He was on my Scruff ‘nearby’ listing. The picture wasn’t the best, but he showed a lot more promise than most. And I fully recognize that people don’t always capture the best selfie to promote themselves. I also get that people choose certain pics thinking those will funnel the kind of guys they want. It’s a crap shoot.
But his pic piqued my interest. And while he said he was ‘vers’, I directed my comments to “Sir”. This
seemed to engage him in sporadic conversation. But he said he’d stop by my area at CLAW when time
allowed. That Saturday, time allowed.
As I assumed, he was better looking in person, and taller than I imagined. 6’4” apparently. Maybe a
little over 200lbs, shaved head, goatee – greying a bit, nice eyes that could smile and sneer depending
on his mood. And a good 7” (or so I’d find out later) with a slight upward curve.
He walked up to me, grabbed me by the back of the head and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a little
surprising, as we hadn’t even exchanged names (ok, so maybe that part isn’t so strange). He told me
what room he was in and that he was going up to take a little nap, but to just knock on the door when I
The thing about me and CLAW is, that I’m always working. And since I’d been there for 2 plus days
with no play time during work time (all those other encounters happened before or after my work) I
talked myself into that everyone else did sessions and whatnot, so why shouldn’t I just take an extended
So I did.
I gave him an hour to nap and then was knocking on room 725’s door.
He opened the door and escorted me in.
As this was in an Embassy Suites, if you’re familiar with the set-up, the front room has a sofa, table and
chairs…..and a large window that looks out onto the hallway, should one not close the curtain. His
curtain was partially open. And while I was just fine to have fun out there for the passers-by to watch, it
was the housekeeping staff he could do without. I get that. So we took it back to the bedroom, though
we didn’t shut the door.
The man was all over me, and me of him. I found him incredibly sexy. I shouldn’t wait to write some of
these stories. I partially hold off to get some perspective (and to block time to really commit to writing
the encounter), but I fear I lose some detail. I can’t remember if we kissed in the actual room. I
remember the vendor floor, but not in the hotel room. I have to believe we did.
The other details I have down – so no worries there.
The man was rough. Or rough-ish. Harder than most could take, not as hard as some men I’ve known.
He manhandled. Thinking of it now, I’m sure we kissed. As we did, he worked my nipples. Light and hard.
He’d pull away from my face now and then and raise an eyebrow, as if to nonverbally ask if that was too
much. My answer however was verbal: “you’re never going to hear me say the word ‘stop’”. He
grinned. I wasn’t sure if that sneer was for a positive response to my reply, or if he were taking up some
secret challenge. Or both.
Oddly, I did not use my oral skills on him. Not even briefly. Well, let me rephrase a bit – not on his
cock. I did lick his shitter quite a bit. And he sat on my face. So, technically, that is oral sex, no?
But for the most part, sex was relegated to the butt. Mine, in particular.
I loved his bedside table. Because apparently, you can never have too many poppers and some lube.
Of course, it didn’t escape me from what was missing from the surface. And the joke is, we never
touched the lube either. Spit was our friend. I like it better anyways.
We started with me bent over.
I won’t say the entry was rough, but he was determined. I wanted it. He wanted in it. And he was
ready to plough the fields. I’m a trooper and I said I wouldn’t say ‘stop’ and I didn’t. And he was a
trooper – the man knew how to pump ass. My lord, the man knew how to fuck.
He fucked me that way for a while. Then on my back. Then on all fours on the floor. One of the better
– or at least more fun times – was up against the window from his room. To the outside, not the interior
hallway. Alas, it was daylight, so anyone looking up would have had a harder time seeing than had it
been night and we were backlit by his bedroom lights. But he had a great sense of humor talking to the
people below – as if they could hear him (the windows didn’t open). But he had me splayed up against
that window for a while, my left leg bent out and up, giving him easier access to what was now his hole
– at least his hole to use.
While he was doing that, I noticed some heavy leather covered…..devices (?) on the table. Not being
able to keep my mouth shut, I asked what they were. He called them ‘thumpy sticks’….or something like
that. It seemed to be metal bar with one end having some sort of cushion, but then that was wrapped in
a heavy duty leather. Well the name wasn’t enough for me, I had to ask what they were for – so he
He took one and hit my chest with it. Once was fine, Twice and three times were good. But I could see
how this could and would progress and how thumpy could become hurty – but maybe in a good way.
One he was done, he proceeded to punch my chest. Hard. Very hard. And repeatedly.
I let this go one for a while, even wincing, but never saying the ‘stop’ word. Though that being said, I
pulled a passive-aggressive dick move when I said, “not that I’m saying ‘stop’, but if I were ever to, this
might be the place I would say it”. He laughed, hit me a few more times and quit.
I have to say, we never talked about hitting, but after the thumpy stick, I think he was testing limits. He
chuckled when I mentioned he probably took a boxing class – though he denied it. He might be a natural
at that though.
We took it back to the bed. This time he lay back. I licked his nuts, but not his cock. I don’t know why.
I’m good with ass-to- mouth, but we weren’t about that. He told me to ride him, and I did. He just
relaxed – well except for the erect penis – and I sat on him. And I fucked myself on his cock. He’d reach
up and play with my tits – sometimes soft, sometimes not.
After a bit of that, he had to think about getting ready for some dinner and bar crawl. Sounds great
when you’re 28, not 48. So he wanted to wrap it up – the session, not the cock – as he told me I was not
leaving without his load.
Who the fuck am I to argue that point?
“Get face down on the bed”. It wasn’t a request. I hurried up and had my face down in the pillow, my
legs apart. He spat into his hand, climbed on top and punched it in and went deep.
As much as we fucked before – in every other position – here he was unrelenting. Before it was for
pleasure, his and mine (not that he cared about mine). But now, he had a goal. The goal was always
there, but now it was in sight. And if it wasn’t in sight before – he was making damn sure he saw light at
the end of the tunnel……even though the tunnel he was in had zero visibility.
I’m talking about my butthole……get it? Get it??
This went on for a good 10 minutes. We were both sweating, his chest sticking to my back. His balls
slapping my ass. His thighs hitting mine. My teeth stereotypically biting the pillow.
The roar he made upon cumming would have scare your average hotel guest – as they would have
heard it. At CLAW, someone probably stopped, shrugged their shoulders, and went on their way.
I remained in position long after he pulled out – or long in terms of post-fucking by a stranger. But I
had to get up. He had to go and well, I had been away from my area now for 90 wonderful minutes.
He slapped my ass as I dressed, hoping we’d have another chance (we didn’t).
Upon getting back to my positon, someone asked where I was and did I do anything. I replied I didn’t
do something, but I did do someone.
I was too much of a gentlemen to tell them what or who. But yet, you all know something the guy
asking never got any 4-1-1 on.
I won’t say this was the best encounter I had. It’s in the top two. The next one might rival this – but for
different reasons. Both have their merits.