Trampiversary

Husband and I, we celebrate three anniversaries. The first one, the one we count our "have been together since" date, is in August of 2000. Three zeroes, beeetches. We've been together twenty-six years, and we met in a three-way that I think I've written about before... but he and I realized we had both been talking to a third party Greg guy on gay.com - this was before cell-phone apps... and so I said, "Hey, why don't we all meet up at the Denny's, it's like two blocks from my house, we can have an iced tea or a Diet Coke or whatever and see if we like each other, and then if we do, we can come back over to my house and fuck." Even then, I knew the power of directness. And third guy didn't stay all afternoon, he was self-conscious and not comfortable, and the two of us clicked together like castanets. I reached out and put a handprint on Husband's perky peach, and Greg freaked out, got dressed, and left. Husband and I stayed in bed all that day. I could smell his body in my mustache when we were done. THAT is the meet-cute story. The encountering and entangling that we celebrate under the name "Trampiversary." [See also: The Anniversary Bar Crawl]

Because today's handsome ingenue says no to video... a little snippet from a previous year. 

I feel like the photos I have, will illustrate with an elegant sufficiency. We've got beautiful non-identifying photos of the hottie in question... but back to the anniversary celebrations. How to do them, specifically, that is. The second one, is the "real" Anniversary. Twenty years on that one since 2006. Our friends joined us for a non-legally-binding civil marriage ceremony, because we felt like we were serious enough at this point, and we'd been through enough, and gone to plenty of THEIR big fancy parties with flowers and shit and bought them presents, so they could bring one our way too. [side note: if you ever want to do your autistic friends the MOST AWESOME FAVOR, register your special party or whatever at whichever home store or Sur la Table or Target you wish... they'll let you go around with the beep-beep thing, and you will get what you want, and your friends will visibly melt with the release of tension when they see that realistic options where we don't have to interpret your home taste based on one pool party... this has been a community service. Gift registries are awesome. I need to make one.) We did silver and gold for that party, because it was a point that we'd already been together almost six years, and we'd outlived a couple of marriages amongst our friends (i.e., NEW HUSBAND, SECOND PRESENTS) by that point... …

And for the Trampiversary... well, for the Trampiversary, we find some REALLY hot boy, and invite him over, possibly ply him with a meal, and fuck him until he is a shaking sticky mess. 

That one video above that I sent you in the Eagle bathroom... that's Husband taking video of me, as I ejaculate down the throat of this HOT stud we just picked up and took to the bathroom. And there's no shame, there's no disgust... we all have gay friends who DON'T play around... and we hang out with the ones who do. We're not swingers, in the same way that swinging culture operates in the straight world... so much of which revolves around stopping the men from being creepy abusive assholes... because EVERYBODY in the room is a man, and if somebody and somebody else have a power dynamic like the one where you end up with one tank top that says "Ask Daddy" and two matching tanks, same font, that say "I'M DADDY." That was a rocking summer. I ordered those bitches from New York from the artist who made them. But anyway. 

I don't feel like porn really offers a window into the way gay guys in real life enjoy and negotiate and interact; I know that there's more of it now that is real, made-of-meat dudes fucking and having fun as their genuine selves, but I still see a lot of hot verbal, and not a lot of awkward dealing with real human body stuff during an experience. They turn the camera away from a lot of the humanity. Davey Wavey made a video all in one cut, and titled it "Every Cut is a Lie" because "Filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard once said, “Cinema is truth 24 times a second, and every cut is a lie.” I feel like like Eliot quoting Petronius. I feel like that has a lot to do with the way I enjoy sex - because the fact that I'm having this "Nam sybillam" moment in my mind, feels both satisfying and erotic to me. Quoting Wavey quoting Godard. But that's the thing - the cuts ARE lies - when somebody gags too hard and pukes and they've cut that bit out... or somebody gets a cramp, or whatever. I GET that they're aiming at something easy-to-wank-to.

I wish I had a light. You can see my fingerprints.
I hit him very hard.

But I feel like the whole story is better. 

So. Same hot boy as yesterday. (see also: photos of hot boy.)

