We were sitting down on the only couch available. Marco’s knees were bent, with his right ankle resting atop his left knee. I was further to left and facing him when I straightened my leg and that’s pretty much all it took. Searching for a place to rest my weary feet, instead, I encountered the inside of his firm jean-clad thigh. Indeed, quite by chance, I stretched my calf by pointing my heel and that drew my toes back over the delectable curve of his crotch.
It all seemed to be taking place in a dreamscape for me until I heard Marco’s sharp intake of breath. The startled whites of his eyes brought me back to myself. Perhaps it was the tang of the sea salt air, the subtle nature of the Baileys or even my own shadow demons, all-working in a newly found unification to battle my better judgment.
STOPPING however was the furthermost notion from my mind. It’s odd that because it really ought to have been. Let’s peruse the facts; I’m a straight, thirty-six year old red-blooded male, very happily playing the female field, so to speak. I couldn’t honestly even classify myself as bi-curious. Sorry, Folks. I have never felt compelled to sneak a surreptitious nor even gratuitous peak at the other lads’ tackle in the locker room after our weekly touch-footy match.
Well, there was that one Friday late last year when Jordan and I got into a rather prolonged and involved drinking game that ended with a Penis Comparison competition. Basically, swaying on our feet, we whipped out our goods in an effort to measure whose was longest. There was a bone of contention between us both in that Sally, a rather lovely local barmaid, had the audacity of announcing to all and sundry that our cocks were unconditionally bloody identical! To make a long, drunken story short, in lieu of a ruler being readily produced Jordie and I decided that the only way of reasonably measuring was to stand directly in front of each other, as close as possible.
Let’s just say that what began as friendly rivalry quickly degenerated as dicks expanded and a yen to wrestle took tenacious hold of us both, in a manly, bloke-to-bloke kind of way, of course. No harm, no foul, though Jordan and I have become a tad distant since that escapade. I’ve always written it off mentally as boys just being boys. But I wonder? With Marco it has ever been different.
To Marco my thoughts now turned. What would he have been thinking as my boots grazed almost imperceptibly over his package? Only God and the man himself might be qualified to answer that one. He is a single, openly gay man, thirty-four years old full of questions and not many answers. It reads like a description that could be generically applied to us all, n’est-ce pas?
M groaned out loud with lusty fervour and then rasped hesitantly at me, “What are you…doing to me?”
His voice brought me back to the moment. I hadn’t contemplated ceasing but I was pleased by his reaction. I love pleasuring my partner. I modestly admit to possessing a well-deserved reputation as a man who goes beyond the call of duty to provide for The Perfect Orgasm. Who knew that this wasn’t a gender-specific determination? His own obvious excitement only drew me in deeper.
We had been on enough weekends away together for me to witness Marco undressed on a few occasions. Nice body. Well proportioned. Hairy. Very tasty cock, as the various and sundry Ladies in my life might have stated and at least an inch longer than my own modest 5 ½ flaccid inches.
Suddenly, quite unbidden, I had a fierce, almost undeniable, longing to view his circumcised dick hard and full, with his lust directed solely at me.
That is THE last cogent thought I recall, shocking as it is. The remainder of the evening was pure, unadulterated instinct.
M seemed to be holding his breath as he waited, frozen, for my next move. I began by exploring with my shoe back and forth across his engorged dick once more but the intensity of this gesture had dulled somewhat, at least for me. Too tame, too many layers between us.
We were situated at the end of the bar, secluded almost, though a table was full behind us. I managed to gather unto myself enough self-preservation to check that the waiter was otherwise engaged and slipped out of my shoe. Marco followed my eyes, glimpsed this gesture and gulped, audibly. I began to feel myself harden. Just the beginning mind, when it starts down in the pit of my belly. Control, and that quality others have when they find you attractive, that does to me.
Rubbing my toes high upon his leg, turning my foot in slightly, pushing it up and into his crotch and then feeling him return the pressure, all caused my mouth to become a little dry with anticipation. Added to this was the fact that we could have been caught out at any time!
“Do you like this, Marco? Do you like me doing it you?” I questioned him eagerly, though with perhaps a tad less presence than I had hoped. The words felt alien in my mouth, and yet fitting for all of that.
“Mmmm,” he breathed back at me, closing his eyes and pushing his swollen glands more urgently towards me in dual response that motivated my own heartbeat.
“Say my name,” I demanded thickly.
“Again,” I implored.
We quickly settled into something of a rhythm; squeezing toes, then lifting and kneading, all the while matching the tempo with our hips.
