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So, it was Saturday night. I sat alone in a hotel room with a short bottle of Jameson’s, already half empty. A hookup app running on my tablet showed a matrix of local guys as it sat beside my laptop. I half worked on a writing project, half checked the prospects that shuffled on and off the grid displayed on my tablet as the hour grew late.
I’d spent the day at a re-enactment. My Civil War-era costume hung in the closet waiting for use tomorrow. Instead of staying in the campground, though, I’d driven into town for a more modern, more comfortable night’s sleep.
And better prospects for company.
Or so I’d thought. Only flakes and picture-collectors with no follow-through responded. I’m getting too old, I guess. I’d had a couple of responses to an ad I’d posted earlier, but those had also failed to materialize. The hour had passed eleven. I should really get some sleep.
A new email appeared on my laptop: “you have a new message—reply to your ad…”
I clicked it. A brief message opened with a picture attached of a dark-skinned round face with frizzy hair. He had a nice smile.
The text of the message was short and to the point. “Still looking? I could come over now.”
I clicked reply. “Yes, still looking.” I attached a rather more revealing photo than I’d used in my ad. His response came quickly.
“Hot. Where are you?”
I sent him the hotel’s address and room number.
“OK. Take me about a half hour to get there. That OK?”
“Yes.” I hit send, then noticed the time. Nearing midnight.
I fired up another email. “I’ll have to let you in the hotel. They’ll have the lobby locked for the night by then. Message me when you’re almost here and I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
His reply that he was near was more like forty-five minutes later, rather than thirty. I grabbed my laptop and took a seat on a sofa in the lobby facing the door. The night clerk was a middle-aged man of South Asian descent. Probably a few years younger than me. We exchanged a greeting, but once it was clear that I wasn’t making either a request or a complaint, he left me alone.
A few minutes passed, and then my internet hookup appeared bursa yabancı escort at the door. I got up to let him in before the clerk made it around the desk. He raised eyebrows briefly as I shook hands with the guy, but made no comment as he resumed his station.
My date was tall and a little heavyset, but not flabby. His hair had grown out a little longer since the picture he’d sent, but was still the same style. He wore casual, comfortable clothes: a sweatshirt with an OSU logo, faded jeans, and athletic shoes. I’m a terrible judge of ages, but I guessed he was about thirty-five. He gave the clerk a nervous glance, then glanced toward me. I could almost hear his thoughts. Black guy meeting a white guy almost twice his age after midnight in a hotel. What must the clerk think?
But the clerk didn’t meet his glance, and as we entered the deserted hallway to walk to my room, he relaxed. That inviting smile reappeared.
“I’m Steve,” I said. He already knew that. It was part of my email address.
He paused a second. “Art.”
Obviously a pseudonym, but no matter. “Glad to meet you, Art.” I paused a half beat before repeating his name, just to show that I knew it wasn’t his real name.
I swiped the card through the reader on the door and invited him in. I pointed to the bottle. “Want some whiskey?”
“I don’t drink.”
A few seconds passed as we stood facing each other, standing between the bed and the desk, then the smile reappeared.
He smelled clean, with only a slight hint of manly musk as I sucked his cock. It was a good size, not so big as to be hard to get decently into my throat, but big enough to fill me nicely. He ran his hands through my straight, finger-length brown hair as he sat in the desk chair and I knelt in front of him. I alternately sucked the tip, flicking it with my tongue, and then took his cock deep as I could into my throat, burying my nose in kinky pubic hair. He’d make a moan of pleasure when I did that, so I tried to do it often. He’d been halfway erect when he dropped his jeans and shed his boxers, but he became stiff as a poker as soon as I took his cock bursa sınırsız escort into my mouth. Youth. I remember when I could get that hard, that fast, too.
His cock had started to throb an intermittent, irregular pulse. Wouldn’t be long, but instead of taking his release he pulled himself out. He grasped me under my armpits and raised me to my feet as he stood himself. He locked his lips over mine and probed at my mouth with his tongue. I let him in and he flicked his tongue on mine. I inhaled his breath as if a drowning man who’d just reached the water’s surface.
He let me go for a second, then dove in again. The next time he released me, I said, “You want to—”
“Yes.” He was already tearing open a condom.
I crawled onto the bed, but Art grabbed my ankle and pulled me back. He bent me over the edge with a hand on the small of my back, pushing me down on the sheet, my feet on the floor. I heard the snap of the lube bottle’s cap, and a second later the cool slippery wetness spread over my hole. He slid a finger inside.
I gasped as he rubbed my prostate.
He pulled out his finger and gave me a light slap on the butt. Not hard enough to hurt, but a bit of a surprise.
I gasped again. “Ah! Wow.”
He slid his cock along my ass-crack up and then back down. He prodded my balls with the tip of his cock. He slid his cock over my hole again, pausing at the pucker, then withdrawing.
I moaned. “Do you want to…?
“Want to what?”
He was going to make me ask for it. Hot. “Fuck me. I want that hot hard cock thrusting in my ass. I want you to explode inside me.”
I thought he’d just ram it home, but instead he guided the tip to my hole and slowly pushed it inside. I gave sigh. “Oh yes, that’s good.”
He gave a few slow strokes, then gradually increased the rate as I moaned my pleasure. Soon he was pounding my ass hard and fast. So fast the bed was shaking with each thrust and I feared the guests in the next room would complain.
Then he gave a loud grunt and pressed his hips hard against my ass. He gave another couple of thrusts, then pulled out görükle escort and blew out a long breath. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said.
We cuddled together afterwards. Art laid his head on the pillows with his arm around me, my head resting on his chest. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, the musky man-scent intensified, intoxicating.
I stoked his side, from his ribcage down to his buttocks. “Thanks. That was really good.”
I stroked him again, with just a little bit of fingernail. He shivered, and his cock twitched. It was half erect again. I reached down and stroked it with a finger, and it grew a little more. He sighed as I grasped his manhood and gave it some gentle pumps.
I pulled myself up on my knees beside him and bent to take him into my mouth. Long, slow sweeps with my lips and soft tongue action encouraged his response. He squirmed and sighed louder. “Yeah, that’s nice.”
It took him a little longer, but soon he was just as hard as before. He put on another condom as I lay on my belly, and I stuffed a couple of pillows under my hips. My gasp of pleasure as he entered me was heart-felt.
His lovemaking was slow and tender this time, rather than urgent and new like it was before. It lasted a delicious, long, sweet time and when he finally climaxed, his body trembled with each spasm as he filled the rubber.
He lowered himself flat on top of me, his body heavy on mine, his breath panting loud in my ear, the musk of our mingled sweat thick in the air. After a moment he heaved a sigh and rolled off me. He pulled off the condom and dropped it into the waste can by the night stand.
“Thanks. You were great, but I have to be going.” He slid off the bed and reached for his boxers.
I watched him dress in silence. As he pulled the sweatshirt over his head I rolled out of bed and embraced him. “You were wonderful,” I said. “Twice.” He kissed me, a light peck. No tongue.
“I’ll be back in town next weekend too,” I said. “Maybe we can get together again?”
Art nodded. “Maybe. Send me an email.”
The door shut behind him, and I threw the deadbolt closed. And that’s it.
He’d missed the waste can with the first condom. I picked it up and threw it away. I washed hands. Back in the bedroom, I considered the disheveled sheets lying tangled over the bed, and I shrugged. I’d send him a message next week, but this was probably a one-off meeting. Still, don’t often get to experience the second coming.
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