Caution: May Be Triggering

This evening is another lesson in how the best laid plans are only an estimate - a fantasy - of what will happen once you are really there.

I've been chatting with this beautiful submissive boy. I've played with him once before, looking down into his liquid brown eyes as he sucked my cock, trying unsuccessfully to penetrate his beautiful tight hole. We had a good time. This time, though, he's wanting a really intense scene - spanking, blindfolds, some very intense racial/ethnic language, a pill bottle full of frozen semen, sharing him around with other white cocks. He's Indian, and although the issues are different than they are for other races in this part of Texas, they're still big, scary issues. 

We negotiate carefully - what he can handle, how specifically things should be phrased. He gives me word lists and suggestions for things to do with his body. He gives me three lists: one of things he likes, one of hard-limit things that he doesn't want to do, and one of things that may trigger a panic attack. I note with a nod that the list of things that may cause him to panic, are NOT the list of things he doesn't want to do. He wants to explore some of those things. He had some experiences that caused physical and emotional trauma, and like happens with so many guys, the traumatic and the erotic become so interlinked that they are nearly fused. The aim of this kind of play is to let you go into the scary experience with a safety net and a buddy, so you can try to sort out the scary from the sexy. It ends up being what I think of as a qualified success - he's got a lot to think about. 

He arrives later than I'd hoped, but not too bad. I've been here for most of an hour, which gave me time to set up my space, to walk a lap around the building, to take a piss and wash my hands, although not my dick. They've got me in a room that I haven't been in before, and it all feels a little discombobulated. I go up to the desk and watch him go through his check in, and then I stop and give him a hug and a kiss when he comes through the door. There's a sudden smell of Nag Champa, which I haven't ever smelled here before - I look around, and a big ceramic bowl full of sand has a couple of short sticks burning. I don't know how I've missed it before, or if it is actually new. I tell him that it was a surprise, and he doesn't recognize the name; I take him back to the bowl and have him smell, and then he knows it. It feels oddly coincidental that there's this new Indian smell on the night he's here.

I follow him to his room where he ditches his bag and skins out of his clothes, leaving him clad in a crisp white jock. I lay a really nice hard smack on his right ass cheek. He has a beautiful tight body, furred with elegantly patterned black hair. He turns me on a lot. We go to my room, and step in and close the door. I hold him and kiss him thoroughly, licking his lips, kissing his cheeks, nibbling my way around his bearded jaw. I want to try a couple of masks on him to see which one works best. 

I put a perforated Fort Troff neoprene hood on him, and start talking and stroking his body, playing with his mouth, reaching into his throat. I'm mostly checking out his responses; it gives me an idea not only of what he can take, but where he's at tonight. I talk to him about things I'm planning to do to him. I smack him hard on the chest... and things go kind of sideways. He curls up around the smack. I did hit him good and hard, but it's more of a psychological reaction than a physical one. He starts breathing fast. He lies down on the bed, and I talk through a little of the chemical changes he's going through. After a while, he's good to get back up and try a different hood. I discuss with him the fact that I'm revising my estimates for this evening downward - and honestly, I'm glad that I haven't heard from the two other guys who were possibly going to show up to help me with the "whore me out" portion of the evening. 

I put a heavy Spandex zippered hood on him, and he doesn't like the eyeholes. I put a blindfold over it, and that's better. I reach down and take some of the funky white cheese from under the head of my cock and rub it inside his nose - he told me earlier about still remembering the smell of the first cock he ever sucked, that priest so long ago, and how he's been looking for that smell ever since. He'll have it with him for the rest of the night, now. 

We end up with the Fort Troff perforated hood and the blindfold over the top. It's totally obscuring; he can't see at all, but I have full access to his mouth and nose. I like this state of affairs. I fuck him in the mouth for a while, and talk with him about things I enjoy. I say some mean things. I cut the mean things out. What happens in the cut-out bit? About five words, and he retches hard and starts to vomit, my fingers in his throat. That's what you miss. 

He gets really triggered. We need to take a break. I turn off the camera. I lie with him, and then on top of him, and start helping him to box breathe... and then decide that I want to turn the camera back on, because THIS IS SHIT PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW, and I go back through the instructions on the box breathing. By this point, he and I had actually been box-breathing for a couple of minutes. I really feel like "Will lie on top of you and box-breathe" would be like a massage service that nobody would understand why they need, but they need it. The soft weight of a moderately fat bear pressing gently all over you is like a musky, breathing weighted blanket. Guys, if you have anxiety issues... I am telling you, learn to box-breathe. I do it to the beat of my heart. IN for four... HOLD for four... OUT for four... HOLD for four. Repeat. As I go through the cycles, my heart slows and my breathing evens out. It is fucking magic. Yes, I know about 4-7-8, and I don't care for it, but you do you. 

