Okay, this installment might also be entitled Slutty Sundays, because --despite California's current drought-- when it rains, it pours. I know, enough with the metaphors.
So just after my assignation with my Filipino boy I tapped my last entry and was recharging, but still logged in to one of sites when I heard a chorus from my laptop and phone: a new message. I checked and it was from a guy I hadn't heard from in well over a year, an incredibly sexy Salvadoran guy. (It does occur to me that I seem obsessed with ethnicity, but I am pretty universal in my tastes for guys, and I find that their ethnicity enhances their specific attractiveness to me.)
We'd fallen out of contact; after our last hook up I'd messaged him a few times but got polite but disinterested responses. He's highly desirable and as a younger stud must get plenty of action. I figured the moment had passed and let it go; myself I hate guys that don't get the message that there is no interest in an encore. Pestering someone is hardly a turn on and who wants to get naked with a guy who's not especially interested?
Well this was a welcome surprise, despite my just having shot a load 90 minutes earlier. He got straight to the point (pardon the expression) and asked if I was free right then. It took me about 3 seconds to say yes. This guy is hot as hell. An earlier entry describes him in the "Sexy Salvadoran".
I jumped in the car and got to his place in about 15 minutes (thank God for late Sunday night traffic.) He rents a pristine little cottage behind some behemoth house, which is impossible to find in the dark and this time, like our last encounter, I was wandering around someone's property risking being shot or arrested as a potential burglar until I found it. He couldn't come out as he was in his jockies awaiting me. Finally I found the damn place.
When I entered he had the heat pretty cranked up (I keep my house in the 60s; his was clearly in the mid to high 70s.) He was a sight for sore eyes: a dense head of hair, dark eyes, olive skin, broad shouldered, quarter sized nipples, a minimal dusting of hair in strategic places, taut thighs and calves, absolutely beautiful feet and hands, and warm but reserved in a macho Latin manner. Also he's got a damned handsome face.
He embraced me, gave me a light kiss and made minimal polite conversation in his deep sexy voice, as I stripped and he laid on the bed. Once I was naked I joined him on the bed and he immediately wrapped his arms around me to kiss. I was struck by how incredibly good he felt; soft flesh atop muscle and his body temperature was incredibly warm. Damn, he's fine.
Soon he was sucking my cock and simultaneously playing with his. I didn't remember his cock, but I was now struck by it being really really small (uncut) and flaccid. His balls, too, are really small (this guy is about 5' 9" so he's not a shrimp otherwise.) I felt between his legs and wanted to help him out so I pushed him back and started to suck his cock; he moaned with pleasure but it remained a flat tire. I immediately thought that he'd probably been partying (a limp dick another of the many nasty consequences of meth) but his heartbeat seemed normal. Hmmm. Normally I could get a corpse hard. But, since I was in the neighborhood I licked under his balls and he immediately rolled back and lifted his ass. Then the volume went up.
Now it is a genuine joy to rim a fine manimal like him; damn he is fine. And, when you have someone so desirable whimpering with pleasure and need the sense of dominance gives you an incredible rush. This was the opposite of the night's earlier encounter: I was calling all the shots --though it was a mostly nonverbal encounter-- and he was entirely taking my direction.
While it's nice to have a guy on his back while you are eating him you really get to savor the experience with him on his stomach. He obediently rolled over and there was his incredibly beautiful ass: two taut half melons that I pulled apart to get at his hole. It was pretty relaxed (aka seemingly loose) so I imagined that he might have been fucked earlier, but there was no taste of cum. It was easy to penetrate him with my tongue and his steady purring was incredible positive reinforcement; I kept at it for a long time.
En route he asked me to stop at the drug store to get some lube: he was pretty specific about wanting Swiss Navy. However, I wanted to get there and had a new bottle of Wet in the car, which I'd placed next to the bed. After rimming him I started to rub my cock up and down his crack and when it connected with his hole he pushed back and I easily popped in; he was plenty wet and I eased in with no problem and he pushed back and was grunting with pleasure. This was clearly going to be a spit fuck.
It's hard to describe how good it felt. His guts were soft but gripped me; his ability to use his muscles was pretty amazing, and he curved his back and I felt the curves inside as I pushed into him. His body was active and responsive, not just a vessel for me to pump in and out of. All of it being enhanced by his silky, warm body. I was staring at his broad shoulders, strong back, and tapered waist as I pushed in and pulled back with him whimpering how great it felt and thrusting back to meet me and all I could think was "wow." His legs kept thrashing back and then slamming onto the bed affirming his pleasure. Damn.
