Slappy Birthday

 

Holy fuck, y'all, this one got long. I may have to slice it in the middle and make it two. But... it's a whole thing, in my head, and I like most of it. 

If you're the guy behind the corner of the porch, I'm just spacing out - get in touch, and maybe help me pull the rest of that memory out. It's tantalizing. 


Adrian is having a birthday pool party. I thought that Husband and I would be able to attend this one together, but he's still feeling really cautious about his new tattoo, so he decides to stay home for this one. Adrian and his husband have an awesome house and a beautiful backyard pool, and the crowd in the invite list is a mix of lots of guys I know, so I'm excited to attend. I've been to nice (i.e., fully-clothed, behave-yourself,  have you met the Baroness? Do try the gravlax!) parties at their house, but I've only heard tell of the wilder ones they have during pool season. It... doesn't disappoint.

As is so often the case with pool parties, it all starts out properly swim-suited and convivial. A variety of guys, slanted toward the bearish, are hanging out in the house and around the pool, relaxing and being social, eating and drinking. I drop off the food I've made -  a tray of rolled up pieces of pepperoni with cream cheese, dry salami with herbed goat cheese, artichoke hearts, and basil, little tomatoes, and edible flowers from the garden. The passionflowers in particular are a surprising taste treat; the middles of them taste like fresh-picked snap peas. There's a drug in the plant, too - a muscle relaxant, a glycoside called Passiflorine, that acts kind of like very mild herbal Xanax. You can buy it as an herbal syrup in a lot of countries at pharmacies. You can get the plant from herbalists, but they are such charming garden plants, I have to have LOTS. I mix it into a Sleepy-time-esque tea with a punch. I got the recipe from my High Priestess, back when I circled with a Wiccan coven. Zero percent of this is imaginary. I'm THAT weird. As far as the drug goes, I don't think a flower or two is going to be an issue, and most herbs concentrate their chemistry in leaves, but I wouldn't make an entire dish out of them.  Husband baked a gluten-free coffee cake too - so often, I have very few sweet choices at parties, and I appreciate him making tasty baked goods that I know are safe for me to eat. So two trays go to the kitchen, a six-pack of Topo Chico seltzers go to cooler at the back patio bar, and I find a place to drop my bag and strip off my sandals, shorts, and shirt. I hit my THCA vape. I hang out around the pool chatting with friendly guys I know, sipping a refreshing iced beverage out of my sippy cup, and getting gently stoned. Life is good. 

Lorenzo and I and a couple of other guys sit and talk about various things, dandling our feet on the bench side of the hot-tub seating. Cute little gazelle Wes is here [see also: It figures.], and this hot big-bearded Black man named Danny. Danny is an airplane mechanic like Lorenzo, and he's big, broad-shouldered, smilingly handsome. Tattoos, mostly things to do with music, swirl in dark blue-black across his chest. Somebody points at the bulge in my suit and says something about Daddy's bull balls, and I have to whip them out and explain about the hydrocele - a fluid-filled bubble beside one testicle that makes it about the size of three. I'm always ready to be a teachable moment, and I have pretty much no filter about medically or sexually inappropriate topics. With everybody inspecting my junk, I can feel my testosterone rising, and I decide it's time for Lorenzo to get an ass smack. It's just one of those things - especially when he's walking around in a bikini suit. Wagging it in my face. Fucking asking for it. I look around the crowd, and decide that it's probably OK to slap ass poolside at eight o'clock in the evening, rather than sneaking around the corner of the house. Besides, printing Lorenzo is always fun to show off; it's noisy, and sudden, and not overtly sexual, aside from the part where both of us usually get a visible erection as the echoes die down. What I'm saying is, you can get away with it before blow-job o'clock, whereas putting my dick in his mouth would be gauche and unmannerly. He stands in the shallow water of the shelf around the edge, and I lay a bright, ringing spank on his right ass-cheek. Danny and I talk some about our oral sex styles and preferences - he seems a lot like me, in terms of philosophy - he tells me about his preferred technique, miming bobbing up and down on a dick in a counted rhythm, two to four shallow strokes and then a deeeeep one... and my dick gets hard in my suit. But it's not time for that yet. 


For some reason, now Lorenzo decides that he wants to get a birthday spanking on Adrian's behalf, like some kind of kinky royal whipping boy. He wants me to spank him, in FRONT of Adrian You watch, I'll writhe FOR you. I have already had a conversation by messenger with Adrian about whether and how he'd like to be birthday-spanked (Yes, please, but gently, and only with a bare hand, and not in front of everybody) - but at the same time, this plan of Lorenzo's sounds like entertaining mischief, so we go off in search of the Birthday Boy. We find him in the kitchen, and I lean Lorenzo over the counter after his amusing explanation, and give him a left-handed smack to match the one on the right. I'm telling some onlooker who is amazed/appalled at the livid red mark from before, that the new one will develop over the course of about fifteen minutes, kind of like one of the pictures from the old Polaroid cameras - which inspires Lorenzo to start to "shake it like a Polaroid Picture." I make him do it again to get video, because... well, watch it. It's freaking hilarious. 



Adrian tells me that this is a good time for his spanking. I was thinking he wanted something quiet in another room, but hey, he's the Birthday Boy, and I'm ready. He leans over the kitchen counter and pulls his suit down, exposing his pale beefy butt. I start really light, letting him tell me when it's as hard as he wants. He wants about a three - which is fine by me. It makes a little noise, it makes a pretty mark on his untanned ass, and I make a show of it. I spread the spanks out over his left and right buttocks, covering bottom to top so that there's an even level of pink and no single spot gets too much. I cup my hand, trapping air, so that it makes a lot more noise than pain, but there's still some sting to it. I'm taking my time, and I can see his body start to shift as he gets the neurochemical rush. We get to twenty, and he says to stop - we all know there are more years in store if he wants them, but again - I want him to get the spanking he wants. It's not a thing he does, and I want him to feel safe exploring it with me; I'm not trying to make this some sort of peer-pressure public display of machismo. A couple of guys who have been watching make "Aww, man" moans, but I stop.  We all laugh about something one of the guys said that I can't remember. Then, Adrian tugs my hand and pulls, like "Follow me," and then drops my hand and walks toward the back of the house. We turn right and go into his bedroom, and I'm not sure if we're going to continue the spanking... or if it's blowjob time. 

It's blowjob time. Yaaay! I like blowjob time. He drops a folded towel on the floor between the bed and the wall, and kneels down. I slip out of my suit, and he takes my already-hardening dick in his mouth, swallowing with his tongue to get it hard. Adrian is an awesome cocksucker - lots of suction and grip in his mouth, uses his hands on my thighs and balls to stroke, lets me fuck him in the throat, even though he gags. He tells me, I haven't been to one of THESE parties here yet - and it's true; we've had three different invites that ended up star-crossed by various problems, and so I've never been in this bedroom for sex, only for Christmas. I've been looking forward to it. I keep fucking his mouth, lifting up my dick to lay my balls on his tongue. I ask if I can lean over and give him another spank or two, and he agrees to it; these he lets me go a little sharper, like a four or a five. Another smack, another, and more thrusting into his throat. After a while, he wants a break... and I ask him if he likes getting his own dick sucked. He says yes, but it doesn't happen often. I get that - he's very service-oriented, and often those guys don't get head, even on their birthdays. I want him to have for his birthday fun all the feels that he might wish to have. So I lay him back on the bed, and kiss, and then lick, and then suck his dick. I swallow it; I nurse on it, I suck hard, then light, then quick strokes... and Adrian moans and rocks his hips, enjoying my repertoire of deepthroat tricks. I put my finger in his ass and massage his prostate, swiping it from side to side, thumping it with the fingertip like I'm fucking... and he gets close... and stops me. It's a long evening; he's got a lot of fucking to get done. And I don't begrudge him a bit. 

I'm still in the mood, though, and he wants to stand back up and suck my cock some more. He tells me he likes my big uncut dick; he remembers sucking it at a different party. His husband was there too, watching and providing moral oral support - it was like a very customized fourway. Adrian sucked Husband and me, one after another, while his own husband looked fondly on. I tell him how much I enjoy that particular hat-trick, cumming down a guy's throat in the same session as my Husband, so that our jizz blends together in his belly and he turns our DNA into more of his body.  It feels kind of magical. Like we're both inscribed in his cells, together. [see also: Remarkable, also: The Anniversary Bar Crawl]. This particular sexual combo has a primal intensity for me - I often have difficulty getting to just the right point where I get off during regular sex, but if Husband has just bred some boy at one end or the other... I'm ready. It's like my body wants to make sure my seed is in with his. I'm explaining all this as I'm thrusting into his throat, gripping him by the skull in one hand, the jaw in the other. But yeah, I am cognizant of his other guests... and I am playing the same long game, aiming toward having an extended evening of good fun with multiple partners in complicated combinations. Don't want to shoot the first one too soon; I'm not thirty, or forty, anymore. I can sometimes manage a second ejaculation, but rarely a third these days. However - with the tantric training, sometimes I'll have multiple orgasmic experiences, and when I DO cum - it goes on, like little seizures. Some nights, the combination of poppers, weed, and booze will make it such that I have fun fucking, but ejaculation is difficult or completely eludes me. Some of those nights, I will actually go home and jerk off, releasing the tension I've built up over an evening of titillation - others, I feel satisfied with the experiences, and I just chill and let it ride. This banked-not-spanked scenario often results in a really intense experience later on, so it's worth it. I've also been working on reducing my masturbation overall, because I find that it makes it more likely for me to find that elusive climax where I can bring it all together, the energetic and the ejaculatory, and it blows the top off my head like a champagne cork.  

We pull our suits up, and go back to the party. I run into several guys I know, and a few who've been in this blog in the past, and there's much hugging and hanging out. Del is here [see also: Racy] and Brandt [see: Remarkable] and so I know we're unlikely to experience a shortage of big frisky dick. The party keeps partying on, I eat some more tasty food (only a bit, though - I'm never really-full, like stuffed, when I want to suck serious dick, and I know there's a damned good likelihood this will happen tonight) and have another drink. Some more THC. It's a convivial, jovial group. We talk about everything; many of us see one another fairly regularly, but a sit-down backyard get-together is a lot better place to really unwind and catch up, than when we're in a bar or something. 

I have an interesting exchange in the kitchen with Chet. I've known him for several years. We are colleagues in a broad sense; we end up seeing one another at city-wide things related to our common industry, although we don't work together on a daily basis. I have always felt like Chet is smoking hot. I got to play with him and a couple of other guys a little at a backyard pool party several years ago, and it's a fond memory. Apparently Chet is unaware of his hotness, and we have a conversation about it - I bounce it off the members of the audience, asking, show of hands, how many guys think Chet here is remarkably, like next-level, attractive? Pretty much all the hands go up. Chet kind of ducks his forehead in a semi-mortified shrug. I explain to him that I've studied enough anatomy and portraiture, that I could start listing factors backing up my opinion, if he doesn't believe the rough polling - but then I let him off the hot seat, and shift to talking about the hotness conversation I had with Jerry, the guy everybody was calling Sexy Santa at another party [see also: Racy], and how hotness privilege impacts so much in normal society, and especially in gay society. Hot guys get invited to trips on boats. They get seated facing the room. I've watched a bartender literally reach past a guy at the bar, to serve the guy who had rank. It's not just physical symmetry and good angles - although Chet's definitely got a rugged handsome face, strong lines that look like somewhere between Nordic and Irish, his coppery blond-brown hair shading to silver on his chin and cheeks - it's the way he stands, his posture indicating self-control and confidence; it's the way his face is animated and friendly; it's the way he engages in conversations with ease. He's not just good-looking; he's well-spoken, athletic, amicable. Chet's the total package - an unselfconscious stone fox, a gentleman, and a nice guy. And thank you, Chet, for consenting to let me write about this - because I feel like it impacts gay men a lot, but there's not a lot of balanced discussion about it. Also, Chet... if you are at one of these parties and want anything at all that I can provide in terms of personal services... let me know. Woof. 

