A couple of years ago I was dating this really hot guy named Mitch. I was in my early twenties, he was about seven or eight years older than me. Even though he was still young, he was a lot like a Daddy -- big, burly, solid, with a sexy beard and mustache.
We didn't have a whole lot in common, except maybe liking some of the same movies and bands. But what we did have in common was great sex. We sort of developed a routine that we stuck with the whole time we dated, which was about a year I guess. We hardly ever went out and did things in public like go to restaurants, our time together was always the two of us alone in his apartment.
Here's how a typical encounter would go:
I'd show up at his place and we'd hang out for an hour or so, listening to music and talking, catching up, stuff like that. Then, after a certain point we just stopped talking and stared at each other. We'd stare into each other's eyes for a long time -- three, four, sometimes five minutes.
Then he'd pick me up, put me over his shoulder and carry me down the hall to his bedroom. I loved it when he did that, it was so fucking hot. It was great when he carried me. He'd put me down on his bed and then he'd get on top of me, kissing my lips and my cheeks and my eyelids. We'd pull each other's clothes off until we were totally naked, and then we'd grind our nude bodies together. We made some pretty sexy heat!
We'd get into a sixty-nine position and take each other's dicks in our mouths. That was intense. He was the first guy I ever sixty-nined with, and I loved it. It felt so good, and knowing that I was making him feel the same way made it twice as good!
His cock was interesting-looking, it had this angle to it that made it slope out diagonally from his body. It was fascinating to me, sometimes I'd just stare at it for a long time, before he'd guide my head down to where I could be of better use to him.
After we'd sucked each other off for a while, he'd get really randy and want to finish it off, getting to the really good part. He'd make himself come by grinding up against me, or jerking himself off onto me. Either way his jizz would shoot out and splatter all over me. I liked rubbing it into my skin like it was lotion, caressing it in until it had either dried or been completely absorbed by my skin.
Then it was my turn.
He'd sit up, leaning against the headboard, and pull me up between his legs. I would lean against him, my back to his chest, and I'd feel his arms stretch around me, encircling me. It always made me feel so safe when he did that, like the embrace of a beloved family member, like a brother or an uncle.
With one hand he kept a firm hold on me, with the other he'd start jerking me off. It was totally intense and I loved it. Looking back now, I know why it turned me on so much -- it was a lot like bondage, being held that way. And being jerked off by someone else, unable to do anything about it -- it was just like the hot bound and gagged sex I got into years later.
Anyway, Mitch'd be jerking me off and then start whispering in my ear. Nothing I could really repeat, just dirty talk, dirty talk that got me so incensed that I'd start moaning and groaning like a lunatic. And when I did that he'd put his other hand, the one that wasn't jerking me off, over my mouth.
And that would send me over the edge and beyond. I could fantasize a thousand scenarios in that position -- a captured prisoner being jacked off against his will, a kidnapped boy that was going to get sold at auction, a football player ambushed by his teammates...
Soon enough I couldn't take it anymore and I'd shoot off, the white-hot jizm splattering out of my cock to soak the bed beneath me.
After that we'd usually go to sleep, our arms intertwined, sleeping the dreamless slumber of happy lovers, rain splashing quietly on the windowsill next to us.
So like I said, that's what usually happened between Mitch and I. It was like our special little ritual, we did it just about every time we got together. I did let him fuck me once, but somehow even that wasn't as exciting or intense as our regular love-making sessions.
It never worked out between Mitch and I, we split up after a while, but that man and those times will always be special to me. It's years later and I'm happily married to someone else, yet somehow, sometimes...I'll watch the rain falling outside my window, and think of Mitch.