Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Ace Update: Another Birthday

It's not a candle, but...*insert blowjob pun here*

Holly crap, today is my birthday! The big two three. I honestly feel a bit surprised at this one. It seems to have come out of nowhere, and the past year seems to have blown by in a lot of ways. Though, I guess I can't really say that it doesn't feel like a year. I guess I just feel like the year has gone by a bit differently than I really expected. I'm working at a job I don't really like, taking a semester off from grad school, I've actually been having sex, but mostly with one person in recent months...I could go on.

But instead I've chosen to overlook the bad and move forward on this day. In fact, as part of this new desicion, I've actually plugged in my computer and turned it on for the first time in weeks. I've mostly kept my online presence down and have only been using my phone. I've been really bad about emails...though I have to blame some of that on the extra hours I was working in the weeks leading up to my big move. I'm honestly surprised that the shift to my new apartment went as smoothly as it did, considering how little time I had to do any actual packing. I was without cable and internet for about four days though, which kind of sucked (I love my TV...seriously). And if you thought I was bad at packing, you should see me unpack. Did I mention I hadn't even bothered to take out my computer until now?

But you know what? I baked myself a birthday cake last night, and I haven't baked anything in a long time. After work today I'm probably going to be seeing my fuck buddy for a little bit (we haven't totally squared everything away, as we both have work today and tomorrow), and I'm actually feeling very optimistic for the future.

So that being said, I guess I should thank all my loyal readers for once again hanging by me while real life kicks me around a bit. I truly believe that this time will be the last time that I have a big outage like that. At least for a long while. And while I am obviously not expecting any gifts (not that I ever do expect them) I know I got some for my birthday last year. So, if you are interested in buying me something, I have updated all my information at my Amazon wishlist, the link to which you can find in the bar to the right. I'm always incredibly grateful to anyone who sends me anything. Honestly, I wish there was a way to have others pay for my groceries. That's where most of my money seems to be going these days.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a good day on my birthday today! Thanks to everyone who has already sent me well-wishes.


Saturday, September 1, 2012

Where the Heck has Ace Been?!

Well, those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter know that today is my big moving day to get from one apartment to the next. Things have been VERY hectic for so many reasons leading up to this and I have to say I've just not had any time or energy this past week to do any blogging or really anything of any kind that had nothing to do with packing or working or any of the other stresses that have been hitting me left, right, and center.

Let's just say that this moving day has had an even more stressful build-up than last year. Or at least an equally stressful one. Seems like I can't move without roommate problems, money problems, people dying (another person I've known since I was a child died on Wednesday)...the list goes on.

Anyway, with any luck, I should be back up and blogging very shortly. There may be a small blackout period after this post while I get settled in, but nothing so dramatic as the week and a half I've been missing.

Please, everyone, enjoy your three day weekend, if you have one (it is Labor Day Weekend in America). If you don't, enjoy whatever time you have. And enjoy it with someone you love. This past week or so has really enforced in me the idea that we need to be with those we care about. And it has really made me think about where my life is going at this point.

It also has me pulling my hair out.

But that's enough of that. I'm going to log off now so I can pack up the cable equipment.


Thursday, August 16, 2012

Just One Finger

Sometimes having sex with the same person can get a little old. That's not to say it gets worse or boring, just that you both figure out pretty much what the other one wants, and what you aren't exactly going through the motions, you don't have that sense of discovery that you had the first few times you fuck around. That's why I haven't talked too much about my fuck buddy since the first few times we got together. It isn't that the sex is bad between the two of us, just that sex has become only part of our relationship. We do a lot of other things guy friends do (like watch movies and TV or go to baseball games), but often times before or after we have sex. Though even that isn't a given. It is nice and it is the first time in a while I've had someone to share a simple-yet-complex relationship with, who also happens to live close by.

But the sex has not been new or spectacular. In fact, except one incident two Sundays ago where he shot a load of cum right into my eye, each time has been relatively the same. As an aside: it has been quite some time since I got cum in my eye and I had forgotten how badly that burns. OUCH! In any case, I had resigned myself to not writing about my fuck buddy, lest I bore my readers to tears with the same story every week. But then, this past Sunday, he surprised me.

