Friday, July 20, 2012

Frightening Fridays/part one

Okay, my sexual hiatus is coming to a close as work will, again, darken my doorstep on Monday, when I can look forward to the return of the 11 hour day (and, our parents wanted us to go to college so that we could have easier lives:  what bullshit that ended up being.  Frankly, if I could make the mortgage I'd rather work in a factory:  at least my work would be done at the end of the shift, but then I digress.)

Last Friday was a disturbing interlude.  I was invited to join a guy who sounded sane and normal in a blue collar suburb to the north (I hate to be elitist, but that should have been a clue.  I've been there before --now that I think of it, also on a Friday --and that experience was creepy bordering on weird.)  Anyway, in this case this dude sends me a hot looking pic, sounds hot, and sounds aokay.  The email dialog didn't reveal any red flags; it was reassuring and exciting, actually. I get to his sad, but interesting, little house and then things were...odd.

The microscopic house has an unfortunate location immediately off two immensely busy streets and there is absolutely no on street parking.  Normally I prefer to park on the dude's street rather than in his driveway.  Then I can take my time:  get condoms and lube out of my trunk, walk up the street, and check out the environs.  In this case I had to park immediately behind his car, which looked like it hadn't been moved in a while; though you could nearly throw a stone at the nearby BART station/I wouldn't drive either, not with a Safeway across the street (though, I consider Safeway only fit for canned goods and emergencies, but that is a another discussion...)  The house has the absolutely worst paint job I've ever seen:  school bus yellow that looks like it was first diluted and then thrown on the house.  My radar was flashing:  WARNING; WARNING; WARNING!!!  I knocked on the door; the dude had indicated he was at Safeway 20 minutes earlier when I emailed him and said he'd be home by 12:15.  It was about 12:12 and I was aggravated to be standing there, fully exposed to God and everybody waiting for him. 

I knocked again, more vigorously. Standing there, considering the contrast between the vibe I'd gotten from the emails and the environs, I was concluding that I was an asshole and should just drive home.  But, having overcome my inertia to drive up to this sad suburb I was stubborn and stood there thinking, I'll give it 10 more.  Bored I noticed he had mail:  shamelessly I looked at the addressee and noted it wasn't a Latino name (actually quite WASP and he professed to be Latino.  So okay, the guy is closeted, but why would a white guy profess to be Latino other than because of the large number of Latino folks in the neighborhood?)  Ready to book, suddenly the door opened and a good looking,  buff/muscular dude wrapped in a towel opened the door profusely apologizing saying he was attempting to clean up for me after the Safeway run (pal, we worked out the details last night.  You couldn't clean out and shower before going to Safeway?)   He invited me in and said to relax while he finished up.   It is a small house and he spent a seeming eternity finishing up so I had ample time to prowl.

The living room furnishings were all Middle Eastern, and the kitchen table (more like a dining room table) was ersatz Chinese elegant.  It was tidy enough, but the place screamed that it hadn't been painted inside in probably 20 years.  The Middle Eastern stuff wasn't my taste but was of some quality; mixed with a crappy Ethan Allen roll top desk, and a cheap looking stand up piano.  Atop the piano was an Easter card to the Mark whose mail was in the mailbox, from "Mom and Dad". Hmmm. Mail atop the ugly desk was also addressed to the same Mark.  Okay, there was a consistent pattern.

When he finally emerged from the shower he ran to the spare bedroom (I glanced in/there was a couch that matched the mother of pearl inlaid chairs in the living room) as well as a huge amount of clutter (interestingly there were no computers, stereos, or televisions elsewhere, so presumably everything was in that room.)  The door was quickly whisked shut.  He sprinted to a room off the kitchen, which I assume had the dryer/washer and pulled out some sweat socks which he donned.  Otherwise he was in a towel.  Later when I asked him to lose the socks he indicated having scrapped his foot in the backyard:  while I promised not to cum on that foot (joke) he kept one sock on/despite excellent shape otherwise his other toe nails were thick, yellowed, and conveyed poor health if not indifferent hygiene (despite all his shoes, lined up in the bedroom, of clear quality and vigorously polished...)

He invited me into the bedroom (micrscopic, and very tidy/Asian furniture/filthy walls screaming for paint) and we began to make out.  Broad shoulders, narrow waist, defined abs, but definite crow's feet.  While well preserved (and toned) this guy wasn't in his early 40s. 

