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  • Large Tony

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

There was this article in some magazine about sex. Frequency, duration, all the fun stuff. Turns out the average (straight) Italian guy last all of 60 seconds fucking. SIXTY SECONDS. No wonder women get so frustrated.

Of course, the group of straight guys that I was having lunch with were confident in their own prowess, bragging about how long they could last and how much cock they give their woman. How if you are 8 inches and can go at 30 strokes a minute for an hour then she gets over fourteen THOUSAND inches of prime man meat.

As they were talking, I was scribbling some notes on my napkin.

“41,632.5 inches”, I said.

They paused with a quizzical look on their faces.

“41,632.5 inches. That’s how much cock I had last night.”

Now, the boys know I’m gay (DUH.) And they know I tend to be the horse, not the cowboy. The ole, ride me hard and put me away wet kind of thing. Fact is, if they could get laid as easily as me, they would, but I gather from the rather persistent complaining that they don’t get as much as they want as often as they want.

Come to think of, neither do I.

But that is not the point. I still get WAY more then even the married guys do so, of course, when the bragging starts, I tend to have the last word. Life sucks, boys. OH, that’s right. No it doesn’t. At least, not the way you want it to.

We agreed that the formula is: Inches * strokes per minute * number of minutes

We are a bunch of computer geeks after all.

So, how did I get 41,632.5?

Turns out, I had had a rather good evening, even by my standards. A hat trick, depending on how you count things.

*AC* called. That is 9 inches of prime, uncut Puerto Rican cock to start with. Now most of the time, he is a five minute fuck, but for whatever reason, he was feeling the need. AFTER he slipped that beautiful beast inside me he fucked constantly for a full ten minutes (it helps to have a big digital clock right by the bed.)

Most guys don’t fuck at one steady rate the whole time. They might start slow and work their way up, or start fast and slow down to catch their breath. *AC* starts pretty fast, then gets into a rhythm, but likes to finish by pounding. If you divide up the 10 minutes he spend fucking me into three parts, slow, medium and fast, to comes out like:

9 * 30 * 7 = 1,890 inches
9 * 45 * 1 = 405 inches
9 * 60 * 2 = 1,080 inches

for a total of 3,375 inches of cock from *AC*.

As luck would have it *DSP*, the not-so-little American Indian fellow with the 9.5 inches of uncut indigenous man-meat was looking for someone to tag team with a friend of his. *JJ* is a 40-something guy with a remarkable body and 8.5 inches of all-American white meat.

Watch TV?  Get tag teamed?  Watch TV?   Get tag teamed?

Decisions. Decisions. What ever is a redhead to do?

Give me 20 minutes for the cleanliness is next to godliness bit and I’ll have my little bit of heaven right over.

It couldn’t have been more than 3 minutes after I walked in the door that *DSP* has his cock in my ass and *JJ* had his in my mouth. Two hours of visa and versa later, they were both drained, so to speak. My little bit of heaven was all aglow. It is so very nice to be able to give by receiving. And receive I did. Hallelujah. Praise the lord, and pass the lube.

Here’s the breakdown for *JJ*, using the same formula:

8.5 * 30 * 10 = 2,250
8.5 * 45 * 5  = 1,912.5
8.5 * 60 * 2 = 1,020

for a total of 5,482.5 inches of cock from *JJ*

*DSP* is a bit of a marathoner. He likes to go the distance.

9.5 * 30 * 30 = 8,550
9.5 * 45 * 30 = 12,825
9.5 * 60 * 20 = 11,400

for a total of 32,775 inches of cock from *DSP*

Mind you, *JJ* and *DSP* took turns. As often as not, I was getting dicked from both ends at the same time, but since we were discussing fucking, I’m only counting the dick up my ass.

*AC* + *JJ* + *DSP* = 3375 + 5,482.5 + 32,775 = 41,632.5 inches

If you consider that stroke speed is at best an estimate, and probably a bit on the slow side, at least for *AC* and *DSP*, chances are actually got quite a bit more. But… it’s not like I’m keeping score. At least, that’s what I told the guys at lunch….

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

So, it’s a rainy Tuesday afternoon and most of BF Egypt where I live is shut down due to the weather. As if a little rain is a good reason to just call off life in general.

Anyway, I’m online (adam4adam, if you must know) and I notice this profile. Young, tall, thin, hung and OH MY, American Indian. Now, when I say ‘young’, I mean basically I’m old enough to be this guy’s father, assuming I started at a reasonable age. Unfortunately, I did not, nor, I am proud to say, have I ever done something that could possibly, in any way, shape or form, result in fatherhood. Not that I have anything against fathers. Mine is great, in fact. I’m just not now, nor will I ever be, a father. Be grateful for small favors.

He’s young, and cute if the picture is accurate. I don’t have a chance in hell, but American Indian? I just have to ask. So I send him a message: “Mind if I ask what your tribal heritage is?”

Whodathunk! He actually responded. “50% Cherokee; 50% Navajo. Your (sic) cute.”

Turns out I ‘dated’ a Navajo guy once, if you can call having him fuck me twice, then spending the rest of a weekend doing everything I could to avoid him, including having to call hotel security at 3:00 in the morning to get him to stop pounding on my door because he wants my ass so bad he just won’t go away and is scaring the SHIT out of me, dating. I mean, he was an OK fuck, but really, twice on that ride was at least one time too many, and the whole psycho thriller fatal attraction thing he had going on was not really what I would call attractive. The ones who just loves them their redheads can be scaaaary.

Anyway, so he is 50/50 and he tells me I’m cute. I tell him about ‘dating’ a Navajo once, leaving out the psycho parts, and say tell him he is pretty cute himself.

Next thing I know, I’m heading out into the storm to get me some wampum up the ass.

I’m on the phone with him trying to find the house. Problem being the rain is coming down so hard I can’t see 10 feet in front of my face. I think I’m at the right place but I’m not hugely eager to go knocking on the wrong door in the pouring rain wearing … well actually what I’m wearing is a pair of size SMALL gym shorts made of that perforated fabric with the lining removed, a very tight T-shirt, and running shoes. Trust me when I say it’s legal in most states, but just barely. You can definitely see that I’m a natural redhead and the perky curve of my ass is greatly enhanced by the cling of the fabric. I like to dress to show off my best ASSet.

There he is, standing on the porch, so I brave the rain (no pun intended) and run for the door. VERY cute indeed, and apparently he likes what he sees too, which is always a good start.

*DPS* walks me through the house, which seems to be … full. Like there must be at least 6 twentysomethings in the family room gathered around a TV, all with cell phones in hand briskly texting away.

“I have roommates.”, he says. DUH. But as it turns out, he means ROOM mate. One of those guys actually shares the little tiny room with him. The little tiny room with one, double size mattress on the floor. That must be … interesting in a way that I hope to never experience first hand. I’m not entirely sure I want to know how this all works.

Anyway, shorts off, first thing he does is bend me over and shove his tongue up my ass. Don’t you just LOVE that? I mean, absolutely NOTHING is going to my attention faster, and, for a child (figuratively, not literally) he actually seems to know what he is doing.

I am very pleased, and getting more pleased, and pleasured, by the moment. AND, *DPS* seems to be in no hurry whatsoever to move matters along, despite having told me before I headed over that he had a ‘photo shoot’ to go to. He’s a ‘model’.

Naturally, I assumed model meant porn, but the pictures on the walls seems to be legitimate print work. And he’s IN IT. The boy is seriously cute, and thin is kind of unfair. We are talking maybe 6′ and 130, so not one ounce of fat on him. Very nicely defined abs. Really beautiful light bronze skin. The darkest brown hair I’ve ever seen. High cheekbones. And eyes like pools of rich Columbian coffee, sans cream.

He doesn’t look old enough to be called handsome. To call him pretty would be kinda mean. But he has a certain something that is definitely easy on the eyes. Not quite exotic, but certainly not average in any way.

Did I mention the nine and half inch uncut dick? Yea. One of those too.

*DSP* continues to tongue my ass, paying careful attention to detail. Not quite an artist (ar-TEEST), but definitely well versed in the fundamentals with flashes of brilliance. Given a bit of time to practice, the boy is going to be spectacular. I’ve already decided that I will have to made periodic trips across town to check on his development.

Apparently it’s time to savage the white man because he has just flipped me over onto my back and spread my legs about as far as they can go. I’m fully exposed and completely vulnerable. Oh my!