We were rolling on his bed as we usually do, playfully enjoying taking each other's clothes off. Sex with my fuck buddy is always playful. We are free to laugh and joke or pant and moan as the need arises. Sometimes one of us will say or do something particularly funny and it will cause us to break from the sex for a moment to laugh it out, only to collide again seconds later with renewed passion and need. We were making out with me slightly on top of him, and I was enjoying the play of our mouths. I have to say that, since we started hooking up, he has become much better at kissing. He was an OK kisser the first few times, but now he has the skill and technique to make me really enjoy making out with him.

It was around that time that I felt his finger start to creep back behind my balls. Now, I never discourage a little ass play with my partners, even if I mostly restrict it to the non-penetrating kind, so I repositioned myself so that he could get better access. He began chewing on my nipples, which had my rock hard in moments, enjoying the pain that was sending little sparks through my body. Then I felt his finger pressing against my hole. He wasn't being forceful, but there was a definite pressure to it.

In what felt like an hour long pause but was likely just a split second, I decided to let him keep pushing against my hole, as the pushing itself felt very good. And I trusted him enough to know that he would stop if things went too far for me. Sensing my acceptance, he began a rapid fire push-push-push technique, basically turning my hole into a button that when pressed caused me to moan and shudder. I could feel each press directly on my prostate.

As I probably should have expected, his quick pressing eventually resulted in my hole opening just slightly for his finger. He took that opening and pushed right on through. The unexpected penetration made me throw my head back, catching my own reflection in the mirror on his headboard. I was all open mouthed moaning with my hair and golden mane, watching my body shudder as he moved around inside of it. I didn't know what to think, I was lost in the sensation. I held my own gaze in the mirror, like a trembling Narcissus, and cried out as he went further and further inside of me.

All too soon...or soon enough, I don't know, I still was outside my own mind, he pulled his finger out and rolled me on my back, throwing my legs up and sticking his tongue deep inside of my where his finger had just been. His mouth felt so good on my recently abused hole. I pulled my legs as far back as they could go and spread my ass wide for him. He lifted up slightly and took my raging cock into his mouth and tried to stick his finger inside me again, but a sharp pain caused me to pull back. "Don't," I said, "I think it is a little sore." I suspect now that it was because he had pushed through with no lube. Not even spit.

After that we finished off the way we usually do, and then playfully held each other before getting dressed and going to see a movie. Still, I was mildly impressed with myself. It had been a while since anything, anything at all, had been in my ass, and I had enjoyed it. I felt good for breaking from my comfort zone, and I enjoyed sharing this newness with my fuck buddy. I was all smiles for the rest of the night until he dropped me off at my apartment.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012


My blog has been, if nothing else these past few months, a great example of how life can sometimes get in the way of doing things that you would really like to be doing. Have I been able to fuck around as much this summer as I would have liked? No. Have I been able to write as much as I planned to this summer? No. What's been getting in the way? Well, there is work, but that isn't really the full story. It is more or less a complication, something that makes me tired and makes it hard to get everything else done that I need to do.

But most recently I've been dealing with something that is arguably one of the toughest situations I've had to deal with recently. It involves me having a place to live.

A few weeks ago I mentioned being happy at having found a roommate to share rent with me and eventually move into a bigger, better apartment with. At first, everything seemed to be going great with the two of us. He was looking for a new job, we were looking at apartments, and I was getting geared up to start handing out resumes of my own soon. It was entirely too good to be true, and I probably should have expected it to all fall apart long before it did. But I think I was too caught up in finally having things going right, and I didn't want to pick it apart and figure out that they weren't actually going right at all.

You see, the guy I was planning to move in with fell in love.

I should explain better: He came home from traveling up north one night at about 2am, and told me that he had found The One. The One being a 24 year old (my then-roommate is 32), who lives with his parents and works as a dishwasher. The One being someone he had only met ten days before. The One being someone he was going to move out of the city to three hours north where he didn't have an apartment or a job or any friends. That's right, he decided he was going to uproot himself, settle down, and marry someone nearly a decade younger than him who he hadn't even known for two weeks. I was more than a little shocked, and I actually spent two hours that night, staying up entirely too late, explaining to him why I reasonably felt he was moving too fast. His only rebuttal was that he wanted to listen to his heart and not his head. It sounded to me like he was listening to his cock more, but he promised not to make any rash choices.

That all happened near the end of June. I started seeing less and less of him, although he kept telling me he was still planning to live with me next year and that he was still applying for jobs in the area.

