Date: Mon, 26 Aug 2002 17:19:33 -0700 (PDT)
From: rimpigfl <rimpigfl@yahoo.com>
Subject: MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Disclaimer: This is a TRUE STORY. This really did happen. In fact, I can
give you the date - August 3, 2002. The day after my birthday. I write this
with no desire to please anyone else. It is for my memory. It is my record
of one of the most incredible experiences of my life. And it was that, even
though I doubt through writing this I can even begin to convey how
wonderful it was, how it made me feel. Just accept that this is a mere
shadow of the reality and enjoy it as you will.

Again, I would like to point out to those who claim that they would "never"
pay for sex - "Never say never!".

MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT
by RimPig (c) 2002

It was late afternoon/early evening. That time between the active time of
day and the active time of night. It was finally begin to cool off after
another blistering hot South Florida summer day. A breeze, not exactly cool
but 'cooler' was beginning to blow and there was an obvious drop in the
humidity.

I looked out the window of the breakfast nook in my studio at the
guesthouse staring at the pool and the front gate. No one was swimming in
the pool now. The 'day-trippers', those who came to sun and play in the
nude, had all gone home. The other guests of the guesthouse had gone to
their rooms to rest for the evening's activities or to dress for dinner.

I sat, trying to work on a new story, trying to keep my mind from what
would happen in the next two hours if my well laid plans to get myself
'well laid' came to fruition. This was, however, a fruitless effort. Of
course all I could think about was what was going to happen. There had been
so many years since I had done anything remotely like this. Never before
had I ever planned something like this. It had always happened in the past
by fortuity. A chance meeting, followed usually by a quick
romp. Serendipity.

But not this time. This time was different. This time I wanted
something. Something for myself. I wanted someone who could give me those
feelings that I yearned for. Someone who could match my sexual abilities
and my inventiveness. Yes, I have an ego. I know I'm very good. I've been
told by too many men in too many parts of the world not to believe it. More
importantly, I've learned how inept and mediocre so many men are. And this
time, I wanted someone who could equal my desires. A true
professional. Someone so professional, it wouldn't ever feel like it was
'business'. A contradiction in terms, but accurate.

We had exchanged e-mails. We had talked on the phone. I had been to his
website. I had seen the pictures. But the most necessary ingredients were
still missing. The scent, the feel, the infinitesimal nuances that create
attraction. What would it feel like to be near him physically?  What would
it be like to finally look into his eyes, watch his facial expressions,
listen to his voice when not amplified through a tiny speaker in a handset?

The phone rang. I was expecting the call. In fact, I had been expecting it
all day. Looking forward with anticipation and trepidation. Wanting it to
come, afraid of what it would bring when it did.  Something I had set in
motion all most two weeks before but now that it was here, all the fears,
the doubts, the possible disappointments were raging inside me.

"Hello." I answered.

"Hello Bobby. It's Mark." the voice I had learned so well in such a short
time came over the line.

"Hello, Mark. It's good to hear your voice again." I said, trying to make
my voice seem normal, unconcerned, not sounding like I wanted to scream in
joy, frustration and fear. Just ordinary, like I would talk to any of my
friends or acquaintances any other day. Calm, like I wasn't burning inside
with need and want and desire. Friendly, but light - no hint of the
trepidation I felt.

"I'll be there in about 25 minutes." he said.

"I can't wait! I'm so looking forward to it." I said.

And we both hung up.

Twenty-five minutes! That's all I had to prepare. I rushed to the shower,
re-shaving even though I'd done so that morning. Making sure that I was
totally smooth. If I was going to perform my 'signature act', I didn't want
to give him 'beard burn' in that tender area of a male's body.

Because I knew that he did not share my taste in a male's natural state of
sweat and musk, contrary to my own preference, I put on deodorant and
cologne - just as if I was going to work at my office, the only time I wear
them. I brushed my teeth again. And I still had time to wait!

I didn't know what to do with myself. I decided that, even though I had
been naked all weekend, I didn't want to meet him for the first time that
way. Something seemed not quite right about him being in clothes and me
being out of them when we first met. Maybe some kind of 'male power' thing?
Maybe I felt too vulnerable, too open. I pulled on a t-shirt and very short
cut-offs and sat down at my computer and tried to write some more.

No luck. Couldn't even figure out where I was in the story. But I had to do
something! My heart was racing, my hands were sweating and I was breathing
far too quickly. I needed to calm down.  I needed to do something with my
hands, something that was common for me, something I could do with very
little thought. Tea! I would make a pot of tea.

