I’m waiting in the Black Canary espresss bar in Toronto. From the second floor coffee shop, actually part of a comic book store, I’m able to see out onto the thriving crowds on Yonge street. I notice a young Asian man walking across the intersection, looking down at his phone, and I think, “Is that him?”
My instinct is correct and I get a message. “I’m here.”
“Blue shirt?” I ask.
The man across the street shields his eyes from the sun and looks around. He gazes at me through the window and I wave.
“Come down?” he messages.
A moment later I’m walking with him down the hallways of the Chelsea hotel toward my room. He’s nervous, and that’s why he wanted to meet in a public place.
The man looks 22ish, but is actually 26. His black bangs hang over his eyes. He’s still jet-lagged from his flight from Beijing. The 12 hour journey takes days to recover from.
Although he went to school in Canada, it is only today, for the first time in his life, that he is finally free. No more weeks of studying for exams. No more constant pressure to succeed. Most importantly, no more pretending! Here, a world away from his parents and judgemental friends, Canada offers him the freedom to explore. All he has to do is find a career.
But he has priorities. Yesterday, bleary-eyed and fresh off the plane, he got his bank account and cell phone plan. Today, he found me on Grindr.
When staying in a hotel, I learned a while ago the value of a daily tip to the housekeepers. My room is freshly cleaned and smells wonderful. The white bed sheets are crisp and neatly folded. It also helps them to overlook it when I have visitors. My new friend and I both take our shoes off and he stands there awkwardly.
“I’m a little nervous,” he says.
“It’s OK to be nervous,” I tell him. “To me, it’s part of the fun.”
“Aren’t you concerned about who you meet? What if they are dangerous?”
I take a deep breath before answering. We are literally blocks from the gay village, where Bruce MacArther committed dozens of murders, using hookup apps, while the gaycist police refused do anything.
“I’ve never had a problem,” I tell him. “Most people are good people, and I am careful about whom I talk to.”
“OK,” he says.
“Since you are nervous, why don’t you get on the bed. I’ll give you a massage first. That should help. Take off your shirt.”
He pulls his shirt over his head. He is tall and thin and I can see his perfect abs as he carefully folds his shirt and places it on my chair. He lays on the soft white bedding and spreads out his arms. I take in his tanned, lithe form, with wisps of wiry black hair under his arms. I strip to my underwear, and kneel over his curvy butt, which is still in his shorts. I rub my hands together to warm them. Fuck, I don’t have any massage oil in the hotel room. I run my bare hands up along his spine, pressing hard against his shoulder blades, then slide them back along his sides in a swimming motion. After a few minutes of this he gives a contented sigh.
“You know, this is only my second time with someone,” he says slowly, between long relaxed breaths.
“Oh really? Tell me about the first time.”
He sighs, closes his eyes. “It was two years ago, and I was exploring, coming to terms with who I was. I met a guy. But it turns out he lied to me.”
“Two years ago,” I repeat, barely believing it.
“Yeah. It was bad.”
The skin on his back is hot on my palm now, and beginning to turn red for lack of oil. I decide that today, I am going to give him something to remember. Something good.
“Are you nice and relaxed now?” I pat his bum. “Lets get those shorts off.”
With trepidation, he helps me slide his shorts and boxers down over his rear. I pull them down his legs. When I get them off, I fold them for him and place them on the chair over his shirt.
His butt is so perfect. Finally the fun can be begin. I grab it in my palms, and give them a squeeze. His body is mine, and as we agreed in the chat, I would be telling him what to do. He likes that. Right now, I just wanted to feel his butt cheeks. I rub them, squeeze them, then spread them apart, opening up his crack. Then I bury my face between them and start to lick.
He immediately gasps, so I press my tongue against his hole. It is clean. I lick it all over, pointing my tongue and drawing letters over it. It is like a game, trying to get him to gasp louder. It works when I put my whole mouth over it, pretend it is lips and literally make it out with his asshole. He buries his face in the pillow and makes a sound between laughing and cries of pain.
“Are those good sounds?” I ask.
“Yes,” he tells me incredulously.
He’s mine, so I’m gonna make him to my favourite things. “I’m going to lie here,” I tell him. “I want you to get up and get over my face. I want you to sit on my mouth.”
I lay down beside him on the comfortable hotel blanket, and he carefully lowers his ass over my face. The whole time, he is looking into my eyes. I open my mouth and lick him, and for the first time I examine his penis, pointing into the air inches from my face. It is fully erect and red, nearly 4 inches long.
But I can’t stop looking at his face. His wide-eyed expression changes every time I swipe my tongue across his anus. It is so hot to see his reactions.
Before long though, I reach up and run my finger down his penis, and point to my mouth. He gets the hint, and puts his arms down on the bed for balance. He is crouching down over my face as he tilts his body down, still staring with awe as he slowly slides his penis into my open mouth. His whole body tremors.
