Saturday, February 22, 2014

Cradle Robber

Okay, I think I just joined the ranks of dirty old men.  But, what I did was legal...but, in my mind barely.

This twink has been checking me out on line for a couple of weeks.  I found it flattering.  Upon logging on I'd regularly see him among those having visited my profile.  However, I am definitely into older guys; typically my age threshold is 30, but I prefer guys 40 and up (I used to think that distinguished me in the gay community, but lots and lots and lots of guys seem to prefer older guys.)  Among other things it's nice to be with someone who has a modicum of experience and an iota of how to go through the moves.  And, often younger guys are afraid that kissing will mean they are queer (God forbid.)

I have been incredibly busy at work and besides putting in ridiculously long days, and working all weekend as well, I have been dead dog tired.  Last week I took a hiatus (maybe even the week before?) from mantail, but this morning I woke up with that returning worry.  "It's been a long time...what if I forget how? <small joke gents>  Am I losing interest?"  One of the ironic things about having sex, at least for me, is that the more that you have the more that you crave.  If you take a break (diet so to speak) then it's easier to keep your gun in your holster.

This morning I stumbled out of bed early, and started to post on Tumblr, which started to have some technical issues.  So, while drinking my coffee and slowly regaining consciousness I logged on to various sites (yes, I could have read the morning paper that was lying unmolested next to me on the couch.)  Then I started to hear a chorus:  my iphone and laptop serenading me with tones to advise me I was getting hit up.  It was the aforementioned twink:  22 years old.  Very cute; thick hair in an early 60s Beattle style cut (very retro; apparently everything comes back) young and fresh looking.  Also the look of someone how takes good care of himself --healthy skin, clear eyes, perhaps a recent college graduate as opposed to trailer trash.  He got points for typing multisyllabic words (though punctuated with the usual text abbreviations and vernacular) so I was assured this guy had a three digit iq.

I imagined this wasn't going any where, so I dispensed with the dance of the seven veils and got directly to the point in terms of what I like.  He responded pretty promptly and in a reassuring and persuasive fashion.  He wanted to travel; so did I.  However, he really wanted my cock and suddenly he was saying I could come over.  But he wanted immediate gratification.  After 20 minutes of email ping pong I had his cell number and address.  He only had time for a quickie, so this was going to be a fast food moment.  However, the kid was recently tested, sent pics of a fine looking hole, and wanted to be bred.

Well I was in my robe and felt funky; for sure I needed to rinse.  As I was stepping into the shower when he called to find out if I was almost there.  My gps did indicate he lives only 2.9 miles from my house; dangerously close.  He indicated that he had a studio in a private home.

Clean and quickly clothed I found myself driving into the land of the 1%; seriously huge tasteful homes (all too often those terms are mutually exclusive) with huge lots in some of the most expensive real estate in the planet.  I pulled onto a private road and parked; waiting for the police to materialize and ask me if I was lost.  I pulled out my phone and texted him; momentarily I saw a concerned looking, bespeckled cute very young looking guy in a tee shirt, shorts and athletic sandals standing in the roadway staring at his cell phone.  I approached him, he mumbled something I couldn't hear, and then I followed him.  We approached a beautifully landscaped 6,000 sq ft house (flag stone driveway), walked to the driveway's right and passed through two cedar gates where I then saw a cute cottage that matched the main dwelling.  It became clear that the mother ship is the family home and he's in the cottage post college graduation till "he's on his feet."

The cottage defined mess; it looked like a hurricane went through it and the bed was covered with laundry being sorted.  He led me to an equally messy couch; all the furniture was cast off from the main house and suggested that the good taste ended at the exterior (the bad taste of many wealthy Californians regarding interior furnishings never ceases to amaze me. It might have been cast off but I'd never have owned it in the first place.)  I asked if we could use the bed but he wanted the couch.

