Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2007 13:08:56 -0400 (GMT-04:00)
From: crumby2392@mypacks.net
Subject: Hot encounters of a bi married man 11: 69 in London

69 in LONDON

Time is fluid, plastic.  While the metronome marches strictly forward, our
minds twist time, distort it, even divide it, like a river dividing into
channels then coming together again.  The analogy of a river is a good
one--the same volume of water can run swiftly, or languidly, or sit in a
pool, barely moving.  Or plunge, for a brief moment, off a cliff in a
brilliant cascade.

This story happened in maybe 20 minutes.  Maybe less.  It was in the
`sauna' in London. I'm cruising the hall, off of which there are little
cubicles with mattresses on the floor.  Not having much success.  The
usual: anyone I'm interested in is not interested in me.

But I turn a certain corner, and out of one cubicle come two men.  The
first one I don't remember--neither attracted nor attractive to me.  He
passed down the corridor and out of the story.  But the second one.  Yes!!!

He was about my age, and pretty good-looking.  The kind of guy who, twenty
years ago, would have been able to present himself as very good looking.
Come to think of it, he was probably older than I, but in very good
condition.  A nice, toned body, the skin just a little loose--really the
main cue to his age. He had a nice, all-over tan--not the typical pasty
Englishman.  Just a little lighter in the ass region.  And he had a nice,
taut ass, so the color change was actually very sexy.

And of course I learned all this in less than a second, glancing quickly at
him.  In another second I read interest in his eyes.  In a third, or even
less, I decided to try for him.  I looked back into his eyes, and turned
into one of the cubicles, leaving the door open.  And looked back again.

He must have had just the same reaction to me.  I could feel the seconds
passing, like months.  I could hear him making the decisions: "He's not all
that good-looking.  A rugged man's face, not a pretty boy's.  He has a
great chest.  And good muscle definition.  And his skin is taut, probably
younger than me. Let's take a chance."

All this in the three seconds we saw each other.  The elasticity of
time--Dali's fluid watches.

So he follows me into the cubicle.  He shuts the door.  We lie down on the
mattress, which covers the whole floor.  What else could we do there?
Sounds rhetorical, but in fact, that question needs to be resolved.  We've
only known each other for five seconds now.

I start the physical negotiation, feeling his chest, pinching at his
prominent nipples.  This is a good place to start, I think.  After all,
we're going to have some form of sex.  No need to establish that.  All we
have to find out is who does what.  Time stands still for an instant as I
consider what to do next.

Then time starts rushing again.  He knows just what he wants.  And, as it
happens, it's what I want, too.  It's 69.  He swivels around and swallows
my cock.  I'm instantly hard.  Instantly.  Seems like my penis knows what
it wants, too.

No doubt now about what to do next.  I take him in my mouth.  He's clean.
And he's hard.  And he's thick.  Not in an overwhelming way.  His dick head
is sort of normal or average.  Then his cock thickens quickly at the shaft,
so that it's hard to manage in my mouth as I get it further down.  Kind of
conical.  Very, very nice.  And very, very responsive.  He's way hard.  I
love playing with his cock in my mouth.  And he loves mine--making it feel
really good.  A natural cocksucker.  Seems like I've had my cock in his
mouth all my life, like it's not being treated specially, but that whatever
he's doing is how my penis should always feel.

I don't really know how I reacted to this--it was so natural, so fluid.  I
do remember every detail of sucking on his cock.  No particular odor or
taste.  He kept bucking and twitching with his pelvis.  Sometimes he was
flat on the floor, sometimes on his side, his hips vertical to the
mattress.  Pretty soon he started moaning.  Not in the usual, porn-film
way.  No.  He gave little yips, small squeals of delight.  Every time he
did this, I would repeat my tongue action, or take him in my mouth the same
way again, his little yips guiding me in my sucking him.  Maybe something
guided him in turn, as he worked on me.  I don't know.  But it was all
perfect.

I love a man's balls, and he had nice ones.  I took my mouth off his
conical cock to explore his balls.  He liked this.  I sucked on one, then
the other, then ran my tongue around his scrotum, which was slightly loose.
I kept this up, tonguing his balls, sucking his cock, tonguing his balls.
I could have gone on forever.  Forever in maybe five minutes' time.

At a certain point I tasted some precum.  I didn't want him cumming in my
mouth, and I didn't want to cum in his.  So I took him out, and withdrew
myself from his mouth.  Total reciprocity whenever possible--that's my
guide.  I pumped him a bit, and pumped myself, and we both came.  He kept
moaning, those little yips which set me off.

After we came, no cuddling, no affection.  He said, "Now it's time for a
shower."  The voice was British.  Very British, all business, all schedule.
Stiff upper lip, even as the rest of his body was sated.

Downstairs, I saw him in the shower.  I smiled.  He just nodded.  But I
didn't feel rejected.

There'll always be an England.