My Name is Jonas...

Fuck.

As I looked down at my cock, sliding in and out of Jeff’s hole, I started to get that prickly feeling between my shoulders. As if I was being watched. Of course, plowing one of your regulars behind a Home Depot on your way home from work against a pile of pallets probably isn’t a great idea if you are worried about being seen. Eh, what the fuck.

I slapped his ass, grunted, and drilled a bit deeper, not giving a shit about the mewling and groaning from the lean boy under me. I leaned forward a bit more, threw my weight into it and really started to get to work. I had a 1630 appointment in Seattle, after all, and as I was still down near Federal Way (30 minutes south), I had to move out. I blew my load into the rubber, uncaring whether or not he was close to cumming as he fisted his cock. I mumbled, I think, a quick thank you as I pulled out, turned around and popped my cock back into my pants as I got into my car. As I slid my frame into the lowered body of my A4, I glanced back and saw Jeff still laying, apparently exhausted, on the pallets. With a light heart and a self-satisfied smirk, I started the engine and left.

Fuck, what a day.

I’m Mike. At least, that’s what I will use on here. Obviously, I can’t simply use my real name, as I never got along well with witch-hunts or overly inquisitive assholes. I’m in the service, more grudgingly now after 4 deployments to the sandbox than before, but, what the hell. Ever since show and tell in kindergarten, when a kids older brother came to class in uniform, I wanted nothing more than to be a Marine. I’m not going to regret or change that decision now. I grew up in what most people on the east coast or west coast call the hick country (rural Indiana). I wrestled in high school, I play the guitar, drums, and a moderately good chess game (yes, boys, I have a brain). I hit six foot the summer before high school, and in the 12 years since added on another inch, settling at 6’1”. I tip the scales at about 205, sport tightly cropped light brown/blond hair, blue eyes, and (for you size queens), come well equipped. Hoorah for me. I have a small place in the Puget Sound area, close to base, and live alone but for my black lab, Shade.

I never thought before that I would be one of “THOSE” people. Yes, with capital letters. The type who write about their daily lives online. I never intended to, never planned on it. My friend Zane, always amused at the shit I somehow manage to get myself into, remarked that I have too many crazy stories to keep to myself. He dragged me to his computer and showed me this site. What the hell, I thought, I might as well go down in infamy for being a ho. Better than nothing, I guess.

All in all, getting your nut off in a good looking guy on the way home from work is definitely a great way to start the weekend. Maybe not the best way to head into a first date, an early dinner and movie at 1630, but… I needed to cum.

I merged onto I-5 N, turned on the iPod attached to my dash, hit my play list and cranked up Linkin Park to somewhere around “Dear God, my ear drums” and cruised north.

Now, Jeff, the man/boy I had just wrecked on the pallets, is a member of a stable of regular guys I keep in the area to plow when I don’t have something better lined up. As much as I enjoy plowing ass, however, finding a cool guy and settling down is something I have long hoped to do. Especially now that I am near a larger area than found outside my last base, Lejune. I had high hopes for tonight, previous actions notwithstanding.

How little I knew.

I had been talking to the guy I was on my way to meet for date numero uno for about 2 months. A mutual friend set us up, and, while we had not spent much face time together, the phone calls and Internet action led me to believe that there was real potential there.

I went to his place on the rear side of Capitol Hill and parked my car near the abandoned “Chocolate City” (recently closed, thank the gods), crossed the street and went to his building. I nervously took the elevator up, went to his door, and knocked gently three times. He opened it with a smile, invited me in while he, “finished getting ready”, and told me to relax and make myself comfortable in the meantime.

Being the gentleman that I am, I did just that.

I sat on the uncomfortable Ikea-clone couch and whistled tunelessly while I waited.

Now, as I said, I’ve spoken with this guy, call him… George, for almost two months. Some of those conversations were…quite graphic (yes, I mean phone sex or cyber sex, but only with web cams though!). What I saw when he came out “ready” to go shocked the holy shit out of me. I have seen, heard, and done many things and explored many boundaries since I took my first cherry at the tender age of 13. Some of the more fucked up acts and fetishes, however, I’ve left to the confinement of reading about on the Internet, typically in the most vague manner possible.

Yes, boys, George came out in an outfit that scared/freaked the shit out of me. If you’ve ever heard the term “a furry”, then you know both what I saw and why it made me want to bolt for the door. Apparently, George’s invitation to, “make myself comfortable” really meant, “get your ass naked and ready to fuck me” before the date. While, normally, I have no issue with this line of thought, our many conversations included a mutual agreement banning sex for the first several dates. Why… fuck, I don’t know. To see what could be there? Meh.

Anyway, considering that Jeff’s hole smell was still coating my cock and crotch, as the goddamn I-5 traffic had not allowed me a chance to swing by Zane’s for a shower, fucking right off the bat was out of the question. When he came out, complete with a mascot badger outfit with a cut out for his rather erect cock, and a hole that exposed his fairly flat ass, I could only giggle and try my best to reign in the pending hysteria.

From the look of disgust that I am pretty sure was on my face, I think he could tell that his “surprise” was not being well received.

“Surprise!” he croaked anyway, a halting smile on his face. As I sat on that hard couch staring up at this man-badger creature, I realized that I had no fucking clue on how to reply.

So, I didn’t.

I got up, grabbed my coat, opened the door, ignored his cries of “wait, hold on!”, and exited his apartment with a wall shaking slam of the door.

Fuck that shit, I don’t screw animals. Or guys wanting to have sweaty-costume-furry-animal-make-believe sex, either.

So.

That was my Friday. Envious, aren’t you?

I have to say, I love living near Seattle ‘cuz the guys here all seem to be bottoms, and rather submissive ones at that. Holy shit, though, do I seem to attract the nuttier ones like crazy (double entendre there, get it?)

I’ll try this for a week or two, see what people think. I mean, you only write shit like this and give access to it because you want to get feedback, I guess. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone cool out of this, or, at the least, meet some new people in general.

Time to call Darren for some wreckage!

~Mike

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