Unfortunately, he's just feeling too triggered to keep going for right now. He goes to his own room to sit for a minute, and he says we can resume when he gets back; maybe fifteen minutes. I go for a walk, shower, get fresh towels, go tap on his room door. No answer. I send him a message on Scruff, where we had been chatting. Nothing. I don't know if he packed up and left, or is in the room doing some self-soothing thing like I have so many times, like a yoga nidra script (I HIGHLY recommend this, by the way. Here's a SHORT one, and here's a LONG one. If you can't sleep? Yoga nidra. If you are so agitated that you feel like you're going to fly apart? Shavayatra. Get into your body and let somebody take you finger by toe and put you out of your spinning head. DOO EEET.) I send him another message - I don't want to ignore his situation if he's in a bad place; on the other hand, I don't want to be knocking on an empty door, if he's gone home. I go shower. I send him another message. I go knock on his room one more time - and he opens the door. Oh, good. He's OK, it was just a lot. He came here and lay down and fell asleep. I get it. I would probably need to walk it off, but some guys need to collapse and reset. The stuff we've done, is a LOT. I have fucked with his head as well as his body. He's too overwhelmed to want to keep going; I get that too. I give him some attention and affection, then he gets dressed and heads out. 

The next experience is a guy I didn't get a permission from, so there's no description of him, just what happened. This really sexy guy takes hold of my dick in one of the maze areas and we go into the little bench area with the reasonable downlight, and just fuck like minks. I fuck him and lean him over and twist him around and fuck and fuck and fuck and finally I ask him if he would go back to my room. On the way back to my room there's a guy in the hallway with so much cologne on that it's like a chemical weapon. I start talking in a very unfiltered, autistic, stoned way, and you know how that goes. I ramble. I sometimes lose control of my pacing and my vocal register. You see it every once in a while in one of the videos if something is very exciting. And it apparently weirds him out  to the point that he says thanks but no, and turns and walks the other way. A mocking childhood voice in my head says, "Ha-ha... you sound like a fucking retard," and then I tell the voice in my head we don't use that word, and the voice in my head says, "Hey, I'm a mocking childhood trauma experience... I say what the fuck I want." I get to look at him the whole rest of the night, again and again, and I don't have a chance to apologize for letting my mouth off its leash.

What I really want to say is, because of people like you, people like me are using 60% of our total energy to prop up a facade of apparent normalcy, whip down any twitches or flaps or inappropriate commentary or any unguarded vocalizations, and constantly check everything against a carefully memorized rule book. My filter slipped. Fuck your condescending smile. 

I walk outside. I stand for a while by one of the cabanas, watching a hot couple fuck and stroking my cock. As it gets harder, I get a couple of appreciative glances; one tall guy with a shaved head and a beautifully sculpted body tells me I should come hang my cock in his mouth. He's standing in the pool, and there's a sloping ramp on the side, which makes it easy to sidle sideways and adjust your height to perfectly match your cocksucker to your cock. This was not done on accident, methinks. We joke about it, and then find the perfect sweet spot. He has the easily social air of someone who schmoozes people for a living, like a sales director or a fundraiser; he's effortlessly friendly in that way that charismatic people have. I let him suck it a while. He doesn't take it in the throat; he gags hard again and again, but he keeps letting me thrust into the back of his mouth. He's hot, and I kind of like gagging him. After a while, I tell him I want to turn it around, and I go down the side of the pool to walk down the ramp. While I do, he hops up on the side of the pool. I hadn't really gotten a clear look at his big dick earlier... it's, um, a BIG dick. You can tell by the soft-but-plump meaty-hanging texture that it's gonna be a LOT of penis when it's fully aroused. There's a little alarm bell that goes off in my mind for a moment, but I hold its head under water until it stops bubbling, and kneel down on that slope so that I'm eye-level with his huge and quickly thickening cock. We scooch sideways a little to get the perfect level. He's probably almost eight inches when it's hanging in an arching curve, tumescent but nowhere near full. It's a lovely big plump dick. I hate the idea of "He must have been a stunner," but he definitely has the look of a man in his fifties who was a SERIOUS headboard breaker in his thirties.... and, as I'm discovering, so many of us still are. We talk about haircuts; he asks if I've ever buzzed it all off like his, and I tell him about the time I got the haircut for the gay haircut fetish site, and the time I shaved it all over with a razor, and about how I love the feel of the short buzz, but I didn't like the way my face looked fully shaved bald, because it made me feel like my face was imbalanced, my eyebrows were too high. We laugh, and I've been just kind of chatting holding his cock, and, honestly, getting him talking so that it softens up a touch... but now I lean over, and I kiss the head, sucking it in my mouth. He flexes in response with a little moan, and the head of his cock swells in my mouth like a time-lapse animation of a strawberry

