Someone said to me once that fucking was like pizza…. when it’s good, it’s great. When it’s not, it’s still pizza.
2016 might go down as one of the most boring years when it comes to fucking. I had a lot of good fucking, but few rise to the top. Or something might push what would have been a good fuck into mediocre territory.
An example is fitting here.
Everything is going rather well with this chunky hunk I’d met through BarebackRT.com. In fact, it was going really well.
When I like someone — and I mean sexually, I don’t mean let’s go get a beer — I’ll actually kiss them. On the lips. With tongue.
In general, most of my fucking doesn’t include this indulgence. But in this case, I was in the mood and he was turning into a pretty good fuck.
So my hard cock is slamming into his pleasure center and he ends up shooting a load on his lightly hairy belly.
I’ve been doing my job and well for him to shoot without touching himself.
In the moment, I swoop down to lick up the swimmers and go in for a kiss to share some of the bounty.
He refuses the kiss.
“I don’t like the taste of my own cum,” he says, mid-fuck.
The kissing off the table, my like plummets and it becomes a pump and dump. I turn him over and fuck until I blast my juicy cum in his ass.
The moment was gone. And what had began as a promising fuck becomes nothing more than a standard fuck, like hundreds before him.
A couple of other tricks of note.
I am disappointed at the number of bottoms who arrive sans lube. This is especially notable when I am traveling. Sometimes I remember to pack less than three ounces of lube, but sometimes I don’t.
As I am an equal-opportunity fucker, an older gentleman joined me for a brief romp. His sucking was okay. This guy was the kind I lay back and let service me. When the fucking time came, he sat down using only spit.
I love spit as lube. My own works well. But in this case, the guy wasn’t in tune with his own body to recognize a rough, hemorrhoid flap at the southeast corner of his asshole (for reference, north would be him on his stomach… my favorite position to unload).
A bottom such as this should carry lube with him always for the comfort of his top. Alas, no. So I had to take matters into hand, flip him over, use the strange lotion that comes with every hotel room (that never works very well and occasionally burns).
I imagine his robust sphincter ended up irritated. Or maybe it was just an itch that needed some rough scratching.
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