Friday, February 24, 2012

Fudge

So I’m at this guy’s weekend house. Weekend house, mind you—one of those Victorian two-story New England-type deals originally built in 1860, with a cupola and a grand front porch and a plaque next to the front door stating that it’s part of this hamlet’s historic district. He’s a Manhattan banker who already owns an apartment in the east seventies. (“Don’t hate me,” he begged, when he confessed his profession.) A weekend house that’s been renovated to the gills inside and decorated with tasteful white pine furniture and inoffensive works of art.

I’m a little surprised, after I arrive and beg to take a quick pee in the bathroom, to see one of those signs on the sink that asks guests to help conserve water by hanging up towels if they plan to reuse them, and to leave them on the floor if they wish the maids to provide replacements. Later I figure out that during the summers, he probably clears out his personal belongings and uses a service to rent the place out.

It’s in that kind of waterfront neighborhood. Across the street from the docks, you know. If one had a sailboat, it’d be heaven.

But he’s here now, and I’m here, and we’re undressing each other next to the suitcase he’s got spilled out all over the floor. I’m pleased because he looks like his photo, which is a refreshing change in this area. He’s pleased because I’ve got the big dick he wants. He’s on his knees, leaning across the suitcase to get at it. Then he’s tackling me, arms around my waist, so that I fall back onto the bed with its hundred decorative accent pillows. There are so many pillows, in fact, that there’s a bit of a pillow explosion when my long frame hits the mattress. He has to take a moment to select which of the fussy cushions gets to stay, and which he’s tossing over the suitcase to the other side of the room.

Then we’re making out like demons. He’s a good kisser. Very good. He’s one of those silver foxes, an older guy with a head of gray hair and a gym-worked body, a handsome urban professional who’s probably made a good name for himself along with the wads of cash it would take to buy a weekend house like this one. He’s all about my dick, too. He goes down on it like he’s hungry and it’s the first good meal he’s seen in weeks. I’m groaning and moaning and my eyes are rolling toward the back of my head, as I arrange one of the remaining pillows behind my neck.

He smells good, too. Like soap, or as if he’s stepped right out of the shower. I notice it when I pull him up to kiss me again, and then suck on his nipples. I flip him onto his belly and kiss his shoulders, his back. I scrape my beard down his spine, and let my chin part his ass cheeks. I lick at his hole, and he shivers. Then I bite at it, and it growls and pushes back against my face. He’s getting into the rim job. His hips buck and quiver, his hole opens. I shove in a couple of fingers, and he lets out a low growl from deep within his core. He wants it. He’s ready.

Some lube. Some shoving. It doesn’t take much, and then I’m in. He’s got a sweet hole, and damn, does he ever look good there perched at the edge of the mattress, his ass in the air, his knees spread wide. He looks like a porn actor. He’s loving the fuck as much as he loved going down on me, as much as he loved my mouth against his. He’s no buttoned-down banker, now. He’s a fucking whore, pussying up for a real man’s dick, and he’s letting his pleasure be known. He’s howling and panting and begging me to go deeper. I’m matching him obscenity for obscenity, thrust back with stroke forward, matching every roughness with a pound at his hole.

“Let me get on my back,” he says. “I wanna watch you fuck me. Let me get on my back.”

I pause, and nod. This is when the unspeakable happens.

He pulls off my dick so quickly that it makes a sound like a cork coming out of a wine bottle. Only when it does, a geyser follows. A brown geyser. It’s the consistency of canned beef stew and just as chunky, and not only am I aghast as it splatters out and hits me right between my pelvic bones, but I have to watch as another squirt of it dribbles down his backside and drips onto the floor.

Somehow, he hasn’t even noticed. “Come on, man,” he’s begging. “Stick it back in.”

“You’re dirty,” I tell him.

“Oh shit,” he says, looking up and noticing that his guest has been splattered in the stuff.

Pun not intended, I’m pretty sure.

I’m not gagging. I’m not even grossed out, except in an abstract, mental way. I just don’t say a word and I walk into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and step in. I let the hot water clean away the worst of it, and only then do I reach for the soap and begin to lather up.

