An Almost Perfect Winter Meeting
George and I had first spotted each other in the shower room of our local gym. Soon afterward we struck up an acquaintance, followed by some furtive groping, but little more. George is an attractive early50s professional, with a neatly trimmed beard, intelligent eyes, and a nice body. The latter includes a hairy chest, a friendly cock and a firm ass. We connected on a few levels, got to know each other as more than the owners of interesting dicks. One evening we traveled into NYC to attend a bi/gay married men's group together. We found a lot to talk about, but the evening was more friendly than romantic or hot. From time to time I ran into George at neighborhood spots, including a local movie theater and a nude beach. Soon afterward, I moved out of the area, and we continued a sporadic correspondence, mostly porn-centered, sharing favorite sites and fantasy roles. Sometimes we even discussed things other than sex. It was not unusual for us to correspond about opera and porn in the same email. There was some mutual physical attraction, but it was not strong enough for us to go out of the way to do anything about it. The attraction was probably more on my part than on his, although George sporadically encouraged my interest.
From time to time George and I planned to get together to properly consummate our friendship. They were mostly cybersex type promises. But one winter's day, following a particularly hot exchange of notes, we actually made plans to meet. George, more experienced than I at casual encounters, suggested detailed directions for our assignation, including the fact that he would provide the necessary "toiletries." I was to "just cum."
I pulled into the parking lot where we were to meet and immediately spotted George walking slowly along the suburban strip mall. Waiting for me. How nice.
There followed the usual greetings and catching up—we had not seen each other in perhaps two years. A shared light lunch in a nearby shop. And then. And then, yes, it was time. To do it. George sensitively notes that we should "see what happens." He has sensed my nervousness and uncertainty. He knows me to be ultra-cautious, disease-phobic and an infrequent participant in m2m sex. Real sex, that is. Plenty of the pretend kind. And the pat-pat, tickle-tickle kind that can be found at your local steam room. But now we are heading toward a nearby motel room, for which George considerately offers to make arrangements. And then we are inside the room. Not too bad. Small, neat, fairly clean looking. George has brought along some dirty magazines for us to peruse, mentioning only half jokingly that we might decide to do no more than catch up on our reading. Again taking off the pressure. Lowering expectations for an event that has been in the planning stages for longer than reconstruction of Ground Zero.
But no. There will be little reading done that day. The electricity in the room is palpable. A calm and horny presence envelops me, and as George begins to slowly strip, I stop him.
"Let me do that," I say.
"You want to take off my socks?" he asks, genuinely surprised.
"Yes, I want to take off your everything. I want to draw this out, and let it last a long, long time. And burn it into memory."
He smilingly acquiesces. I struggle with his very tight socks, and then move on to the belt. A funny, sentiment is embroidered on the flap of his fly. Sexy and whimsical. As I unzip, and pull down his jeans, we kiss. Here, there, this way, that way.
Light, feathery touches. And then harder, deeper. My kisses are returned, not passionately, but with some feeling. I shove George down on the bed and reach for his cock. It is as hard as Euclidian Geometry. (Oh, you like me, you really do like me!) And now it is his turn. I lean back and George reaches for my cock. It is almost fully hard and arcing to the side.
"Oh, this is promising," he says in a nice sexy lilt. He loses little time in extricating it, and then slowly works the foreskin down, studying it carefully, with even greater attention than he paid earlier to the bagel he was about to consume for lunch. I can tell that George is not as into the undressing scene as I, and so I strip off my jeans, and we have a little friendly frottage. We kiss, and rub bodies, and I ask, disingenuously, if he is going to suck papa's prick. It is the first false moment of the afternoon. Up until that point, I had been myself and George had been totally true to what I knew to be his personality. But when I began to pervert the sensuous and memorable time we were sharing into a role-play fantasy, I immediately knew it was a mistake. George, kindly, did not rebuke me. He responded simply, "Yes, but not yet."
