Disclaimer: The following story and subsequent sections is fiction. All similarities to actual living people is purely coincidental. Also, imaginary people do not need to use condoms, but in real life we do. So please be careful.
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I don't know what it is about this online ad that captivates me so completely. This one isn't like all the other personal ads searching for sex by faggots for faggots. Those ads asking for well hung, height weight proportionate, white guys. I don't want to look at you. I don't want to talk about marriage rights. I don't want to listen to diva pop songs. I want one thing and this was the first ad I've seen that promised. This ad is colorless, almost soulless. It's perfect.
"Seeking sex in my hotel room
46 year-old, married man looking to drain my balls in a tight ass. I won't send pictures, so don't ask. I'm fat and ugly, it doesn't matter. Picture who you want. You'll be facing the other way anyway."
I regularly read through the M4M personal ads. They're a good source of free porn that I can access on my phone at any time without anyone knowing. I can find pictures of cocks, assholes, some dudes even post penetration shots. There's enough in the personal ads to cause a precum leak in my boxers. I even gathered enough courage a couple of times to answer a couple of ads but never followed up after my initial reply. Yeah, I'm that guy, that flake. Until today, I've been too scared to move beyond an introduction, but I have a good reason. I'm a virgin. A closeted virgin in a small town. I'm also only 17.
Do you remember what it's like being 17? Is it normal to be this horny? I beat my meat at least three times a day, sometimes as many as seven. And I still have wet dreams. By the end of the school day, my crotch reeks from all the precum that has been pooling and drying all over my cockhead. Sometimes, I even have to pull back my thick, dark foreskin to break apart the crust before taking a piss. Still, if walking around with a permanent boner were my only problem, my life would be perfect.
I am a center on the high school basketball team. I stand at 6'2". My hair is pitch black and, thanks to my mom the dermatologist, my caramel-hued skin is as clear and smooth as the day I was born. I have to admit, I am all American boyishly handsome. I have a cowlick and everything. Add to that, my uncut cock hangs as low as a venti cup from Starbucks. Trust me, if pussy did it for me, I would be swimming in it. But I learned early on that I'm not interested, not in the least.
In the sixth grade, I noticed a friend was growing a nice patch of armpit hair while I was still smooth. He'd sit in front of me in class and on days he wore a tank top, I would get lost staring into the dark thicket. I wanted so much to touch his pits, sniff them, lick them. I was 14 years old, my voice hadn't even changed yet, and I wanted to fuck my best friend's armpits. My infatuation with men only increased from there. If you are a guy and I have met you in the past three years, I guarantee that my mind drifted at some point to where in your body I could stick my dick. If you were wearing flip-flops I fought every urge in my body to suck your hairy, sweaty toes. I've never met a pair of hairy legs that I didn't want to lick from ankle to ass. My point is that I am gay, I'm a virgin, I'm always horny and I want to fuck you.
But in a town like this, where the roar of a pickup truck is the national anthem, that kind of behavior could get me hurt, if not killed. I don't even want to think about how my parents would react. So that has led me here, a walking fucking hard-on haunting the online personal ads too scared to meet up with a guy, way too horny to stop looking.
Now, there is this ad. There's no picture attached, but the fact that he was in a hotel room caught my attention. It's unlikely that he'd know me, or anyone else for that matter. I admit, I like that he is also an ugly, fat guy. I like the idea of using my good looks to intimidate him into letting me into his ass.
My hands tremble as I type my reply:
"Hey man, saw your ad. You still looking? 6'2", 165. 19 year old." I'm lying about my age. I really don't want to scare him away because I'm too young. My heart is beating in my chest with large, quick thuds. I can't believe I am actually going to do this. I feel a faint stress ache in my lower back. I am serious this time. I hit `Send.'
I immediately cover my face with my hands and inhale deeply. I can smell rubber from the basketball I carried home with me from school. I exhale even slower. My brain starts to offer valid points, I am starting to come to my senses. What in the hell am I doing? I'm not really going to some ugly dude's hotel room. I could get hurt, murdered. I could get an STD. This is stupid. Then my Inbox tone. One new message.
"Holy shit," I whisper to my computer.
I inhale deep but quickly this time, using my hands like a gas mask. His reply is four words. And yet I am suddenly terrified. I can feel it, my life is about to change forever and there is nothing I can do about it.
"Can u cum now?"