Back outside, I notice that one of the other guys is running around with his suit off. Then I spy another. I tell Adrian's still-suited husband, that I always watch the host for this particular cue - and he says, "Well, yes, your host IS naked now," pointing out Adrian's bright white ass across the pool. Bingo - I'm good; lose the suit. I'm happy to be in the vanguard, but I don't want to violate the social mores by skinning off so early that the more restrained crowd hasn't had a chance to dissipate. 

And after that, it transitions rather quickly from naked back yard pool party, to wild gay sex orgy. Guys are still circulating in and out, getting food and drinks and hanging out in the pool - but there are also guys standing by the corners of the porch sucking dick, and in the bedrooms and the bathrooms you can hear the grunting and thumping of guys fucking. It's moderately discreet for a little while - you'll see three guys walk out of the bathroom, and not be sure if they've been sucking dick, or doing coke, or both. The rule on the back bedroom, is that if Adrian shuts the door, it stays shut; if he doesn't shut it, it stays open. I'm fine with this. 

I start sucking Brandt's massive dick on the patio. I had wanted to blow him at a recent get-together that I haven't written anything about yet - he walked into the backyard of that particular party, looked at me, and said, "Well, speaking of cocksuckers..." like it was finishing some conversation he was having with his friend. I wasn't sure whether to be flattered, or offended; I went with flattered, because it came with a smirk that said he remembered me sucking his dick in Dan and Dave's garage playroom, and it was a good memory.

He went on to tell us about working as a poolboy, and how many hot adventures that has yielded for him, and how he's planning to develop a career using his Ecological Engineering (I think he said?) degree and his horticulture background. And, that afternoon ended with me cumming, three times, down Mark's magic throat [see also: Remarkable]. 

All that, to explain that I particularly enjoy the chance to show Brandt some things I've learned in the past year; I'm not a size queen, in terms of the pleasure I enjoy giving men with oral sex, but there are definitely some things that a big dick will show off in terms of skills and techniques, and there are some things that it does to the cocksucker, that require you have at least a teeth-to-tonsils long dick. I show them off, those skills and techniques. Almost like I'm displaying my catalog - showing him what I can do, so he can tell me which things are his favorites, how his personal penis feels the best. I slurp; I gag, I drool and make incoherent strangling noises. I do that thing where I hold his cock deep in my throat and rock my tongue from side to side across the base of his dick, looking up adoringly at him; I suck his balls into my mouth and rub my tongue firmly on his perineum. I put his hand on the back of my skull, and encourage him to fuck my throat. We break, and I wander on to cause other mischief. 

I see Danny, and now that he's naked, I can see what he's been hiding. He's got a beautiful big uncut dick, veiny and dark brown. The skin hangs heavy, so that it's drooping over the head, but not quite a snout. I heft it in my hand as I kiss him, then drop my folded towel and begin to explore him with my nose and lips and tongue. I sniff; I lick; I run my tongue under his generous foreskin and nibble it with my teeth. He's tumescent, but still soft enough that it flops like a trimmed tenderloin in my hand. I slap it against my lips, my cheeks, my nose. I take it into my mouth, and begin to suck it down. It hardens and expands as my mouth works, extending further and further down my throat. This is a truly awesome dick, and he's clearly enjoying the work I'm doing on it, moaning and rocking his hips. I pull off, and tell him that he's welcome to grab me by the skull and push; I can take it - and so he does, a little bit, fucking into my throat with groans of pleasure... although, I could take more push than he's using. My nose is against his crotch, rubbing on soft, flat curls of black hair - but I want him deeper. I want my nose smashed across the side of my face, my teeth grinding my lip into his pubic bone. Give it to me, Daddy. Give it to me HARD. 

Danny shared pictures with me, but I also
told him I need to shoot some of him.
Justice is not being done here.  
After a while, he trades places with me. He shows me how he goes down... and I relax for a minute, and enjoy and appreciate his technique. He's good - a lot of soft, flat swabbing and then probing tongue; a lot of sucking mouth, no teeth at all. Then, I show him how I want it: deeper. Harder. More of a throatfuck, than a blowjob. Irrumatio, rather than fellatio. I grip him by the skull, his close-cropped hair more of a texture than a shape, and I push. He gags, then relaxes, then swallows, and gags a little more. I push again. He pulls off, and says, "WOW. I see what you mean. I look forward to doing this to you." I tell him, please bring it. As hard as you like. This is a thing I am good at on both sides. So, after repeating the pattern a few times so that he feels like he's really sure of how to navigate it (plus, of course, getting my jolly on from the sensations), I take the kneeling spot again, and he fucks into my throat. This time, he's more sure - he holds my skull and grinds, deep into me, so that my chin is massaging his ballsack. Then he pulls out and thrusts in deep, again and again; I tighten my throat so his mushroom head pops when he thrusts and withdraws. Plenty rough, getting more confident as he goes, to the point where he is thrusting his hips and pounding my tonsils. I gag hard, slime running down my chin into my beard and then dripping on my chest and onto the towel. That towel... probably needs therapy. Then, I see Del, and I call him over and suck his dick - he's completely rigid, he injects TriMix into his cock for parties, and it's this nearly nine-inch iron-hard bar. And he's gentle, a sweet guy until you coax out his Mister Hyde, so I have to practically impale mySELF on his cock for him to realize what I'm trying to do. It's been a while since he and I've gotten to play this game, and he's a lot more excited than he was the prior time... so he's rough to get past the tonsils. I do, though, and we enjoy that for a minute, then I play with Danny's cock some more, and Del sees another friend and goes off to either chat or play. It's that kind of crowd. 

