You Know He’s Using You…
Jay is a 6’2″ slab of humpy, hairy masculinity, a kinda Tom Selleck lookalike when Selleck was hot, who l met last summer up at my country home in the Poconos. and who loved the way l took care of his manly, furry butt. In fact he keeps telling me l’m the best fuck he’s ever had and according to him he hasn’t had many. Sure. He’s a country guy obviously unaware of his physical beauty, or is playing me to keep my cock hard. But who cares?
I invited him to visit me in Lauderdale, but he’s in construction and has no money, so he claims, for a ticket. Or maybe he’s married – to a woman – with three kids somewhere up in the hinterlands.
All l know is that last summer and again this one, every time we discuss making it again, he begins drifting into his private fantasy of all the devilish things l’m going to do to him. Getting together is always put on hold, languishing in some sexual purgatory. Ah, but soon…
So how do you know a guy you think wants to make it in the flesh is really using you for some virtual sex and has no real intentions of sealing the deal? You’ve compared stats, age, height, weight, dick size, sexual fetishes and who’s on top, and you’re down to when and where when he woos you into some kind of mating dance:
How do you like to fuck? You gonna fuck me deep and slow? I like it deep and slow. (Sure, I ain’t no jackhammer.)
You got one big dick there, sir. (How observant.)
You’re so hairy. (You can thank my mother.)
I love your mother. (Glad somebody did.)
You like my hairy ass? (It’ll do.)
I got a tight hole for ya. You like a tight hole? (As long as l don’t need a stick of dynamite to get in there.)
You precum a lot? (Yep, enough to reverse California’s drought.)
You’re gonna breed me, right? (As long as you sign the disclaimer absolving me of all child care payments or costs for an abortion.)
That’s before you piss in my hole. It’s better than lube.
By now, unless you’ve been neutered, you realize he doesn’t want to connect. No, he’s using you. He just wants to drop a load. You can almost hear him pulling on his dick or jostling his dildo up and down in his hole like a car jack.
By the third, “you’re gonna do what to me next,” so not to distract myself from other suitors who may be attempting to reach me, l politely but abruptly type “Gotta go. Let me know when,” and immediately log out.
That is, unless l’m so heated up by all his provocative yearnings l want to shoot too and reply:
“Yea, buddy, after l tongue that furry manhole of yours, I’m gonna fingerfuck you for a while and then…”
Ain’t love grand?