Wednesday, August 11, 2010


Before Scruffy, there was Joey.

I always seem to encounter certain archetypes in my life. When I moved away from home after college and lost That Intellectual Acquaintance Who’s A Bit Of An Asshole, for example, I quickly picked up another cut from roughly the same cloth—a little bit overweight, bearded, and sardonic to the point at which I couldn’t figure out whether I liked him or not. I’ve always had a Witty Older Female Friend, and though the faces may change, there’s usually an Intense Student With Serious Artistic Aspirations hanging around and asking for advice. Life likes to spice things up from time to time by trotting out one of the Hopeless Straight Woman Who Moons Over Me From Afar, or the Evil Antagonist Determined To Ruin My Reputation. My life has often felt like a giant repertory company, a commedia dell’arte populated with an ever-changing cast playing pretty much the same perpetual roles.

And Joey, like Scruffy, was for a time the Boy Who Loved To Take Daddy’s Loads.

I met Joey several years ago on Manhunt, in the middle of winter. I’d noticed his profile often before, because he viewed me basically every time I came online. I never thought he’d be interested in meeting, for some reason. On a very bleak January day, however, he messaged me and said, Wassup? I’m sitting here in my empty office and could sure use some company. Wanna come over?

I happened to want to, very much. It sounded very grand, going to the office of a kid in his early twenties; I didn’t know quite what to expect. As it turned out, Joey worked part-time in an optometrist’s clinic, doing the books on Wednesdays, when the office was closed. He met me at the door of the medical office building and let me in to the darkened lobby, with its displays of the latest magazines and literature about Lasik surgery. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said, immediately charming me. “I kinda just had to meet you though.”

Joey was a beautiful boy. His eyes were an odd, arresting silvery pale shade—Meg Foster or Kirstie Alley eyes—that took my breath away when I saw them smiling bashfully up at me. His hair was thick and wavy. He face had a square shape that was softened by apple-like cheeks and actual dimples at the corners of his mouth. The kid was fucking adorable, and when he lifted his head to meet my lips, I knew right off that there wasn’t a better kisser.

That day he took me into the back, to one of the exam rooms, where he undressed me, lowered the padded patient chair to a reclining position, and straddled my dick. We fucked all over that office. In the break room. In the office, with him bent over the desk where he’d been working. In the lobby, on the largest of the comfortable sofas. It was almost dark when I finally left him, and it had started snowing. I recall feeling badly that the poor kid was going to have to spend an extra three or four unpaid hours making up the billings to which he hadn’t attended while I’d been dicking him every which way, but them’s the breaks.

I had Joey over to my place after that, three or four times. The sex was always amazingly good. We connected on the same level; he responded to my needs by putting his own plainly on display. He loved to kiss through the entire act. He didn’t care much about his own dick, but every time I took care of him, he was grateful, spent, and fulfilled. In short, he meant a lot to me in the time we saw each other. When he started dating a guy, however, I saw less of him, and then nothing at all. Scruffy took over the role of Boy Who Loved To Take Daddy’s Loads.

I’d heard from Joey a few times since, of course. He kept me posted as first his boyfriend moved in with them, and then when they stopped seeing each other completely. I knew that in recent months he’d scraped together the funds to purchase his first house, and I sent him a little gift on the day he closed. He’d come on to me a few times, naturally, but it always seemed to be at midnight or very late at night, when I wasn’t available simply to take a jaunt out of the house to his place. You need to get at me early in the day, I'd chide. I'd see you then.

Saturday morning he caught me online and messaged me with, Is it early? Am I going to get you to come baptize my new house with your spunk?

And who can really resist a come-on like that?

Joey’s new place is in one of those areas of town traditionally occupied by blue-collar families, in a neighborhood filled with what are kindly called starter homes—tiny little bungalows with miniature floorplans and even smaller bathrooms. I was greeted at the front door not only by Joey, but by two of his three cats as well. “Fuck,” he said, shoving me up against the freshly-painted wall. “It’s been way too long, daddy.”

