Putain

I was over in Paris. It’s a hard town to get laid in if you’re a bottom. EVERYONE on the sex apps are bottoms. I would say I had my work cut out for me, but early on, I knew, even being the new guy in town, I was fighting a tidal wave.

That’s not to say I didn’t try. Lots and lots of flakes.

Yet here I was with a two plus week load in my nuts. I had little free time and I wasn’t about to waste it in the shower drain.

A few hundred feet away from me was - for lack of better terms – a twink.

Totally not my style, but there he was, and presenting me in pics with a nice cock and nice ass. The ass was hairless, I don’t think shaven, which is again, something that isn’t my thing. That said, there is something to be said to trying something different, and if I’m gonna fuck, maybe it’s best that it’s a guy who isn’t a man. If he were more masculine, I’d want to be the guy taking pipe.

He texts me his address. I knew it was at the store at which he worked. And lo and behold, a few blocks later I was there. High end. Floor to ceiling windows on both the first and second floor. I was a little suspicious, but as you’ve figured out here long ago, I’m game for most things.

He locked the door behind me and lowered the lights. He told me to wait upstairs, which I did. Sitting on a chair near the windows, slouched a little, legs spread wide and rubbing my crotch. He came up and motioned me to the back of the store.

We ended up in a large changing room. It has one small bench and the entire room was mirrored. I was kind of digging this.

Without a word, he dropped his clothes. All of them. He encouraged me to, but he got my shirt off, my pants undone and dropped, but not off. Not in a store I didn’t know, in a town that wasn’t mine.

I sat on the bench while he knelt and took my cock into his mouth. He did an ok job, but I’m guessing sucking wasn’t his main skill. Soon he turned around, still on his knees, exposing that ass and hole to me.

You know I love eating ass, so I dove in. There is something to be said for tonguing a hairless hole. I could tell he made an effort to clean it, but it still had funk to it. No so much that it made me pull back or stop. Trust me, it was cleaned when I finished eating it than when I started.

But I was under a time constraint.

At first, my cock was rock hard. I spit onto it and smeared that saliva around. There’d be no bottled lube here. I lined up and pushed. His ass resisted more than I think it should have. But maybe it was a natural reaction to having something shoved up your shitter.

Of course, it opened up and gave way. I loved watching that thick shaft just start to sink into this hole, disappearing inch by inch – and not at a snail’s pace. He took it well. He was not a novice.

Admittedly, the pants around the ankles, boots on, were kind of a limitation in my movements. And as always, mid fuck, my bottom-wired brain started encroaching on my top-like cock. Fuck! I hate that, but I am who I am.

I was able to keep up the fuck for a while, but we had to change positions.

I sat on the bench and told him to lick my nuts and play with my tits. He did so for both, the ball licking was fine, he has no skills with playing with nipples. It was enough, however, to get me harder. 

We went again. This time on his back, lets up. My cock in his hole.

He was on his back, so I finally got it when he semi rolled to his right, somewhat straining his neck, so he could look into the mirrors, watching himself getting fucked.

I have no illusions that he was watching me fuck him. He was watching HIM getting fucked. There is a distinction. I was fine with it. My ego as top isn’t that big, so it wasn’t an issue.

Actually, I took page from his playbook on this. I didn’t care about him in the slightest. I mean, at all. And I’m usually an exhibitionist, so why not spin it a little. I watched myself fuck. I watched my technique, my body language, my facial expressions. Now and then I’d look down to see my dick disappear, then reappear, inch by inch.

So I MIGHT have a slight ego when I’m topping, as I was kind of getting off on myself a little. I was, at the very least, getting off on the act, the location, the anonymity of it all. I was going to get off in him, but not really because of him.

As I had like 16 days of sperm in me, I kind of spurred myself on to finish off and get going. I was meeting folks for dinner and I knew how hard it was to get laid in Paris, so I somewhat, mentally, spurred myself to finish. We’ve all done that, right? It can’t just be me.

Don’t ask for specifics, because I don’t have them. It’s just a thing I do, trying to will the rest of my body to get to a point where I ejaculate.

And ejaculate I did. I creamed his fuck hole. I unloaded U.S. sperm into his Parisian guts. No apologies.

The fucker used his muscles to force me out way sooner than I would have liked, as I was not 100% cumming. Because he did this, it forced cum to ooze out of him and as I was still dripping, my DNA got on that precious high-end carpeting in the dressing room. To be honest, I don’t’ think any of the patrons or shop owners would have even noticed, but he started freaking. Using cheap toilet paper to blot it up, which made the TP to stick to the carpeting.

I hate scenes like this, as I was now locked in the store, and was dressing while he ran around trying to erase any existence of my being here and he still needed to get changed so he could let me out.

I left the store and joined friends for dinner. And honestly, until writing this for you, I gave him no second thought at all.

I wonder if that’s what tops experience with me.