I wish I could say that he yelled a war cry and rode bareback into the fray. But he didn’t want the other guys to hear, so it was a quiet, almost delicate entry into the highway to heaven. One slow inch at a time. And each additional inch created a new level of trust and understanding between the Native American and the white man. 9 1/2 inches of cock balls deep in one’s ass is attention getting, even if it took a full 60 seconds to get there.

Fully impaled on his ceremonial spear, it was time to start the traditional dance celebrating the warrior’s conquest of the evil white man. One thousand thrusts of the spear, each from tip to hilt. All I could think was “No!. No! A thousand times NO!”, knowing all the while I had 998 more NOs, and 998 more thrusts to go.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a working definition of heaven on earth.

The boy was relentless. He twisted me into every imaginable position, never once missing a stroke. The stamina of youth is astounding. The skill and precision of his never ending assault on my ass was truly a thing of beauty.

Almost like a …. well… like a performance. It was as if we were in some really well directed porn flick, with the director saying, “Now move his right leg over there and shift onto your side so we can get a better shot of your cock in his ass. Good. Good. Now bend his knee, lift his leg, reach through and grab his cock. Tilt your head back and give me a little moan. NICE. Do that again, but this time, roll your eyes back into your head as you do it. PERFECT. Did you get that?”

Now, I get paid for sex. Certainly not all the time, and actually not as often as I’d like. I’m not doing it to get enough money for my next drug fix, or because my parents threw me out of the house at 16 and I don’t have any other way to survive. I wasn’t tricked into it by some sleazy old man, or forced into by someone with emotional control over me.

I do it because its a kind of an ego boost to know that there are guys out there who find me attractive enough to actually pay me money for something that I’d do anyway. I do it because it is a naughty thrill to thumb my nose at the puritanical system that suppresses gay people and freedom of sexual expression. But mostly, I do it because it is fun. Still, as a gentleman of purchasable virtue, it is necessary, from time to time, to provide the client with a certain amount of ego stroking to go along with the cock stroking. Sometimes they just need to feel that they are better at sex than they actually are. So, you learn to moan a bit, or smile sweetly. And you develop a few stock phrases you can use that, while not quite lies, are kissed with a bit o’ the blarney, if you know what I mean.

This kid. I don’t know. Technically, he is amazing. But something is missing. It’s like he’s not really present to what he is doing or the effect it is having on the other guy. The flesh is willing and able, but the spirit is completely absent.

The vacant look on this face is actually sad. Such skill, not to mention the 9 1/2 inches of raw talent. But he’s a trained animal doing what he’s been taught to do. Very well, mind you. But it’s… empty. Meaningless. Lacking all humanity. It has no soul.

But… Wait. What was that? In his eyes? Was that … a flicker of life? One brief glimpse of the person inside? A split second of connection? Maybe just one fleeting moment of genuine expression of pleasure at being with me?

There it is again! Yes. I’m sure! For just one moment there, we were actual people actually enjoying each other. Just a spark. Not enough to rekindle his humanity, but at least there is hope.

I reach up and stroke his face. For the first time, he actually looks me in the eye.

There it is. We are people. Doing something as old as time. Engaged in the act of life itself.

Then… it’s gone. And in it’s place is a mask of nothingness hiding the fear.

But for that one moment, we actually connected.

I want it to happen again. I want him to know that it’s OK to feel. It’s OK to open yourself to the moment and share your humanity with another person.

But there isn’t going to be time. We’re in the final act of the dance. The last few thrusts of the spear leading to the inevitable conclusion. Three. Two. One. AHHHHHH. The warrior has vanquished another mighty enemy and proven himself to the tribe. As his cock pulses inside me, releasing the essence of life, I stroke my own cock a few more times, releasing my own essence.

A HUGE pool of essence actually. A veritable gusher of essence. DAMN. In general, I’m not what you would call a big shooter. A couple of nice squirts. Not a lot of volume and I’m certainly not gonna win the prize for distance. But this load is … HUGE. Like gallons. Seriously.

*DPS* smiles at me. He grabs a T-shirts and starts wiping my belly for me.

He’s a real sweetie. We sit on the mattress on the floor talking for a few minutes. He tells me that he does porn, as if that is a surprise, and so do all the other ‘boys’ in the house. An “older” guy owns the house and manages them.

He shows me a picture of the group at a party for some guy who was turning 80. He actually seems happy to have been a part of making that old guy’s day special.

He tells me he would like to see me again. I’d like that too. I tell him can call anytime. “I’ll text”, he says. Text. I don’t get the whole text thing, but who knows. Maybe he really will.

As I head toward the bedroom door he hands me a magazine. “I told them you were a client coming over to pick up a magazine. I don’t like them to know my private business.”

I take the magazine and tell him I understand. As we walk to the front door, a couple of the guys look across the room at us. Some people might envy them the life they lead. Sex all time with lots of hot guys. Getting to be famous in their own way. Being desired by pretty much everyone they meet.

Me. Not so much. I’ve seen what it has done to this sweet young man. I leave hoping beyond hope that his humanity will somehow survive. That some day, just maybe, he will be free to just be himself instead of this thing they have made him into. Maybe there is a chance that he can find his humanity again. I hope so. And if I can do anything to help, I will, but for now, it’s time to head out.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

After getting to play Who’s Your Daddy this morning, and winning by the way, I really need to get some work done. I have to finish what I’m working on by 4:30 so that I have plenty of time to get ready. I’ve got a seminar this evening from 7 to 10, and then I’ll be going to see a client, *MSF* at a nearby hotel. 5′9, 160, blond, 35, and best of all, a top As a gentleman of purchasable virtue, it is important that when I arrive at his hotel I’m fully prepared to meet all of his expectations, and based on the conversations we’ve been having on the phone, his expectations and my predilections are an excellent match.

So, I spend the remains of the work day slinging code and making an honest living. Finally, at 4:30 I head for the shower. My highway to heaven needs to be fresh as a rose all evening long and that kind of beauty takes a certain amount of time and lots of water.

I do like a long hot shower. They are a wonderful opportunity to set the mind at easy and daydream free from any possible interruption. As I prepare for the evening’s festivities I find myself thinking about the fun to come. I’m kinda picky when it comes to clients. I’m not interested in just any old john who happens to call and wants to see red. Life is too short to sell my ass just because you can afford what I charge. If I’m not gonna get something more than just cash out of the encounter, I’m not gonna bother.

That said, my standards for recreational sodomy are not exactly the same as paid work. For instance, recreationally, I pick white or latin tops, and the occasional bottom. Professionally, the ethnic filter is turned off, provided they are otherwise acceptable. 90% of my clients are tops. 50% are ‘married’ and/or ’straight’. And it is safe to say that 100% of my clients pick me because red matters.

I’ve learned to say NO to the guys whose primary interest is seeing my milky white, naturally smooth, and ever so tender skin turn amazing colors because they want to beat the shit out of me.

Hanky Panky is a big YES. Hanky SPANKY is a great big NO.

The easy clients are the ones who just want to fuck. Although they pay by the hour, those guys tend to cum and go pretty quick.

The boring clients are the ones who want me to spend the whole time sucking on their knob. Apparently, I’ve got some mad hot oral skills, as if I really care. To me, oral sex is like a nice appetizer. A fine way to start a meal, but never a replacement for the main course. And frankly, if you skip the appetizer, I’m not gonna complain.

I never complain about the clients who just want to suck me off. The only thing I need to know is, how long do they want to spend doing it. Personally, 5 minutes is enough for me, but they are paying for the hour regardless. Just let me know when to let go. I’ve yet to find an oralists who is paying for it that doesn’t swallow. Which is good, because I hate to waste my cum.

The difficult clients are the ones who watch the clock, timing the big event for 59 minutes and 45 seconds after I arrive. Now, it’s one thing if they spend that hour eating my ass and fucking me senseless. Quite another if they want me to spend the entire hour sucking their, invariably flaccid three-incher. Odd how it seems that I tend to be booked when they call back for a follow up appointment. And they ALWAYS call back. Given the choice, and what a surprise, I actually have a choice in the matter, I’d rather spend that hour of my life scraping the jam from under my toe nails and sorting the lint in my navel than sucking a limp inch worm. PASS.

The ones I worry about are the ones who want “company”. What the hell is “company”? No one in his right mind is going to pay my rates just to sit and chat about the weather. The clothes are going to come off and nature is going to take some course. The important question, at least for me, is what course?