I rarely like to fuck, or to even get sucked off, standing.  My thought was that even if I started fucking him I wasn't going to cum.  Despite his claiming lots of experience, and the limited time, I had to provide direction.  But once I lowered my pants he was at my cock like a dog with a bone (pardon the pun.)  He said loved my Daddy Dick but I wanted to fuck him and knew we had little time.  I encouraged him to turn around and pull his pants down.  He was nice and firm, with maybe 10 lb he could lose (6' tall).  I bent down to taste his ass (yummy) and he immediately hissed with pleasure, but I knew we lacked enough time.  He wanted it in him; I noticed a tube of something nearby but pushed my cock head against his hole and it welcomed me in with no resistance.

Now this was some damn fine boy hole.  Firm.  Fresh.  Taut.  And he wanted it.  All. Of. It.  I slid all the way into him and it quickly felt perfect; I knew I'd cum.  While fucking him he was sighing telling me how great it felt and asking if I liked his hole; Christ, I could have fucked him all day.  But, I realized I didn't want to hold back a second as the wave might pass.  I was only fucking the kid for about 5 minutes and then I felt it spurting.  Now this had to be an all time record for me cumming.  And, while not fully standing I was still supporting myself with my feet, though partially kneeling on the couch to fuck him.  He asked if I was cumming and thrust his ass against my pelvis and squeezed down.

He told me to keep fucking him and to give him another load (then I saw he still has braces and his teeth and felt like a true predator.)  He said "fuck that load deeper into me; give it to me hard/I can take it."  I started to plow him and he was stroking his dick, but wasn't cumming.  He asked for my load again and I told him we didn't have time (ah, I remember when I was 22 and could shoot consecutive loads in rapid order...)

I eased out and he said "let me taste it" and greedily dropped to his knees to suck it. He told me he wanted me to regularly fuck and own his ass (I could easily be persuaded.)  Then he sat back against the couch with a glaze on his eyes and started to stroke his cock, which was already streaming precum (about 6" /nice.  I wish I'd gotten to taste it.)  Then I saw the milky load cascade up and out of his pee slit.  And, like clockwork he said "we're out of time" (sorry, another unfortunate pun.)  I smiled and said I knew and pulled on my pants, socks and shoes.

He told me to stay put while he checked to make sure his dad wasn't home and provided me with an alibi for being there if I ran into him (well, beats having to confront a wife, I figured.)  The coast was clear, and then I was on my way.  Twenty minutes tops.

Driving home (savoring that great drained balls feeling)  I got a text saying I'd given him a great fucking (kid, you haven't experienced anything yet.)  He wants an encore soon; I am game.  A follow up text suggested the family might be going away in March.  Sounds like March might involve some quality time.

Not related addendum.  After fucking the kid I went shopping.  Ran into this late 30s dude; very jock like.  Firmly affixed baseball cap; fine muscular calves; broad shoulders filling out a freshly laundered tee shirt; cargo shorts; running shoes.  Walked like he had a full diaper; vigorously chewing gum; typical jock needing to take up the walkway macho shit, pretending not to see anyone else and in alpha dog style making other people step aside as he brushed past them and refused to make eye contact.   Constantly snorting and loudly and consciously sniffling to clear his nostrils in an audible fashion.  He all but hawked up a clam to spit on the floor. Brusquely interrupted and cut off the salespeople trying to answer his questions. Stereotypical straight guy (wedding band; I am sure he thinks she's really lucky and that his 5.5" is really 9.5") This guy looked to be a college educated, suburban dad/husband .  However, also the type that thinks standing in line, standing aside so that others might pass, listening to an answer, saying please and thank you and making eye contact are effeminine qualities.  I run into guys like this all of the time! Anyway, is there some school for straight guy crude, uncouth, rude, self centered, behavior?   Does missing that grade make you gay?  I clearly missed it.


  1. Damn! One thing that really gets my juices flowing is a twink with braces! I think that makes them so cute, and I breed them every time.

    1. I know a guy that thinks the same way, but for I'm a little skeptical but that could just be me overthinking the mechanics of oral... ouch!

  2. Great post. Great adventure. Hope you get some return visits. Looking forward to reading more. - Uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque