Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Climax

I’m going to start at the climax.

His climax.

When it’s close, we’ve already been fucking for over two hours atop his bed, in a posh hotel on the upper east side. The pillows are in a haphazard pile. The windows are slightly ajar; sunlight is pouring in. It’s a beautiful, spring-like afternoon, but neither of us care about the weather. We’re naked and covered in a thin film of sweat from our exertions. I’m on my back, hips slightly raised, knees bent slightly and pointed at different angles to the ceiling. My dick’s jammed all the way into him, as deeply as I can plunge.

And then an inch more, out of lust and spite.

He’s sitting on top of me, head tilted back, hand on his thick, hard dick. His knees seem so firmly planted into the mattress that they might have taken root there. His body quivers and quakes as it determinedly grinds down on me. His nipples are dark whorls, the size and shape of half-dollars, that pucker slightly the closer he gets to his orgasm.

“Do I belong to you now?” he whispers. His eyes are closed. His face is pointing to heaven. But he’s praying to me.

“You belonged to me the minute I dumped that first load in your hole,” I tell him.

“Yessss.” It’s a long, drawn-out hiss. Relief and joy, wrapped in luxurious sibilants. “Please. . . .”

“Oh, you’re mine, boy,” I tell him. He’s a year older than I, but he’s getting called boy nonetheless. “You’ve got me for a master now.”

This man could have anyone he wanted. Anyone. I’d told him so when we’d ripped the clothes from each other and I’d first seen that perfect body in person. The planes of his massive pectorals, the broad shoulders, the muscular arms. His waist was narrow, his ass round and bulging from discipline and work. He looked like he’d been sculpted from dark river clay by the hands of an artist, an aesthete who had shaped him into a perfectly proportioned sculpture.

I’d seen that body in the short videos he’d sent me—little greetings he’d taken in front of his bathroom mirror in his California home, in which he’d stripped down to a very self-consciously-selected pair of expensive briefs, held up his iPhone, and shyly spoke to me for a few moments. I lost a little part of my heart to him with each one. I hesitated to tell him how much.

Those videos alone had told me so much about this picture of perfection, one of my readers. They told me he was a man torn between a natural desire to exhibit his beautiful, picture-perfect body, and a fear that I or someone else might laugh at him for doing so. They told me he was a man who was sincerely and objectively beautiful, but was frightened to believe it of himself. Buff and muscular as he was, every one of those sweet and touching video clips made me want to cup him in my hands, like I might a fluffy, newly-hatched chick, and protect him from the world.

He doesn’t need my protection, though. He’s not a fluffy chick. Those vulnerabilities are not something the world sees. A glimpse of them is his gift to me, and I'm appropriately touched by them. No, to all appearances, he's a hot stud who wouldn’t look amiss in any porn production. I’m a little overwhelmed at the notion that a man this handsome, a man this built, a man this hung, could walk into any bar and leave with the stud of his choice—and yet he’s flown to Manhattan for the express purpose of meeting and spending a day with me.

No, protection isn’t what he needs. What he needs is my approval. My ownership. My dick. “You are going to compare every fuck to this one, from now on, hear me?” I promise him, so fervently it comes out as a growl. “I want to make you regret any cock after mine.”

When he opens his eyes, there’s a film of happy tears across them. “I’ve never had sex like this,” he says. He sounds weak, and helpless. “I’ve never had it so good.”

I’m not immune to compliments like that during the act. I stabbed upwards, plunging my rod deeper into a hole that had grown progressively looser and sloppier over the hours I’d been inside it. “Damn right you haven’t, boy,” I growl. “‘Cause you haven’t had it from someone who knows what the fuck he’s doing.”

I’ve always thought I was the biggest pre-cummer around, but this man has me beat. His cock is leaking with sticky goo. It adheres in threads to the hardness of his abdomen, connects to the lightly fuzzy skin of my own. At my words, another glob slides down his meat, like melting ice cream on a scorcher of a day.

“This is what you’re made for, isn’t it?” I find myself snarling at him. “Taking a stranger’s dick in an expensive hotel room in the city? Taking a strange man’s cum up your sluthole?”

“Yes,” he whimpers. “Yes. Yes.”

“Fuck yes. You know it. Is this what your ass is made for?” I ask this man, this successful, wealthy paragon of the business world. The words work magic on him. He’s getting closer and closer. “Sluttin’ in up with raw cock pounding away at you? This is all you’re good for, huh? Tell me.” He nods, but I'm not appeased. "Tell me. Say it."

His head tilts back to heaven again, as he becomes lost in the sensations taking over his body. “Yes.” The word is half-murmured, half-sighed. I recognize it as his amen. “Yes. All I’m good for. It’s all I’m good for,” he echoes.

When he comes, which he does seconds after, it’s the biggest load I’ve ever seen come out of a dick. It seems like a half-pint of semen overflows my chest, my stomach, my pubes in warm, sticky jets. He’s panting and grinding and clamping down on my dick like he never wants to let it go, all while from the enraged tip of his cock gushes a flood of the stuff. I’m so overwhelmed that I shoot immediately after, deep inside. It’s my third.

