Tics

I should know to stay away from 25 year olds on Grindr. Nothing much good comes from them.

If they're not complete meth whores, they are then usually totally inexperienced. I mean, I do have one semi-repeat that is hotter than fuck, huge cock and somewhat together, though I sense he might be doing more PnP activities when he's not working  - but we all know that's a slippery slope.

But a week or so ago, I got a message on the app. In a weak-ish moment I headed over to him, as he was less than a mile away.

It's amazing what distance will and won't do. When does 3 miles become too far?? Is distance more an obstacle if they're average looking or just a 'he'll do' scenario? It's not like it is 3 miles trekking over the Rockies with the Donner party or anything. I'm not even taking public transportation - I have my own car and everything!

Still, a mile seemed to be as far as I'd venture out for this post-millennial. His selfie was just ok- maybe 5'8", 145, brown hair, clean shaven. But it's me we are talking about here - it was his cock pic that tipped the scales in his favor.

It's nice, right?

So you see why I acquiesced and went after he assured me he wasn't into getting high.

It was an old apartment building. He told me to use the back staircase. He never bothered to fucking mention there were four of them. When he answered in text later that it was the one 'near the laundry room' I tersely remarked - 'as if I fucking know where that is!'.

I was already in danger of people reporting me for going up and down two other external staircases, checking out apartments, ones that only one out of every three actually had apartment numbers on them. How the fuck was I to know where #20 was?

BikeGuy was annoyed - and he wasn't even at the door, let alone in it.

I knocked, he answered in his underwear. It was like 19 out and not that much warmer in his space - one similar to something I lived in back in college. It was a flood of questionable memories for me. I felt for him - or what I assume was him - struggling, on his own, but at least had his own space, such as it was. For me, it was far from glamorous and it was a weigh station to where I'd end up. I wasn't that thrilled to relive it even for 20 minutes.

When he opened the door and I walked in, he had the weirdest behavior and laugh. For a few minutes I assumed he had lied about the getting high - as he seemingly just randomly chuckled.

The best way to describe him and his behavior is in this clip - especially at the 0:45 mark.



The "laughs" are identical. It kind of freaked me out.

I think I figured out a few minutes in that maybe he wasn't high, but was somewhere on the Tourette's spectrum or possibly the Autism one.........or both.

If so, I didn't feel so bad about where he was living, especially with the 62" plasma screen tv box in his room. He wasn't hurting for things - and if he was somewhat special needs if he could live on his own, mores the better.

Camera angles and shots can be funny. He had a decent dick, but the picture was nicer.

He wanted to suck mine, which I was afraid was always his motive, but he didn't. I didn't allow it. I didn't even take mine out.

I kept my slush covered boots on and we went to his room. I got on my knees and took his briefs down. He was already hard.

In my own mind, I'd like to think he'd never had a blowjob like the one I gave him. It was wet, it was deep, there was lots of tongue action. He trembled. He had that laugh - nerves, perhaps. But you could sense the inexperience.

I know some guys get off on that newbie vibe. I'm not that guy. I like guys with a few notches on their headboard. I like experience and a man who knows what he is doing. This wasn't that guy.

Still, it wouldn't take long. For the young guys - it rarely does. For the new to the scene, even less so.

The load was mediocre - in size and taste.  The size was probably due to the fact he was 25 (though he looked 18) and probably still jacks off four times a day. And it was 11a, so he'd probably gotten off twice that morning.

Doubtful I'd go back......but I've been known to repeat shit like this.

A Little Sad

He was a repeat technically. It's been over a decade since I'd seen him - and even wrote about it. And this time it was a few months ago, though I'm just getting around to posting about it now.

While his profile pics still looked nice, in reality he had changed. But it had been a decade plus, so none of us are the same. Though I'd argue that the years had been less kind to him.

The blue eyes he once, and still, touted in his screen name were not nearly as vibrant. The crows feet around them were more abundant. The weight gain, more than abundant. And that made his wang look even smaller than it was.

The setting wasn't the majesty of nature either. No - it was just as sad.

