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I have to share this with you guys.
I don't get out much! At my age (not THAT old, but...) I don't attract a lot of takers, and I never feel comfortable with the 'daddy' thing. No judgment if it works for others but it creeps me out a bit. I impulsively stopped in at a bathhouse late-afternoon last week, anticipating at best that I might be able to jerk it while I watched younger guys going at it. I was in the orgy room when I spotted a sweet young Latino guy come in and go behind the gloryhole area (which was more of an open panel) I was sure he would dismiss my approach (he could see me clearly) but to my surprise, he didn't. His delectable uncut cock (not too big - just a nice mouthful) grew in my mouth, allowing my tongue to explore the foreskin, the tip, every detail. As I tested his asshole with my thumb it grew even bigger, swelling to fill my throat. I just held it in my mouth - just enjoying the feeling of it there. I have not sucked a cock in months. I asked if he wanted to come to my room - and to my surprise, he did!
I explored his body - ate his ass (so sweet) fucked him, and then he came in my mouth. I didn't spill a drop. I mercilessly sucked down every drop of his nectar. To my surprise, he wanted to suck my cock as well. I enjoy and get off on being a 'pleaser' - I am that way with women as well. I didn't cum - I think I was just overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, though I jerked off later. I am very self-conscious about my age and size - it's hard for me to imagine anyone would want to have sex with me, let alone a sweet, hot, kind younger guy like him.
it's not just that he was hot - he was kind and generous. Married and bi - like me... I lost my dear wife a few years ago, and since have felt freer to explore gay sex, though my expiration date might as well be tattooed on my bald head! These bathhouse encounters rarely involve any talk at all, let alone a real conversation. We found a real connection with him and will be seeing each other again next week - for coffee or a drink to get to know each other better. Yes, please! He wanted to exchange phone numbers and REAL names - no games or hiding. He's not into older guys as such (he's 37 but looks in his 20s, very fit but not a gym rat...no tattoos) He says he and his wife have an understanding - I will have to take his word for that.
What a nice way to start a new year.
I'm 31 years old now, why do i still like the Smooth hairless Young 18yo boys that i liked When i was on that age?
Maybe Im an idiot... sometimes i feel verry bad of it.
what do you think?
...into statistics, but came across an older funny one. It says that 80% of men and boys have wondered what it would be like to see, touch or suck on another guys penis. The remaining 20% that deny it?....ARE LIARS!!!! LOL. Have a great night. XO David.
Wow! Phenomenal!! It is too bad about the lighting cocking it up a bit...
Also asking advice on how to come out to a friend? Like how to do it or just some advice or tips
How's everyone's penis and testicles today?
I love it when boys do splits! It is so hot! I think I have a fetish for them!
Myself? I'd say it's 6-5 and Pick 'em between Calvin Klein and Jockey if I'm in boxer-briefs (and a mortal lock that my undershirt is from Jockey too; their Staycool V-necks are such an under-the-radar winner). That's generally when I'm in business attire, which has become an ever-diminishing part of my life in recent years. More often you'll find me out and about in just a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. Not only does it free me up to get my hands dirty when I see something that needs doing, but it feels like in recent years people respond better to it than they do the suit and tie.
In jeans mode, you can take it to the bank that I'm wearing Tommy Hilfiger Knit Cotton boxers, usually navy blue, but occasionally fire engine red. Sadly my time with them will soon run out as, like everything else in the world these days, the last pack I bought was a cheap knockoff of something that used to be good; they'd switched to a much thinner, cheaper cotton, the elastic waistband had as much refinement as new burlap, and to really drive the point home the fucking fly was cut so ridiculously high that I felt like a European park fountain everytime I had to take a piss. I'd love to have a chance encounter with the genius who gave the go-ahead on that corporate decision, preferably in some dark alley in the middle of nowhere. I need to stop digressing, though, because regardless of what they've become, I will always reflect fondly on them for the fact that they were the underwear of choice for the guy who popped my cherry a little more than two decades ago. I'd love to tell you that I was so taken by how good he looked in them that I became an instant convert, but alas, he actually wasn't especially good-looking and the underwear weren't helping his case either. Lucky for him, that registered very little to my very horny, very virgin, high-school-boy brain.
