The Conclusion of Back To Back Sex

The Conclusion of Back to Back Sex

Now Donny is something of a floater. After working in real estate in St. Augustine, Florida, he left his job, sold his condo and came down to South Florida for the good life and instead got hooked on meth. He lost his new job the very first day when he walked in flying in the stratosphere after a night of slamming. Soon after he was evicted from his nine hundred dollar a month apartment, and ended up renting a room in some old spinster’s house which is where we first played.

I park behind his new landlord’s Volkswagen as he tells me in his last text and is waiting by the gate of what appears to a row of efficiency apartments. Barely furnished like some prison cell in Leavenworth, his new abode at least affords us privacy, plus he’s got his own kitchenette and bathroom. I promise to take him shopping for a new mattress to replace the air mattress we’re confined to play on and to bring over some dishes and pillows I inherited from my late mother’s place in neighboring Hollywood after she died.

The business side of our conversation is over in five minutes, and we immediately get down to why the two of us are here together in the first place. We strip to nothing, stroke one another’s stocky, furry bodies and get our rising cocks reacquainted. He drops to his knees and begins to blow me, but I can already see the damage those two rum and cokes have done to my hard-on, Viagra or no Viagra. I also sense Donny doesn’t have his heart in it, having not only been on his feet most of the day and evening at his new job as a security guard (which is why he’s laid off the meth) but also having moved his stuff earlier that morning from his old place to this new one.

In the end, we lay on his tiny air mattress and almost pass out before I announce what’s obvious to both of us and leave.  That rim chair of mine never comes out.

To placate George who’s up again watching TV, I stop at Checkers on the way home and pick him up a double bacon cheeseburger and shake. But all he does is complain he wanted chocolate not vanilla.

Too tired to get into some protracted discussion about the state of shakes in America, I close my bedroom door and bring up xtube on my laptop hoping I can blow my load before I go to bed. But both me and Mr. Peter are pooped.

So much for my night of wild, decadent back to back sex.

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