As a responsible professional gentleman of purchasable virtue I want to make sure I’m prepared to provide complete customer satisfaction. I just can’t do that without knowing what you want. And I won’t do that if what you want is something I can’t actually enjoy doing. If all you want is a blow job, you can get an excellent one from a teenage drug addicted ‘porn star’ for a lot less than I charge.

The best clients are the ones that really do want company, but company with a purpose. Drinks. Dinner. Excellent conversation. And then, having spent some time getting to know each other, fuck like rabbits.

*MSF* and I won’t be having drinks and dinner, but we have spent a fair amount of time on the phone in the past week. I’m pretty sure this evening is going to go well. He seems to be a really nice guy.

Fortunately, I’ve gotten pretty good at asking the right questions, so most of my clients are nice guys, and most of time, I’m able to sort out in advance the basic agenda, which cuts down considerably on the clients that fall into the boring or difficult category. Given that I’m not some teenage ‘porn star’ or a 20something with a gym sculpted body (not that mine is bad….), my clients are clearly paying for experience (and the redhead thing). Part of that experience is picking the right clients. The other part is the combination of mad hot oral skills and an ass that is just this side of heaven.

I may not be perfect, but parts of me are excellent.

Fresh as a spring breeze, I head out to my seminar. Three hours of discussing wealth and prosperity later, my mind is completely numb. My body, on the other hand, is ready for some serious anal probing. At this point I’d welcome an alien abduction provided they used the probe I’ve heard so much about. Fortunately I have a hot out of town top waiting to wail on my ass for an hour at my usual and customary rates.

I call my *MSF* to let him know I’m on my way and should arrive in just a couple of minutes. His hotel is literally down the street from where the seminar was held. On the drive over, I’m already starting to get hard, just thinking about walking through the hotel lobby to meet a hot guy who’s gonna fuck me senseless.

And the more I think about it, the more Mr. Happy is getting happy. I just love walking through a hotel lobby sporting wood and getting eyed by the business men wishing they could get some. Here’s my card. Feel free to call. Cash only, please.

Up in the elevator making no attempt to hide my happiness from the security camera I know is there. Wouldn’t I just love to meet the security guard and get to have a cavity search.

I arrive at *MSF*’s room. Knock. Knock. Who’s there? Why, it’s your redhead for hire.

When he opens the door my jaw drops, causing me to bruise my chin on the floor. At no point in our many phone conversations did he mention that he is MODEL GORGEOUS.

I’m about to make hot monkey love with a hunk of man meat that I might consider paying myself. And he is gonna pay ME to do it. We live in an amazing world.

Things start quickly, no surprise given that he is standing there in tighty-whiteys and I’m walked through the door at full attention.

Noticing my delicate condition, *MSF* drops to his knees and starts to nibble my cock right through my pants. God in heaven, what did I do to deserve this? And please make sure I do it again.

Belt undone, pants off, and he has full access. Clearly, this is not the first time he has had cock in his mouth and I find myself grateful that the walls are thick.

Time to return the favor. By now, his Mr. Happy has sprung to full attention, stretching the fabric of his underwear in a most appetizing way. First course, here I come.

After pealing his Calvins to his ankles with my teeth I push him back into the chair and drop to my knees. Thick, better than average length and a delightful drop of pre-cum are my reward. Time to put those mad hot oral skills to use as I work his cock, balls, and taint slowly and thoroughly.

Cock in mouth, I suddenly notice the music. Can that really be… Midnight At The Oasis? And wasn’t the one before that … Michael Buble (pronounced BOO-bul by the way) singing Save The Last Dance For Me?

Let me see here:

1. Gorgeous (check)
2. Nicely hung (check)
3. Top (check)
4. Paying (check)
5. and likes the same music as me?

Can we get married?

As the next song starts I find my tongue dancing inside his ass in time to the music. 3:23 later, *MSF* pushes me back onto the floor and lifts my legs. 3:42 of tongue fucking leave me gasping for breath. ARTIST! (pronounced ar-TEEST). CHECK.

As I lie on my back gasping like an Olympic swimmer who just finished a hundred meter fly, *MSF* pushes my knees up to my chest and presses the head of his cock against the toll booth to my highway to heaven.

Please stop and take your ticket. Then enjoy the ride. I know I’m going to.

Song after song, *MSF* rides my ass. On my back. On my knees. On my side. One leg over here, the other over there. On my stomach. Side again. On my back, ankles to ears. This is the best fuck I’ve had in a long time. And I’m getting PAID for it.

Gazing deep into *MSF*’s eyes, I can feel that he is reaching his limit. Suddenly his eyes roll back into his head as his back arches, driving his cock deep inside me. Just as I feel him exploding deep inside me, I squeeze my cock one more time and AH. Sweet Mystery Of Life At Last I’ve Found YOU!

We collapse into a heap, barely able to breath. Just then, and I kid you not, Sinatra starts singing MY WAY.

A few minutes later, cash in hand, I head out the door.

I like my sideline. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t do it. Lonely business men on the road who need company;  married men who want a walk on the wild side; professional men who would rather pay and get exactly what they want than hit the bars hoping for the best. Men use escorts for lots of different reasons, not just because they are too old, too fat, or too ugly to score. Over time, I’ve learned how to avoid most of the freaks, the fatties, the geezers, and the guys who momma was beaten with the ugly stick while pregnant. Most of the time, your pleasure is not only my business, but my pleasure.

Still, if every client was like *MSF* I’d give up my day job in a heartbeat.

As I walk to through the lobby, ass all atingle, I realize it’s just after 11:30. Last night, less than 23 hours ago, I was sitting on *AP*’s face eating major man meat. This morning I was playing Whose Your Daddy. And I’ve just scored a cash bonus for one of the best fucks I’ve had in ages.

Can you say … Hat Trick?

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

It’s Wednesday morning and I’ve just awoken from a really good night’s sleep. I visited *AP* last night and we had awesome sex, yet again.

I’m supposed to spend the day slinging code and I have a seminar to attend tonight. I’ve also got a client meeting after the seminar, which I’m really looking forward to.

My morning ablutions completed, I log in to check email and get started on my day’s work. I also log in to one of the sex sites. Can’t hurt and who knows, I might get lucky.

Speaking of which, who is this DADDY? Ah yes. He and I have chatted a few times in the past, but he lives an hour and a half away. There are limits, and with gas prices the way they are, I’m certainly not driving 90 minutes for cock. ANY cock.

As luck would have it, he is in town for a meeting and has some time on his hands. Would I be interested in a mid-morning meeting with his man meat?

Why, I most certainly would. And what time would you be available? He can be here in 30 minutes.

Wonderful. Just enough time to get rid of my business partner. I mention that I have a morning appointment. THAT kind of appointment. It is SO nice to work with someone who understands the needs of a redhead. He tells me he will go to the bookstore and I should let him know when I’m done. I assure him I won’t be too long.

*JP* calls. He has just turned onto my street. My business partner is walking out the door. Now, in a perfect world, the BP would be gone, because I know that he is going to take one look at *JP* and like what he sees. This one is MINE to abuse, thank you.

It is not, however, a perfect world, and the BP is outside when *JP* pulls into the driveway and gets out of his car. This could be an awkward moment. *JP* might assume that the BP was here for a morning meeting of his own. NOT. Fortunately, he heads straight for the front door.

The crazy-beast-most-often-mistaken-for-a-dog goes into greeting mode, which involves considerable barking, lots of running around, and the fetching of a toy to show our visitor. Said visitor doesn’t get to play with the toy, but is expected to appreciate the effort that the crazy beast has gone to in fetching it. Failure to show proper appreciation will result in a continuation of the running around.

*JP* seems to intutively grasp the importance of the greeting ritual as well as the fact that he is here to play with ME not the crazy beast. Off to the palace of fine arse otherwise known as my bedroom for that all important mid-morning meeting of the man-meat.

Man after my own heart, *JP* drops trou as soon as we walk into my room. Given how little I’m wearing its a sprint to nudity with some very fine kissing at the finish line. A great start to the meeting. A glance downward tells me that *JP* is built the same all over: short and squat. Ah well, thick is better than long. And he does have excellent tongue technique. Perhaps he will be interested in putting that tongue to better use.

