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Friday Fuck Fun: Fucktards Get Stupid and Breed, Breed, Breed in this Treasure Island Media Flick

Friday Fuck Fun: Fucktards Get Stupid and Breed, Breed, Breed in this Treasure Island Media Flick

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Fucktard''s boxcover copyAnother Friday Fuck Fun looks at another Treasure Island Media movie, but this one goes hardcore.

The Romans called sex Insania Nobilis, the Noble Insanity.

Approach real sex, real risk and danger and you’ll feel your brain start to fog up. Get closer to the fire and your IQ plummets lower, lower, lower until you’re a raving buck-in-rut thinking from your lust-gorged crotch.

Treasure Island Media Director and Producer Paul Morris brings exclusives Ethan Wolfe, Jack Allen, Jackson Taylor and John Dahl along with Blue Bailey, B.J. Slater, Chad Brock, Christian Rock, Chris Kohl, Devlin Michaels, The Fucktard, James Roscoe, Jerry Stearns, Lito Cruz, Luca Bondi, Luke Bennett, Nick Moretti, Patrick O’Conner, Sunny, Trasher, Trevor and Ty Roberts to that animalistic place.

Instinct takes over and the men just fuck and breed in this barebacking, bucking and breeding blowout.

Oh, and keep in mind, Lito Cruz bred Joshua Chandler, who was recently interviewed by iBLASTinside Opens new window of a page on this blog. So there’s a nice DNA connection to this movie.

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By a Cell Phone Light…

By a Cell Phone Light…

The choices in an adult bookstore — at least the adult bookstore here in Atlanta Opens a new window from this blog — includes gloryholes Opens a new window from this blog, private rooms and a darkroom. Those are one’s three choices to indulge in the hedonism.

The holiday season hadn’t invaded this place. Not even the music bothered to pulse with any musical beat beyond the normal dance jams with more urban tones. I’d made a couple of loops. My cock had been stroked and sucked through a gloryhole or two. The private rooms had been occupied a lot. I’d had enough time to find the men in whom I wanted to see my cock slide first.

Among them, a beefy Latino, wide chest, short and stout. Look like a good chest. But his favorite destination seemed to be the darkroom.

Now I don’t tend to favor the darkroom. It isn’t because I don’t enjoy darkrooms. However, trolls lurk there.

Some of you younger bucks may be asking, “What are trolls?”

Trolls tend to be older men (but can be of any age) who horn in on others having good sex and make it bad.

Age honestly has nothing to do with a troll, but trolls simply suck at sex (not in a good way) and they can’t figure out how to improve their sexual prowess. Yet they insist on entering into others’ fun and ruining it for all. In fact, trolls seem to delight in this.

No matter how ugly, how old, how black, how brown, how young or whatever one’s lot in life, your ass should be pink and juicy on the inside. Within certain constraints Opens a new window from this blog, I will fuck and breed you. But trolls are off limits.

I politely push them away. Some are more persistent than others. Those will ruin a fuck.

Back to the hot, stout Latino in the military haircut wearing the unfortunate white, striped sweater.

A little tip: If you’re going a place with a darkroom, choose dark clothes and don’t wear anything with a logo so people can recognize you.

I followed him into the room. As I entered, it took a moment for me to make out the shadows of the men. His was the shortest, of course, over near the corner and I moved toward him, brushing up against him. He responded in kind and reached for my crotch. I unbuttoned and before long he was down on his knees sucking.

His technique lacked focus and he couldn’t go deep, even with someone like me who didn’t really challenge anyone. My cock is just at seven inches, so my cockhead will just touch the back of most people’s throats. Sure, you’ll gag but it’s not like I’ll really stop you from breathing.

He kept his head bobbing shallow, supplementing with his hands and even licked my balls, which I loved. I completely dropped my trousers (all my valuables were locked in the car) so other men were feeling my ass and even one went down to share a lick on my balls. It wasn’t bad.

I tried to hint to my little guy I wanted ass, bending over and reaching into the gap in his jeans where his ass crack happened to be. I would touch his smooth ass. But he kept sucking.

In this darkness, I wasn’t the only one getting sucked. Darkness inspires whispers and silence for some reason. I’m a quiet guy anyway.

But there arose such a clatter, I snapped my head around to see what’s the matter.

A black man with an obviously large cock snapped on his cell phone to look down at his huge pipe entering the ass of a beefy white man wearing what looked like a black jockstrap.