When I leave the bathroom, I drop the towel on the floor.

He’s managed to clean up a little while I’ve been in there. “You want to keep going?” he says from the bed. He’s on his back, legs up, playing with himself. Still hopeful.

“No.”

“Let me jack off then,” he says.

I’m too polite to say no, so carefully watching where I step, I walk over to the bed and sit there beside him while he wanks. It doesn’t take long, thank god. My own dick is limp. The mood’s gone. He might be a handsome banker to everyone else, but now, to me, he’s forevermore that guy who had a chocolate fountain coming out of his ass, and somehow that’s not all that erotic an image.

“Next time I’ll make sure to clean out all the way,” he promises, as he leads me down the stairs and through the kitchen to let me out. Which makes me wonder—how far did he clean, exactly, if that was a partial job? And what would’ve it been like if he hadn’t cleaned at all. “Can I get you anything? Do you want some fudge?”

I turn around, thinking he’s making a badly-timed joke. But no, he’s got a cookie tin open. It’s full of squares of dark chocolate.

I decline. I’ve had enough fudge for the day.

35 comments:

  1. all I can say to that one is GAH! I would have gagged. Being a bottom I always try and make sure that I am cleaned out well. I guess he was just that horny.

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    1. Horny and not too self-aware, unfortunately!!

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  2. Yeesh. I suspect some of that had to be water retention from when he cleaned out earlier. The part that gets me is that he didn't notice. Maybe it is just me, but I don't think I have ever not noticed things like that. And then he offers fudge. Again, I say, yeesh.

    I'm also a little worried that he didn't immediately strip the sheets. Or wash himself off. Seems like when he lets go of his clean-cut persona, he really lets go.

    -Ace

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    1. Ace,
      I think you summed it up quite well. Every thought I had except... Oh god, I don't even know. Thank you for saying it all.
      Yeesh!

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    2. That was more than just water!!

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  3. """""He’s a fucking whore, pussying up for a real man’s dick, and he’s letting his pleasure be known."""""

    How did something that hot and erotic turn into a yuck of an ending. Can't believe he was so horned up he didn't even know what had happen and had the nerve to ask if you wanted to continue. Maybe he got his ads confused and thought you were the guy into poop play.

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  4. Gee whiz. Sexy, erotic, hot, poopy, gross. Bad combo.

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    1. Yeah, it's not a combo to which I aspire, Jack.

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  5. Replies
    1. I know. Get in touch with your body, people! I'm confident when I'm clean and when I'm not. I err on the side of safety and wait at least half hour after a douche to let someone in. Even then I check myself to be sure. If I feel something moving? Game off. How can you not know you just spewed poo all over one of the greatest guys you'll ever meet?
      I have found though that big-money, powerful people are clueless. The word 'twit' comes to mind.

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    2. I'm with justlikedads—even I know when something isn't right down there, and I'm not going to subject anyone to the results of 'oh, it'll do.'

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  6. Poor man! I haven't howled in a long time like this story has me howling. Good thing I work alone most of the time; I don't work with people who would appreciate the subtle humor, if you will, of this episode. Had something very like it happen to me once.

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    1. Well, I kind of wrote it in a humorous way, Phillip, so it's okay. Laugh all you want. :-)

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  7. I too am at a loss for words.
    BlkJack

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  8. Sounds like a banker. Full of shit and doesn't even realize it. :)

    ErieBear

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  9. It was such a hot story and then .......ewww

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  10. I can't stop laughing. My sick sense of humor, but as nasty and repulsive as it is - he doesn't even fucking get it when he offers the fudge. I'm like your other readers - I'm so stunned I'm at a loss as to what to say. . .except for "ewwwww!"

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  11. I was told once, that after 50, a fart may not always be a fart.

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    1. Is that what I have to look forward to?

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  12. I must admit the scenario may have been difficult and the actions discomforting, the telling ending did make me laugh. Is it wrong to find the humour in the telling?

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    1. Nah. I think it's funny, in a way that's probably abstract because of my lack of distance from it.

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  13. “You want to keep going?”

    A photo of the look on your face when you responded would have really been priceless.

