actual-photo – Grindr Fantasies

Italy boy

So I’m in Montreal with my friend, Z and we have a hotel room at the Travelodge. I can’t resist a great deal. The room was advertised for two people, and it’s about the size of a closet. Yet they somehow crammed two single beds into it. It’s about 10 in the morning and Z’s laying back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. I tell him I’m having a guy over. He’s OK with it.

Great. I text the guy back. “He might be in the room but he won’t be participating.”

“ok. But he could idc”

Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I turn to my friend. “He’ll be here in six minutes.”

Z sighs and drops his phone on the bed. “I’m going out then. Tell me when you’re done.” He quickly gets his travel bag and leaves.

Moment’s later, there’s a soft knock at the door. I open it and in walks a tall Italian teenager. His curly black hair shines in the light. We exchange pleasantries and he starts to remove his expensive leather Italian shoes and unbuckle his belt. Soon he’s in his underwear, blue, form fitting. I drop to my knees and press my face into his crotch. When I finally look up at him, and he’s staring down at me, I can’t believe this twink came over. Half the guys in my catholic high school were Italian, and even decades later, this is like a dream to me. When I get tired of mouthing the fabric of his underwear, I put my two thumbs under his waist band and yank it down. They slide the ground and he gracefully steps out of them.

I lick his balls, and as I rake my eyes up his perfect abs I see him staring down with great interest. Suddenly I mouth his dick and he moans in excitement. I run my hands over his firm butt, just feeling every inch of him and he begins to hump into my mouth, slamming his fat dick head against my throat. I pull off, and see that it’s huge, with a slight curve upwards, so thick it’s oval shaped with a flat top. And, unlike many thick cocks I’ve seen, it’s long too. I push him toward the bed, and he sits on it.

“Where-ever you’re most comfortable,” he says. Soon we are both on the bed, and I am on my knees between his outstretched legs, deep-throating him. I’m not sure it’s working, but he seems to be enjoying it. We go for a while, and when I stop for a break, he gets up and throws one leg off the bed. What’s going on?

He gets up, then motions for me to lie down. He reaches down, grabs my arms and yanks me, so I’m face up, with my head hanging off the side of the bed. When I open my mouth, he smiles, then reaches down and grabs his dick, aiming it. With a gentle nudge, it goes all the way, hitting parts of my throat that have never been hit before. I don’t usually gag. I can hold my breath, but somehow, there is some spot deep in there that doesn’t want to be hit that I didn’t even know about. I let him hump a few times before I have to let out a deep breath, and he pulls off and lets me lick his balls a little, balancing his massive cock on my chin. I look up and see him staring back at me, with an odd smile on his face.

He goes in, again sliding it deep within my throat. He doesn’t fuck, but is just letting it sit there and slowly slide out again so I can take a breath. I wonder if it’s even working for him. Most guys in their 20s and 30s need to be stroked quickly to get anywhere. After a few more times, he pulls out all the way.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he asks.

“In my throat.” My voice is raspy. “Deep, deep in my throat.” Makes sense. He’d said he just turned 18.

He gazes down at me and smiles. I look deep into his brown eyes, I can see fire in them, an adventurous spirit, and something else—a hunger and excitement, like a fox about to capture his prey. “I’m almost going to cum,” he says. He uses his hand to point his dick again, and leaning his body forward, slides in. Once again his weighty balls are resting on the bridge of my nose and I’m staring up his ass crack.

I’m holding my breath, with my hands pressed against his thighs, ready to but trying my best not to shove him off of me. He’s barely thrusting, resting it there like a python in a log. He just twitches his hips a little, pulling it in and out mere millimeters. I think he’s edging. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I can feel myself getting dizzy, but I tell myself I am deep under the ocean, with no way to take a breath until I break the surface.

Suddenly his breathing quickens. He moans deeply in ecstasy and inches from my face I can see his ass muscles squeezing together as I feel my throat filling with heat: blast after blast of the teen’s thick load. It lasts more than 10 seconds until he pulls out, dribbling cum up the side of my face, over my forehead and into my hair. Immediately, I roll onto my side and launch into a coughing fit.

I manage to hold up my hand. “I’m OK. Thanks, I liked it,” is all I manage to get out.

He laughs. “Good, I think it was a lot.”

I grin, finally able to suppress the coughs. “It was.”

We chat for a minute. He’s visiting from Italy with his dad. Montreal is a nice place. I’m surprised people stay out so late here, but where he comes from, they do as well. But he agrees that there’s just something different in Montreal. A feel-good feeling of friendliness, and a more vibrant culture.

“Can I use your washroom?” he asks.

I nod, and he goes into the small washroom (a closet within a closet) to clean up and apparently also to comb his hair. I grab my phone and text Z to come back.

No sooner has the Italian teen left than my friend opens the door. He’s suspicious. “I saw him in the lobby. He was looking at me. How did he know it was me?”

Lucky guess? I might have described Z a little to him in the texts.

“Yeah, I was sitting near the elevator and he gave me the strangest look… and then he was on his phone. Seemed pretty happy.”

Cuddles

This hairy chest invites me over one morning. He’s free all day so I finish up what I’m doing and message that I’m free. As I’m about to knock on his door I realize two things: 1) We haven’t exchanged any face pics and 2) he told me not to knock, just message.

The door opens a crack and I slide in. He’s tall and muscular, and brown, and standing in his tight red boxer briefs and a shirt. Christmas was a few days ago and a Christmas tree is lit up in the corner and a few small appliance boxes opened and not yet unboxed scattered around the tree.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” he asks, making small talk.

“Oh yeah it was great,” I tell him. He invites me to go downstairs, but does not immediately follow. There is a single room down there with a bed and a computer desk. I quickly look over the room to see what kind of guy this is. I see technical books on the shelf, pictures of his parents. I take my shirt off and wait a minute or two until he descends the creaky steps.

“It’s cold down here,” he says, coming up to me.

“We’ll have to make our own heat,” I tell him, smiling.

He wraps his arms around me and I feel how hard he is. His arms chest are very muscular. My hands are cold, but I can’t help but slide them all over his back and arms.

“Come.” he tells me as he rips the comforter off the bed and slides under it, holding it up for me. I slide under with him and snuggle up to him. He holds me with his strong arms and I settle my head against his shoulder, softly kissing his neck. My hands are still freezing, but I grab his ass. I just love holding it, feeling its hard muscles in my hand. He reaches down under the comforter and starts to undo my belt. I help him, squeeze out of my skinny jeans and we kick them out of the bed. Now we are both in our underwear.

I stick my finger into his briefs and pull them down over his penis. I wrap my fingers around it, feeling its warmth.

“You’re hands are so cold… I like it!” he says, and thrusts his length through my closed fingers. His pole is very thick and I can’t quite close my hand around it.

Excited now, he gets up onto my belly, towers over me, and I can see his erect penis before me. It is very thick and its pink tip and slit just peeks out from his foreskin. But I am also staring up at the rest of his body.

“You like this?” he says, flexing his biceps.

“I do!” I exclaim, and run my hands up and over his hairy pecs, caressing his hard muscles.

But his penis juts out over my face. I bend my neck up, lick its underside, feeling its heat emanating into my face. Then I open up and take it into my mouth. He gingerly places his hands over the back of my head, in place of a pillow, and pumps his hips, enjoying the wet warmth of my mouth in the cold basement. I suck on it, longing to more of it into my mouth, but from this angle I cannot.

After a while he lays down beside me again, and I go under the comforter, wearing it on my back like a cloak, and go down between his legs. Here I have full access and I start to move my head and suck him.

“I’m close,” he says, and stops me. He grabs my arms and pulls me up to him, and we cuddle each-other some more, enjoying the warmth of each-other’s bodies.

“My name is Jordan,” he tells me.

“I’m Pete. It’s nice to meet you.”

I find his thick penis is irresistible. Soon I am back down again, bobbing my head. This time, he makes no move to stop me. He stretches his legs straight out, on either side of me, and I I feel his powerful thighs squeezing me, holding me in place, as he starts to grunt and moan. His hands are on my head now, fixing my whole body in place, as he thrusts up into my mouth.

