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Monday, June 11, 2012
Sexy Salvadoran
Okay, the alliteration is cheesy, but I couldn't resist it. I thought it an apt title for a post about an incredibly hot Central American guy with whom I have connected. He is very conveniently located in the next town (~3 miles from my place) and traveling to him involves absolutely no freeway traffic: woo hoo!
He came on to me several months ago on a4a and was pretty persistent. For some reason it was one of those extremely rare days when I was leaving the office on time (i.e. the alleged time a person who works an 8 hour day would leave, as opposed to the typical 10 hours I am compelled to put in: salaried employee = wage slave.) Also I didn't need to be home or to act "normal" when I walked in the door (of course the dog with his NASA like nose always knows...)
I arrived at his place, which is as cute as a bug's ear: a tiny, but pristine studio, with the requisite Nor Cal granite counter tops, but also amazing other attention to detail (e.g. perfectly matched crown molding, built in ledges...) He is a minimalist, but everything is extremely fine, like 4000 thread count sheets and very handsome furniture. Also, he is neat as a pin. (Okay guys, I know you don't give a shit about his place. What about his dick?!)
In person he is strikingly handsome and 40; I kind of wondered why I was there, but did the math: he had to be a bottom with a very serious itch and I do have a big cock that is prominently pictured in my profiles. My profile also conveys that I recognize it isn't the pen, but it's the penmanship: bottoms love that I have both (ahem.) Additionally, he must have a thing for silver daddy bearish guys (which I have found is often true of Latin guys: good for me, as I find them incredibly hot overall.) Suffice it to say that we had great sex and kept at it for nearly two hours. I was a little blown away that we both went to bareback with little hesitation (the cursory housekeeping answers about status and last test were dispensed with quickly. The only hestitation I had was based on his working in San Franscisco, but I also recognize that men in SF value their lives no less than others elsewhere.) He did insist, however, that I pull out to cum.
Since then our planets haven't been in the same orbit. As a professional wage slave my hours are 8 to 5 (read: 7:30 to 6, typically, with a quick lunch gobbled at my desk.) He works at a hotel in the city and has seemingly random hours, but is now 3 to 11 p.m. (well past both my bedtime and any likelihood of getting out.) However, I am off this week, and alone, so I advised him I was available. I have wondered if I am his emergency fuck if he needs his itch scratched and all else fails. We'd discussed possibly Saturday morning, but he didn't respond to eithe email or text till 10:45 and had to be at the airport at noon. I chalked up our earlier connection to a "one afternoon stand."
Bit ;ast night I was pissing away time on line and ready to hit the sack (11:30 p.m. and I'd managed to stay up as I am on vacation.) Then I heard the ring from a4a: it was my Latin friend saying he was home and asking me over. I responded I was beat and we'd best wait till the next day. He understood. However, I remained up for another half hour and was feeling surprisingly awake (i.e. I got horned thinking about it.) I wrote him and indicated I had gotten a second wind. After 30 more minutes he wrote back and said he was still up for it. I NEVER go out this late but thought life is full of missed opportunites. I slid on my sandals, grabbed the lube and got in the car.
Now while there are no highways to his place, this IS Nor Cal, and I was struck by the absence of traffic to his house. I flew there. However, I was in the pitch black on a Sunday night (or Monday morning, depending on your perspective) in a suburban neighborhood. I'd only been there once before, in daylight, and I couldn't read a single effing house number. I found myself in the yard of what I thought was the main house to which his carriage house was attached. I couldn't find a way in; so I texted him. No lights were on: he texted back that he was coming out; waiting I texted WHEN? He indicated he was there, but I couldn't see him. Then I heard a whistle: wrong house. Damned lucky the owners hadn't called the police.
He was standing there in jammers and no shirt. He defines fine: broad shoulders, tapered waist. a full head of inky black hair, five o'clock shadow, slight accent to his perfect English. We got inside and I again noted his brilliant white teeth, perfect complexion, and golden skin: woof. He deep kissed me, pulled off the jammers and there again was the bubble butt you could bounce a quarter off, and his semi-flaccid, hooded cock. As I peeled off my clothes we were making out and I noted his body temperature is several degrees warmer than usual, adding to the experience of pressing against his silky skin. He throated my cock, and then I sucked him hard and rolled him onto his stomach and tongue fucked his hole forever. Then I teased him with my cockhead, but he caught it and pushed back and purred as it slid up inside him. No lube, just spit and he was plenty moist.
We moved around; him on his stomach, his side, straddling me, but then with him on his back. Much of the time he had his eyes closed, which typically bugs me. On his back he opened them and we made eye contact and made out while I pushed in and pulled back. He started to jerk his cock furiously and I had to pull his hand off several times telling him not to cum. I asked him where he wanted me to cum and again he said "outside". But as we both got close he asked me if I was ready to cum and about to spurt himself he told me to keep it inside him: he wanted to feel it. It was one of those highly unlikely situations where as I started to shoot I could feel him gasping and saw ropes of cum in his treasure trail and oozing out of his cockhead. It was "intense".
He got towels and we wiped up and he was soon in briefs. But he was very chatty, and I felt badly because it was 1:45 and I wanted to head home. He's quite engaging and is a man of depth, and was clearly in the mood for company and conversation. However, I needed to head home.
