Sunday, June 19, 2016

Boston Bathroom Hottie at CLAW

It was the closing day of CLAW. It’s always a little sad on many levels. The folks are bleary-eyed from the night before. They wander the vendor floor in search of anything they might have seen but where holding off on purchasing. And worst of all, people are packing up and leaving.

It’s not so much that I’m sad to see them go, but packing up, having to check out by a certain time – coupled with their late waking time due to the night before – leaves little opportunity to find someone and to use their room. And you have to deal with their partners, boys, Sirs, or messy roommates, and hope they have somewhere else to be as well.

 ….and yet, everyone is looking for that one last hook-up. Myself included. Or maybe especially.

If I’m being honest, my area of the vendor mart was dead on Sunday. While I was slated to work and showed up, I didn’t really stick around. I too was working under that check-out time window, and it was

The hotel lobby on this day is the hubbub of activity. People passing through to load up their car, get breakfast or you know, cruise the lobby itself. I was doing the latter.

While there, I saw the guy who fucked me in the sling. And I saw the guy who fucked me all over his room the day before. But I sat there, watching the parade of leather, latex, uniforms and flesh. In my mind, I played the ‘would I’ game. You know the one – would I sleep with them? How about him? …and

But mostly it was just people watching. Including a few guys who were sitting on a sofa talking. I noticed them, but didn’t NOTICE them. At least from my vantage point, nothing stood out in any way. As I was just pacing and looking at my phone – because even here, folks use the hook-up apps all the time – a few guys walked past. One I noticed – older, maybe late 40s, great build as he clearly works out, short dark hair covered in a Boston Red Sox cap. Never seemingly looking my way, he passed with his posse and went toward the bank of elevators.

A minute later, there is a tap on my shoulder. It’s him. ….my first thought was “what the what…..?”

 He leans and tells me, “you are so fucking hot – I couldn’t just walk away without saying anything to
My second thought was, “what the what???????” It felt like I was being pranked.

He leaned in closely to speak. His voice was low, sexy and exciting. His talk was dirty. His touch was strong. His keys were clipped to the left side, I knew to end my sentences with “Sir”. The first time he heard me say it, his head moved away from mine to look at me with a knowing glance – non-verbally confirming that I was correct in my approach.

You see, I don’t necessarily label myself with a name, title or decorative wares. People hope I’m a top, and maybe a little surprised and disappointed when I’m not. I might be sexually submissive, but I’m not sure I’d say I’m a Sub and I’m most definitely not a slave.

I think he was pleased with me addressing him the way I did. He told me he wanted me – and I told him I wanted him to do whatever he needed. He liked that too. Alas, he had no place. Whomever he was with was in their room, packing up for the trip back to Beantown. I was dead serious when I said I would even do him in the hotel lobby bathroom.

He snickered, but I noticed he didn’t actually say ‘no’. He seemed to be contemplating things. And for the record, I was thinking of the rear of the lobby where there were two restrooms. But he asked if I was ok with one – and he pointed – over there, off to the side near the front of the lobby. I nodded. He led the way. I followed at a respectable distance, though any of the fags who were watching (and there were a few) had to know what we were doing.

When I entered, I saw him briefly in the handicapped stall, then he stood out of sight in case anyone else walked in the restroom. I entered the stall, closed and secured the door. A door that went fully to

Sir Joe – as by now he had told me to call him - pushed me over to the wall and planted his lips on mine. For a forceable kiss, he was good at it. He also pawed at my tits until finding the nipple and both got a very rough squeeze. I didn’t make a sound, save for maybe a slight gasp in the breath. More excitement than pain. He seemed to enjoy getting a reaction. With his mouth near my ear, he hissed, “right now, you’re mine”.

I was. And I was fucking thrilled to be.

While just in a t-shirt and jeans (and the ball cap) the man had an incredible body. Clearly he works out a lot and lifts, but is not ‘roided out. And he has rough hands, which is not a bad thing at all – and while he told me his profession, it’s not technically manual labor, though to look at him, that would be your

Soon his pants were opened and his cock came out. It was a nice cock, about 7” and thin. I don’t know what I was expecting, but you know, I was hoping it would be fatter and a little longer. I mean, a boy can dream.

I was guided to my knees. I took him in my mouth and did what I do oh so well. He seemed to love my mouth and he certainly went to town on my chest. Let’s just say by the time we were done – not to jump ahead – my tits were fucking sore. Well, more sore, as a lot of the guys this weekend really worked them over, to the point they were almost chapped, if that is possible.

The man knows how to fuck a mouth. He knows how to grasp a head. He knows how to use.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he can be completely selfish when it comes to sex – and I’m 100% completely fine with that. But this was more than that – he was being selfish not for being a dick reason, he was doing it because he knew he could and that I would be a very willing recipient – and he knew it even though it was not really discussed at that level. It’s all about how to read your partner.

While it was CLAW, it was still a public restroom, so we had to be as discreet as possible. People were coming and going, using the stall next to ours - for legitimate purposes - and the urinals. So we had to keep quiet. Any talk was right into each others ear, or silently conveyed with a look, a raise of an eyebrow or a finger, pointing for me to do something.

The only audible piece would have been Sir Joe's belt. The buckle would rhythmically hit the marble floor or wall. The sound was timed, as it was moving with his hips as he fucked my face. Any amateur sleuth could have deduced we were doing one of two things in there.

I SO wanted to do the second one, but Sir Joe, while being a sport, really wasn't into restroom / public sex this way. He was there for my benefit and I had to respect his wishes. And so I "settled" for giving him head.

With only a few minutes left - as I knew he had to check out - he held my head against the marble wall and shot his cum right into my mouth.

As I do with so many men, I then guided his hand to my throat, so he could feel me swallow that spunk. He smiled. Grinned, actually.

We got ourselves together. We left together. We exchanged digits, as he expected to hear from me later (and has).

If I'm ever in Boston, he'll know it.

1 comment:

cyberi4a said...

If walls could talk, those rooms and toilet stalls would have some wild stories to tell I bet. :-)