Friday, November 29, 2019

Tim Returns

”Tim” is a guy I only kind of knew when he lived in town. We had made plans a few times, but they always fell through. However, he was kind of an ultimate.

Tim, on paper, and over the phone, was dirty. Probably in every way. He liked sex regardless of the consequences, of how he interacted with his partner, or more importantly, how he didn’t. He was truly one for ‘sex without feelings’. He cared about his pleasure and his and his alone.

I think my attraction to him, besides his fucking handsome face, was that. I was on the other end of that spectrum, I was ok with “sex without feelings”, but I cared about their pleasure and theirs and theirs alone. Not mine.

This would work better if Tim was a total top, but he wasn’t. So depending on his moods, needs and wants, sometimes our attempts would be short lived.

Ironically, I had much better luck with him when he came back to town for visits. One was in a trendy hotel – which suited him, as he is completely trendy. I wrote about that here.

What I never wrote about was our next encounter. He messaged me out of the blue. He was in town and down to fuck. This was a while back – two years, maybe? But I keep a running list of encounters of which to write about, and this remained on it. I should have done it sooner, as I’m sure I’ll lose / miss some of the detail / nuance.

Tim was staying at friend’s house, and they were for the moment out of town. He invited me over. The house turns out to be huge. It was McMansion-like, but right on the water. The place was impeccable. Everything in white or off white. And it was January. I felt bad about being there in my work boots with snow and such on them. Tim didn’t seem to care, as he led me to the fully finished basement.

This place had to have like 8,000 sq ft. Tim takes me into a walk-in closet in the basement and closes and locks the door. Mind you, he told me the house was empty and the peeps were gone, but who the fuck knows. Oddly, I’m just thinking that now, not then.

Tim is like 6’3”, chiseled face, great features – strong chin, blonde (which isn’t normally my type), in clothes he looks like has a great body. Without, like a lot of us, could use some work. But he has a nice thick 7”.


I know he felt rushed for time, but he was all over me from the word go. We pawed at each other – chest, nuts, cock. We kissed violently. It seemed the right thing to do – as we wanted that closeness without feeling intimate, and that was a way to achieve it. It was sloppy, it wasn’t sensual as it was necessary.

I got pushed to my knees and I was happy to be there. He leaned back into a high chair or stool. I nuzzled his cock, and it went in my mouth, followed by a good face fucking. Tim has a firm grip and dirty mouth. “cocksucker”, “faggot” and the likes passed his lips as easily has his shaft was passing mine.

It was a little unexpected when he shot a sizable load. It was quick, it was tasty, though some got in my beard. This is not a complain.


He pulled me up and kissed me. His tongue probing my mouth, no doubt tasting his semen. I think that was part of his goal. Then he want to his knees. He is an expert cocksucker and a bigger pig than myself – which is kind of saying something.

We swapped between his lips on my peen and then on my actual lips. Now and then, he’d wet his cock with spit, as he was jacking the entire time. Still hard. #It was then he quickly turned me around and pushed my shoulders over. Face down, while standing, bent over……vulnerable, but willing.

As this entire encounter was rushed, so was this: JAMMED his 7” up my hole. His minimal spit my only lube. I won’t lie, it stung. And I grunted, but not loudly. While outwardly I wasn’t really thinking about folks in the house, I think years of training on these stolen places to have sex was engrained in my psyche. He grunted too…………calling me every name, but not loudly. Telling me to take his dick and the load he’s always wanted to give me.

I’m guessing the fuck lasted less than 5-7 minutes. He pulled me back on his cock by my shoulders and shuddered. Spasms racked his body and into mine. His DNA flooding my guts – a second load, one for each hole of mine.

I did the generous thing and slid off his cock and to my knees, cleaning that thick shaft, but he pushed me off it fairly quickly. He was done. Done with the act. Done with me being in his friend’s house. Possibly done with me.

I went back into the cold, literally and figuratively. If he’s been back to town since, he hasn’t given me notice or a shout out.

Sunday, November 03, 2019

Cigars and Piss

It had been a while, but not for lack of trying. My one quasi-consistent Cigar Guy “Chris”. He travels a lot and is temporarily living with family while he waits to move into his new place. But he was horny, as was I. So, he offered the garage, where we have played before.

Since the last time – which was FREEZING, as I recall – now we had a nice warm day. I’d be taking some time away from the office to do this play, but that wasn’t ever going to be an issue. First, I had to stop and cigar store and purchase two for him. My choosing, as he seemed fine with it. As I had seen him smoking a Camacho before, that is what I chose – but two different kinds. Again, I don’t smoke, per se, but he looks good with a cigar, so………….I do what I have to.

But as we chatted a bunch beforehand, I know he’s kind of into piss. Now, mainly, he likes me to piss on him, which is ok, but it kind of ruins the dynamic for me. Not the pee part, but the who is kneeling for whom. I don’t want big, masculine cigar guy to get below me for me to piss on. If anything, I’d rather him piss on me. And I told him so.

As you can imagine, this sparked conversation on the matter. I told him we should try it and he didn’t even hesitate to say ‘yes’. So it was on.

I get there and present him with his cigar. As he lights it up, I strip down. He is already naked and sitting in a lawn chair. I kneel.

