I found a text on my phone, after the Italiano left my room on Saturday, from the Cleveland guy whom I was supposed to meet at the baths. He’d arrived, he told me; he was going to spend a little time in the bathroom making sure he was totally clean before joining me. I’d already texted him with my room number. All I had to do was wait for him to join me.
I sat on my bed in a casual pose, one knee up, the other out to the side, my dick in my left hand while my right rested on my upraised leg. I’d managed to score one of the rare rooms with a view of one of the busiest intersections of corridors , where I was able to watch guys coming and going as they cruised each other. I politely batted away several guys who wanted to come in and join me, explaining that I was waiting for a friend.
I’d just reached the edge of wondering if the guy was ever going to show when from the far corridor I saw a guy approaching. I knew it was him by the build, which was broad and beefy. In his black muscle tank top and his black jock, and his black baseball cap turned with the brim in the rear, the guy was even more of a stud than his photos had led me to believe—and his photos had been already pretty damned hot. He walked straight for my door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.
“Hey there,” he said in a deep and masculine voice. He stared at my dick, which was stiff and pointing at him from between my legs. “Sorry it took me so long.”
When I was looking Cleveland up and down right then, I would’ve forgiven him just about anything. He looked so fucking sexy—so primed and ready for dick. I wasn’t surprised, when he went down on one knee, that he proceeded to give me the best head I’d had in some time. His mouth was wide and accommodating, his big lips soft. I didn’t feel teeth, or bone, or even the constriction of muscle and sinew. Just soft, wet flesh that seemed to slick up and cling to every pore, as his lips gently hugged my dick’s base. He took off his cap and placed it on my bedside table. It afforded me the luxury of running my palms over the soft stubble that was his closely-cropped hair.
“Shit,” I said, when I backed him off so that I could pull him up onto the mattress with me. “That mouth is incredible.”
“You think so?” he asked, diving once more for my meat. “Wait until you try my cunt, then.”
After sucking me for a while more, he moved up between my legs and began to make out with me. In a word: amazing. The guy was an incredible kisser. His mouth as as wet and fleshy on my own as it had been around my dick. He wanted more of my meat, though, so I let him maneuver himself so that he was sitting on my face as he slobbered down on my pole.
The guy’s ass had been what attracted me to him. In his BBRT profile, it’s raised and spread and presented to be the first thing you see. It was hairy, and beefy, and perfect in shape; the elastic of the black jock framed it perfectly as he lowered his hole onto my mouth and wriggled it around. I dove inside, savoring the essentially male scent of his butt and relishing the way his ass hairs tugged against my beard as I raked it along the most private cleft of his body. His hole twitched and opened when I licked at it. It didn’t take long until it opened completely and my tongue made contact with the tangy, metallic-tasting innermost recesses of his hole.
I had to have him. I got him onto his knees and let him suck on me to get my dick extra-juicy. Then I pushed at and into his hole, sliding in with minimum resistance. The contact between us was almost electrical; I could feel almost every minor muscular adjustment he made, as well as how, soon after my entry, his hole began grasping at my meat as if to pull it in further. “Fuck,” I whispered, almost as if I were praying. “You were right about how good your cunt is.”
“Tell your friends,” he said, the very spirit of generosity. “Advertise me to your readers. Put a link in to my profile. Let them know how good I am.”
“Yeah?” I said, increasing the speed of my fucking. “Are you going to tell them what a good cock I’ve got?”
“I love your cock, man,” he said. “It’s fucking perfect. Hot, responsive dick. Fuck. Fuck me.”
I did, slowly building on my tempo and thrusting until I was close. “Let go of it,” he urged. “Come on, pump it in. Give to to me, buddy. Give it all to me.”
When I came, it was with what felt like a fire hose gush. I know my dick throbbed and let loose its load in several spurts, but I really only felt the massive first; the others paled in comparison. His hole milked the last few drops from me. He grunted his satisfaction. “Let me clean you off,” he said at last. I let him slobber all over my meat with his amazing mouth. “You’re still hard,” he noted.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I’m not done.”
