Shiny White Teeth
We met, finally, unexpectedly in Salt Lake City (Homoerotic, NSFW)
James Dalton stands well over six feet and fills the door frame of my front door. His teeth are shocking white and very straight, a product of a great orthodontist and a seemingly balanced childhood. His clothes are clean and new, his style fresh and unencumbered just as I would expect from another gay man, although my gay presentation is somewhat diluted, even dull. Mostly dull. Except for shiny white teeth. I do rave over a shiny set of choppers.
James appears fantastically gay, if only from an initial visual inspection. As usual, I start with the bulge in the crouch of his tad too tight Lee gives. Shivers rippled up and down my spine. I purr like a proverbial pussy cat. Meow. Of course I would soon move beyond the jeans, matching collared shirt, respectable shoes and a bright blue flowered jock strap. His photographs did not do him justice, in any way. Even the nudes.
Over the previous days and weeks we had been chatting away like a couple of school girls pining over some unseen or known man. From experience I knew the normal online encounter to actual sexual intercourse took a matter of minutes. This felt different. Not love, but not just bend it over baby, wham, bam, don’t call me, I’ll call you.
From the start I found James charming, handsome, sexy but somewhat repulsed by my desire for the aforementioned wham-bam on my living room couch. Not repulsed enough to never communicate with me again, but enough to give pause. I briefly wondered if my approach proved unsustainable, or perhaps, unappealing. That had been ruled out through a thorough test of my hypothesis. Three men of various size, build, attention spare, and length, took me up on the old wham-bam within minutes of meeting on-line in the same low brow DTF chatroom I found James in.
After our initial encounter and proving my hypothesis, I found James online. He quizzed me about recent shenanigans, asking every detail to which I joyfully regurgitated in every spectacular detail. Length, girth, dexterity, vitality, duration, positions; all of it. He admitted a heightened degree of arousal as I told my tale and subsequent backwash of regret over not engaging in vigorous homosexual coitus on my couch. This, in turn, excited me.
James mentioned an upcoming visit to the clinic to reconfirm his negative status. To my own surprise, I stated I would do the same. Just in case.
A week passed and we continued to chat, at first inside the app, then on text, and finally via an actual phone call. We shared test scores and laughed, knowing that a large percentage of gay wanders do not test on the regular and are not on a pRep protocol. They continue to count on luck as a preventative method.
When we finally got to the point of our story and tried to find an appropriate time to meet, our schedules just did not cooperate. As a professor of Cultural Anthropology at a local University where I spent the entirety of my day, well into evening and sweet James worked in construction, as a general contractor specializing in bathroom and kitchen remodels. He did a large percentage of the work himself and after he shared some of the results of his work, I found myself impressed.
As my desperation for his magic grew, I discovered he had a bit of a kinky side. Late on a Saturday night we finally traded nudes, finally (yes, I know that is generally a first step, not a tenth step, in the gay dating ritual), and I felt that damning twitch of desire renew through my veins. My capris tightened to the point I had to remove them and, apparently, my panties as well. We switched to video and James paid me very generous and kind compliments about my below average male genitalia. When he zoomed in on his own manhood, I melted at the sight. He has a beautiful penis. Shape, proportion, and size. Fully erect it stood straight up, his testicles tight and close to his body, not a single hair to be seen, although a full bush never phased me. I desperately wanted to mutually masturbate together, but he stopped me.
Not yet, he said. Not like this.
Absolutely charmed and in heat I demanded we make time to meet. I could no longer wait. And then he surprised me.
You want to go out, maybe? Dinner or something?
Or something, I thought. I could only picture myself on my back; legs spread wide, his thick, firm body hovering, waiting to penetrate me.
Well, dinner is fine, I guess. As a starter.
As a starter, James repeated, and I swooned.
We made plans, finalized a date, and added it to our calendars. He sent me an invite, and I sent him one. We both accepted.
But the date was two weeks out. He had a job that needed to be finished, and I had to go to fucking Salt Lake City on business.
As I stood at the curb at the Salt Lake City Airport, waiting on my Uber driver, James sent me yet another series of nude pics. They were fun and sexy. He would utilize different parts of his construction outfit in them. Naked except for hard hat and safety glasses, naked except for a tool belt and work boots. It was all very 1970s gay porn pulp, of which I have a vast collection. James had finally found his comfort zone and shared more than the dozens of nudes. We would talk endlessly about life and love, shared interests and desires, almost like an old married couple. Never once did we talk about sex. With each other.