He seems to hold himself on the edge, fucking slowly, enjoying every second of it. I reach both hands under his muscular ass and help him, pushing him further and at that moment I hear him moan in satisfaction, as his penis throbs and ejects his tasty load into my waiting mouth. I suck it out with gusto, and as he watches he grabs his cock, squeezing out the last few drops for me.

“That was the best blowjob I have ever had!” he exclaims.

I smile, loving the praise. “Thank-you!”

“You should come over many more times. Will you write about me?”

“I sure will.”

The Chase

The lobby of the Toronto Sheraton is ostentatious blend of redwood pillars and polished granite. At midday, suited business travellers either stride purposefully through it, or sit sipping Starbucks lattes and read on their phones while they wait for their comrades to arrive.

Me? I’m just looking for the bathroom. “On the second floor, at the top of the escalator. See you at 12,” my lunchtime appointment had told me.

“Can you send a face pic please?”

There was no response, so I’m waiting, feeling conspicuous, as I lean over the polished chrome railing. I carefully watch the the people below me from my perch on the second floor mezzanine, looking for some sign of him. A few meters away, a constant stream of well dressed men emerge from the conference centre hallways and push open the white door to the men’s room. Although there’s a lot of activity, it could still work in theory. I had inspected the facilities earlier. The stalls were fully enclosed.

It’s 12:10 and nobody’s approached me. I wish he’d sent that face pic.

“Am I in the right building?” I text. I’m convinced everyone is watching me as I take and send him a picture of the restroom door.

“I’m in the washrooms there. But I’m coming out. It’s too busy. We’ll find another.”

“OK”

“Just follow me discreetly.”

“What do you look like?????!”

“I’m wearing blue. Asian guy with glasses.”

Dropping all pretence, I stand there and watch the door. A group of five asian men wearing blue with glasses walk out. None of them even glance at me, but soon after, a young guy wearing an off-white dress shirt darts ahead and speed-walks away. I jog after him as I try to get a closer look. Did he have glasses? His shirt’s a little blue, maybe, if you look at it under the right light.

I jog until I’m close enough then break into a fast walk, but he charges on ahead down the hall and rounds a corner. Shit, a meeting room empties, and he’s lost in the crowd. I’m blocked by a throng of suited, silver-haired executives as they shake each-other’s hands and rape the refreshment table. The shortest of the men is six feet tall.

“Oh, excuse me,” one says as I brush past him. “Sorry, sir,” a smiling septuagenarian apologizes after I elbow him in the groin. Did I mention I’m in Canada?

Thankfully the narrow hallway turns right, and I emerge into the great hall. I look around quickly, but I don’t see my quarry anywhere. Fuck! He’s probably the wrong guy. Why the hell didn’t he send that face picture??

I see some bathrooms to my right, but I decide to keep looking for him. The great hall is filled with people and refreshment carts. I make my way across the gold carpet to the other side. That’s when I see him, sitting on a bench, hunched over his phone.

I get as close as I can, but I can’t see what’s on his phone. Instead, I stand on the other side of a column and check mine. There’s a message waiting.

“Follow me into the washrooms.”

I have no idea when it was sent. Is this text leftover from before, or could he be watching me right now? My heart races as I text him again.

“Are you the guy sitting down?”

“Yeah.”

“Lol.”

“Ok let’s try to go straight to those washrooms.”

The young man on the bench stuffs his iPhone in his dress pants, gets up, and bolts across the room. I don’t bother being inconspicuous this time. I speed walk right behind him. I can’t let him get away again, because frankly, it would be embarrassing. This is supposed to be a hookup, not Mission Impossible.

Suddenly a man in a tie darts out in front of him and slaps him on the shoulder. “Hey John! You’re always in a hurry,” he chuckles. He stands there with his arm out, confused, as we keep going.

At last, we both enter the washroom. This one is less populated at the moment. Without even looking at me, he heads to the last stall and closes the polished wooden door. I hear it latch shut. I pretend to use the urinal as I wait for a Gordon Gecko lookalike to leave. True to character, he pisses, straightens his tie in the mirror, and walks right out the door.

Uncertainty overwhelms me again. Maybe I was texting the wrong guy back there. All I had were the texts. The man I’ve been following hadn’t even acknowledged me once since we started.