From time to time, during the afternoon, I slipped into the safe, false game of taking on a persona I didn't feel. Pretending a macho Daddy-Son fantasy that I somehow thought would please George. (We had done some cybersex along these lines.) But how much nicer it would have been if I had just stayed myself, which is genuinely sexual and very intense. But apart from that regret, I have little else that I would change about that winter afternoon.
I see myself sitting on George's chest, slowly pushing my cock between his hairy pecs toward his mouth. He expertly licks it with the instinctive precision of a cat snatching at a tempting projectory. And he licks it in just the right spot. The best spot. Just behind the cockhead where the foreskin is pulled away from the glans. Each time I rock forward, his tongue swipes it, hitting the target each time, until, scooting up further I bury it into his mouth. To my surprise he doesn't try to take a whole lot of cock into his mouth. He is content with sucking on a third or half of the shaft, half closing his eyes in unshared reverie.
George is a quiet, calm cocksucker. He does not make elaborately loud slurping sounds, nor exaggerated moans or sighs. Ah, that I could say the same. Well, after all, it has been quite a while since I have been in this type of situation, and so I therefore am feeling everything intensely. My brown, hard prick breaks the seal of George's soft, pink lips and enters his mouth almost soundlessly. He sucks expertly but not hungrily. At one point he looks me in the eyes with my cock in his mouth, and my heart—or something in me-- sings. Ah, this is the meaning of connection.
Then I am going down on George's firm dick. I love it, and tell him so. He thanks me, with unembarrassed politeness. I hope that he believes that I really do like his cock. He probably doesn't believe that it has been quite a while since I have sucked cock, although I unnecessarily force this information on him. He tolerates it, without substantive comment.
And then we are under and over. Ah, my very favorite. I think that I was on top, at first, and he underneath. I drive my dick into his mouth and lick, lap, lave, and love his dickhead. I try to remember what I have read on the Internet about sucking cock, and how to please a man getting a blowjob. I can't. It is too much. We roll around a bit, this way and that way. Side by side, and then changing dominant positions, with George on top and me underneath. At one point, I am surprised, (and still am as I write this,) that somehow I felt George's cock enter my throat. I have read of this, and I have viewed it happening in videos, but I have never, ever believed that it would happen to me. Too uptight. Very small mouth ( just ask my dentist). Too inexperienced. But there it was. A perfect, round cockhead kissing the back of my throat. And the length of the shaft at the perfect angle to achieve the miracle. Did George say, "Man, do you know how to suck cock!" or "Omigod, keep it up, that is fucking great," or even "Oh, oh, oh. Yes, yes, yes?" Nah. George said nothing. Zilch. Nada I guess we each have our own remarkable experiences, and they don't necessarily coincide with our partner's, nor do they need to be spoken about. At the time, anyway.
I am feeling overwhelmed with the joy and pleasure of this experience. I jump off the bed, and run around the room with a raging erection, whooping and laughing. I watch my cock bounce up and down throbbing for more action. Doing little pushups against the wall, and feeling silly I say, "Let this last. I want this to last!" George watches me, his eyes following my antics as one might watch a frisky new puppy, or even an eccentric stranger. With patience and curiosity and more than a little surprise.
At one point during the afternoon, George asks with stunning nonchalance, "Would you like to enter me?"
Umm, yeah.
No brainer. When? Now? Like sure.
I mean, "Yes, I would."
What follows is not perfection. Condoms sought and found. Slippery fingers. Fucking package doesn't tear open easily. As condom is rolled on, hardon starts to flag. (Suck it George ! Make it proud! Why can't I say it?) George kneels on floor next to bed, ass jutting out.