“Yea, man, give me that fucking ass,” he exclaimed in a deep, gravely voice. A masculine man, the kind of downlow fucker you’d see on Sally Jesse Raphel and fucking this quiet white bottom raw. “This is a good fucking ass!”

It was across the room from me with four or five other men between me, so shadows would occasionally obscure what I could see. But the fuck noises were obvious. My little Latino continued to suck but I had my eyes firmly planted on what was going on across the room.

And I wanted that ass next.

The black fucker just got to pummeling that ass. The slapping of thighs to ass got louder and I pulled my cock away, bored by the half-hearted ministrations by the Latino. If he were smart, he’d stand, then bend over and drop his jeans.

He stood and continued to reach for my cock. I zipped up and moved toward the light of the door, but keeping an eye on the fucking.

The grunt and fuck noises just got louder. In the pale light, you could see the bottom now bracing himself against the wall and the top just letting the fucker have it.

“You’re going to get my nut!” the black man practically yelled. And then he did. “ARRRRRHHHHGGGGG!!!”

He let loose what had to be a torrent of cum into that white booty. He fucked it a few more times.

“Fuck man, I gotta sit down,” he said. “I’m fucking weak in the knees from that.”

The cell phone switched off at that moment but he sat down where the light from the doorway showed his cock, a thick nine inches, as the bottom turned around, hefted it up and sucked it clean.

By now, my Latino had moved next to me and was reaching inside my zipper. But I wanted that loaded ass.

Fortunately for me, afterward, the white bottom moved by me to go toward the corner I’d vacated. I reached out and brushed my hand against his ass and followed.

It proved enough to get his attention.

The Latino had kept my cock up if the action hadn’t. The bottom reached around and gave my cock a tug, recognizing another hard cock. He then lined it up with his hole.

I just fucking love cum sluts.

The entry was smooth and easy after that other monster had vacated. And I moaned. As that escaped my lips, a familiar light came on. The black top hadn’t left and now his cell phone illuminated my cock inside this white ass.

It wasn’t going to be a long fuck.

“That’s a nice ass, ain’t it man?” He egged me on.

Truth is, I’ve had better. I don’t mind loose asses. This one was just nondescript. And the bottom had never learned to flex his muscles. I had to do all the work. As I reached up to get a grip, I grabbed what I thought would be his jock.

T’weren’t no jock. It was some cheap, polyester lingerie garter belt. Fuck, I’m so not into men dressing as women. And this guy is totally not the type of guy who would.

But my cock is in an ass, raw, and I’m churning up cum.

“Dude,” the black man spoke. “You fucking push me again, I’m going to knock your goddamned head off! You fucking understand me?”

Troll alert.

“Stand back and let the dude nut in his butt and we all can fucking watch.”

That’s my cue.

I snort some poppers and I let it go. I know I’m not as turned on as I should be but I keep my hands on the fleshy cakes and I try to tune out the trolls, knowing that I’m protected for the time being. I focus on popping and mixing it up in this bottom’s ass. Picking up the pace, slamming harder, giving it to him, punishing him for being a pussy in women’s underwear.

I cascade over the side and grunt a few times as my Latino is there, tickling my balls. Yes, he still wants my dick.

I cum. I half cum really. I shoot a load but it’s not fulfilling. I give the audience a good performance, knowing that I am injecting into his ass but I beef it up making sure it seems good, although more understated than my black ally.

By the time I pop out, another hard dick is lined up and he’s shooting by the time I’ve zipped up and left.

A little disgusted with myself that my powers of perception probably hoped that it was a black jockstrap rather than a black garter belt. I make another loop and I fuck a guy’s face for a while. He won’t offer me his ass, even telling me he watched me fuck that guy and that I can fuck him any other place but here.

And I bump into the black guy as he comments, “That was a mighty fine ass, wasn’t it man?”

“Yea, man,” I nod in agreement, now completely lying to him. “You have a good one.”

I head out. Half satisfied.

Guide to Men Providing Better Service (Especially Strippers, Go-Go Boys, Massage Therapists, Bartenders, Waiters, Retailers or Anyone in the Service Industry)

I tip well.

I always start at 20 percent for any service and it rises or falls based on what happens from that point forward. You can be a stripper or a hair stylist. You can be a runner at a restaurant or a bar-back — the people who aren’t normally tipped but get a share of the main worker tips. The service industry is about tips. I get that. And I tip expecting to be remembered, taken care of and provided with excellent service.

