Author's Note: I post over at Substack (see the link at the top / in my profile! [KaiAfterPractice]), and about a month ago I got 200 subscribers. To celebrate, I went out for a hookup and wrote about it. Here's that story. If you like it, consider heading over to Substack and subscribing.
Thank you all! 200 subscribers might not seem like a lot to some of you, but it means so much to me. In celebration, I set out to get 200 mm of dick (7.9" ... okay, you try to come up with something related to 200!). And am posting about it.
Now, to be clear: I thought 200 came on Friday afternoon. Then I was corrected because my public page says 199 and my dashboard says 200 and I thought the public page was just delayed. But no, dashboard includes me. So, I posted my thank you note 1 subscriber early. But, #200 came a few hours later, before I gone done did what I did below.
So: 200 came on Friday, so I loaded up Grindr. Changed my profile: "I write hot stuff on Substack and just got 200 subscribers! Celebrating by offering the first guy with 200 mm dick (7.9") my hole and I'll write about it."
Usually when I'm on these apps (okay, it's not often, I swear I'm not that much of a slut, I have a real job ... but I'm also no angel), I get hits quickly. And it was Friday night. Bupkis.
Around 11, I got a ping. Dick pic. 7". Blocked. If you can't read, don't msg me. Time is money.
Another ping, 8.5". Okay, I seriously considered that one. But I don't have 216 subscribers ... yet. I replied: "thanks man, but too big. hmu in a week when i get 16 more subs." And he blocked me. Fucker.
Couple more, but they did not meet the brief. So, bed.
Woke up this morning and had a couple more messages. And one was just right. The fact that he corrected me that 200 mm was 7.87" and he had a ruler up to his cock made me hard. I have no idea what it is about that pedantic-ness, but for some reason at 9am it was a massive turn-on. Go figure.
His name was Daniel. Or at least that's what Grindr said, and who cares if it was real. The pic with the ruler was ... look, I've seen a lot of dick pics, especially on here. Most of them are bad. Weird angles, fluorescent bathroom lighting; like dude, you're trying to get laid, not document evidence. Daniel's was weirdly good. Not like professionally lit or anything, just ... good. Clean sheets. Morning light. The ruler flat along the top and the tip just barely past the line. A well documented 200 mm. And my hole squeezed as if to say, "fuck yah!!"
I messaged back: "u measured for me?"
And he said: "you set the spec."
I'm not proud of how fast I showered and cleaned out. Grabbed the condoms because I'm a clean slut also on PrEP.
I got another message before I left: "you wanted proof. I want proof, what's ur substack?"
So much for an anonymous fuck. Do I send? Do I not? ... fuck. I sent. It's not like my address and mother's maiden name are up here.
"congrats"
I grinned as I got out the door. We agreed on his place, 20 minutes away. I drove there with wet hair and the kind of nervous energy I usually only get before a race. Or, used to get. Whatever, you know what I mean. I got another ping on my way: 202 subscribers. Had to make this fast before I need a different dick. Or, not check my phone while driving. Probably the second one.
His apartment was on the third floor of one of those buildings that looks like it was built in the 90s and hasn't been updated since. Not dirty, just beige. Lots of beige. He opened the door in sweatpants and a t-shirt and he was taller than I expected, which is always nice because I'm 6'1" and it's rare that I have to look up. Brown hair, hadn't shaved in a couple days, glasses. Not like fashion glasses, actual I-need-these-to-see glasses. Kinda nerdy. The ruler thing tracked. I looked at his face again, and my hole honestly twitched, hoping he was a good rimmer because damn that beard looked hot.
"The Substack guy," he said, smirking a bit.
"The 7.87 guy," I said as I looked down at his crotch.
He laughed. Good laugh. Not forced.
Look, I know you're reading this for the sex part and I'm getting there, but the thing is, the fifteen minutes before the sex part were actually the thing that made the sex part work.
We sat on his couch. I also didn't realize he was older. Like 30s ... ancient. Okay, joking. He was probably late-50s, which was hot. I don't discriminate; I don't mean to say "a dick is a dick," but at some level, it is. Just because a guy might be twice my age, so what? It means he probably knows what the fuck he's actually doing. Now that I'm an older, wiser 28, I look back to what I was doing at 20 and I almost want to call up those guys and apologize. Sorry, back to this morning.
His couch. He asked what I write. And I said erotica, mostly, and some personal stuff, and I post hot pics 'cause let's face it we all like hot pics. He laughed, and it really sounded genuine, the kind of laugh that for some reason in that situation made my dick get a little hard.
He asked, "So I'm going to be a blog post?"