I am behind him, positioning dick, nervously, in general direction of welcoming pucker. I had played with George's asshole a bit earlier, and it seemed quite accommodating at the time, although not as hungry as I would have imagined. Now I fumble around a bit, and my prick is getting more rubbery than steely, and I am somehow not finding the right spot at the right angle. George, undeterred, spins around and begins to sit on it, facing away from me. This is only slightly better, as I feel the head begin to penetrate, but then, slip down and away from the target. Why didn't I put some lubrication inside the condom tip to enhance the feeling and increase my excitement and firm up my hardon. George, feeling this isn't going to work well today, sits up on the bed and I enjoy playing between his asscheeks with my half hard dick. I reach around and caress his nipples (he responds minimally) and tug on the hair of his chest. George, sensing my disappointment, talks about how fucking is a process -- one that needs to be worked on, for a long time, even among lovers, before satisfactory results are achieved.
I am feeling better; we strip off the condom, and say fuck-it to the fucking, as we cuddle and kiss and fondle.
"I want another taste of this," I say.
George welcomes my renewed sucking, and becomes hard again. I kneel on the bed and rub my dick, also returned to it's earlier length and girth, all over George's face.
On his bearded chin, on his cheeks and lips. I hit his face with my cock, inflicting no noticeable injury. In fact, his features soften, and his lips curl into a slight smile. I begin to gently face-fuck George, up on one knee on the bed and thrusting my hips slightly as I study my dick slowly enter and withdraw from George's mouth. Then, on impulse, I turn George on to his side, and whack him on the ass with my open hand, and then repeat it again and again, verbally chastising him for allowing this meeting to be delayed so long. I spank and tell him how naughty he was to tease Papa, letting him wait months for this blissful time together. George is silent and passive. He neither encourages it by carrying on, nor asks/ play-begs me to stop. It is hard to tell whether he is enjoying this strange turn of events or not. I am half serious and half playing. The mild discipline was intuitive and unplanned. And it was strangely fun.
The afternoon ends with George and I lying side by side jerking each other, and eventually ourselves, off, to spurting climaxes. George has brought along a product called "Wet" to assist. It is very nice and feels great. When George takes over from my hand, he apologetically explains, "Nobody can jerk me off as good as I do myself. Years of practice, I guess." That is cool with me, and I enjoy watching him pleasure himself. I do the same, noticing the subtle differences in technique. I have not cum in about five days, and I know that I am heading for a big load. George's face starts to get red and tight and so I know that he too is getting close. I am lying on my side facing George who is stretched out on his back.
Our bodies touch intermittently, our legs rub and entwine as we feel the petit mort approach. We cum within a minute or so of each other. George splatters a nice pool of juicy cum on his belly, and I drop what feels like a truck full on his hairy chest. I rub it all around and he watches as I play with our blended loads on his body.
A light kiss. Several silent moments of rest.
"I think I'll go into the shower and wash off all the cum," George announces, pointing to his sticky, half-dry chest hairs, and semen-streaked belly. He leaves, I stretch out on the bed, thinking at first of nothing in particular. Feeling very relaxed and good. Then, I think what would I change about today? Well, those false role playing moments at the beginning. And less talking in general. I should have followed George's lead and just let my body say it all. Although some communication is necessary and desirable and there are a few things I wish I had spoken up about. I should have asked George to indulge me by lying face down on the bed with his rear humped up. Spread your cheeks, baby, let me see your hole. Wink it at me. What else? What else would have made this perfect? Maybe playing with a small dildo in his asshole. I wonder if he would like that. Watch him jerk himself off as I slowly insert and extract the tool.
My reverie is broken several minutes later. George calls from the bathroom and asks if he should leave the shower water running. I say yes, and jump up to replace him there. We talk, during my shower and continue to talk as we slowly dress and prepare to leave. Not forced chatter, but engaged conversation, the kind you might have in a bar or at a party upon meeting a particularly interesting person. The topics cover many areas, and the one thing that unites them is that they are all unvarnished, frank sharing of thoughts and experiences. George confides several difficult areas of his life, and tells me about one horrendous experience from the past. I worry that it is too painful and will break our pleasant mood, and that he will later regret having talked about it. But not to worry. That doesn't seem to happen. I tell George several intimate things about me and my life, without censoring them and without self consciousness. Story after story spill out as an afternoon suck-fuck session evolves into an intimate shared experience.