My last lover, the man I had spent 19 years of my life with, on our first
Christmas together so very long ago, when we were so young and so poor, had
bought me a small, blue enamel tea-pot which I had fallen in love with. I
remember he asked me if I was sure I'd use it because it was not cheap and
we were short of cash but he wanted to get me something for Christmas that
I really wanted. He and I parted nine years ago so that makes it 28 years
since he bought me the tea pot, and I still use it. And most times think
about that first Christmas when I do.

I had brought it with me to the guest house. I usually do when I travel
because most American's drink coffee. I don't. And most American's think
that all you do to make tea is dunk a bag in a cup of hot water. So I bring
my tea and my little pot whenever I travel so I am assured of a good,
calming 'cuppa' (as the Brits call it) whenever I want.

Now the making of the tea, the ritual of it, became a lifesaver. As I
waited for him to arrive, it gave me something to take my mind off the
anticipation of him. Just as the tea was ready, the phone rang again. I
immediately wondered if he were lost. The city had closed off most of the
streets leading to the guest house for 'security' which made getting to the
place somewhat of a 'pain in the ass'.

"Hello."

"The gate's locked." Mark said, but with a laugh in his voice. He wasn't
angry.

"God! I'm sorry! I'll be right out."

I rushed to the door and went walking beside the pool to get to the
gate. In the time that I had taken a shower and had made the tea, two guys
had come out and were in the pool. They were obviously making out and
playing with each other's bodies. I opened the door in the gate which
shielded the naked men inside from the world outside.

I was stunned! He looked like his pictures only so much better! So much
cuter! So much more alive with a sense of enjoyment of life. It sparkled in
his eyes and hovered about the smile he gave me.

We said hello and shook hands. 'What a weird, totally inadequate way to
begin.' I thought to myself, but then realized that perhaps it was
necessary. To put that emotional distance by making it more like business
just for a moment. I didn't care. The vibes that had passed in just those
short seconds told me that it was more than likely that this was a man that
I could care about, and trust, just enough to let down my defenses and
truly allow myself to give and take in full measure.

There are not many men that can get behind those defenses. Usually when it
happens, it comes as a complete shock to me. Sometimes it is a very
uncomfortable feeling because I am not sure that I can trust the man enough
to show him all of me - everything that I am capable of doing. My abilities
are such that with most men, I only have to use my technique - without any
feelings behind them - and they go crazy. (I told you I have an ego!)

But that's not what I was looking for. I was looking for someone who could
match me in power and technique and who I could feel safe enough with to
really let myself go. It is hard for me to receive pleasure. To just lay
back and be pleasured by another without doing anything myself. But that's
what I wanted as well as pleasuring him.

I know - none of that makes sense, considering we're talking about a
'business transaction' here. I guess that's how most people view it. But I
don't. I can't. Because he isn't an android or a robot.  He's a man, a
human being. Someone with feelings and sensitivities just like me. Someone
who had likes and dislikes and is capable of feeling pleasure. To me the
ultimate sexual encounter involves the receiving AND the giving of
pleasure. If I can't pleasure him, then the encounter will be that much
less for me! And I don't want it to be less.

We sit down at the table in the little breakfast nook of the kitchen. I
offer him tea. He declines.  We start to talk. I tell him about me. He
already knows a good deal from our previous conversations. I start to ask
questions about him. In part, to get to know him better but also to just
watch him answer, see the facial expressions, gauge the level of trust I
can put in him. He doesn't realize at first what I'm doing. I've spent a
long number of years as a social worker. I'm a very good listener and
someone who it is easy to talk to, easy to open up to. He does that to a
small degree and then I see the wonder in his eyes as he looks at me and
realizes he saying more than he apparently wants to, to a 'customer'.

"You really are a social worker!" he laughs as he realizes how easily I had
gotten him to talk.

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry, its' an occupational hazard, getting people to
talk." I admit.

"You're very good at it." he said.

We talked for a little while more and then I told him I was calmed down now
and ready. We laughed about that and we both stood up from the table. He
went to walk to the bedroom, but I put my hand on his shoulder and stopped
him. There was something I wanted first, before the sex started. I wanted
his arms around me and I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to establish that
I wanted more than just sex - I wanted this to be equally romantic and
raunchy.

