But now it was 2-3 years later and there he was. Same pic, but with an indicator he was on-line. And he was interested in knocking boots. I was down for it, of course. Naturally there were snags: oh, he’s taking care of his father, so we have to use the garage. Ok. I can deal with that. I also dealt with the fact that he is a serious chain smoker. Like he’d have two going at a time a few feet apart so he’d never be without one. He saw my face as he went to light up yet another one….and I’d been there for all of 47 seconds. “oh, you don’t smoke! That’s cool.” And while he put it down, he reeked of an ashtray….or nine of them.
Then he pulled out his cock of his nylon shorts, with nothing underneath those, and the smoking thing was forgotten about. This thick slab of meat just let gravity take over……until it started fighting against Newton’s law and started to rise. …..maybe with a little help from my touch. And by ‘touch’, I mean having his meat between my lips. ....and highly encouraged to take it to the bush.
Before coming over, we debated about who would get fucked. I know he flips way more than I do. Clearly you know I do top here and there…….but not often. For this encounter, I was going to bottom. Score!
He did forewarn me that most bottoms cannot take him. Not due to size, but for this inability (if you want to call it that) to ejaculate quickly. He said he fucks for a long long time.
I don’t really have an issue with that. There are guys I just want them to pump and dump, and other guys who I want to last longer. But it was pushing 100 degrees and we were now in a closed, hot, unventilated garage. Great for sweat and easy sliding and gliding. Bad for just about everything else. And it’s all relative. His “long time” could be 10 minutes. Mine is not. But I was game.
We started on my back, on a heavy duty plastic collapsible picnic table….which was already collapsed. He had lube and poppers, and a willing bottom. He got it in me with little difficulty, but the angle was off, for both of us. He had a hard time squatting/standing and his angle made the trajectory of his penis to gut a little more stabby than I would have liked, though I would have persevered. Because I’m a trooper.
We opted for me bending over, which was better, but not optimal. Eventually, he raised the picnic table to its intended in-use height. Bending over this way was perfect. With my elbows and forearms firmly on the table, he (I have no name on this guy) became a pile driver.
As previously mentioned, the sweat and heat was a great help. It facilitated a fluid in and out movement even with the force of his thrusts. Sweat was dripping from his face and chest onto my back, mixing with my own.
As it would turn out – sweat wasn’t the only bodily fluid we would exchange that day – but you had to know that was
I thought he wasn’t very verbal last time, but it was while he was working at BSA. But save some guttural noises, he wasn’t vocal in the slightest. But his neighbors were two arm’s length away, and I had no idea how much sound a closed garage door muffled.
He was true to his word with not cumming quickly. He fucked me close to 30 minutes.
There was a big push up into my guts and he had a long grunt. I asked him, or goaded him, into telling me what he was doing. I love having a guy telling me he is cumming, though I’m respectful enough to usually let them do it their way.
“I’m making you pregnant” was his reply.
Had I not been pushed into the table I think my semi-erect cock still would have spewed its load all over his father’s table.
I thought for sure he’d want me to cum for him, but it never came up….so to speak. I slipped on my gym shorts, slipped on my sandals and walked to my car with a load up my butt.
But I’d be back in a few weeks.