I jump on the bed, landing face down, ass up. The move looks completely casual and ever so spontaneous. The result of a small amount of preparation to ensure the pillows are in exactly the right position and more than a little bit of practice. *JP* notices immediately. His large hands spread my cheeks and BULLSEYE.

OH YES. I can not tell you how much I appreciate those men who have bothered to understand the artistry involved in a proper ass eating. And after last night with *AP*, my threshold for satisfaction is unusually high. I am hoping that this phase of the meeting will last a while longer, and *JP* does not disappoint. He is obviously here to make sure that the business at hand is conducted to the highest standard.

It’s mid way through the morning meeting and things could not be going better. Time to close this deal.

My ass is READY, so I flip onto my back and raise my legs. I’m … flexible. Very flexible. Ankles to ears is an excellent way to expose the entrance to my best asset. *JP* takes the hint and little shorty makes his debut. Thick IS a good thing. It guarantees that you stop and take notice. Believe me. I’m noticing.

One of the nice things about this position is that if the guy happens to be a good kisser, my flexibility makes that easy. *JP* is a very good kisser. And very good at using what little talent he’s got to the absolute fullest. My tushy is receiving an excellent workout.

It is also clear that the man has stamina. He is maintaining a strong, steady pace with excellent use of angle and a precise stroke to ensure that he gets maximum utilitzation of the available, albiet limited, length with superior utilization of the above average girth.

You gotta love a man who has taken the time to develop his skill level to this degree. If forced to choose, I will (almost) always take skill over talent. I am currently experiencing a very high degree of skill. I happen to believe that it is important to express appropriate appreciate in such matters, so I exercise my own rather significant skills, which include, among other things, a remarkable (let me put it this way. It sure gets remarked on A LOT.) ability to flex and relax pretty much all of the muscles in the general region of the tushy to create a wide range of effects and sensations. The impact is immediate and significant. We engage is a game of exploration of limits. I know I’m going to win, given the natural limits with which *JP* is forced to operate, but we are both experiencing a great deal of pleasure in the process.

*JP*’s breath is starting to catch just a little, so know that he is about to put a lid on the deal. Time for the pulsing flex. Not many can resist and ….

BAM.  I just hate to have to ask “Did you cum?” *JP* is leaving NO doubt. He has one of those cocks that swells up when he cums.  I LOVE it when you can actually feel them explode. Him being of significant thickness, I really got to feel it. To show my appreciation one more time, I my assets to milk the last few drops out of him, watching his eyes roll back into his head every time I squeeze.

THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is the way to have a mid-morning meeting. I do hope he decides to do a followup visit.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

Tuesday night I happened to be online (quelle surprise), and ran into a fella that I have kind of a thing for. We have fucked a couple of times and he would definitely qualify for more. Naturally, the course of true love never did run smooth, so right now, the best I can hope for is the occasional fuck. And lucky me, he is in the mood. He asks if I’m clean and ready.

DUH. A good bottom never logs in until the prep-work is done.

How long for me to get there? I can be there by 10:30. Good. Because he has to be up early in the morning and wants to be in bed by midnight.

I’m ready to walk out the door when he asks me to … hold. I feel like the Bridget Fonda character in the American remake of La Femme Nikita when she went to New Orleans with her boyfriend (who didn’t know she was an assassin) and was in the bathroom of the hotel room with the gun pointed out the window waiting for he control agent to tell her who the target is, while the boyfriend knocks on the door thinking that she is upset about something and wants to come walking in. Not exactly a good time to have to hold.

I am READY. Can we just make this happen? Please? Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Finally, at 10:28, he gives me the word, so I scramble and head out.

I arrive exactly on time. He offers me a drink (no thank you) and we head upstairs.

*AP* is a passionate kind of guy. Just one of the reasons that I would do more than just fuck around with him. We kiss, a lot. And I suck on his impressive talent. Finally, I climb, literally (he’s got one of those high beds) up onto the bed, and position myself face down, ass up.

I believe I’ve mentioned before my profound appreciation for those top guys who know how to eat before they fuck. *AP* is definitely one of those guys. And he LOVES doing it too. He buries his face in my ass and starts in. Seriously, he is good at eating ass. He could do this all night and I would be one happy camper.

But we do have a time limit and the thing he talks about most is how much he loves fucking my ass. In fact, every time we’ve fucked, and multiple times in between, he has told me that I have very best ass he has ever fucked.

We are not talking some 22 year old kid who hasn’t really had much chance to sample the pleasures of the flesh (not that I don’t appreciate the compliment, which they pretty much always give once they’ve ridden my highway to heaven.) *AP* has been around more one block more than a few times. When a guy like that tells you that you have, without a doubt, the very best ass he has every fucked, THAT is a compliment.

I must admit, his considerable talent, otherwise known as TAB A, is a nigh on perfect fit in my little bit of heaven, otherwise known as SLOT B. Yet another reason I would happily spend more time with him. If one is considering limiting one’s activities, having the correct TAB A for one’s SLOT B is an important consideration.

But, back to the tongue in my ass….

I’m starting to wonder if I should disturb the artist at work when he says to me, “Sit on my face.”

My pleasure. No really. MY pleasure. Intensely, MY PLEASURE. But it does afford me the opportunity for some reciprocation by sucking on his rather beautiful cock.

Aside from actual sodomy, this might just be my favorite thing: getting my ass eaten by someone who actually knows what they are doing while sucking on a very fine specimen of man-meat.

It’s pretty obvious that *AP* is enjoying himself immensely. Both of us seem pretty content with the current setup so we continue for what can only be called A LONG TIME. Every time *AP* gets close, I back off a little. Then work him to the edge again. Finally, I decide I want what I want and I want it now. I swallow him whole and squeeze the head of his cock deep in the back of my throat. *AP* is a big boy and I do mean all the way in the back of my throat.

Suddenly, with a loud moan, he releases a HUGE load of cum; squirt; Squirt; SQUIRT SQUIRT SQUIRT. And I just keep sucking the life out of him. He is effectively trapped because I’m sitting on his chest with my ass buried in his face and I’ve got complete control with his cock buried in my mouth. Not one drop of that precious life fluid is going to escape.

His moans indicate that he is past the point of simple pleasure and entering the realm of too much.

Suffer. I ain’t stopping til I suck every last drop of out of you

Now, God, in her infinite bitchiness, did not make all cum equal. In fact, a lot of it is pretty knarly tasting. Forget about what he might have eaten or drunk. Most cum is just plain nasty and does not belong on my rather well developed palate.

But some guys…The perfect combination of sweet and salt with no bitterness. More common with large shooters in my experience, and *AP* has just unloaded a HUGE wad. DELICIOUS. Veritable man-nectar.

The poor man is completely drained and essentially incapacitated. I do hope I haven’t hurt him, because I fully intend to use him again in the near future.

But for now, that ass eating along with that wonderful protein infusion has me ready to BURST. I roll off *AP* onto my back and take matters into my own hand. Gentleman that he is, *AP* reaches between my legs and presses against my perineum applying the perfect amount of pressure as I stroke my cock. I’m not usually quick on the trigger, but it takes only a few moments before I’m spewing my own load all over my chest and belly.

EARTHQUAKE! And we are talking 8.0 on the Rocksoff Scale. A real toe curler.

*AP* is one of the few people that I enjoy spending post-coital time with. We lie there in his bed talking of this and that as the clock ticks ever closer to the witching hour. I don’t really want to leave, but I know he wants to get to bed, so finally I gather my clothes and get dressed to leave.

*AP* walks me downstairs, and I reiterate that I’m open to more than just fucking. He tells me that his life is complicated.

Ha. Complicated. Yea. Join the club. But for now, what complicated really means is he wants things to be the way they are. That is not the same thing as happy with things the way they are, or even content with things the way they are. He just doesn’t want them different than they way they are.

And so, I leave, knowing that before long he will want to play bump and tickle again, and fool that I am, I will hustle my ass over to get what I can.

Eventually this situation will change or I will learn to say NO. But for now… Well, for now, if gratitude is a good attitude, I’ll be grateful for what I’ve got.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

So, back from New York City for exactly one day, I just had time to pack and head out again. This time, deep into the heart of Texas. San Antonio to be exact.

After my last encounter with a Texan, I was really looking forward to this little sojourn.

I arrived in San Antonio on Wednesday afternoon, and checked into my hotel. The CROCKETT, just a few short boots steps from the ALAMO. Great location. Nice little hotel. Just one itty bitty thing. In order to access any of the guest floors, you need a key.