Since I'd already cum earlier I wondered whether I'd shoot again. We kept at it for a long time but I knew it was cumming on. When I first met him and we'd started fucking I'd initially worn a condom, then we abandoned those in later hook ups but I pulled out to shoot. The last time we fucked I'd asked and he hesitated a moment but agreed to let me to stay in and breed him. This time I didn't ask; we were both fully lost in the moment and he was offering no direction to stop and pull out. I felt it rise and began to spurt into him and he asked "are you cumming?" and murmured how great it felt and told me to stay in him and to lie on top of him and to relax. I kept slowly thrusting and he kept moaning how good it felt as I wrapped my arms around him, kept my hard dick in his hole, and rolled us on to our sides.
It was obvious that he wasn't done or satisfied; he wanted more, confirmed by him pushing back and rooting me on by saying how great it felt. He was playing with his dick, but I could tell it wasn't hard: it was the hard dick probing his guts that was pushing his buttons and he didn't want it to stop.
Now I'd just had such a fine fuck, that while ready to be done I felt like I needed to keep fucking him out of fairness (okay guys I can hear you now "right: how altruistic...") I didn't feel right pulling out and to jump up to leave and he was clearly not done. (I was, of course, also thinking about wanting to be invited back.) So, I kept up steady thrusting in him and he kept moving about, careful to stay impaled on me, pulling his leg back and moving positions so that he could feel my cock massage him in different places. At points he'd jaggedly respond: "it's right there; ah, that's so good! Right there! Right there is the spot!" I figured out I was hitting his prostate about 3-4 inches in, but he wanted my cock in him balls deep most of the time.
It began to become an effort and I started at the clock on his dresser. I'd been there about 40 minutes; I thought I'd give it another 15 max and by then he'd be sore and ask me to pull out. Wrong. I kept at it and he kept urging me on. By now he was sweating: his back had become damp, and I noticed beads of sweat cascading down his face, and his hair at the base of his neck was damp (of course, the fucking heat was way up, but his body temperature was pretty cranked as well.) It had become a pleasant predicament for me; the guy wanted to keep getting fucked and it was evident he wasn't getting hard, though was working his cock like he wanted to get off (by this time, despite the lack of rapid heartbeat I was thinking he must have partied; something was throwing his libido off.) This went on for a very long time. I moved us around a bit, but finally I needed to pull out for awhile. My cock was now only experiencing a dull wet sensation, though I'd remained hard. I knew I needed a rest for me to regain sensation. As I pulled out I was afraid I'd see blood, or to find myself dirty from the serious pounding he was getting: but, neither.
He was disappointed but okay with spooning, but moments later was grasping my cock and pushing himself back on to it. I dutifully resumed fucking him, but it was again the same. I pulled out twice to regain sensation, but he was famished for it back in him and quickly grasped me and put it back in his ass. I kept switching positions as he half-heartedly stroked his cock, which I periodically grasped; his foreskin was running with precum but he wasn't at all hard.
Now this is probably going to sound like stroke fiction bullshit, but I'd been fucking him for well over an hour after I'd cum. I thought I was definitely done (actually had been done) but was trying to figure out a graceful exit strategy. I imagined he had to be raw by now, but he occasionally got up and pumped some of the remaining lube he had had between my cock and where I was entering him/his only (non-verbal) acknowledgement he might be getting sensitive there. Finally I said, why don't you try sitting on it. This didn't seem to be his favorite position, but he got on his knees and started to fuck himself with my cock and then got into a steady rhythm that he was enjoying. The position wasn't working for me, however, so I pushed him flat and resumed missionary fucking him. Then the sensation in my cock resumed and we started to grunt in pleasure together again. I got fully back into it and was delivering a fine fuck, giving him corkscrew grinds and pulling back with short jabs followed by full thrusts. And then I felt another load rise and spurt it him. His feline smile let me know he felt it too; surely not the load but the change in my cock and its pulsing. I sighed with a "whew" and rolled onto my side, pulling out of him. He finally seemed satisfied; I guess he wanted a second load from me more than to cum, but didn't want to say it. He smiled and said "I really liked that." Understatement of the century. He defines a greedy (but not needy) bottom.
Okay, after nearly two hours of nonstop fucking, where we were lost in each other, as close as two men could get, then we withdrew back into our respective selves and retreated to safe casual conversation about work, traffic, the weather. I said "keep in touch" assuming this was a maintenance visit for him and that I wouldn't hear from him for many months from now, if ever. However, he said with some genuineness: "you too!"
I left, returned home, and tapped him a "thanks message, with another 'keep in touch'". He quickly responded, "you too". We'll see.