He felt massive, which is a fact that has slowly come to my attention over the last few months. Impossible of course, but he seems to be getting larger lately. Not that I have been taking especial notice (if I was vocalizing I’d be high-pitched!) but the man does like to wave his boys in my face each and every opportunity he receives. It is rather peculiar that I’ve never been offended by this past behaviour of his, isn’t it?
“Your Sebastian is absolutely huge, Marco,” I praised him, with a degree of congratulatory approval underlying this sentence reserved exclusively for moi. Why is it that our partner’s penis size reflects exponentially upon us?
“I don’t know WHAT’S going on here,” he returned with a short pause for a shaky breath that seemed to cause my very heart to skip a beat, “but just make sure it doesn’t stop.” He spoke distractedly but his gazed bored into me intently.
“Let’s…” I struggled, “Let’s not over-analyze it, Bro.”
He smiled in that sexy lopsided way of his and seemed satisfied, though he didn’t actually speak again. Rather he raised his hand to his chest, rubbing the Polo emblem of his shirt to the side and back again over his nipple, never removing his eyes for a moment from their lock on mine. Watching him was compelling and I thoroughly enjoyed observing him touching himself in this manner. I swallowed once, twice, convulsively.
From nowhere, our waiter appeared in our general vicinity calling Last Drinks and presenting us our bill. Discreetly, I had time to lower my foot, taking pleasure at the same instant in the sensation of my pants, now much too tight, stretched over my tender, enlarged dick. Marco’s own position appeared more tenuous however, as he hunched over his erection in time honoured stance to hide his evidence from any and all prying eyes.
I’ve always thought on M as a gentleman able to manhandle any solution to its natural conclusion (pun entirely intended) and he stood true to form as he announced his intention to excuse himself.
“Nicky, I’ll never make it out of here like this,” he drawled with a hand wave meant to take in and indicate his, by now, colossal crotch. “You’re too much for me. I’m off to the head for a quick wank. Meet you outside,” he all but whispered with a grin and a wink.
I shivered with delight at his blunt words. The games that are instituted between heterosexual couples far outweigh those played between us there that day. I hadn’t been involved in such an open, honest exchange before. Let’s call a spade a shovel, shall we? Everything about this encounter was both novel and electrifying.
I have ever enjoyed a challenge though so, as Marco had his back to the masses at the completion of this last veritable speech, I stepped in close behind him, took a five-fingered hold of his bulging groin and spoke out as an environmentalist, expressing my shame as its wastage.
“Perhaps,” I suggested as lasciviously as I was able, “if you feel able to negotiate your way back to the car with me we might, betwixt the two of us, be able to find a more amenable, less ecologically detrimental way to satisfy your beautiful cock. We’d have to put our heads together in collaboration, as it were.” That discourse was quite a feat of co-ordination when you consider I was reeling still from being in such close contact to his person. It was the first time I had handled another man in this intimate way, someone shaped just like me and I was trembling as a consequence.
With those words, I picked up the little condiment bowl of sour cream, concealed my own steel shaft with my jacket and walked out like a man with a mission, which of course, I was and I had.
Now, as I look back in twenty-twenty hindsight in an attempt to penetrate mine own mind, I wonder if I realised what precisely it was that I had just proposed? Marco and I had discussed our sexual antics often enough for me to ascertain that he was definitely a guy who preferred to be Bronco Master. Frankly though, I must have had some clue as to where my behaviour was leading otherwise I would have left the cream behind.
By the time I made it back to the car, which was parked all the way at the bottom of the cul-de-sac in Macquarie, my heart was pounding, almost but not quite, as hard as the hammering in my trousers.
Just as I faltered as to the nature of my next move, he reached for me, possessively trapping me back against the car and began to kiss me deeply, hungrily. His body pressed rigidly against mine, meeting my every desire. The gesture, his probing tongue, it was all startling, equally unforeseen in its abruptness and glory. I was so powerfully aroused by him. At midnight in this quiet little dead-end street I had true passion thrust upon me for the first time in my life.
He is just slightly taller than me and I found myself in the incongruous position of tilting my head up to maintain our connection. The heat he exuded and the excitement of a body as hard as my own pressing so familiarly into mine was both heavenly and disorientating one at the same time. It was like nothing I had yet experienced in my life. The feel of flat pecs where once there were submitting swells of breasts, stubble caressing not soft skin but more stubble and cock all but entwined with yielding cock was breathtaking. It was more stimulation than I could handle, and enough to sizzle my self-control. Before I had the chance to fully realise the last seductive image in my mind of sitting nude in his lap, sliding my bare dick up the length of his, I came explosively, almost unexpectedly. The thick ropey, sticky mess was confined to my trousers.
