Sex in Seattle: Part I -- Sidewise with Sean
A true account of a bisexual married man's experience
By Billy Jay Dee
I leaped up the four flights to the hotel room. My eye appointment had run long. I threw open the door.
"Gasp!"
The afternoon sun and a heater set at 80 degrees F by the maid had turned my soon to be love nest into a hot house. I pulled on a business shirt, threw open the windows and ran down to the open street. The naked Seattle sun stunned me even with my sunglasses on. Hand shading my dilated eyes against the sudden brightness, I blindly groped my way to Fourth and Seneca. I was fairly certain where it was.
Out of breath, I found the bar and swung through the doors, certain I'd arrived on time. It was a dark (Thank God!) low-key hotel bar where business types meet after work because they have no one at home.
"Can you tell me what time it is?" I asked the cute young barmaid.
I couldn't read the clock in my condition. I was a minute early. Looking at the white highly polished bar top where she placed my $6 tequila and orange juice had been a mistake. Looking away, I ended up eying my image in the mirror behind the bar.
Sun glasses "on" seemed like a mistake, but when I flipped them up, my blue eyes hurt and their weirdness didn't seem too good a first introduction. My salt and pepper hair had grown a little too long since the last trim and the relative warmth and humidity of the Emerald City had given it straggled curls. Sitting up straight on my bar stool, I still looked tall. I sucked in my gut a little, but at 44 years and 190 pounds on a 6' 1" frame, I figured I was looking as good as usual. I normally smile with the slightest upturn of my lips and minimal showing of the teeth, so I practiced a toothier image in the mirror. People tell me my face lights up even with this little smile and my eyebrows seem to arch and dance at the same time. I've never noticed this, but I take the word of my wife and others who have commented on it.
I locked the heels of my brown cowboy boots over the rung of the bar stool and concentrated on my cocktail.
The revolving door turned. I looked at the man in gray and black, then nodded and smiled. The stocky, short man with bent shoulders hurried towards the bar and then quickly turned toward the phone booth.
"Probably didn't like what he saw," I thought. That's the old "check `em out and then call like you're elsewhere" maneuver.
Then the guy took off his coat and I remembered it was "gray sweater and black pants," not vice versa.
The revolving door swung again. Black leather coat or sports jacket, black pants, but a black sweater.
Then Sean smiled.
I laughed and lifted my shades.
"Are you Bill?" Sean asked, swinging his coat onto the back of the adjoining bar stool.
"Yeah. Bill. I didn't recognize your sweater. I thought it was black. Of course, we are in a dark bar and I'm wearing sunglasses."
I slammed my forehead and explained about the eye doctor. All the while I marveled at how good looking Sean was. Late thirties, slim with broad shoulders, pitch black hair and moustache, and a smile that gleamed. I hadn't had a chance to check out what was in his slacks -- yet.
He sat in the bar stool next to me. We joked, told a little about ourselves, flirted when the barmaid worked the other end of the room and let our knees stroke one another's thighs beneath he bar.
When my straw made that gurgling noise towards the bottom of my second T&OJ, Sean said, "Shall we go?"
I thought so. I led the way towards the revolving door. Outside in the still-bright city sunshine, Sean seemed to fall behind and when I turned my head to look, I caught him checking out my ass. He flung his black leather jacket over his shoulder as we turned the corner and headed up the hill, chatting. I didn't notice him lag behind again until we reached the overpass above the freeway.
"Kind of steep, huh?" he huffed.
"Oops. Sorry. Country hick comes to the big city. I didn't think. I walk a mile to work every day."
"Six minutes on the bus," he admitted sheepishly.
"Did I tell you, 5 o'clock shadow turns me on?" I grinned at him.
"I get it at noon." He grinned back.
In my hotel room he didn't smile. He pulled me into his arms with a determined expression and eyes glazed with passion. The sheer curtains floated and rippled before the open windows. His lips were tasteless and his tongue as forceful as I'd hoped.
I finally reached for his crotch and traced a ready eight-incher beneath the fabric of his black slacks. I unbuckled his black leather belt and plopped my butt down on the bed before him. When we pried him out of his shorts, his cock popped straight at me -- thin with a nicely shaped thick head. I was amazed by the knotted blue vein on the right side. Carefully, I placed my mouth around the shiny crown and took a couple of slurps. Again, he was tasteless.
As I began to lick the underside of his shaft, he said, "Ready?" His voice was deep and hoarse.
We undressed quickly. His body was as white as his facial complexion. His belly was flat and slim, his shoulders a little broader than the average. He had a dabbling of black hair on his chest.
I pushed him onto his back on the bed. He pulled me atop him and kissed me passionately, his 12-o'clock shadow scraping my chin. Then he hoisted my six-inch dick up to his mustached lips. I started rocking back and forth crouched over his handsome face, but I wanted more. I wanted his cock up my ass.
He jumped from the bed and donned the condom I offered. His cock, straight-out rigid, stood at my eye level and he made a show of wrapping it for our pleasure. He clambered back onto the bed and lay dutifully on his back. I straddled him and, with a little readjusting, slid grunting down into his lap.
"Feel good?" he inquired in a raspy whisper.
"Yeah. Just a sec," I said taking another breath while the full length of his cock settled into place. Mmmmm. It did feel good. "Okay. We can do it any way you want now."
"Really?"
He bowled me over, repositioned me on the side of the bed and started banging away hard. My legs hung over his upper arms and my long-toed feet bounced off his banging butt.
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck my ass," I urged as he drove his rod in and out of my butt.
"Ah, ah, ah," he grunted, a syllable to each stroke. "Uh, uh, uh. Yeah. Oh, fuck, oh, oh, oh." He kept driving relentlessly into my hungry hole.
He was still sliding it in and out several minutes later when he asked in that breathy baritone what he could do for me.
"Come in my ass," I practically yelled.
"Roll over then!"
Sean clung tightly to me and I wrapped my legs around his to keep us together. He came within seconds with cries of delight.
"WOW!" he commented loudly and started to pull out before I was ready. I reached around and pulled his ass toward me, pushing my own impaled bottom even more tightly against his pubes.
"You're still hard!" I exclaimed.
"But I came. You want to come?"
"I want you to fuck me again," I moaned, looking into his shiny dark eyes.
"Okay, but not this way. It'll have to be on our sides."
Rolling us over to our left, he started spooning me, which left my right hand free to stroke my growing dick against the sheet until I'd made a gooey white mess. The force of my orgasm and constriction of my asshole muscle forced Sean's detumescing cock out of my crack. Apparently, to his surprise.
He headed for the bathroom then.
"Wow! The condom's really full," Sean informed me through the open bathroom door while I wiped my ass, cock and balls with wads of soft hotel tissue. I heard his piss splash into the toilet bowl water. He really had to go.
We dressed quickly so he wouldn't miss the bus. Then we noticed the time. We had an hour to kill.
"We could walk around for a while and then try again," I suggested.
"There won't be enough time. How about we go for another beer, buddy? And plan your next visit to town?"
I thought so.