It takes more than a great body to lure in a lot of money.If you’re straight or gay, bisexual or flexible with your sexuality, it doesn’t matter. Most of these suggestions will help you increase your financial compensation from the likes of men like me. I’m not well-to-do by any means. But compared to a 23-year-old, I’m more settled and I have more disposable income that I’m willing to spend.

I’ve put these into an easy-to-remember mnemonic: HEFT. You must apply HEFT at your workplace and when you work. If you do, I promise that you will earn more money, gain more confidence and advance yourself down a path.

[alert style=”green”]

I am available for one-on-one training

This is something I enjoy teaching, especially young, attractive men. You want to learn this, I will tutor you how to make this system work for you. Just get in touch with me.

[/alert]

Hope

Always give the customer hope that you’re available to give him what he wants. Be coy, play a little hard to get, tease a little; but the moment you dash all hope is the moment the money train stops.

I’ll start this with the understanding that the stalkers and the creepy guys — anyone in your gut that says “run away” — is where to stop the hope. These are the people with whom you never want to give any opening as a possibility they can get something more from you. But the creeps and stalkers and crazies, while most memorable, are in the minority.

Everyone else, you give as much hope as possible. If you’re straight, the guy you’re talking to is the one guy you might try the gay thing with for the first time. If you’re gay, you’re open to dating older men.

Having a great body helps. Show it off.But never be that direct.

Hope has to be the goal for which the customer is always reaching but never quite achieves.

Hope is a tease, so provide the tease and do it on a schedule.

I had a beautiful, muscular, very straight trainer. I told him exactly what I needed. I never touched the man, but I told him I found him and his body and inspiration; he would need to use that to motivate me. As I advanced, he started and did well. He went from loose shirts to tighter, finally to an armless t-shirt.

Then it stopped.

Never shorts. Never tank tops. The teasing stopped and the loose shirts came back. I asked what happened and if I’d offended. I’d actually been paying him double his asking rate. Early in our agreement, he’d even text me encouragement. Now he stopped that too.

I lost interest and stopped going. I lost all hope.

I never expected to suck his dick or even see him naked. But the hope of it kept me engaged. In the end, I think his own discomfort with his sexuality might have stopped it. He’ll often post shirtless, flexing images of himself to Facebook, even when I was training with him. He couldn’t see what that would do to me.

 

Engage

You provide a service. I pay. We both know the reason we’re here. But you must make an effort to engage on another level in order to make that extra cash.

The absolute worst thing a hot dick dancer can do is walk up to me cold and say, “Would you like a lap dance?”

Suddenly, he’s ugly as sin.

Making someone laugh is a way to break down barriers He sees me as cash and sees himself as meat. Same with a waiter or a bartender. Do you know how much further a friendly smile, looking me right into the eyes and a, “Hello, how are you today? My name’s Andy.”

Suddenly, I don’t see you as meat for meat’s sake or someone who delivers me food or drink. I see a human being. I see someone who has a name, a life and who has meaning. And if you ask my name, someone who gives as fuck about me more than the cash in my pocket.

You start to care about me, I start to care about you, I’ll start giving you more money.

If a dick dancer takes five or 10 minutes to get to know me, he’ll get a lot more opportunity to get cash.

While I was in Key West recently, the go-go dancers and bartenders at Bourbon Street Pub were a perfect example. One dancer — a blond with an absolutely perfect body, beautiful pecs, an eight-pack, gorgeous face, etc. — walked by as I gave him a dollar. He never bothered looking down. He didn’t  kneel and say a word. He walked on by.

Another dancer — not quite as built, but still nice pecs — walked by. I gave him a dollar. He took a knee and asked my name, shook my hand and introduced himself. He smiled and looked me in the eye. Over the course of the evening, every time he walked by, I gave him at least another dollar and even purchased a lap dance from him.

What both dancers didn’t know was it was my first night of a week-long visit in Key West. I’d visit the bar many more times. The perfect body dancer got $1 out of me the whole trip. The great pec and wonderful personality dancer probably earned more than $350 from me.

I walked into a shop along Duval Street that sold absolutely wonderful products focusing on cocktails, wine and beer. As with every shop, the shit was expensive. The sourpuss shop owner never said a word, stood behind the counter and watched me like I was some sort of shoplifter. As I examined a ruby red slipper wine bottle holder I considered purchasing, I put it down and moved around the shop. The sourpuss darted over and adjusted the placement of the pump, assuring I’d done no damage (even though I’d handled it most carefully).