After we'd accomplished what we set out to do and had worked up quite an appetite, he suggested we walk over to a diner a few blocks away and have a bite before I left to go home, his treat. Having been raised with enough sense never to turn down a free meal, I pushed through my awkward feelings and impulse to make my retreat long enough to accept. I remember thinking that everything I'd heard about women "walking funny" after good sex was surprisingly applicable to me as well while we walked, despite the experience not really having lived up to my teenage fantasies of a heavenly chorus singing and getting an instant soulmate from the deal. By the time we'd reached the diner I started to become aware of more urgent concerns, though, as the confluence of taking my first stroll through the world as a non-virgin and our decision not to use a condom, plus a little planetary gravity, was working to leave me with more than just the sweaty butt crack I chalked it up to as we walked. I knew the instant I sat down on the vinyl seat of our booth that there was a wet spot forming in the rear of my boxers beneath my (have you already guessed?) khaki Dockers, and instead of excusing myself to the restroom and performing triage, I decided that I'd just sit there and pretend it wasn't happening.
Thankfully in the end it wasn't the major catastrophe I had been picturing in vivid detail the entire time we ate and I was able to exit the establishment without making my companion pull the fire alarm or create another similar distraction. It hit me on the walk back that my situation was simply the price one must pay to venture outside without their virginity and along the way I leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in his ear about my condition. He apologized several times despite my insistence about there being no need for it, and when we'd reached my car parked in front of his house, he suddenly told me to go back inside with him. I was already trying to settle on the best way to tell him I had no interest in an encore as he closed the door behind us and matter-of-factly told me to start getting out of my underwear while he went to his room to get a pair of his for me to wear home. The thoughtfulness of his reaction bowled me over and without protest I just said okay and did as I was told. I'd never worn anyone else's underwear before and for reasons I'm still powerless to explain, even after what we'd done not long before that put me in this predicament, him giving me a clean pair of underwear before I left was hands-down the high-water mark of the sense of intimacy I felt a part of that day.
I hollered up to him that I had a pressing question to ask once he'd already gone upstairs and was probably almost to his bedroom, and he appeared again at the top of the stairs to hear it. I still wonder exactly where the idea I was about to voice came from within me and whether it's proof of my having an unusually high level of sentimentality or just a hopelessly dirty mind, but the question I asked was if he'd be okay with giving me the underwear was wearing rather than a clean pair. I was already beating myself up silently for sounding like the world's biggest perv during the brief moment of silence while he considered my request then surprised me by saying he was fine with it if I was sure. He never asked me why I wanted them, which was good because I don't know what I would've said, I hadn't gotten that far myself. He looked sexier taking off his shoes and pants just then than he had the first time, I decided, and when he was standing there bare-assed as I pulled them up my thighs and into position around me that encore I was eager to avoid minutes before seemed instead very tempting. I loved how warm they were already and how well they fit and told him so more than once as we both put our pants back on and we walked back out to my car and said goodbye.
Of all the day's events, that drive home remains highest on my list of fondest memories. I was deep in thought the whole way, parsing my feelings on sex as an actual physical experience and not just a hormone-fueled fantasy, wondering if there was still a way I might not be gay despite being pretty certain I was doing something inherently very natural to me while it was happening, and a surprising amount of time realizing that my Mom had been buying me absolute garbage underwear for my ENTIRE LIFE in comparison to what I had on right then. I smelled them while I jerked off like a man possessed that night in bed, reliving everything we'd done and the smell of him. Afterwards I hid them away, not wanting to explain how I ended up wearing another's guy underwear the next time laundry was done, and when it was finally time to pack up my things to go to college they were one of the first things in the box.
I still have them to this day, even still wear them every once in a while (if for no other reason than as a reward for still being the same size now that I'm staring down the barrel of the big 4-0 as I was in high school), and the proof of their quality is in how well they still fit and look exactly how I remember they did as he held them out to give to me. They were the only sense of comfort I felt at all when I wore them on a very difficult day about a decade ago to join his family in saying a final goodbye to him so much sooner than we should've needed to. This is the first time I've ever shared this story, strangely, despite how fondly I reflect on it. If you made it this far, thanks for allowing me to finally get the chance to do so.
That's how my favorite brand of underwear became Tommy Hilfiger, thanks to one pair in particular, though I'll go to the mattresses with anyone who disagrees on principle; though I haven't gone out of my way to try a ton of other brands, every time that I have I find them wanting to some degree in comparison. It will be with a heavy heart that I begin the search for a new brand to replace them when those that I have now come to need it.
