It started with a message on Grindr, simple and direct:
"Nice to see you in Christchurch again. I'm free on Tuesday, if you wanna hook up again for a blow job."
Julian replied within minutes.
"Hell yeah. It's been years since I had your mouth around my cock. I can still feel it." I Ubered to his place and knocked.
He opened the door with that same easy, boyish grin. "You came," he said, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "I didn’t think you would." His place was beautiful — clean, open, warm — like him. He invited me upstairs.
We climbed the stairs chatting like we’d never missed a beat. The years between us melted away in the banter and laughter. It was all so effortless.
Once inside his room, something shifted. The comfort gave way to hunger.
Clothes fell away in a matter of minutes. And there he was, standing beside the bed — breathtaking. Steam wasn't present, but it might as well have been, the way the soft afternoon light kissed his smooth, flushed skin. I drank him in — the tight, sculpted abs, his firm chest, the defined lines running down to his cock, hard and waiting.
He was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful — powerful, intense, and impossible to ignore.
He lay back on the bed, fully present, cock pulsing with anticipation. I knelt beside him, lowering my mouth to his length, taking him in slowly, my hands at my sides — reverent. He moaned, his hand reaching for mine, voice husky.
"Warm your hands up," he murmured, "and feel my chest."
I did as told, gliding my palms across the tight swell of his pecs, fingers tracing the lines of his torso, feeling him react — his breath hitched, a ripple of shiver danced under my touch. His skin was satin over muscle, warm and alive, a living map of pleasure. I worshipped him with my hands, my mouth, my breath. Every twitch, every moan, every sigh only deepened my hunger.
Then he began to fuck my face — not harsh, but with a rhythm and control that made it even more intimate. My head moved with him, lips tight around his cock, our rhythm syncing like waves. His moans grew louder, deeper. He warned me with a sharp inhale and then—
Hot, thick cum exploded into my mouth. I swallowed greedily, loving the taste of him, the salt and sweetness, the essence of years apart. I stood up slowly, stroking my own cock, still slick with spit and lust.
"Your cum tastes amazing," I told him, breathless.
He grinned in a haze of bliss, eyes heavy-lidded. "Good," he said, voice rough with arousal — turned on by the way I took every drop.
Still naked, he patted the bed beside him and said he’d grab a towel. I lay down, jerking off beside him while he watched, eyes trailing over every movement. I moaned loudly, my orgasm crashing through me, hot cum exploding across my stomach and chest. We stayed like that for a while — quiet, raw, real — two naked bodies, two old souls reconnecting.
Eventually, I dressed. We went downstairs and talked, just like before. He didn’t put his shirt back on — and I couldn’t stop staring at his chest, still warm, still perfect.
We swapped numbers this time. We’re trying to hook up regularly. He’s attentive, present, generous. He doesn't just take; he gives. And he always makes sure I get off too.
