Daddy Sandwich

 OH MY GOD. What a night. It was... so many things. I got some HOT Real Daddy Dick, and fucked some SMOKING boy butt, and I was touched sensually and roughly and I was (unbeknownst to me) somebody's first fuck (but I can't write about that one) and things were inserted into me and fluids were milked out of me with pretty much every available option, and I drove home with semen in my beard and my face smelling like two different guys' armpits. It was EPIC. Like, I'm debating whether I can get this crammed into one post... but the thing is, the night is round and whole and together, and it makes sense as a narrative in its own right, and some awesome connected stuff happened, and I'm proud of how I showed up as a slut for this wild evening. 

So, amusingly enough, I arrive alongside my buddy who's offered to hold camera for me occasionally... we're standing in the lobby waiting in line, and there's a guy in front of him, and then this other guy walks in, singing. It sounds like maybe he's got his earbuds way up, and he's not realizing how much sound he's sharing in the tiny lobby. I'm gonna have to make up a name for my Camera Buddy - but for a place holder, he'll be CB. Anyway. He gets through, then I get through, and we go down the hall and I go into my room and do the usual ritual: undress, hit the vape, unpack toys, set up lights, lay out power cables so that the lights can stay charged up, because they eat power in the high-color ranges, sort out tic-tacs and breath spray and OMG don't use that thinking it's lube, it's peppermint oil in ethanol. You poor thing. Also fun and useful if you want to make some boy's butthole burn. Totally harmless, just intense feeling. 

I keep distracting myself. Anyway. I'm ready, but I don't know where CB is. I start to walk a lap, and the place is FULL of hot guys - I had been really unsure if the crowd would be scared off by the threatened storms. Parts of Dallas were under tornado watch, and I got a few raindrops driving over here... but "watch" is the school teacher on the bicycle, not the witch on the broom. You listen for the sirens. Although... God forbid, I should be in a bath house when it's ravaged by a tornado. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, your son was a hardcore fuck pig. Our condolences on your loss. Here, we found this cockring that we think was his." 

So, picture stormy night, but it's not yet raining. I walk through the outside door and to the little bathroom out there; I need to piss. There's this smoking hot little tan-skinned boy with the most rounded pecs I think I've ever enjoyed fondling. He has braids in his hair, so that it's cornrowed tight with segments of scalp between, in a swirl pattern that makes him look like it should shed water when he swims. He leans over, and honest to FSM, he just INHALES my cock and starts massaging it with his throat muscles. Like skip RIGHT to the gluck-gluck-suckysuck. No quick kisses or long running strokes up and down. I'm buried deep, and he's running his tongue back and forth across the root of my dick, massaging my balls with his chin, while the back of his tongue is massaging my glans. Pretty much the whole catalog of things a hot boy does with his throat to please Daddy. He tells me his name, and that he's from Panama... and that he's trained. Holy fuck, yeah, I could tell, dude. That's AWESOME. And then I told him about how I've been needing to develop some more bath house Spanish... and this has turned into a whole kinky thing between me and a Latino race play faggot on Twitter, with me asking him filthy things to say, and him telling me I'm a stud and he worships my superior White cock. By the way, this... IS A GAME. I've had people flag posts for take-down because of the racist language... but it's PLAY. This is a headfuck. A mutually hot consensual experience. So... he's helping me create a little vocabulary of Spanish phrases. 

I mean, it's important to be able to say things like "Where is the bathroom," and "Two more beers, please," but when you don't speak Spanish, and your partner speaks zero English - being able to take charge en Español can get you much better sex. "Suck my dick," "Show me your asshole," "Open your mouth" - there are  so many important things you need to be able to say. 

So, this hot boy has my scrotum resting on his chin, and I'm trying to explain to him that I need to piss. At first, I start by trying to explain with gestures - he thinks I'm talking about my pene, my dick - but a squirting-piss-everywhere gesture gets across. The word I need is orinar - to piss. He leads me into the toilet stall and latches the door, and keeps going to town. Necessito orinar - "I need to piss." Quiero orinar en su boca - "I want to piss in your mouth." It ends up being mostly down his throat, which is HOT AS FUCK. He doesn't even get the option to swallow; I'm hard enough that my cock is lodged in his gullet and well past swallowing, while it's spraying my load of piss; it just releases into his belly. It doesn't form a firm stream, because I'm so aroused at the whole experience that I'm super hard, so it keeps stopping itself and starting. I can see it flood his mouth a little when he gags, but he gulps and it vanishes. Because I'm both rock hard and full of liquid (I tanked up) I get to a point where the valve that switches from fuck mode to piss mode is harder to switch, and I go into the shower and finish letting the rest of it spray down the drain. I kind of hope he might want to kneel down and get a golden shower, but no such luck. He seems like it's break time, and wanders on. I restart my exploratory lap, checking out to see who all is here, what the possibilities might be, and where CB has gotten off to. 