It was a Red Roof - and not from a main exit, but one of the secondary ones...which have hotels with outdoor room entrances. I suppose this was a motel. A motor lodge, if you will. It was the kind of exit where the nicest restaurant was probably Subway.

I suppose the saddest part of this whole thing was: I still went. And stayed.

Part of me figured: "I came all this way....."   It's not enough reason to stay, but it is the one I'm going with.

The sex I so fondly remembered was probably just that - a memory. It probably wasn't as good as I thought, though this time there'd be no mistaking it.

Perhaps he hid it better last time, or maybe he's taken up smoking in the last 10 years. Ashtrays were filled in his room. Multiple open packs of Marlboro reds were on either a dresser, bedside table or on top of the tv. The room reeked of smoke. I didn't even know there were chain hotels that allowed this anymore. Or maybe he was just resigned to the fact he would lose a $250 deposit.

Kissing was off the table. Actually, facing him soon became off the table.

The best way to describe what next happened was spooning jack rabbit sex.  I have to believe, it was was unpleasant for all - including him. I mean, he couldn't have thought it was good, right?

I'd like to give you detail - I think - but there is nothing memorable about the actual sex. Or I've wiped it as much as possible from my memory.

Lessons are learned ....usually.  But I don't think there will be a third encounter......a decade from now, or anytime.

Dud

He took a step into my house and exhaled.

Not as in a sigh, but as in, he had just taken a last huge drag of his cigarette before I opened the door, and wasn't nice or courteous enough to just finish outside.

I'm not thrilled with smokers anyways, let alone heavy ones - like, judging by the smell of his clothes, skin and the taste of his jizz (oops - spoiler alert), he was. But really, who the fuck thinks its ok to basically smoke in someone's house without asking? And I had the added bonus of the butt just tossed on my walk.

This guy and I have been playing Scruff-tag for years. I just assumed with him it was a game. Let's Tease the Faggot kind of thing. Or he was just all talk. But he was meeting someone at a bar and needed head badly he said. I told him, I don't give bad head. He headed over.

His leaving "right now" for a three mile drive took him 40 fucking minutes. Seriously. Maybe he had to stop for and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes before he pulled up. It sure smelled that way.

On Scruff, I was to address him as "Sir". I'm good with that. When he gets here, it's "Hi, I'm Jim". Well THAT was a mood killer. Sorry dude, I wasn't really interested in your name.

He was there, so you know I would follow through - or a pretty good chance I would. If you read this blog regularly, I rarely turn folks away. I power through the mediocre ones.....and sometimes even the bad ones.

"Jim" seemed nice enough, but I was ignoring the red flags. The tardiness, the smoking, the small cock.....  Yes, I never ask their size because hopefully it doesn't matter. He wasn't teeny or anything, but I thought with all his bravado he might be bigger. I know there is no correlation, but a cocksucker can dream - right?

Still, there I was on my knees, working it like I treat every cock. I mean, I DO love to suck cock and I love the ability I have to draw a man's load out of his nut and into my mouth. There is a certain power there....even for a lowly bottom.

If I'm totally being honest - I was getting no read from the guy if I was doing a good job or a bad one. My other assumption was that if he needed this so badly, why wasn't I getting any feedback. I am totally fine with a guy telling me what not to do, as much as when another expounds positively upon my skills.

At some point, he wanted to fuck and I was ok with that. But after taking a hit of poppers, the man lost his hard on. Almost not amount of trying could get him hard again.

Then he was staying the herniated disk in his back was killing him and he couldn't stand. I didn't have the heart to tell him he put his dead down into the dog bed, but at that point, who really cared?

As he winced in pain, he jacked his cock. The jacking egasserbated his back, I'm sure.

He eventually sat in a chair to do it getting himself to the edge.  The huge load no guy could handle was not a challenge. If anything, it was a little chunky. Not a thick load - well, it was - but actually chunky.

I gulped it down. What else was I gonna do?

He apologized profusely for not being able to perform correctly. He was hoping this wouldn't sully any future encounters. I promised him it wouldn't, though I wondered how I would put him off. As it would turn out, it might not be a concern.

I've never heard from him again.

Numbers

Throughout the year, I've alluded to having some sort of goal last year, in terms of the nunber of "encounters" I was shooting for.  Pun fully intended.