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    1. I admit, I wish I could've seen my face then, too.

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  14. I don't know how he would want to keep going!

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  15. I Rob,
    What can i say to that. I love the first part of it, it was great reading it but the last part, well not really. He didn't even notice, i think he notice and wanted to continue no matter what. I would have done the same thing has you did. He wanted to to fuck him again and he didn't even clean himself. The fudge think was a little overboard for me, i'm sure he knew what he was saying when he offer you some fudge. That wasn't a good encounter that day my friend.

    Yves

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    1. I wondered if he was trying to make a joke, Yves, but I don't think he was!

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    2. I don't think he was either my friend. That is not a joke to do and if he was, that is a bad one. Hope you forgot the road to go there.

      Yves

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    3. Hey Rob -

      I laughed about this blog entry when I read it - bit of schadenfreude maybe? Then had an experience this morning that was a bit similar...

      A guy I fuck occasionally contacted me on manhunt. Early thirties. A chef I think. So he works odd hours - and often free of a morning. Non-standard good looks. Very lean and lightly hairy. Nice hefty uncut dick. Loves being fucked. Had supposedly just moved interstate for work - but that hadn't panned out and was now back again and desperately needed my cock slid up him. I checked to make sure he had douched and was good to go - got an affirmative - and drove over to his place.

      The reason I checked he was clean, was because the first time I fucked him a few years ago - he wasn't. I pulled out and there was mess everywhere. And his response was to turn and go down on me to clean it all up. Turns out the lad's a bit of a scat lover. I'm not. A little bit of muck if it happens is unfortunate but I have a strong stomach and it can all be cleaned up. But he was reveling in it - and that just doesn't do it for me.

      I mean - I think I'm pretty broadminded - and to each their own! - but my sense of smell is pretty acute and I just can't get past it (I also find a weird irony in that the guy's a chef as well! Given he likes eating shit - I have to wonder what the food he prepares is like...LOL!)

      BUT the guy is hot. And he likes being fucked. So told him that if he wants it - he has to be squeaky clean. And that's been the case since that first time.

      So I get there to find he's on grindr as well as manhunt - he's very toey! - and a couple of other guys have said they're on their way over too.

      In the meantime, we suck. eat arse, etc - which is all good - and I piss up his arse - which he loves - and I quite like doing as well. I hold a glass under his arse after I've pulled out and he pisses my urine out - and then drinks it.

      He's a very dirty boy.

      Anyway - two older guys show up - just very ordinary suburban guys - probably early-mid ffties? - but everyone's cool and so we get into it. I start blowing one of em - big guy with a big hairy belly - and a small. boy-sized cock - and before long he's feeding me his load - which really excites the other two. Big-belly goes to clean up and get dressed, and since I'm already on my knees, I turn slightly and start blowing the other recent arrival who is sitting on the bed eating my buddy's arse while my bud stands above him...

      So I keep blowing the guy and he's obviously getting close. He pulls his mouth outta my bud's arse and lies on the bed, replacing his mouth with a couple of fingers and starts aggressively fucking the very hungry hole with em.

      My buddy responds and gives a groan and i feel a thwack of cum hitting the top of my hand that's outstretched on the floor. I look up to see more cum spurting outta my bud's cock at the same time the older guy pulls his fingers out of his arse - and while my buddy cums, his arse looks like it's also orgasm-ing - and lets fly a load of whatever's been deep up inside it - lube, pre cum, urine, douche water -and shit! - all come spurting forth - and land in big blobs on the polo shirt of the guy lying on the bed.

      My buddy is kinda stunned from having such a profound orgasm - and then turns and sees what's happened and is apologetic. The guy on the bed doesn't quite realise what's happened at first - and then he does - and begins to freak out. So I usher him into the ensuite & start looking for towels and soap. I was relatively unscathed - just a blob on my bare leg - easily wiped off. Anyway - suffice to say - mood now somewhat different. All thoughts of lust departed - and it's a race to see who can get cleaned up and outta there first.

      Shit happens eh? And usually when you least expect it.

      And I'm sorry I got the giggles over your blog entry the other day...

      RedBrisbane

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