I smirked a little and I said, "You're going to be a Substack post, there's a difference!" I probably sounded indignant because he reached over and tweaked my nipple and it sent some electric shudder through me that made my hole quiver. Like I said: Older guys know what the fuck they're doing.
He then asked, "Is there?" His fingers were literally still twisting my nub and I was finding it hard to think, squirming under him. He just smiled at me and kept doing it.
I finally managed, "I have 200 subscribers, so yeah." I think I was looking at his dick at that point, and when I said that, he let go of my nipple and grabbed onto the other one and I jumped. And he chuckled. Like, he knew exactly how to play me just from talking to me for a few minutes.
Not gonna lie, we didn't immediately strip after that and fuck. I wanted to. And I think that was his point, in hindsight, the benefit of writing this up a few hours later. I'll say it yet again: Older guys know what the fuck they're doing, and I think he was manipulating me. Not in a bad way: I came to him for his dick ... I mean, for sex, a hookup. There was no manipulation there. But like, he was making me want it even more. Just these minor little things to keep getting me more and more worked up.
Like, after he finally released my nipple and I sucked in my drool, his fingers went to my neck and my necklace, a makau, something my grandma got me. Silver chain, abalone shell and koa wood inlay. And he just ran his fingers down the chain as we talked, and fiddled with the pendant. I had a button-down shirt that had the top three buttons undone, no undershirt. So he was simultaneously stroking my chest. He asked about the necklace, and that's when I realized it was a distraction: his other hand was on my thigh. Because his other thumb had brushed my dick and I shuddered and he smirked just a bit.
Or, I have my hair a little longer now, couple inches. And he ran his fingers through it and bent down to smell it and for some reason my dick lurched when he did, and he was focused and coordinated enough that his hands were already up my shorts leg and he lightly pulled my balls down at that exact moment. ('Cause ... I wasn't wearing underwear. 'Cause that's how this slut rolls when he's going out for a dick or booty call, they just get in the way. Unless it's a special request, like the guy's into jockstraps or thongs or something. I'm an accommodating Gen Z'er.)
So ... yah. Playing me like a cliché and I was literally drooling (but I'd wiped it up!). And when he pulled on my balls and sniffed my hair and my mouth went open he moved quickly and his tongue was in my mouth.
I like kissing. I think it's hot. I could get off on just a kissing compilation on the porn sites. (And I have.) And he was a good kisser. He let me get used to his lips and his tongue, there was no mashing and my lips weren't pressed into my teeth. It was soft but his mouth was saying, "I know you want this and I'm giving it to you whether you realize it or not." And I moaned and my eyes were shut while his one hand was around my neck and his other was fondling my balls and completely ignoring my probably now-leaking cock.
No idea how long we were kissing on his couch. I don't care because it was good. And at some point, he did this thing with his hand up my shorts where his pinky finger somehow reached around to my taint and started to press against my hole. Just somehow stroking it and my balls at the same time and I swear (because this isn't something anyone will see, right?) that I came.
I know.
Real smooth, Kai.
And he just kept stroking my hole with his pinky as it throbbed around him, and groping my balls as they seized and shot a few ropes of cum into my shorts. And his tongue was still in my mouth as I was slack and rigid at the same time and moaning into him.
When the contractions stopped, he let go of my mouth, and he pulled his sticky hand out of my shorts.
"Didn't expect that."
I think I looked mortified. And all I could say was, "sorry." And then I added, "It's been a few days."
He held his hand up and we looked at my load. He said, "Least you could do is clean it up." I looked around for a tissue box or paper towels or something and he just looked at me. I didn't see anything. He looked at his hand, and then me, and I realized what he wanted.
I know this isn't a confession thing, but I'll confess: I don't eat cum. I think it's super-hot, but after I nut the urge to do it is just 100% gone. I think I accidentally did it a few times when I shot really far and some got on my lips. But, here was a fucking hot guy who managed to get me off with a finger and a kiss and was now looking at me expectantly, and I hadn't even gotten his 200 mm cock yet. Hadn't even seen it.
So, I did what any guy should do under the circumstances. I leaned forward and I sucked my cum off his fingers. I swirled my tongue over them to make it look like I was putting in the effort, and to be honest, it wasn't bad. Might have to try it again.
When his hand was dry – wet, but, you know what I mean – he loooked at my wet spot. "Got more in you?"
I looked, too. And fuck, I was hard again.
He must've already known the answer because he just took my hand and stood up, and we went to his bedroom. He stood, and then looked down at his own tent. Then me.
I can read a room.