DAMN. No waiting ass up, pre-lubed on the bed with the door ajar for those Texas longhorns to walk in. I look every so pretty in that position. Now I’ll have to meet my Gentlemen Callers in the lobby. Such a hassle. Unfortunately some of them think that it is necessary to engage in actual conversation if you have your clothes on when you first meet. This would be just fine if they were more than a life support system for a big dick, but since so much of their blood supply is used for other things, a well developed vocabulary and sharp conversational skills tend not to be prevalent features of the men I pick. I have, however, found that most men will stop talking if you just start sucking their dick. I’ll have to hope for the best.

So, having arrived, a shower is my first order of business. I hate that fresh off the plane feeling, plus, I want to make sure my little bit of heaven is squeaky clean, just in case some Texas longhorn finds my redhead ass irresistible.

Nice and clean, inside and out, I head out for a quick meal. I can’t stay up too late since I’m one of the first presenters at the conference that starts on the morrow. Fortunately I’m in the afternoon, but my seminar is one of the keystone presentations. A good night’s sleep is definitely in order, and frankly, I can’t think of a better way to ensure that then finding a nice big dick to ream me out good.

Thank God for Texas where everything is bigger.

It is always such a nice feeling to be fresh meat. It takes all of 60 seconds from the time I log in until I start receiving message after message from guys asking after my well-being. Such polite fellas. But given the pictures I use online, perhaps we could get past the “HI. How are you?” and right to the “WOW. Hot ass man.”

Sometimes you just have to deal with the local social context. FINALLY, a tall handsome, and might I add, young, fella admires my better side. (Not that I’m bad looking. It’s just when the goal is dick in ass, and I’m gonna be eating pillow anyway, how cute I am is kind of a secondary matter.)

So, *RT*’s profile says he is tall and thin. Works for me. Actually works for me in a big way. I’ve always had a weakness for tall guys. I don’t mean 5′9 kinda tall. I mean 6′ and over kinda tall.  The thin thing… well tend toward guys with some meat on the bone. Actually, I tend toward guys with big meaty bones and my extensive research has revealed that they come in all shapes and sizes. *RT* is sweet looking and ready to head over right way.

Hard to beat youthful enthusiasms, so I give him my number and tell him to call me when he gets here.

Quick as you can say HI HO SILVER, my phone is ringing. I describe the (minimal) about of clothing I have on, tell him to wait for me by the elevators and head out the door to meet my Texan.

The boy is cute. Very cute. His pictures don’t really do him justice, which is always a nice surprise. So much better than those people who think that recent with regard to pics means anything from the past century or two. Or those people who think you can alter the weight/height ratio to make their cock look bigger and people won’t notice. I wasn’t born yesterday (and don’t you DARE to comment on that one. Exactly which anniversary of my 21st birthday I celebrate in a given year is a matter of national security, divulged on a need to know basis only. When I give my age I always tell the truth. Generally just not the whole truth. After all, I am 21. I’m also 22. I’m also 23. I’m also 24. Etc. Etc. Etc.   Well, Etc. Etc. I was not there personally when Lincoln spoke at Gettysburg, but I’ve met people who were. And unfortunately the pics they used online were taken that very day. The sepia tones should have been a give away.)

From the ride up in the elevator I can already tell his is going to be a bit on chatty side. I’m going to have to get us past that awkward moment or this could end up being a long evening in all the wrong ways. As soon as I walk in the door of my room, I bend over and slide my gym pants to my ankles, baring my full moon for the man of my needs. Kinda hard to miss as he is standing directly behind me. I linger in the requisite position for a moment or six longer than necessary. Then I turn around and drop to my knees.

Smart boy. No belt. Unbutton the jeans, and down with the zipper.

Hmmm. I was under the impression that there was going to be a trouser snake of Texas proportions in there somewhere, but my initial examination reveals … nothing.

I pull his jeans and underwear down. (Why DO they bother with the underwear? I really have never quite figured this out. So, Mummie told them to always wear clean underwear, just in case?)

Ah, there it is, nestled in a rich brown bush. Here, let me get out my magnifying glass so I can get a better look at it. And hand me those tweezers so I can get a grip on that little inch worm. What fun.

NOT.

Sometimes you have to make the best of a situation, so I swallow the worm whole, allowing it to tickle the back… front of my palette.

Using my tongue I roll junior this way and that and … hmmm. Junior seems to have started to get excited. In fact, he seems to rather like one of those vacuum dried foam toys. Pop them in water and they grow to 10 times their size.

Seriously, this thing is growing like tentacle in a bad science fiction movie. I’ve dealt with show-er’s and growers, but this is amazing.

By now, he is more than tickling my tonsils and well on his way to my epiglottis.

DAMN. An impressive feat. I swear this little thing has grown from at most three inches to a true nine.

Unfortunately, all the growth has gone into length. The whole thing is no thicker than my thumb. I’m a huge believer in THICK IS BETTER THAN LONG, with the combination of THICK AND LONG being the best, of course. Still, nine inches of cock is nine inches of cock.

I assume the canine position on the bed and *RT* starts to mount me. It may not be thick, but when he hits bottom this little doggie gives an appreciative howl.

Having found my depth, *RT* starts a vigorous regimen of the ole in / out. That youthful energy has found an outlet in my inlet. As I look over my shoulder, I happen to notice some that clever interior design queen has strategically placed a rectangular mirror, with the long side parallel to the floor, next to the bed.

Now seriously people. A mirror that is three times as long as it is wide placed in that orientation next to the bed can serve only one meaningful purpose. We are talking full length here, and not while standing.

The view is … well… spectacular. I have a very cute, tall, thin but tautly muscled 20something fucking my ass six ways to Sunday and I get to see every inch of his pencil dick slide in and out of my ass while his doing it.

Life, ladies and gentlemen, is good.

*RT* has worked himself into a steady rhythm, and I can hear his breathing quickening. I’m impressed at the pace he has been maintaining, but he is not going to last much longer.

With one final, and very deep, thrust, he explodes deep inside me, collapsing on top of me.

DAMN, that feels good.

This is the way to start a trip.

We spend a few minutes chatting. *RT* tells me there is a gay bar about a block and half down the road from my hotel. Nice to know, although I’m not really a bar guy, but it can’t hurt. I tell him, if he wants to scratch the itch again, I’m gonna be in town until Monday.

My sufficiency suffoncified, I show *RT* the door and tuck myself into bed for a good night’s sleep.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

So, having gotten home ‘early’, like… 3:30 or so, Saturday was looking good. *TH* and I were going grocery shopping, which meant I would have to drive the truck. Been a while since I managed a stick. THAT kind of stick anyway, but I guess it’s like falling off a bicycle. You just never forget.

When we came back from the store, it was time to make some cookies for the big party. So first thing we did was drop a dozen eggs. Generally, the more accepted technique is to break them one at a time into a bowl, but this was so much more efficient. All I had to do was scoop them all up and remove the bits of shell.

Seriously, what a hoot. Some people just don’t belong in the kitchen and *TH* is one of them. But it got us started on the project and put me in a great mood. I love to cook and I was going to be making something new.

Now, we were making some kind of Italian cookie that *MR* likes. The recipe is minimal, but it requires something like a waffle iron. He happens to own two. So I mixed up, by hand, of course, a triple recipe of the dough; beating the eggs lightly with a whisk; shifting the flour and sugar. Then came the anise seed. MMM MMM good.

Two teaspoon fulls at a time on each iron; close and lock; let sit for 30 to 40 seconds; open, remove and stack to cool. Such pretty things. And tasty. No wonder he wanted to make them.

Did we make a 100; a 1000; TEN THOUSAND? After a while, the brain just goes numb and time ceases to matter. Kind of like when getting fucked by a boring top who just can’t cum, but won’t quit until he does. You just go into some place in your head and … vacation until it is all over. Finally, I reached the last of the batter and I could relax for a few minutes.

Then I made sandwiches for us, and … let’s call it quick, shit, shower and shave, and we packed up to head out. The plan was head into Brooklyn, to another one of *MR*’s EX’s place and dump our stuff there. After the party we could come back there and crash, so we would already be in The City for the actual gay pride festivities on Sunday.

Jes! Us! Christ! We had a lot of stuff for one night. But better safe than sorry. Be prepared. A few good men. Etc. Etc. Etc.