As it turns out, this session would be less about me sucking cock than it would be about other things. It’s piss. Still I sucked, because I am at heart, a cocksucker. And he likes to kick back with his cigar while I service him. And I like to – and the way it looks, and the way it makes me feel. Win win.

It was warm out, but not super warm, so I had my white work t-shirt on. He stands up and I start to as well, for some possible other foreplay, but he tells me to stay kneeled. I do. Cigar parked in his jaw and one hand on his cock, he stands there………..still. But then it starts. The torrent of piss. My chest. My face. My head. My now open mouth.


Yes, the piss hits my mouth and my extended tongue. I won’t say I drank is piss, but my mouth would fill up – no doubt some went down, but most splashed back to the floor. Again – I’m learning. I’m trying to anyways. He has a lot of it. The t-shirt I have is soaked, due to his piss hitting directly or it running from my head on down. He stops. His hand on my head, I’m guided back to his cock for sucking. Then a face fucking.

He reaches down and plays with my nipples, which is just cruel. He is not into fucking. I think in general, not specifically me. He knows it makes my hole twitch and when I tell him so, he even raises and eyebrow and goes, “oh yeah??”. It’s not quite mocking me, but he knows it’s a huge fucking tease.

There is a round two of piss. If possible, there is more this time than the first. I don’t know how he stores it without his bladder bursting, but he’s a champ. His piss is pretty clear. It’s obvious he’s been hydrating all day. And it looks like he’s taken in tons of water. He doesn’t insist at all about me drinking it. He’s happy when it hits my face and mouth. He’s fine when I take some, and fine when it goes from my mouth to the floor, running down my body in the process. And I do swallow some…………on purpose. Small steps.

He is big on the cigar too. He likes to touch the unlit end on my nipples and rubs them with it. It’s a nice visual, but it doesn’t do anything for me. It’s not a finger playing with my nip. He also likes to put the lit end near it. I get this from his end. From mine, it’s just a time to get burned, though he doesn’t.

He likes to kneel and haul on the cigar and then exhale on my cock. It’s a good look, him there that close to my shaft. He then takes the red hot cigar and places it awfully close to my dick. You can feel the heat. It has happened before, where he has slightly burned me. I won’t lie, it hurts. And this time, he did it again. I’m always under the assumption it is an accident, and he always seems remorseful, but as I started typing this sentence, I ‘m wondering. I suppose it is totally plausible that it is on purpose and he’s seeing what he can get away with. No scars were left.

Chris likes me to piss on him too. I’m not a piss shy guy, but it takes me a while of standing there before I can muster what needs to be done. He sat in his lawn chair in the middle of the garage smoking, while I pissed on his. It was not as much or as clear as he had, but he seemed to revel in it. It landed mostly on his chest, belly and crotch. He didn’t look like he was going to drink it, as the cigar was in his mouth. His fist moved on his cock as I pissed.

I went down after wards and sucked his cock – the one coated with my piss. He was rock hard and loved my mouth on it. I could feel his cigar near my head, the heat passed as his hand went behind my head. He used that to brace himself as he stood up in front of me. “That’s it, you dirty cocksucker. You fuckin’ faggot”.

I do love when a masculine cigarman gets verbal. It pushes all my buttons.

His hand has dropped and his cigar is right in front of me. He doesn’t ask. I don’t even know if he wants me to. I lean forward, only by a little. He either wants me to, or I’ve planted the seed in his head. He turns the cigar towards my mouth. It goes between my lips. I draw on it. Once. Twice. I come off it and exhale on his cock.


The cigar remains there. I repeat those previous steps. More so this time. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve tried smoking in my life. And never a cigar. I did ok, but that did kind of make me slightly off balance. Maybe lightheaded. It wasn’t unpleasant, but nothing to make a habit of.

I went down on his cock again. Repeatedly.

”Stand up”. I do. Immediately.

Bend over”. I do. “Spread those cheeks”. Of course I comply. This is too good to contemplate. And it is. Fucking wasn’t in order. His hand connects with my ass. As god is my witness, as many guys have smacked my ass, no one has made such a solid connection in touch and sound. It is bound to leave a print. I’d be proud to wear it. #But then, a hot stream of piss hits my hole. It goes over my hairy cheeks and down the crack, but mostly it lands right on my pucker. It runs down my legs and across my feet. So literally, at this point, I’m covered head to toe in his urine. And he’s rock hard at that thought.

Get on it. Now!”. He’s now excited to the point of no return. I take him in my mouth and he pushes me away just a bit. “It’s going on your face and in your beard”. And it does. It’s a decent load, not a huge one. It hits my tongue. It hits my beard and cheek. It wear it with pride.

When he clams down a bit, he reaches down, scoops up his cum and feeds it to me with his fingers. I eat it hungrily. He looks down on me – pleased, yet with no grin. He is a master of stoicism. It’s kind of hot to me.

I finally get off my knees. I’m drenched in piss, sweat and cum. It’s only lunch time. I still have to work. I actually struggle to get the piss covered t-shirt off my head. As much as I’d like to go back to work like this, I head home and rinse off. I have to change shirts too, as the one I was wearing now smells like cigar smoke.

It isn’t the first time………and it won’t be the last.