There are a lot of men who see my dick online and want to suck me. Well, he said modestly, I can’t blame them. I’d want to suck me, too. And in my youth, I kind of made a career out of doing just that.
On Wednesday I got one of those guys beating down my door. WOW! said the message that arrived in my Manhunt mailbox. That rod is AMAZING. Let me suck it off for you.
The guy’s profile didn’t reveal much. It showed a photo of his dick, I think, and said he was my age and lived in my neighborhood. I wrote back what I say to all these guys up front: Hey, thanks for the offer, but I always tell oral-only guys up front that while I like getting sucked, I almost never get off that way.
But I will suck you to completion, he wrote back.
Obviously he wasn’t getting it. Like I just said, I told him, oral almost never gets me off.
I meant what I said. I find it very frustrating and almost scary to hook up with a man who just wants to suck, because it always ends the same way. He’ll suck and suck, and while I remain rock hard the entire time, his mouth will eventually start to get tired. He’ll then begin ordering me to shoot for him—like that’ll make it happen. I start to feel pressured to shoot, which makes me want to shoot less. He’ll get frustrated and then start to beat away on my dick frantically, which I don’t like in the least. Then I have to tell the guy that it’s not working for me, and he’ll leave upset and I’ll stay hard and unsatisfied.
So I’ve taken to telling guys up front that if they just want to suck on me, they’d do best to adjust their expectations beforehand, because I’m 99% sure they’re not going to get a mouthful of sperm as a reward. This guy wasn’t taking no for an answer, though. I can do tricks with my mouth you couldn't believe, he said.
Fine. I was horny, and none of the guys I was hitting up for ass were following through. He lived nearby, and I figured that at the very least, I’d get a journal entry out of it. (Right?) I told the fellow that as long as he realized he wasn’t going to be guaranteed a load and wasn’t going to complain when it didn’t happen, he could suck on me. I gave him my address and waited.
And waited. And waited. He only lived all of five minutes away, but after ten I began to wonder if he was one of those fakes who got off on getting a guy to say yes and then vanishing. When I went upstairs to look out the window, though, I noticed a commotion going on a couple of doors down; three police cars were surrounding a white van nearby and questioning the driver. Heady stuff in my sleepy little neighborhood. I’d watched the goings-on for a couple of minutes when my phone rang. “Hello?” I said.
“There are cops on your block,” said a gravelly, hushed voice.
“I see that,” I told the man.
“This is the cocksucker,” he said.
“Yes, I’d figured it out.”
“So why are there cops on your block?”
I blinked a few times. “I think they pulled over a motorist, that’s why. It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Well, it’s freaky, that’s all. I don’t want to get involved in anything.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of anything he thought I might be involved in. The secret cocksucker cops on patrol, looking out for dick-swallowing gay guys doing it behind closed doors? “Are you going to show up or not?” I asked him. “Because I have other stuff to do if you don’t want to.”
He paused a moment before answering. “I’ll come back. It’s just freaky, that’s all.”
It struck me afterward that he must’ve driven here, turned around, and gone all the way back home to make that phone call.
Eventually he showed, though. When he got out of the car I could see he was a tall, muscular guy wearing a white T-shirt and track pants. However, he sported coarse white hair and skin with the general consistency of nubbly red leather, so I pretty much knew right away that in no way was he my age. My age plus another decade, maybe. Which would’ve been fine, you know, if he’d been up front about it. His build was good, however, and he wasn’t unattractive, so I let him in. He was trembling like a leaf, either freaked out by the police (who’d left by then) or by me, or both. He couldn’t even look me in the face. “So do you want to suck me, or what?” I asked at last.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
I led him upstairs and into the bedroom, where I shucked my cargo shorts and pulled down my trunks. My dick was already hard. I pointed it at him.
He got the message. When I hopped up on the bed, he got on both knees and bobbed down to take my dick in his mouth. “Oh yeah,” I said when he got his mouth down to the root. “That feels good.” Because it did.
And then, suddenly, it didn’t. I’m not sure what he was doing, but although his mouth had felt good on the downstroke, when he pulled back I thought he was going to take my dick, or at least a layer of skin with him. “Not so much teeth!” I told him.
He didn’t say anything. He kept sucking. Or something that approximated sucking anyway. He enjoyed deep-throating me and did a generally good job of that, but he’d always follow it up with something obnoxious and unenjoyable—like applying painful amounts of suction to my cock’s head (it still feels raw), or raking his teeth over delicate spots, or biting my balls in a hurtful way, or nipping at the underside of my dick. My meat can take some pretty rough treatment, but I sounded like the whiniest guy getting head in the world for a few minutes, as I’d have to bark out, “Less teeth!” or “Don’t Hoover the head!” or “Ouch! Stop that!” every few seconds.
Eventually, though, he managed to settle into a groove that while not wildly enjoyable (though to be honest, what functionally-competent fellatio isn’t at least minimally fun?), at least wasn’t leaving me with contusions or teeth marks. I let him do that for what felt like a very, very long time.
He hadn’t touched himself, the entire time he’d been sucking me. “You care if I get it out?” he said at last. I shrugged. He pulled out a tiny, rock-hard dick from his track pants. “It’s not as big as yours,” he said.
“You like my big dick, huh?” I asked.
“Yes I do,” he said, burying his face in my nuts.
His own dick was dribbling pre-cum. I suspected I could make him shoot quickly, if I played my cards right. “You love slobbering all over this big fat dick, don’tcha?” I said, pulling it out of his mouth. I was kneeling over him at this point, and had been face-fucking his mouth to discourage him from spending too much time trying to remove my head from the rest of the shaft.
“Oh fuck yes.”
My cock was wet with his spit, but I drooled into my own palm and curled it around my cock, adding to the natural lube. With an overhand grip I showed off my dick to him. “I bet you don’t get many dicks like this.”
He shook his head, utterly mesmerized by the sight of me stroking myself. His own hands scrambled for his meat and began to beat it furiously. I pursed my lips and let out a hiss of sexual pleasure, then started thrusting my hips back and forth as I put on quite a show for the guy. I played with my nipples. I grabbed my nuts and pulled them out and waggled them back and forth, and brutalized them a little. He watched every little motion as if he had sat down in the front row of an adult movie theater to see the latest porn flick, up close and ten times larger than life. Then I whapped my dick into the palm of my hand, several times, hard, so that it made a loud, wet slapping sound. “Fuck yeah,” I growled in my deepest voice.
That sent him over the edge. He let loose with four or five tiny spurts, grunting as each one hit his belly. Then, the very second he’d finished, he hopped up to his feet. “Sorry, once I shoot, it’s over,” he said.
“No problem at all,” I told him. I gave him a washcloth I had close at hand, and tossed it down the laundry chute once he’d mopped up.
“See you later,” he said at the front door. Without any thanks or pleasantries at all, he was off. I watched as he jogged down the steps and out to his car. Before he got in, he looked both ways down the street, shielding his eyes against the sun so he could see clearly.
I’m pretty sure he was looking for the cocksucker cops.