Foreplay In The Extreme
Recently on my Facebook page I posed the question, “Like a lot of foreplay with your man or do you just do it?” Not surprisingly, the overwhelming majority of guys voted for edging the hell out of one another first.
Now there is foreplay, your garden variety of sucking, licking, kissing, body rubbing, pits, tits, rimming – you get the picture – as you work one another up to the Main Event. Then there is Foreplay in the Extreme when Lady M rules and foreplay IS the Main Event since your dicks, though they may feel just won-der-ful, are about as stiff as boiled spaghetti. (Unless you get a shot of Trimix in your cock which gives you the perpetual erection of a 13 year old, but that’s for another blog.)
I’m not here to extoll the virtues of meth because there are none, but I can’t deny that as a curious writer of erotic gay fiction willing to explore almost anything for my art I was bedazzled by the impact it has on one sexual psyche and how it can bring foreplay to a whole new level. It transforms your body into one phallic wonderland.
Like the time, under the influence, I had the wildest threesome I ever had in my checkered gay career with two super specimens of Fort Lauderdale manhood where we devoured one another’s bodies while chatting away about that week’s sales at Targets in smack speed talk. Two of us even attempted to stick our putty pricks in the third’s butt at the same time and might have succeeded if we were stiff, not smacked.
Or the time, Eduardo, a tall, trim, hairy Cuban architect with a fat uncut dick that was eight inches soft and stayed that way let me nibble on his droopy foreskin for hours; or Hugo, with the buzzed body of a gymnast, just lay there with his muscular thighs spread apart while he urged me on to bang his bounded up bull balls with a rubber mallet till my wrists gave out.
Of course, afterwards, when he’s gone home to his goldfish, and you can’t sleep, you end up stroking your limp dick all night as you pull up every snippet of favorite porn and enter a kind of perpetual foreplay séance, determined to cum when you know that ain’t gonna happen.
My absolutely most devastating example of foreplay in the extreme was my humpy, hairy buddy, Mitch, NYU educated, Steve Jobs smart, and a total meth head. He’d play with his beer can dick for weeks on his extended highs till it all caught up with him, and he fell asleep at the wheel driving back from Key West and drowned. He was 43.
Yep, there is foreplay and then there is foreplay in the s-l-o-w lane. Having tried both, I’ll vote for the garden variety any day.