I remarked "oh you're Middle Eastern!" and he responded, that no he'd just spent time there/he was Latino.  Now I know all Latinos aren't brown/I'd just fucked an ivory one.  However, this guy gave no indication of being Latino from his appearance (very very very Caucasian) nor his furnishings.  The one possible suggestion of Latino ethnicity was his  uncut cock (which remained flaccid the entire time I was there.)

He was really into making out, really into sucking my dick, but there was nothing I could do to make his cock hard.   But from the moans and groans he sounded content.  I pushed him on to his stomach and decided to eat his ass:  he was in heaven.

We alternated between him sucking my cock and my eating his ass (sucking his cock was pointless) and we took time to make out.  I finally said "I need to ask you are you really named Mark?"  He pulled  back and said "oh, Mark ....  he used to own this place, and they keep sending his mail here."  Well I was thinking with my dick and wanted to fuck, but why would you keep an Easter card on your piano from a guy who didn't live there any longer?  How would it get placed on your piano in the first place?

I made him lie flat and pushed into him; he was a great bottom.  However, when we decided to move around and I eased out and my cock was brown (YUCK!  And, what the hell were you doing in the bathroom all that time?  You are gay and you don't know how to totally clean out?  Fortunately it was clean when I ate him, but my cock did get pretty far up into him.)  I took charge, jumped up and darted into his bathroom, washed my cock and pubes and brought a clean, wet, washcloth and cleaned his ass.  His sheets were ivory white and fortunately he hadn't rolled left or right.  After I cleaned him he sucked me some more and then I entered him again.

There were a couple of times I jumped up to wash off.  Finally I went for the gold, pumping him and asking him if he wanted my load:  he did and then some.  His eyes bulged as my cum spewed into his ass.  Yet, his cock remained flaccid.

I asked him if he wanted a second load as I was in a randy mood.  He vigorously agreed but said he had to pee.  Before he did I stood up and put my cock under his balls and we enjoyed some serious frottage while we made out; he insisted he could cum that way.  I encouraged him to pee so that we could enjoy round two.

Well he disappeared in the bathroom for at least fifteen minutes (shiting out my load and what I'd loosened, I was guessing.)  I'd earlier commented on the house (cute, loads of potential) and he indicated he'd gotten it on a foreclosure.  So I had ample time to snoop some more, which I did because I was troubled by the lying bullshit.  All the mail I found was  to the same Mark (okay folks, it was  there out for anyone to find) and then I found a blank folded check with Mark's name and a fomer address outside Oakland:  this guy was clearly the Mark in question or had a partner named Mark with whom he shared this microscopic house.  This guy claimed to have formerly lived in SF but worked in Oakland.  Too much connected; too much was intentionally blurred.  I was creeped out. I dressed and waited; and waited, and waited.  Finally I knocked on the bathroom door and indicated I needed to leave (his absence in the bathroom was more than weird.)  He checked the sad, cheap, grandfather clock in the living room and was surprised by how late it was.

I was disturbed by the experience:  he was passionate, a great piece of ass, and responsive.  But, unnecessarily squirrelly, which colored everything.  When I returned home I employed my research skills, and while I refused to spend $40 to learn all his business I was able to deduce he was 55 not 40, that he'd owned an apartment in Emeryville (Oakland) before his former house, and that yes, he had bought a bank foreclosed property (it's called looking at real estate records, folks.  They are on line.)  I think I even figured out where he works, in fact.

Well, talk about buzz kill.  So, I spent alot of time worrying about why he was such a liar (if poz, however, then he should worry about retribution and that really isn't a reason to be so incredibly duplicitous about your actual identity) or whether partnered (although  there didn't appear evidence of anyone else, much less room for someone else's shit.)  It was all unsettling.

However, rather than confronting him I wrote back to the fictional "Drew" (how many Latinos are named Drew?) and asked if he'd like an encore.  He quickly responded yes.  I figured I'd like to keep the door open should I later discover something else about him.

Well Friday and Saturdays are supposed to be his available days.  I didn't hear jack from him, so I guess the next std test will be the ultimate barometer of the outcome.  Let's just say, however,  it was weird to the tenth power.

