I know some gay guys who read these stories like to see a bit of romance, so they are not perceived as mindlessly promiscuous, and if you’re one of them, I’m sorry, but this probably isn’t for you. But if you’re in the mood for a good, sordid tale of lust and depravity, you’re in the right place.
Actually, it’s quite romantic in an instant-fireworks way.
John-Paul was not a typical Spaniard. His name was wrong, for a start. Most of his countrymen were short and slim, but he was tall and fat. That is how I like my men. Tall, fat and hairy. And horny. I like to feel like a woman when I’m behind closed doors with a man. On the other hand, in public I am masculine enough. You wouldn’t think I was a raging bisexual. When I’m in your car workshop after hours, you won’t think I’m looking at you when you bend over. You won’t think I’m wondering how hairy you are and I would like to suck your cock and whether you would fuck me face to face or doggy style. You will just think I’m a straight guy like all the others.
That makes it a little difficult when I meet a guy and go home with him. We probably won’t have discussed roles. Or maybe it’s just me. But how do you bring the subject up when you’re getting to know someone in the clean world? “Yes, I like football – Arsenal, in fact – and I also like being on my back, naked, with my legs in the air and a big man on top of me with his penis up my ass.”
Maybe that’s why online hookup sites are so popular, because you can get everything out in the open.
Here’s what happened with John-Paul, whom I met online recently,. He was beefy in a lumberjack way, not like a bodybuilder. It was as if his muscles were an incidental part of his work, rather than being deliberately enhanced in a gym. John-Paul was as horny as hell, desperate to get together with a man who would let him do the deed. He didn’t say that, of course, but I could tell by the things he did say. He had me in his sights from the start, and that was fine with me, because that was how I was feeling too.
John-Paul picked up on the rimming aspect of my likes and dislikes.
“Are you going to rim me?” he asked when we had established that we wanted to hook up.
“I like to call it by its real description,” I replied. “The site calls it rimming, but I call it licking an ass. Cebeci Escort The words are important for those of us who like it. The words themselves turn us on.”
“Understood,” he said. “Are you going to lick my ass?”
“No promises,” I replied. “But if you get me very turned on and then ask me to do it, you might be in luck.”
I didn’t explain this, but some men can actually tell me to do it rather than ask, and that’s even more exciting. But it all depends on the individual, how potentially dominant he is and how submissive I am feeling. In certain moods I will do anything a man wants. He can piss in my mouth, sit on my face and rub his crack up and down my nose, spank me, order me to wear a dress and stockings, put his hand down my shorts and wank me on the beach, or tell me to put my hand down his shorts and wank him in public. As the song goes, “You see, my friend, it all depends on the mood I’m in.”
I was in that mood at that time and I hoped I still would be when I went to John-Paul’s place the next night.
That’s another turn-on for me: the other guy’s place. There is nothing wrong with mine, but being on his territory is an immediate surrender of initiative. His house, his rules.
I’m not like that in normal life, but this is my alter ego. My girl name is Vicki, or Victoria, whichever the guy prefers. When I’m Vicki, the world is a very different place.
John-Paul and I hadn’t discussed crossdressing, but that could come later, if the naked sex was good enough to go back for more.
This was in Santander, a seaside town in northern Spain. I had just moved there and he had grown up there, with British parents. He had an apartment in a block high on a hill. I walked there and was out of breath when I arrived. It was a warm April evening and I was wearing loose shorts and a new t-shirt that looked old, red faded to dark pinky orange. I had put on my most feminine underpants. They were just black briefs but had a sort of floral pattern. They made me feel like Vicki.
As I walked up the hill I passed a few pedestrians and couldn’t help checking out the male ones, because if one of them had stopped me and suggested ten minutes in the bushes or the back of a van, I would have gone along with it.
Anyway, Kolej Escort I got to John-Paul’s house unravished and ready for action.
