Sex in Seattle: Part III -- Not Bobby Blake Based on a true experience of a married bisexual.
By Billy Jay Dee
Bobby Blake is a giant black porn star. This six and a half feet of rippling muscle has gold rings in pierced nipples and ears, a hairy chest and a cock the size of your forearm. A single mindedness at butt fucking delights his viewers and surely agonizes his partners.
When I go out Saturday night, I don't end up with guys like Bobby Blake. I end up with regular guys like David. He's a "regular guy" so he's somewhat shorter than my six feet, one inch; age 36 to my 44; short blonde hair rather than my graying dark brown. He also has a stocky build, blonde fuzz on his chest and an infectious smile. He liked to flirt, kiss and embrace while we bellied up to the bar and got to know one another. I liked that, too.
We were also both bottoms.
He assured me that we would still enjoy ourselves at his house, cuddling on the couch, making out in front of the television, watching flicks, and sleeping together in his bed. Since I'd gotten rolled in the hay five times the night before by three guys, I decided he might be right.
We stopped to get a movie on the way. He said I wouldn't like any of his, because he enjoyed B&D, S&M and leather. I definitely wasn't into that.
I picked out a Bobby Blake film cause I knew I'd like it and because David said he liked to be dominated. We drove to his gorgeous home outside Seattle. David and I popped the video in the player, took the 25-cent house tour, made drinks, rambled around in the kitchen and finally returned to the living room to watch Bobby Blake.
"Gotta run upstairs and take out my contacts," he apologized.
I watched Bobby Blake and some skinny guy in a warehouse. The skinny guy was on all fours, hands and boots, begging to be fucked. Bobby basically raped his ass. I thought I heard David call me from upstairs and went to see. The bathroom stood closed and I could see the light on. I heard the water.
I returned to the living room, pulled off my shirt, unbuttoned my pants and enjoyed watching Bobby with two little Adonises, one black and one white. He took a running start to drive his butt wrecker deeper into their asses. It didn't look like they were having fun. I went back upstairs to see what was keeping David. I found him passed out in the hallway, an aerosol can nearby.
He'd been doing inhalants. He was hyperventilating and his eyes were rolled up in his head.
"Great!" I thought, "I have to call 911 and I don't even know where I am."
I began rubbing his arms and belly trying to calm him down and calling his name softly so as to distract him rather than startle. When the dry heaves started, I rolled him on his side, so he wouldn't choke to death. Almost immediately, he quit gagging and started snoring. I hid the can of video tape player "head cleaner" in the bottom of the kitchen trash can.
Back in the living room, Bobby addressed the viewer with only a small hand towel across his mammoth cock and tar black balls.
"I appreciate the letter of concern wondering how I am. As you can see I'm in good shape for a guy almost 45." Duh! You could drive pilings with his thighs. The muscles on his washboard belly are the size of my fists and his arms are larger and more muscular than my legs will ever be. "Those of you who want to meet me -- that's a business thing. Call my manager at the number below."
I can't believe you can buy big name porn stars for the night. I also can't believe anyone would actually want to get raped by Bobby Blake.
"I have a new film out where I'll be tougher and meaner. So, all you guys who say you love me, call the number. Buy my movie, bitch!"
I went back upstairs, rolled David on his back, unbuckled his belt, and pried his pants down to his pelvis. I found small hairless balls and a soft white five-inch dick. I took a couple of slurps. He started waking up as his rod gained a bit of firmness.
Blonde fuzz covered his flat belly. I wanted to see it all. I pulled his shirt up over his head and left it there with him confused and helpless beneath. His whole stocky torso supported a field of fine golden fuzz. I ripped the shirt off over his head.
Standing over him, I grabbed the cuffs of his jeans and dragged his hairy little bubble butt down the carpeted hallway till his pants came off. I got behind him, lifted him off the floor and walked him to the bed. I rolled him in between the sheets. My pants hit the floor. The back of David's legs ended up against my shoulder. I put my thumb on the thick head of my semi-hard six-inch dick, shoved it into his ass, and started fucking. It felt tight, yet slippery. My rod quickly stiffened to the task. When David finally understood the situation, he begged me to fill him up.
I was happy to comply. I pushed in until my curly pubes mingled with the damp blond hair surrounding his quivering asspucker.
"Uh, oh, yeah, baby," I moaned softly. "Give me that hot manpussy."
He responded by thrusting upward against me and then we fell into a jerky rhythm. I twisted slightly sideways on the down strokes. I could feel my orgasm nearing.
"Ummmm," he said, in a bleary half-conscious way. "Fuck me. Hard."
Again, I obliged, pumping furiously as my balls began to tighten and draw up.
"Ahhh, yeah, on, fuck, I'm cumming," I grunted and began to spurt in short, twitching spasms. He reached down and grabbed his cock and balls, pounding in quick strokes, his cockhead tight against my abdomen. I felt the warmth of his orgasmic flow as I drifted in satisfied bliss.
When we were done and cleaned up, we did cuddle on the couch, make out in front of the television, watch flicks, and sleep together in his bed. He wasn't Bobby Blake, but I had fun. So did he.