Date: Tue, 13 Aug 2013 21:04:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kalogrenant <kalogrenant@yahoo.com>
Subject: Who was that masked man?

Who was that masked man?


     I read the Craigslist ads regularly, sometimes just for amusement,
sometimes because there might be something or someone real behind an ad.
You never know.  I always say that I am open to possibilities.

   I don't waste people's time with pointless responses.  Generally I use a
filter to search ads.  Since I am somewhat older, and since many posters
are interested only in someone younger than, say, 30, why bother?  So my
filter is "m4m older" for the city in which I live.

  About two weeks ago I ran across an ad from someone who described himself
as around 30 but who was interested in meeting an older man.  The writer
said that he was shaved and sometimes liked to dress in women's underwear.
He wanted to meet an older person because he was shy and had never done
anything with another guy before.

  Yeah, sure.  But I decided to write him.  So I sent a carefully worded
response, expressing my interest and assuring him that I would not be
pushy.  If he was exploring his interests, then I would be happy to let him
go at his own pace.

  Well, he wanted me to send him a foto.  He had posted a lower body pic
with his ad, so I responded in kind.  I heard nothing back .

  A few days later I re-read the message I had sent him, so I did a
follow-up. "Just trolling for dirty photos?  Or were you serious about
meeting?"

  Again no response.  But a few days later suddenly there was a message
from him, saying he had not really looked at his inbox and he wanted more
information from me.  First of all he asked for a full body pic.  OK, I was
able to find a decent mirror and take one with my ipod camera, email it to
myself, crop it and save it, and then email it to him.

  Well, that was good.  Then he wrote that if we were to meet up I had to
agree to use latex gloves and condoms for everything.

   Now what turns me on about gay sex for me is the heady aroma of a man's
cock and the silky smooth texture of the skin around his dick.  And don't
get me started thinking about how sweet it is to taste a clean rosebud and
to inhale deeply the purest essence of manscent.  I am not really into
exploring the smoothness of latex.  Rubber gloves always seem to remind me
of washing dishes.

   But I am patient.  If he gains confidence, then this might lead to
something worthwhile.  So I wrote back that I would respect his desire for
total protection.

  Then he mentioned that it would be really nice if I were to buy him some
panties.  Not expensive ones, just standard stuff from Target or wherever,
but he did not want to do it himself because it would create problems if
his girlfriend would find them.  What size?  7 to 9 he wrote back.  Oh, and
some knee stockings, too.  He would be able to meet up with me the
following afternoon.

  The next morning, after my workout at the gym, I went shopping at
Walmart.  Latex gloves. Check.  Lube. Check.  Condoms. Check.  Panties.
Check. Check Check.  Hmmmm.  Looks weird for an older guy with a beard to
be buying all that, and I needed some trousers anyway.  But the checkout
person did not bat an eye.  All done with the purchases, I arrived home and
sent an email back telling him what I had acquired.

   He sounded pleased, asked if I would hand wash and dry the panties
beforehand.  It made them fit better, he said.  I had no basis for
disagreeing with him, so went ahead and did that.

  As the afternoon began, our message interchange grew more frequent.  He
wanted me to send him a face picture.  He apologized that he was not
willing to send me one of him, but it would make him feel more confident if
he could see my face.

  What the hell?  But I have been out to friends and family for years, he
is still deeply, deeply closeted, and I remember what it was like before I
gained enough courage to be honest with myself and others, so I went ahead.

   We were about an hour away from his coming over.  Now he wrote that he
was very concerned about my seeing his face, so he had a plan.  I was to
not be able to look at him when he arrived.  I should be in another room,
with the door closed.  He would come in and go straight to the bathroom. I
was to leave the panties there.  He would change into them and then would
emerge, but he would be wearing a ski mask, a baclava, so that I could not
see his features.

