From: (Derik K Cowan)
Newsgroups: soc.motss
Subject: Windy City Blues
Date: 9 Jan 1996 01:31:58 GMT
    I was half asleep when he called.  As I don't answer the phone by
habit before 11:30 AM, the first thing I heard was a strange voice on
the answering machine going "Hello?  Is Anybody There?   said you'd be there.  Hello?
Anybody?"  I got up, took a shower, and answered the phone when it
rang again.  We set up a lunch date for 12:30.

    My first impressions of him were, well, mixed.  He was certainly
friendly enough, and pretty cute in that gym-built city clone way that
doesn't do terribly much for me usually.  During lunch, we talked
about the remodeling he was doing in his kitchen (he had taken the day
off from work because he was having his new cabinets measured for
countertops), what I had done during my stay so far, and somehow the
conversation came around to Tracy Chapman.  While I've never been what
I would call a huge Tracy Chapman fan, I do like her music, and one of
my friends is a big fan, so when he invited me over to listen to her
new album, naturally I accepted.  

   Back at his place, he gave me a tour of the house, put on the CD,
and we both settled down on a couch in the living room to listen and
smoke a bit of pot.  As anyone who's smoked with me knows, I don't
smoke enough to have gotten over the newbie cough, so after my first
hit he went off to get me some water.  He probably noticed that I was
staring at his crotch when he came back, because he took a drink out
of the water bottle, leaned over, opened my mouth with his tongue, and
was promptly rewarded with my tongue down his throat.  After probably
10 minutes of liplock and groping, he got off of me and took off his
outer shirt leaving him in jeans and a tight tank undershirt.  He was
pretty built, but I was more interested in noting where exactly his
dick was poking in his jeans.  He smiled, offered me his pipe, and I
took another hit before we went back to groping.  He undid my pants
and started jerking me off, so I decided it was probably time to work
my hands down to his belt, and soon I was playing with the longest
dick I've ever seen.  I went down on him for a bit, and then he
suggested we go into the other room.

   Once in the other room,  we stripped, and he went into a drawer
under his bed, pulling out a cockring, a condom, some lube, and a
brown vial.  After strapping on the cockring, he got into bed with me,
opened the vial, and after taking a hit (is that the word you use for
poppers?), offered the vial to me, which I turned down.  We groped for
a bit longer, and then he slipped on the condom, and we began fucking,
which seemed to go on for an awfully long time (not that that's a bad
thing).  Eventually we stopped, and I finished him off with a quick
blowjob.  Apparently satisfied, he then turned to me and started
jerking/ sucking me off.  The thing was, he had fed me so much pot
earlier that I couldn't even keep an erection going, much less cum.
So after probably 15 minutes of working on it, I told him not to worry
about me, I'd been done in by that last hit.  But I can't help but
think that there was something terribly unfair about it all.  I mean,
what about my needs?  he should've known that if he smoked me up that
much, I would be far too relaxed to cum.  
    After we were done, and he cleaned up, we cuddled for a bit in
bed, and then he took me back where I was staying, because he was
going out with a friend that night, so I couldn't stay.  Once there, I
collapsed into a chair, told my companion that my afternoon was pretty
good, but that I would probably need to post about it at some point,
and put on some mood music.  We stayed in that evening and shared a
bottle of wine.  All in all, I must say that it was a very traumatic
experience for me, and all I got to show for it was a big warm tingle.
Return to Gay:Stories:Gay Life
The Bibble Pages, Christian Molick,