exhaled the smoke, I inhaled it, and it felt like it went straight into my balls. A thrill of sexual and chemical pleasure danced up my spine and after a few seconds I pulled my face away from his slightly, and very slowly let out the smoke between us. He was quite and still with his eyes closed, face lit up by a distant street light, and then he opened them languidly and focused on me and said quietly, "Fuck!" And he took as many more drags as the joint had left, breathing into me each time, and this slow process of breathing in his breath and feeling the heat of his skin against mine had my dick completely engorged with blood and throbbing, hard as it ever gets, achingly hard, in a matter of a minute. There is something wicked about this guy, the control he has over my sex. On paper he's not my type at all-- too tall, too thin, too smooth, uncut-- but no one makes me feel like he does.

With the cigarette spent, he flicked it somewhere and slid down to the kitchen floor, long legs bent and knees spanning the narrow space between the fridge and the opposite cabinets, and he unzipped and slid down my shorts in one fluid movement and, pulling his own obviously oozing uncut meat out through the leg of his own shorts, he sucked my meat into his beautiful mouth slowly. He actually doesn't suck hard enough for me, and he clearly just loves the simple sensation of feeling my fat dickhead, with its textured skin and ridges and lobes and oozing hole, resting gently on his beautifully slippery tongue. Half of me wanted to amp it up, feel as good as possible, induce him to suck me hard, and tongue that hot spot that is the center of my sex. But I just let him do his thing, cradling his chin in my hands while his slack face registered a cocksucker's ecstasy. He is extremely, extremely handsome, and the sight of my homely, fat red choad in proximity to this otherworldly symmetry is surreal and exciting. I just slowly slid my dick back and forth across his tongue with little movements of my hips, and let my hands slip down into his shirt to finger his tiny nipples, which made his shoulders roll with pleasure. All the while he just kept his mouth on my dick and moaned and sighed.

We moved to the bedroom and got completely naked and the looks of his tight, elegantly muscled body was too much to handle. He wanted more dick but I pushed him on his back, clambered on him with my own shaggy, decidedly un-elegant body, and lowered myself to him, like I was desecrating some kind of artwork, and let my dick-- slippery and viscous with his spit-- slide up against his long soft meat, hooded at the top but slimy with precum. He wrapped himself around me tight, and we kissed, and we moved against each other, and we began to sweat in the apartment's rather stifled air, and took turns moaning about how fucking good it felt.

There is the sexual act and then there is being transported by the sexual act into another physical state, far above regular life. I just don't know what this guy has, but whatever it is turns me into an animal. Not a rampaging animal, but an animal that can barely think, driven by instincts it can't resist, fully a creature of the world, of smells and colors and sensations. Everything I touched on his body hummed with life. Every kiss, gentle or rough, tongue or lips, made me feel, deep in the center of me, like pure sex. When the pleasure was too much I pulled his ass to me, ground my dick into his, and pounded him into the mattress, and he held on to me tight and dug his face into my neck and moaned with so much pleasure I thought he would start crying.

And more sucking and tonguing his ass and kissing and close body contact and fucking his face, wishing it was his raw ass, a taboo I'm afraid to break with him, to even mention lest it break the spell we have. I only wish for it. We would fuck so GOOD. He flipped on his back and opened his mouth wide and looked so hungry for my dick I lowered it down into him, and he sucked greedily, and then I fucked his face, and then turned to suck his nips while I fucked, and then, I think for the first time, went down to taste his dick. It was completely sticky with precum, which tasted almost obscenely salty and acrid. But I sucked his dick anyway, and he sucked mine; when I took his all the way down, he took mine all the way down, and I was reminded that this 69 position is the best expression of what two men can do to each other sexually.

