Date: Mon, 9 Oct 2006 11:24:58 -0700
From: Horny Joe
Subject: I STILL MISS HIM

Introduction: This is a story of a sexual relationship that lasted nearly a
decade in spite of its unusual character and tenuous nature. It is only one
story of a voluminous collection I have accumulated about my life. No
claims are made to its being all that unique, but it does have something of
a compelling quality that may encourage certain readers to watch for each
episode as it unfolds. Commentary or questions are welcome.

There are the purists among us who make stern value judgments about men who
enjoy contact with a variety of men for sex. Promiscuous! We are labeled. I
choose to think of myself as less-discriminatory regarding age, size, color
et al and focus on the pleasures to be enjoyed with a desirable partner.
Even more scandalous is my practice of preferring to go bareback, in spite
of all the alarums of these many years about the risks involved in the
practice of unsafe sex. I find myself one of about half of the men I survey
who generally practice going bare.  I'm old enough to know the odds.

I've never set out to break any records. It'd be a guess on my part, but
there are probably those who exceed my activity level tenfold. I'd estimate
that in the past two decades I've entertained somewhere in the neighborhood
of 300 or so individuals all the way from once to 144 times, but then who's
keeping track? Well, in the instance of a few favorites, I've marked my
dates, because some encounters were full-blown social engagements or more
than a quickie.

This is about one of my longer-duration buddiedoms, even though our last
encounter was nearly a year ago and lasted six or so years, not counting
the IM sessions we had leading up to playing live or continued during our
years of live meetings. Thanks to modern technology, it has become a simple
matter to cut through the loooooonng sessions of `getting to know' one
another. Pat and I had become quite explicit with each other in the IM
exchanges we had had He had provided all the details about his life that he
intended for me to know, and we had gone all the way with the positions and
preferences we liked.

We lived less than ten miles apart. Both of us traveled extensively, which
made extended absences part of the game. We both lived lifestyles that
accommodated quickie arrangements possible on almost a moment's notice. I'm
older and retired; he's financially secure and in his early middle years.
He lived with an older companion whom he characterized as `sexless'. His
preference was to be the dominant partner with an older man and claimed
during our years of play that he refrained from malesex other than with me.
He spent a lot of his time in his desert vacation home, where he was
observed by another of my buddies on many occasions very drunk and very
busy with other bar patrons. He volunteered many times to me that I was the
only sex partner he had, though my only interest was not in his
`faithfulness' but in how many other men I might be vicariously in contact
with. He also volunteered his concerns about his alcoholism, though I never
saw him drinking at all.

But let's cut to the chase. We had been leading up to a face-to-face
meeting during our IM sessions, and early one morning I saw that he was
online, so I sent him a note asking if he was in town and available. His
reply was an enthusiastic `yes' to both counts. We set a mid-morning date
and I gave him directions to my house. He had made a preparatory colonic
flush a requirement, so I hurriedly prepared for his arrival. I had made
all the necessary arrangements for our use of the guest room downstairs and
was watching out the living room window when an expensive imported station
wagon parked alongside the house. A tall, hunky man in tight shorts made
his way to the front door, and I greeted him warmly. He was the answer to a
maiden's prayer--the build of a football linebacker and a ruggedly handsome
face topped with a butch haircut. Our handshake was firm and masculine. Our
foreplay was brief and pro forma, since we were both out of the starting
gate before he hit the front deck. (Sorry, reader, you'll just have to run
to catch up with the early developments of this encounter.) We hugged
briefly and did some stroking and groping to be certain that we were
thinking along the same lines. I invited him to follow me downstairs to the
guest room. The bed was turned down and lube and towels were laid out.

We acted out the scene we'd played several times on the IM line, undressing
each other. Both of us had wisely eliminated all but a few necessary items
so as not to delay our intent to get better acquainted. He wriggled his way
expertly out of his polo shirt as I opened his zipper and had his shorts
falling to the floor. He was wearing Jockey shorts with an indecent pouch
distorting the front. Somehow he had my shirt and shorts on the floor
before I had pulled his briefs down far enough to free a humungous
package. This was an unexpected bonus. He'd never offered any detail about
his genital dimensions. A still-soft cock lay over a swelled scrotum of
heroic capacity. I murmured my admiration as he hooked the heel of his
tennies with his toes to finish baring his soul. I was breathless at his
solid and stocky body--like hugging a tree, and handling his jewels was a
two-handed job. WOW! He touches me in all the right places, and my erection
is instant, while I enjoy some manipulation of his swelling thickness as it
slowly comes to life. My chief concern is whether I'll be able to take him
inside me. I can't recall having a probe of his thickness since my youth,
though my greatest sensitivity is in my anal nerve endings.

