It’s ninety degrees, ninety-nine with the heat index right now. A “Code Orange” is in effect – small children, the elderly, and anyone with breathing problems should remain out of the heat and under fans or air conditioning. It’s stifling when you tack on the fifty-seven percent humidity… but I’ve been in worse heat. But, as before, the mind wanders a bit; I guess a lot of brain power is going to keeping my body cool and not to paying attention to what’s wandering around in my head, looking for a way to escape.
I remember getting up early one summer morning, back when I was in my twenties, and it was already hot – and the house was always in the shade so that should tell ya something. For some reason, I just threw on a pair of shorts and went commando just so I could sit outside on the steps for a few and, yeah, it was already so hot that knowing that I’d be sitting there sans underwear didn’t make me feel self-conscious at all.
The things you do to stay cool, right?
Anyway, I’m sitting there, smoking and drinking coffee, and just watching the traffic, idly wondering where all the cars were going, stuff like that. I knew I had a job interview tomorrow… but that was tomorrow and I was hoping someone would give me the break I needed to get my foot in the door so I could stop working for temp agencies and start making some real money for a change. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice there was someone standing in front of me until I blinked and refocused.
The guy standing in front of me and patiently waiting for me to notice him was maybe 35-40 and my “spidey sense” was telling me that while he wasn’t a threat, there was something about him. Dressed for the hot weather, clean-shaven, and with the kind of face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd; not male-gorgeous but not uglier than the first sin – just kind of ordinary.
After making some small talk about the weather, the man got right to the reason why we were talking, namely, he wanted a better peek at what my shorts, in commando mode, were barely hiding. I started to go into that whole “how do you know I’m down like that” routine but decided that it was too hot to be playing mind games – so I just said, “Okay…” – not giving any permission but just an acknowledgement that I heard and understood what he said.
“I just want to suck your dick and I’ll be on my way,” he said as I stared into his eyes. “Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
My curiosity wasn’t so affected by the early morning heat and it made me ask, “Why me?”
His answer was short, sweet, and to the point: “Why not?”
While I could immediately think of twenty reasons why not, I didn’t voice them; my cock, which had started stirring the moment he said “suck your dick,” decided that, yeah, a blow job right about now wouldn’t be all that bad.
While I was thinking about all of this, the guy must have thought I was offended or unconvinced or something because he added that there was no need to return any favors and emphatically stated that he wasn’t into the “butt thing.”
That was just fine with me and more so since a week or so before, I had had the biggest dick I’d ever seen in my ass and was still stewing over why it made me not want to get fucked again (it was many years later before I figured that one out). So I said, “Come on in…”
It was more like thirty minutes before he got me off – but that’s because he was taking his time, sucking on me with a skill and passion that would put most women to shame (at that time, of course). He would have gotten me off inside of ten minutes but he kept bringing me to the edge, letting me dangle for a moment, then pull me back – then do it again.
You know how you can read an erotic book and they talk about someone becoming a writhing mass of heated flesh? Yeah, that was me; this man, this stranger, was sucking me as if he was always so personally intimate with my cock and balls and he even had me thinking at one point that by comparison, I didn’t even know how to suck dick.
He had long since gotten me to the point where I wanted to return that favor… but he’d shake his head in the negative as I pleaded and, gulp, even begged for his cock to suck; he had taken his pants and underwear off, telling me that he understood the deal – even when you’re the one doing the sucking, things can get… messy, a lesson I had learned the hard and embarrassing way. I eventually stopped begging for it and he kept right on doing what he was doing to me until I guess he got tired of playing with my cock and balls, bringing me once more back to the edge of the precipice – and then kicking me right over the side.
And, yeah, I went over screaming and cursing like you wouldn’t believe. You’ve heard the saying, “Screaming like a little bitch?” Yup, that was me, too. He took every drop I had in me, sucking it from me as if he were drinking from a straw – that image in my head made me giggle aloud. He kept going until I finally went soft in his mouth; he released me and slowly got to his feet, his untended erection now bobbing before me. I was seriously thinking about just taking his shit… if I could move, that is.
He wrapped his hand around his boner and, I swear, tugged it twice – then shot his load. He shivered as his release ran through him then, as if it had never happened, reached for his pants, pulled out a handkerchief, and clean up the small mess that he made. He tossed the soiled hanky in the trash can that was close by, put his underwear and pants on and said, “Thank you; I needed that more than you know – I can let myself out.”
He just walked away, never to be seen again.
That evening, my best friend stopped by and when he asked me what I had been up to, I told him what had happened that morning; being my best friend, I knew I could tell him everything about that strange encounter, how incredibly good it had been but most of all, how puzzled and kinda frustrated it had left me.
“Frustrated?” my friend asked.
“Yeah, frustrated… because he wouldn’t let me suck his dick,” I said, shaking my head. It wasn’t like I’d never been in that situation before, having been with guys who just wanted to suck me but didn’t want to be sucked – it was just that in the past, it never bothered me as much as it did this time. I know I talked my friend’s ear off, using him as a sounding board as I tried to work through the frustration, trying to wrap my head around it so that it could make sense to me.
