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.