Middle of the Night

The gathering was wrapping up. It was 01:00. The sky was fully of lightening and the rain was only beginning to spit. But it was a good time to finish the evening and make the hours drive home. I wasn't too drunk, but I had more than I should have.

By the time I got on the main road, the rain came down harder. By the time I pulled in to fill up my tank, it was a deluge. No one else at the station, I didn't rush to pull out into a blinding rainstorm. I booted up Grindr.

4.3 miles from me he was, give or take 1.1 miles. You know how that works.

I told him I was sitting in a station and no time for chit-chat. If he wanted it, he had to let me know NOW. He let me know. He gave me his address, I put it into my car GPS and was on my way. Only an 11 minute drive. Sweet.

No problem finding the place and I was at his side door with him waiting to open it.

He was a hot little fuck. 5'8" - little for my standards. Shaved head. Goatee. No shirt, plenty of ink. No body fat.

In a matter of minutes my pants were off, my shirt was off and he was playing with my chest. He was ok at that, but not great. There really is an art to playing with a guy's chest, even when it is hardwired like mine is.

Still, my ass was twitching - partially the booze, the continual horniness, a hot half naked man who want, or needs, to get off.

We made out a bit. He had a hint of tobacco with menthol on his breath. Nothing to make me pull away, as I don't find that appealing at all.

The guy took me back to the bedroom, it remained dark. He had me bend over so he could eat my ass. Like his tit work, it was fine, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was enough to engage me, but not to get me going, let alone enough to get off. ...not that I was looking to get off.

But he wanted to fuck - and I wanted to be fucked.

On my back, at the edge of my bed, he dropped his gym shorts and he sported about 5.5". Thin at that, the head of the dick was unremarkable. Still it was a dick.

He asked if I wanted it raw. I told him, 'you already know that answer'. He really didn't, but I figured I'd let him think he was making the decisions here. I almost told him to 'go easy', but I wasn't there to stroke his ego, not that he needed it.

The guy popped in with little effort. He went right to pounding. I could take it. That lasted all of five minutes before pulling out. This time he had me up on my knees, shoulders down, ass up. Again, he went in with no problem.

This time he only fucked me, hard and deep, for about another 7-8 minutes. But his mouth got a workout.

He told me how good my ass felt. He told me how much he'd like to see other guys fuck me. How he'd like to see his buddies fuck me bare. One after the other. How he knew these guys who would do it. None of these were questions as to if I were interested. I was, but he didn't care.

Without build up or warning, he came. He was in me, but I don't think he meant to shoot as fast as he did. I think he turned himself on with his own fantasy and planning another event. He said it was four days worth of spooge. Nice.

He immediately pulled out - and did not want to remain up there. I like when a guy does, but this guy did not want it. His house, his cock, his rules.

I got up to get dressed and he wanted me to get off. He wasn't getting to his knees for it. He told me only 'faggots do that. I'm not a faggot'.

I said, 'you only fuck them?' , which is something he affirmed. But he wanted me to jack off.

Normally, I wouldn't have. I don't care to. But I can't tell you last time I got off. Three weeks? Four? I know - you are weirded out by that, all guys seem to be when I tell them, but it's true. I don't need to cum that much.

I told him if he wanted me to jack off he'd have to get on his knees. I promised I wouldn't cum on his face (again, he sad that was for fags), but I told him I would cum on his chest, because I guess that's for straight guys.

I blew a load. A huge load, as you might imagine. I just kept shooting and shooting and shooting.

When done, he went into the bathroom. When he returned, I was dressed, keys in hand. He asked if I wanted to clean up. I reached for the door and opened it.

Later, I said. And then I drove home in the pouring rain.