Monday, June 23, 2003

gay tourist
In the dark corner when we heard "Last Call!", we continued making out. He pulled me up, grabbed my crotch as I stood in front of him, and pushed his hand through the open fly, cupping the jock's contents. While I tried to reach down to continue kissing his soft dark lips, he pulled my shorts down, exposing my ass to the handful of uninterested guys in this part of the bar. But then he pushed me around, and with one arm on my back pushed me to lean forward, and I could feel his 3-day old goatee moving in, and his teeth gently nibble where the 2 legs straps met the pouch in the back. Only a few moments of this, perhaps my hand pushing him in closer was too much, and he came up for air. I turned around, we kissed some more, and he breathlessly said "I gotta pee." When he came back, I was standing, as I saw the place emptying and knew the lights would come on at any minute. He said it was time to go, and that he'd mail me the t-shirt he was wearing that I had admired earlier.

Despite the disrupted sex in the backroom, and then the realization that someone had pick-pocketed me (23 in cash, but thankfully no wallet, and 6 was in another pocket), I was in a good mood. Crowded yes, but somehow not so frantic as this dank room can get, I was enjoying the moments of just watching, when I saw what vaguely looked like a handsome man in black thick-framed glasses looking in my direction. The maneuvering for position of the others nearby brought us closer, each seeming to be checking the other out, looking for a clear signal. When our bodies finally touched, I took the risk and purposefully and gently placed my hand on his waist, then moved it up slowly to his chest. Not moving, but not moving away, he let me continue, and finally, within a few moments of my stroking his thigh, just below the crotch but "inadvertently" brushing against it, his hands were on me as well.

It was a slow dance for awhile, both of us unsure how fast to go - but he unbuckled his pants first, pulling his uncut meat out, and i grabbed his balls. This is when he reached for my fly, unzipped it, and began tugging at the jockstrap playfully, lightly, teasingly. The kissing was light and tentative; I suppose both of us wanted to, but were "testing the waters" - you know, does he have bad alcohol breath? is he a gobbler? would he be as into as I would be? So I did the nibbling, lightly, around his mouth, and the soft pecks, small teasing amounts of tongue. This seemed to open him up (literally) and as our eyes adjusted, and we got closer, we were also more turned on. Somehow there was room for him to maneuver himself down, and suddenly his chin was on my balls, his tongue on the part of the shaft just at the balls. His mouth never took my cock, but was clearly enjoying my balls (and my balls were thoroughly enjoying his mouth). When he came up, I immediately shoved my tongue down his throat, aggressive and deep, then light again, allowing me to hear his heavy breathing. After more of this alternating up and down, I took my turn and a few minutes in his crotch I could feel his legs weaken and get wobbly, I came up for his mouth, and he whispered "Damn, you're gonna make me cum, you're so hot!" Well, not quite ready myself, I saw no need to make this poor boy wait, and gently tugged on his balls while kissing him, as he whacked himself into a little frenzy, panting and kissing and then, quiet and still. I continued to gently touch his back, stroke his face a bit as his dressed, and I zipped up as well. He asked my name, then we both giggled a bit, and he moved out of the crowd.

I only lasted a few more minutes back there myself; scoping the room out, my cock still hard and anxious, but it was best to take a break. Getting near the bar, I could see Ball-Lover at the bar with a friend, animatedly talking. Six bucks. I could get a beer, and that would be it for the night. Or I could walk across the street to the Phoenix, get a beer, and still have 3 bucks left. That's what I did. Fairly empty, and the tattooed bartender was off duty, hanging out with a friend. We eventually did the "hello nod" and I realized there's no point in staying long; but as I leaned on the windowsill, sipping the Rolling Rock, I could hear Marianne Faithfull's voice, as good a reason as any to relax, enjoy the moment. When it was over, I set the finished bottle down, and headed back across Avenue A. Inside, I see Ball-Lover again, but this time there seems to be some looking over in my direction, and soon his pal is passing me, on his way to either the bathroom or the backroom.

Ball-Lover walks over, and says "Hey, how come you're not drinking?" I respond with - "I can tell you I don't drink, or I could tell you a pickpocket got most of my money?" "Which is it?" he laughed, then made a joke about being the pickpocket, and went to the bar to get me a beer. He's in town for 4 days, from L.A., then mentions he was in the backroom, and had some great balls in his mouth. It took me a full 30 seconds to get over my jealousy, and realize he was talking about me! I offered to smoke some crappy pot with him, and we moved over to the couches. Ahhhh, loud music (including a Peaches remix), a handsome man at my side, and the relaxation of post-sex kissing, what more could I ask for? At one point the topic of porno came up (you're surprised, right?) and I mentioned collecting 8mm films lately. He then said he saw a great old scene, and described some guy and a chick (I was starting to cringe) in a convertible, stopping at a rest stop for a blowjob/fuck, and some hiker watching. HeHe! I told him I had just watched that film, on the 8mm projector, and to prove my point, finished the story of how Paul Baressi pulls off his condom after finishing up, and flings it at the hiker who whacks off with it. He was very impressed. On the couch, those baggy cargo shorts were coming in handy, as Ball-Lover had his arm up my pant leg, his hand exploring all around my jockstrap. Very playful, pulling on the strap, reaching under it, all that. After I excused myself for the bathroom, and saw all sorts of yummy men in there (one was literally standing in the middle of the room, slapping his bighardmeat, but looking too crazed in the eyes to go near), it took me a while to actually pee. When I returned to the bar, he wasn't on the couch, but I found him quickly enough, and he offered another beer. His friend joined us for a short while, but drank his beer really fast, and returned to the backroom. At this point I mentioned wanting his t-shirt, and he said to give him my address, and he'd mail it, as he'd rather not go back to his hotel shirtless. Then we returned to the couches, more making out, crotch-grabbing, and just after he growled quietly into my ear "I love licking a hairy sweaty ass," the bartender called out "Last Call!"