Cleaning Ladies

So, the older soccer jock blew me off yesterday with a message indicating he'd forgotten that it was "cleaning lady day".  That's up there with "I can't go with you to your aunt's brunch because I have a dentist's appointment" type of lame excuses.  Just man up, be direct, and state that you're no longer into it, man.  Cripes.  This was after his asking if I'd been with other men since seeing him.  Okay Sherlock, do you assume that men who post ads on Craig's List are monastic after connecting with you?  You leave days between your responses and you expect that the guy has tied a piece of thread around his cock to avert a hardon in the opt chance that you might actually respond and want more?  Give me strength.

Okay, enough ranting.

So, an actual fb, the horny arab guy, contacts me and indicates he wants to connect.  However, he has HIS cleaning lady (real) coming late morning, so it means my either coming first thing in the morning or late afternoon.  As I didn't have late morning availability it meant first thing (painful as I had about 1/2 a cup of the coffee remaining to drink before showering and jumping in the car.)  I was pleased with myself to make it to his place in record time, and aside from his forgetting to disarm his security system when he unlocked the door things went seemlessly.

Again, he was playing  "Breeding Ian Jay" on his DVD, a great film to see on a big screen tv as TIM's filming is superb.  Apparently this must be one of two gay porn films he has (the other is some horrible Czech flick with too much feigned grunting and moaning.)  When he plays Ian Jay I am torn as I just want to watch the flick, particularly the opening segment with Dan Fisk:  hot!

The Arab is incredibly sexy:  a hairy bear, solid from swimming and regular constitutionals.  He was rock hard when I walked in (so he hadn't been partying lately, thank God) and it was nice to see it sticking straight out when I walked in; I knew I'd see him cum.

We made out standing up for a long time; he's incredibly sensual, and likes that aspect of it.  He got into some leisurely sucking of my cock, but being seriously hard he enjoyed my giving him prolonged head/I was concerned he'd shoot and then the show would be over.  However, hearing the clock ticking I was careful to pull off and to roll him onto his stomach to begin working his ass with my tongue.  It's always a feeling of satisfaction and skill when you can feel the guy's rosebud go from taut to totally relaxed as you lick and jab at it with your tongue.  The Arab was pulling his cheeks apart so I could get my tongue into him deeper.  He had a deep, feline like singular mantra "fuck, fuck!, oh fuck!" as I ate his ass.  My cock was throbbing and I had the excuse that we had limited time so I rose up, and rubbed my cock up and down the crack of his ass.  He reached back, grasped me and lined the head up with his hole so I could push in.  It was wet and his mantra turned into a low purr/growl "fuck, FUCK!, oh fuck!"  His nipples are very sensitive (lucky guy) so I wrapped my arms around his furry chest and worked them as I jabbed and thrust.  He grunted that we should do this every day so I guess he was getting what he wanted.

He needed a break after awhile and for me to use some lube as he was getting sore (he was actually sheepish about going there; I finally had to say "if you're going to enjoy it more, let's use some lube!")  He loved being on his back but he couldn't keep his legs fully up and I couldn't easy stay inside him with them lowered.  Finally he straddled me and started to work his cock while sliding up and down.  He wanted to know if I could cum that way:  we have an agreement that I won't shoot in him, so I was surprised/confused and asked if he wanted me to cum in him (when you bareback, and for a considerable length of time does it make a difference?  I mean my precum was certainly in him anyway...)  He replied that he didn't know.  I usually can't cum with a guy straddling me (my cum wants to shoot down I guess, not up.  Actually, it's insufficient friction for me in that position) but it was feeling good and I knew he wanted to stroke off with my cock up his ass.  So, I cheered him on and he shot a nice load and quickly pulled off me as his ass immediately got hypersensitive.  However, being really considerate he spit in his hand and started to vigorously stroke my cock.  Normally I can't get off if someone else is stroking it, but yesterday it was all clicking and I soon shot a nice load; certainly enough to soak his hand towel. 

We laid back and checked the time:  I'd arrived at 9:30 and it was 10:10; the cleaning lady was coming at 11:00, so we had time to enjoy some afterglow before I dressed and booked.  He asked me what type of soap I prefer as he wants to get some for when I visit in the future:  I take this to mean we're regulars now.

Soon I was out the door and, up and about, accomplished several major errands.  When I arrived home I had a message from my very hesistant, overly analyzing, and extremely hirsute pal who wanted me to come over.  Having gotten my nut, however, I was able to think with my brain and responded I needed to get stuff done: but, that tomorrow is a possibility...