One of Those Days

It really is one of those days. I mean all the thinking about the wasted weekend, about Tyler, naturally made me late. Even the damn coffee was cold, but I drank it anyway. Habit, and you know, I really need to change my habits. From expecting too much from my friends, to having to worry about work, and whether or not I am five minutes late to my early start.

Like shit, not as if I have to be in at that time, it is just me sucking up, trying to show how invaluable I am to the powers that be, as if they notice. Told you, it is a Monday, and I do tend to get rather bitchy, when in one of my patented moods. Maybe that is one reason why my friends chose not to celebrate or remember my birthdays, even if it is the big Four Oh.

Like fuck, I even had to change my tie twice, not once, but twice, simply because my mind kept wandering, kept thinking of guys like Tyler. I am obsessive I suppose, but not in a bad way. I mean, it isn't like I phone him up in the middle of the night, or in the middle of a jack off session, to get off on his voice.

I don't go around following him like a love sick puppy either, or some queer stalker. Don't think about dragging him home, without his permission, so what the fuck, what is so wrong about thinking of a guy? Well, it does tend to make a guy cranky, because Tyler is definitely a sexy guy, but unobtainable. And yeah I know, if you don't ask, you don't get, but you try to asking a guy, out of the blue, if he wants you to suck his dick off.

Course, I have done some weird stuff before, but come on, getting past one's own fears, inhibitions, isn't as easy as all those porn mags make it out to be. Like reading In Touch or watching a video, you don't just look at the guy across the bar, then suddenly in a room stripping and sucking his dick. You aren't magically transported to a place, where you are on your knees, surrounded by huge pulsating dicks, all oozing pre cum.

And you wonder why this is one of those days? Fuck, talk about being obsessed, and not like it got any easier at work. I mean the one benefit or perk I do enjoy, is having my mail delivered to my office. No little cubbyhole slot for me, and whoever hires the mail gophers, has an eye for guys.

The other great perk, is my office has glass walls, with a real blind system, so I can have my privacy when I want, and look out, when I want, like when its mail delivery time. Man, to see some of those young men, hustling around with big packages, small envelopes, as they rush around to the various offices, to the main mail boxes.

Like it is a big office, takes up the entire damn floor, with individual offices all along the outside walls, the inside with nothing but cubicles. Rather boring, though impressive, at how they can get so many people jammed into even a space that huge.

Dead center of it all, is a big array of slots. It is the message hub, and where all mail gets laid. It is where all the messengers drop off messages, reports, and other paper crap, that really never means much. After all, everything is on computers, yet the company insists on a paper trail.

So each person, sitting at their desk, their old fashioned computer, has to print out their reports, have one of the mail slash messenger guys grab it and through into someone else's slot, for filing.

Not like I care, other than it is fun to sit back at my desk, twirl around and look out, to see where I used to be, to realize that even at my ripe old age, I have done not too badly. Then too, those scurrying young men, all different, all in a hurry, but all in nice white short sleeved shirts, tight black dress pants that hug the butt, does make one forget about work, and yes, even about Tyler.

So where am I going with all this? Hell, like I told you, it is one of those days. I get to work, eventually, and first thing I notice, is a pile of stupid reports on my desk, from overnight. I mean, you would think no one works weekends, or nights, and yet, no matter how early you get in, there are always stacks of shit, waiting for you to plod through. You would think there is some paper gremlin at work, because it makes no difference, what time I get to work, the pile is always there.

Pisses me off, because I wonder who delivered it, how cute were they, or better yet, were they family? Would they be worth a few moments more examination, for thinking about later? No, that doesn't make me a pervert, because no one works in the building, who is under twenty one.

Why? Simple, it has something to do with some stupid security requirement, which makes no sense to me, but I gave up trying to make sense out of some of the rules. Messengers seem to always be around, and some of us, on the outer ring, are even assigned our own little team of gophers.

Now, you would think that would lead to some fun, but boy, goes to show you. Maybe some of the more senior guys get to diddle the messengers, but after the first meeting, you just know, you aren't that senior. I mean, how obvious can a guy make it, when his first words to you are: 'I am your messenger, I'll get you coffee, deliver the stuff you want, but I don't put out for guys at your pay scale.'

Like, what, they get hit on, that often? I mean if you look around the office, the one's in the offices, 9 out of 10 are guys, so what, I am surrounded by family, and can't even tell? I don't think so, and no, I am not what you call the standard stereotyped gay guy either. I don't swish, don't talk in a high pitch voice, or any of that bullshit, so after that introduction to the messengers, I have let well enough alone.

Not that I wouldn't mind sampling some of the beef, but damn, playing that close at work, stupid just isn't my middle name. Yet I sure as hell wouldn't mind, least with Sam. Though I have to admit, he's not really my type. He's more like Hank's type, in that he's young, hot, skinny, and definitely seems to have a nice package. That would be fun to explore, but not as long as he is working here, or I am.

Funny isn't it, how on those days when everything seems a nightmare, or rushed, you keep on daydreaming? Like I can't get Dillon out of my head, soon as I walked into the elevator to whisk me up to the 45th floor, and my office.