“You’ve got another load for me?”
“Hell yes. And I’ll fuck you in any other load you collect today. Just bring it to me and I’ll slide my dick inside.”
Hungrily he kissed me, then stared at me with his dark eyes. “You want to pimp me out, huh?”
To show him I did, I stood up for a moment, opened the door to my room wide, and sat back down. “Suck it,” I commanded him.
What followed were an uncomfortable few minutes, to be honest. Usually on a good, busy day at the baths, all it takes to get a little group action started is to have sex in front of the other guys. Men will mill around and stare at each other for the longest time, but once there’s a catalyst of sex, it’ll start a chain reaction that involves multiple dicks, mouths, and holes. Usually I am that catalyst.
Not so much Saturday, though. For the longest time I reclined against the wall with my legs spread while Cleveland lay face-down between them, deep-throating my dick. Guys passed by. They’d peek in, then scamper away as if they were woodland fawns who’d spotted a couple of hunters, guns cocked, behind a poorly-hidden blind. One older, out-of-shape guy walked in, flipped on the light without asking, and then stalked away as if offended.
Flipping the light seemed to be the theme of that abortive part of the afternoon. Though the light level in my room was the same as the rest of the bathhouse, guys kept coming in to flip on the light. Never mind that it wasn’t even their room. They just felt they had the right to do it. When I stood up and began fucking Cleveland again from behind, as he knelt on the edge of the bed with his hands against the wall, I actually slapped away some guy’s hand as it reached for the switch.
After the second fuck, I was back down on the bed with Cleveland cleaning me off when a guy walked right into the room, turned on the light, and shoved his dick in my face. I tried pointing it at Cleveland—there was an actual bottom there who was looking to service dicks, you know—but he wasn’t having any of it. “You want to fuck me?” he asked.
The guy wasn’t bad looking—in his forties or early fifties, silver-haired, and lean—but something about his manner was off-putting. Cleveland, annoyed, lifted his mouth from my dick and said, “He’s just finished fucking me.”
“I’m looking for guys to fuck my bottom,” I told the man.
“Yeah?” He aimed his dick at Cleveland’s mouth, which opened and obediently closed around it.
Almost immediately, Cleveland opened his mouth again. “Dude, you taste bad,” he growled in his deep voice. “Have you got lube or something on it?”
“No,” said the twitchy guy. “There’s no lube on it.”
Cleveland shook his head. “No offense, man, but you just taste bad.”
“Maybe there’s lube on it or something,” said the man, contradicting what he’d said only a moment before. “Do you guys smoke?”
We said that no, we didn’t, and finally the guy flipped out the light and left. Cleveland raised himself to a sitting position. “Well, at least one good thing came out of that,” he told me. “Now I know I would’ve fucked with you even with the lights on.”
I thought about that one for a moment, decided it was a compliment, and decided to take it.
After the sour dick incident, Cleveland had to go rinse out his mouth and have a smoke. He came back a few minutes later to report that the weird guy had chased him around the bathhouse. “I think he was the one spying on me when I was trying to clean out when I got here,” he said. “He was trying to peek around the back of the partition. Freaky.”
“I think he’s tweaking,” I said.
“Yeah, no shit,” said Cleveland.
We fucked one more time—with the doors closed. Cleveland straddled my pelvis and lowered himself on my dick, then rode me hard until I shot suddenly inside him. We made out some more, and he cleaned me off again. We got him off by making out while he masturbated, and then after a long and dozy period in which we lay side-by-side on the bed and held each other, realized it was seven-thirty and that we both had to get going.
“Damn,” he said, as he was collecting his things. “I’ve had guys shoot twice in me before, but never three times.”
“Just kind of the way I am with an ass I really like,” I told him. “I hope it was worth the drive.”
“Oh fuck yeah,” he said, giving my dick an affectionate squeeze. “Oh fuck, yeah!”
(A note: For those of you on BBRT, the guy's listed as trancendntl. You Ohio men seriously owe it to yourselves to give him a try.)