This tattoo is itching like fucking crazy. It's a same-time-combo of the tattoo healing, and the hair growing back, THROUGH the healing tattoo. It's like being bitten by ants. Especially with the weed. I kind of love it.

So. We're on the cruise ship. We've both been chatting with this absolutely gorgeous man. I wish I could show you his Scruff photos of his face, because he's handsome as fuck, a kind of Geraldo Rivera look... but just picture that, with a remarkably hairy body. 

Bolder: lol yeah, I tend to leave saniderm on it for about a week to try and avoid the scratching too much

So.... she replaced it once, after I got sweaty fucking this boy the night before (I didn't really do that much athletic fucking, but still, was sweaty. ) Then, the next night, I totally rolled out of a corner of it in my sleep. At that point, she told me she can't put it back on, and she's the one who'd know, and so I washed it with gentle antibacterial soap and kept Mad Rabbit on it.

Young Geraldo Rivera is more right
for the facial features. 

So, we had been chatting with this boy. And when I say boy, I just mean that he's 29... and he's a Good Boy. He's made it clear in multiple messages, that this is is primary kink. That and getting his mouth spit in. But we're prepared for just such an eventuality. 

We've tried to arrange a connection a couple of times, and when his schedule zigged, ours zagged, and with his family and his co-workers there, he's got to be discreet, and he needs to find times when it's OK to be elsewhere. Totally get it. And, the day after I got my tattoo on Tuesday, you know, I may need to schedule future tattoos on Tuesdays, because Tatoosday sounds funny as fuck.

Anybody else in here jerk off to 
young Tom Selleck when you were a kid?

So there's been much flirting with him, and there's been much flirting with this beautiful dude on the crew. But husband tells me I've been flirting with them and he's been flirting with them and they seem intrigued but not activated to make something happen. I walk the beautiful crew dude over to see husband getting his tattoo. His ass looks like two scoops of ice cream. I don't have his consent to publish anything of his because we never got that far, but I will probably send him a Scruff message and point him to his post and see what he thinks of it and if he wants to put some hot picture of his body in there. Because holy fuck.

Bolder:Yeah sweating right after a tattoo can lead to infection and/or prolong healing…at least that’s why my artist has always said.

Well, I didn't realize that meant don't go get laid. She said no gym, but I was mostly just sitting there making him do all the work. I mean, yeah, I definitely sweated. But... I wasn't going to NOT celebrate getting my first tatoo, and such an awesome one, by throat-fucking an obedient boy. I just wasn't. 

So anyway. I message him in the morning as we're going down for breakfast and he's doing something with family. Then he says he needs to go and shower, and I let him know where we are on the boat. We're out by the aft flagpole on the deck next to the bar where all the gay get-togethers have been. I tell him he should come up and meet with us and make out with us, and then go back to our cabin and get fucked. To be a good boy for both of us Daddies. He said he'd come and say hi.

Says. Dammit. I have too much trouble keeping the verb tenses correct in these things. I've developed a framework where I tell the story surrounding the hookup in past tense, but tell the hookup itself in narrative present, so that it seems more energized and in the moment. It's the one thing I have the hardest time editing properly. Because sometimes in the narrative present, I'm telling a story which happened in the past of that present... and then I derail. Anyway. Handsome sexy boy comes up and we spend a while just sitting on the big cushion couch thing that they call a Sun Bed, and although we're on an Alaskan cruise, it's warm enough that we shed our little blankets, and then toss them over the three of us when a cloud covers the sun. We talk a while. We stroke his body and he ours - the kind of over-the clothes petting touch that is OK to do on a public deck. We're not slobbering on one another, although there may have been a kiss to the occasional shoulder.  May be. See, fucker tried that shit again. Anyway. I look at the two of them, and say, "Y'all ready to go back to our cabin so you can be a good boy for me and Other Daddy?" and he nods, and Husband nods, and back to the cabin we go.

I mean... the body beats Selleck's.

Husband's previous tattoos have gone through more of a puffy crusty stage than what I'm seeing on mine; I don't know how it will continue to progress, but it looks healed. I can tell by the feel, that it's not. It's still radiating gentle heat like a sunburn. The skin still looks perfectly fine, no signs of infection or any rejection of the ink. I'm kind of expecting it to shed again.