But when it was time to cum-- "I want that load, man!"-- I just lay back, limbs spread across his pillows and mattress, and he eagerly slid up between my thighs, lying on his side, stroking his long dick with one hand and holding my thigh with the other, suckling at my bone like a starving man. His whole body was on display for me, that impossibly tight stomach, classically perfect pecs, beautiful swollen thighs, soft bush of pubic hair, precisely perfect mathematical proportions among all his parts. He again was not sucking me hard enough, but I let the beauty of his body do some of the work too. Just running my hands over his chest made my dick thicken and harden. Just touching his knee with one hand and his muscular shoulder with the other-- encompassing his whole long body in my armspan-- began to put me over the edge. "I'm so close, man, don't stop, just let me feel it here on the edge for a bit, then I'll cum in you, just keep sucking," and he did, and he looked unbelievably perfect to me, and his devotion to my dick was so obviously complete, that everything that was tense in my body went slack and my nuts unleashed their cum. He kept sucking at me with that slight, gentle suction, meeting each pulse of my bone with a lick of his tongue, and I fired and fired all my pleasure into him. He gulped it all down greedily. I never wanted to stop cumming. I feel like I shot twelve times but I could have shot twenty more if I had my way. But my nuts exhausted themselves and my dick began to soften in his mouth. He quit sucking then, but kept me on his tongue with the taste of my orgasm filling his mouth, and his eyebrows knit themselves into a determined shape, and he fisted that long dick harder, and I saw the muscles in his torso tense and draw his body together into a crescent shape, with his bush at the center of it, and then long hot streaks shot out of his own dick, all over his body and my hairy forearm. His body heat was so great that it almost stung when it landed.

And he fell back on the bed laughing, letting the cum slide off his body onto the sheets, while I held my dick and stroked the last bit of pleasure out of it till my hormones died down a bit. His laugh was pure delight, and he looked at me, and said, "I love your cum." Then more intently looking, he said, "We definitely, definitely, definitely have good chemistry." I laughed too and agreed. Then he looked away, and said, "I guess it's a little late for this, but you're still negative, right?" I grabbed his body and pulled him close to me and laughed and told him I had just been checked for everything several weeks before, and that I'd tell him if anything ever changed. He laughed some more and relaxed into my arms and we marveled a bit more about how we can have so much fun together like this.

He asked how long I could stick around, and I said I was in no rush, so he got up for some water and we talked, for maybe an hour, about Germany, the US, vacations we'd just taken, cities, music, all sorts of things. It was very relaxed and pleasant. But inside myself I began to feel a familiar weird tension. A desire to know him better, have more of him, cum in him over and over, get closer in a way that isn't practical for either of us (he has a boyfriend too). And a weird opposite push to get out, to resist his next request to suck my dick, to move on, to find more guys. Over the whole thing, the fear that if we do get together again it won't be as good, that somehow it will slip away, and for that reason, I should write him off completely. We meet up maybe a couple of times a year, so this is all a little over dramatic. But in those moments after such an intense shared pleasure with such a beautiful creature, my thoughts are not clear, my prejudices and insecurities are just as close to the surface as my satiety, satisfaction, and lingering lust. As the conversation petered out, I considered a graceful exit, but then he commented on my watch, and I had to tell a long story only tangentially related to the watch, and we drank more water and talked more, and then I think I had really overstayed my welcome. I wanted more and I wanted to never see him again, to preserve everything in memory instead of risking a bad hookup with him. This is definitely uncharted territory for me. That guy could probably get half the dudes in NYC but he keeps coming after me. If he knew about my proclivities he'd probably recoil in horror. Who knows.

But FUCK. I read over this and I think, no one will ever be able to understand what I feel when my body is against his, when my dick is in his mouth, when I'm giving him my cum, holding his face in my hands. I can't tell you; it has to live inside myself, in the coursing of my blood, in my memory. And then, after a time, it's not even there. It's in the background of my cells, it's coiled deep in the dark between my legs, I forget about him completely for a time. And then he comes back, and like a seed in the desert, springs into full flower in a day when it rains. My words don't capture it, my memory doesn't capture it, but my body knows his and rejoices, every time.

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