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By Edward Stiles
A semi-true story
By the time I reached the bedroom Rob was already in position. He was on his knees with his head turned sideways on a pillow. His ass was in the air, crack spread wide, anus in view. He was urging me to rub him down. With his right hand he reached over to the lamptable and grabbed the plastic bottle of lotion and held it out for me.
I, meanwhile, was quickly undressing. I'd worn panties under my street clothes but, unfortunately, Rob was in no position to see me in them. I put them atop my stack of clothes on a chair behind the foot of the bed. I, too, was naked now.
Rob wasn't slender like me but he wasn't the least bit fat, either. His body was thicker, stouter. His ass smooth and beautiful. His hole alluring. Down below hung a big sack of balls. One of his the size of both of mine. His sack would prove thick, almost like leather. His penis hung down against its frontside, limp.
I squeezed out some lotion onto his back and began rubbing it in to his tanned flesh. I began at his neck and shoulders and worked my way down, even massaging some into his firm buttocks. His moan, his mantra, now changed to me eating his ass. He repeated it over and over. This was not a surprise. First the massage, then eating his ass, then cumming on his asshole. That's the reason I was here, at his run-down mobile home in a shoddy trailer park. In his carport a vintage Mustang. The driver's window was down, the seats torn. It was obvious Rob didn't much take care of things.
But he did have a wonderful ass and a beautiful anus. And I got down on my knees to make love to it. I kissed it, repeatedly. It was clean and delicious. Sweet. I kissed it as if a pair of lips. I necked with it. I pushed my tongue inside him as his moan changed to "Fuck me with your tongue...fuck me...fuck me..."
I did. I entered him as deep as I could go--as my tongue would allow. My hands were spreading his buttocks and my face was buried in his crack. My tongue went in and out of him. He was, as I say, clean and delicious.
His mantra again changed. "Cum on my asshole...," he began to urge. "Cum on my asshole..."
I'd been on my knees long enough that I struggled a bit to get up. My penis wasn't hard. I was too old for that. Rob appeared to be younger than me and I wondered what he thought. Thought of me. An older faggot who loved to eat ass. Loved to rim.
I put the head of my cock to his hole and began stroking myself. His mantra continued, unabated. I wished I was hard--could get hard. I would have loved to put my penis where my tongue had been, up Rob's ass. All the way in. I would have loved to shoot my cum deep inside him.
But my penis, though growing, was mostly limp. I stroked myself for several minutes, surprised that, by now, I hadn't yet cum. I was the world champion of premature ejaculators. Just ask my ex-wives. I began to moan (as Rob continued moaning) as the urge to cum came over me.
I stroked my long but limp cock faster, harder, my head against his anus. I let out a cry...I came. Ejaculated on his anus. In his crack. On his buttock. I masturbated until I was done. Spent.
Then I threw myself back-first on the empty half of the bed, beside him. I was out of breath. I thought about rising up and getting a washcloth to wipe Rob's crack clean, but he didn't seem to mind. He rolled over onto his left side, propping his head up with a hand. He wasn't good-looking--but his ass was. And that's what I cared about. Or had cared about up until now.
"Thanks for doing that," he said. His voice oddly emotionless.
"No, thank YOU. You were...delicious."
"You can do this again?" he asked.
"Now?"
"No, in a few days. Your next day off."
This was a Thursday. My next day off was Sunday. I told him I could probably come back on Sunday. If not, next Wednesday.
Rob told me the obvious: He needed a man to cum on his asshole. Someone regular.
"I wish I could put it in you," I told him, perhaps trying to change the subject.
"No, on it is fine."
I wondered about his crack right now. Slick and sticky with my cum. I'd recovered from my orgasm and said, "I could get a washcloth. Clean you off."
Rob didn't answer. At least not at first. Instead he rolled onto his belly again. He said, "Lick it off."
"What?"
"Lick your cum off with your tongue. Clean me up."
Frankly, I wasn't in the mood. I guess I'm a more or less typical male. I lose interest after I cum. Now the thought of licking up my own sperm disgusted me. I lay there, thinking. Waiting. For what I didn't know.
"You want me to?" I finally asked. It was a nonsensical question. A delaying action.
"Yes. Lick your cum up. I'll get on my knees..." And this he did, rising up.
Reluctantly, and with a roll of the eyes, I slid off the foot of the bed and again got on my knees. Seeing his cummy anus again stirred me a little. The clean, sweet smell of my sperm filled my nostrils. I began with his balls--his thick sack--and licked upwards. His crack, then his anus and beyond. I tongued my sperm--what was left of it--into his anus. His rectum. He liked this. He moaned. And moaned.
Finally I pulled back, the taste, and redolence, of my sperm on my face, on my breath. I asked if I could clean myself up and Rob pointed behind himself. The bathroom was to my left. A washcloth hung over the sink. I wet it and wiped my face off. When I returned to the bedroom Rob was sitting up with his arms around his knees.
"You did good," he said, in that emotionless tone of his.
"You were delicious," I repeated.
"What about your cum?"
I ignored the question. I needed a drink. I'd swallowed two vodka minis on the long drive over, from the next county. Now I needed another--a double. I wanted to wash the taste away.
I picked up my panty and pulled it on. He looked at me in it--stared--but said nothing. I finished dressing and we headed for his door--the door that led to his carport. He was still naked.
We kissed--passionately. He pushed his tongue into my mouth. I got the feeling he wanted to taste my semen. We necked for several minutes. Frankly, again, I was less than in the mood. He broke the kiss off--finally--and said, blandly, as I departed:
"See you Sunday."
"OK," my half-hearted reply.
But I did go back three days later. And the scene repeated itself: massaging his backside with lotion, eating his ass, cumming on his hole and then, moments later, licking my own sperm off him.
I went back again the following Thursday. And now it's become a regular thing. Twice a week or so. I realize he's probably having other men over, to do the same thing I do, but that's OK. He's never turned down--well, once--a request by me to come over and "make love" to him.
I've come to realize that I've fallen in love with him. Not him, per se. But his beautiful, clean, sweet ass. I can't get enough of it. I see it in my sleep, in my dreams. I can't wait to eat him again.
I've even fallen in love with myself, in a manner of speaking.
With my sweet cum.