From the Top. I walk in. He and I have exchanged
the non-verbose dance of setting up this moment. Neither of us intended
on hooking up, so I thought, but we were bored and his private pics were
appealing, to say the least.
“What you into?” he asks. Although my profile says ‘vers
top’, I gave him a little more of an understanding.
“YOU’VE BEEN ADDED TO HIS FAVORITES LIST.” the screen reads.
I knew he was interested. His next message was a phone number.
We migrated to texting while he explained how he wanted it. I
always enjoy explicit instructions and have a slight anon fetish
so I indulge him as he tells me he’s preparing to indulge me. He
instructs me to come in, the door will be unlocked. Come to the bedroom
where he will be waiting for me on the bed. My dick is throbbing at the
thought of those private pics, spread across the continent of his mattress,
inviting me in, deeply. I touch myself.
Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at his place, the light
flickered in the breeze way. The numbers on the doors were non-sequential.
I walked up one breezeway, then up another. Tirelessly searching for door
1106. I hadn’t bothered to wear underwear. I figured I’d be naked
by the time he saw me anyway. The cool March breeze on my soft jugg made
my dick jump. I stopped under the streetlight, staring down at my phone
contemplating whether to text him. My dick bulging in my pants casted an
unmistakable shadow in the night lights. I turned into the darkness
thinking communication could ruin the anonymity: I searched on.
I walked up one final breezeway and there was his door. Pause
came over me. My hands sweaty and my body subtly quivering,
anxiously. My hands moistened just barely as I turned the knob and
cracked the door. My nerves rose with every creek of his entry way.
I stepped in to hear music playing: Maxwell’s Cococure. I
quickly, but quietly, disrobe. My three garments left a small pile in
front of his door. I pulled my t-shirt over my head. Stepped out of
my Timbs. And dropped my grey sweat pants to the floor. My body chilled
in its nudity and my feet cooled on his tiled entryway floors. I stepped
onto he carpet and walked down his long hallway to the only open door.
The room is illuminated with just the light of his music playing on
his television. I crept through the bedroom door and there, laying naked
on the bed was Hershey’s chocolate, personified. His 5-foot-9-inch,
slender frame was silhouetted perfectly in the center of the bed. He lay
there, face down, nose nuzzled between two pillows. I admired the breadth
of his thighs, the bend of his back, the cinch in his waist and the definition
of his shoulders. His manhood, pressed into the comforter of his bed,
pointed back at me through his legs. He was those private pics.
I stood at the foot of the bed, admirably. I watched him arch
his back as the shadows from the television danced on our bodies. His
movements were slow and subtle, rhythmic almost, accentuating the melodies of
his body. The music from the television in my ear as the orchestra of this
moment rises to serenade my body. The melodies of his sex dance across my
skin. My dick rises as I put one knee onto the bed, then the other.
I reach for his thigh, grasping it slightly, intentionally, as taking the dais
to deliver my soliloquy.
I urge him toward me by his manhood. His legs bend and he
extends his ass. What was music is now poetry. His chest lay
gripping the mattress, nipples pressed into the comforter and his arms spread
to his sides. His pelvis rises in the air like prose. I can see
directly from his chocolate hills, up the crease of his back to the nape of his
neck. He was positioned as if his whole existence was crying out to me
like the caged bird. My body arose and my sex saluted.
It begins.
Nice pic!
ReplyDeleteAnd So it begins ! most delightful. Now I want more. :-)
ReplyDeleteMark
The Male Casting Couch