I had been clutching his rounded butt for dear life it seemed and moaning like a green fourteen year old into his mouth. When I climaxed I ripped half of his back pocket off! It felt as though every inch of my insides had been wrested raw. I was still fully turned-on and yet entirely spent.
“Jesus Marco,” I puffed raggedly, feeling the need to apologise for my own poor form. “I am so sorry. I started to think about getting naked with you and I just couldn’t hold on any longer.”
“Nicky, Nicky,” he seemed to be able to croon my name. When had he mastered that? “I want to taste you.” And with those immortal words ringing like klaxons in my head he undid my pants and had my Jockeys down by my ankles in less than eight seconds. The man was a trained professional and if we had been competing at The Olympics in the Fastest De-Panting Decathlon, M would have most assuredly just won Gold whilst simultaneously scoring a nascent world record.
Ever the comedian I murmured, “Please, don’t stand on ceremony on my account.” whilst I struggled valiantly to avail myself of a better grip on the car’s bonnet. I had to scrunch my eyes up because I knew what was coming and wanted it so much. Truthfully, I had often wondered how fellatio from Marco would feel. He had mentioned his lust AND talent so often that I would have had to be made of marble not to feel some sense of despondency over my lack thus far in this regard. I held my breath with wonder and excitement.
“Oh please, Marco. Yes. Suck my Sebastian NOW. Do me, Baby. All the way. Clean me up.”
His tongue was hot and flicked mercilessly up and over and even inside my sensitive piss-slit, lapping up my jism, licking and ever squeezing my manhood as though he hoped for a little more. I gasped again and again with each new mind-blowing sensation.
“You taste like ripe navel oranges,” he contentedly offered from the midst of his happy slurping.
As I shakily reached down with my right hand and grasped a hunk of his curly mop to draw him in to deep throat, I had an epiphany. This was another missing piece from my heterosexual puzzles. Women just can’t fake it. Why hadn’t I seen that before? It takes a man to truly savor the tang of another guy’s cum.
My dick was still hypersensitive, but I strained to push out anything extra for him, clenching my buttocks and throwing my head back for added concentration but it was to no purpose. He had sucked me, quite literally, dry.
He began to shift his focus then to my testicles, which had thus far been craving their own limited degree of attention. He squeezed them gently at first but quite without warning began to pull downwards on them ruthlessly.
“Nicky,” he called huskily to me, “I want to fuck you over and over. Tell me what you want from me.” All the while his hands were tugging my ball sac down as though he wanted to introduce them to the unique sensation of meeting my knees. The gratifying pain was remarkable.
A MAN’S hands, Marco’s hands fondling me in this way left me craving only more. I responded with a hearty, “Just this!” and guided one of his hands up to my mouth, moistened his fingers as best I was able whilst in the precarious condition I found myself, and then placed it back down upon my ass.
My offer was clear and evident. M stood up abruptly and gazed soulfully at me with more than a modicum of surprise staining his angelic olive complexion. His huge, expressive brown eyes with those tantalizingly long, dark lashes (how was it that I had never noticed those gorgeous frames before?) only served to enflame my desire for him.
He held my face tenderly between his hands, as a brother might, to search for my intentions. And yet no sibling ever boiled my blood the way this man could. With his searing hot penis pressed raunchily against my abdomen, I reassured him that I was oh-so-very ready and then proceeded to beg, in a deserted city street, with my cock twitching in the warm evening breeze, for my best friend to fuck me.
“Please, please. I’m aching for it, for you. And so are you. I can see it. Now. I have to have you. I want to feel you fuck me, deep, as deep as you can manage. Please Marco, man, don’t deny me. I need it. Please Baby, no one has ever touched me here before,” I beseeched him, guiding both of his hands now to my well-toned hairless ass. “Don’t you want me?” All this was proclaimed in a reckless, shaky rush with breaks where I did no more than pant longingly for him and stamp my foot.
Marco stood in front of me as if a sentinel, in apparent control and immune to my pitiful entreaties. He took a step back, away from me and I thought for a heart-wrenching second that I had lost him. Yet his hands were now compulsively fisting and opening, fisting and then opening once again.
I smelled the sweetest victory. I felt him teetering on the edge, about to give himself to me. And I lusted after it, after him. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yessss.