But then, he had gone from one bathroom to another. Buoyed by this tiny piece of logic, I take a deep breath and knock quietly on the stall.

The door unlatches and he lets me in. At last, we are alone. I sit on the toilet and look up. Finally, I get to see my hookup’s face. He’s twenty-one, and his slightly-blue dress shirt’s too big for him. He raises his finger to his lips and signals for me to not speak. Then he lets down his pants. I pull down his grey boxer briefs and unleash his cock.

His dick was the only picture he sent me, and it was enough to start me on this hotel chase. His balls are large and perfectly smooth, and his cock is thick and straight. It feels comfortable in my mouth, like it belongs there.

While I suck, he leans forward and keeps looking through the crack in the door. I’m focused on my job, but find it is difficult to do without making it obvious to everyone in the room that there’s a wet, smacking blowjob going from the next stall. The conditions are hard, but the thrill makes up for it.

That is, until I hear a loud voice right outside our door.

“OKAY GUYS. GAME’S OVER.”

We both freeze and try to peek through the crack in the door. I can see a man’s face outside. Time stops, the hairs on the back of my neck levitate and I want to be anywhere but here, but there’s nowhere to go.

Another voice answers.

“Looks that way. I’m going to shoot Michael an email about the PDP.”

I breath a sigh of relief. We’re free to continue, but he’s deflated. I start from scratch.

Eventually, though all the toilet flushes and listening to backroom deals, I manage to coax out his load. After he zips up, we whisper to each-other. He might visit University Town soon. It would be nice to show him what I can do when I don’t have to be utterly silent.

But today, the thrill was in the chase.

The Lost Stories: In Sync

I pull up to this guy’s house on a well-to-do crescent and park right in front of his house, because he didn’t tell me otherwise. If the neighbours are watching, I could be anybody. Maybe I’m selling insurance.

I’m here for sex.

He answers the door. He’s 5ft tall, tan skinned, with jet-black short curly hair in a receding hairline. Like me, he’s in his mid-thirties. Middle eastern? Brazilian maybe? I dunno. I’m bad at this. All I know is that I feel safe to have my wallet in my pocket, because if he terrorist-bombs me it won’t matter anyway. We greet each other and I walk into his beautiful foyer, with its white stone tiles. A marble table holds up family photo. Him and his two young girls, all of them embracing his beaming wife. Today, the wife and daughters are away visiting family in her home country. They’re gone long enough that his kids are attending school there. In the meantime, he’s taking full advantage.

Yeah, we chatted a little before this.

“Would you like a beer? Pop?” he asks me.

“Um, no thanks, I’m good.” I drop my coat on top of my shoes by the door. It took 40 minutes to drive here, and the Rush, the Evil Thing inside me that propels me, is subsiding. But I can’t back out now. “Can I use your washroom?”

He smiles and leads me upstairs, into his giant master bedroom. It’s dominated by his king-sized bed, neatly made with a gray comforter. It even has the extra little pillows on it. My god, the one time my wife was gone for a few days, our bed got to be so full of crap that I slept on the couch.

I piss in his spacious bathroom, and carefully wash my hands. I dry my dick off in his face towel.

When I emerge, he’s lying on the bed in his boxers, seductively. On the 60″ flatscreen in the corner, a grunting muscle-man pounds his manhood into a young twink, who emits moans of ecstasy. Maybe pain.

He invites me to lay down beside him. I strip down to my underwear, and sink into the luxurious pillow-top mattress. I’ve got to get one of these someday. It’s so relaxing. He reaches over and rubs my pecs, massages my belly. By the time he gets down there, my boner presses against the fabric of my SAXX briefs.

Soon we’re both naked. I’m not disappointed. I usually only see guys in their 20s, but I made an exception today when he sent a photo of his 8” uncut dick. From the neck down, he’s miraculously lean and shaved smooth as any twink, and he sits, eyes locked on my own penis, slowly stroking his own shaft. I reach over and soon we’re both feeling each other. Temptation sets in. We move in closer, and soon our dicks are touching, rubbing, oozing wetness and spreading it around on our cock heads.