Prior to our meeting, I had sent him a couple of my stories to read to give
him some idea of who I was, what kind of things I was into and, most
importantly, how I felt about sex and love. Love for me doesn't have to be
forever. It can be just simply caring for a few hours. Relating to each
other as sensual, feeling beings. And that's what I wanted him to
understand.

I got undressed and watched him as he did. His body was not 'perfect', but
he had large pecs and broad shoulders as well as muscular arms. This was
not a boy. This was a MAN. And, as I've always believed, 'Don't send a boy
to do a man's work!'.

"Turn on your stomach." he growled when he was naked. "You get a massage
first."

I liked the 'take charge' tone. Certainly, this is what I wanted. He knelt
over my body, my legs between his and covered my back with scented
oil. Then he began to massage me. Not hard, not gently but sensuously
enough that he soon had me moaning. I could feel his own hardness sliding
up and down between my cheeks as he worked on my back. At one point, he lay
on my back and massaged me with his chest and abdomen. As he did so, his
hardness pushed at my sphincter and I felt a stab of panic. I usually had a
chance to prepare myself before a man's entry. But he simply pushed, firmly
and slowly until he was buried in me completely.

There was no pain. I knew how to handle him. He wasn't huge, but thick and
substantial. I moaned when he bottomed out in me from the joy and the
feeling of completeness it gave me.

"For someone who claims to be a pig, you certainly are tight!" he said.

"I may be a pig, but I do have muscle control." I told him, clamping my
muscles around his thickness until I heard a small moan come from him.

Smiling to myself, I relaxed again and waited for him to start the world's
oldest rhythm. But, instead, he stayed poised above me, buried inside me,
not moving a muscle. I couldn't figure out what he was doing until I heard
his voice above and behind me.

"Have you ever had someone piss inside you?" he asked, his voice low and
husky.

"Fuck, yes!!!" I moaned. "I love it!" I answered, joy flowing through
me. He'd told me he was into watersports, like I am, but I wasn't expecting
this!

"Are you going to sleep in this bed tonight? Do you care?" he asked.

It took a moment for his question to register in my brain. Oh! He's worried
about leakage.

"I'm sleeping here, and I don't care. As long as it comes from you!" I
said, letting him know that this was special to me because it was him.

And that's the way it started. We went back and forth. Sometimes me on top,
massaging him, touching him, licking and sucking at his body. I did live up
to my 'nickname' and I think it surprised him how good I was at
rimming. Certainly, he was moaning quite loudly over it.

After a while, we took a break. We went out the back door of my studio to
the 'play area' - an open expanse of grass with a few deck chairs and a
large massage table set up. We wanted to do more watersports but not in the
room or the shower. More exciting, more sensual in the evening air -
outside in the wonder of nature.

The two guys who had been in the pool earlier saw us come out and stood and
watched at I was showered and fed more of Mark's golden essence. I drank
gratefully and found it inordinately sweet. What a pleasant surprise! He
continued to cover me with his golden liquid and, when there was no more, I
lay back on the massage table, drew my legs up with my hands and he entered
me once more.

His rhythm was powerful! We brought each other to the brink a number of
times. The two guys were watching and occasionally touching Mark's
chest. Perhaps another time, this would have been hot but, instead, it
began to break my concentration. I wanted to be focused on Mark
completely. I wanted to maintain my own fantasies for this time.

"Let's go back inside." I said to him. "I want you alone."

Mark understood and we went back into the studio.

"Please fuck me." I begged him.

He smiled and told me to get on the bed on my stomach. I lay there as he
again easily entered me and I pushed back and up, making sure that I got
him as deep inside me as I could. I wanted this contact so badly! I wanted
to feel him deep inside of me.

He began to fuck me with long powerful strokes. At first I didn't notice,
but I finally turned my head to one side and came face to face with the
vision of Mark fucking me! I had forgotten that the doors to the closet
next to the bed were fully mirrored!

It's strange to admit, but I have rarely been in the position to see myself
being fucked. Part of the reason for this is that I'm very nearsighted and,
without my glasses or contact lenses (neither of which I wear in the
baths!) I can't see very clearly anyway. But the mirrored doors were so
close to the bed that I could see everything - especially the look on
Mark's face as he fucked me.

I don't know exactly why it is so exciting to me, but I find the facial
expressions of a male in heat to be an incredible turn-on! The grimaces,
the smiles, the ecstacy which are revelations of the sensory stimulations
that he is feeling cause a deep rush of pride and pleasure to flow through
me.  It is the idea that my body, my actions are giving him this pleasure
that send me into realms of satisfaction and sends thrills through me as if
I were almost orgasming myself.

