(Originally this blog was going to be titled Rotation Stagnation, but those early morning Sunday texts keep coming through for me.)
Bacon and I have been trying to meetup for maybe a year. Schedules conflicted and limited availability made it take so long. But Twitter, timing, and proximity finally paid off.
He tweeted he was up at 6:30am. I replied “same” shortly after. I began to read a romance novel, and then realized it was an hour later.
I checked Twitter again.
He’d replied, “Whatchu wanna do about it?” about an hour previously. I asked, “You free?” He texted.
Why this negro doesn’t just text me from jump is beyond me, but here we are.
So I ended up in my apartment lobby, freshly showered, sipping a cup of coffee, reading said romance novel on my phone, and wearing nothing but my Hamilton hoodie and a pair of VERY short shorts.
When I first saw Bacon, I realized my error. We had never seen each other in person. He is a larger guy, larger than I normally fuck, and I wondered if I could be sexually attracted to this man like I was through cyberspace.
We chatted after I let him into the building, in the elevator, on the walk to my apartment. As we spoke, I realized ‘yes, this could work as long as he doesn’t talk himself out of pussy’.
He got the five cent tour of my apartment and I directed us to sit on my couch. Talk, as adults, about what we both wanted.
“What are you looking for?”
“Well, I don’t want a relationship.”
“Wait, no. I meant in bed. What do you want in bed? I know this is not going to be a relationship. Our texts were very blunt. I tend to be a blunt person, which can be off-putting for some, but no. This is just fucking.”
He wanted head. I wanted fucking or, at the very least, good head for my damn self.
At some point during our five minute conversation, I took off the hoodie because I was warm. Blinds open, not caring about the neighbors, topless in front of this older man.
He’s an Alpha (as in the frat); that was a turn on.
He didn’t want to talk too much because he felt that spoiled the experience. I set some basic ground rules and then we were in my bedroom.
“Do you like to unwrap your gifts?”
“Normally yes, but I have limited time.”
I took off my shorts and got on the bed.
“Okay, how would you like to start?”
“Please stop talking.” He kissed me to shut me up. It worked.
Bacon is a decent kisser.
He kissed me, bit my neck, and then sucked on my nipples. He gave good head. He used his fingers, pumping in and out of me.
I returned the gesture. Then we ended up 69-ing and I found myself fucking his face to the beat of the music I had playing. It was delightful.
“You need to put a condom on my dick before I cum.”
We tried fucking. It did not work. He was soft almost immediately. He tore off the condom and started sucking on my nipples again.
“What do you want?”
“Bit my neck please.”
“How I just sucked on your nipples, that’s how I want you to suck my cock.”
He stood while I laid on the bed sucking him off. He came. He clothed. He cleaned up. He left.
“We’ll do this again some time,” I told him on his way out.
Fucking Bacon was really just a warm up for my Sunday morning masturbation session. After he left, I fucked myself for another forty-five minutes.
I pouneded myself with my dildo. I rode my vibrator. I thought about Kourt fucking me in my ass on my livingroom floor. I thought about Gent telling me to cum. And then I came. Over and over again.
Once, the orgasm was so powerful, I literally growled. I moaned. I screamed. I wondered if my next door neighbors were finally used to my Sunday morning fuck sessions. They’ve been pretty consistent for this past month.
I orgasmed probably seven times. That shit was good. Needed.
I’m greedy. Greedy for cock. Greedy for rough sex and long fuck sessions and all of the orgasms.
I’m greedy. I accept this.
I get myself off. I go about my day.
Bacon was… okay.
Categorised as: Uncategorized
Comments are disabled on this post