"Here's someone enjoying my cock."
It's a picture of a man on his back, this stranger's dick in his mouth. The sucker has his eyes closed and I can almost hear the muffled moan.
"That looks incredible." I type back and hit send.
"Get here ASAP. The door will be open. You better know how to suck cock." I don't do it often, but those men who have experienced me have always been quite satisfied. I start up the car and make my way to the address I was given.
It's a hotel, a nice one. He's some business man, a visitor, someone who will pass out of my life the instant I'm done. Perfect. As I'm waiting for the elevator the butterflies come. I keep thinking that I can turn around, get back in my car, drive away. All that need and desire I felt driving here melts out of me and I have to steel myself as the doors slide open. I step into the elevator. I know that if I don't do this, I'll be sitting at home in a day or two, hungry and desperate and needful.
It's like this every time. I'm straight, or at least that's what I tell people. I love women, I love sex with women, and I could never date a man, but every couple of months I feel... this. This intense, sinful need for cock. It grows and grows and left unsated it eats at me. I always break down, troll craigslist for a man who will let me take care of my needs. It's always incredible to me how hard it is to find a man who will let me give him a blowjob, but often it takes weeks of endless e-mailing, dead ends, and flakes until I find the right guy.
I reach the third floor and shove my doubts aside. I want this, and even if I can't summon up that insane lust I felt in the car now, I know that if I turn back it will haunt me later. I make my way down the hall and find his room number, the door ajar.
The room beyond is dark, but I can see him sitting on the bed. He stands as I enter, already nude, my eyes are drawn to the prize dangling between his legs and seeing it washes away my nerves. He is about the same height as me, early fifties, bald with a stern mouth and broad chest. I've always gone for older men and he is perfect.
"Don't forget the door," he says. I undo the bolt so that it latches shut and approach him. "Strip," he says, and I comply. As soon as I'm naked, he puts both hands on my shoulders. He doesn't push, but I understand my place is not on my feet. I kneel before him, and suddenly the object of my desire is imminent. It's a beautiful thing, semi-hard, hairless and smooth. I move forward just slightly, letting the velvet tip brush against my lips. I look up at him once, see him watching me, and he nods.
I open my mouth and accept him into it. I take him to the root and he exhales long and slowly, a soft 'ah' of relief. It's exactly what I need to hear, exactly what I fantasize about when I'm masturbating in the shower. The relief as I sate his lusts and ease the tension of his desires.
I move slowly and enjoy the feel of him in my mouth, running my tongue along the quickly hardening shaft as I pull back. By now I can't take him to the root anymore without gagging. He moans above me and I cup his balls.