So... that's like the prelude. This night is kind of like three or four nights crammed together - and each part of it is almost like studio porn, the kind of shit that you fantasize about happening, so smoking hot that I keep having to shake myself to be sure it's real. 

As I'm getting through my lap, I run into CB, and then I run into Steve. 

Ah, Steve. Real Daddy Steve. I like Real Daddy Steve a lot; he's a hot handsome man, and he's got a beautiful thick hard cock that I can juuuuust manage to accommodate in my throat. Like, there's no room to breathe, there's no space to take it easy, there's no thinking about other things - when I'm sucking Steve's dick, he has my undivided attention. Unfortunately, this time he's fully dressed, a salmon-colored golf-collar striped shirt and jeans; I see a bundle of linens in his hand - this means he's done, he's on his way out. Damn. I give him a kiss, and rub his cock a little, and tell him about the hot boy who just sucked my dick so excellently. He gets quickly hard, and comments on the fact - I tell him I wouldn't have missed it (I'm stroking his cock through his jeans, so it's slightly less evident - but yeah, I can tell. Everybody with eyes can tell; it's jutting out the front of your pants, Daddy.) I ask him if he'll come back to my room, just for a bit - he says he's really got to go. 

But... he's not going. It's that kind of moment, a sticky erotic tension between doing the responsible thing... and getting your dick wet. We're standing in the hallway, and a little clot of guys has gathered, hanging out, touching - CB is here, but there are also probably four or five other guys. Maybe six.  I really don't pay attention - I'm focused on unfolding the moment here with Mister Daddy Dick. I tell him, "Dude... I'll suck you right here in the hallway. You know I will." He still hesitates, but finally relents when I say, "Three minutes. Give me three  minutes - you can set your watch if you need to." He sighs, as if he's being put upon, but he also unzips his pants so I can reach in. After a little bit of struggling - he's gotten rock hard with the pants on, and his cock is a rigid bar stuck sideways behind the opening in the fabric - I ask him to pull it out for me, because I don't want to hurt his dick. He tells me he doesn't want me to hurt it either, and he whips it out with an easy gesture. Then, he puts it in my mouth, and time slows. I'm sucking, and massaging his cockhead with the back of my tongue; I swallow, and he thrusts. We work well together. My eyes are closed a lot, letting me focus on the sensations, but I also look up at him from time to time, meeting his eyes, stroking his bull balls with my fingertips. The guys gathered around us now are moaning and grunting along with me and him; the energy in the space is palpable. You can smell the men, musky and feral. For a moment, I feel like I should be sharing, allowing the other guys more access to the play and to Steve's big dick - but when I pull off for a breath, I realize... fuck 'em. This is such a hot fantasy; I made it happen - and Steve doesn't seem to want to democratize this experience either. I'm servicing this lion of a man, and I'm not sharing. The sex energy radiates off us, making the whole hallway hum.  

I swallow again, and I stop paying any attention to the other guys. I suck, as he holds his bag on one shoulder and uses the other hand to grip the back of my head as he shoves into me with more and more urgency. From somewhere above me I hear, "That's gonna make me cum," but I don't think it's Steve - I can tell he's getting there, but he's not there yet. I feel warm wetness on my left side as somebody in the group of rutting men ejaculates onto my shoulder and down my arm. It only takes a few more deep strokes and Steve is unloading in my throat, in my mouth... I hold him deep in my esophagus, and the gag brings all the cum rushing up, bathing his cock in throat slime and semen, my mouth so full that his thrusts make it squish out of my mouth and down my beard like I'm trying to eat too many marshmallows. It's viscid and slightly gluey - that texture where you know it's going to stick to the wall instead of run down. It comes in waves, and there's a LOT of it - I don't know whether he hadn't gotten off before, or if he just churned up a fresh load of baby batter for this hot hallway scene - but it's so much that it's dripping from my chin to my chest hair as I swallow, and swallow, and swallow. 