I'm fully erect. My cock is pushing against my jeans so hard it physically hurts me. I unbutton, unzip to relieve the pressure. I slide my fingers into the slit of my boxers and rub my cock. This could happen. I actually have the chance to make this happen. Sex, fucking. My head is spinning as if I were panicked. A few seconds pass before I realize I had pulled out my cock and am rubbing my foreskin over the head, my hips lightly thrusting.
"Fuck," I whisper to myself and pull my hand away. It's a very conscious motion. I can't come now. If I did, then this is over. I'd shoot a load and descend into a pit of guilt and erase the message. This happens all the time. Not this time. This is going to happen. I'm going to fuck. Which means no coming, not until I taste cock.
I know it's a common joke, but I really think my boner has taken over all motor functions at this point. My brain is still offering rational arguments against moving forward, but my hands are already typing a response.
"Yes. Where are you?"
He replies instantly with an address. I said I'd be there in 30 minutes and jump out of my chair. My cock, bouncing in front of me, is on fire from all the activity. I pace in my room several times running both hands through my hair roughly, as if I were holding my head on my shoulders. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I can't stop cussing. This is really going to happen. My cock has set me on a course that my head can't rationalize. I am going to fuck. "... Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ..." My heart is beating like a riot. Both fists clutch handfuls of hair.
Now notice, my pits stink. "Ah, shit," I say sniffing my right hand, which was massaging my cock only a few seconds ago. The cockstink is undeniable. My cock tip is shiny with precum, which isn't going to help with the smell. There is no way I'll charm this guy into sucking me off like this. I jump in the shower. I don't know what to expect. I wash my cock, pulling back the foreskin fully to thoroughly wash the head. It's sensitive under the hot water and I am so horny I have to stop myself from jacking off again. I wash my asshole, sticking my ring finger inside. It hurts. This signaled my biggest alarm. How could I let some guy shove a cock in my ass if my finger hurt too much? I'm not sure I can do this. Maybe, I thought, once he sees my smooth, boyish face, my young thin frame with the foundation laid for some serious muscle mass and my eight-inch cock, he will be overtaken. I would be in charge soon after removing my clothes, I figured. I throw on a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. As far as everyone is concerned, I am going for a run.
It wasn't a lie. I run most of the way to the hotel, though at a leisurely pace. I don't want to sweat too much. I get to the parking lot the hotel. My brain is screaming against what I am about to do. There are hundreds of reasons not to knock on this guy's door. Disease, violence, shame. My first time should be in candle light, with some beautiful, clear-skinned stud from the team. It should start with a kiss and end in an embrace. My first time should not be in the Paradise Valley Inn and Suites, with a fat, ugly man.
But logic, reason, love, none of that matters against cock. Mine, his. I need to fuck. There is a machine protruding from between my legs and it can't be stopped. It has taken over my life at this point, as if the rest of my body is on autopilot. I am a zombie, following my cock. I need to suck, get sucked, fuck, get fucked. My heart is punching my chest, I am breathing rage.
I walk up the concrete staircase.
Nothing matters anymore. I have no homework here. There is no rival team. I have no family. I only have cock. I only need cock.
The hotel is shit. I walked past a room with an open curtain, children are watching TV. It's here that I notice that I have been holding my cock through my shorts. My hand is pushing down the black fabric, revealing the perfect hard-on shape. I don't know how long I've been doing this, who has seen me? But even that doesn't matter. I stick out my chest as much as I can and march down the walkway, breathing deep. His room number, 223.
The world is gone. Everything in my life is behind this door.
I knock.
I will enter this room a pathetic virgin. But I will leave it a fucking champion. I am here to spill seed. To breed.
The unlatched door drifts open on my knock.
My cock is rock fucking hard. There is no hiding it, it's sticking out in front of me pointing to heaven through my running shorts. I follow it inside. I followed it all the way here.
I walk inside to see a couch facing away from the door. With the curtain closed, the room is dim, mostly lit by the glow from the TV. I can see the back of his head. Completely bald on top, with hair grown full on the sides and back. Fucking ridiculous.
My brain is screaming. This isn't right. This isn't my life. I can still turn around, leave. But my cock is master here. All cock is master.
"Hey." He speaks without turning his head, his voice deep, solid, smooth.
I shut the door, lock it. This guy is looking for an ass to fuck. I'm looking to rape.
To be continued.