Danny and I decide to wander around and see if we can bring the Birthday Boy any joy with our skilled and willing bodies. Or, maybe just find a discreet location with some padding. There are several really hot guys at this party, but Danny and I - we're pleasure technicians. We are enjoying exploring one another, exchanging notes as we go, showing each other hot tricks to do, and things we like. He fucks a lot like me; it's like we speak a very similar dialect of sex. I wrap a lot more words around it (um, you've read this far... you've GOT to know that I fuck like I talk, with a lot of words. And geeky terminology. And kinky instructions. Here. Put your fingers here... now push. Do you like it when I do this? Or do you prefer that?) and he's fascinated with the things I've learned - but he's known the practical side for a while. Longer than I have, I feel sure; my journey on a lot of this is so new, that I still feel like I'm feeling my way and figuring things out. He's got an easy way about him that feels like he's been a serious student of sex for more than a couple of years. There is a craftsmanship in his pleasure touch that you only get from practice. I feel like I've got it, but I'm really conscious that I've gotten a lot of it in the past year. At least, in some of the technical bits, like pain play and choking and deepthroat. The thing is, I've enjoyed intense sex, and been INTO it, for a lot longer - so I'm confident that I'm a good, rough fuck, whether I'm topping or bottoming, and I can handle guys hitting me like I hit guys, if they know what they're doing. It happens very, very rarely. I think more guys want to be, the guy getting spanked - and, that's fine by me, but more guys DEFINITELY want to be the faggot getting brutally ass-and-throat-raped, than the rapist doing all the real work. 

And... this is an experiment. I'm literally reading my draft - I make corrections on the fly a couple of times. So I haven't practiced, or planned my intonations, or done the voices. But I kinda like the way it reads, and it's fun to open up the creative process. A lot of the time, I'm actually dictating into my phone for large chunks of an entry - other times, it's typed, but I always think as if I'm explicating orally. Presenting the evidence. Varying my sentence structure, so that it sounds interesting; enough parallelism to read smoothly, but not so much that it becomes sing-song. I rebalance paragraphs. 



This is me, reading my draft up to this point. 

And it goes on. 

So, he lies back on the bed, and I begin to deep-throat his cock. He's at an angle where I can lie between his thighs half-on the bed; I've got my feet on the floor for purchase. I lap his nuts, rolling them with my tongue. I lick the crease between his hip and his groin. I nuzzle the base of his dick. I take the foreskin in my teeth and tug at it, then wrap my lips over my teeth and just slide him in, taking him to the root. We've been putting on a show for other people, outside - here, we're pretty much having a private showing. Adrian comes in, and tells us we're good, keep going, don't mind him, he's going into the bathroom. He does bathroom stuff, and then he comes out, and then, he's on the floor between the bed and the wall, servicing Brandt's rampant cock. We watch this go on for a while. 

There's a little pervert to one side, a friend of ours, Tommy. He's been standing there, jerking off watching us - he tells us he's Peeping Tommy. We show off for Tommy, making sure that he gets to catch all the fun angles. We get off the bed and walk over and stand next to where he is in the corner, letting him get his hands on the sensations - we're kind of talking through a vocabulary of things-to-do, with Tommy as the willing pupil. See, put your hand on my throat. Yeah, keep the other one moving on your dick. You're not fucking, boy... you're just jerking your dick, feeling me get fucked in the throat. Think of it as peeping by Braille. Use your fingertips to look. Feel that? Press with your finger here. You can feel it, where his dick goes down to. Then... I take charge of Tommy for a minute. Danny and I each fuck him in the mouth a little, but he gags easy, and we don't push. Then, I kneel down, and reach between his cheeks and probe his ass as I swallow his dick. He's a little overwhelmed, but I keep at it, massaging shapes into his prostate with my fingertip while I'm swallowing and jawing and suckling his cock. He goes a little crazy, dancing, and pulling away. I laugh, and tell him I just wanted to make sure that he understands how he should imagine it feeling. I want him to have some real-world reference, so he can picture how it feels, while he's jerking his dick and watching us having the real fun. I want him to know what he's missing. 

We go and lie back down on the bed, Tommy standing beside us. Adrian is getting fucked on the bed, and I lie down so that he can suck my dick, shoving up into his face as Brandt is nailing his ass. After a while, they move around, and now Adrian is kneeling between the bed and the outside wall, sucking dick. I stand next to Brandt, and we take turns fucking Adrian's mouth. I'm gagging him hard, and Brandt is too; his thick-rooted monster is a real challenge. I'm egging him on. Then I kneel Danny down and fuck between his mouth and Adrian's. I tell Danny he should get up and take a turn on the getting-sucked side, and I'd take a turn sucking and let him do what I'd been doing. He and Adrian both laugh hard but kind of awkwardly, and explain that they're sisters. Say no more... I learned even before most of my lessons in cocksmanship - Sister Dick will MAKE YOU SICK. There was a queen at the Brazos River Bottom where I learned to two-step with men and hook up with random strangers who weren't in the SCA, who would say it like a religious call-and-response with a friend. He'd say the first part, and they would chorus back the refrain. It was a common theme... apparently a lot of his friends had difficulty not banging their gay sisters... and this was back in the early nineties in a relatively hick-style bar in Houston - so a lot of these guys, did actual things like work in oilfields or ride fence at the ranch for a day job, and they'd go out to the gay honky-tonk for normal society. Seeing them queen out... and then talk tractor repair, was surreal. Anyway. Because of that, I had it drilled into my brain - there is a separation between your "sister" and your sexual self, and it's not right to cross that line. 

