Room for You Son? Anytime

It's a relationship thing. It's not a relationship thing.

I often think about that velvety hole when I can't have my tongue up inside it.

The mystery of just why it drives me wild the way it does.

There are many reasons to obsess over that body, those encounters. That smooth, hot body grown more manly with the years but he's still that "boy" and I'm still "Dad" or "Daddy", when my cockhead is scrubbing at his prostate. Just as I was the first time he came to me in his nakedness and his white, knee length sport socks, accentuating the power of his mighty calves and thighs. I am his escape, his release into another aspect of himself that he cannot explore at home. I remember that so well every time I get his breathless text to say he's finishing work and can he see me now, every time I scrabble to shower and get the steel cock-ring on, the one that he likes so much, every time he looks at me as he is dressing, as if to say "Did I really do that with this old guy?" and every time he leaves.

Boyish and yet beefy enough to interest my cock, which never understood the fascination some men have with young men. This was a young man who knew what he wanted and also knew he didn't need to ask me for it. He could take what he needed and go, from day one.

There's an odd, one sidedness about our relationship.

Every once in a while he feels the need for what he knows is here for him. Zero commitment. He presents himself at my kitchen door, I take him in, he's not interested in tenderness or affection but he wants my body, he wants my strength, he wants me to excite his nerve endings, to bring him to a helpless state of quivering ecstasy, where he's no longer in control of himself and he wants to cum and go.

From my perspective, it's familiar territory as I've often been a refuge when the partner of another man isn't really understanding him. I would prefer him to feel warmth towards me, I would prefer him to kiss me deeply and longingly when he arrives instead of the kind of tongue that arouses, surrenders to mine but then is hurried away with an agenda to fulfil. I'm used to it, sure but after 8 or 9 years, so many visits, seeing him mature and grow in strength, it really surprises me that his detachment is still so complete.

One minute, his powerful body is twitching helplessly as his state of orgasm blasts away any semblance of division between us and there is no intimacy that he could deny me, but as soon as he ejaculates, his instinct for preserving the distance between our two lives returns. Any hope of a moment in which to comfort myself with him, to stroke the soft beard he's grown since last time I saw him or lie with him, however briefly, is gone. He's up and pulling on his clothes, a quick pat for the dog and he's gone.

He's neither callous, nor selfish and I am sure he is completely oblivious to the regret I experience because our relationship is based on so little. The key thing is that he doesn't see what we do as a relationship but as a succession of pleasurable experiences with the same stranger.

When I'm horny and alone and I think how nice it would be to hear from him, the randomness and infrequency of his visits is very frustrating but I am forced to admit that it is the very suddenness, the surprise and the explosive brevity of the erotic experience that makes what I get from him so desirable. It's like the excitement of anonymous, spontaneous sex with a stranger again and again.

His body has a powerful effect on my, I cannot deny. The compactness, the strength, the smooth, pale skin, the scent of him is magical and when I get him naked, no time is lost before I have my face in the warm musky cavern of his arse and he is whimpering with lust and surrendering to my lips tongue and teeth. He takes me into him when he's good and wet and ready, when I can no longer wait to plug that gorgeous hunk of man-flesh. I am speechless and determined as he welcomes me in, moaning and pleading for me in a half spoken gibberish of erotic aspirations, he throbs and jitters in his revelry towards his state of climax.

I have learned that I can engineer that bliss, that I keep him aloft on that cloud of erotic pleasure, pushing him towards the shaking, jolting edge of consciousness several times and it rewards me enormously to see the effect of what I am doing to his nerve endings but to do so is to distract myself from my own instincts and my pleasure, which is precisely to plough him and tweak his nipples and revel in his totally relaxed beauty, his hot insides sucking on my engorged cock.

He is incapable of interacting with me consciously, his lust is in complete control and with his legs in the air, his arms sprawl and entangle in the covers, I pin his biceps to the bed and hump him harder. His look is through me not into my eyes. Then I pump his fat erection in my fist with his arse filled and pressed down onto my groin, the ripples of his orgasm race up along my shaft and his sphincter clamps down on my throbbing cock. The thrill of his sweet juice bursting up onto his taught, muscular belly for me is like an act of creation. I made that happen. Unforgettable.