Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Can You Hear Me Now...?

There are many things that are grossly unattractive in the bedroom: obscene amounts of body hair, weird noises, disgusting smells, unsightly drips and, abnormal body disfigurements (both self inflicted and natural). If I am going down on a guy, I don't want to taste pus or any other penile drippage. If I am tossing a guys salad, I don't want to discover that he is incredibly poor at personal hygiene or has more warts than a toad. I like the body in its natural, non-biosphere diverse beauty.

Amen.

Beyond the viruses, disfigurements and smells, however, there is another, I ashamedly admit, thing that turns me off.

Disability.

Now. I say this in a way that is open, honest and completely without rancor. I don't have a problem, dislike, or animosity towards the disabled; indeed, as a Marine in this day and age, many of my friends have faced everything from traumatic brain injuries (TBI's) to loss of limbs, loss of sight or worse.

That said, while I have no problem beings friends and brothers with these heroes, I am crass enough to admit that I find it hard to get attracted to someone with physical impairment.

Sometimes, however, it's hard to judge what the impairment is.

Saturday I was feeling frisky. I'd gone out earlier that night with Zane and the crew and partied it up. I'd ended up making out with some hot frat boy, or so he claimed, following the UW loss to Ohio State. Tailgates, you have to love them: free booze, free food, and tons of hot guys looking for a piece of something. They just don't always get what they think they need...

Anyway, I'd spent awhile working on this frat boy, got him to make out with me, but then lost him as the crowd swirled him away. Zane and the rest of the guys were getting frustrated and were pushing to go up to Capitol Hill and hit the gay bars. At least there, you know the targets are hunting as much as they are being hunted.

So what the hell, I let them take me.

We went to Purr and I was there maybe 45 minutes before I decided to call it a night. I wasn't having a great time, and I didn't really feel like doing the gay scene for the night. I snuck out and headed back for Zane's apartment before they even knew that I was gone.

And what did I do the second that I got home? Grabbed my laptop and got onto Manhunt of course!

I had 24 messages waiting for me (I'd advertised Friday night that I would be in Seattle and available for the weekend) and I looked through the messages for the best one.

One quickly caught my eye: he was my favorite height (5'9"), had a great, tight body, toned but lean with the size of frame that I could easily hold down and rail and fling around all over the bedroom. Or kitchen. Whatever. He sported light brown hair in a buzz cut, which usually didn't do much for me, but he had a perfect hairline for it and a cocky grin to match. I love cocky, hot jock bottoms. Fuck.

I was sold.

His message was blunt and to the point:

"Saturday night, you, your cock, my hole, send me a text." Below that he had his number and his name, Eric.

Ding, we have a winner!

I texted his cell saying simple "This is Mike. Fuck now?"

I waited all of 3 minutes before the response came back.

It was simply his address and apartment number.

I was out the door in 2 minutes.

I got to his place, and it was pretty nice. I knocked on the door, a huge grin forming when the boxer clad stud before me smiled, and then all hell broke loose.

I've had aggressive bottoms before, but this one took the cake. Before I could get out a word, he'd grabbed me by the shirt, pulling me forward so hard he almost tore the cloth clean off my body.

I stumbled forward, he wrapped himself around me and kissed me so hard I wanted to check my fillings and make sure they were still there.

Good gods!

He unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them down to my knees in one pull. I stood there, a bit stupidly, still stunned at this boys aggressiveness. I was about to say something again, when he grabbed a fist full of my jammers (a type of underwear for you uncultured swine unfamiliar with the term) and ripped them clean off my body.

Now, I liked the aggressiveness, it was kind of a turn on with the switch in roles and definitely demonstrated he was into me. But, come on, he just ripped a $40 pair of underwear into shreds. I mean, that's just not cool.

His head started bobbing on my cock, and had it been good, I'd likely have enjoyed the hell out of it and forgotten about the torn jammers.

Unfortunately, it was, without a doubt, the singular worst blow-job I have ever gotten in my life. Hands. Down. My dick literally hurt afterwards, I think he was actually trying to eat it. I mean, if you have toothmarks on your rod after sex, there is something very disturbing and very, very wrong with the sex you just had.

I told him to stop.

He didn't.

I said it again, louder, trying to pull him off simultaneously.

He sucked harder causing me to almost deck him.

I screamed in his ear, leaning as far forward as I could, and he didn't even flinch.

That troubled me; I'm a pretty big guy, and the Marines, if nothing else, have given me the ability to be extremely loud.

Finally, tearfully, I pried him loose with about the same sensation you'd expect of a razor toothed leach the size of a chihuahua. He looked up at me with a surprised look, and I asked what the fuck his problem was. Couldn't he tell it hurt? I asked him, told him, begged him to stop. He stared at me, and it was then that I noticed something.

He was looking at me, but he wasn't looking at my face. Or rather, he wasn't looking at my face the way a normal person would.

It seemed as if he was looking at my mouth.

Oh, shit.

I covered my mouth as discretely as I could and coughed, then with my mouth still obscured, said that I was about to take a crap on his rug if he didn't give me a million dollars. He didn't bat an eye, or even give a sign that he'd heard me.

Certain, I dropped it, looked at him, and without making a sound, mouthed "Are you deaf?"

Even without a sound made, it was an uncomfortable, tense silence.

Then, he nodded.

I could understand someone not wanting to share their disability on an open forum like Manhunt. I could even applaud the fact that the boy was hotter than his pics, which is saying something, and he was everything he had advertised.

I could not, however, forgive the fact that it felt like I needed stitches on my cock, that he was horrible at cock sucking, and that his noises/moans were non-existent. Having sex with someone who can't hear you talking to him, the moaning slightly off, too quiet or too loud, the necessity of using only certain positions if I wanted any kind of verbal feedback... it just didn't appeal to me.

In fact, if he hadn't masticated my cock, I'd have likely gone limp instantly upon realization that I had a part-Helen Keller in the room with me.

OK, that's a bit harsh, I know. But, when your cock is screaming in pain and the hot fuck you were looking forward to plow turns out to be a huge disappointment instead, I feel moderately justified. It's been 2 days and I can't even beat off!

I didn't say another word. I pulled up my jeans over my bare, underwear-less ass, and left. Since I'd turned away, he wouldn't have heard anything I'd said anyway.

Goddammit. So now it's Monday night, I didn't get laid, and it will be who knows how long before I can even beat off.

Fuck.


~Mike

Send Mike an E-mail

5 comments:

Baltimorean said...

omg that is so messed up...i bet his feelings were hurt. better luck next time.

The Average Joe said...

why do people think crazy head is good head, go slow and easy, if the top wants it rougher and fast he'll pump your face.

heller keller comment not cool. made me cackle but not cool;-)

wolveriner said...

I would rule the guy out due to his horrible cocksucking skills.

But his disability and pretty face and body are not deterences.

Anonymous said...

wow youre fucked man. i hope something really bad happens to you. karma always catches up with people.

Anonymous said...

Wow, you think you're pretty hot shit, but apparently you have very little substance. Douchebag.

Google Search

Google
 
 
Twisted Blogs