*MR*’s EX also had his sister and her husband staying with him. Active military, home on leave from Iraq. And I don’t care how you feel about our President (actually I DO care how you feel about our President, cause he is an ASSHOLE who is ruining our country….) but I respect the sacrifice that our men and women in uniform are making on our behalf. He was just a great kid putting his life on the line so that someone like me could enjoy fucking gay pride in fucking New York City. Fucking A, man. Even that asshole Bush can’t ruin some things.

Finally, it is off to Chelsea to this “A-list” party. If I knew what the hell an “A-list” was, I would probably have a greater appreciation for what was about to happen, but I’m just happy to be here. And who knows; maybe tonight will finally be THE NIGHT. Sex in the city and all that.

*MR*’s friend who is throwing the party lives in a penthouse apartment (to me, condo…). *MR* gives a name at the door and up we go. On the ride up to the umteenth floor, *MR* explains that there should be maybe 80 people, most of whom he will know. Fun crowd. Nice guys. And he is looking forward to introducing me to all his friends, which is really sweet. Such a nice guy.

The din in the hallway outside the door is enough to make it hard to hear what *MR* is saying, but in we go and first thing, we get greeted by our host, an attractive man with a great smile who is clearly in overwhelm. *MR* introduces us and we hand over a couple of nice bottles of booze and a huge platter of Italian cookies. I took ONE, and it is a darn good thing cause by the time I had make one round of the room they were GONE. The locusts took longer to ravage Egypt. Britney’s marriage to Jason Allen Alexander lasted longer than those cookies.

Time for a tour.

The main floor is small, with a bath, kitchen and open living area and this metal spiral staircase. There have to 50 people packed just into the living room. A huge, and completely ravaged, spread of what once might have been foot, and a bar with two hunky guys in underwear (apparently “porn stars”) mixing drinks.

Upstairs was a “bedroom” with a big closet and another bath. The upstairs also leads to a large deck with another bar and yet another hunky guy in underwear. Up another flight of stairs is yet another deck with amazing views of The City and a small hot tub. *MR* had mentioned the hot tub, but right now, it is covered and a couple of twinks are sitting on it giggling at various people.

Somehow the crowd does not exactly match the description, and there seem to be way more people than *MR* said. So I start asking around. How do you know our host?

Hmmm. At least half the people I ask don’t, and don’t even know who the host is. Turns out, there was another party in the building, and at some point that entire group decided to come upstairs and check out the “A-list” party.

I finally meet a couple of nice guys, one of whom is VERY drunk but VERY good looking. The other fellow lives on the third floor and is a friend of our host. And he is pretty much over the event (it is already after midnight). So, he asks if I might like to join him and his friend for a ‘drink’ downstairs.

HELL YES. Finally. So off we go. Down the elevator and into a TINY studio apartment. After a perfunctory look around, we start to undress the drunk Canadian and THANK GOD one thing is finally leading to another. Turns out our drunk Canadian is packing some heat south of border and I am more than ready to take a ride on the cross border express. I so play MOUNTIE, A.

Bummer about him being so drunk cause basically he is beyond knowing or caring what is happening, and actually passes out while I’m riding him. Hard to take personally, so Mr. 3rd floor and I play a little bump and tickle til he blows his load down my throat.

THANK YOU GOD. Finally actual sex in New York City. Not great sex. Not even good sex. But at least cock and cum were involved.

Time to make a graceful exit, so I clean up a bit and head upstairs again.

The crowd is even more rowdy and even more of the interlopers have arrived. There is actually a guy at the door with a list. Fortunately, I know the one name I need to and can get in.

I bump into this cute little fella who lives in Brooklyn. One of the ones from the other party. Next thing I know, we are standing at the railing of the top balcony with each other’s dick’s in our hands. Now THIS is party. And this little boy has quite the exhibitionist streak, which completely works for me. We are starting to generate a little notice. At one point I have his pants around his knees and he is backed up against the railing, which is glass panels in a metal frame. The people on the lower deck are whipping cell phone and snapping pics of his ass.

I’m ready to get fucked for the audience. DAMN. He’s a bigger bottom than me, but he doesn’t want to get fucked up on the roof. So we start inviting some of the looky-loos to join in. We finally snag this Hispanic fella who says he is ALL TOP and ready to rock and roll. Just … not here.

Hmmm. I think. There has to be someplace we could wander to in this building to fuck. I suggest we get in the elevator and go looking.

As we get in, a bunch of other people join us. They are heading all the way down, so I hit 6 at random and give the guys a wink. We get off at 6 and I head for the stairwell.

Dicks out; my ass bared. The slurping starts and things are heating up fast. Suddenly the stairwell door opens and three guys poke their heads in. The two Chinese guys start to giggle. The taller white guy looks… shocked, as if he’s never seen three guys having sex in a stairwell before.

Guys. Seriously. I don’t care if you want to watch, but do not, Do Not, DO NOT laugh. That is just bad manners. Turns out our little bottom boy knows them and had texted them our location to come and watch. Don’t we want to come back to their apartment and let them all watch me get fucked?

Frankly… not really, but my Mr. Top seems to like the idea of getting out of the stairwell, so we walk … across the hall into the apartment where the OTHER party had been happening until they all went upstairs.

Mr Top heads to the bathroom to pee and asks me to join him. He doesn’t really want to fuck me in the living room, so we end up in this tiny bathroom as he fucks me. It’s a small room and with three of us in there, with a couple more standing in the doorway, it’s starting to get HOT in all the wrong ways.

I’m ready for Mr. Top to blow his load, but the harder he works, the hotter he gets and less ready he becomes.

Let’s try something else. I ask our bottom boy to clear the space so we can get some ventilation and I slip his rather impressive piece of chorizo in my mouth. Three minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Finally after about 15 minutes of deep throat, dinner is served. Hot and spicy. Definitely worth the wait.

As Mr. Top jumps into the shower, I head to the living room. Our ‘hosts’ offer me a bowl of hot and spicy Chinese noodles. Perfect and thank you very much. I’ve worked up quite the appetite and Mr. Top’s high protein infusion made me notice just how hungry I am. And what the hell time is it anyway?

Wow. Almost 4:00. My friends might have noticed I’m not exactly around, so time to head back upstairs. A short trip in the elevator and at least it had finally quieted down. I can hear the music playing and people talking, but not so loud that you can’t think. I knock… And knock again. Louder. And again. LOUDER. I can hear people in the room. HEY. Guys. Open the door!

Five minutes and a few raw knuckles later, I finally manage to get someone’s attention and come back inside. Only a couple of dozen people are left and the place looks like a war zone.

Sometimes I can’t help myself. I find a bag and start wandering around picking up trash, empty bottles and glasses and the general detritus that wild parties seem to generate. The beautiful hardwood floors need some serious attention, but I daren’t start washing them with people still here.

*MR* and *TH* are finally ready to leave. We gather our belongs, including a HUGE back full of actual vinyl records. Where did they come from? *MR* is going to take and store for the DJ. Ah. Could you carry those, he asks?

Oh joy. I missed my workout at the gym on Friday. But what the hell. *MR* is a great guy and carrying a few dozen records won’t kill me. So off we go. We get a few blocks away from the apartment and just as a quedalmorph* goes walking past, *MR* realizes that he doesn’t have his money. We screech to a halt and head back. A bit of frantic searching and relief. We find his money. Another round of goodbye’s and we are off.

As we head toward the subway, the sun is just starting to light the night sky and it is a beautiful sight. I’ve been to wilder parties, but I did have a lot of fun and finally, FINALLY got some dick.

All good things to those who wait

Quedalmorph: a black, albino midget or dwarf who can smoke or otherwise inhale through the anus. So, I didn’t stop and ask the guy if he could smoke through his ass, but he was definitely a black, albino midget and that is good enough for me.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

After having gone to bed at … I guess 5:00am, we kinda got a late start to the day. Which, quite frankly, was just fine with me. A leisurely afternoon turned into a light dinner and before I knew it, it was time to head out. And tonight, *TH* has tickets for … wait for it… WICKED!

I’ve never been to a Broadway show, and to get to see WICKED!  Life could not get any better.

So, we pack ourselves, literally, into the truck and head for Jersey City. We are going to take the train into THE CITY.

Ah. Bright lights. Big City. Perfect weather. Great company. And in just a little bit… WICKED. I am truly living the good life.

And then (you knew this was coming….) What the hell is wrong with *MR*’s shoe? The whole sole has started to peel off. And not just one. BOTH of his shoes.

