Funny, when I’m down at my home in Fort Lauderdale, I hardly ever masturbate. Maybe it’s because all the bars and whorehouses and sex clubs and seemingly “thousands” of hot guys on the web or the phone or the dozens in the local supermarket or on the beach make playing with yourself, well, unnecessary. Though I know it’s more illusion than reality when it comes to pinning down some guy for a 17 minute tryst.
Now I’m up here in this no man’s land known as rural Pennsylvania for the summer where even with the web and phone (there’s not much else), it’s harder to find a guy than it is a virgin butthole in a bath house orgy rom, and I’m pulling on my tool two, three times a day. Fantasizing about some guy who cock-teased me on Scruff or some new toy Fort Troff advertises with a super-hot video promo. Shit, I feel like I can never get enough when the reality is there’s not much to get.
Take the cute, buzzed boy-man who hit me up yesterday on Growl’r.
“When I saw your pic, I didn’t know whether to j-o or stop breathing” was his opener.
“Will these help you decide?” I replied with a slew of devilishly hard-dicked nudes from my private gallery.
“Beautiful, just beautiful.” He responded. Then he opened his privates, a fair size cock and furry tight butt hole.
“You’re killing me,” I said, shooting over another of my Daddy Dick shots. Then, I asked, “Got any body pics?”
I waited a few minutes, figuring that this was the end of our little tête-à-tête when up popped the pic of my bearded boy, totally naked before his dad, smooth and slim with his soft yet significant uncut cock hanging between his legs. He must have just taken it with his phone. I usually go for the rough and ready furry type north of 40 but, hell, who would resist young flesh lusting after you?
“Shit,”I texted, my fingers sticky from the pre-cum oozing out of my cock, “I think I’m in love. How old are you and where are you?” There was no age or location listed on his spec page.
“Cologne, Germany. 34.”
Half a world away, old enough to be my younger son, and totally unattainable. Maybe that’s why it made him irresistible.
He messaged me, “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” at least three more times – maybe he had run out of all the words he knew in English. Then he closed our ten minute romance with these parting words:
”Thanks for entering my life, sir.”
Maybe he had shot his load. I hadn’t.
Hell, after all that, why did I have to?