From many people, the word daddy would make me snort. From Joey, it only stiffened my dick, which was already half-hard and hanging down the left leg of my camo cargos at the sight of him. I hadn’t forgotten how beautiful he was, but the impact of that beauty hit me like a speeding truck. Gone were his wavy locks, replaced by the shortest of buzz cuts. His square jaw was covered with a beard that was as closely-cropped as his head. With all the short fuzz over his face, jaw, and dome, he looked like an especially hunky monkey. Joey wore no clothes save for a pair of 2(x)ist black briefs that I suspected he'd put on to impress me. Save for a few wisps in the middle of his chest and the slightest of trails from his navel to his waistband, he’d never had much body hair above the waist. Below it, I knew he could boast a furry butt and a pair of the hairiest legs I've seen.

And those eyes, those silver eyes, caught me off-guard and took my breath away. “How about you give me a tour?” I said, knowing I wouldn’t get another chance if I didn’t take it then.

He was proud as a puppy who’d just learned to fetch, as he showed me around the tiny little house. The tour ended, of course, in his bedroom. “What do you think, sir?” he asked, obviously hoping for my approval.

“I think you’ve done really well for yourself here, son,” I told him.

He melted at that word, son. I watched as he sighed with happiness and as his posture softened, like clay anticipating the potter’s hands. I hooked my fingers into the waist of his briefs and pulled him in for a kiss, and then another, and another. More and more I demanded from him, until my mouth was devouring his and he relaxed in my arms and let me lay him gently on the bed.

The boy was in heat. They’re all so anxious to be fucked, the young ones. His legs reached into the air and wrapped themselves around me, pulling me into a position of mounting. I didn’t even have anything more than my sandals off at that point, but my cock was hard and dripping in my shorts. I know he could feel it, pressing against his ass, through the three layers of cotton that were our underwear and my shorts. He bucked and ground his hips to make it harder, while his mouth revealed its depths to my tongue.

Already I was sweating, and I hadn’t even begun to fuck. “Flip,” I commanded. He instantly obeyed. I pressed my mouth against the spot where I knew his hole lay, and huffed hot air against his hole. He groaned, and pressed his ass against my mouth. The black fabric began to warm and moisten as I chewed at his little pucker from without. I couldn’t stand it any more. “Do you want daddy’s dick?” I finally asked, leaping up from the bed to shuck my pants.

“I love daddy’s dick,” he replied, looking up at me with those beautiful silver eyes. “I’ve missed my daddy’s dick so fucking much,” he said. “You’ve probably found some other boy to replace me.”

I ran my hand over his newly-shorn hair. I hadn’t expected the cut to suit him so well, but it did. “No,” I told him truthfully. “I haven’t.” Because no matter if Scruffy came along to play the part after Joey and I stopped screwing regularly, Scruffy didn’t replace him. They aren’t the same person. I’ve loved them both in different ways.

But like Scruffy, Joey is all about my dick during our time together. He pushed me back into the covers and licked at my nuts. He sucked me, watching my expression as he did so, smiling to himself whenever I’d bite my lower lip or gasp with pleasure. He deep-throated me so expertly that the sensation of slipping into his gullet seemed more like a pleasure and less like a punishment. He didn’t gag or choke. One moment I’d be prodding against the back of his mouth, and then the next, I would have slipped deeper inside, to find my head and an inch more massaged and caressed by one of the tightest muscles possible. His eyes didn’t even water, or waver from mine, the entire time. “Damn, son,” I finally said, after he’d do it so many times that I felt vaguely guilty. “You’ve been practicing!”

“Not with meat as big as yours,” he said. “I really have wanted this dick.”

He was so sweet and sincere that it was my eyes that watered a little. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said.

“You’re being very, very good to me.”

“That’s because I want you to keep coming back,” he said. “And keep coming back after that.”

We kissed again. I maneuvered myself behind him, and began licking at his hole until I was able to get two fingers inside. Then I borrowed his lube and began applying it liberally to both his hole and my dick. I wiped my hands on a towel while I positioned myself to enter. Joey clutched his pillow in a hug, with both arms, as he smiled to himself, ready to be plowed.

I couldn’t resist running the flat of my hand over the bristles atop his head once more. I’d seen the Astrologer only the night before, and some of the melancholy of that night still lingered. “You’re a good kid,” I whispered. His chest thrummed with pleasure. “But you know what?” I added.


