Muscular / Intelligent / Educated

Muscular / intelligent / educated.

The second and third words of his Craigslist ad were what really attracted me. It’s an old saw that the brain is the most important sex organ, but it’s a saw with which I happen to agree; a dirty mind is all the hotter for me when there’s an actual mind there. I like knowing there’s substance. When I sent a response, I found that the guy could write a letter using complete sentences. The few missives he shot in my direction were masterpieces of the carnal and profane. I wanted him.

And when he showed up at my place this week fifteen minutes earlier than he said, he wanted me. “Oh yeah,” were the first words out of his mouth when I shut the door. His hands went to my shoulders and shoved me backwards, while he simultaneously invaded my mouth with his tongue. I was relieved I’d had time to brush my teeth before his early arrival. “Fuck yeah,” he growled, grinding his body against mine. The guy was hungry. As we made out right there on the other side of the front door, he pressed against me so hard that it hurt. But I didn’t object. I wanted it, too.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I suggested, panting, when he took a break from my mouth to chew on my ear.

“I want you inside me,” he said, mouth hanging open in a mean-looking scowl after he spoke. His jaw cocked to the side, as if trying to envision all the nasty things we’d do. “I gotta have you in me, buddy.” Next thing I knew, his hand cupped the back of my head as he drew me in for another kiss. The stubble of his five o’clock shadow scraped my face, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him.

He was a handsome man, too—model-quality good looks. Thirty-eight, chiseled chest, beefy pecs, narrow, tapered waist that he showed off with a tight, fitted tee. Upstairs, he pushed me back onto the bed so that I fell there with my legs hanging over the edge, and then he grabbed my foot and ripped off the sock. “What size?” he asked. Staring me eye to eye without wavering, he widened his mouth and took all five toes inside.

I convulsed with pleasure. “Eleven, eleven and a half,” I gasped out.

“Big feet. So the stereotype is true, huh?” He let go of my foot so suddenly that I nearly banged my heel against the bed frame. “Wanna watch me strip?”

I did. He took off his clothes slowly, easing out of them with a sinuous, sideways dance, as if he moved to some inner porn movie track only he could hear. The entire time, he kept his eyes fixed on mine, shucking his clothing until he only wore a pair of white briefs. His hard cock tented out. When my eyes flicked downward to take it in, he grabbed it with his left hand, and then pointed with his right. “Your turn.”

Then he was on me again, his mouth devouring mine as he unbuttoned my shirt and laid my chest bare. I winced, as I always do, at being exposed, but his mouth moved from mine and across my chin. He dragged his lips to my nipple, and bit hard to make me groan. “Fuck yeah,” he growled, pleased at my response. Then his hands wrestled with the fastening of my jeans, ripping them open. He separated from me to remove them while I took my arms from my shirt. “Nice underwear,” he said, nodding with approval at my black Banana Republic boxer briefs.

Nice enough that he wanted to bury his face in them, apparently; he dove for my groin and moved his mouth up and down my inches, breathing hot air through the fabric to make my cock twitch. When he came up for air, the stubble of his face had accumulated black lint from my underwear. I wiped it away just in time, because next thing I knew, we were kissing again, linked mouth to mouth, groin to groin, hardness to hardness. I pump out a lot of pre-cum when I’m aroused. Too much, some people have said, once they realize what a sticky mess I am. I could tell my briefs were wet from the combination of his spit and the fluid my own cock was rapidly producing. Over the mattress we rolled, fighting for dominancy, waging a silent battle to see who could press harder into the other.

Finally I grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head, pulling him away from me. “Suck it,” I told him. “Suck it like you wanted to.”

A thin thread of spittle still connected our lips. It vanished with a pop. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I wanna suck that monster.”

“Suck it, then,” I told him, and pushed him down. With his mouth he grabbed my cock through the fabric of my boxer briefs once more. “Suck it for real.”

I pulled down my waistband and exposed my cock, and waited for his mouth to engulf it.

And waited.

And waited some more. Then I felt the gentle scraping of skin against my cock’s head, and looked down. He had pulled his thumb against its length. His face had lost its look of hunger. When he looked back up at me, he said, “You got AIDS dick.”

“Excuse me?” I said, struggling up to my elbows.

His voice had changed as well, from low and sexy to reedy and annoyed. No, not annoyed. Disgusted, as if I’d ripped him off or cheated him. “You got AIDS dick,” he said, flopping it back on my belly, as if even touching me was too much to bear. “Fuck. I can’t believe this shit.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked.

He pointed to the head of my cock. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he said. “That’s AIDS dick.”

A black lesion, dark and cancerous, had blossomed there on its right side, spreading a good half inch from the slit down. Smaller, darker irregular shapes like commas surrounded it, mostly near the shaft’s top. I ran a finger over the lesion, so flat and hard that it seemed like part of my own skin. While he cursed and sat back on his knees, I pulled my mouth into a grimace, licked my thumb, and moistened the spot. The would-be lesion peeled back almost painfully, glued there by my pre-cum.

“This,” I said, holding up the black spot between my fingers, “Is lint. From my boxers.” With his fingernail, he gently peeled off one of the other spots. “It’s just lint,” I repeated.

“Aw fuck, I thought you had AIDS dick,” he said, stubborn.

“What’s AIDS dick?”

“You know. Dick that’s got AIDS.”

“Seriously, that’s how you think you tell?”

He looked at me in surprise, as if everyone knew that. “Yeah, sure!” Then he pulled himself up onto the bed and crawled forward, hovering over me. “But now it’s okay.” He grinned. “Just lint.”

His mouth went for mine, and for a moment I gave in to his insistent kiss. I could easily see how we could smooth over the moment, how I could fuck him the way he wanted, see each other more often the way he wanted.

Only I couldn’t see it. Not really. He’d offended me on levels deeper than I could explain—not by his accusations, but his ignorance. “You know,” I said, wriggling out from under his muscled torso. “I think maybe. . . .” My cock still throbbed for him. Thinking real thoughts gave me a headache. “You’d better go.”

“What the fuck?” I repeated the request until he believed it, and endured his silent anger as he pulled back on his clothes. A few moments later and I stood with my back once more on the front door, arms crossed, wondering if I’d been an idiot. It would have been just sex. Sex with a guy that most people might have assumed was out of my league. I couldn’t go through with it, though, because I had a conviction that he simply wasn’t in mine.

Muscular / intelligent / educated.

Only not so much the latter two.