By the time I leave him later in the day, he’ll have collected two more.

Afterward, when he’s in my arms, holding me so tightly that I wonder if he’s afraid of ever letting me go, I realize to myself how fiercely I meant those words I spoke at the height of our passion. I do want him to regret every dick he takes after mine. It’s a selfish thought. Regrettable, even, for someone like myself who claims to have a philosophy in which sexual jealousy plays no part. But there it is, a nugget of post-coital insight, unannealed and raw—the realization that I wish I did own this man. That I could keep him to myself, for my use only, whenever and wherever I wanted.

Or is it that I’m the one who frightened to believe that I could have given him something that good—something better than he’d had from anyone else? I don’t know. Perhaps I am.

It’s moments like these, in the quiet times after climax when I couldn’t be any closer with a very special man, that I feel the melancholy of the two of us, lost boys, adrift upon the sea, stranded upon a life raft of our own making. How we cling to each other for comfort, and solace, and company. I run my hand over the short, cropped hair of his head. He murmurs, and nuzzles closer. Relaxing in the warmth of his body, I allow myself to close my eyes and bask in the sunshine and the sound of life coming from outside the windows, and drift. And drift.

He’ll be leaving the next morning. These moments of touching, of kissing deeply and wetly, of holding each other as we listen to the distant sounds of New York’s streets a dozen stories below, will begin receding the moment the hotel door closes between us. Next to him now, I’m already anxious about it.

But for now, there’s just the two of us, and time. My dick’s still hard, even after that third load. Maybe it’s because he’s kissing me on the neck. Or maybe it’s because he’s down there between my legs, sucking me clean with his amazing, unceasing mouth. How can he be so tireless?

He looks up at me with that handsome face, his eyes pleading. “Let me give you pleasure,” he begs.

“All right,” I say. It’s an easy agreement.

And he begins again.

29 comments:

  1. Amazingly hot, as always. Really love the owning and justifiably cocky 'best you'll ever have' bits. Really take it to the next level.

    Can't believe he got five loads from you that day. Both really lucky.

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    1. Joey, I can only hope it's justifiable. Thank you.

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    2. We both know it is. >;)

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  2. Rob-nice--after reading I sighed a big sigh--this kind of experience is not where I am in my life--however lovely it is or accessible to me.

    Also-sigh-you use words I have to look up in the dictionary.

    Steph

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    1. I can't tell if the second sigh was of happiness or regret. :-)

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  3. Great post. I really hope he reads it and takes to heart what youve written. An attractive and shy man; I hope he knows you aren't just blowing smoke here. That you mean every word.

    And I love your post-fuck meditations. Those moments, when we get to rest in the afterglow, are some of my favorite moments in life.

    -Ace

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  4. A guy can have a hundred different cocks up his ass and they could all mean nothing. But sometimes (if you are lucky) a man comes along that makes you feel different that all the rest and you know from that point on you are his, and as you said, will make you regret any cock after that.

    Sounds like from now on, no load up his ass will be as great as yours and I bet he only thinks of you from now on when getting fucked by anyone else.

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    1. Yes, there are some bottoms who think that a cock is a cock is a cock. But there are some bottoms who think of each dick, no matter how many theyve had enter their mouths and bare asses over time, and especially the men to whom these appendages are affixed -- as singular and special.

      I am one of them who, despite the many times Ive been placed ass-under, has never NOT thought of a top and his cock and cum as a blessing bestowed upon me and my butt.

      (That said, I do not feel that way towards a man who uses me only as a hole. Something to dump in as opposed to someone, a singular man with some merit.)

      -Jayse

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    2. I agree with Jayse. It's all about context. I've thought of a lot of men as simply holes, and I've thought of many of them as friends and buddies and even the most intimate of lovers.

      But I do try to keep an underlying sense that no matter whether I'll see them again or not, and no matter what the duration of our time together, there still are people on the other ends of those holes and cocks.

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  5. Post-coitus drifting is the best way to drift :)

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    1. Oh Countess, how I do agree with you.

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  6. This stunning tryst of yours is precisely why some bottoms may feel as though they can never be more than just another trick to you. (Worse, a mediocre lay!)

    Seriously, it made me wanna cry, too - thinking there's no way I can cum-pete/cum-pare to this one's beauty, his giving you unlimited access to his bare ass, and the "gut" filling and feeling you had upon and in him. (And apparently, him up on you!)

    Yet about his own teary reaction: Oh how I have been there. Wanting to cry out upon and after serving as a top man's hairy hole-with-a-soul bottom - and boy. Yes, at least in that - "I am nothing unless a man's bare dick has entered and bred my boyish raw ass" - he and I are on the same plane.

    But overall, the bar sure has been set high for us bottoms-in-waiting. Sigh...

    -Jayse

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    1. Aw, Jayse. You've psyched yourself out even before meeting me. Every guy is special; every guy is beautiful in his own way. The ways in which they differ are what make me enjoy getting to know so many different men and women.

