A/T/L/S/L/U/T: Race to the Finish

Fuck buddies are awesome.  One of the qualities that I appreciate most in this particular category of sexual partner is that each one can serve a very specific role in a sexual repertoire.  I've known one of my fuck buddies for an entire decade.  We don't see one another very often, going in and out of each other's lives as time and circumstance permit, but our routine has always been the same: he comes over and I am waiting for him face down, ass up.  I keep my face in the pillow as he enters the room and undresses, usually muttering some nicety about my ass and how he misses it.  But the funny thing is that he never uses my ass, outside of admiration.  He posts up on the end of the bed and orders me to suck his very hot cock.  In social media, he claims to be 7.5, but is probably around 5.5, which isn't any offense to its thickness and saliva-inducing beauty.  I gladly devour it and have my mouth used like a receptacle made purely for satisfying his pole.  He never lasts long, usually about 5 minutes, which is just long enough for me to jerk off and cum while I swallow his seed.


It's important to know the role that a fuck buddy plays in your life, and what boundaries exist to keep the relationship mutually satisfying.

It's fast and filthy, and the perfect quickie scenario when we both just need to get off and get out. Sometimes, after he expresses his satisfaction with my service, he tries to host small talk while he gets dressed.  This has led to the obvious realization that we have absolutely nothing in common.  And I sit and think, "That was fun, now please just hurry up and get out of here."

It's important to know the role that a fuck buddy plays in your life, and what boundaries exist to keep the relationship mutually satisfying.

Last summer, I was at Heretic having a great time but also feeling the need to get some action.  The bar didn't have any immediate opportunities, so I got on Scruff and noticed that a guy I had been talking to for a couple weeks was online.  I shot the message for the booty call, and within the space of a couple of exchanges, I was in an Uber on my way to his house.  He was a bit older than me, probably mid-to-late forties if I had to guess.  And while he wasn't conventionally attractive to the common mainstream homo, I found him utterly delicious.  Shorter, thick, hairy, and bald, with beautiful eyes and a demeanor that instantly felt natural and complimentary.  The best thing about him was his cock: not long enough to choke me, but fat and rock fucking hard; the kind of hard that you could beat against your face and wonder if you might get bruised.

That first night was a thing that trick dreams are made of.  He immediately dominated me, exploring my body with solid hands, forcing himself upon me as we eagerly fell into the spell of lust.  He ate my ass with intense intention until I begged him to put himself inside me.  By the time we finished, lying in a puddle of sweat and cum, it was very late (or early depending on how you look at it).  He offered for me to spend the night and I happily collapsed in his big beautiful comforter, falling asleep with his still-hard cock against my ass.  I woke up several hours later to him sliding back inside me, and I anxiously accepted his invasion until we both came a second time and fell back into a blissful, post-sex dream state.

Aside from the fact that we had an amazing sexual compatibility, the best thing about my new fuck buddy was our similar routine and that he lived just a couple of miles down the road, which made it very convenient for future encounters. We only hooked up every couple of weeks, but it seemed like whenever the need arose for either of us to reach out to the other, we were able to meet and have a great time.

Aside from that first night, I didn't really stick around after the sex, but we held casual conversation and shared bits or our lives in the before-and-after moments.  He was keen on having me back over to stay in his bed again, so he could wake me up with another hard dick in my ass.  I was entirely open to the proposition, but the official invitation didn't come until three or four months after we had started this routine.  I got the text around 9 PM: "Come stay at my house and let me fuck you awake again."  Circumstance was on our side and I made my way to his house shortly after.  Walk in, clothes off, porn star sex, a glass of water . . . the night was going magnificently.


I would love to say that I stood up for modern, civilized thinking, but I felt naked (literally) and trapped. 
 

I found my naked white ass on his black leather couch while he started heating up some food and talking about his day.  Apparently, he had to shoo away a neighbor who visited often but was more of a nuisance than a friend.  I was post-sex and very satisfied, so his words were heard but largely non-consequential as I melted into the cushions and relaxed.  Then his dialogue concerning this neighbor turned into a rather extended rant.  Then he said it: "And another thing.  I pay someone to clean my house, but once he comes over it's like a bunch of n*****s ran up through here."

Time froze.

I was in absolute shock.  His stream-of-consciousness didn't miss a beat as he continued to ramble about this acquaintance in his building, leaving him blind to my reaction, or lack thereof.  I can honestly say I didn't move a single muscle for two solid minutes.  How could this have happened???  How could this person that I had this intimate relationship with been so flippant and casual and. . . and. . . racist?  This wasn't the standard variety of ignorant and unnecessary racist slander, but rather a very real situationally specific use of the n-word, complete with the “-er” at the end.  How could he have presumed that this was an acceptable thing to say in front of me?

I would love to say that I stood up for modern, civilized thinking, but I felt naked (literally) and trapped.  After what felt like an eternity, I stood and announced that I had to go.  He didn't seek explanation as I quickly got dressed and vacated the premises.

I spent the next two months replaying this scenario in my mind and imagining how I would have responded differently.  But the damage had been done, and I carried on with a sense of inner disappointment for not seizing the opportunity to host a dialogue; it was a conversation I was unprepared (or perhaps just unwilling) to confront.  He eventually reached out to me and, through the mix of sexual proposition, asked what had happened months earlier that made me disappear.  I responded and laid it out, explaining that he had used a very offensive term in a very offensive manner, and that was simply something I was not willing to accept or participate in.  And of course I capped it off with a, "and it's a shame because I really loved getting plowed by your hot cock."  He responded saying that he couldn't imagine what he said, but that he understood and didn't mean to offend, which really meant that he knew perfectly well and just wanted an excuse to fuck again.  That was the last communication we had.

 

Until next time,
Be good to yourselves and each other.

A/T/L/S/L/U/T