I met his eyes, allowing myself no more than a small smile of conquest, then I crouched down and starting at his feet, ever so slowly, delicately, trailed my fingers up over his jeans, tracing the outline of his calves and feeling my own pulse bestir once more. I was truly dumbfounded over his level of self-control and was salivating at the thought of him surrendering in me. Not rushing, but always traveling upwards, over his muscled thighs, wanting to linger but determined to keep my eye on the goal, listening to the sound of our mutually laboured breathing in the otherwise silent night, until eventually I reached his tempting groin.
I was frantic within myself to tear his pants off his body, with my teeth if necessary, and loose his Sebastian enough to come out to play. I was imagining him yet again at this stage. I knew he was quite thick, dark in colour and a bit more hairy than I down there, with scrumptiously lickable glands that were created, I was sure now, with my exact mouth shape in mind. But how big would he become? Flaccid to erect, the differences could be enormous! Was he a longer or thicker man when aroused? All of these questions demanded immediate answers! I distinctly heard myself whimper as I placed my hands, index-to-index and thumb-to-thumb, in a circle around his genitalia and ever so subtly kissed this enticing mass.
And the crowd goes wild as the home team scores the winning goal! Ho Haa!
His control at long last, irrevocably broke. He groaned like an animal in pain and placed his hands initially upon my head whilst I fumbled uncoordinatedly, heedlessly, and with a certain marked desperation, to undo his belt. (I always had liked that belt). I wanted those awful trousers away from his hirsute, luscious body. My hands though denied my commands.
Hearing his breathing so shallow and uneven stripped me of any enduring, lingering resistance. My own cock was lengthening, aching with an agenda of its own. My balls seemed to press against either side of my thighs as they became full once again.
Marco assisted me to stand, running his hands jealously along the length of my torso, scorching my very skin and then hurriedly unfastened his own jeans himself.
My man has the most attractive penis. Proud, wide, firm, it’s almost purple and his testicles are appetizingly heavy. His head is Adonis-like in its shapeliness and was wet and glistening with pre-cum. He has this one vein, slightly to the left of centre that visibly pulsates. Oh, but I’m licking my lips now, even in simple retrospect.
Oh and by the way, question answered: thicker rather than longer. The exact opposite to me as luck would have it.
I fancied I heard it slapping his belly before I lost sight as he kissed my mouth once more and the ecstasy overrode me. We each opened and /or lifted our shirts (I was wearing a button-down and he a polo) and ground our lips together, nipples ever tighter and cock eagerly seeking cock. This was indeed the very way nature intended.
I could not seem to get enough, neither of him nor air. His tongue was so insistent, demanding, and masculine. In my effort to get even closer to him my left leg became inclined to wrap itself around Marc, which was no mean feat considering the placement of my clothes. The way our boys were crushed together was a miraculous phenomenon. My fingertips tingled as they slid quivering over his glossy, black locks. Too many sensations and not enough release. But try as I might I couldn’t seem to garner the will power to move my body away from his beautiful one.
His hands touched me all over though eventually they came to rest on my buns and I knew he was presenting me with an (penultimate as it turned out) option of disinclination. One of his fingers was introduced to our still fevered kiss, then two. Leisurely, it seemed to me at the time, he stretched wide my pliant cheeks and began to track a whisper of a line.
Unconsciously, uncontrollably, I bucked him. The extreme gratification I experienced, the pure relish that accompanied his contact was so very intense. He hesitated for a moment then, perhaps misinterpreting my signals.
“Listen Nicky, this is happening too quickly, for both of us,” he reasoned caringly, unable though to conceal the disappointment and frustration from his clenched tone.
“No you’re wrong, Baby. This is just so right. Please don’t make me beg again,” I added with a cheeky grin and then to both encourage him and hush any further chivalrous though mistimed outbursts, I stroked the small of his back, an erogenous zone for Marco the locale of which had arisen in past discussions.
Now it was his turn to react violently to the varying degrees of pressure I exerted. Involuntarily, he drove his fingers deeply inside of me, rudely and without forewarning me.
My God, it felt foreign. And yet, more than most of me wanted him to dare further, despite my potential pain and discomfort. I longed both for his release and mine, together. I wanted to offer him his pleasure; I coveted it, regardless of the personal cost.
For how long we continued in this vein, I know not. Our dicks tangled (this image refuses to leave me, so exquisitely ravishing it is), his fingers and tongue probing me in tandem, deliberating prying me open ever more expansively, his skin so soft and hairy yet hard and strong. This was like nothing I had ever sampled with a woman. It was wholly different and richly to be savoured.