Then, a little over three weeks ago, he packed some clothes, his laptop, and went north. I haven't seen him since. I tried calling him, but his cell phone has either been disconnected or he changed the number. I've sent him emails, but he hasn't responded to me. I know he is alive because he makes posts on Facebook still. So I know he has internet and he must be getting my messages. He just is choosing not to respond to me.

So last week I found myself stuck having to restart my search for a new apartment for the second time this summer (the first time being when I decided to start looking for two bedroom apartments for the two of us), and with only a month until my lease was up. To say I was panicking inside my head would be smoothing over the truth. I've put out a bunch of emails to people looking to find roommates for the next year, and so far those who have replied have all already found someone. I'm also looking for a single place.

Last Saturday I thought I had found a great place for me. It was about the same size as my current place, much better (no flooding issues and crappy landlords), and a little bit cheaper too. Sadly, I found out on Monday that the apartment had gone to someone else. So today I'm going out again and looking at some more before heading in to work. Fingers crossed that I find something.

Meanwhile, I'm dealing with the fact that I still have to pack my stuff, and my ex-roommates things are all still here. He isn't replying to me at all, and I'm very close to contacting his boyfriend instead. Because like it or not, I do have to leave the morning of September 1st, and I'm not bringing his crap up north for him. He either comes down and gets it, or I'm leaving it on the curb...or something.

I'm trying not to be angry, and I'm trying not to let my disappointment and annoyance take up my life, but it is hard. It can be hard when you rely on someone and they let you down like that. Especially when I still can't believe that he and his boyfriend are destined for the long hall. But hey, I've been wrong before. Not often, though.

Meanwhile, I have fortunately had some distractions from the apartment fears and work. Some from family, many from phone calls with my boy, and my new friend with benefits is really stepping up on the "friend" part of that arrangement--something I'm more than happy about. He and I have been meeting regularly on Sundays almost weekly ever since my roommate situation started breaking down. We've done sex, we've done movies and sex, and most recently we did the just movie thing. I have to admit that it is really nice having someone in my life that I don't have to pretend for, and I don't feel like I have to meet his expectations. So not everything is going completely wrong. I have my light in the dark.

Still, as I'm spending my free time apartment hunting and packing and sleeping, I have to admit that the blog is once again falling to the wayside. I feel terrible about it, especially because sometimes this blog is my only outlet. Believe it or not, I'm actually not this forward about my sex life in person (I'm really shy, if you can imagine). So even my one or two posts a week recently have been very helpful. I'm hoping once all this gets settled I will be picking things back up again. This will be water under the bridge and we can consider it a bad summer.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed on that one.

Friday, August 3, 2012

...My Captain

This is the second part of my post from earlier this week. Once again, I apologize for my recent lack of an online presence. I'm trying to get back into the world and the online world. Thank you to all my readers who are patient with me.

I waited more than a week, thinking over my options, before I finally called Captain Craig. I was torn by my resurgence of idolization in the man, and the ugly fact that my memories of him had been irrevocably shattered. On one hand, I was still very attracted to him, even if he had lost some of his hair and grown a bit in the belly from too much drinking. He was still far from the ugliest man I had been with. On the other hand, he had admitted to being sexually attracted to me at an age young enough to make me sick to my stomach.

Honestly, when I made plans to meet with him (at a McDonald's, of all places), I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to punch him.

The meeting was made under the pretense of catching up with each other, but that was far from my actual intention, regardless of my conflicting feelings towards him. Still, I made an attempt at casual conversation while we ate crappy fast food. I have no idea what we talked about or what I learned about him, I was so detached from the conversation. For a moment I was actually worried about my lack of emotion towards him.

Then he laughed. I don't remember at what. And his smile was warm and cracked through the lines age had etched into him. His laugh turned him into my Captain Craig again, and I found myself pulled towards him. I decided to give it a shot while I still had the urge.

"Do you want to know what it would be like?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You told me I used to turn you on. Is that still true?"

He squirmed uncomfortably for a moment before nodding his head.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" I was being blunt, and it seemed to shake him. I wasn't the only one of us getting his memories ruined. But he nodded again.

I was exhilarated. I wasn't used to having power over the men older than me. Not this kind of power, anyway. I was able to see, easily, the effect my words were having on him. He was uncomfortable, hopeful, nervous, a whole range of emotions written on his face in bold text.

"Don't worry, it's OK," I said. "I want to have sex with you too."