Hopefully three months won't transpire again before next time. However, reflecting on each time has been sort of surrealistic.
He came on to me several months ago on a4a and was pretty persistent. For some reason it was one of those extremely rare days when I was leaving the office on time (i.e. the alleged time a person who works an 8 hour day would leave, as opposed to the typical 10 hours I am compelled to put in: salaried employee = wage slave.) Also I didn't need to be home or to act "normal" when I walked in the door (of course the dog with his NASA like nose always knows...)
I arrived at his place, which is as cute as a bug's ear: a tiny, but pristine studio, with the requisite Nor Cal granite counter tops, but also amazing other attention to detail (e.g. perfectly matched crown molding, built in ledges...) He is a minimalist, but everything is extremely fine, like 4000 thread count sheets and very handsome furniture. Also, he is neat as a pin. (Okay guys, I know you don't give a shit about his place. What about his dick?!)
In person he is strikingly handsome and 40; I kind of wondered why I was there, but did the math: he had to be a bottom with a very serious itch and I do have a big cock that is prominently pictured in my profiles. My profile also conveys that I recognize it isn't the pen, but it's the penmanship: bottoms love that I have both (ahem.) Additionally, he must have a thing for silver daddy bearish guys (which I have found is often true of Latin guys: good for me, as I find them incredibly hot overall.) Suffice it to say that we had great sex and kept at it for nearly two hours. I was a little blown away that we both went to bareback with little hesitation (the cursory housekeeping answers about status and last test were dispensed with quickly. The only hestitation I had was based on his working in San Franscisco, but I also recognize that men in SF value their lives no less than others elsewhere.) He did insist, however, that I pull out to cum.
Since then our planets haven't been in the same orbit. As a professional wage slave my hours are 8 to 5 (read: 7:30 to 6, typically, with a quick lunch gobbled at my desk.) He works at a hotel in the city and has seemingly random hours, but is now 3 to 11 p.m. (well past both my bedtime and any likelihood of getting out.) However, I am off this week, and alone, so I advised him I was available. I have wondered if I am his emergency fuck if he needs his itch scratched and all else fails. We'd discussed possibly Saturday morning, but he didn't respond to eithe email or text till 10:45 and had to be at the airport at noon. I chalked up our earlier connection to a "one afternoon stand."
Bit ;ast night I was pissing away time on line and ready to hit the sack (11:30 p.m. and I'd managed to stay up as I am on vacation.) Then I heard the ring from a4a: it was my Latin friend saying he was home and asking me over. I responded I was beat and we'd best wait till the next day. He understood. However, I remained up for another half hour and was feeling surprisingly awake (i.e. I got horned thinking about it.) I wrote him and indicated I had gotten a second wind. After 30 more minutes he wrote back and said he was still up for it. I NEVER go out this late but thought life is full of missed opportunites. I slid on my sandals, grabbed the lube and got in the car.
Now while there are no highways to his place, this IS Nor Cal, and I was struck by the absence of traffic to his house. I flew there. However, I was in the pitch black on a Sunday night (or Monday morning, depending on your perspective) in a suburban neighborhood. I'd only been there once before, in daylight, and I couldn't read a single effing house number. I found myself in the yard of what I thought was the main house to which his carriage house was attached. I couldn't find a way in; so I texted him. No lights were on: he texted back that he was coming out; waiting I texted WHEN? He indicated he was there, but I couldn't see him. Then I heard a whistle: wrong house. Damned lucky the owners hadn't called the police.
He was standing there in jammers and no shirt. He defines fine: broad shoulders, tapered waist. a full head of inky black hair, five o'clock shadow, slight accent to his perfect English. We got inside and I again noted his brilliant white teeth, perfect complexion, and golden skin: woof. He deep kissed me, pulled off the jammers and there again was the bubble butt you could bounce a quarter off, and his semi-flaccid, hooded cock. As I peeled off my clothes we were making out and I noted his body temperature is several degrees warmer than usual, adding to the experience of pressing against his silky skin. He throated my cock, and then I sucked him hard and rolled him onto his stomach and tongue fucked his hole forever. Then I teased him with my cockhead, but he caught it and pushed back and purred as it slid up inside him. No lube, just spit and he was plenty moist.
We moved around; him on his stomach, his side, straddling me, but then with him on his back. Much of the time he had his eyes closed, which typically bugs me. On his back he opened them and we made eye contact and made out while I pushed in and pulled back. He started to jerk his cock furiously and I had to pull his hand off several times telling him not to cum. I asked him where he wanted me to cum and again he said "outside". But as we both got close he asked me if I was ready to cum and about to spurt himself he told me to keep it inside him: he wanted to feel it. It was one of those highly unlikely situations where as I started to shoot I could feel him gasping and saw ropes of cum in his treasure trail and oozing out of his cockhead. It was "intense".
He got towels and we wiped up and he was soon in briefs. But he was very chatty, and I felt badly because it was 1:45 and I wanted to head home. He's quite engaging and is a man of depth, and was clearly in the mood for company and conversation. However, I needed to head home.
Hopefully three months won't transpire again before next time. However, reflecting on each time has been sort of surrealistic.
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