There's something magical about the baby batter of a real daddy. An actual father. Part of it is that I know that this is semen that's proven itself; it's done the job - this is the cum of a man who's not only fathered children, but he's bandaged owies and rocked crying babies and pushed bicycles and was scared when he let go, and he's an awesome nice guy, and I can taste it. I feel the thick-voiced fullness in the back of my mouth, as his little soldiers burrow their way into every nook and cranny, mixing with the juices in my throat, coating my esophagus and lodging in the crypts of my tonsils. Now, I know that every guy whose dick goes into my mouth for the rest of the evening, will end up wearing a little bit of Steve's manly jizz. I thank him for letting me interrupt his homeward trip, and I carry his sheets and towel to the front for him. I  give him a kiss goodbye, some of the semen from my beard sticking to his face before I lick it off. I don't know his last name. 

A shower. I don't wash my face. I know it's piggy, but I'm enjoying the sensation of being sticky with jizz, of my beard and mustache smelling of balls and musk and sperm. I figure if it bothers somebody, I can wipe it off and wash it clean. If it grosses a guy out, he's not the guy for me. I walk through some more, and I run into a tall dark-haired pale skinned guy. He's probably in his 40s. I realize that it's the guy who was singing in the lobby. I later find out to my surprise that he's 57. He immediately steps into a position of servitude. He kneels down and kisses my crotch, my dick, my thighs, my hands. He uses the word Sir a lot. I know how this game goes. This is familiar territory. I asked him if he'll go back to my room, and he agrees. He says it's OK to video him, although he later asks me to not show his face, so that one's blurred. He kneels and spends a few minutes sucking and choking and gagging on my dick. 

It sounds like he's vomiting, but he's not. Again and again. This is remarkably fun. He seems a little hesitant, as if a former master has beaten him for things that I am causing him to do. After a couple of minutes of rough throat fucking, he says he needs to take a break from that, so I turn him around and spank and then open his ass, and begin to fuck him. I had laid one bright red handprint on him when I met him, the stinging sound and the bright mark are always a good guidepost for how a session is going to go. It sets the tone. It's joined by a host of others, bright against his pale skin. I'm sad that I didn't get the trophy shot, that handprint to add to the gallery - but you can see them just fine in the video. 

I use Dr Carlton's amazing butt clock technique to stretch his hole out, and then I enter him and begin to fuck. He's noisy, whimpering and moaning loudly, and a couple of times I tell him that if he doesn't hush I will have to shove something in his mouth to mute him. I've left the door open, with the stated hope that CB will notice, and possibly come hold the camera. This happens. I am continually delighted with how often lately this seems to be the case. It feels like the universe is responsive. I know that that sounds woo-woo, and I feel the same way as an empirical-minded rationalist, but sometimes the evidence of your own experience has to have weight, and my experience lately is definitely telling me that making my desires manifest and easy to observe, thinking my way through the erotic experience, causes these opportunities to open and become available. Believe it or don't. I think a lot of it is that I become mentally open to options. I say yes. I think some of it is that I project an energy that allows other guys to engage on an intense level, for them to say yes as well. Whatever it is, I have communicated to the universe that I want to have hot boys to spank and fuck in the ass and the throat in all the weird ways, and the universe has formed an orderly queue of enthusiastic playmates. As the fuck progresses from vigorous to brutal, it's evident that although he was clean to start with, I've made a mess of him. This happens to me a lot. See previous entry about Big Dick Privileges, Big Dick Problems. He wipes the shit from my still-hard cock with the towel and we head to the showers. Just like when a boy scrapes my dick with his teeth because I'm thrusting so hard into his throat that he can't get them out of the way, I never blame a guy (the first time) for taking the 10-minute shower instead of the 30-minute shower, but I do explain why it happens and why it's a problem and what the issue is. As usual, this time it comes from folding open the rectosigmoid junction with my dick. He cleaned out the entry hall really good; I invited myself into the living room.

There's a handsome foreigner in here that I don't have permission to write about. But dude, thank you for sharing your experience with me, and I hope it makes a pleasant memory for you too. 

After showering and toweling off, CB and I walk through the wet area and then outside. It's begun to rain, large fat drops spaced wide apart. We talk about the pleasure of feeling rain on your skin; we talk about the comfort of knowing that there is a warm shower and dry towels mere feet away. I love being in the rain, as long as I'm able to get away from it, and don't have to spend the night with wet socks. 