Soon we were outside the restaurant, making our plans where things were a bit more private and we didn't have to worry about being overheard. The plan was for him to get a hotel room near my dad's apartment, a place that I could easily get to by public transportation. I wouldn't need too big of an alibi, it wasn't strange for me to get dropped off at my father's place and then spend the day in the local bookstore before taking the bus back and getting picked up for dinner later.

When I arrived at the hotel and reached up to knock on the door to the room, I felt my heart in my throat. I was still of two minds about the situation, but the part of me that had always been attracted to Captain Craig was winning the battle inside. He opened the door, still fully dressed in the dimmed lights, and seemingly without thought I stepped in.

"Take off your clothes," I told him, grabbing his shirt, still exerting my newly found control over him. He looked at me with some mix of adoration and lust. Which one of me is he looking at? I thought, The younger me or the me here and now? But when he took his clothes off, I stopped caring. I quickly joined him in his nudity and raised up slightly on my toes to tentatively kiss him, testing the waters and then diving in. Who am I kissing? The man in front of me or the captain of my childhood? Again, I didn't care more than it took to ask the question.

I pushed him towards the bed. He wasn't moving fast enough for me. I got frustrated, then realized that if I wanted anything to happen, I had to instigate. I fondled him roughly, using my mouth to get him hard. I pinched his nipples and pulled his hands to mine, encouraging him to hurt them, to bring me pleasure. He almost felt like a virgin, new to sex, eager to learn, but afraid to act. That was OK. I could act for the both of us. I had been around.

The sex was clumsy, the angle was just wrong when I tried to let him enter me doggy style. Instead I was on my stomach while his bear gut pressed me with each of his thrusts. He wasn't particularly big, and the pleasure I got from the experience mostly came from the moments that he kissed me. He was a very good kisser, and I could feel his attraction to me in each movement of his lips. I've always said that one of my biggest turn ons is someone who is clearly attracted to me.

After we both came, I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what had just happened. When I looked over my shoulder at him laid back on the bed, I could barely make out the man I remembered in his face. It was as if this final act between the two of us had killed what was left of my Captain Craig in him. Now he was just Craig, a shadow of himself.

If my life was a noir-style film I would have walked out onto a balcony between billowing curtains and lit a cigarette, not letting myself focus on the moments before, just feeling the cool wind on my skin. Very Marlene Dietrich. But my life rarely resembles any kind of film, good or bad. Instead of doing something cinematic, I just quietly put my clothes on and got ready to leave.

"Can we do this again sometime?" he asked me.

"I don't think so," I replied.

Looking back, it almost feels like what I did was crueler than if I had just punched him and gotten it over with. Instead of just being angry at the way he had taken my cherished memories from me, I had granted him one of his desires, than pulled it away from him. I'd given him just enough of myself to be a lasting memory and then taken myself away. Obviously this is assuming a lot about how he reacted to the situation, but if hurting him was my intent, I suspect I succeeded. Not an act I feel proud of, but one that I felt we both deserved.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Oh Captain...

Sorry once again for the lack of updates. I've been put under a lot of pressure by an unfortunate situation that I may or may not talk about in a different blog post (do you even want to hear me complain?). That being said, I have not forgotten my readers or the blogs that I read, even if I may have disappeared from the internet for a while. To be honest, last week I think I went on my computer maybe twice, and not for very long. The rest of my online time was using my cell phone. I guess when I pull away, I really pull away.

Anyway, before I go into full-on complain mode, I figured I'd wet your lips with a little something from very early in my childhood years...

His name, as far as I had been concerned, was Captain Craig. I knew his last name, of course, though even if I was willing to divulge it online, it was complex and I'm not really sure how you would spell it. I don't think I ever saw it written down.

I first met Captain Craig when I was very young. My dad and I would go out on the water in Captain Craig's boat, either to just tour the harbor, or on special days, go looking for wales in the deep ocean. Captain Craig and my father seemed to know each other relatively well from frequenting a local restaurant-slash-bar and chatting while there. I'm not sure how long they had known each other before I met him, but I was very young when I first went out on Captain Craig's boat, and it may even have been my first time out in the ocean.

The thing I remember the most about Captain Craig was how nice he always was to me. He would let me come in to the bridge and talk to him while he piloted the ship. He was somewhat of an idol to me when I was very young, though I don't mean that I wanted to be a captain or anything. When I was younger, however, I did always imagine that I would have a boat of my own one day. My father used to talk to me about getting one. A small schooner, or maybe a single sail ship with enough room for the two of us to have a fun sea adventure down the Atlantic coast. I loved the idea of being able to travel the open sea in the way that some children love the idea of flying.