At some point Marco had the strength to break our kiss, though I resisted him, holding on to his bottom lip as long as was possible. I managed to catch one all-too-fleeting glance of him, beautiful in the moonlight with his penis standing out, wide and throbbing before he tenderly bent me over the hood of the car. From him then came a grunt and no more. I dared to peak and was rewarded with the yummiest sight of him frantically coating his member in pre-cum as if it were some form of poor man’s lubrication whilst simultaneously attempting to line himself with my tight, welcoming, exposed end which he had continued to work over with his ever pliant fingers. It was an exhilarating image and one that I knew would instantly skyrocket to Number One on my fantasy list vying for future masturbational rights.
I had a mini prediction (one may live in hope!) of the two of us sprawled in bed come Sunday morning. I saw myself watching him enraptured as he played with himself and then blissfully, enthusiastically tonguing up his jism in clean up, suckling each of those chubby, solid, shaggy plums in turn. Did he prefer licking or squeezing? I couldn’t wait to get my hands on those mouth-wateringly succulent balls!
With these thoughts it came to my mind that we both seemed to have little time left. Just as he withdrew his hand and, after a small adjustment on my part, I called his attention to me.
“Oh, Lover Boy!” Who amongst us here today has watched that Jennifer Gray / Patrick Swayze movie and NOT fantasized?
I had managed to quickly work about half the sour cream in and around my anus and was offering the balance to M to assist him in lubing up.
Giggling like two school boys, with him alternating between licking my chocolate tunnel (Note to Self; Self, this an activity we definitely want to try again. P.S. Soon), working the cream over the impressive length of his Sebastian and us both kissing delightfully, we steered ourselves towards something of a frenzy.
He came in close and lay atop me, energetically, indefatigably rubbing his shaft into my, by this time, very willing crack asking me for the definitive time if I was sure. Before I could answer, he began nuzzling my ear.
I felt that if I lessened my control over myself in any way, and this included the normally simple (but now testing) task of conversing, I might just erupt again prematurely. Instead of answering him verbally I removed my hand from the heretofore Standard Position I had adopted since bending over (rhythmically squeezing my balls; I find it helps my concentration and allows me to hold on that much longer in times of rigorous duress and yes, this situation more than qualified) and laid them both flat upon the bonnet. I also raised my derriere up as high and as invitingly as I could.
This was my response and no summons, in my opinion, was ever communicated more succinctly.
He pulled my cheeks apart, this time for the grand finale.
“Poppa’s coming home!” he exclaimed lustily just as he began easing that perfectly formed head of his inside of me.
Now this was the absolute BEST part of the whole Greek Style deal. That luscious feeling of his silky smooth mushroom-top probing me was bliss. I wanted it to go on never-ending, just his head popping in and out. I looked down at my own tool and was astonished to see it pulsating, visibly. I cried out, wanting to touch myself, needing to fist my own cock.
However, as much as I did long for him to fill me, some how my body ended up resisting him, closing in on itself and tightening.
“It’s O.K. Honey, I know it hurts. Poppa’s so big and your hole is so compact and small. It’s going to be a tight fit. I can’t stop now Nicky. I want you so much, man. I need you to open up for me. Just relax. Daddy’s not going to hurt you…much. Here I come. Can you feel me? A little deeper every time. Uh, but you’re fine and such a tiny little fuck hole. Oh yeah, that feels good. Tell me you want Poppa to make it bigger. Tell Poppa to stretch you open all the way. C’mon Nicky, Daddy’s got to know you want it. Here’s the magic words; Marco says ‘Open Sesame’,” and in he poked further and further.
He was really just reassuring me that he was going to keep on penetrating s-l-o-w-l-y and that I ought to just relax. Inane, I agree, but what else can one say in this situation?
I was easily able to detect the strain in his voice. It was costing him greatly to move at this stagnated pace yet he sounded determined to do what was best for me. He continued to pressure me gradually as well as maneuvering around to stroke me everywhere that I lusted for him. When he landed on my still tender-balls and mildly ran his finger along the skin just behind them, I found my clincher.
“Oh Marco do it, do it to me now,” I yelled with abandon, flinging both hands around behind to roughly pull my cheeks apart as far as my fast diminishing strength would allow. He did not require telling twice. He plunged in, with me screaming loudly. The pain was severe. This was followed closely by the syrupy swish of his pumping. Marc prefers long, regularly paced thrusts, all the way in and then almost completely out so that each time he entered me again it seemed to be our first time once more, juicy head and all!
