I don't know why I don't just write about my encounters right afterward. Instead, I jot down something on an electronic form of scrap paper and file it away until something compels me to write. The problem is that the catalyst for putting pen to paper (I know, archaic... but fingers to keyboard sounds lame and that's soon to be out of mode with Siri, touchscreens and other virtual keyboards) is usually another blogger's entry that triggers a memory and by the time I write about the encounter, it's all tangled up because I can't remember if I've already written about it or sometime what I want to write about needs some context from another encounter that I haven't written about. I am all for a vignette, a glimpse into a specific moment that captures a specific idea. But that's not how it works in real life. It's all interconnected and sometimes you can't just chop it up and serve just one serving. So in the end, sometimes I feel like a mental patient suddenly waking up in the middle of the desert without my pants missing and wondering, "What the fuck was I doing? And how did I get here?"
But I have bits of e-scrap paper to lead me back home. This one, in part, read "Richard Gere - Sleep Apenea".
I hit him up on Grindr while he was in town for a convention. He just had a chest pic showing but he had really lickable nipples. Not too tiny, not too large. Just right. Placed on a nice chest that was masculine and fit without being completely sculpted in a gym. When he sent a face pic, it was shot from far enough away and blurry enough where I couldn't make much out except he's of the type that puts sets his sunglasses on top of his head while indoors. I took the bait anyway, and headed over to his hotel. He propped his door open. Blackout shades almost complete drawn, but open just enough for me to see him lying face down, hugging a pillow to his face in a way that beautifully accentuated his fine ass with a natural arch to his back. My cock was a tangled mess in my pants and was fighting to straighten itself out, twitching and stiffening up as my eyes traced the muscles in his shoulders down the deep valley down his back and then up to the two pronounced mounds that begged to be played with. I quickly shed my clothes and tossed them by the nightstand, that was supporting more than the usual LED clock radio. There was a contraption there with a hose that caught my eye just as he rolled over, drawing attention back to his form. That's when the two things hit me right at the same time: that odd thing on the nightstand was for sleep apnea and fuck me if he isn't a doppleganger for a young Richard Gere. Same cheekbones, wavy hair that had just a few streaks of age. That combination of boyish and distinguished. I slipped into bed with him and he pulled a sheet over us. I just stared into his eyes for a bit before we got drawn into each other and started to languidly kiss and make out.
It was just easy. Passionate, but easy. Not the frenetic energy of rapid movements but each movement was made with purpose. We didn't grind against each other but instead pressed against each other with a need that was hard to mistake. I don't even remember how his cock tasted nor his technique at giving head, but I do remember that my knob was slicked up with his spit when I rolled him on top of me at one point. My cock was rock hard and pulsed in the air before landing perfectly between the mounds of his ass. I wrapped one arm around him to pull his chest down onto me as he straddled me and I angled up my hips slightly and pressed at his hole.
He gasped and pulled back. Looking into my eyes, he started to breathlessly apologize.
"I can't, I can't..."
"Can't what?" Did he suddenly have guilt? Is he about the cum and didn't want to?
"... bareback."
Even as he said it, I felt his hole open up a bit before he came to his senses and clamped down to shut me out. I'm fine with playing wrapped, but when I asked, he didn't have the supplies to even go there. So I just grabbed him by his hips and had him glide back and forth across my cock, my precum making it slick and easy. If he wanted, he could just push down a bit and my cock would easily break through. He'd moan every time the tip passed, but he tightened up to keep me out. Letting go of his hips, I grabbed his meat and held my hand still so he'd fuck into my fist as slid to and fro. Just a few strokes and he started to spray my chest. The first shot had some distance, nearly hitting my chin. The rest, what it lacked in length made up in volume. Before he finished, streaks were already running down the sides of my stomach.
Rolling off, he collapsed next to me. I usually just stop at that point, hating the pressure that comes with being the last to finish, but I was so close to the edge that I pulled him to me by the neck for a deep kiss while I took the half dozen strokes to finish myself off manually using his cum for added lube. He pulled away right after, but I held him in place. Not sure if it's because he was done and wasn't into it or if he's one of those guys that has to clean up any and all bodily fluids immediately after they are issued from the body. I didn't care. I just wanted to savor the moment and marinate in it all. I suspect he had an aversion to cum cause we laid in bed for a few minutes to just chat and come down.
Now, I wish I could say that the whole encounter came flooding back with the four words (sleep, gere, apnea, richard) but I actually jotted down a few other details. Okay, more than a few. In fact, I still don't know why I don't just write about it afterwards 'cause it's a sizable paragraph. What can I say? I'm a slut and sometimes I need a little help remembering. But those words, in any combination, definitely conjures up two vivid moments. That sudden clash where in a split second I place the function of the weird darth vador mask on the nightstand juxtaposed with the pleasant surprise at how goddamn good-looking the kid was. The other moment? Me just lying there with the smell of sex wafting up from my belly with our commingled juices and his handsome face just lying there next to me, on his side, while we shot the breeze for a few minutes. And I love that I have a way to get back to that location of my brain and poke at it to bring it back to life.
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