One day when I was still very young, maybe six or seven at the most, I got the thrill of a lifetime. Captain Craig brought me up onto his lap and let me steer the ship while he controlled everything else (let's face it, I was never really in control). He showed me all the dials and equipment. Helped me learn to navigate with the compass, avoid land with a guidance too, check the barometer, note the direction of the wind and swell of the waves. For me, as a young boy, that was all I could ever want. He put his captain's hat on my head, almost covering my face as it slid down my much smaller skull, and my father took a few pictures of us.

That became a new thing every time I boarded the ship. My father and I would stay with the rest of the passengers until we were out over clear water and then walk up to the bridge and knock on the door. Captain Craig would smile at me and beckon me in, often with an apathetic crew member making the small cabin a tight fit. But nothing else really mattered to me as I rode the waves in his lap.

It was a sad day for me when I learned that Captain Craig was no longer the captain of that particular ship. In fact, he had gotten a job doing barge trips transporting various things like trash. It was hard to imagine the man I had admired so much in his crisp, white uniform, his tan face, and his coffee-stained smile as the captain of a ship loaded with trash. It was honestly a hard reality moment for me. The sea wasn't full of smiling captains all the time. Sometimes those captains get replaced by grumpy men with thick mustaches who don't appreciate young, adventurous boys looking in the door to the bridge. That's certainly what happened with Captain Craig.

I wouldn't see him again until years later as a teen, when I was having dinner at that same restaurant-slash-bar with my father, and who should walk in but a slightly tipsy Captain Craig. He sat down at the bar and ordered what I could only imagine was one on top of a previous pile of beers, and didn't recognize us at first. Then my dad went up to him and reintroduced himself. My father, who had not changed much beyond going grey and getting fatter, was easily recognized by the drunk captain. It took him a moment or two more to realize who I was.

"My god, you've grown so big!" he said in a comically breathless voice, his eyes open wide. I recall being unimpressed, as I had decided to always be when facing adults who had known me as a child and then dropped out of my life. The number of people by that point who had marveled at my growth had cooled me to the experience, and I honestly just wanted to eat my food and go home.

But then Captain Craig, even in his drunken state, did something none of my previous acquainted had managed: he turned on his old charm and actually brought back some of the happy, admiring boy that I had once been. I felt the same old stirrings inside of me as he told my father and I what he had been up to, though I managed to keep my goofy grin at bay as much as possible. I had a sullen reputation to keep, after all.

Captain Craig, apparently, also had some old stirrings going on, only in his intoxicated state, he was less able to keep them hidden. "You still look so great, just like when you were young," he told me.

"I remember when you were just a boy," he said, looking at me with a smile on his face. And in that moment I felt like a boy again. I felt like he was tall enough to still pull me up on his lap and have me steer the ship.

"I remember the first time your father brought you into the bridge and let me hold you in my lap. It was one of the best moments of my life." He was getting a little too excited, and I was having trouble matching his enthusiasm. "I had to keep myself in check, with you sitting there. I was having trouble not getting too aroused, worried you'd notice."

Wait. What? Did Captain Craig just tell me that he had been turned on by my young body sitting on top of him? Did Captain Craig just say out loud that he had been getting hard all those times I had been in my happy world of piloting the ship? I felt like my memories of those times had been tainted in some way. I didn't know how to react. And neither did my father. I could tell that he was asking himself the same questions, though I think he was also deciding to file it under misunderstood drunken ramblings. Still, my father ended the conversation quite abruptly, and I found myself thinking about Captain Craig, the man I remembered, and Captain Craig, the drunk man.

I knew that there were people who liked young boys. I was still fourteen or fifteen and I had given my young hole to enough men to understand that drive in them. But when I thought about just how young I had been when he felt turned on by me, and I wasn't sure I was entirely comfortable with him anymore. What had happened to this man I had once admired? Where did the white captain go?

But what may have bothered me even more, was that I started thinking about what might have happened if he had tried something with me. Would I have let him? Would I have been a victim? Would I have liked it? I started wondering what would have happened if he had never fallen out of my life, if he had seen me grow. I wondered if he would have been the one to take my virginity. Would my idol have been my first in other circumstances?

And then, when my father went to the bathroom before we left, I did something that I could hardly believe I was doing. I walked up to him and asked him for his number...