ripening. It fills my mouth. I swallow. And swallow. It goes down my throat, and I can feel where the head goes well past my larynx; it's got to be close to ten inches of dick, and it's not super thick, but it's like thick through. I swallow. He's moaning and grunting; I get the impression from the OHMYGODs and the WOWs, that it doesn't happen to him as often as he'd like for it to. I can totally see why. His cock gets harder and straightens out some, and he fucks into my throat; he lets me have a breath every now and then, but I also sneak them between thrusts like I'm playing a wind instrument... and, I guess, skin flute solo counts. I can feel that a couple of my upper molars may be scraping his shaft, or at least rubbing on it; nothing tastes off, so I know I'm not breaking the skin at all, and he keeps thrusting. I adjust my angle a little so that the molars don't hit. He gets hard and thrusts fast, like he's going to cum, but he stops, and we take a break, and talk some more. I tell him I'd love to do this somewhere that I'm not kneeling in water up to my shoulders; the risk of drowning is not insignificant. We get up and move to the nearby bench, and he throat-fucks me a bit more there. Again, he gets to a point, and stops. After a few friendly minutes, I thank him for sharing his evening with me, and wander on. 

There's this super cute kid who looks like he must have be all of 22, and he has on what looks like a snug-fitting necklace of small pearls, but it may be a necklace of white glass beads. For some reason it makes him look like he's in a fraternity at the University of Hawaii. He looks both frat boy and surfer boy, tanned and just cute as a bug, a tiny scruff of beard on just his chin. He's absolutely fucking gorgeous. Every inch of him is pretty. He kneels down in the maze and sucks my dick a little bit and I ask him back to my room and then holy fuck he lets me completely destroy his throat. I fuck his esophagus; I gag him hard with my cock and then my hand. He lets me fuck hard into his face so that the spit is splorching out his cheeks as I stroke into him. He isn't interested in getting fucked in the ass, and he isn't interested in having his asshole played with or his own dick sucked, and so I just relax and lie back on the bed and enjoy fucking the absolute shit out of his throat. I stand up and give it to him that way, big strings of drool running down my thighs and slapping across his face. Then I lie back down and let him go to town. I raise my hips up like a bridge a little, so I can push. He relaxes and takes it. He gets to a point where I can just thrust upward into his mouth like it's a cunt, and I bump along to a spectacular galloping orgasm. I hold it full-depth as I ejaculate. He gags hard and the load of semen and a huge bolus of slobber come flying out of his mouth and nose together. ALASKAN FIREDRAGON ACHIEVED. I feel like there should be a special sound effect. DABLING. And OMG, my dudes, I wish he said yes to video, because he's so fucking cute covered in snot and jizz, with my slimy still-twitching cock sitting on his forehead. He wipes up with his towel. I tell him about how I think of it like the hat trick of throat sex. I kind of get the impression that this particular intensity of rough throat-fuck hasn't happened to him before, for all that he takes it like a champ; he keeps saying things like, "Wow, that was intense" and "That was different." The way he says it, I'm not 100% sure he wants another round. Maybe he'll wake up in the middle of the night craving it, though. Throat fucking will creep up on you like that. 

I swear to God I can track two different guys through the building by the smell of their cologne. One of them is a Latino with one of those unnaturally-rounded ballcaps that sit high up above head. The other one is a tall slender black guy with long braided locks that curl at the ends, and he keeps looking at me like he wants to play with me, or step into the room where I'm fucking some boy, but I can't even have a conversation with him enough to explain that the smell of him is making me sick. The Latino guy walks into the sauna, and I have to leave the room. If you're not sensitive to smell like this, imagine someone putting a single noise-cancelling earbud into one of your ears, and playing the sound of an airplane taking off. While you try to have a normal conversation through your other ear. It overloads my sensory apparatus, to the point where I can have serious trouble functioning because CAN'T YOU SMELL THAT?? It's like being in a room filled with smoke; not the cigarette kind, but like when the fireplace goes bad and doesn't draft and suddenly the living room is a smoky coughing nightmare. 