I left that shop quickly despite wanting to purchase a few things, I dared not make a single buy there to give the asshole owner any satisfaction.

At a jewelry shop down the street from there, I went looking for a pair of dangling earrings for my sister. The very nice shop owner greeted me warmly. Since he was British and wore a London Olympics t-shirt, we chatted a bit about that while I shopped and finally overpaid for a pair of shell earrings that looked like my sister. She loved them. And I felt all right about paying tourist prices.

The difference in all of this was engagement.

 

Flirt

While flirting provides hope and engages the customer, it takes things a step further. Flirting brings a customer back to you time and time again. It gets customers to ask for your section at a restaurant or call ahead to see if you’re working.

Girls are taught how to flirt. They’re taught how to dart their eyes, giggle a little, blink and appear shy. If you watched the movie “Legally Blonde,” the “bend and snap” scene in the salon is a great example of how women teach each other.

Men, on the other hand, are not taught these things. Moreover, if they’re taught anything, it’s not how to flirt with other men — especially how to flirt with the gay ones if you’re not gay.

Never, ever act girlish. Male-to-male flirting is much more subtle and it’s something a straight, bi and curious male will have to learn with which to get comfortable.

Flirting is all in the eyes

It begins with the eyes. Learn to stare deeply at another man without letting your eyes dart away. Look intensely but not with a leer. You stare just a beat longer than is comfortable and then blink and look away slowly. And never look down and away from the man. If you look down, go for his crotch or chest. Down and to the left means deception.

It’s even better if your glance is down at his crotch and then it returns to his eyes.

You can’t been too obvious as men have learned to do this dance over time and not be detected by their wives or girlfriends in the room. Even across a gay bar, a subtle flirtation can be happening.

Some of the best ways I’ve ever been worked is by strippers or other professionals giving a lap dance to someone else and working me across the room. I know they’re straight but they’ve got the eye fuck down and my cock doesn’t know the difference.

A gay man can see desire and will likely know a straight man based on his gaydar. I can see in a man’s eyes what he’s thinking. I’m empathetic, meaning I can usually sense what a person is feeling, but most especially men. There’s a vibe that comes off men that allows me to sense what’s going down.

I better get that you’re into me. The good ones find some element in each person they target to like. Whether it’s my glasses or shirt or even personality or the wonder of humanity. If you cannot find something to latch onto, something that you can show an attraction to, you might not get past first base with a potential customer. Consider it a kind of bromance that must be generated out of nothing.

If you are in a place where it is appropriate, flirting may mean showing some skin. You may be straight, but us gay men can appreciate beauty. We’ll drop the not too subtle hints of where you have tattoos or have you been working out crap to see your chest or other parts of your body.

This guy has a very defined Apollo's belt (but not much of a treasure trail)You can work it too. Picking up your shirt and rubbing your stomach showing off a treasure trail (that little line of hair down the middle of the belly Link Opens in a New Window) or Apollo’s belt (the iliac furrow below a six- or eight-pack near the hips Link Opens in a New Window). Yes, you can bend over and show off your ass, but make sure you have an ass to show off (as gay friends). Wear too tight clothes (if you work where that possible) and make it fashionable.

And remember that gay men have fetishes, especially older men. They will request odd things like smelling your shoes, socks or pits and touching your hair, biceps or pecs. Know what your limits might be and never react with judgment of something being rude, weird or bad.

Also understand that your actions in public may take you out of the running.

As I’ve outlined, I am not into smokers at all Opens a new window from this blog. If I see someone smoking, they’re out of the running for potential with me. I know bars in some towns can be smoker havens and some of you only smoke there, but these men with bodies of death puffing on cancer sticks still baffle me. I’d suggest that it limits your income if you do smoke. But I know an occasional whale (someone who will spend a lot of money) comes in offering to share his pack.

 

Touch

A little human contact goes a long way.

It’s long been found that waiters and waitresses who lightly touch their customers (usually the opposite gender) increase their tip amounts by at least 3 percent (a Cornell University from 1998 Link Opens in a New Window has often been cited for this). Remember that 3 percent is the minimum per tip increase.

You can get much more than 3 percent from me.