I knelt down in my wet shorts and pulled his shorts down. No underwear, either, and I know it's cliché but his cock almost hit me in the face when it popped out. I'd kinda forgotten how big an 8" ... I mean, 7.87" / 200 mm dick is. It was on top of two large, low-hanging balls and I kinda wanted to ask if he uses ball stretchers, but that didn't seem like it fit the moment.
And like I said, I can read a room. I looked up at him for permission. He nodded. I grasped it in one hand and it throbbed, and was warm. Really warm. I couldn't wait to get it in my hole.
But first thing's first.
I licked the underside from his balls to the tip, slow, just to see what kind of sounds he made. He made good ones. Low, quiet, like he was paying attention. I took the head in my mouth and worked my tongue around it and he tasted clean, like skin and a little salt from the precum that was already there. His hand went to my hair, and his fingers were in it and he held it but didn't push. Same as before. In control without being a dick about it.
I took him deeper. 7.87" is a lot to work with and I'm good at this but I'm not a fucking sword swallower. I got maybe 5" down and worked the rest with my hand and he seemed more than fine with that. His hips did this slow roll, not thrusting, just moving with me, and I could feel him getting harder in my mouth which I didn't think was possible but here we were. (It'd been awhile since my last 8"-class dick and I'd forgotten just how big they are.)
I pulled off after a few minutes because I wanted his dick somewhere else and also my jaw was starting to remind me that anatomy is real. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand ... more drool because apparently he liked me drooling over him.
"Where do you want me?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at me kneeling there in my cum-stained shorts with spit on my chin. Then he said, "Take those off and get on the bed."
I stripped fast – shorts, unbuttoned my shirt. Sandals were ... somewhere else? ... at this point. He watched, and I don't know if it was the way he was standing there or the fact that his cock was wet from my mouth, but I felt more naked than usual. Whatever that means. I went to the necklace 'cause my fellow bottoms will know that sometimes getting pounded, the jewelry can sway and hurt. He grabbed my hand. "Leave it on." OK then.
I got on the bed, on my back. Navy comforter, he pulled it back. White sheets. Maybe not the best idea, but I was not going to wait for him to change the sheets. He opened his nightstand drawer and I saw the condoms and lube and also the corner of a book. Something about physics. The ruler thing just kept tracking.
He didn't get on the bed right away. He stood at the edge and ran his hand down my chest, my abs, and smeared the remaining cum over my short pubes (I still shave from swimming - hard habit to break - and I manscape downstairs). And he brought his finger tips back up to my mouth.
I didn't even think about it. I just sucked on them. Tasting my cum and precum from his fingers. You know how you're just in the moment sometimes and stuff just happens. Yah, I just sucked without thinking.
He pulled his fingers out, and went back to my dick, and pulled on my foreskin, sliding it back over my purple head. Let go, it slid back. Did it again. I looked down and saw the drips of clear precum, and he grabbed them like he was milking me and then smeared them on my hole and my head fell back.
The next thing I knew, I felt his tongue on my hole and his hands spreading my cheeks. And the beard that I had been looking forward to was the perfect contrast against his lips and tongue as he licked and sucked and slid and I don't know what noises I made but I'm pretty sure they were very undignified.
"You cleaned out for me," he said. Not a question.
"I told you. Clean slut, on PrEP."
He laughed. And then his mouth was back down ... there.
I'm going to be honest: I mentioned earlier I wanted to know if he was a good rimmer because of the beard. He was. I thought that first bit was the coup de grace. It was the appetizer (to mix metaphors).
He was a really, really good rimmer. The scruff against my skin and then his tongue, and he wasn't just licking, he was eating me like he had nowhere else to be on a Saturday morning. Slow, wet, thorough. His thumbs holding me open and his tongue flat and then pointed and then doing things I couldn't keep track of because my brain had checked out to that big lap pool in the sky.
I was grabbing his sheets and making sounds and I think at one point I said "fuck" and then "please" and I don't even know what I was asking for because what he was doing was already more than enough but also not enough because I needed him inside me. All 200 mm (thank you, subscribers!!).
He ate me out for I don't know how long, but it was long enough that when he finally pulled away and I heard the snap of the lube cap I almost cried from relief.
His fingers first. One, then two, slow and careful. He curled them and found exactly the right spot because of course he did and my whole body tightened and he just said "relax" and I tried to and mostly failed. But, he was patient and kept working me open. He added more lube. His other hand rubbing my lower back. I heard the condom wrapper. I looked down and watched (gotta make sure!).
"Ready?"
I nodded.