I close my lips around it and suck. He draws a sharp breath and his eyes close. His mouth hangs open as he is overcome by the pleasure of having his dick inside something warm for the second time ever.
When he pulls it out, I ask him, “Do you like that?”
“Yes!” he answers, and lowers his body again, starting to thrust into my waiting lips. After a few times though, he suddenly draws it out. I see his penis throbbing and I realize he must have stopped because he was getting close.
“Remember you are not allowed to cum until I say.”
“Yes. OK.”
“Get on the floor and stand up.” I tell him. He does so, confused, until I shuffle my body over to the side of the bed, lean my head back over. “Today I’m going to show you everything. This is one of my favourite positions.”
He knows what to do. He walks over and crouches over my face. I stare into his shaved underside while he works up the courage to slide into my mouth. When he fucks, I see his balls flattening repeatedly against my nose. He soon slows down, and gasping, pulls it slowly away.
“OK. Get on the bed, on your back. I’ll take it easy for a while.”
He flops down like a rag doll, seemingly too tired or relaxed to move. With my feet anchored on the floor, I slide my belly up the bed between his legs, and gently lick his balls, being careful not to touch his still throbbing penis. His face is turned upwards to the ceiling in an expression of pure pleasure, and I can see his back teeth.
After focusing on his ass and balls for a while, I start to give his penis more attention again. I slowly go from licking it to closing my mouth around it, to sliding up and down on its shaft. Like most guys, he is curved slightly upwards, and this is not the best position for depth.
“I’m going to move upside down like this,” I tell him. “No, you stay there.” I put my knees down around his shoulders. From this angle, I go down on him, and he is able to fully slide his dick down the curve of my tongue into my throat. I’m surprised by how far he can go. It must have gotten larger from our activities.
My underwear covered butt is in over his face, and I am surprised to feel him lifting his face, nuzzling his nose into my perineum through my PUMP briefs. I take this as encouragement and start to suck him of. When he starts to thrust I simply remain still to let him.
I taste salty precum filling my mouth. He is getting close, so I get beside him. I nuzzle his neck, giving him soft kisses to let him calm down.
“What was your favourite so far?” I ask him.
“That one. That is my favourite!” he tells me.
“Then we will do that again, but last.” My other hand is stroking him, and I whisper in his ear. “No cumming. Unless it’s in my mouth.”
“Do you want me to cum?”
“Nah, ” I tell him. “I want you to beg for it.”
With that, I get down between his legs again, and very slowly lick his balls, then up his shaft, and swirl my tongue around it. But when I finally look up, he is facing the ceiling again.
Faking anger, I get up and grab the pillows behind him, moving them forward under his upper back. “I want you to watch me,” I order. “Never take your eyes off me.”
This time, as I lick him, he stares down. My eyes are locked on his, and I can see every move I make echoed on his face, in the tiny twitches he makes. When I hit a particularly sensitive area, his head settles back against the pillow
“No. Look at me!” I tell him.
His head pops up again and he forces his eyes open, to watch as I plunge my mouth down on his member.
“But I want to cum!”
Immediately I stop. “OK. We will go back to your favourite. Then,” I say deliberately, “I am going to let you cum in my mouth.” Slowly I get up and turn my body, lift my leg over his head, and plant my knees down on either side of him. I lower my head down, and slowly suck his penis into my mouth until it is down my throat and I am almost gagging.
Behind me, he gasps, and feel him lift his head up. He is rubbing my perineum again through my briefs. I let my weight down, shoving my tightly covered balls down onto his chin. He loves it. At once, he excitedly begins to thrust his dick up from the bed into my mouth. All I have to do is stay still. With each thrust I hear him give a high pitched muffled cry, and I can feel his hot breath moisten my briefs. His thighs are getting sweaty now as he thrusts his crotch frantically into my facehole. I am gripping his cock between my lips, smiling, because I know in all his life he has never experienced these sensations.
And now I can taste it, salty and crisp, and when I feel his penis pulsing against my upper lip I know he is finally shooting his load. I have been edging him for 45 minutes, and making him wait. And for two years, maybe all his life, he has never been able to ejaculate into anything except his hand. He’s stopped thrusting now, but he’s still gasping while his penis pumps an impossible amount of sperm deep inside my warm wet mouth. I suck and squeeze it with my lips, milking it out of him, until he finally yelps and pulls away.
I roll off of him, slide my arm under his back, and hold him close to me while he pants and recovers. It takes two gulps for me to swallow his load. He is silent for a few minutes.
“Are you still nervous?” I ask him.
Eyes closed, he smiles. “No,” he says, barely moving his lips, nearly falling asleep in my arms.