Shaking hands is always the first approach and the easiest to tell how receptive someone is to man-to-man contact. If possible, always hold the hand a beat longer than possible. Eye contact on the order of flirting always helps as well. A warm smile and a hesitation to release helps. You want the person to feel like you want to touch them.

Even staking out a place a little too close. Don’t invade their personal space too much. Just go into it enough.

If you’re sure someone is up for it, then go for the shoulder grab, especially when you’re stepping away. Make it very familiar feeling. “Hey Mark,” hand reaches out and grabs a shoulder. “I’m headed to the bar. Is there anything I can get for you?”

If your touch can get even more suggestive, it helps in the right circumstance. A brush of your crotch as you pass by, leaning against his shoulder, a hand around the waist, even holding his hand. Do the little movements that give you tingles up your spine. That does the same to him. Give him goosebumps. Make it memorable. There’s nothing wrong even if you’re having an intimate moment and you say to him, “How could I make this a night you won’t ever forget?”

 

HEFTY, HEFTY, HEFTY

If I had to add the last letter to my acronym, it would be “Y” for “Youth.” It normally is that thing that will bring in the trollish men with money. But the one thing I have to say about the most successful twentysomethings who’ve walked away with hundreds of dollars from me is how they’ve treated me and that’s with mature respect. And I’ve respected them back.

When I get a lap dance from someone new, I ask what I can and cannot do. I understand that $20 or $50 doesn’t buy me a fuck in the backroom of a bar and I’m never allowed to just shove my finger up an ass without permission.

I am paying for the fountain of youth, the tight body, the incredibly booty and the innocence no matter how many men have touched him.

I get great service, one must be a good customer. I try to do that.

A Note of Consideration

To anyone else who takes my ideas and runs with them: 

Ideas cannot be copyrighted. Hey, I know that. I didn’t put my ideas out there to make money (although that would be nice). But here’s the thing: Do you think I would be stupid enough to put all my ideas out there?

You’re always welcome just to go with what I suggest and adapt to your own business situation, but I’m a (get this) marketing professional who knows a thing or two. I’m available for consultation or even hiring 

But if you don’t want to do that, I understand. But perks always makes me happy. 

Yours,

Mark's Signature in White

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Fuck Fuck Fuck

Breeding a Redneck Behind an Abandoned House

The last week or so kept me busy for a variety of reasons and, for whatever the reason, I’ve just not had the luck with getting ass. In fact, I’d been saving up loads for a potential good fuck visiting from out of town but that quickly turned into a bust when I didn’t hear from him. So much for being a good guy. So my balls are full and I’m about to fucking bust last night.

Making matters worse, a great case of insomnia kicks in. Sunday nights should be good since the weekend is ending. Most who are horny and wanting more seek it out Sunday night, especially tweakers (who aren’t my favorite but when you’re horny, you’ll take it). And considering the time change this weekend, I’m thinking it’s going to be especially good.

As I’m cruising online, the e-mails arrive steadily and the selections are pretty good. But when it comes right down to it, I just can’t get anyone to make the commitment to get out the door and meet. It’s soon 4 a.m. and I’m fucking screwed, so I finally try to find a little restless sleep. Even so, I’m up at 8:45 and find a dozen or more new e-mails waiting for me and continue on my quest.

I’m not jerking off. That would not satisfy. It takes a fuck.

Among the latest lot, we soon narrow down to a 24-year-old redneck up the road from me.

And when I mean up the road, I mean north. I’m north of Atlanta, so he’s way north, another 15 or so miles.

He can’t come down to see me since, it turns out, he’d recently lost his license and, as any good redneck, still lived with his folks. The distance was just too far to go and get him and bring him back home. But he knew of some “private places” near by.

Hitting the interstate, which ended not far from his exit, I headed his way. I texted him as I left the highway about 30 minutes later and within a few minutes, was turning down a one-lane road, barely paved at all.

A lone figure in the distance as I crested a hill could be seen walking along. Indeed, probably about 24 years old, shortly cropped hair with a reddish tint and a four- or five-day beard. He hopped in the truck with only the suggestion to turn around.

He was beefy but pale-faced with freckles. We headed back to the two-lane road and drove a couple of miles before he spoke again and suggested we turn down a dirt road distinguished only by an old, beaten mailbox.

