I did, though. I may do it again, too.
No, I’m not talking about a real, foldable newspaper; that’s just a little too old-fashioned, even for me. I’m referring to a very well-known web page, one that probably sees as much traffic as eBay. This site, laid out in bland, black-and-white text and boasting not a single graphic anywhere, lists everything from used vacuum cleaners to career opportunities, from office space for rent to atheist discussion forums, and from all over the world, too. It is, in a word, the planet’s prime classifieds section.
Which makes it odd, then, that I never noticed the slot reserved for personal ads. Until recently. On spotting it, I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. I think I even said, out loud, “Duh.” With everything known to man thrown up there for sale, barter, or rent, it would be downright unnatural if dick wasn’t up there, too.
It is, and there are more than a few, too. Of course, the bigger the town, the longer the listings of guys on the prowl. But even my small city has a respectable roster, added to every day. And the thing most striking to me was that it seems these men are the ones you don’t see on the gay dating sites. There are carry-overs, yes. Yet I think that very antiquated aspect of the site’s being a web classifieds draws in those who really do need discretion, and who really don’t visit the graphic-laden, mainstream gay dating arenas.
So I began checking out the ‘men for men’ page dedicated to my neck of the woods. A lot of guys eager to suck, swallow, and be treated as nothing but a cum dump. Married guys, too, who have to be very careful. Then there are the visitors, away from the home and the wife and dying to get fucked good and hard in their hotel rooms. In almost all of these ads, serious contact will generate a pic exchange.
But this was leaving me cold. Then I thought: well, since I like them straight, and since we’re in a kind of time warp here anyway, why not have a look at the page for men seeking women? Why not see who’s hot and maybe so fucking horny, he’ll consider a walk on the other side of the street?
Bingo. There it was. “28 musc country boy 28 married. needs head wife won’t give. need it bad, now.” My kinda man, to be sure. I responded. I gave my real stats, my real gender, attached a pic, and promised great sucking with absolute discretion. And the worst that could happen, I reasoned, is that I’d be deleted, with maybe a “fuck you, fag” response sent my way. Hey, I’ve heard worse.
What I got was an e-mail asking where I was and when I could do it. I got the e-mail fast, too. This was getting risky, suddenly. Maybe I’d triggered rage in a basher. Maybe he wanted to beat up a gay guy more than he needed a blow job. But, foolishly or not, I replied with my phone number. I optimistically figured that I’d get a correct vibe if we talked. He called almost immediately. And, yeah, there was tension in his deep voice. But, with wishful, horny thinking coloring my perception, I truly had the sense that all he was after was unloading. So I told him where I was, thinking too that, as it was daytime and I was in a big and very occupied building, he wouldn’t try anything psychotic.
He arrived twenty minutes after I’d hung up the phone. From the clothes and the manner and the body ‒ muscled, but loosely so, and not at all sinewy, which is way hot to me ‒ it looked like he did manual labor. The country boy accent added to the impression, and added to my turn-on. Nothing gets me harder than a Jethro, aw-shucks dude with a boner.
He stepped in, hands in pockets, looking around. He was beyond wary; his eyes literally darted everywhere, as if in search of concealed video equipment. I just hung back, letting him take his time, get more at ease.
“I heard that gay guys suck better’n women.” He nodded his head as he said this, as though paying a polite compliment to his host. I took it in stride, affirmed it for him, and saw his right hand fingers digging deeper into his pocket, jostling his cock. Then he asked where gay guys like to suck. At first I was confused and nearly said, “On your dick, man.” Then I realized he was, for some reason I couldn’t fathom, wondering if we preferred chairs to couches. So I told him wherever he was comfortable was fine, he moved to an armchair, and he dropped his worn jeans. Then he let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. OK. Time to go to work.
I pulled a fat, floppy, uncut dick out of his boxer’s fly. Musky brown pubes, clipped unevenly, surrounded it. With the base in my hand, I jutted my tongue out and licked the foreskin. It’s rare that I suck uncut cock; it’s more primitive to me, and somehow more earthy. I felt him thicken as I worked my mouth over his piss slit, then tongued the growing shaft. He was nearly fully hard, and quickly, too. This was going to be fine.
Then he barked at me. “Don’t lick. Suck. Suck it like a bitch.”
Now, I thought the whole idea here was to suck it better than a bitch, but what the hell. In one gulp, I took him in two-thirds down, and he gripped the arms of the chair. Then he went on with giving orders, and he never stopped. “Suck. Suck it, you fuckin’ cunt. Eat my fat cock, bitch. Swallow my meat. Whore. Fuckin’ whore bitch, I’m gonna fuck your bitch face.”
And on, and on. And I have to confess, the dirty talk was driving me crazy. I sucked fast and furiously, gagging now and then, locking my lips to the base and swirling my tongue as much as I could around every inch of his dick. Precum began coating the back of my throat. I desperately wanted to free my own cock, but had no chance. Looking up, I saw his head was still back and his eyes were still shut tight.
“Cunt. You want my cum, don’t you. Don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. One hand came off the arm of the chair and cupped my head, holding it hard, pushing me down even more. I wanted it rough, but now I couldn’t breathe. I tried to pull away by an inch or two, but his hips jutted up and his hand pressed down more. Gasping, I was desperately counting on how badly he needed to shoot.
Lucky for me, half a minute more did it. Calling me a pig, now yelling that I was a cock whore, he grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and gripped his meat. With eyes now as wide as saucers and glued to my face, he got what he wanted most: to see his load blast on my mouth, cheeks, forehead. “Aw, fuck. Aw, bitch. Here it is, bitch.” Yeah, there it was. Country stud jizz was paste, all over my face. Still stroking the last drops out, I saw him smile with pure satisfaction, admiring what he had unloaded.
Happy as a clam, he zipped up. The son-of-a-bitch was actually grinning from ear to ear. He slapped me on the back, then took off. And, after I’d wiped off enough of his cum to lube myself into a major climax, I went to my computer. Where I bookmarked a certain page in a certain section of those online classifieds.
The galleys for Jack's new book, M4M: For an Hour, or Forever - The Gay Man's Guide to Finding Love Online have arrived and it loks great! The book comes out from Simon & Schuster this month! Find out more - and write to Jack directly - at [extern url='http://www.jackmauro.com' target='_blank' text='www.jackmauro.com'].