And so I lay there and watched. I watched him pound my hole with his
cock. I watched as my hips moved up and back, helping to slam his cock
deeper and harder into me. I watched as my ass swivelled and tilted to
bring his driving cock into contact with more and different parts of my
inner recesses. And, above all, I lay there and watched his reaction to all
these things.

I was so intent on giving him pleasure and watching it happen that I forgot
about my own orgasm.  Indeed, I was having an orgasm deep inside - an
emotional, psychological one - from the evident pleasure that I could give
this man who's 'business' was pleasure. A heady ego boost, to say the
least! When he finally did cum deep in my butt, I almost lost it myself!
But I was too busy watching him to be concerned with me.

When it was over, he lay down on top of me and rested. This is, I have to
admit, one of my favorite things about being fucked. Having a sweaty,
exhausted and satisfied male animal resting his moist body on mine and
having his arms around me as the last shudders of the 'after-shocks' of his
orgasm happen. The scents are strong then - the sweat from his exertion,
the scent of the fuck itself, combine to create a miasma of horny, rutting
maleness which stimulates my senses and fulfills my desire for scents.

Finally, he rose over me and asked how I wanted to get off. At first I
wanted him to sit on my face and again let me revel in his tasty, sweaty
and beautiful ass. But as he rose above me and I buried my face in his
butt, he began to play with my ass.

Now, as a rule, I do not like my butt 'played' with. I don't like fingers,
I don't like dildos. I have a saying "If it ain't real - it ain't worth
it!". While I love to play with other guy's butts and have been a very
successful 'fisting top' for quite a long time, this type of play never
turned me on. I love to be fucked, I hate to be fisted. In fact, I've only
be successfully fisted one time in my life - and that by the 'top' who
trained me. But even when he succeeded, I got nothing out of it and so I
never bothered with it again.

Mark, however, had very magic fingers! They felt almost as good in my hole
as his cock did! And that's really saying something, coming from me! Soon,
I gave myself over completely to his manipulations of my butt and there I
was, on my knees in 'doggy' position begging for more of his hand. He
wasn't able to fist me, but he got four fingers up my hole before I came,
screaming out in my mindless pleasure.

I then lay in Marks arms for a while and he held me while I recovered
myself. It was so nice to have this muscular, warm male holding me. It was
what I wanted and what I finally got. The one thing I dislike about
encounters in the baths is this part of the sex act - the 'afterwards' with
its touching and holding - is so often eliminated. Get up, put on the towel
and leave as quickly as possible! It's like "I love you. Fuck me. Now get
out!". Except it's them who are getting the fuck out! Sometimes, I have
stopped them. Told them that they don't need to rush off. This shocks many
of these men. They are so ingrained with the idea that you get away as soon
as the encounter is over because the person is 'tired' of you, that they
sometimes are unable to speak at first. But most of them stay. And they do
talk.

Mark did stay for a little while after it was over. I didn't expect him
to. I figured, business was concluded - on to the next customer. But it
wasn't like that at all! When I looked at the clock, I was shocked to see
that we had played for almost three hours!

After Mark left, I went out to dinner by myself. I didn't want to be with
anybody. I wanted to savor the after-glow of being with Mark and relive,
for a while, all that had gone on between us.  Later, when I got back to
the guesthouse, there were males around playing. I looked at the scene and
shook my head. There was no way that anything I could do now wouldn't be a
pale shadow of what had been a time of sexual surrender and abandon for
me. I knew no one would 'hold a candle' to Mark, so why try? Instead, I
went to my room and went to sleep - exhausted by all of the encounters of
the day.

Will I see him again? Yes, I'm sure of it. Will it be the same? No, it
can't be. The thrill of the 'first time' can never be re-created. However,
the comfortableness that comes from knowing each other better and losing
the nervousness and fear that the first time engenders, also has it's
advantages and pleasures as well.

I hope you have such an experience in your own life - whether in an actual
'transaction' like this one or not. I will tell you this - a friend of
mine, after breaking up with someone he loved and being torn to pieces
emotionally, said something to me that I have come to believe is absolutely
true: "We all pay for sex, one way or another!".

The End of MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT

If you liked my remembrance, write me at rimpigfl@yahoo.com. If you request
it, I will be only too glad to send you a listing of all my stories on
NIFTY - the ONLY place I post them.

And if you did enjoy the story, please think about making a donation to
NIFTY to keep the site running and free!

Thank you.

RimPig!