“Your online profile kills me,” I told him, “when you say you’re average.” It’s true: Joey, the kid who turns heads when he walks into a room, has a sex profile that says, I'm just an average-looking guy. Don’t get your expectations too high. If Joey of the pale eyes and the dimples is average, someone is seriously throwing off the class curve. “You are far from average.”

He flushed. “You don’t have to say that.”

“You are beautiful,” I told him. I pushed my dick against his hole and began to work it inside. All I could feel was warmth and wetness, and no resistance or tension whatsoever. “The day I met you in that eye doctor’s office, I said you were the most handsome kid I'd fucked in years. You're a good person too, and you're really making something of yourself. I really wish you knew how special you are, through and through.”

His silvery eyes were half-closed when I finally got all the way inside. “Thank you,” he said, though whether for the praise or for the fuck, I wasn’t sure. “I think you’re my only fan, though.”

“I suspect you’re not looking hard enough.” I lay atop him by this point, with my arms around his chest, and our hands a tangle of fingers and palms. “Just promise me something.” When he grunted in assent, I said, “I don’t want you looking in the mirror in fifteen years’ time and thinking you’re invisible. Just promise me you’ll believe I see you as you really are. I do see you.”

His voice was little more than a sigh when he replied. “I’ve missed you, dad.”

“Promise me,” I urged.

“I promise.” He sighed and relaxed as very slowly I began to slide in and out of his slick chute. “I promise.” I let it go at that. I wanted to say this—that to protect him from the world’s cruel blows I wished I could, but that I wasn’t going to be around forever and it was important for him to know that I sincerely wished him the best life possible. I wished him the truth, and I wished him clear vision. Because it seemed to me that there were too many half-blind souls drifting through their lives and wishing for something that’s all the time within their grasps. The Astrologer. Joey. The boy in the woods months ago, asking me, So am I good enough?

I wish I could fix things. I wish I could mend people whole, and send them away with lasting smiles on their faces and a skip in their step. Changed. Forever made better. I know, though, that the most eloquent of my words, the most lasting of my caresses, can only be the merest salve to these deepest of wounds.

So instead, I only said, “I’ve missed you, too,” and kissed him gently on the brow, as I might a real son.


  1. Well,
    Good morning from far Europe today...
    This story made me wet my eyes...

    I'm a true believer that good things happen to good people, and if he's as good as you say, he should be all set for his future...
    As one would think you are...

    the Dr.

  2. FUCK!! Dude, you're killing me here! Sometimes I think you can't be for real.

    You're like my wet dream, my biggest fear, and my hero, all wrapped up in one.

    Thanks for this story.

    (clearly you can see you're making me into one of those guys who comments on blog posts now! LOL)

  3. Dr.,

    I hope good things happen to him. It's just depressing me lately, to see good people who don't know how good they've got it. It's such a waste of time.

  4. Buck,

    Sadly, I am for real, warts 'n' all. I'm proud to be your biggest fear!

  5. Just when I think I've read your best entry ever, you go and post an even better one!! I love starting the day with your blog.

    As an aside: I love optometrists' offices! I've always had a fascination with all of their fancy equipment and love going for eye exams. What a great venue for fucking. :)

  6. luv2suk,

    Oh dear, I've gone and set the bar too high for myself in the future, haven't I? I'm glad you liked it!

  7. I can't imagine how good you must feel. . .being appreciated by so many guys.

  8. This comment has been removed by the author.

  9. This is a post that reminds me why I need to trust my instincts about people. Early on in reading your blog, I sensed that you were someone who cared deeply about certain people in your life. And, although you identify them as the then-current archetype, you also see them for who they are. There is no doubt that you're a very sexual man. But what distinguishes you is that your sexality is multi-dimensional, a trait I am sure, that makes it that much more satisfying for your lucky partner, and for us, you readers. This is a perfect example of it. It is one of your most important stories because it rounds out the whole image of Rob, the man. Well done.

  10. Thank you for sharing so much of your life and thoughts with us. Your recollection of the tiny details of an encounter add to our reliving your experience with you.

    I feel better having known you though your words and hope one day to meet you in person.