There's a hot young guy sitting under one of the cabana covers. He's got his feet pulled up on the bench, so that his cock juts forward; he's stroking it but not in any hurry, just reveling in the sensation. The rain splats on the roof, and the wind touches me all over like feathers. I step under the cover, and ask permission to join him. The raindrops fall hard on the polycarbonate roof, amplifying and echoing the sound. He's stroking his dick slowly from base to root, and he has an open medium-size jar of Vaseline sitting on the bench next to him. Occasionally he dips his fingers into it and rubs them on his cock. It's a nice cock. He's a beautiful young man, slightly built but muscular, a goatee beard on his lean handsome face. He reaches out and touches my dick with one greasy hand, stroking it in time as he strokes his own. He's wearing a ball cap, and also an odd combination jock that seems like something a dick dancer would wear. It hugs his crotch and his cock sticks out through a built-in cock ring in the jock. It's a neat effect. I reach out and stroke his dick, the Vaseline crackling and popping as the air bubbles move through it. 

I tell him about how my parents have used Vaseline for sex since I was a kid. There's still an industrial size tub at the head of their bed. There's always big finger-swipes out of it. My dad is a horndog. At least that, I come by honestly. We stroke for a while, listening to the rain. I kneel down on flip flops that the guy has taken off and left at the foot of the bench. It's actually kind of an awesome thing. Like, I might have to start bringing flip-flops of my own, even though I feel more sure-footed and comfortable barefoot. Usually I just drop a towel, but there is an inch of water in this corner of the cabana, and a towel would be a wet disgusting mess. The flip-flops give me something to rest my knees on so that I can go to town on his cock and not rough my knees up on the textured concrete. He's running his hands over his body and also reaching out to stroke CB's dick. He dips back into the Vaseline occasionally, refreshing the slick stuff. I dip a couple fingers into it and begin to probe his butthole. He seems OK with this, and soon I am swallowing his cock and massaging the prostate as he bucks and shakes. I had pictured him originally as he was sitting there outside, alone, being one of the country guys who show up here on an  occasional basis, kind of almost straight, but they need a man's touch. Like he might be somebody whose dick I could suck, but that it might be difficult to convince him for more. Then, he takes a turn kneeling on the sandals, and all my imaginings are burned away by the intensity of his throat technique. Holy Hell. Whatever I have done to appease the gods of throat fuck, please let me keep doing it, Amen. My cock is smeared with the Vaseline until it is thickly greased, and as it goes into his mouth and then into his throat that greasiness blends with the saliva and mucus. There's actually a little bit of a drag to Vaseline in the sense that it pulls back against your skin as it slides. It makes the throat fucking both awesome and slow feeling. There's a lot of slurping and smacking. He gives CB some head as well. After a little while I ask him if he'll join me in my room, and we all go there.

For most of an hour, we pretty much do everything that seems like fun. We take turns, CB and I, fucking into his throat and his ass. I show CB how I can make the boy's whole core, including his butthole, spasm by gagging him with my dick - while CB has a finger in the boy's shitter. After a couple of end swaps, CB gets more and more intense, fucking into his throat as I'm fucking his ass, until he eventually shoots his load down the boy's throat. 

One of the things that I say repeatedly, and I say it at least three different points in the course of this evening, is that I would rather have the hot experience than try to get on video. Being able to do both is a bonus. But given the choice, I aim for the experience first and the record second. For me, they are both creative endeavors. I put care and attention into having the fun, with or without the camera. We've been fucking with the cool lights on for the whole time; I'm still thinking in terms of the experience being hot and pornographic and intense, visually beautiful and sensually satisfying. But, we've had an awful lot of fun and I figure it's worth asking this beautiful young man if he would be willing to let me run a camera. 

To my surprise he begins talking about filming porn for an internet company. His screen name is Travis Freeman. He's been on men.com and FraternityX, and some other things that I have definitely stroked my dick to. Somewhat like me, he talks a lot. He seems twitchy and a little distracted, and if I hadn't spent as much time with him as I have, I would wonder if it was more than just weed. It still might be. But I'm pretty sure that weed is what he's got and PTSD/ADHD is making the buzz. We talk about it. We talk about neurodiversity and sensuality and Tantra and energy work. He's tantric like me. I suck his dick and stroke his body, moving energy up his spine. He rolls and writhes with it, sometimes looking like he's dancing in place. 

Between spanking, throat fucking, second hole play, and all the other things we get up to, he gets the shakes. It's difficult to see in the video except for a couple of spots, but for much of that experience his body is actually vibrating. This fascinates me. It feels intense to touch him when he's like this, because every part of his body is in this semi-rigid trembling palsy, pulsing tighter and softer in a fast rhythm. His hole

is TIGHT. Like a baby's fist, squeezing my finger. Hold on for Daddy. 