   Suddenly the whole scenario teetered Schrödinger-like between two
potential states.  This was either very. very weird, or it was very. very
kinky.  And at the moment, without being able to open the box of the future
event and see what it was, it was both and neither at the same time.  But
my gut told me to go with kinky.

   Now I am a pretty vanilla kind of guy.  Fisting, scat, cb torture,--all
that stuff leaves me cold.  Never been one for fetishes.  But this was
something different.  This was just vanilla sex he was after, a hand job
and a little fingering, but done in a way to make sure he was totally
safe--- hygienic and anonymous.  Can I really raise any objection?

  When 3:45 came without his arriving, I began to think it was an elaborate
scam.  But then I noticed two messages from him in my spam folder.
Damn. Somehow I had marked one of his messages as spam by mistake.  He was
asking for my cell number so he could message me.

  Well, I had already bought the stuff at Walmart and I had sent him my
pics. I was invested, so I followed up with my cell number.  Two minutes
later came the IM, asking if I had gone into a back room and if it was ok
for him to come in.

  The guy is real, I thought. This has gone too far for it to be a game.
Sure enough, about four minutes later I heard footsteps and then I heard
the bathroom door close.  I came out to the hallway and asked through the
door, "Finding everything ok?'"  Yes.  I went into the bedroom and
dutifully put on a pair of latex examination gloves. About a minute later
he stepped out.  He was about 6 foot, about 210 pounds I guess, a softish,
rounded body. "Zaftig" one might say.  He was wearing the black lace
panties, a purple t-shirt, his white baclava, and sunglasses.  I stepped up
to him to feel his body.  Nice.  Zaftig, like I like them.  Then he went
back into the bathroom to change into another pair of panties.  These were
purple, sateen.  I liked the feel of them, the smoothness.  I could feel
them just fine despite the gloves.  Then he went back for the last pair,
the orange thong.  This one disappeared into his crack and I started to get
really hot.

  "Lie down on the bed," he said, "so you don't see my face".  I was
puzzled.  "Use the pillow. Put it over your eyes."  As soon as I complied,
he took my hand and guided it to his hole, which he had lubed up.

  Oh, it was nice.  I wanted to sink my fingers deep inside him, but I knew
he would panic at that, so I contented myself with making slow circles and
only every now and then dipping my index finger into his well.  After about
thirty seconds of this I heard him squeeze some lube out of the tube and
then he started on my own tool.

  Later I determined that he had put on gloves for himself.  It certainly
didn't matter to me, because I was almost instantly brought to a high point
of tension and excitement.  I came fast and hard, surprisingly fast and
hard.  None of that lingering for an hour on a moderately high
plateau. This was a jet-assisted launch to the top of the mountain.

  A minute later I had recovered.  I kept the pillow on my face, even
though I was hot and sweaty.  I heard him moving and jerking, so I went
back to fingering his hole, a bit more forcefully than before.  He breathed
hard, then was quiet.  I just lay there, then I heard him heading back to
the bathroom.

  I gathered myself and returned to the back room where my computer is.  I
heard him open the bathroom door.  "That was nice", I said. "Thanks for
coming."  "Ok. Yeah.  Bye now."  And then he was gone.

  A few minutes after he had left, I sent him a text. "Hope you enjoyed
it. I sure did."  Almost immediately he responded.  "Yeah, thanks for the
panties and the gloves and stuff."

  Will we do this again?  There are indications.  He asked me to go
shopping for a short skirt, something thin, not like jean fabric.  Oh, and
maybe I could pick up a small toy.  I could maybe watch him use it on
himself.

  In the meantime I am intrigued by my own reaction to these events.  The
impersonality of it all goes against much of what I think is essential to
sex, but I am able to accept our encounter as something mutually
beneficial, a transaction that satisfies many of our needs, if not all of
them.  Intimacy and sharing we do with others.  What we did together was
not intimacy, it was just pure raw sex.  Safe and sanitary and impersonal,
but still sex. Nothing wrong with that.