I played the submissive role to the hilt--touching, feeling, licking,
sucking--all with hums and sighs of admiration truly felt. I'd never
dreamed of having four aces dealt me in such an unassuming manner. Pat was
quiet and mildly responsive, giving me just enough encouragement to hold up
my end of keeping our foreplay moving toward more definitive action. I
wanted to consummate this episode with all the bells and whistles sounding
full on, but I also wanted to delay and savor our first encounter with a
measured acceleration. Pat was a skillful, responsive partner, though very
quiet. I depended on his body English to plot out the course of our
progress, and quite soon he had me sideways across the bed and was standing
at the side lifting my legs up over his shoulders and pressing his flowing
glans against my hungry hole.

"Better use some lube on that giant," I suggested.

He pressed a quantity out on his fingers and smoothed it along his
capacious length and finished by rubbing his fingers inside my anal
pore. He steered his probe into place and began relentless pushing
inward. At first, I feared that I was not going to be able to expand my
sphincter enough, but he was persistent. The initial stretching sent some
alarm signals to my nerve endings as I felt a gigantic pole pushing its way
inside me with some apprehensive desire.

"Slowly, slowly," I whispered.

He backed out and then pressed in firmly as I accustomed myself to a
feeling of being tested beyond my capacity.

"Oh yes," I breathe through clenched teeth. "Slide inside." His relentless
pressure slowly stretched my tunnel and made me feel extended wider and
more challenged. In due time he was in to the hilt and I felt his firm
balls against me. I held my breath against the sensation mixing pain and
pleasure tantalizingly. I had not been opened so wide in many many
years. Who says size doesn't count? I asked myself. This probe was beyond
imagination, and it was all for me.

After some waiting time to allow my nervous system to appreciate its treat,
Pat began some slow partial withdrawals and thrusts to see how things felt.

"More," I said "I want it all."

Slowly and deliberately at first, he stroked his piston in and out, and I
groaned appreciatively. I responded with pelvis thrusts as he pushed
back. My tension grew in great leaps and bounds at taking part in this
exercise. We adopted a rhythm that raised the intensity of our pleasure
until he was hammering deeply and driving hot waves throughout my body
. Our breathing rate increased rapidly. Perspiration began to drip from his
face and chest onto me as he made every thrust hard and deep. Faster and
with greater determination he sent shock waves through my body. And then he
stopped and withdrew. His cock had softened.

"Can't come," he commented. "Outta breath. Try another position." He
stroked his flaccid cock as he spoke.

I positioned myself at the foot of the bed so that he could enter me from
behind, and I grasped his firming dick. He stood behind me and gradually
restored his tumescence so that he could push his pole into my
now-insatiable hole. Thankfully his masculinity returned and he soon was
thrusting in and out vigorously as I spoke words of encouragement. "Oh
yeah. I want it all. Gimme your whole load, man. Blow your nuts in my
guts."

I felt his urgency grow and his desire to complete his intent take over his
conscious effort. His big, hard body was driving its stake deep inside me
until he stopped abruptly, his pole throbbing inside me. I felt him quiver,
but he said nothing for several seconds and then slowly withdrew. He was
holding his dripping cock as I asked, "You came?" I felt a string of juices
running down my balls as he nodded wordlessly.

"Where's the bathroom? He asked me.

"Last door on the right," I respond. He left quickly and I felt
disappointed at not having him dramatize his ejaculation in some more
expressive manner. I'm accustomed to men who literally yell and scream
their climaxes and want to tell the world that they have cum. Not so with
Pat. And I didn't feel a thing inside me--just the load now running down my
thighs and onto the carpet. I grabbed towels to sop up his generous
expulsion.

Pat soon returned and hastily pulled on his clothes as though he couldn't
escape fast enough. "I've just been to the store," he commented. "Didn't
expect to take so much time." He flew from the bedroom and was away in his
kraut wagon before I could even say thanks.

He could have been double parked, I reflected an old joke, and not have
received a ticket. The original Minute Man. I hadn't had time to savor the
raging fucking I'd just experienced. Was it good? Holy shit! Did you like
it? Is the Pope Catholic?  Would you do it again? In a heartbeat. Think
he'll be back? If I have anything to do about it. Short and sweet as it
was, it was an experience in which every second was freighted with extreme
pleasure--one I could take every day of the week if it were possible.

It never came to the once-a-week rate or anything near that, but averaged
about once a month over the next several years. The basic format continued
without major variations, and the modifications we discussed that never
came to be did not detract from the wild joy for me thinking about the
times in between and the times when we were taking a trip to outer
space. Pat is still one of my few tens.