He opened the door and I may actually have gasped, he was so gorgeous, so ideal. He was all in black, chinos and a loose cotton shirt open to the waist. The hair on his chest and stomach sent thrills through me. His arms were dark, hairy and muscular.
I quickly ran through what I had told him: that I was masculine in public but a total, receptive woman behind closed doors. Well now the door was closed. I sat on the sofa while he got me a glass of sparkling wine and we clinked glasses, took a sip and both put the glass down. He put his arms around me and kissed me and his sheer virility overwhelmed me.
“Want to watch something on TV?” he asked. I presumed he meant some gay porn to get me in the mood.
“No,” I said, trembling slightly and looking into his eyes. He kissed me again and I loved the way his tongue roamed my mouth, touching whatever parts it is that turn people on. I was so turned on I couldn’t imagine ever being off again.
“Okay,” he said, reading my mind. I don’t think we need to beat around the bush, do we?”
“No,” I trembled again, an innocent girl waiting to be utterly seduced.
John-Paul stood up and took off his shirt. Then his trousers. he was wearing no underpants. his body was electrifying; he was 100% man, or maybe 90% man and 10% grizzly bear. I had recently read a news report about a man hiking somewhere mountainous in the USA, who had been grabbed by a bear and raped three times a day for three days. You have to doubt the authenticity of such stories, but I liked the idea. I wanted to be dragged into this bear man’s lair and unceremoniously fucked. Then I realised I was already in his lair and he had just exposed himself to me and was clearly planning to hump me into submission, although the submission had already been made.
“Take your clothes off,” he ordered standing there all fat and muscle and hair, his testosterone like a drug flowing up my nose and rendering me obedient and speechless.
I undressed sitting down because i didn’t want to take my face away from his beautiful erect cock. He saw me looking at it.
“Hold my balls,” he Yenimahalle Escort commanded. I took them in my right hand and weighed them. They were big, heavy plums in a fabulous coat of hair, the most wonderful thing I had ever felt.
“Suck me,” he said, and I was there like a shot, his fabulous penis in my mouth where it belonged, at least until he chose to put it somewhere else. I sucked him with devotion and my right hand strayed from its bounty of balls, into his crotch and his crack.
“Lick my ass,” he said softly but firmly, kneeling on the sofa. I was delirious with lust as I got my face between his hairy, muscular buttocks and smelled his crack. I felt like I was going to explode. My blood pressure must have been through the roof, such was my excitement.
I licked him for just half a minute, my tongue feeling the oddly small anus on an otherwise king-size body. I concluded it wasn’t so much the sensation of having his ass licked that he loved, but the fact that I, another man, would perform this most controversial of acts on him. That is, in fact, also part of the attraction for me. It’s submissiveness captured in one small action. My face in his ass, my tongue against his little hole.
“Turn around,’ he said suddenly. “Kneel there.” I knew I was about to reach the summit of my depraved desires, and i trembled again as I felt him lubing me up.
“A bit more,” he mumbled. “It’s big.”
“It’s beautiful,” I managed to squeak.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, knowing that words turn me on.
“Yes,” I said. “Please fuck me.” I felt his cock head press against my ring and then there was that incredible moment that is part of my obsession with fat men: he leaned forward and let his body weight push his cock into me. His knob popped through my ring and he was inside me. he was fucking me.
He leaned further and his cock pushed deeper up my dark hole. Then he began to pump his wonderful meat up and down, in and out of my forbidden tunnel. As he hit his stride I felt like I was floating on a cloud, the incredible feeling of my inner skin being dragged up and down, and the unbelievable pleasure as he bumped against the end, as far as he could go, and his blunt instrument had achieved total domination over me. He moved his hands, which had been playing with my nipples, to grab my ribcage as he rammed me like a piston in a hot, welcoming cylinder. Then finally he growled as he emptied his balls into me, flooding my innards with his spunk. I was insane with depraved delight and gratefulness, and as he pulled out, sat down and began wiping us up.
I hoped that would not be the end of our story.