  11. Such a fine post Rob
    Tthere is that clear emotional connection you have with him that only has come out with a few of your other men, like Scruffy. They are younger versions of you in a way, and you want to give them protection and kindness and confidence. What is it that has so many fine and attractive men feeling bad about themselves? There is loving the body, and then there is loving the soul, and you have shown both loves for him, a rarity to find through an Internet site based on finding NSA quickies. And your are giving of your whole self and getting something more than sex back.

    Let's hope for the both of you his being free and a new homeowner might be the basis for a stronger, more regular connection. It is too early to predict if he becomes that rare FWB or outright passionate lover for you, but boy is the chemistry there from how you tell the story. And how romantic!

  12. Great story--so much low self esteem out there! Joey's neighborhood sounds to me like fabulous Ferndale. I used to live down there, on Woodward and Wordsworth. Jarringly close to 8 Mile Road. . .

  13. This really is you at your best—the writer you are and the man you are.

    Thanks for sharing both.

  14. Hey there, sweet friend. . .what a great post. I think you know I appreciate it on many, many levels. You are a rare and extraordinary man and friend; in the short time we've known each other, you've definitely helped me feel less invisible and happier about what I see in the mirror. I'm blessed to know you.

  15. I have been reading your blog for a while now. I like that you are not just factual, but insightful. I have no doubt the Boy is beautiful he clearly captured your eye and your heart. A feat impossible in many, but when you see the power of the "human element" as you have articulated and he clearly demonstrated for is exciting. It renews faith that we are each here for a reasons greater than ourselves. And experiencing your moment of shared greatness was fun for me as a reader, but I suspect pales in comparison to the feelings that the boy felt from your genuine kindness.

  16. Johnny,

    It's me appreciating them that's the important thing.

  17. RUJ,

    That was a hell of a handsome compliment. Thank you. I'll try to live up to your estimation of me.

  18. GH Fan,

    I hope to get that chance, too. Thank you.

  19. Jayson,

    There are a number of truly sweet, good souls in this world, if we only open our eyes to see them. You're obviously one. Thanks for your insights and for your faith in me.

  20. Fella,

    That wasn't the city I had in mind. Ferndale's gotten a lot more fabulous since you left, truth be told. Its downtown rivals Royal Oak now, almost.

  21. throb919,

    Thank you, my friend.

    I would've had more of a comment if you'd just left an emoticon, of course.

  22. Doc_Rob,

    So. Sweet. I've been kind of a crappy buddy lately what with all the household stuff I've been doing, but thank you for having faith in me.

  23. Tyler,

    You have a way with words, my friend. Facts are nothing without some insight, don't you think? I hope you'll keep reading and chiming in when you feel the urge, and thanks greatly for all the nice things you've said today.

  24. Throb919,

    Well, it's too late NOW.

  25. very hot really enjoying reading your blog out...check mine out sometime when you get a chance...rawsexinthemidwest

  26. This egghead -- as in, I -- was delighted by your clever nod to the Commedia dell'arte. The dramatis personae, however, must at times have seemed more like a commedia senza [sans] arte. You are, indeed, a gent. And I aspire to be "an intellectual friend who is no . . . anus".

    Anonicus II

  27. Anonicus,

    You are definitely no anus. Though I suspect you possess one.

  28. Gentle Rob:

    Butt whate'er gave thee that idea? 'Tis better to possess than to be possessed of? Nah . . .


  29. You give your fuck buds the gift of love. Are you real? Can I touch you?

    anonymous tony

  30. Anonymous Tony,

    I'm touchable. Feel free.

  31. Just found out about your blog from a friend and I've been reading your posts on and off all day (married man here too). They have all been excellent and have turned me on, but I had to comment on this one. It's really beautiful to see how you care about this guy. You're this hot, hung man, and you give your acceptance to this other guy who doesn't feel worthy. I'm always amazed when a hot guy is turned on by me, and it makes me feel so honored. Thanks for doing that for this young man. And thanks for sharing your stories... I'm going to keep reading now :)

  32. David,

    I'm glad you've found the blog enjoyable (and I'm very glad to have turned you on). And thanks for thinking I'm hot.

    I'm always amazed, though, when sexy, smart, thoroughly wonderful people don't realize how many good qualities they have going for them. I think we owe it to ourselves and each other to let each other know exactly what we think. Don't you?

    Obviously you do, since you were moved to write your kind comment. Thank you.