PART 1.5
8pm guy. Holy shit. I don't even know where to start. Guy has CP or possibly a recent stroke, we aren't sure, but that's immaterial. He comes in with a bag of toys he wants to try invading our anuses with, but isn't too pushy about it and we don't press the issue either, especially because he seemed a little TOO excited about his 10 inch strapon that he wanted to abuse someone's hole with.
Fast forward about 30 seconds to the bedroom. We're laying on the bed naked. He of course has a tiny dick. They all have tiny dicks, except when they DON'T and it's a 9 inch long broken off baseball bat that wants to go in ME. But I digress. So we start off with light touches, and I see HK go in for a kiss with Joel, we'll call him. Great, that means I'm on dick duty. So I'm furiously trying to massage some sort of blood flow into this man's peterino with the best my tongue and throat can offer, thinking "man, I use this mouth to speak like 7 languages and sing like an angel but lately the things I've done in the name of customer service would make a frenchman blush", and I shoot a side-eye over to poor HK where it looks like this guy has transformed into an extra from Attack On Titan and is trying to eat HKs face and lick up the remains at the same time. I'm trying hard not to laugh as I watch HK try hard not to vomit in this guys face, so I turn my nose back to the sub-fupa and suck this soft dick like a good little boy whore that they all seem to want me to be.
This guy. This motherfucking guy. He drools more than a basset hound on first generation antipsychotic medication. He is made of lip, tongue, and mucilaginous slimespit that he leaves everywhere. Everything he touches is graced with a snail-trail of this strangely scented (denture glue?) spit that he seems intent on depositing alternately into my ear, my mouth, HKs ear, HKs mouth. From hereon out things get a bit hazy so I'm just going to describe what I haven't blocked out. He's fucking delighted with us, that's for damn sure. But the spit. And he sucks dick like he's eating dick. Like actually eating a dick. Chowing down on a cocksicle. Most non erotic blowjob both HK and I have ever had the misfortune of having in our entire lives. But the guy is so goddamn oblivious he doesn't seem to notice that neither one of our cocks even wake up to check and see if the sun's up yet--might as well be in an ice bath for all the activity we've got going on below the equator. Just keeps chowing, sucking, chowing, sliming, spitting, what the actual fuck, I've had showers drier than this. I think I have swimmer's ear at this point. I'm making horrible faces the whole time but thankfully he can't see.
Oh, and the rimming. Imagine the scariest progeric baby in the world playing peekaboo behind your nutsack and cock andthat's what you've got. Like the rising of the wretched sun the day after Armageddon, this face will be burnt into my soul until the actual End of Days itself, while the selfsame lips and tongue devour my asshole like the Fenris wolf eating the spheres of heaven and with a similar voraciousness. A wet slimy sponge bath by a Lovecraftian horror rising over the hills of my once innocent ass-cheeks, which, incidentally, are thrown up over my shoulders in a position that I'm sure is not good for my arthritis at all. Then there was the fingering, accompanied by such a face as to imply that this, THIS, was the fingering to end all fingerings, the Fingering, if you will. Ne'er again will I be satisfied by normal hands, nay, I should be in esctasy, rising up like an explosion of larksong in rose scented morning dew. Alas, all I feel is an overwhelming urge to poo and check the clock.
Also, I come to a revelation as to why he has not seemed to notice that our dicks are not hard. His dick never got hard, not the entire time. We all right ourselves so feet again are where feet belong and heads are where heads go in a normal person's world, and some sort of witty repartee takes place---wait, no, he just puts me and HK into a headlock and alternates funneling spit into our mouths with his massive, slimy tongue, like a cow with thrush. Although finally, FINALLY, he lays back, stops tossing us around like ninepins and decides one of us is going to continue to kiss him while the other sucks his cock to completion. I immediately head due south. Fuck that, I'd suck a million cocks before I'd tolerate one more kiss from this ectoplasmic, miasmic horror of a mouth unseen in the lands of Light since the days of Dagon and Yog-Sothoth. So suck I do, and finally he says "baby, I'm gonna cum". The seventh trumpet has sounded, the seventh seal is broken, the Heavens are open and Christ has come again thank FUCK he's almost done. I back off of his cock and jerk furiously (another victim of Death-Grip syndrome, he apparently jerks his cock so hard that you need equivalent pressure found in the formation of diamonds from small lumps of black dinosaur leavings) until he cums all over his chest. O, happy day! Caloo, callay! fuck this shit and give me money. Nope, he wants to lay back and talk for a minute or two. Fine, as long as there's no mouth contact. HK and I cannot look each other in the face for fear of laughing, crying, or perhaps a suicide pact enacted immediately without discussion. He leaves after giving us the agreed upon amount (NOT WORTH IT) and we collapse on the sofa. Just as the shit talking settles in and we're laughing, there's a knock. FUCK, he's back! But, false alarm, apparently he just forgot his bag of toys.
Immediately we have my man drop off a half gram. Thousand yard stare etched into our faces, we smoke cigarettes and laugh because that's all you can do at this point.
The rest of the day amounts to dope, dinner, fireworks...before I left for the fireworks, however, I reposted our ads after our 8pm cataclysm (and I use that word in the sense of the original Greek roots--a great downward splashing) and waited for the hellish fish from depths chthonic and inchoate again to venture forth towards the light of late summer evening, fading and running off into darkened corners like hellspawned fireflies dancing infernal sarabandes over the glutted corpse of the over-60s dating scene in the rotted gay underbelly, fish-white and redolent of cadaverine and bradford pear trees, of our third-tier southern town.
A certain gentleman (you can tell because he will be the first to let you know) responded to my ad shortly after having reposted it.
To understand the dynamic here, I have to explain the ad that HK and I have been spamming the South with for the last fortnight. It lists me as "mo$tly $traight/versatile" (note the very $ubtle dollar signs) and him as mostly gay. In gay personal ad language "mostly straight" is usually understood to mean bi, which is usually understood to mean queer as a football bat. Whatever, you're selling the sizzle before they can even smell the meat. Goes on to list the obligatory promises of drug-free, diseaseless, attractive boyflesh for the taking. I exaggerate my age by -11 years, HKs by -7. No one wants a thirty-something year old twink prostitute. Even 25 is pushing it.