Monday, July 16, 2012

Taking Notes

"Oh, man, I have to get my dick up that ass," he said.
I might have been inside Paul's house all of five seconds when he said it, but I doubt it. I still had my book bag over my shoulder and spring mud on my boots and I was a little startled by his voice. I had come to expect strange men greeting me at Paul's house, but the bluntness and force of this man startled me a bit. Most of Paul's friends were more subdued and calm with me. At least the one's I had met so far. At halfway through my fourteenth year, I was feeling a little cocky about sex, and I was feeling good about the effect I had on men.
But this aggression, this was new. It wasn't just the normal sexually burst of aggressive heat I was used to from some of the men who fucked me. This guy wasn't only aggressive when he was pounding my ass. It was a constant for him. He even seemed to slightly overpower Paul, though I could tell that was just appearances. Paul was still in control, but he was letting this wild man be wild.
He came up to me and grabbed my ass in both his hands, and even at my tall height for my age, I still felt totally intimidated by him. Even now, as I recall that day, it seems as though he towered over me, and that I had to crane my neck to see him. It wasn't the case, of course. He simply had an incredible presence, a confidence and swagger that dwarfed me. It would take me years to develop anything like that confidence, and to this day it is not the same as this man.
"You better get in that room and get naked for me, boy, or else I'm going to have to fuck you through your clothes." I remember that line vividly. I've used it myself recently.
With just one look at Paul, who nodded to show it was OK, I walked into the bedroom and tossed my bag to the floor. And then I started undressing for this man I had barely even met.
There were a few items from Paul's toy chest on the bed, but I didn't pay them much attention. I was used to most of them at this point; the nipple clamps, the cuffs, the
leg spreader. The only one that gave me the slightest pause was the red ball gag. I had never been gagged before, though I had seen them used in porn plenty of times, thanks to my father's large collection of BDSM. The thought that I might be wearing one that afternoon turned me on.
Once I was naked, the aggressive man came in and walked past me to the bed and grabbed the nipple clamps and cuffs. With little pause he spun me around and cuffed my arms behind my back. Then I was facing him and he was clamping my nipples tightly, sending a wave of painful pleasure through me like it always did.
"Kneel," he said, and I did.
His cock was hard and while not incredibly huge, it was still bigger than average. He didn't waste any time forcing it down my throat. At first my coughing and gagging worried me, but I soon realized that this man knew exactly what he was doing. I didn't know how, but he could tell exactly when I needed to come up for air, and gave me as much time to breathe as I needed, but not a moment more.
When his cock was dripping with my spit, he pushed me onto the bed, face down, with my legs over the side. He propped the open with the spreader bar. He leaned over me, pressing his whole body on top of mine. He pulled my head back and then brought the ball gag to my mouth. I stiffened for a moment, but then he caught me totally off guard. He kissed and licked my ear and bit gently at my neck. Just the right amount of sensuality to get me to relax as his buckled the gag behind my head.
He pulled back and aimed his cock at my hole. In a moment I realized that he was about to push into me with no lube my the spit I had left on his dick. I was afraid but it was too late and he was pushing into me. My hole resisted, but he never backed off. He kept pushing in until it sprung open. My whole body jumped and I cried put into the gag. He held still for just a moment as I heaved in and out. My hole throbbed, but I knew I had taken bigger and I knew I could take him.
The moment he felt my hole start to loosen, he was pumping me. He took it easy at first, but kept bumping right against my threshold, pushing my line constantly. And somehow I wanted it. I wanted him to keep pushing me so I would be better. Something in the way he held me and enveloped me with his body spoke of experience and control. And I knew then that this was not just a wild man fucking me. This was an amazing lover.
He unloaded his sperm into me multiple times without stopping. He worked my hole over more than it had ever been before. And when he was spent and I was weak all over, he bent down to lick my leaking hole. His tongue was soothing and cool and as he unlocked me I felt every ache in my body creaking except where that coolness was.
I spent some time on Paul's bed after that. I was getting my strength back, but also thinking a lot about this wild man who had been totally in control all along. He had been confident, but not cocky. He had been sure, and he had been right. And the thought hit me that day: I want to be like him.
I spent some more time replaying the session in my head, focusing on how well he had known my responses and needs. How he had know just when to pull his cock from my sore throat and when to fuck my ass just a bit harder. I want to be able to do that.
I cleaned up a bit and joined Paul in the living room.
"When can I see him again?"