I was to do a piece on one of San Francisco's most popular band members for a magazine. Our first meeting was very casual and he told me to join him at his apartment later that day. I jumped at the chance to spend some down time with the musician responsible for an innovative kind of rock. I wore very casual clothes and he greeted me in nothing but loose white cotton pants.
I got my first look at him up close and he looked as amazing as he sounded. He invited me over to a soft Oriental carpet draped crookedly over the vast hardwood floor like an oasis. We sat cross-legged on it and he turned on some Led Zeppelin quietly in the background.
Bob pulled a joint off the small antique table near the rug and sparked it up. After deftly stopping all the runs in it with a moistened finger, he passed the fat wet thing to me.
"So what's being a travel writer like? You been many places?" A slow, almost stoned grin reclined across his features as he struck up the conversation.
"Oh, I've been here and there." I said all breathy, huge clouds of blue smoke escaping my lips.
"Ever been to India? I hear they do some weird shit down there. Kinky shit. I'd like to get down there sometime." He took the joint from my hand and reached over to ash it in an ornate ashtray on the table. I lay down on the rug and studied its intricate pattern.
"Yeah. It wasn't the most kinky assignment, but I managed to stir up some trouble while I was there."
"Cool." He sipped something from an exotic glass. "Want some horchata?" He passed me the glass swirling with white milky liquid. I gulped it down to soothe my cottonmouth. I already had several thousand kinky thoughts enter my head, so I imagined the rice milk was a glass full of come, contributed to by several horny travelers being entertained in some lavish Indian palace. Bob noticed my display of passionate lip licking as I let a few drops of the cool, sweet liquid linger on them. He raised an eyebrow.
"Is it working already?" I had told him pot made me a little amorous. What I failed to mention was that it wasn't just a 'little'. It made me so fucking hot I could already feel his cock sliding across my tongue.
"Yep." I replied. He cleared his throat and readjusted himself, scooting a little closer to me on the rug.
"So, do you get a body high, or what?" He looked very curious. I grinned and scooted closer to him, sitting up and pulling my shirt off. He looked even more curious. I loved the Sixties.
"Yeah, but it's more than that." I started playing with one nipple absentmindedly. "My imagination gets a little clearer, and the colors get a little warmer, so I start imagining all these really sensual scenes and I guess that just turns me on." I had my nipples fully hard and pinkened. I was beginning to flush and my heart started thudding, but I wasn't nervous. I could feel his energy rise. Bob had a huge, incongruous hard on, pitching a circus tent in his loose cotton pants. This intrigued me. I slid over to him and buried my head in his lap, breathing a hot rhythm on the tip of his cock through his pants. He moaned and reclined back to allow me more room.
Still puffing the joint, he slipped his swollen member out of his waistband and began to stroke it gently. I thought that would've made a great picture; the sexy young songwriter reclined on pillows against the wall, shirtless, nursing on a huge joint and fondling his huge cock. I was so fucking turned on. I asked him if I could light some incense and he said I could only if I took off my jeans. I did, and since I was going commando like usual, I was naked against the warm air. I went a step further and took my hair out of its barrettes, letting it float around my shoulders and ripple down to my belly. Bobs' cock jerked a little and he raised an eyebrow, grinning a wolfish grin. I lit the incense.
When I turned back around I saw Bob had a glistening droplet of precome resting at the tip of his huge member. I licked my lips and got down on all fours, crawling across the thick, soft carpet toward him.
