DICKS I have known

We met in a chatroom, he claimed to be just starting out doing escort work online, cuz he heard how much money one could make. Seeing my pics, he complained that his own weren't so great (he was right) so I playfully offerred to take some pics - living a few blocks away, he figured he he had nothing to lose, and I'd do it with the webcam so he'd have instant gratification, so to speak. He arrived with a small bag of accessories. When he pulled out the white sailor's hat, I laughed so hard I felt bad, once I saw the hurt look on his face. I pulled out some jockstraps and cockrings, and he had no idea how to put them on (no, dude, the pouch goes in front, over your $TUDCOCK). We had set the whole thing up with the understanding that there would be no sex (afterall, he was a professional, and I certainly wasn't paying for some 22-year old who hasn't a clue about cockrings or jockstraps) but then he needed "help", and I was bored. He talked incessantly about himself and everything he had ever thought about. I made him cum as fast as I could, then led him to the door with his floppy disc.

AOL hook-up. He was looking to get fucked, but after a few of my pics, and some friendly conversation, he figured hopping on his motorcycle and sitting on my face might do the trick. Fresh sweat from the ride over, and some brief making out, mutual cockslurping, and before I knew it, musclebutt was on fuzzyface, and musclecum was on fuzzytorso.

We met online, AOL of course. Lived in Williamsburg, so I wasn't going to his place, but he was willing to come here. We met up in the park, during the day, and he looked much better in person than in his online pics. Spent the whole day together, including dinner, then it turned out he was friends with my most recent ex. Uh-oh. We exchanged phone numbers, but I wasn't sure I could deal with the issue of the ex. Early the next morning, looking thru a mag, I asked who some guy in an Abolute ad was. Utterly shocked that I didn't recognize Tom Ford who revolutionized something (no doubt he invented some AIDS drug, or solved the crisis in the Congo), he recoiled in horror, and left a few minutes later. I've seen him several times since, once at The Cock and he came back here; many times at House of Regrets (but I only joined him in his tiny room twice, after hours of pacing and circling the place) and most recently, in Williamsburg, I was meeting a friend for dinner, and he was there, with a woman friend of his, and he was wearing a sarong. I wonder if Tom Ford invented the sarong?