Virile and tasty

Hi there, my name is Thomas, I’m 49-years old and enjoy 69 a lot. I usually wake up around 6:30 and feel so hungry, could eat a man’s ass for breakfast. Fucking virile, fucking tasty! In fact, I dream of a savoring a rosebud for lunch, dinner and midnight snack too. Caressing a male ass, sniffing his crack, kissing his peachy butt, slapping it, and tongue-twisting my way inside his satanic haven drive me crazy. 

I was 23 when I had my first experience with a guy. Not great, to be honest. Just mutual masturbation. Bing bang in ten minutes or less. No cuddling, no kissing. I had called an escort service and paid $80 for some young guy to come over. It took me a few months, almost a year, before I dared enter a gay bar or a gay-friendly venue.

While not hiding my sexual orientation, I don’t brag about it neither. If it comes up, I simply indicate that women do not attract me, that virility is my thing. People usually switch to a different topic or find an excuse to leave politely. In one case, though, a guy smiled, offered me a beer, and started to talk about his fantasy for men in leather gear. He asked me if I had ever seen drawings by Tom of Finland. Nope. “Well, come to my place, you won’t regret it. My name is Gerry, by the way.”

I did follow Gerry to a one-bedroom apartment in a low-key building. As soon as the door was closed and locked, he kissed me on the lips and dragged me to the sofa. On the coffee-table, there was an album of the most erotic drawings I had ever seen. He showed me the ones where well-hung dudes wore leather boots, jockstrap and harness. When Gerry noticed that I was getting a hard-on, he went straight to the point.

“Would you like to sniff my leather outfit? The aroma of virility will have a nice effect on your bulging crotch.”

“I guess so, it’s all new to me, but it strikes an erotic chord for sure.”

In no time, Gerry donned chaps over his tight jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, a well-adjusted harness and a leather cap with a chain. My reaction was instant. I was on my knees, ready to lick his boots, to caress his huge bulge, and to spank his peachy butt. We wee both moaning with pleasure.

He unzipped to let an 8-inch joystick pop out. “Can you take this down your throat and inside your ass?” I had only been fucked two or three times, and had felt more pain than pleasure. The adrenaline, however, triggered an exploratory button as Gerry removed his jeans, showing a leather cock ring, put back his chaps on, and threw me on the bed aggressively. I was electrified by the perspective of hot virile fun.

Have to be honest here and admit that I choked on his bazooka, and screamed loudly as he thrusted his powerful dagger in my tight hairy hole. When he was ready to burst, he withdrew his veiny tool to spill his nectar all over my face. The taste of a creamy load made me forget the pain and dream of a replay. We dated for a few months and parted on good terms. He gave me a leather jockstrap has a souvenir. That’s where my fetish for this kind of erotic gear started. Still part of me twenty-five years later.

I had few relationships, the only long-term one being with a Chinese guy fifteen years younger than me. I like Asian guys as long as they are not effeminate, and Black men make me drool. At 45, I joined a dating site for men only. Most of the pics in members’ gallery showed huge dicks and rump roast that were an ideal “drive-in” sign.

I recently got a message from someone my age. A simple “Hi! :)” His profile text indicated that he was looking for a long-term relationship. My reply was short: “Also LTR oriented. Single and romantic.” Ralph – that’s the name he gave me – immediately included his email address and phone number, the latter being a bit unusual on this type of site. He said he was a portrait artist and sent me examples of his work. Pretty professional, but women only…

I invited him over for a face-to-face chat over a glass of wine. His reaction was an outburst of rage. “You, a perfect stranger to me, invited me, a perfect stranger to you, in your home, in the first email you sent. This not only reflects very poor judgment on your part, and on me, if I were to take you up on that, but it also reflects on the fact that contrary to what you claimed, you are only looking for sex. I don't think this was your first cookie or your first invite of a perfect stranger to your home for wine nor will it be the last.”

Ralph went on to say that I dared presume that he drank wine… like all the other one-night stands in my life, adding that he detested alcohol altogether, that it made him sick. Ralph stressed on the fact that I repeated my invitation to share a glass of wine after he had ignored my first request. “This is more than bad manners. This is pushy and it shows lack of consideration for another’s comfort level.”

In the course of our telephone conversation, I indicated that I walk my ex-lover’s dogs every day after lunch. I had no idea that this was adding insult to injury. His reply was sharp: “This is not an ex, contrary to what you claim. This is a real, ongoing and continued relationship with him. In which case, what do you need me for? To supplement to your needs where the ex does not perform to your fantasy?”

Ralph concluded that I had offended and disgusted him in every possible way. He did not wish to have any further contact with me, asking that I refrain from communicating with him again. And, strangely, wishing me every happiness.

I changed my profile text, removing words like “romantic” and “long-term relationship”. I now invite men who like to show off their manhood well-wrapped in tight faded blue jeans or leather spiked jockstraps. Gestapo booths are a plus. Sweaty ass is a must, of course. Responses are scarce, but when one pops up once a year or so, I relive my experience with Gerry and stamp a black eagle on the calendar date. Quality, not quantity.