Meeting fans of my blog is always a little risky.
There is the stalker element. I’ve been stalked before but not for this blog. In fact, I’ve been stalked twice for completely different reasons and very strange results. One was just a mental case. Literally. The other is a story I need to reserve for an entry.
While on my trip to Key West, a few fans of the blog did recognize me. I’d partially hoped for a few folks who wanted to have a beer and maybe chat a little, show me the sleazier side of town. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out. Mostly, men just want a sample of my DNA.
I guess men want to compare the bravado of the blog to the dick in real life.
Not sure how many of those men go home disappointed or really happy.
Among them was a man who messaged me first on Scruff, as you can see. I’ve altered things a bit.
He popped up early in the week then went offline and practically disappeared. I began to wonder whether I’d get him. Truth be told, another man kept in touch.
Or should I say “man.”
He spent a lot of time not exactly as a man, although he would get fucked as a man. I’m not at all into femme, transgender, drag queens or even guys who get off on wearing women’s panties while getting fucked. In fact, I’ll let a jock slip in there every once in a while but a man-thong creeps me out.
I knew it would make for a great blog entry that I’d fucked a lady-boy, man-girl or whatever you want to call it. But just having the knowledge of such made my dick shrivel.
But this pig happened to be all man.
He popped back up on the grid at the right moment — my last night in town. I spent it basking in three dick dancers and a bar back at Bourbon Street Pub (that’s an entry all unto itself). I’d been offered to spend more money to get one or all for a “private party,” but what I wanted and needed was relatively simple.
Pump and dump.
I knew my little piggy in Key West would understand.
I texted and he responded.
He said he was with a “bud,” who I actually assume was his boyfriend since he indicated he needed a moment to slip out. He did.
He opened wide and used a lot of spit. He went to work on my balls, familiar enough to know that’s how you generated extra cream for his ass. His aggressive work was perfect for my slightly buzzed state at 2:30 in the morning.
I stood him up and turned him around. He asked for poppers, knowing full well I’d have some handy.
He’d been using spit to apply to his ass. As he bent over, he grabbed my cock and lined it up to his ass. I applied pressure as soon as it hit the pucker and it slid inside easily.
His ass sucked me inside as aggressively as his mouth had. This piggy wanted fucked.
I grabbed his hips and went to fucking. Slow at first, then sleeping up. Fucking hell, his ass chute was smooth and straight. A lot of shit tunnels bend down when you’ve got a piggy bent over to fuck. Since my cock points toward my belly, it adds a little stress to my cock. But not his. As I’ve said, every ass is different and his offered a distinct smoothness and a nice straightness to it.
Despite our being semi-public, I began to fuck in earnest. I knew men had fucked in this darkened corner before and would again. I grabbed the poppers and took my hit. And then I began to slam his ass looking to relieve my balls of all the weight they’d built up over the night’s teasing.
The sound of my thighs slapping his ass started to echo through the courtyard, but I didn’t give a shit. He grunted. I did too. His smooth chute just felt too perfect as I went for the final moments before allowing my load to go into him.
“Want my load?” I whispered harshly.
“Yeah man!” he whispered back. “I want it so bad!”
I began to throb and then my cock let loose, sending literally torrents of cum into his ass. I pushed forward with my hips but threw back my head in a silent howl.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, I came down a little and my cock slipped out.
My little piggy turned around, crouched down and licked my cock clean. I could smell the mix of cum, sweat and ass juices. He gobbled them up.
Licking his chops, he stood, pulling up his pants.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for that.”
And with that little whisper, he was off into the night.
I went to bed, slept well and flew home the next day.
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