The thing is - and I feel like it's not a thing often or accurately portrayed in most fiction and television - is how comfortably and casually and FRIENDLY this whole thing is. Yes, we're having a craven, debauched orgy. We are taking recreational drugs, and we are drinking, and we are engaging in levels of sexual perversion that would give a Republican a stroke. Honestly, I'm surprised I haven't gotten hate mail from any of the far-Right yet. I'm too small potatoes. They don't read. Even most gay guys, this kind of written porn is too much work. But what I wish more people understood: I think the gay community in general, and the bear and kink communities particularly, do really well, is to share pleasure casually in a friendly, considerate way that respects boundaries and maintains consent. It's not a free-love commune. It's not always a full-on orgy. Somebody got a backrub for probably ten minutes. OK, it was me... but the point is, there's this ebb and flow, there's a relaxed, happy atmosphere, and it's not the frenzied, hectic, gotta-get-off fuck-fest that you see in a lot of orgy scenes on porn. I mean, because it's porn. Yeah, I get it... they shoot and they edit, and it makes a hot thing to jerk off to. But if those guys aren't falling off the bed occasionally, and laughing, and playing around, and joking, and making ugly faces because something went sideways... they're editing out what, to me, makes it real and human. Granted, when I want to get off, I want to fast forward to the part where he CHOKES him, and then spanks him awake... but, the fact that I saw the one where he laughs and is goofy with the guy, makes me feel like he's real. 

So - I try to write about the friendly parts. The parts where I've known many of these guys for a decade or more; I've played with one or another at a pool party, or my Husband and I practically ravishing poor Del at the Eagle when he'd first arrived in Dallas, me having to pull my inebriated Husband's hands off the poor man's dick, because he felt uncomfortable being jerked off on the fairly bright part of the patio. Del's got a really NICE long, thick, Daddy dick, and he's got this handsome face and silver beard and hair, and he's fun to play around with. 

Del takes a turn fucking Adrian, leaning him over foot corner of the bed. I get in position to suck Adrian's cock as he's getting fucked, and do that for a while. He wants to focus on the cocks in his ass, though, so I move sideways, and beckon to Brandt, who fucks me hard in the throat for a few rounds, before I get up, massaging my jaw, and stand beside Del. I ask "Hey, can I work in with you, Bro?" and we laugh, and then I tell him that no, really, I want to work in with him... can I have a fuck and then we'll go back and forth? He agrees that sounds like fun, so he passes Adrian's meaty pale ass over to me to fuck, and I fuck for a while and pass him back. We've got one leg of each of us between Adrian's feet, so that he can step to the side while I fuck, and vice verse. My right thigh is firmly pressed along the length of his left, and sometimes I press into him as he's fucking, encouraging hard, deep strokes. Danny is standing beside us, watching, and jerking his dick and occasionally touching me. Tommy is being Peeping Tommy... stroking his dick and watching. I remember him telling me, one time, about not getting fucked as much as he wished he might... and so I wave him over, and have him put his hand on Del's dick and mine, to feel them taking turns entering and thrusting. We rub them together, as if we're about to double-fuck. That's clearly not on the evening's menu, but it's hot, sliding them back and forth so that they slip, one after another, into Adrian's thoroughly opened hole. I reach my hand behind Tommy as he's stroking the three of us with his fingertips, and put my thumb in his asshole, massaging his prostate as he jerks. He makes a lot of noise, for somebody who's trying not to get caught peeping, the naughty little perv. It says something about the amount of complicated shit going on - I don't remember if Tommy gets off. I remember him being loud, and I remember trying to keep track of turns with Del. 

Then, I have an idea, and turn to Del and say, "Actually, work in with me, like gym sets. You fuck ten strokes, pass him to me, I fuck ten strokes. Like we're sharing a squat rack. Brah." We laugh... but this, is a VERY hot fuck game. We are literally fucking hip-to-hip, so that as my dick is entering Adrian, it slides alongside Del's withdrawing cock, then I thrust deep, hitting his second hole and making him jump. Del has a bigger dick than me by quite a bit, but I'm a rougher fuck - Adrian's been taking dick from all four of us with big dicks, plus I don't know who else might have visited while I wasn't looking - his husband is making sure the party runs smoothly, and Adrian gets all the fucking he can possibly stand. 

I like this state of affairs. This is another thing that gays get right - lots of us have our own rules among couples, or people who do or don't turn us on... but a lot of gays in couples who play well together or separately, the guys are good at compersion. It's not just for polyamorous constellations... watching his husband gently shepherd and oversee Adrian's pleasure over the course of the evening, from refreshing his drink and making sure he gets something tasty to eat, to making sure that he gets alone time with each of the various guys who turn him on, has been a real delight. Like, it makes me glad to be gay and know this kind of love. Because it's GOOD love - and a lot of what I think of as stuck-in-heteronormative-expectations gays, think this is horrible, that it tears at the moral fabric of society, that how can we fit in at the country club, if you're going to act like this?? Imagine the Log Cabin horror when I tell them that my Husband and I shared a beautiful nineteen-year-old athlete and then went out for Margaritas and Mexican food, his semen still on our comingled lips... or shared the throat of some nameless hot stud in the Eagle [see also: The Anniversary Bar Crawl] - and it's done from a place of taking genuine pleasure seeing and being part of a shared experience where we enjoy our partner enjoying someone else. I've stood across a swimming pool and watched my husband suck dick, having fun seeing him having fun. 

So, after a few rounds of taking turns fucking Adrian, we shift around, and I go and lie down in a sixty-nine position with Danny, while Brandt and Adrian fuck. Brandt's a rough power top, and he's as much fun to watch fucking, as he is to get fucked by, or to fuck... he bottomed for me at a pool party a year ago, and that was hot as fuck. I didn't remember that, until I was sending him a message to say, "Hey, thank you, smoking hot fuck," and then I realized that this guy, was that guy. I'm pretty sure he grew a beard between those experiences, or changed his hair enough that I didn't fully realize he was the same dude, the second time around. Or partly, that I was *behind* him the whole first time, and I fucked him in a swimming pool. The moment I realized that we'd had a total flip, was because when I sent him that message, it pulled up prior messages. And we talked about how I pumped him full of dick, but not full of pool water, because his butthole made a remarkably tight seal around my cock. 

