The Darkened Room
By crumby2392
Reading Craigslist, I usually pass on these: "Come to my hotel room. Door is open. I'm in bed. Pull out your cock get blown. Leave. No conversation." A little kinky.
But this time somehow I was too far gone. Needed some relief. Going to the gym was a catch-as-catch can proposition. Meeting a guy who wants a relationship—too complicated. This way I'm more or less guaranteed to get what I need.
So I replied. We exchanged 2 or 3 emails. He told me he was 6'3", 260lbs. That made me glad that he'd stay in the bed. I warned him I could last an hour or more, and that I might become affectionate and return the favor. He didn't blink, and I arranged to meet him in his room in a boutique hotel downtown, 20 minutes walk from my place.
Well, the walk was tough. What am I doing? Is this a trap? If he's that big and pins me down to do something awful, I'll have no recourse. Well, it's in a hotel. I could yell. Maybe get to the phone. Yeah, it's a hotel. Will they let me up to see him? Will they ask me for the name of the guy I'm visiting? I'll tell him his nickname is Hank, and that's all I ever call him. We're colleagues from work. Or something.
I got to the hotel. Show time. No one stopped me from getting on the elevator. When it opened on his floor, his room was opposite. Convenient. But the door was locked. I knocked. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
Then noises from inside. He opened the door. Stood behind it, nude. What do I do now? This wasn't in the game plan. I looked behind him, in the kitchen alcove. No one hiding. I reached down and groped him. Soft. Average, or so it seemed. He got into bed, apologizing that the door was locked, that I had to wait, that he didn't realize that the knocking was on his door. Okay. I went to wash my hands—and to check that no one was in the bathroom. All clear.
I came out and shucked my clothes. He had drawn the shades and turned off the lights. The darkness in the room was odd at 3 PM. A few gaps in the shade let in sunlight, so I could see everything. He lay down, I straddled him, and he gulped my hard cock down greedily. To the balls. Then stuck his tongue out, while sucking with his gifted throat, and licked at my balls. The man knew what he wanted, and he wanted cock. Mine.
I got involved. But he had placed himself at the head of the bed, so as I straddled him, my face was almost touching the wall. I moved sideways and he followed, not missing a beat. In this position I had some freedom of motion, so I started thrusting, fucking his face. He loved that and moaned.
I asked if he liked getting fucked. Negative. So we continued the oral exchange. Then I reached back awkwardly, and found him hard. And big. Eight inches at least. Enormously thick at the base, tapering to a more average-sized head. Leaking copiously. I wanted to, well, return the favor, but didn't want all that precum in my mouth. So I pulled out, went to the bathroom, and brought back a wet washcloth. Wiped him off, and we started a hot 69.
He was moaning and moving his mouth up and down my shaft. I found him easy to take, because the girth only started halfway down. He didn't move his body-only his face and mouth. He was uncut, which I enjoy. But he started leaking again--not to my taste. So I stopped. He didn't care. He was too busy with my cock. I felt his stubble against my balls, then his tongue again. Hot. I cradled his shaved head in my hands as he thrust his face down on my shaft. His neck and scalp were fleshy against his skull. A big whale of a man.
I was ready to cum, and told him so. He redoubled his efforts, and I let go in his throat. But my load was big, and he couldn't take it all in time. He slipped me out and the last few spurts landed on the bed. I still shot a foot or so, even after he swallowed the first few ropes.
I lay there, recovering. Found his cock still hard and lubed with his own precum. So I started a hand job, feeling his big thick cock, pulling the foreskin over the head, finding those hot spots that are different for every man, every cock. I was getting hard again.
And suddenly he erupted. That's the only word for it. Thick white ropes, 2 feet in the air, and lots of them.
After, I cleaned him off with that towel. I said, "Jesus that's a lot of cum."
He replied proudly, "It's always like that."
I seized the opportunity to talk. He's from Charlotte. Married, one kid. Finds it hard to connect at home, so takes advantage of his travels for work. He'd be in town until Wednesday. I was leaving that evening.
Then he said, "I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing." I recognized the tip of an iceberg of emotion. Religion. Guilt. Pulled blinds. No lights. Embarassment. Worse, shame.
I said, "I know. Any feelings you're having I've also had." Pretty close to the truth. And I saw him smile a bit as I said that.
He saw that I was fully hard. So he said, "I kinda lose interest after I shoot." My cue to leave. I was ready for more. But he was the host, and my rules are to do only things that both guys want. Did he really lose interest? Or did the shame come rushing back?
I asked him if he was in town often. "Every month or so," he replied.
I said, "Well, you have my email address. Just drop me a note if you want more." He smiled again, said nothing. I dressed and left.
The sex was good, but the connection—no matter how tenuous—was even better.