“It’s really bothering you, huh?” he asked when I finally ran out of things to say.
“Yeah,” I said, no longer able to verbally explain why it bothered me so much.
My friend stood up and dropped his pants, revealing the erection he had to have gotten when I told him all of the juicy stuff. That he was offering me his dick to suck didn’t surprise me; while I knew he really wasn’t into the guy-sex thing, I knew he was making an exception just for me and more so since, weeks before and while he was down in the dumps over getting ditched by a girl he was heavily into, we wound up sucking each other off a few times.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, even as I was reaching for his dick.
“I know… but that made me horny and, um, well, I figured we could help each other,” he said, taking a step toward me so I could wrap my hand around him.
I know that I took my frustration out on him… but I also incorporated a lot of the things that had been done to me earlier that day, things that I knew I’d been missing any other time I’d sucked dick, things that I now sensed that I should have been doing all along, namely, tapping into my passions and desire to suck dick and then letting it guide my actions. Needless to say, I tore my friend a new one, thanks to my new understanding of this and all because of a stranger – my boy didn’t even last a good five minutes and that he didn’t spoke volumes because now, it no longer mattered.
Let me digress a little further here, if I may? See, before this day happened, whenever I was sucking dick, I used to find myself getting miffed if/when a guy I was sucking busted his nut “too soon” in my opinion. I never gave much thought to the fact that it wasn’t because he lacked anything resembling control – it was because I was making it feel that good to him. I had to learn how to control being disappointed in this and even to be patient and wait for his refraction period to pass so I could do it again. I realized that I actually never gave much thought as to how I was doing it – my mind was just on doing it… but, please, read on.
I had changed… but it had taken me a while to fully understand it all. I had had a few more encounters with men but there were some of them where I was just totally happy to be the one doing the sucking… and returning the favor, while nice, wasn’t required now. I was happy to suck a guy dry and, if I needed to get off – and sometimes I didn’t – jerking off either in that moment or later was fine with me.
I guess that it was an epiphany, that I learned something new about what I’d been doing for a large part of my life as well as learning something new about myself in all of this. I realized that I had been sucking dick the ‘wrong’ way all that time, that while I was doing it and simply because I could, I hadn’t been doing it like I loved it. I did love it… but I realized I had been too reserved or somehow reluctant to let that passion really come to the surface; I didn’t quite understand the why of that and, today, I’d still be hard-pressed to explain it.
All because of a chance encounter. Don’t get me wrong – there was no way I was going to be against letting a guy suck my dick – but that stranger taught me that it wasn’t always a necessity to be satisfied. Satisfaction in this took on a whole new meaning: It wasn’t what I did… it’s why, the motivation beyond it just being a ‘kinky’ way to get my jollies.
My random thinking, induced by the near-oppressive heat, got me to remember the day I truly learned how to love sucking dick, that getting that guy off – and in whatever amount of time it took – was, in itself, its own reward and that having him return the favor was optional.
The difference between just doing a thing and doing it for a ‘higher’ purpose; liking versus loving. I think that on that day, now so very long ago, the beast within me was awakened, infusing me with its near-constant hunger for the feel and taste of a man’s prick in my mouth and I’d even say purring happily to inhale his hot, musky scent. On that day, I was made to understand that sucking another man’s dick wasn’t about his pleasure – it was about pleasing me. It sounded selfish then just as much as it sounds today because if you’re having sex with someone, we’re told that it’s about pleasing the other person and then hoping that they’re gonna please you in return.
I learned that, at least for me when it comes to this, it wasn’t about depending on him to give me any pleasure – my pleasure now came from sucking his cock and balls, reveling in all the sensations blowing him provided, things that, before, I didn’t pay much attention to until he gave unto me his load of sperm, giving my beast a meal it would find satisfying.
Not for his sake but for mine. Going forward, if a man was being pleased by my efforts, okay, that worked because I no longer looked at this as it being for his benefit; if he got pleased because I was having a field day pleasing myself (and my starving beast), okay, fine. I even remember getting into a bit of an argument with a guy who, after I tore his cock up, said something along the lines of never having someone go to such lengths to please him.
“It wasn’t about you,” I had said, looking at his limpness and wondering if there was time to do it again because the beast felt that his offering was a nice appetizer and it now wanted seconds. “That was about my pleasure, not yours first and foremost; if it pleased you, that’s fine with me…”
He didn’t like my honesty in this and, really, I didn’t really care that he didn’t like it. He did, however, like the way I did him and offered himself up again for my pleasure, which was a peachy thing for him to do.
This also reminded me that there are things like benchmarks or defining moments that changed things one way or the other. As I get older, it’s still important that I remember those moments since, as you know, I’m almost always keeping in close touch with myself and especially about this aspect of myself.
It’s now 93 degrees, the heat index is 102 degrees with 48% humidity…