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I'm talking with Danny intermittently about Tantra, and those favorite topics; the Taoist Big Draw, the rising Kundalini. We do some mutual sixty-nine, holding for time, and the sensation of someone who is deepthroating your cock going into air hunger, while you're going there yourself... it's really more of a psychedelic experience than a physical one. Then, I push him a little more forward, and suddenly his thick muscular ass is above me, although he's still impaled on my dick. It's available. Within reach. I lean up, spread his cheeks with my hands, and lick his butthole. 

This appears to be a button even more intense for him than getting his cock deepthroated. He moans. He writhes. He grinds his ass onto my face; I sniff and lick his musky manly ass, licking the inside of his cheeks with my tongue, chewing the muscle of his inner thighs, then the flesh around his hole, and then gnawing on the hole itself. I spend a lot of time pressing a firm tongue into the pucker of his asshole, and then rubbing around it with my nose, my chin, my whole face. My arms are trapped under his thighs, so I free them, and now i have my hands in play. I massage the inside of his ass-cheeks as I mumble things into his butthole, no meaning, just the buzzing and the movement of my lips, and the incessant but intermittent nibbling. He sits up, releasing my cock so that he can pay more attention to his own while I'm licking his shitter. A few times, he leans back, kind of smothering me, and I gasp and splutter as my face twitches against his perineum. He's stroking, and another guy, I can't see who from my vantage point, leans over and sucks his dick. Another guy makes out with him. It feels like he's really close, for a long time. I don't think he actually ejaculates, but it's kind of hard to tell for sure. I've worked so much on his butt nut, between throbbing it with my fingers through the flesh below his scrotum, to shaking the base of his cock to stimulate it deep inside - that his cock has been drooling for the last half hour. 

Normalize having weird conversations around sex. It's fun. I like weird, kinky stuff. I like having conversations about it - because the conversation is itself an exercise in managing consent, in navigating boundaries and setting references. This is what he likes; this is what he is NOT interested in. This is where we intersect. I like the kink community for the fact that, although there are some resolute assholes whose whole personality is wrapped up in this super-dom self-centered idea of Alpha-hood, there are a lot of superior top guys, who carry a sexual and philosophical conversation through this kind of encounters. There are guys who are SMART about it. They lean into the position of Daddy, not from some ego-centric Paterfamilias braggadocio, but from a position of being a hot older male authority figure, who cares for you and wants you to experience pleasure and affirmation and purpose, in giving me pleasure. 

I want guys to feel hot. They ARE hot, and some of these guys... I mean, there are zero guys I've played with tonight, who wouldn't be good in a photo-spread, although they're not all traditional calendar models. A couple of them have posed for artwork; because I know some of the other guys who've been in the same artists' paintings, and I've stood on a ladder in a sheet-draped living room for photography, and I've held the bottle just so. We're an actual creative community, this group. We design; we edit, we make fancy platters so we can discuss how vibrant this year's basil is, and I SHIT YOU NOT, guys were passing it around, because this is Genovese, and it's not ordinary sweet basil, and my tomato soup is FUCKING AWESOME because I dry this shit and crumble it and save it in jars. 









It's so amazing fresh in a chiffonade, tossed onto sliced fresh summer squash with avocado oil, Greek seasoning, fresh baby tomatoes from the garden, picked red, and all different kinds, but those little Glory tomatoes would totally do it, and then topped with Chihuahua cheese and roasted at 450'F until the squash is fork-tender, and the cheese is melted, then broiled to crisp everything up and get some caramelization on the cheese, some Maillard reaction, then drizzled with Balsamic glaze. Yes, I'm gonna put that shit in here, because, you know what? The BLT's are the Heirloom slicers from the garden, and NOTHING is better than that. And yeah, I chunk up extra tomatoes, and we sit and eat those fuckers like watermelon. I mean, we grew those beautiful bastards in dirt; I feed them fish emulsion and compost extract. We're fully organic almost all the time (there are a couple of really extreme exceptions, one spritzed-on herbicide and one poisonous-spider apocalypse powder and then the stuff to keep fleas off the dogs and prevent heartworms) Again - I wish people would realize that there's this whole spectrum of sexy, sexual, weird, emotionally-healthy gays, who range from "this isn't a refrigerator full of food, this is a refrigerator full of ingredients," to "So, make a bone broth; you'll want enough collagen that you can stand a spoon in it when chilled," with a heavy slant toward the cheffing-our-way-through-a-French-cookbook set. We eat WELL when we go to parties. Bitches SHOW OFF. There is Raising Cane's famous chicken and a variety of sauces, which is a tradition for this particular party apparently (see also: hadn't ever been to this party before) and there are bakers who bring bars and chefs who bring crustini, and one perennial delicious cheese dip. There are cupcakes and cookies, mostly somebody's Ina Garten recipe, or somebody's mee-maw's recipe. There's broiled cheese on things. 

We kind of rearrange, and I wander to the kitchen, and get some food, munching on cubes of watermelon the color of fresh Ahi, some coffee cake, some chips with dip, some of the rolled-meat-and-cheese. It's like a less fold-it-yourself shark coochie plate. (Yes, I'm joking). I like these; they're a good flavor blend, they're not TOO much of a PITA to make, while still being something that I think is a convenient little two-bite bundle. Sometimes there's ham or mortadella, and sometimes there's sliced cheese, and maybe the long ones are three bites. I stand and do them with a butter knife and room-temperature cheese, then chill the whole platter so that it sets firm and is sturdy to transport. Gays CATER, people. So yeah... I like to show off that we've got a variety of edible flowers in the garden. Some parties, it's been  a Gothic explosion made of mustard leaves like something on Tim Burton's crafty. 

