“It’s just sex, I tell myself,” as I walk toward his apartment, pressing the call button. My body still quivers a bit in anticipation.
As I walk into his apartment, I immediately begin to notice the décor and I try to get a feel for the type of guy he is. NYC guys tend to decorate with a plethora of pictures or artifacts of past journeys (you privileged NYC gays).
“Hey,” he says, charmingly, “C’mon in.”
Out comes the awkwardness, as I cleverly try to create conversation. I guess I’ve never learned that a one-night-stand is precisely “get-in and get-off”. I’ve always tried to at least get to know the human that I will ultimately see more of me than my own doctor.
“Whoa,” he said, “You’re fucking cute! Much cuter than in your photo.”
I blush at the comment and thank him for his complement. In my head, I’m figuring he’s trying to butter me up. He’s quite Adonis-like with perfected abs and chest, mountainous arms and smile-dimples that make me giddy.
“So tell me about yourself,” I ask, with the hopes he won’t comment with a verse that places him in the douche category.
“I’m a marketing director for Omnicom, I just got back from Madrid. I met up with some of my old roommates from my fraternity.”
“Aww, that’s awesome!” I state, while giving him one slight douche strike, or maybe it’s just my travel-envy.
He asks me about myself and I throw off some slightly-less impressive title which will ultimately make him feel superior, career-wise.
The conversations runs stale as he looks into my eyes, grins and slowly he begins to strike. Grabbing my waist, he pulls me into a long kiss where he proceeds to probe my mouth with a meaty tongue (wowzers!) His breath is nice and his hands are gentle yet firm. I follow his lead and rub my hands down his back to the waistband of his shorts. Heading underneath the shorts I feel he’s gone commando (cut right to the chase). My hands grope along the shorts, feeling his bulge beneath, begging to come out and play.
By this point, I’m nearly out of clothes. They’ve been scattered around the room. I’m left only in my undies, as he picks me up and carries me into his bedroom. (Side note - Standing at 6’2, I’m quite the tree…any guy that can pick me up and carry me, gets it, hands down).
On the bed, he pulls his shorts down, revealing a trail that leads to substantial treasure. Nicely coifed, but not enough to where it appears manicured. His eager hands grab at my briefs and slowly pull them down and tossed them upon his overly crowded desk. I lean up and pull him down on top of me, basking in the warmth of his body. I rub my hands through his hair and run them down his back, as his legs attempt to spread mine apart. Normally I attempt a bit of resistance, but I fully submit to him.
He holds me down as he slowly kisses along my body, paying mind to each nipple, and finally heading south. After some time, I pull him up for a kiss, and wrap my legs around his waist. In my head, I’m begging for him to be inside me, but my eagerness subsides as he puts his face between my legs and begins to tongue every inch of my ass.
He reaches over to nightstand for a condom and lube. With a click from the top, his hands are filled with clear liquid. He inserts his fingers to moisten and loosen me up. With a quick rip of the package, I pull out the condom and rub it down his dick.
Slowly he begins to tease me. Pushing it slightly in then pulling out (he knows his stuff). Finally, with a slow thrust, he’s inside me, as I let out a sigh. He grins at me from above as I pull him in for a kiss. The fucking lasts a good 10 minutes and about 6 different positions before he pulls out, rips off the condom and spews pump after pump of warm cum all over my legs, abdomen, and chest. Satisfied, he lays next to me, stroking my chest. I jerk myself to a quick completion soon after.
All that’s left is the awkward post-sex silence.
“Dammit,” I think to myself. He’s so husband-worthy, but now the mystery is gone.
I plan my escape, as he throws me a towel to wipe off the residual spunk that clung onto my skin.
“I’m taking a shower,” he says as he walks toward to bathroom door. Without an invitation to join him, I quickly search for each piece of clothing. After a few minutes, the search ends as I redress. I walk into the bathroom and thank him for the time.
“No problem, umm, I’ll see you around?” he asks.
“Sure,” I said, knowing all too well, the chance of reencountering him was slight.
“Just close the door all the way on your way out, the door jams,” he shouted as I make my way toward the door. Sadness quickly crept up on me, as I tried to stave-off regret.
Pulling the door closed behind me, I lean my body against the door, close my eyes and picture the day that I’m invited to stay.
Well, maybe next time.
Point of the conversation: What I'm beginning to realize, is it's really never just sex to me.