We get just inside the door, and he and Husband are kissing, licking each other, groping. I slide around and get them to move to a place where we can all stand, and we stand making out for a bit, turning the boy back and forth to enjoy different parts of him. I strip off his shorts and his shirt and his underwear, and we're quickly all naked. I push him down by the shoulder, and guide his skull to suck Husband, and then me. Back and forth. Good boy. SUCH a good boy. I pet his head. I grab him by his hair. Husband lifts his face upward by putting his hands behind the boy's jaw and lifting, and he spits a mouthful of slobber in his mouth. I turn him toward me, and spit full on his face, rubbing it around. I lean over and kiss Husband. This is a very natural sexual position for us. We stroke the boy's ears, his face, his hair, his shoulders as he alternates adoring our cocks, sniffing and rolling his face in our furry bushes, kissing and drooling and smiling. We tell him what a good boy he is. I lean over and lay multiple fresh handprints over the ones still showing clearly from the day before.

Husband lies down on the bed, and I stand up and spank the boy a couple of times. It takes some maneuvering to get a height where he can comfortably suck Husband while I prepare to fuck him in the ass. It makes his ass look amazing, the way the position spreads him open; his knees are spread wide and his back arched. You can see that he'd be even hairier if he didn't manscape (that one's OK; it's a subjunctive). I lick two of my fingers and rub his hole; he's had a shower since he had a shit, but he hasn't had a shower before coming over here, and he's pleasantly musky. I use my fingertips to massage it into my mustache. Husband passes me a lube bottle, and I slather some lube on my dick, because it's just easier and Husband doesn't always like all the slobber that I do.

I rub my cock on him and then press halfway in; I pull out and lube a bit more, then sink in to the root in one stroke. He writhes, and Husband gives me a look, but I tell him the boy's good for it. I start to fuck. I'm shoving him forward onto Husband's cock with every thrust, slow, grinding and then volleys of fast hard thrusts - and it doesn't take long before Husband says he's going to shoot. He holds the boy's head down as he does, grinding into his skull, and then lets up. I grunt and breed his ass. There's something about Husband cumming, that gets me right there every time. 

This time, though, we don't manage to quite bring the boy along with us - I bet we could, in time. He's very... pliable. Husband scoots aside and I fuck the boy a few more strokes, then flip him over so that he's on his back, his ankles around my neck. I show him how I want him to pull downward with his leg muscles, and it turns his body into its own sling. I fuck him until the bed thumps. I smack his chest, one hard handprint over each nipple. I lean over and let a string of drool run from my tongue into his mouth. I put two fingers in his mouth, and he gags on my fingers and begins to ejaculate. I fuck him until the waves have mostly subsided, a neat little pile of creamy semen on his taut belly. I lean over and deepthroat him and let him continue unloading down my throat, then suck up the puddled sperm and spit that in his face too. I rub it like I'm getting it away from one eye, but really I'm rubbing it in. My thumb traces the contour of his eyeball, followed by a little trailing slug of semen that reminds me of the banana slugs we saw on our hike. Good boy. SUCH a good boy for us both.

Because of not taking a shower before getting his guts fucked inside out, he and I both need a shower. He comes out and I towel him off; then I shower and he returns the favor. We lie down on the bed, all three together. 

We shuffle around like puppies in a basket, and end up with the boy in the middle, stroking and gently scritching his body. He tells us some about difficulties with his Dad, and we tell him he should get to enjoy some good Daddy experience, here suck this some more. 

We stand up and go to the balcony and continue chatting; the family he's come here with, the troubles a long time ago, owning his own company and usually being a strict top... until he wanted to reinvent himself and turn the control over to men with silver in their beards and on their bellies. 

I'm SO glad he did. He was the Goodest Boy, the perfect way to celebrate our horny holiday.

And then, I lie back in the hammock, and just enjoy the sensation of his stroking throat. I'm not going to cum again, but being inside him is so pleasant, and in know that remnants of my Husband's semen are still lingering in his tonsils.

Update: I was a bit stressed about some fun I have planned for this weekend, while Husband is out of town. Then I got a text message from Husband: 

I just celebrated our Trevor versi with the rando.

I love my Husband.