The width of his cock almost rent me in two but after eight or nine deep, delving strokes I started to really loosen up. Our match was so tight though!
“We’re a perfect fit, Baby. Oh yeah! Poppa’s found his little man,” continued Marc throughout most of the event. It was a side of him I’d never heard of nor even contemplated before. I liked it, a lot.
“Well come on then, ugh (thrust in) Daddy. Show this naughty boy ugh (thrust in) just how big you REALLY are ugh ugh (two thrusts, quick succession)!” was my squealed response.
In and out, again and again, longer and then faster he rode me. Over and over, now with more speed but still all the way out and then plunging as far as he could within me. It felt to me as though he was a freight train traveling up my back passage when he snaked his hands up under my arm pits and gripped my shoulders, I assumed, for better traction and extreme immersion. His thrusts became ever stronger and seemed to all but puncture my internal organs.
That friction though, my friends; it’s fucking unparalleled. I was a man defined by his genitalia (All right! That and his bruised anus!). Marco was totally in control. He was a steadfast thruster, almost dogged in his determination with forceful, decisive strokes, only faster and harder, like an automaton whose penetration was as deep as physically possible. I gradually became aware of the rapidity of his heartbeat through the contact of his cock up my ass. It seemed as though the air had thickened and I could barely breath. I heard myself distantly chanting his name.
In and out. In. “Marco, oh Marco.” Hands resolutely staunch on my shoulders. And out. ‘Ohhh MARCO.” In again, deeper still. “MarcMarcMarco.” Out. “Daddy Marco!” This is it. His fingertips were squeezing my nipples, twisting and pleasuring me far beyond my previous paltry delights. Inoutinoutinout in o..u..t and fucking in again. “Ahhahahah Mmmmmmmarco…..”
I came myself for the second time and usually for me, my jism was nearly as dense as the first, almost not watery at all. I managed to shoot four times in splatters so hard that they landed underneath my own chin!
His balls rhythmically spanking my own were the last sweet sound I heard before I passed completely out.
When I came to, I was half crouched in the gutter with my pants still down. Marco was behind me, hugging me, rocking me and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I immediately responded to the feeling of his body surrounding mine, protecting me from the world. The second observance to come to my beleaguered attention was that I could literally feel my bum leaking but yet, just knowing it was M’s somehow made it less of an unpleasant concern. The throbbing, windsock impression was not as easily comforted though. He kissed me then gently, lovingly and I realised it seemed not so bad after all.
He was dressed I noticed and that made me sad. I hadn’t thought myself capable of a third erection on that evening yet I bemoaned the fact I didn’t get to at least slip my dick inside his asshole, even if but for a second, just to experience him.
“There’ll be plenty of time for that, Nicky. I love you, I have loved you for years and I’m not going anywhere,” he informed me with his reliable, gravely voice.
“Me too,” I murmured sleepily. I was exhausted so M helped me up with my trousers and laid me carefully on the back seat. The last thing I unmistakably recall before falling into an exhausted sleep is pouting again reproachfully at him for dressing without me.
And that’s it! Now, I am sitting here at my desk (on a very soft cushion), still at work hours after quitting time, relaying last night’s antics in an concerted effort to regain some semblance of my former reality. I feel too wired to go home and yet by far and away too exhausted and distracted to complete these contracts. I continuously (some might say compulsively) recall his jism dripping from my battered body on the ride home. Whew! – Yep, that one little word sums up the whole situation for me tonight!
I must get up and move (though not too strenuously, Ladies and Germs, steady as she goes, Captain). I ought to start directing my mind back to the everyday, immerse myself back once more in MY life. I mean, who is to say that last night ever really happened at all…right? And if it did, why couldn’t it have been merely an aberration, a one-off, if you will? Yeah, that’s it. I’ve got a date tomorrow evening with a lovely little Scottish lassie. There’s where I ought to be funneling my energies.
It’s just that my nuts are like rocks and refuse to buy into any part of the party line I seem to be so interested in handing out to myself this evening! I have such an appetite for release.
I know! I’ll give a mate a buzz, maybe head out for a few lagers, perhaps a side of wedges. I’ve actually got an undeniable craving for the special seasoned sour cream that they serve down there at the Quay.
I wonder if Marco’s free? After all, if you can’t rely on your best friend for a pint or two and lustful, earth-shattering blowjob or three, who can you put your faith in, eh?
Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, as the saying goes.