Friday, September 2, 2011

End of an Era

I am currently in the process of moving to my new apartment. I have pre-written some posts to give you something to have while I make the move, but it may be a while before I am able to post regularly again. I'll try to keep you informed about when that will happen, but the best way to find out about my goings-on is to follow me on Twitter and Facebook.


The last man I fucked while I still called Maine my home definitely felt like the right way to leave things with the state. Maine has not always been a great friend to me. I often have felt ostracized and unloved within its borders. The darkest of my memories all take place in Maine. But I also have some great memories tied to Maine as well. I grew up here and lived almost all of my life here. Even when I was out in Ohio, Maine was technically still my home. I've made amazing friends and had some amazing sex here. I've fucked in some of the beautiful Maine houses, as well as some of the shacks common in the poorer areas. I've fucked on the shore and I've fucked in the mountains. I've also loved some amazing people. Some of those I loved here have actually already left Maine. In a lot of ways, I'm behind some of the people I used to spend time with. Even my mentor, Paul, who had lived here his whole life, left for the other coast around this time last year.

While a lot has happened to me here, I feel like it is my turn to move on. Maybe I'm overdue to move on. I can't be sure, but if I had to go by the interesting circumstances of the man I had sex with Wednesday afternoon, I would say that this is probably the right time for me. I don't put a whole lot of faith in omens or portents, and I'm not one of the people who see deep significant meaning in everything they do. If anything, I see day-to-day life as totally meaningless on a grand scale. But I guess in this case, I couldn't help but see signs.

His condo was in a fairly large neighborhood that sits less than a mile away from my childhood home. It is a neighborhood that I used to go for walks in with my mom. A little past it sits the hill that I used to go sledding down every winter. Down a road that runs perpendicular to the one his place is on, sits the building my dad used to have an apartment in until he married my step-mother. And even farther away, but still close, is the house my parents shared the first few years of my life before their divorce. But it was the closeness to the first house I have solid memories in, the house I lived in right after my mom left my dad. I only have scattered memories of a time before that house, so as far as I'm concerned, that house is like the start of my life. If for no other reason than because it is the beginning of the series of remembered events that have turned me into the man I am today.

Coming to this man's condo to fuck him was like coming full circle. Ending where I started. Like every good epic, the story of my life in Maine shared the same scene. Of course, on Wednesday things were much different than they were when I was three. For one thing, I was there to fuck a man and breed his hole.

He reminded me a lot of myself, especially sexually (which I took as another good sign). He is a top, normally, who enjoys bareback sex whenever he can get some. He seemed to mix things up between passion and and kink, though we did not get nearly as kinky as I sometimes like. But that was fine. There are times for kink, but Wednesday afternoon was not one of those times. Besides, our play was meant to be a means of scratching a hot top's bottom itch, much like my meeting with Rob Steed from A Breeder's Journal. Care is needed when reintroducing us tops to the world of bottoming. While we know intuitively that it will be very pleasurable (we see your faces, bottoms), we also know that in unskilled hands it can hurt a lot. The fact that tops seek me out and allow me to help them is an honor. They trust me to be skilled enough not only to fuck them, but to reopen them and make the experience as pain-free as possible.

It was hard that day. This man was muscular. Not like a body-builder, but strong. He clearly spends a lot of time honing his body. His ass was no exception, and even his sphincter muscles were strong. There were a few times when my fingers hurt bad from the pressure his hole was putting on them. Even with just two fingers, he was crushing them together painfully. He seemed either unaware or unable to control how hard he was squeezing his ass. Even after using more lube than I usually need to for even virgin holes, he still was struggling to take my fingers. But every time I asked him if he was doing OK he said, "Yes." When I asked if he wanted to keep going, he nodded. When he sharply inhaled as I wiggled inside of him, he also pushed my fingers in further. He was a study in contrasts.

He was also very distracted by what was going on outside. After the hurricane a lot of places were getting work done and his neighborhood was no different. But he seemed unable to ignore what was happening. His lack of attention to the sex hit the highest and most annoying point when right after I first pushed all the way into him, down to my base, he asked if I could pull out so that he could close the blinds in case the workers saw into his second story window and caught us fucking. I was of the opinion that if they want to look inside the house, we might as well be giving them a show, but he wanted none of that. So I pulled out and he went to take care of it. When he got back into the bed, I made sure there was no mistaking that my intent was to take that ass. His legs were on my shoulder and I was buried in to the hilt.

His attention shifted back to me and only me. His hands massaged my back as I fucked him. His warmth spread around me as we held each other close. Every once in a while he would demand, "Kiss me," which I would do grudgingly. This man's idea of kissing was the passionately smush our lips together. No tongue, no open mouth. He didn't respond to my attempts to open either. Which was fine, I guess. It just gave my little incentive. The hardest part, though, was the pain on my end. Remember how he was crushing my two fingers painfully with his ass? Now look at my cock at the top of the blog. Wider than two fingers, right? Yeah. It hurt when he squeezed his ass. Not as much as before, as he had loosened up, but still bad.

Fortunately a little pain can go a long way to making me fuck more aggressively. I took the pain and used to to pound his ass, punishing him with a particularly deep, hard jab every time the pain in my cock threatened to make me go soft. This had the double effect of being rough on him and keeping my dick hard. But it wasn't until I convinced him to flip into doggy position that I was finally able to have an easier fuck. Doggy style is when it got good. This man knew how to arch his back, and I happened to be the right size to meld my body to his, keeping my hairy chest to his smooth back while still pumping away at him. In this position I came in him twice, filling him up with the cum he so needed.

After we finished he jumped up again, distracted by the sounds of work outside. He went to his windows to look out while I just leaned back and rested. When he finally settled back down, we were on opposite sides of his bed, talking and looking at each other. He was staring at me as if confused. "I don't know what it is about you," he said, "I shouldn't find you attractive. I don't like the long hair thing, though I like the hairy chest. And I usually don't go for guys under thirty, definitely not under twenty-five. But there's something about you..."

"I'm pretty mature for my age," I offered. I was not really sure how to react to his words. They were almost like backwards compliments: telling me how I was attractive even though I had supposedly unattractive qualities.

He never did figure it out, but by the time I left and he was running back up stairs to get underwear to help with my cum leaking from his hole, he had come to peace with the fact that he found me attractive. He knew that I was moving the next day, but he told me to look him up again some time. If I ever came to Maine for a visit. I told him to do the same if he came to Boston. No idea if either of us ever will, but as I walked away from his door I looked at the area around me, seeing it through the young eyes of memory and the adult eyes I have now. It was peaceful. I knew that what had just happened was the end of an era for me, and that every step I took from that point on was another beginning for me.

2 comments:

  1. Ace my friend,
    That was an amazing post. Glad that you finish you journey in Maine in a good way. You had great memories in there but i am sure that you will get more in Boston. I just want to say thank you for the great reading you are giving us so far and we will wait for you when you will be settled over there. Take care my friend.

    Yves

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  2. You know, in some ways it’s better to have a balanced view rather than an overly romanticized faux memory of a place. I know you’re a romantic but you’re also a realist. I think that’s a good combo. Now this guy, on the other hand, is always going to whinge about his sexual experiences because he’s never in the moment. Sheesh! Maybe you got him at a bad moment, but in the middle of doing it isn’t the best time to start rearranging the house or cook a 12-course dinner. You have the gift of focusing on the activity at hand.

    I am glad that you’re peaceful and in a good place about the move. Good luck with it.
    ciel

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