The four-wheel drive took the rough road with ease as we came up to an unmarked railroad crossing and then a muddy patch before coming up to a clearing. The old house had certainly seen better days but someone had tried to revitalize it with bright paint on the exposed wood, now some of it peeling away.

Its old tin roof now red, jutting up from the crisp green bushes that hid much of the house from everything. Around back the crumbling , gray structure we’d still call a barn had never housed any animals. And on this warm day, the dandelions, swayed a little in the moist air that promised a little rain later on.

I shut the truck off but he didn’t want to get out. He just stared at my crotch. I backed up a bit and whipped out my half-hard cock and let him see it. He pounced on it and began sucking.

His exertion and the heat of sex soon got the greenhouse effect going and we were both sweating, even though I was just leaning back and letting him do the work. I suggested we step outside.

He talked more than he’d ever before as we got out and began looking around for a way into the old house. An old side porch off the kitchen offered the best refuge from onlookers — which seemed to have him paranoid. Obviously, this old place was used as a fuck house around here. I could have cared less, but he wanted some place. He dropped to his knees immediately and I whipped my cock out.

He sucked but a couple of seconds in said, “If you want to fuck me, just say so.”

“I want to fuck you.”

He didn’t bother to get up but turned around on all fours, pulling down his pants and exposing his white ass.

A huge ass with a deep crevice, his hole was an angry red, as he’d obviously scrubbed it before our meeting. I spit, adding to his and shoved my cock toward his hole.

He didn’t like it but took it like a champ. In a moment, with that country slur, he was begging for me to cum in his ass. I didn’t feel like prolonging the inevitable and I released my spunk into his big white ass. Several days worth. Our position didn’t allow me to push it deep, but the boy wanted it and he kept it.

We were back in the truck in moments and back at the two-lane, me driving him to his original destination — a gas station convenience store, where I left him.

He hopped out, thanked me. With great precision, he spit on the sidewalk. I drove home, moderately satisfied, but needing a nap.

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Travel Diary: Like Ships Passing…

Travel Diary: Like Ships Passing…

A rarity indeed to find a man taller than I. His arrival had become doubtful after more than an hour had passed since our last communication, but when his knock came and I opened the door, all hesitation dropped. At 23, his broad shoulders defied his lanky frame. A dichotomy of beefy arms but thin basketball fingers. An age so young but a mouth so talented as he sucked my cock deeply as if he’d been trained in some southern Asian massage house.

His shyness gave way with prying from me as I wanted to see his chest, which proved worth while. Large round nipples with a dusting a dark hair but this perfection of a treasure trail from mid-pecs to pubes, inside which hid his cock. A grower, I wondered. But I let him suck me more. He seemed service-oriented and who be I to deny him his hunger?

But after a while, I did. I turned him onto his back and finally kissed him, the bitter starkness of the mixture of Crest and my own crotch seemed odd against my beard and his goatee. Yet a sweetness came through. We kissed a long while. Odd, since he seemed uninterested. His eyes stayed closed so I let him keep his fantasy of whatever man or creature he imagined he might be fucking. Here I spent my time enjoying the details of his being and taking in those nipples and that treasure trail. I lingered to find his limpness, but it did no good. He never hardened. So I moved on and tongued his balls only to work my way lower.

No resistance.

When my tongue first tickled his hole, his mouth opened and released a noise — not loud, mind you, but it was the first one uttered from his mouth other than the sloppy tones of sucking my cock. As my tongue darted into the folds of his skin and penetrated into that puckered darkness, more utterances escaped. So I began adding spit. Enough to make sure I would be able to do what I planned next.

When I came up for air was when I noticed his cock had risen as well. Not full-mast mind you. But it peaked from the dark thatch. As I kissed him, my cock found his spit-soaked hole and, without resistance, slipped just inside. Not all the way in, mind you. Just inside.

His eyes opened. Chocolate brown irises stared at me. He didn’t come off my cock. He didn’t move. So I applied a little more pressure and my cock slipped past that place of tightness into him. His eyes widened and then I knew.

He no longer fantasized about anyone else fucking him.

Into him more deeply, my cock penetrated and I fucked with a slow passion, only the spit between us. Kissing. Faster. Slower. I never slammed him. He was never that kind of fuck. We even talked a long while, my cock hard inside him. We liked how it felt to be connected.

When I came, he rode me. When he came, he rode me. Our moments criss-crossed within seconds of one another. No excuses, no discussions, we knew we were the proverbial ships passing in the night.