I should have invited him to join me for a few drinks this last weekend. He would have shown up, bet he'd have brought me a card too. He's that type, until you get him into the bedroom, then look out. I mean this guy is a tiger, and damn, he is so forceful.

Just love how he takes charge, the instant you walk past the door threshold. I mean, honestly you can be out in the living room talking, laughing, and he is so polite, until your feet are past that line. Then he becomes a dominant figure, who just commands your attention.

Last time I barely managed to survive, the way he took me, did all those lovely things, that memories are made up of. Now I wonder, why don't I think more of him, than say Tyler? Is it simply because I have had sex with him, or is it because, well, he scares me a bit. Not that I am a totally wusse or anything, just that when he wants sex, he wants it all. None of that romantic shit for him.

Maybe he figures the sweet routine before entering the bed chamber is enough, because I swear, if he could, he'd rip the damn clothes off a guy, just because he can. Now Dillon isn't exactly what you call a Muscle Man. I mean yes, he's got some good definition to him, though in honesty, he does have more than an inch you can pinch, unlike Tyler.

Still, he does dress impressively. He wears those tight fitting shirts, but not the fancy kind with little alligators on the pocket. They aren't designer label stuff, but they make his body look tighter, than maybe it really is. Course, when you find that out, he's naked, and you are usually huffing for air, as his cock is stuffed down your throat.

He is that quick, and that forceful. Besides who gives a shit, when you got his dick in your mouth? I mean that man scent just permeates your nostrils, works its way deep down into your thoughts, and your head even swoons a bit. It is that powerful, just like the man himself.

I suppose the porn sites would call him a bear, but I don't know. He has fine tufts of hair all down his massive legs, and along his arms, but his chest, is rather sparse. He doesn't wear a beard or anything, and you can tell he shaves more than once a day. He isn't bald either, has a rather nice wavy look to his brown hair.

The eyebrows aren't thick and no, they aren't uni-brows either. His face has a few blemishes, the nose is crooked from his days as a kid. If you ask him, he'll tell you that he was always getting into fights with other kids, but he won't say why. Though my guess is that even then, he didn't mince words about being gay, or what he wanted.

Might work in a gay bar, but sure as hell not in a schoolyard. Not then, not now, but still, you have to admire the guy. He isn't afraid to speak his mind, say what he wants, and if he thinks you are willing, he'll take it too. I mean, maybe that is why only on these days, do I really dwell on Dillon.

Like the last time, the way he just managed to have me on my knees. I mean, I like sucking dick, enjoy the feel and taste of a hot throbbing cock in my mouth, and even the taste of the pre cum, but damn, he had me down there before I even realized it. None of that easy going sucking either.

Dillon likes to ram that dick in, and while it isn't what I'd call monster size, it is thicker than most. How he can make my jaw ache, is rather scary, but damn, I do enjoy it at the time. I love how he rams it down the throat, how his hands take hold of my hair, and twirl the strands around his fingers. Then how he holds my head, tilting it back so his cock can have an easier access to my throat, and so I don't choke to death either.

He does force it, and he doesn't let a guy catch his breath, as he just keeps ramming it in and out. Seems like he ignores the gagging sounds and even the occasional retching noises one makes, when their mouth is stuffed with a hot throbbing cock.

Then just when you are getting used to it, to the hard pounding, the brush of his wiry pubic hairs against your nostrils, he's out, and slapping a condom on. He's got one hand twisting you around, and somehow you are leaning over the bed, your legs being spread apart by his. Amazing really, how he can do all that, and you not even notice it.

Hell, you are too busy looking over your shoulder, wondering just how much it is going to hurt, as he rams his tool in. And he does ram it in, too. Nothing slow and gentle about Dillon, about how just sort of walks up, slaps your ass real hard, then you feel his fingers poking at your insides. He never uses just one either, but three of them.

He wedges them between your cheeks, and runs them up and down your valley, as if to make sure just where that tiny pink hole is. Doesn't matter if its his umpteenth time fucking you, he slides those fingers between and then, when they find your hole, he just seems to pause for a mere instant, before you are grunting as they are somehow deep inside of you.

Dillon likes to twist them as they go in, and he spreads them out too, which only makes you wince a bit more than usual, as he keeps on flexing them, shoving them in as far as that tiny little hole will let. If he could get his whole fist in,� I am sure he would, and I know he'd like to try, but being fisted, well, isn't my thing. Least I don't think so, but hell, maybe one day, I just might. After all, I am forty now, and why shouldn't I try some new things?

Hank would be shocked, bet he'd go pasty white, before bending over to have Dillon fist him. I just might enjoy seeing that, but not until I've had my own taste of Dillon's fist inside. Mind you, if he fists like he fucks, I'd have to make sure we did it on a Friday, because somehow, I think I'd not have much control over that pink hole for a few days.

Never do, after he fucks me, so his fist would have the same results, I think. I don't care for pain, yet when he takes those fingers out, and wedges that hot cock between my cheeks, I can't wait for the pain of his hard penetration. I mean it is hard, and damn I do scream. Had a neighbour bitch about it once, but fuck him, it was one of the best fucks I have ever had.

