My journey to the Sunshine State lacked a lot of sunshine. I attempted to see if I could use Twitter and this blog to get a little attention — hopefully some of the sexual kind. I knew some hotties were around the area and hoped a couple might even just pop in to meet, have a drink and see what comes up.
Alas, that did not happen. My tweets resulted in some resounding silent responses, except for the occasional “wish I was in town” bullshit.
Something tells me a few wanna-be bottoms were in town but just didn’t want to see what words ended up here.
So I spent my first evening at the Parliament House Motor Lodge, getting a little more shit-faced than I’d planned. And believe me, the shit-face truck rolled over me like a tractor trailer. Around 2 a.m., I stood over the sink, water running and washing off the last of that evening’s dinner and drinks, which decided for a command performance. As the soberness returned a little at a time and I cursed my drunken lot in life, I decided the 30-degree fresh air might snap me out of it.
I stepped outside my door, seeing the usual collection of trolls and semi-straight seeking a blowjob.
The crispness filled my lungs and helped wipe some of the fogginess away. I watched as a beefy man who’d driven from Tallahassee for a blowjob wandered the breezeways hoping for a welcoming mouth. He attempted to shun me, which was fine because anything in my mouth at this point might start me hurling again.
He soon walked away and two more doors down, I saw it swing open into the shadows. He appeared for just a moment, standing in the open door, his arms stretched over his head, his lightly hairy pits whispering in the breeze and his bare tan skin showing the immediate puckering of goose bumps.
Jeans, open to show just the hint of pubes, I never got a good look at his face. But his body wasn’t obscene. Probably in his early 30s, a wide beefy chest, very smooth with one tattoo on his upper right arm.
Our eyes locked for just a moment.
All this transpired in less than a second and my glance gave me enough inspiration to begin to walk toward him as he hid in the darkness. I walked into the room, closed the door behind us and unzipped.
He didn’t have the same problem as me. He gobbled down on my cock voraciously — sucking so damn hard I thought my head would rip from the shaft. This little Latino bitch wanted cock.
Soon his pants were off and we were tugging at my clothes. The cool air had stopped the room from spinning, but now the lust that seemed to consume us filled the air. We were intoxicated. Before long, we kissed, his serpentine tongue snaking into my mouth and licking at the sides of my mouth.
I don’t kiss much, although it’s been known to happen. But there’s a moment sometimes when you just want as much as a person can give. And for some reason, this little bitch in heat had me.
Before long, I’d slicked up my cock and he’d offered his ass up. I pushed inside him and a little groan escaped him, followed by the sound of the piece-of-shit mattress beginning to squeak as I am sure it had a thousand times before this night.
Each thrust, a little deeper. Each time he pulled me closer. Soon my cock was buried in his fat Latin ass.
I fucked him in a variety of positions over the next ten minutes. And he wanted it. He begged with his body. But the thing I needed was to hear him beg.
“Tell me you love my raw cock in your ass,” I’d grunt lowly.
He’s respond with a little hesitation: “I love your cock in my ass.”
“You love taking bare cock in your hole, don’t you?” I’d ask.
He’d always pause. He’d only say, “I love taking your cock.”
Words like “raw” and “bare” just didn’t seem to come out of his mouth. He was embarrassed at his craving for cock and cum. He didn’t want to admit he was a fucking little cum-craving bitch. He couldn’t find the voice to admit it.
I knew what this meant.
I paused to search for poppers, offered him an indulging snort and then immediately took my own as my cock slipped into his spit-slicked hole.
Now I fucked him with meaning. I let him know I controlled his destiny. His legs up around my neck, he sensed some degree of control, like his fat Latino sphincter would be able to expel me when ready.
As I approached the point of no return, I slowed my pace and snapped my breathing into a steady pace. I knew he was listening closely. I knew he craved it but would never admit it.
The poppers kicked into full force and I went over the edge, letting my cum spill out into his guts. That’s when I picked up pace and asked him to “tell me you want it!”
As I approached my fake orgasm, literally moments on the heels of my real one, I began the huff and puff. Soon as I held my breath in anticipation of an orgasm, his heels pushed down and my cock slipped, coated in cum and spit, from his ass.
In the afterglow, he turned a lamp on and I got a good look at his face. It surprised me, the beefy Latin body topped my a slightly pear-shaped head, his eyes slanted opposite from Asians. He looked straight out of New Jersey but with a very neutral accent. My only thought: “Latino Guido.”
When I finally returned to my room and fell into bed, I smelled and tasted him all night until my shower the next morning. In a way, I wished I’d stayed with him and injected another load to assure a little part of me was left with him. But I would have to be satisfied with the time we spent together.