Fuck, I'm a pervert. 

I had just literally this afternoon seen a post on Twitter of a guy getting the vibrating shakes, and I asked my doctor friend what's going on. He's still not sure if it is autonomous stimulation causing an excess of epinephrine, or if it's a serotonin response. I like his phrase - "It looks like he's just shaking/quivering from pleasure." Either way, it's normal (for a given value of normal), and it's harmless, and it's hot. The other thing is that he talks almost as constantly as I do. Some of it is his personal history, some of it is odd theories, some of it is random commentary. He talks about being in the marines, being in jail, a lot of other things. He talks about contracting HIV. I realize that I have spent this time so focused on his cock and his throat and his ass but I haven't even checked to see if he is musky. Yes, indeed he is. He raises his arms and continues to chatter to CB and the camera as I lick and sniff and roll my face in the smell of him.

After quite some time, he is finally worn out and wants to go and get a snack and a drink. We say our farewells, and it's time for another shower. 

As I'm drying off, I see a guy I know. I've thought he was hot ever since I came to Dallas - I used to see him out at the RoundUp every once in a while, and around at other events. He's not as tall as me, but he's got a strong Daddy body covered in ginger fur fading to silver, and a big dick. After making out for a minute, I sit on the edge of the hot tub and give his cock the attention it deserves. Apparently he's lusted after me some too, and after a little mutual admiration standing in front of the pool where everybody can see, I invite him to my room. 

I kneel and suck his cock, showing him all the things I can do with my throat. He returns the favor, making it clear that he also has a substantial skill set. This is going to be fun. We talk about everything from Gilgamesh to Tantra, about calligraphy and literature and academia - all the while enjoying one another's bodies. He's up for trying whatever sounds like fun, and I explain to him about the two main models of the subtle body that I follow for the sex energy work - the Taoist Microcosmic Orbit that I learned about from reading Mantak Chia's Multi-Orgasmic Man, and the Indian chakra system that I learned about in yoga class and then again from Barbara Carellas' Urban Tantra. I show him how to raise energy up his torso toward his head, spreading and illuminating his core until he is moaning and shivering. I show him how to trace the Taoist paths, moving the energy up the back channel and over the head and down the front. I always visualize this like a tide of tiny marching ants, flowing first up my back, then spilling over and down my chest, every touch of the ants' feet a little spark of crackling electricity. 

Then, I have him visualize these things, one and then the other, as I deepthroat his cock. It's a GOOD fuck. We do some of the fascinating and unusual technical stuff - both of us have the dick and the skillset for a mutual-deepthroat 69 that makes an energy path that looks like an infinity symbol laid end-up - swirling down my belly to my groin, and then switching over to his mouth and going down his chest to where my mouth is working his cock, so that we're tumbling together as the waves make us both shake. I hold my breath until the stars come, and I take a hit of poppers and explain to him the hallucinations I see and the sensation of feeling like a bed of coals that has been raked out and lies there coruscating, black and sparks of red. He is obviously comfortable in the Daddy role himself, using phrases like "Suck Daddy's dick" and "Let Daddy massage your butthole," and I relax and lean into letting myself be Daddied. He loves fucking me, telling me how sweet my hole is; I grind and squeeze his cock with the muscles of my ass, making him purr. It's beautiful, and pleasant, and a lot of fun. We get to a place where we've both had enough stimulation and enough poppers that we're unlikely to ejaculate, and after a while, it's time to go. 

And I can't find my phone. 

I freak out a little - I toss the tiny room, looking to see if it might have fallen down beside the bedside or something, but without luck. I go up to the front, and they don't have it - although, I do see a phone that looks like mine, which one staffer says belongs to another member of the staff. I go back to my room, and Daddy lets me borrow his phone to call mine, to log in and try to make my phone ring, to see if there's any way to locate it. Nothing. I take a blue light and walk back through the spaces I've been in - showers, hot tub, cabana, outdoor bathroom - and I think I remember putting it down at one point in the bathroom on top of the soap dispenser while I washed my hands, but it's not anywhere to be found. I do a detailed toss of my backpack, emptying out all the pockets and making everything a mess. 

Finally, I go back up to the front, and the desk clerk hands me the phone they thought belonged to the him - and my night gets a lot better. I thank the other guys for helping me look, then I pack up and go home. 

And - a brief coda. When you fuck guys hard in the mouth, you will eventually get your dick scraped. I do every once in a while; this is a really long one, but it's not very deep.