Just before I feel his balls slapping my ass, his dick has found that spot, has burst through and the pain is gone, replaced by the most pleasure a guy could ever stand. I kid you not, he slices into my tight hole, and before I have finished screaming my pain, I am moaning in absolute rapture. How the fuck he does it, is beyond me, because for the next ten or so minutes, I am off in heaven.

No shit, the guy takes a good ten minutes, before he's ready to shoot, and while that might scare some, it sure as hell makes me totally satisfied, afterwards. That first time, well, it was hard, to keep my mind on all that was happening, even now it still feels as good. The way he can work that pole, when it's so deep inside, how he can make it twist, is amazing.

Frankly, I swear he can make it grow thicker, or thinner, at will. I know, it's my imagination, or at least that is what I tell myself, but fuck, it sure feels real. How one minute it is like my whole insides are going to burst, from being so stretched by his blood gorged cock, then suddenly it feels like you could put a couple of more dicks inside, with his.

Dillon isn't quiet either. He is always talking , while ramming his cock in and out. It feels like being a slab of concrete, being jack hammered. Damn it is hard, yet each thrust seems to not just ram me into the bed, but it always seems to hit that spot, that just, well makes me go nuts. I never moan much, unless it's Dillon fucking my ass. God, he is amazing, yet I don't know, it is Tyler I fantasize about.

Thing with Dillon, is he is so damn powerful, when he's fucking. At first I figured he was taking something, even had the nerve to ask him, but he says no. I believe him, because he's not the type to bullshit, it is just that he likes his sex, likes to enjoy it fully, and that usually means, for me, that I have one fucking sore hole for a few days.

Don't mind either, because every time I have to run to the can, I remember that feeling, when he hits my special zone. I can sit on the John all day, remembering those moments, which is weird. Don't think I am some sex pig, I just know that afterwards, I can't get him out of my mind, or on days like this, when everything just feels like it's all gone to shit.

I guess too, I just don't think I could handle Dillon 24/7 or even just on the weekends. I mean the sex is super, even when he's about to shoot, how he makes that sort of animal cry, then how suddenly my ass is empty, as he pulls his dick out, rips the condom off, and suddenly I can feel the spray whizzing past my back, until it strikes me hard up by the neck.

Have to say, Dillon can cum. I mean he literally coats my entire back with his hot jizz. I rather like it, enjoy the feel of it as it splatters against my taut muscles. How hot it feels, almost like being burned, yet when it cools, it still feels thrilling. I never shower right away, but always wait to the very last minute, long after he's gone.

And too, the way he just collapses on top of me, after he's shot his cum all over my back. The press of his entire body weight, crushing and grinding his cum into my skin, feels so, well, perfect. Like it's a great ending to a wild sex ride. Mind you, that rarely� is the end of it, because Dillon is quick to be ready for more. Not like it takes him more than a half hour of puffing, and relaxing on top of my prone body, before once more he's whipping a fresh condom out of the package, and sliding his cock up and down, between my quivering butt cheeks.

I never can make up my mind, which I like better. The first fuck, or the second one. Both are hard, but different. I mean the first one is quick, in how he enters me, but the second one, he takes his time in penetrating me. It hurts a lot more too, but by this time, I am not leaning over the bed, but stretched out full length on it, with Dillon on top. I like that, and then too, he does seem to make the pain of penetration, special.

It is like a gift, the way he can just take his time at working his thickened cock head between my protesting pink hole. Not to mention my begging for him to take me, but he manages to ignore it all, to go at his own speed. He doesn't rush this one, as he moves the cock around, so it seems to be an eternity before he pops through.

The pain is instantly gone, as his head just sits inside, my hole totally stretched. God how good it feels, as I can feel my insides wrapping around his head, trying to hold it, though there isn't a hope in hell of me doing that. Even my cries begging him to fuck me hard, go unanswered for what seems forever.

Then, once he starts, I am begging for him to end it, even though he's hitting my special zone, with each thrust. Sometimes, he'll hit it, and just sort of, stick around. He'll prod me with his cock, pushing and twisting, around that spot, until I am biting my lower lip, from the pure pleasure his actions are bringing me. Those are some very special moments, and I let him know it, not like it seems to matter to him. Least not at the time.

Still, I wonder, if I was to just, well let him know I'd be willing to do more with him, what he'd do? Would he go all S&M on me, or would he just find new ways to stretch my poor hole? Kind of be fun to explore that idea.

Problem with that kind of thinking, is I doubt if my poor body could handle Dillon, unrestricted. I mean he is hard enough to just take what he dishes out.

It is bizarre to be thinking about him, especially on a day like this, but then again, surrendering to him, like I do, well, it might just take away the feelings of these kind of days. Maybe this weekend, instead of the same old, I should give him a call, and really celebrate my birthday.

Okay so it'd be more than a week late, but hell, the good things in life are worth waiting for, and he definitely is one of those good things. And who knows, maybe I'll get over my nervousness, and let him loose on me. After all, I am forty now, and it's time to live, isn't it?