He pushed in and I stopped breathing. 7.87", all at once. I asked for this. I changed my Grindr profile for this. And I was doing it for you all. And it was a lot. He went slow, but it was steady until he bottomed out, and I was gripping those sheets and breathing and trying to relax around him.
I finally felt his pubes on my ass. He slowly rubbed my dick, I didn't even realize his hand was there, slippery with what I was leaking. "You good?"
"Yeah."
The stretch was intense and right on the edge of too much, and I was sweating but I didn't care. He held it there. And shifted, because I felt it inside me moving.
He waited.
He waited until I pushed back against him, and then he started to move. Slow. Long strokes. Almost all the way out and then all the way back in and each time the stretch was a little easier and a little better and I stopped gripping the sheets and started pushing back to meet him.
"There you go," he said. "Remember: You wanted all 200 mm, so I'm giving it to you all at once. No halvsies." Something about his voice, low and steady and just a little bit pleased with himself, made me clench around him and we both made a noise.
He sped up gradually. Not porn-speed, just. More. Harder. He shifted the angle and found the spot his fingers had found earlier and I yelped, which was embarrassing, and he did it again. He kept that angle and I stopped being embarrassed about sounds because I couldn't control them anymore. He was playing me, and I was just along for the ride.
For the record, I don't usually narrate hookups in my head while they're happening. That's a thing I'm doing now, after. At the time, my brain was pretty much just: "more, there, don't stop, fuck."
He stroked me in time with his thrusts and it was coordinated and deliberate. I'm sorry, I have to say it again: Older guys know what they're doing. He was fucking me and jerking me and his mouth was on my tit and then my mouth and I could feel his breath and his beard scratching my skin and it was all just ... a lot. In the best way.
The second orgasm hit different. Slower to build, deeper. I felt it in my legs first. I mean, it was probably my hole, but that was being wrecked right now so I'm saying my legs. Then my stomach, and then I was coming on his hand and my stomach and clenching around him and shaking and making a sound that I'm not going to describe in writing.
He lasted maybe another half-minute. His rhythm went uneven and his grip on my hip tightened and he pushed in deep and held there and I felt him pulse and his forehead dropped to my shoulder. He just breathed there for a while. Heavy and warm.
We stayed like that for a bit. Him still inside me, both of us just breathing. Then he pulled out carefully and dealt with the condom and I heard him drop it somewhere.
He came back with a warm towel. Not a cold one, not a handful of tissues. A warm towel. And he cleaned me up, my stomach, my thighs, between my legs, and it was almost more intimate than the sex.
"Damn."
"What," I asked, and I looked up. He was between my legs with the towel, and a dumb voice in my head wondered if this is how women feel at the women doctor thing. (Like I said, dumb voice, but my head sometimes goes weird places.)
"Your hole is really puffy." And he stuck a finger in and it just slid in with zero resistance and I honestly think I cooed.
"Want me to take a picture? You could post it with this blog."
OK, I know some of you would like to see that. But no, I'm not posting that. So I said, "Sure, but I'm not posting it." Always good to have my own records, though.
He walked out of the room and came back a minute later with my phone and took the pic. Handed me the phone. Laid down next to me. We didn't talk for maybe ten minutes. Traffic through the window. Dog barking somewhere. His room smelled like sex and the citrus soap from his shower and us. I could still feel where he'd been, and I'd be lying if I said my finger didn't wander its way down there to confirm that my lips down there were puffy. And fucking sensitive.
"So," he said. "Am I going to be the Substack post?"
"You're going to be a great Substack post."
He was quiet. "Use my first name. Don't say the city."
"Deal."
More quiet. Then: "200 mm is actually 7.874 inches. I rounded."
I looked at him. He was completely serious. And I laughed so hard I almost fell off the bed.
I got dressed. He walked me to the door. "Congrats on 200," he said.
"Thanks for the 7.874," I said. I didn't ask for the calipers. That'd just be silly.
Drove home with wet hair again. Different kind of wet hair. Opened my phone at a red light and checked my subscriber count because I have no self-control: 203. Though it says 204 on my dashboard.
So. 200 subscribers. This is how I celebrated. A nerdy engineer(?) in his 50s with a ruler, a warm towel, and 200 mm that he measured to three decimal places. I walked in thinking I was getting a blog post. Not gonna lie, I walked out with a little more than that. Or something. And a sore hole, but a happy hole. Still a bit sore as I write this.
Thank you for being here. All 200 of you. Well, 203 now. At 300 I'll need to come up with something new. 300 mm is basically 12" (11.811") and that doesn't exist outside of bad fiction and worse Grindr profiles.
I'll probably just bake a cake.
Probably not.
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