I would say halfway through the year, my goal slightly altered. And with the holidays and things, I was coming perilously close to not achieving an arbitrary goal that mattered little to anyone.

Rest assured, I met my goal....with a week to spare - though had the holiday and work obligations not gotten in the way, I would have surpassed it.

I could easily tell you the number, but then any suspicions of you all thinking I was a whore are kind of solidified......and that's something you can't quite erase from your brain.

The goal was for a certain load count.....if I'm being frank. If I got fucked or sucked a cock that didn't cum, they didn't count. And yes, I counted......on a spreadsheet.  Sorry Bruce - I didn't build a pivot table.

And by loads, I also meant my own. Did I give? If so, where?  Did I jack off?

That last category number is surprisingly low. Nine times did I jack off in 2015. That is what most of you do in a week. And I never jacked off alone. Ok - maybe once.  It was because I was asked by certain partners to do so. Sometimes I complied - because I believe they deserved it. Sometimes I did not.

As you know - me getting off isn't my thing. It's nice, but not always necessary. Rarely, actually.

So, the list included things like - delivery methods.....

No huge shock that me sucking guys off was the majority of the load consumption. I'd have liked the red pie to have been bigger, but not everyone is worthy.  Not even to a guy like me. 

Then I broke it down by if they were a new person or a repeat. For a long time it was 50 / 50, but the more new guys I got, they often turned into repeats....so.....it stands to reason. Only 3% of the loads achieved were mine.  That sounds about right, no? 

Right or wrong, I also broke it down by race.  Is it possible I didn't have sex with one Asian man? The numbers don't lie. Though honestly, it seemed that I had a bigger black population than actually showed up in the numbers. Sure, their cocks were bigger, but I didn't make the count based on length or girth. Somehow, I remember them more though. 

....maybe you can't go back, after all. 

Not for nothing, but I broke it down by where we connected.  Those numbers get a little skewed - as the initial contact might have been craigslist, but then it was by phone or email for return visits. Still, craigslist gets a bigger slice of the pie....barely. 

And I broke it down where we did it too. House, Apartment, Hotel, home Office, etc. 

I don't know I will continue this self-reporting, but I probably will. I don't expect to have a goal like I just completed. My work schedule now will no longer support these kinds of numbers.

Not that you know what those actual numbers are.     :@)

Toilet Pig

I apologize for falling off the blogging bandwagon. Work and holidays got the better of me - not just with writing, but with the ability to do anything to write about (i.e. sex!).

I once told the Breeder that if I didn't blog for a week, he should just assume I'm dead. I guess I should amend that statement a little.

Anyways............let's do a brand new fresh story. One of today. Yes. Not exactly real time, but a few hours later.....................

Let's just start out that it was with the guy I had sex with last New Year's Day. He was my first load of 2015 and 2016. I believe we now have a tradition to keep up.

"PJ" had no qualms about saying he wasn't after head with me. Not again. He wanted something else. My ass.

Who the fuck am I to argue with that?

He comes to town over the holidays and that is great, though he isn't free as he is here to visit folks. And depending on my work / holiday schedule, I'm not always free to make it or to host - hence the giving head at a train station in a car during sub-zero weather.

We had texted a few times during 2015 - so it was no surprise he was coming to town, though we didn't talk particulars. Still, it was of little surprise when he texted me yesterday that he wanted time with me. All our mild weather had taken a turn for frigid weather, just like last year. Balls.

But he made it clear, it was not my mouth he was after. He was even specific with this text message:

I suppose, when reading this you could take it a few ways. I only took it one. 

To me, he wasn't just asking for me to provide the rubber. ...but I should backtrack. 

During our chats during the year, there has been implied, but not outright stated, fantasy on stealthing. He liked reading about it. He would never actually do it - allegedly. But going by this text, if that situation were taken out of his hands and made my responsibility he'd be ok with it? 

When I replied "I understand"....I did.......but in my own way, knowing it best not to ask any questions. Perhaps I made assumptions. Perhaps not. 

Since I made assumptions, I took the initiative.  The expiration date was pure coincidence. Honest. The little hole around Lot Exp - not so much. 