Now, picture this. This big strapping leather daddy type has these cute little ribbons tied into bows on this shoes. Seriously. So I take the ribbons and use them to tie the soles back on as a temporary fix. Then, we head directly from the train to a drug store to try and buy some glue. I’m thinking… Pick the GORILLA GLUE cause we need this stuff to stick and hold.

We get to the theater and head to our seats. *TH* and *MR* are sitting just a few rows back from the orchestra, and I have a front row seat in the first balcony. And this theater is HUGE. All the buzz. The excitement. This is just amazing.

The lights start to go down and the make an amusing announcement about cell phones and pages and candy wrappers. The music starts and … magic. It’s just magic.

If only the stupid bitch sitting just below me didn’t happen to think that the announcement about cell phones didn’t apply to her. Yo. BITCH. Is someone dying? Cause really, that is about the only excuse for a sorry of a human to being doing what you are doing when the rest of us are trying to experience the awe and magic of WICKED. Yea. YOU bitch. I mean YOU.

And just as I’m about to open my mouth and give her the speech, she puts the damn phone away.

Thank you very much. BITCH.

Just you and I defying gravity. I’ve been changed for good. Getting to see WICKED on Broadway…. *TH* is a good friend, and I can’t thank him enough for that gift. Oh, and *MR*’s shoes… perfect fix. Sometimes, things just work out.

Well, I was defying gravity as we left the theater. We stopped at a funky pizza place for a light bite. Real New York pizza after an amazing Broadway show. Things guys like me only READ about. Then off to MONSTER where a friend of *TH* is DJ-ing.

We are on the guest list, so we zip right inside. MONSTER is a fun place. Upstairs is a big bar and a piano at one end. Downstairs is a large dance floor. *TH*’s friend is spinning downstairs. The place is full of guys having fun.

*MR* happen to meet a nice German fellow who was … interested. Of course, that would mean someone riding in the back of the truck with a dresser, but haven’t we all done some pretty odd things to get laid?

Well, German hottie decided that was just a bit much, so it was off to the PATH train to fetch the truck and pack ourselves in for the long drive home.

WICKED, pizza and a fun bar. Still no sodomy, but things are definitely looking up in the Big Apple.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

So, a friend of mine (*TH*) calls up and says, “Wanna go to New York for gay pride?”

Kind of like asking the guy who just hiked across the desert if he wants a glass of water. But logistics still have to be handled, because the day after I would get back, I would have to leave again on a business trip. Back to back trips is NOT my idea of a good time, even if one of them is to New York for gay pride. Still, how many times in my life has someone asked me to go to gay pride in New York?

Hmm. Exactly ONCE. This is really a no-brainer.

We can stay with friends of his; we’ll get to see WICKED; we get to go to an A-List party; we get to do one of the gay river tea dance cruises. It will be a blast. And actually, fairly inexpensive, which in New York can matter.

I fly in on Thursday afternoon. *TH*’s friend pics me up at Newark airport and we had to his house in New Jersey. *MR* is a great guy and we hit it off right away. After getting settled a bit, they decide we should go to the EAGLE later.

The 5 day forecast said highs in the low 90s and lows in the low 70s. Here I was thinking jeans and tee shirts with one dress shirt for the theater. Silly me. I failed to pack any leather. I should have realized that these dizzy queens ALWAYS need accessories.

As it turns out, *MR* has several closets full of stuff and they dress me up in six different outfits before deciding on some very nice leather pants, latex vest, thick white socks and heavy black boots. I’m not wearing a single thing that I own Ain’t gay friends grand? And I must say, I DO look very fuckable in these tight leather paths and my smooth, just toned not buff chest showing under the vest.

The three of us, me, *MR* and *TH* all pile into the front seat of his little Toyota pickup. Little being the key word here. *MR* is a decent sized guy, and *TH* falls into the XX large category. Naturally, I’m in the middle, and there is just no place, NO place, NO PLACE to put my legs. I end up sitting cattywompus with my hips all twisted one way, my shoulders another, my left leg up on the dash, and my right leg over *TH*’s legs. I have to pay close attention because every time *MR* needs to shift gears I have to lift my leg out of his way.

How long is this drive going to be?

Oh, it’s only 24 miles to the Holland Tunnel, but we have to stop in Jersey City to help *MR*’s ex move. Stop and help *MR*’s ex move? Furniture? Down how many flights of stairs?

Um. It’s in the mid-80s, with 80% humidity, and I’m wearing LEATHER. OK. I’ll be the good little leather boy, keep my mouth shut and do what I’m told. I can assure you, that doesn’t happen all the often, but what the hey; I’m on vacation. A bit of role playing can be… informative, cause schlepping this stuff stuff down the stairs is NOT my idea of a good time.

It’s a good thing I don’t sweat much. Unfortunately, the same can not be said for everyone in our party. We squeeze back into the truck and head for New York.

Parking karma is an odd thing. And according to *TH* the more fucked up *MR* is, (and by fucked up we apparently mean high on something) the better his parking karma. I’m not sure I could deal with Manhatten traffic SOBER, so I’m kinda amazed at what *MR* can do behind the wheel. And that parking karma thing. SCORE. We end up getting great parking and walk the two short blocks to the EAGLE. Finally, a big city gay bar. And it’s only … 1:00am. A whole hour to enjoy the bar.

You mean they stay open til 4:00? I’m LOVING this!!!

We walk in and … looks pretty empty to me. Ah. The action is upstairs on the roof. So we head up. Nice night. Beautiful weather. Friendly crowd. So, when does the sodomy start?

All these hot (and some not so hot) guys dressed up. You can BREATHE the testosterone in the air. Just lean me up against the wall, legs spread wide and let the hot leather men have at my little bit of heaven. Just the hot ones, if you don’t mind. Standards are standards, after all.

I look around me… and notice that … nothing is really happening at all. No one is even frisky much less fucking like bunnies. Where’s the suck face? Where’s the cock? Where’s the guys on their knees? What’s with this place?

I finally ask *MR* what’s up. Apparently they “don’t do that anymore.”

What the ??? This is fucking New York City? How can they not “do that anymore”? I can see, or HAVE, more action on a rainy Monday night at my local hole in the wall bar back home. If this is what the weekend is going to be like, the Big Apple is going to be a big waste of time.

Sometime around 4:00am we decide to head home. I’ve only been up all day and spent an hour or so carting furniture downs three flights of stairs dressed in leather.

Tired? What’s that?

But at least I got my brains fucked out at the Eagle.

No wait. That was IN MY DREAMS.

Let’s hope the rest of the weekend will be a bit more exciting. The company is great, but I want some ACTION.

Hi. My name’s *del*, and I’m a cyberslut.

It’s Saturday night, and my dreams are about to come true. I can feel it. Magic is going to happen TONIGHT.

I take a long, hot shower. Cleanliness is next to godliness, so they say. I’m going to do the cleanliness and I’m planning on getting very close to Dick, who is as near to godlike as I’ve ever met. I want everything to be just perfect.

I leave the house with plenty of time to get into the City. He takes me to a lovely little restaurant near his place. I eat a light meal. After all, I’m … expecting … hmmm … dessert after dinner. And dinner is just wonderful. Quiet place, romantic lighting, soft music, and the dreamiest man on the planet. Life could NOT be better.

After dinner, Dick finally asks THE QUESTION: Would you like to come back to my place?

Does the sun rise in the East? Does my mother know the Pope? Does looking into your eyes make my legs go weak? YES YES YES, and off we go.

Dick lives in a railroad flat: a long, narrow apartment with a single hallway that extends from the front entrance straight through the house, all the way to back, with doors off that single hallway for every room. As we enter, he tells me I have to wait, because he has a retired police dog, and there is a little ritual we have to go through for the dog to meet me. So we are standing in the tiny front hall, under a single dim light, looking down a very long, very dark hallway. In the distance (how long IS that hallway) I can hear: THUMP, THUMP, Thump, Thump; THUMP, THUMP, Thump Thump; while Dick stands screaming, “STOP! STOP! CUJO, STOP.”

OK, the dog’s name isn’t really Cujo, and I like dogs, but this is not going well. As Dick continues to scream at a, supposedly, highly trained police dog who could probably kill me with a single CHOMP, I’m not exactly what you would call comfortable with the situation. And as the THUMP THUMP is getting closer and Dick is screaming louder, I can see a very large set of very yellow teeth glowing in the darkness of the hall.

