Sunday, May 11, 2014

Archive: Partition

I met him three times but each time was so similar that I frequently blend them into one another. And then, there was of course, the problem of the glory hole.

Having not really seen the face that commandeered those beloved lips and that nimble, slick tongue means that facial hair, hair length and most importantly, changes in facial expression -- all signifiers that help me differentiate sessions -- aren't available to aid me.

But what I do remember is quite crystal clear, strung into what seems like one long session, separating us by his pseudo glory hole containing tarp with me standing in the hall and he, kneeling on all fours in the bathroom.

The second time I made sure to push my baby blue vintage Nike All-Star high tops underneath the space between the tarp and the hardwood floors, I do recall that. After I left from my first visit, he had admitted his sneaker fetish to me and I'd made a mental note to pull out my prized babes for the second meet up. While he expertly bobbed up and down my length, me feeling nothing but the warm, wet, inviting orifice at work, I felt what I thought was his hand thud onto my foot. In hindsight, it was likely the thick cock that I'd convinced him to shove back through the hole. 

It surprised me. Only half hard, he was already fairly thicker than I was. A few short minutes of work, pulling his balls through and cradling those with my fingers while nursing on his cock, my tongue swirling around the head and dragging the length, brought him to full mast at about eight inches. Impressive for a non-recip gloryhole sucker, stereotypes be damned. It was indeed that cock that hit my sneaks, looking back.
  • him: I wasn't really ready for you to fuck me.
  • me: What? You put it in, I thought I was fucking your face.
  • him: No I was just teasing my ass with it and you pushed in. You ate me out and fingered me so good I was open.

Another conversation after the first fuck. It was still amazing that unbeknownst to me I was plunging into his ass. But it was just a hole to my dick; an orifice behind a tarp that I was using to get off. It was only when I went to slip my hand in the hole to grab onto his chin and pull him closer that I realized that it wasn't a face that I was slamming into. I pulled out to tip, realized that fucking raw was already happening and plunged back in to the hilt with a renewed,  carnal vigor. His resulting moan-grunt was mostly irrelevant to my now sighing body.

The onslaught continued for a bit, me having not really learned my now practiced variation of long strokes and hip swivels. There were mostly quick stabs at his button, slight ignored pain itching my finger tips as I gripped the door frame.

I suddenly pulled out and dropped to my knees. I had to have my hands on those hips.  The first time I don't really remember how I got him to come down with me, the second and third I'm most positive that I skipped that step, slithered up under the partition to find him still on his knees, back to me.

I actually do remember seeing his face the first time: the scruffy beard, the baseball cap turned backwards. But then, and the two subsequent times, my vision was blurred by that point, my body taken over by a chanting, rat-a-tat-tat tribal boy; ass, ass, ass, ass.

His frame was taunt, lithe, possibly slightly weathered, and short. His whole body had that slightly scruffy, slightly rugged allure that made the girls go wild but just enough that Momma wouldn't mind. It was a wonder why he kept the sight shielded behind a makeshift glory hole for the boys.

But here I was, getting my fill of it; once, twice, three times I got my fill, my hands holding him in place while my hip bones pummeled away. Each time, I shot violently, pulling out a cock either condom shielded and lube covered, or covered in a white froth of lube and my own cum that I had deposited, stayed hard and fucked into him.

It wasn't until afterwards that each time I'd sit back, take a breath, take a sip of the water he'd left for me while he rested there, face still away from me, ass upturned, and notice his sneakers, those beautiful sneakers.

The first time they were red, then yellow, then neon green; all high tops, all pristine and all beautiful, that he kept shielded away in his converted shoe room behind lock and key.

It's today that I remember that, almost a full year after our initial meeting and a mere minutes after I fucked another big dicked, taunt body that first hid itself behind a makeshift glory hole in a Midtown apartment. Only a corner block away, I made my return to the world of the almost anonymous.


  1. Nice! Love it when something just triggers a sexual memory. Usually it's not the complete play-by-play but just some contextual details and then some trigger that's so damn hot your cock is raging and begging for attention.

    ... And I gotta say that it must be a talented mouth if it took you awhile to realize that his ass was on your cock.

    1. Funny thing: the memory actually started with fucking him but the half an hour train ride made me sink into this whole story haha