It only LOOKS like we were going to Halloween... it was May. But that was twenty-ten, when we had been in this house just over a year, and we grew all those amazing vegetables, and the mustards were rolled in like salad inserts, and the onion greens,  and he made his Grandma's spice pickles with over-ripe cucumbers we bought special at the Farmer's Market, and that bitch SLAYED. Note to self; plant more mustard for fall.

The point of this long ramble - yes, there's no dick. You take a BREAK from dick, and you get your breath back, you have some snacks and you hydrate, and then... Oh, dear Jesus, there's more dick on the patio. If a guy isn't pacing himself at least a little... there's probably coke in him. That's never been my drug of choice; I like THC and then poppers, and I'll have a couple of these flavored-vodka-soda canned things, but I'm nowhere near drunk, only a little stoned, and mostly just floating along on pleasure. I've been throat-fucked enough that it feels like I'm drooling as I eat. The back of my mouth is juicy and full, almost like when you've had a good cry and you're all full of snot. You could drive your baloney pony right between my tonsils. I am stretched and open, and there's so much slime in my throat, that my voice is husky and occasionally I have to slurp. 

Everything is delicious, with THC, and although I have to be careful with poppers because they will have me shooting pool with a rope, I enjoy a THC buzz until about an hour and a half before I'll need to go, so I have plenty of time to sober up. But that's not yet. That's... about two hours from now. So there's still playtimes. I take another hit on the vape, and I run into Danny and this new (well, he's not NEW, but I've never met him) guy Sherman. He's shaved bald, and his gleaming head and his sinuous muscular curves are all glowing pale, and he's got to be really thorough with that sunscreen. His smooth and pale body pressed against Danny's furry and dark one is a hot contrast. He's got a long but narrow cock with a strong up-curve, which gets more and more rigid as Danny and I play with it. We kiss, and I pass around my bottle of poppers, although Sherman is also carrying his own. Then I try a hit of his, because it's kind of a nice thing to share. You take a sip of my drink; I'll take a sip of yours. Sometimes you'll find something new you particularly like. Then I take mine, and I show them the trick of passing it back and forth through a towel corner, so that you pass the vapor between two of you on the breath, shotgunning it. I do this with Danny, and then with Sherman, and then we are all kind of humming together in the super-intense popper rush, making out in the center, so that our lips and tongues slide over one another. My lips on his lips and his lips. His lips on his lips and my lips. Then I kneel down, and take Sherman's cock in my mouth, and then Danny's, back and forth, then just the tips, like two inches of each, together. My cheeks bulge like a hamster. Then one after another I take them to the root. Danny by this point just fucks the living daylights out of my face, and Sherman picks this up and follows suit. There is so much snot in my throat that it's coming out of my nose with a splurching, gnurpling sound, hanging in great strings from my face. Then I wipe my face, and trade places with  Danny. We do another round of the poppers, so that Sherman and I fuck into Danny's mouth, one after the other. Sherman takes a turn kneeling, but it's clearly more of a thing for me and Danny - and he gets fairly quickly back up, coughing and pushing me to my knees. I kneel again... and this time, he and Danny pass my throat back and forth like a gym set, like what I'd been doing in the bedroom fucking Adrian with Del. One fucks into me for ten strokes deep in the throat. The other for ten. I'm making that yawning posture in the back of my throat, so that it's tight and squeezes each man's glans in passing. I sound like a squeaky-toy hammer. Then... Sherman starts to build up momentum. Danny steps back, letting Sherman have my throat, and then he moves around to stand behind me as I'm kneeling. I'm tentatively, then vigorously, fingering Sherman's ass and massaging his prostate. He's gripping my skull firmly in both hands as he makes out with Danny, passing poppers and tongues between them, rubbing against one another from shoulders to elbows, sometimes kissing, other times rubbing their necks against one another like big cats. Both of them end up firmly gripping holding my skull, all four hands on my head as things get more urgent. Danny's clasping me hard against his body with a hand on my forehead pulling back and a hand under my jaw thrusting forward, holding my throat open; Sherman is gripping my head behind the ears, one hand on each side so that he can hammer into me. I'm kind of pressed between them, like I'm the cross-bar in a capital A, with my head leaning back against Danny's thighs and holding me for Sherman to fuck into. Danny bounces me onto Sherman a lot, playfully bucking his hips. Sherman thrusts deep, and hard. They crush my face as they make out passionately, each smash into my forehead of Sherman's taut belly makes my eyes flash little opals around my peripheral vision, pressure phosphenes against my dark field of vision. He starts to thrust more and more intensely, then erratically, then freezes all the way in and spasms as he begins to ejaculate into my throat. 

Holy fuck. He holds it there, gripping me by the skull, slamming me hard into Danny, and I'm pressing both hands into him, my left holding him firmly by the ass, that arm wrapped around him, so that he understands that he shouldn't pull out, while my right middle finger is milking his prostate. I feel as the tight little gland spasms throbs and squirts his seed, spurt after spurt, into my throat. I am holding... I've been holding... and I am periodically coughing up the bolus of slime that attempts to clear the esophagus - I think I've coughed up three since he started shooting. Each time, as I retch, the phosphenes in front of my eyes flash. He keeps shooting. By this point, the slime coughs are thoroughly blended with semen, and flowing down my beard, my arms, my chest, his thighs. I'm bobbing my larynx up and down, which is like swallowing, but there's just no way for me to close the upper vacuum, so I'm spitting up all this slime, drooling it out, it's like a little fountain around his cock. It can't go down until I can close the back of my tongue. It is... a little bit everywhere. FINALLY... his spasms slow and stop. He relaxes his grip. 

Then, and only then, I pull off and suck in five or six deep panting breaths. I swallow, and swallow, and suck some stuff of of Sherman, and swallow, and then swallow his cock, making the glugging, milking motion to drain and clean it,  until he pulls it away, finally too sensitive. Then I get some fucking drink, because I'm drowning in slobber. My little hand towel goes splurch. I roll the big towel, inside-out, because it's... it'll come out in the wash, it's just jizz and throat-slime... but it jiggles. It's like someone dropped several raw oysters on it. 

