I dropped the Mako off at the Yacht Basin and walked the five minutes over to Doc Ford’s. I opted for an Island Mojito and the grouper tacos. I had some time to kill before my flight, so one mojito turned into three.
I started thinking of Dirk. I pulled his business card out of my wallet and looked at his picture. I couldn’t believe how handsome he was and even more so, I couldn’t believe I had sucked his cock, swallowed his load, and allowed him to breed me. Just thinking of our two sessions produced a tingle in my taint region and leakage of precum into my beach-comber slacks.
After my first session with Dirk, I had placed this very same card, with both his picture and contact information, on my bedside table. I wanted to pick up the card and call him, but I was torn. Was Dirk the proverbial port in the storm for a horny seaman needing a release or was I in reality a long-closeted gay?
I decided the best approach was to take the bull by the horns. I called him and set up a two-hour massage session for the next evening.
I opened the door for Dirk at 8 pm, sharp. He looked good enough to eat. He was wearing a silky Tommy Bahama shirt and loose draw-string pants. He looked more tan and had gotten a haircut, a Nashville fade. I could smell his sandalwood cologne.
Dirk stepped in and leaned his portable massage table against the jamb. He embraced me in a bro-hug and then kissed me on the lips. I was a little taken aback but returned the kiss.
I wanted more, but Dirk broke the kiss and grabbed his table. “This OK?” he asked, pointing to the middle of the living room. It was. I’d already scooted the coffee table toward the couch and the two rattan chairs to the side.
I was now lying face down, buck naked. There seemed to be little need for the hand towel across my ass. Dirk began dribbling warm oil from my shoulders to my ankles. I closed my eyes and fantasized that he was spurting rope after rope of his hot jizz onto my back. I licked my dry lips. Did Dirk have three or four or even more friends who could add their musky-bleachy cum to his?
Dirk broke the spell. “Mind if I get comfortable, also?” I rose up on my forearms and watched him unbutton his shirt and toss it onto the couch. He winked and untied his drawstring, then shimmied his trousers down over his hips and legs. He already had a semi-erect slab of man meat.
Without my asking, he moved near the head of the table, immediately adjacent to my face. His precum-dripping cockhead was only two or three inches from my lips.
Dirk straddled the corner of the table, as I rolled toward him. I kissed his slit and rubbed his leaking fluid over my lips. I whispered, “Now, Baby.”
He pushed forward, his velvety plum passing between my lips. Due to my awkward position, I really couldn’t assume an active role in our fellatio. Dirk sensed this. He placed his left hand on the back of my neck. With the right he circled, like a cock ring, the base of his cock and balls. I could feel his plum expand in my mouth. The veins on his dick enlarged and the skin took on a purplish hue.
Dirk began to face-fuck me.
I used my free right hand to explore my cock. I’d already dripped precum onto my downside thigh. I ran my fingers through it and added it to the end of my prick for lubricant. I closed my eyes and formed my thumb and index finger into an OK sign; then slowly and gently jacked my love muscle. I fantasized that Dirk and his friends were taking turns sucking me off.
I let Dirk do his thing, but I did extend my tongue along the bottom of his shaft, slurping out an abundant amount of saliva. I moaned as he pistoned in and out. I sensed a change in his rhythm. He became almost cautious, moving ultra-slowly, stroking in and out, only maybe a half inch at a time.
Dirk stopped. “Oh, shit. I’m gonna cum.”
With an “Ugh” and a “Fuck”, he filled my mouth with cum.
I switched my hand into a fist and jerked once, twice, three times on my own cock. With a “Me, too” I bucked and spewed several tablespoons of cream onto the table edge and the area rug below.
As I put the business card back in my wallet, I sighed and thought about what might have been.
Dirk had resumed (or actually commenced) the massage after he extricated his semi-flaccid hose from my mouth. He shifted toward the foot of the table, gently guiding me into the supine position. He leaned forward and partly across my torso. He lifted my cum-covered cock to his mouth and began milking the last few drops onto his tongue. He tasted my salty-sweetness and made satisfied mewing sounds.
Dirk finished the massage, but not before topping me.
He squirted a very liberal amount of massage oil onto my chest, belly, and privates. I envisioned him rubbing my pecs, belly, and nads; then perhaps jacking or sucking me off. Instead, Dirk positioned my legs together and climbed up on the table.
He initially straddled my pelvis, sitting squarely upon my cock. He began pinching and twisting his own nipples, while simultaneously grinding his taint and anus up and down my hardening rod.
He retrieved the oil bottle that was lying adjacent to my torso. He squirted several ounces into his left palm; then began coating his own chest, belly, and cock with the lubricant.
He ran his hands from my pubis up to my pecs, leaning forward as he stroked my oily skin. He then settled into a full-body contact position.
Our faces were mere inches apart. He leaned slightly toward me. I raised my head and extended the tip of my tongue to his lips. I could both smell and taste the residue of my ejaculation. He responded by emitting a quiet moan, then opened his mouth widely to accept my cock surrogate.
Dirk proceeded to writhe his sweaty and oily body over mine in a serpentine fashion, compressing and stimulating our respective anatomic parts. He ground his pubis against mine. Our erections were like dueling lances.
I locked my arms around his chest and buried my face between his head and shoulder. I wound my legs around his waist in a missionary fashion. I began humping my pelvis upward, begging for an orgasm. I could feel his cockhead pressed firmly against my oily pucker.
Dirk shifted his head and panted into my left ear: “Do you want it?”
I knew what “it” was. My answer: “Yes, shit yes. Fuck me. Breed me!”
Dirk fisted his pipe; then teased and lubed my anus with his precum and massage oil. I felt a pressure.
I tried to relax my pelvic floor and sphincter, hoping to welcome his cock into my back door without excessive pain. To Dirk’s credit, he slowly and gently eased his seemingly oversized meat into my ass. There was a brief moment of pain as his flare maximally stretched my sphincter, then just a feeling of pressure as he laid his full seven inches of pipe.
Dirk raised up, his hands on the table. He asked, “You OK?”
“I’m better than OK. Fuck me. Fuck me silly.”
Dirk laughed and shook his head, but then became all business. He began pumping his cock in and out slowly. I did the best I could, keeping my legs wrapped around his waist; but as his ramming became more aggressive, they started to cramp. Dirk sensed this. He rose up on his knees and supported each of my flexed knees in the crook of his elbows.
This new position gave me the opportunity to work on my junk. I leaned up in a semi-crunch, constricting and tugging the base of my scrotum with my left hand and pounding the pork with the right.
I noticed a change in Dirk’s face. He began gritting his teeth. He blinked his eyes several times and dropped his chin toward his chest. He uttered, “Buddy, I’m gonna cum.”
Dirk slid his meat an inch or so backward; then tensed. With a grunted “Ugh”, he bucked his pelvis forward, breeding me with an espresso cup of frothy man juice.
His final pump must have struck my prostate; as I too ejaculated, sending a geyser of spew up my belly and into my navel.
Dirk collapsed onto my belly and chest. My exhausted legs flopped off the table. We didn’t speak. There seemed to be no need for conversation.
Maybe there will be a next time.
I took a peek at my Tag Heuer. Crap, boarding in fifteen minutes. I settled my tab and hightailed it over to Albert Whitted for my flight home.