I want MAGIC, not Stephen King.

Then out of the darkness leaps this HUGE dog, teeth bared. Two enormous paws land on my shoulders knocking me back into Dick and suddenly I am being French kissed by sweetest German Shepherd on the planet. Not the kiss I was hoping for, but oh my gosh, this dog is sweet sweet sweet.

And Dick is pissed, pissed, pissed. Apparently it is a condition of his being allowed to keep the dog that he maintain the training and discipline and we have just experienced a total failure of both. I try to explain that dogs just like me, but Dick is not exactly in a listening mood as he grabs Maximilian’s collar and drags him away to lock him up.

Ouch. Things could be going just a tad bit better. But when Dick comes back he is calm and happy.  I’m being lead down the dark hallway to … to … some stairs leading down. It would seem tall, dark and handsome lives in the basement, leaving me to wonder who lives upstairs? So I ask, “Where are we going?” Sometimes, I have a gift with words.

“I have a play room downstairs”, he says. Play room? What the heck is a play room? Then he flicks the light switch and …

OK. So apparently a ‘play room’ is a large room with lots of … equipment is the only word I can come up with, and a bed, and an open shower, and cowboy hats and boots and lots and lots of whips hanging EVERYWHERE.

*Sigh*

Whips. Lots and lots of whips. Longs whips. Short whips. Big whips. Small whips.

You know, I’m sure those of you familiar with such things would be impressed and some of you might be able to say what type each one is, and exactly what you use each one for, but I’m not one of those people and this is not putting me in THE MOOD, if you know what I mean.

Still, this is the single most handsome, thoughtful, romantic man I’ve ever met, and sometimes you just have to go with the flow. And right now the flow has us standing in front of the bed, and Dick is wrapping me in his arms and kissing me as sweetly and softly as I’ve ever been kissed in my life. Which, quite frankly, is not saying much since you can pretty much count on your fingers the number of men who have ever kissed me. But, this is still the best, sweetest, most romantic kiss EVER.

Now, I’m a bit shy about the whole get naked thing. I’m short; I’m skinny; I’m whiter than Mr. Clean in mid-winter, and I’ve got bright red hair. Handsome is not exactly a word that I hear used by anyone, including my own mother, to describe me. But clearly this man/god finds me attractive in some way for some reason. And he is rapidly taking off all the clothes I’m wearing. It would seem the best course of action is to do the same to him. So I do.

As the layers come off (it is late October after all) the rippling muscles of Dick’s body are slowly exposed. Dear GOD in HEAVEN this man is beautiful. And … big. Big in LOTS of ways. Big shoulders. Big thighs. Big washboard abs (I thought that was a comic book thing.) And big like long. Big like thick. BIG. And getting bigger.

We are standing in front of each other completely naked. I wish I could say nude, but I feel naked; exposed; vulnerable. Both excited and afraid. I want this, but I am so far out of the known that even Rod Serling might not be able to find this little corner of the Twilight Zone.

Dick picks me up like I’m a feather and lays me down on the bed, pinning me with his weight and kissing me deeply. Forget Twilight Zone; this is some small corner of heaven and I’m planning on taking up permenant residence.

Then he says, ever so casually, “Which hand do you use to masturbate?”

Huh?

“Which hand do you use when you jerk off?”

It’s not that I don’t the word, I’m just so surprised by the question it is taking me a minute to come up to speed. “Left” I say, completely puzzled.

So he gets up and I hear a little rattle. As he comes back to the bed he says, “Give me your left hand.” So a reach out with my left hand and CLICK.

WHOA! my left wrist now has a handcuff on it. I do have to give the man credit. Was it my gasp? My yanking my hand back causing the chain to pull tight making the handcuffs tear into my wrist? My dick suddenly going completely limp? Or perhaps the look of sheer terror on my face? But he did notice that I was not exactly completely at ease.

“It’s OK”, he says. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just reach down and grab your cock with your left hand.”

This man knows things I don’t and probably never will, but I believe him when he says he isn’t going to hurt me. Every single thing I know about this man… almost every thing single I know about this man says he is kind, and sweet, and gentle and … and … OK. He’s whacked too. Clearly a freakazoid. But some part of me really does want this to happen because it is HIM asking. So I reach down and grab my cock.

CLICK. He has put the other cuff around my cock and balls like a cock ring. AH. My momma may well have raise some fools, but I get it. I can not move my left hand more than a couple of inches away from my cock, and really, the only comfortable thing to do with that hand is GRAB my cock. So I do.

Rattle, rattle, and now he has in his hands … hell if I know, but its got wires and clips and knobs. “What’s that?”. Yea, a gift with words.

“It’s a TENS unit.”

OK. It does not look like the number that goes between the one’s unit and the hundred’s unit. (Did I mention I’m a geek?) Time for that gift with words thing, “What’s it do?”, I ask, not entirely sure I want an answer.

“Just wait.”

Dick pushes my legs up and does god only knows down THERE and then OH MY GOD!

I have to give the man credit. Was it my gasp? The involuntary spasms wracking my entire body? My dick suddenly going rock hard? Or perhaps the look of sheer ecstasy on my face? But he did notice that I was …. You know, I don’t even have a word for what I was. My body has never experienced such pleasure. Every inch of me from the hair on top of my head to my toes nails is ALIVE.

“Did you like that?”, he says?

Apparently Dick has a gift for words too. Like that? LIKE THAT? I want MORE and I want it NOW.

“Do it again”, I say. And he does.

It turns out that a TENS unit is a little device that sends electric impulses into you muscles causing them to involuntarily contract. Dick has cleverly attached the leads to my ASSHOLE and my little tushy is quivering like a blow of jello in an earthquake. Seriously, I don’t know how long I can take this. It is sooooo intense and soooo amazing. But … just a little bit more, please?

Just at the point were my mind is starting to melt, Dick pulls the leads off me, and unlocks the handcuffs. “My turn”, he says. “Suck my cock.”

So I do.

I want him to like what I’m doing, but I am WAY out of my league here. Here I am sucking the substantial cock of a man who is a sexual expert, and I’ve sucked a handful of cocks in my life, ever. Can you say PERFORMANCE ANXIETY? But gracious and charming man that is he, Dick says, “That’s nice.”

Sometimes its the little things, but that bit of encouragement is just what I needed.

“I want you to sit on my cock and jerk off”, he says.

Hmmm. I don’t know if Dick really IS all that big, but he is certainly the biggest dick I’ve ever been up close and personal with. This is going to be a stretch. I don’t care how much this hurts, that cock is going in my ass one way or another.

Little by little I work his cock into me. Breathe deep. Breathe deep. Breathe deep. AH. That is as far as it can possibly go. And… it’s NICE. I feel full. REALLY full and I LIKE it. I grab my own cock and start stroking as I rock back and forth.

I can’t tell you how long I sat there riding my cowboy, but I can tell you that when I did shoot my load every single person within three blocks knew. Without a doubt it was the best orgasm I had ever had. Completely spent, Dick lifts me off of him and grabs a hold of his own cock and a couple of moments later, his load is mixing with mine on his chest and abs.

We lie there, me curled up in his arms, for a timeless moment of serenity. Eventually, we float back to reality. He turns to me and asks, “Did you like that?”

“It was amazing”, I answer.

“I’d like to train you to cum when I clip clothes pins to your nipples. You could learn to cum in under 4 seconds.”

WHAT? Why on EARTH would I WANT that?

“And your skin is so beautiful. I would love to see the marks my bullwhip would leave on your butt.”

What am I supposed to say to that? I’ve just had the most mind blowing sex I could ever imagine and then some, and … it’s not enough. And, I’m guessing, it never will be. Yea. It was magic, for me, but for him? No. And I just can’t imagine clothes pins on my nipples or whip marks on my ass.

As I dress to leave, I look into Dick’s eyes. Deep brown eyes set in a face so handsome that time stops when you gaze into them. In that eternity I recall every daydream I’ve had since we met; dreams of sharing love and life with this amazing man. Then, slowly, quietly, my heart closes a door that I know will never be opened again. His is a path I can not walk; this is a journey I can not take. No words need be spoken; the look in his eyes is enough. He knows as well I do that we are not to be.

As I look at his beautiful face one last time, my heart skips. Such saddness. So much pain. It is more than I can bear. I quietly cry the entire drive home.