      So climb on my dick. I'll make sure it's not a mediocre lay for either of us.

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  7. Rob,
    What can i say more WOW, just amazing man. Love that post even more than the other ones you wrote so far. All the sensations and feelings are right there for us to capture them and we can feel everyone of them. What can i say, i had a boner from start to finish and even leaking. I can say that this post is a great birthday gift you could have given me, even if it was on monday.
    I am sure that i will read it over and over again today and for the rest of the week because i am on vacation. Thank you so very much for this and you deserve all the greatfulness for making us read such magnificent posts.

    Yves

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    1. Yves, I don't know how I can keep measuring up for you! I can only outdo myself so many times! :-) Thank you, my friend!

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    2. Rob my dear friend,
      You don't need to outdo yourself, just be the great man that you are and i am pleased with that. I just love reading you sexy man and one day, hope to meet you in person.

      Yves

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  8. Rob,

    I was very much there when I had been fueled bare with loads by my Italian lover. But I wasn't merely tearing after the long afternoon, I wept.
    This latest article from you is simply insightful; you again well depict the intimacy established through physical contact. It is always a pleasure to be your reader.

    Joe

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    1. Thank you, Joe. I'm really glad you understood.

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  9. Your ability to communicate your emotions during sex is without compare. I came without touching. I cry for that raw emotion between two ppl. I yearn for that connection. This is why women envy men. Why we read and write m/m encounters. To understand what a man feels inside the body of another. Any woman that says she doesn't envy a man's dick is a lying bitch. I fuck for the passion and joy you felt with this man. I can be owned but never owner. No female top can ever own a man because we can only be a receiver. Thank you for sharing this powerful fuck. My Owner tries to explain the feeling, but is not as gifted with words as you. One man explained it a a hug that transforms you. You showed that. The suck ass thing about living with a person you can find that passion is you have to get out of bed because life won't stop.

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    1. Anonymous, I'm not going to make generalizations like that about the sexes, but I will agree with you that having to get out of bed occasionally is one of the suckiest things about life!

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  10. The power of this man's connection to you is so erotically conveyed. And it reminds us that all the external beauty that some rare few men are graced with, may still leave them feeling as lost and unknown as anyone else. Your acknowledgement of that feel of melancholy, even between two strangers propelled by unleashed lust and taken to the pinnacle of sexual pleasure, rings true. For he will return to whatever life did not fulfill him, and you will be soon on the prowl for another spectacular orgasm.

    I think even among totally liberated and sexually healthy people, which you most confidently are, the allure of great sex with a new exotic body and the sparking of deeper intimacy unlocked by such encounters is bound to be tinged afterward with what the Irish call, The Sad. You reveal in this post, and in some of your others, that sadness and it is that nod to our human condition you make that keeps your writing, and your sexual liaisons, in a whole different league.

    And, if that man was a regular reader of your blog, he certainly was drawn as much to that deepness in you as he was to your legendary phallus and sexual mastery. He trusted that if anyone was to reach his inner being, as well as his prostate, it could only be a man like you. And clearly you delivered.

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    1. Jayson,

      My partner informed me that this entry made him cry. I think he was overcome—as I intended—by how beautiful I found him to look at, which is something he's not seen in himself until recently.

      Good times, including sexual liaisons, don't really mean very much unless they're accompanied by a realization of sadness. We need that contrast, in order to appreciate the extremes.

      Thank you.

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  11. If I had the money and you had the inclination I would hop on a plane to NY in the hopes of recreating this scene. I think I'm a little jealous of him ( which I'm sure you won't approve of).

    Cheers

    Jamie

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    1. Jamie, it's not whether I approve or disapprove of jealousy. The appropriateness of the emotion isn't something I argue. For me it's more a matter of—what does jealousy accomplish? Given the circumstances, what good does it do? I find it one of those consuming, dividing, devouring emotions that runs around in its own cage and could better be avoided simply by parsing through it and trying to figure out what's really going on.

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  12. Rob--two coments one post (one a question really)--In relation to sex, family, life really--how do you feel about the idea that a person can have anything they want--they just can't have it all?

    Steph

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    1. Steph,

      I think that statement sums up my philosophy to an extent.

      The notion that we have to have everything, and to keep it indefinitely, keeps people locked in unending unhappiness.

      One has a lifetime—however long that is—to sample to world. A lot of those experiences, and people, aren't intended to be forever things. They're fleeting. They're no less beautiful, or meaningful, because of that.

      Recognizing that nothing last indefinitely, and that many good things are indeed only intended to be enjoyed for very short periods of time, can help one relish the world and its abundance more fully.

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  13. Rob,

    I am glad that you were able to meet with this man and satisfy his desire for you. My desire continues to build as I read each post you write and know that you will satisfy my desire and in return I hope I can satisfy yours.

    VRPB

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  14. I love what you have to say. I Crave for that feeling of safety from a man. I think that is what you provided. It is what I am looking for each time I hook up with a man.

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