Walking along, I see the really muscular bald guy again, and this time he's in a room fucking this guy in a mesh shirt and a jock. The guy's face is smashed into the bed and so all we see is his back and ass. It's a big ass but it's a damned fine ass, muscular and fleshy and pale. It bounces and thumps as he is slammed from behind again and again. The bald man gets to a point where he's not going to come, at least not yet, he's deliberately not getting off. Pacing himself. I get it. I step into the room. I always feel awkward in this position; I need to either jerk for a while or get my dick sucked (preferred) to get hard to fuck in a situation like this. I generally have a happy, ready erection, especially with the tantra and the Tadalafil, but it still needs attention, preferably oral attention, to get going. I am just about to explain that I'm not up for fucking yet, but the really cute blond bottom swings around says hi, and smiles, and starts sucking on my dick, rather excellently. I put my hand on his ass, and say, "Can I spank it?" and he pulls off my dick, smiles again winningly, and says, "You can do whatever you want!" and returns to slurping on my cock. The bald guy bows out and walks down the hallway. He's ready for a break. The guy continues sucking my dick and he's really really good. REALLY good. Varied, deep, sucking strokes, lots of thick warm muscular tongue, sucking like he's working the meat juices out of my cock to nourish a desperate nutritional deficiency. I get situated so that I can lie down and he can work on my cock between my spread legs. He sucks. He sucks a lot. He's got a remarkably good technique where he creates just a little bit of a vacuum in the back of his mouth and his throat and so when he pulls off me it sucks my dick a little bit. It makes the gluck-gluck noise. Every gluck is a little sucking kiss on the head of my cock with the back of his throat. It's a fucking impressive display of skill. 

I start to feel like the orgasm is building up, and eventually I thrust and thrust and thrust into his throat and then hold his skull as I cum hard and he gags. Holy fuck, that's twice in a night. DINGDINGGABLOING. Like a little level-up noise. I need some artsy pervert to make me a little video-game art of a dick icon increasing in size. I notice that I'm still hard, and I ask if he wants to ride my cock. I kind of want to be inside him. But instead he continues sucking my dick, and I'm still hard, and I'm still feeling like I've got both oars in the water and rowing for shore. I explain that if he wants number three, it's almost always going to involve some prostate play. He's totally game. He knows what he's doing. He takes a couple spit-slicked fingers and massages my prostate and then initiates a fairly good driving rhythm. I'm fucking into his throat as he is fingering my ass. It feels so fucking divine; I can feel the rail of power between my prostate and my cockhead, and I'm rocking my hips to stroke that whole area across as much of him as possible. I squeeze my thighs, my hips, my belly, my arms, and pull up the fire. The fact that I just ejaculated and that this is number three for the night doesn't seem to lessen its efficacy any. I don't squirt a lot, but he swallows and swallows as my dick spasms in his throat. I have little aftershocks for a minute or so, and then we chat for maybe a minute, and then I get up and let him have his room back. Wow. 

It's nine forty-five. I have fifteen minutes. I can't have any more weed. I've cum, hard, three times. But... it's still fifteen minutes. I walk through the maze. There's a hot Latino guy; he's probably in his forties, but his hair all still looks naturally black. He's broad-shouldered and his skin is an almost mahogany reddish brown. He leans over and sucks my dick. 

Hey, what's a guy to do? I'm not gonna say no. I mean, I have no interest in saying no. I ask him back to my room. I explain that I've cum three times; I really enjoy his cocksucking, but I may not have another load in me. He's cool with that. He likes my cock. We get back to my room; I get some Gatorade and some mints. He points to the Tic-Tac container, saying, "Mi encanta." I tell him I love them too, and he pops a few in his mouth and goes down on me. The mentholated intensity is just the thing, and within seconds I'm rock hard and fucking into his throat. We have a few hits of poppers to make things interesting, and I keep fucking. I don't know the Spanish for "I want you to lick my asshole with your minty tongue," but I manage to make myself understood, and I get a York Peppermint Rimjob for a minute before he goes back to deepthroating my cock. I want the stainless steel toy this time, and I reach for it and slick it with spit and start to rub it on my hole. He takes over and uses it to massage my prostate. He gets some more mints to refresh the intensity of the menthol as he swallows my cock again and again. We have another round of poppers. I start to feel like I'm heading toward the orgasm. The mint from where he licked is still tingling in my hole as the stainless tool rocks my prostate and he swallows my cock again and again, again. He gags. I shove. I let him breathe, and then shove my cock all the way down his throat and unload. There's not any significant sensation of fluid, but the spasm makes my cock almost thump him in the back of the throat, once, twice, three times and then he gags hard and I pull it out. Coated in throat slime. With little clumpy flecks of semen. 

Fuck. 

Hat trick. Triple Crown. I need that little casino slot machine visual where you win and all the coins fall toward you in a cascade. The dick icon BLOINGBLOINGBLOING turns into a three-dicked crown, and all three dicks ejaculate gold and purple fireworks. 

And then, at precisely 10:00, the alarm on my phone goes off.