I'm sure he's gone, and it's not a route I usually take, but I glanced up at the window that used to be his, and started reliving the events that took place there. What made me think to write this is that I just found myself driving past there a couple of days ago. I drove to his apartment on Burbank Boulevard, right across from Balboa Park, flushed and eager to give my first blowjob. Through our communiques, we had established that he had no desire to be on either side of man to man anal sex, so I accepted the fact that I would lose my various gay virginities in increments, not all in one sitting. Fortunately, he wasn't weird, and definitely not an axe-murderer (not that murder by another means would be better). I've since learned to get together somewhere neutral the first meeting, but at the time, I was new at it. Being in mortgage sales at the time, I could come and go as I pleased, so we set it for eleven in the morning at his apartment. We made a plan to meet one weekday morning. I didn't take long before that wasn't enough, but just talking to another man that way bolstered my resolve to do it for real. I loved moaning into his ear through the phone, "You stroking that big hard cock for me, baby? What are you gonna do with it? You fucking my mouth? Hold my head, and fuck me down my throat, baby! Pull out when you come, I want you to shoot your cum all over my face." At first, the nasty tele-talk was hot, new and exciting.
I found a man that lived not too far from me, and we traded emails a few times (I just don't like to chat), then we did phone sex. It was time to live the lifestyle and see if it really does suit me. After a few months of just hanging out and window-shopping, I decided to jump in, thinking that I was forty-nine, and if I didn't do this now, I never would. I know what you're thinking: When does the gay blowjob story start?Īfter I moved into my new digs, I joined two sexual hookup sites, both of which featured a substantial bisexual and gay population.
By then, I really didn't want her anymore (she had always been an extremely manipulative bitch-on-wheels), and as mercenary as this sounds, I was waiting for property values to rise, as we were underwater throughout the nineties, so I could leave with a profit.
To tell the truth, it was the lying rather than the sex that upset me. Eventually, she started fucking the guy we hired to put in a new bathroom for us. I masturbated to online porn a lot, which included more and more of those forbidden practices, in which I'd always fostered a secret interest: bisexual, transgender and gay subject matter (she never caught me watching it). In return for her oral disinterest, I stopped trying to forge my way into that overgrown Amazon Rain Forest she had down there. Funny how when the ring goes on the finger it must squeeze really hard on the nerve that controls the desire to give blowjobs. She had a sexual adventurousness quotient of zero. One factor which helped me do this, and I'm not saying this to be mean, but as a fact: she was not very good in bed. More and more, she withheld sex for the smallest reasons, basically as a method of trying to assume control in the relationship.Īfter a while, I stopped asking. We made no agreement that this would happen, and it became a sore point for me, but I just went about my work.
#Put all the gay cum in my mouth free#
She was a free lance consultant who took only one job after we were married, then stopped working completely. Once confronted, she gave an age-old excuse: "You're never home, and I get lonely." I don't know when she started cheating, but eventually she started fucking the contractor who put in our new bathroom. Ours was an all too familiar story: I was the sole breadwinner, working long hours in sales to support the fixer-upper home we bought, and to provide a good standard of living for us. The divorce actually came four years later, not because of any attempts at reconciliation, but because we were both getting on with our lives and were lax about it. It was in the summer of 2004, a few months after my separation and bifurcation of assets from my cheating ex-wife of thirteen years. I have made no embellishments to make it a more exciting read. This is the true recounting of the first time a man's cock ever touched the inside of my mouth, with as much detail and in-the-moment sexual chronology as I can remember twelve years later.