There was more. I'm exhausted. I need to put this fucking monster of a post to bed. I will be granting editorial approval to any of the guys involved - so this entry may shift. There was another complete throatfuck-swallow-cum round that honestly? I barely can recall... right after this one, he WATCHED this one.. hey, if you're that dude, remind me what the fuck happened...  because my fucking mind was blown with that last bit of throat-fuckery. I probably won't be able to pull together enough of that guy - I remember him thick, muscular like a sparkplug, salt and pepper, handsome, tattoos - lots of tattoos... fuck, I just can't pull that guy forward. It was behind the back of the patio, in the area beside the pool, I can remember trading head with him, opening his throat. And I remember him ejaculating in my throat, too. It's just too fuzzy, to tell a whole story. 

But what you have read, all fucking happened. These amazing hot men, these sexual athletes, these esthetes - because we're talking art directors, painters, stylists, designers. They will stage-direct your fuck. And the beautiful thing - when they do, and you've got a writer and a lighting designer and a creative director... your fuck is AWESOME. It has pizzazz. The thing is... I don't make shit up. I am recalling, as nearly as humanly possible, often using notes and checking with my partners to make sure I'm using the right tone, and all this shit... but this sex that I'm writing about, I'm DOING. It's real; it happens. This is not fantasy. I feel like, in a way, I'm kind of a force for fun sexual chaos at the events I attend. I try to enjoy hot friendly guys that I like, and have fun, and I try to share joy and connection in play. I'm openly kinky, to the point that my handprint is a signature, and one friend said, 'Yeah... we would hear this <<gagging>> noise, and we'd say, "Yeah, that's him over there." I spank guys on request, most of the time. Some of them, I ask. But a lot of them, they ask. And I can take them from hasn't-ever-done-this, to hit-me-harder... and they can smell it on me. I tell you... it's the choking. I think that's got to be elsewhere. Because I've got this whole TED talk preloaded about the choking, but this is getting ridiculous in length already. 

And I love my Husband. And I hope he gets to go to the party on the Fourth, because he needs more pool party time. And I know there will be weenies. I really, kind of hope that we can spend some time, hip to hip, deep in some fucker's throat - like we did back in May in the Eagle bathroom. [see also: The Anniversary Bar Crawl] We will bring something fun. It will probably be homemade, maybe a cookie cake, a favorite of his, topped with icings and fruit like a flag, or something similarly intriguing. A Swiss roll cake with fireworks piped on the outside. You know the type. And, probably a platter of little rolled meats and cheeses; I like it; it's kinda my thing. I'm debating whether "get gluten-free hot-dog buns" sounds like a stupid errand just to get the *visual* of eating a hotdog in a bun with mustard on it, because I like them just meat-on-plate with some relish, eat with  fingers until gone... but, it's a look thing. There's something advertising-art about the idea of standing and talking to fellow bears while monching on a classic hot dog, instead of gnawing a sausage in my fistses like Gollum. 

So, my Husband does most of the cooking. He enjoys it; I enjoy it. He's better about making dinners; I'm better if I can plan and make batches, and have stuff for later. We're not good, though, at eating a lot of the "for later" later. We're ordinary, but creative, interesting people. We're also sexual. I wish people would be more... whole. I wish we didn't have to separate those ways of interacting. They're all there, they just pare themselves down to a slice, and tightly edit their interaction. This group of friends is really good at navigating that. I try to be as fucking human as I can to people, I try to make sure that they understand not only THAT they are beautiful, but WHY I think they're beautiful, so that my assessment isn't just an opinion. I try to praise each one, in a way that connects to him. Thank you, Daddy, for sharing your night with me. That was beautiful, boy, thank you. Good doggy. Sit, faggot. You have done well. That was a beautiful struggle. That kind of thing. I really do send messages to a lot of guys thanking them for good sex. I think thank-you messages for sex don't get sent often enough. Guys have done such amazing things for me; how is there anything in my mouth but gratitude? Do enough guys get genuine praise and thanks for their sexual openness? There's a big step between "Fuck, you look hot, boy, stretch that ass up," and "You're feeling those sensations because your body thinks it's choking to death. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me take you there." That's... some deep shit. You get some ENERGY rushing through you. 

Anyway. I wanted to leave you with a human part.  Sex should be a thing between human beings - you can have a crotch-centered connection with a complete stranger, but you're still fucking the PERSON instead of just putting your dick in something hot and wet and tight. I mean, that's hot fantasy for other guys, maybe... but for me, it's that this sweet, sexy, BEAUTIFUL man, his massive thick black beard as soft to kiss as mine, but his moving under my lips in such a different way, the network of curled hair making like an open sponge that rumbles across my lips, OMG, I finally remembered what I was thinking, and it's like a much softer version of sponge microphone; it's deep-throating the hot pool maintenance man who I didn't know was a pool maintenance tech when I gave him a technical in the pool, and stuck the landing. It's that hot weird jerking-off Peeping Tommy hanging out in doorways so he can imagine himself looking through windows, because that makes his dick stiff... and going and standing in front of the closet doors, and being part of that "scene" for a minute, playing like we were just giving the voyeur a view, allowing him to imagine himself in somebody's bedroom garden, looking close in a window, able to see them (us) standing beside the bed. Because the guys in the garden, certainly see, occasionally, what we're doing; some of them nod or wave. It's kind of funny. Peeping Tommy is directly across from a window... so when he looks past me throat-fucking Danny, he sees two other guys fucking... and himself. Jerking off, to a scene that includes a Peeping Tom. He's a voyeur jerking off to an interactive scene about voyeurism. It's very meta. We're a highly interesting group. I'm looking forward to being weird at more parties. Y'all buckle up. 

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