James claimed to have been celibate the entire time we had been flirting, from the first text to the nude video chats. I could not say the same. But I shared everything at his request. He never jumped and laughed at the right places.
Once comfortably seated in my Uber, after a quick once over of my driver, I settled back and went to a gay pick-up app on my phone. Out of boredom and bad habit. A number of on-line users appeared as dots on a map, some with pics, some without. I quickly found my hotel and to my surprise, a dot sized picture of a man’s penis appeared at that location. Clicking the penis his portfolio opened. I quickly read it and sent him a quick hello.
He responded: Hi.
Looks like I am staying at your hotel.
Oh? What are you into?
Quick and to the point. Gay stereotype, but a welcome reality. Knowing his likes from his portfolio, I already knew we’d be a match. I unhid my sexy pics, which clearly explained what I was into.
Come by after you check in. A little afternoon play time.
I winced at the playtime reference but agreed.
Alberto. Room 1213.
Ironically, I suppose, my room sat on the same floor, almost next door. 1217.
It took me thirty minutes to prepare for any encounter he may find interest. I changed into tight jeans, a comfy blouse (yes, a woman’s top) and a new jock strap. My clutch held all the implements and products I might need for my afternoon adventure: lube, condoms, cocaine, poppers, pepper spray, cockring, and spare undies.
Alberto answered immediately after my first knock, naked except for his own jock strap and a cowboy hat. A little older than my thirty-two years, and a little heavier than I expected, I wondered if his wife knew what he did while traveling to Salt Lake City. He had failed to remove his wedding ring, or maybe he hadn’t. I did not care. Alberto wrapped his arms around me, pulled me tight, and kissed me hard on the lips, his indulgent tongue snaking into my mouth. I returned the fervor, my own passion growing to a frenzy.
You are sexy, he muttered, as his hands pressed against my crotch searching for the zipper to my pants. So hot.
Alberto quickly removed my clothing saved for the jockstrap and pulled me toward the bed. I pushed him down on the edge, quickly dropped to my knees and freed his manhood from the mesh bag of the jock. I pulled at his foreskin, revealing the head of his cock, and smiled.
Very nice, I purred. And it was nice. Long, thick; a single droplet of precum formed at the slit, and I licked it away.
Oh my God, he moaned. I wondered how long it had been for him since someone provided a proper blowjob. Please. More.
After twenty minutes or so I climbed onto the bed and lay on my stomach at the center. Alberto immediately positioned himself in such a way that he could tongue my anus with ease. Again, I melted. Few other feelings were as intense or immediate as a tongue in the ass.
I closed my eyes, my thoughts clear, but I did flash on James, and what his tongue might feel like, hoping, maybe knowing, I would soon find out. When Alberto paused, I waited, anticipating the next step. His next step.
He bent over the bed, uncapped a bottle of lube, applied a generous portion to my ass, an equal amount to his cock. Alberto pushed a finger then two deep into me, and I pushed back, the pleasure building and burning in me. He finger fucked me until I looked over my should and demanded he fuck me.
And he did. Raw. Never thinking of asking me, just as I never thought of asking him. Prep gave me that confidence.
You better be clean.
I am. I’m married. I have to be.
Alberto pushed in slowly but as far as his length would allow. His movements were slow and purposeful; I enjoyed every thrust.
Goddamn, your ass is fucking tight.
Is it?
We flip flopped around like two fish gasping for air in the bottom of a boat, fucking with increasing intensity.
After several minutes, Alberto indicated his impending conclusion with a loud roar, and I encouraged him to that end, in the most vulgar way. When he hit his moment deep inside me, he paused and caught his breath. I thought post nut clarity would catch up to him, and I would be bounced from the room, having served my purpose as his living flesh light. But nothing happened.
Are you okay?
Yea, yea. I am. Alberto fell from me. He moved to a position commonly referred to as doggie and asked me to fuck him. Hard and without shame. I obliged.
Around three am I crept from his room and went down two doors to my room. I didn’t bother dressing, just maintained my minimal modesty with crumpled clothes in my arms. At that time of night, I didn’t think there’d be anyone wondering about the halls.
Except there was a single figure standing next to my hotel door. He seemed familiar.
Hello, James whispered. He looked me up and down, smiled. Ignoring my partially naked presentation.
How long have you been here?
Minutes, not more than ten. I drove in. I had to see you.
I... was the only word I could spit out.
James followed me into my room. We embraced, we kissed, he cupped my ass and I pulled away.
I need a shower.
Been busy?
Well...yes.
James pulled off his shirt and laughed, then said: I will join you.
Indeed he did.