As neither of us could host, I thought of the train station again, as they are doing some work there and there is a port-a-john in a remote area of the parking lot. As long as neither of us pulled up next to it, I thought we could be good. It would be cold, but not in the biting wind. And outside, there was no place with cover to do "it" anyways. 

Since it was in an affluent neighborhood and the workers were minimum, the port-a-pot was clean and had not smells. It stopped the howling wind, but not the cold. And since it wasn't one of the handicap ones, there was not tons of room. Quite the opposite. 

I went in first to check the setting. Also so no one would notice two guys walking into a portable crapper. I texted him the coast was clear. He joined. 

First there was a great kiss, followed closely with a heavy handed slap across the face. Slightly unexpected on one hand, completely not on another. It had been in prior conversations how he think I might be all talk on how I like to be treated (yes, he reads this blog) and one of my statements that kissing is more intimate than fucking. It all made sense to me......and no doubt to him. 

I pulled down my sweat pants, and lubed my hole. I pulled out the condom and gave it to him. He had me bend down to lube up his cock with my spit. That didn't last long, as I knew my mouth was not his hole of choice. 

I turned around, took a hit of poppers. He lined his now covered cock up with my hole and pushed in. It felt good. It felt right. It had been a month since I had a cock up my ass - not a piece of information he cared about, as he let me know in no uncertain terms. 

He was good - really good - at fucking. Probably better if we weren't in such a confined space. But you have to make due, right?

As he bottoms out and starts to pump, he let me know "you're a fucking toilet pig".

It was hard to deny. Freezing temps. In a portable toilet. Pants around my ankles. And an almost stranger's cock up my ass.  It was kind of hard to deny. I answered somewhat in the affirmative, though now I'm not quite sure exactly how that came out.

We were making the toilet move, so I did worry that someone might notice that. The normal folks walking their dogs would never notice - a cop might. But I've been in that area hundreds of times and can't think of ever seeing police around....especially on a frigid New Year's Day.  I think that's how I got to blow this same guy a year before.

When he pulled out, I found that unexpected. I was hoping he wasn't done. He sat down, and readjusted the rubber - pulling it tight down his shaft and to make it snug against the head of his penis, almost - almost ! - like he knew I had fiddled with prophylactic beforehand. Can you imagine??  He thought I was distrustful???  The nerve!

Then he told me to sit down.....on it. And I did.

It would have been so much easier had I removed my pants, but that meant shoes and places to put all this clothing, and there were really no options. So with his hands firmly on my hips, I rode his cock, with his assistance. This position didn't stop the facility from moving any less, by the way  (the more you know folks................the more you know!  I am like a public service announcement for you all.)

This seemed to go on for a while until he pulled me fully down into his lap. His shaking and moans - but no words - let me know he was finishing in me.  Or in the rubber.  Yeah..............the rubber.

We stayed in that position as I used my muscles to milk the still rigid shaft planted in my ass. He made no moves to get me off him.

When I did, I very innocently mentioned I though the rubber failed. He took it off quickly and discarded it saying 'no - everything was fine'.

I stood turned fully around and he mentioned I was hard.

I was more than hard. The man. The set-up. The setting. Everything about it was wrong - but in a right way. Hot and sleazy, on such a Winter's day.

He wanted to see me jack off. I asked if he was sure. He was. I was close anyways and asked where. He pulled open his shirt and pulled up his white t-shirt.  "On the belly", he said. So I did. Or tried.

I'm a big shooter. And I had not cum for a week. And with the excitement and the enclosure, keeping the ejaculation controlled wasn't really easy. Sure, some went on his belly. Some in his bush and on or near his cock. Some covered his pure white t-shirt. Some maybe hit his shirt. My semen was fucking everywhere.  It took him quite a while to even slightly clean up.

I made my exit first.  Got in my car and texted him that the coast was clear.

Afterwards, he fled the state. Later I had to use the restroom....and nothing but cum escaped from my ass.

Sure, I might have played loose with the truth on the condom condition, but so did he.

Everything was beautifully executed.....at least in my mind. A good way to start the year.