Tennis player #2 was much more athletic looking than the first.
He was 36, 6'4", maybe 190, but furry, solid muscle, bearded. He also had twisted his ankle enough that it took him out of competition and he was lonely in a hotel room south of the city with no transport.
It didn't hurt his screen name was something like HungHairyItalian. I kind of focused on the 'hung' part.
He was younger, but not young. He should have been old enough to know that 11 miles away doesn't mean around the corner. Old enough to know that he reaches out to fuck 'now', but also wants you clean - so that doesn't mean you're necessarily ready now. And should me mature enough not to pout about it.
His impatience was not appreciated, though I tried to accommodate him on every level with realistic times and expectations.
At first he turned me down - from his own request, Maybe he couldn't find anything better, or anyone willing to travel to his more remote location, so I got hit up again. And away I went.
He never told me how hung he was, nor did he show me via pics. I also did not ask.
It might sound weird, but I rarely ask how big it is. I'm always hopeful, but I don't take stock in their answers or even the pics they show. I've been mislead more than a time or two.
I was nicely surprised when I got to his hotel. His face was much more handsome than his pic. I certainly liked that he was taller than me. He only had on boxer shorts and those were soon off.
His cock grew to almost 8.5, which is way more than admirable. But it was his girth that was so impressive. Thick from head to base, but there was even a thicker inch or so maybe an inch below the bulbous cock head.
Thick head. Slightly thinner shaft. THICKER shaft. Slightly thinner after that...all the way down to the base.
I'll be honest, I would have loved foreplay, but this guy wasn't about that - in his texts or in person, plus he had a check-out time in less than an hour and it looked liked his luggage had exploded.
During our brief on-line exchange, all he wanted was to bend someone over, or possibly doggie-style fuck. That's it. Nothing else.
His boxers were off, my shorts dropped to my ankles, only taking off one leg to make sure I could spread the way he needed, but not even committing to staying long enough to drop them completely off.
He lubed up as I bent over, putting my palms on the second bed which was still made-up.
Since I've really tried cutting out (or at least back on) poppers, I had none with me, focusing solely on my breathing. It worked well enough for him to pop in and I had to really concentrate as he went in over that second, thicker, ridge.
Once he made it past that, sinking in was all there was left to do. And he sunk until I could feel his chest on my back and the front of his thighs pressed against the back of mine.
For a man who supplied that much cock, his talent could have been better. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad, but maybe he had lack of trial and error due to the fact that maybe a few guys couldn't quite take him all the way.
Maybe he was new to topping. I don't know.
I've always said, just because you have a big cock doesn't mean you shouldn't know how to fuck. However, I kind of left that at the door when he put it up my back one.
As unfortunate as it sounds - and was - my one-way drive time was three times longer than his fuck.
But he said it had been six days, and I tended to believe him. He buried it and just let it throb. I could feel each pulse of his rod on my nerve endings. He awakened them all. It felt good. It felt right. It felt necessary.
He wasn't one for keeping his cock in me, unfortunately. Because, that was one dick I would have liked to feel in me for a while before gravity took over. But again, he got what he wanted and had a check-out time.
It was easy enough to pull up my shorts, still around at least one ankle, and take three flights down to the lobby - and I was gone.