He presses forward and I fall onto my back under him. I can smell his hot breath and we explore each other. I run my hands down his back and squeeze his ass. His tan skin is smoother than his silk sheets, hairless everywhere. He moves down my body slowly, breathing in my scent, and then I feel my penis slide into the hot wet softness between his lips. He sucks me slowly, and I moan and gasp for him. I know what I like so I do the same for him. I grab his head and hold him there and make him worship me. But the pressure builds in my balls. They ache for release, so I stop him.

“It’s your turn,” I tell him. He grins and flips over onto his back. I get on top of him in the 69 position, and inhale his smooth cock. I push down like a snake gorging itself on an unlucky meal. My oesophagus is full, stretched open. I feel like retching, but I tell myself not to. It works. Instead, I swallow more, massaging this massive thing in my throat.

“Oh my god,” he says in surprise. He grabs my body and we flip. I’m on my back again, staring up at his perineum. He slowly fucks my face, plunging down further and further while he sucks on my balls. I reach down and prop up my dick, and he quickly gets the idea and slurps it up again.

On the TV, another muscle man fucks another twink, going through the same dance as before. This one likes it more; he keeps shouting “Harder!” as he receives his pounding.

As far as I know, 69 is usually just a warm up. But for me it’s ecstasy. Sucking and being sucked, sharing the same sensations, the wordless feedback between two bodies and minds. I can keep it going as long as I want, but the after a few minutes the time seems right for it to end.

I swing my knee up and we flip once again, and I’m pressing into his mouth. I feel the pressure build from deep inside me, and I start to fuck. The twink on TV is getting shredded now, his moans reduced to high pitched barks of pain. I’m can’t control it anymore. I plunge in, thrusting wildly until I spasm and pump out a dozen shots right down his throat. Suddenly feeling heavy, I press down with my weight, squeeze his curly hair between my thighs and make him eat it all. I pull out slowly so he can suck me clean.

His penis has been lodged in my throat the whole time. When I lift off I see his shrinking down already, a tiny drop of white glistens at the tip. Shit, we came at the same fucking time and I didn’t even notice.

“That was a lot,” he says, wiping his chin with his wrist.

“Sorry,” I lie.

“No, it was good,” he says, grinning. He taps the pillow. “Lie down, stay awhile.”

I lay back. It’s nice, but the Evil thing is gone now, and I can’t relax. I stare at the ceiling, and we chat about our kids, our wives, and our lives. He had a long term thing going with a guy, but they had to break it off recently. The other man was starting to get too serious, buying clothes and gifts for him that were making it difficult to hide.

“I love her with all my heart, but you can’t get this,” he tells me, waving at my cock.

Yeah. I know.

Begging For It

A 20-something guy had texted me. He’s never met up with anyone on Grindr before. In fact, he’s nearly asexual. Except he loves to get blown.

“I loooove it. But I have to warn you about something,” he had said.

What? I braced for the worst, HIV, or some tragic injury, or deformity.

“I have lots of precum.” He takes a pic to show how turned on he was just talking to me.

I’ve meet him twice since then, and each time was a delight. Some nights, as I lay in my bed stroking, I think about being his slave, and him my slave, and he is not allowed to cum unless it is between my lips. I think of his wild desperation and soundlessly spill my load into a sock, while my wife snores beside me.

But he works far from here, and it keeps him far too busy. He hasn’t had a chance to jerk off in five days. Today, his priorities have shifted. He skips out of work early and he’s driving back from Toronto. We agree to meet at 3:30, but as he blazes through the traffic on the 401, he keeps messaging me to move it earlier.

I find him in the posh lobby of his downtown condo. When I was still in school, this place was a dying shirt factory, its few remaining workers staying only to listlessly clean while its assets were sold off. Today, as with all of the industrial buildings downtown, the cement floors have been replaced with white stone tiles. They hold up white leather couches, fuzzy faux fur blankets strewn on top for showy opulence as much as comfort. The walls are all glass and gold trim.

He sits there in his gray suit and cheap gold watch, carefully holding a laptop bag between his legs while he checks his iPhone. When he sees me, he leaps up to greet me and brushes his long black hair out from his eyes. He must be the rookie in his firm. His face is soft, eyes still full of the excitement of youth. If I think about it, I can almost see his aboriginal roots. I know from his pictures that under his business formal attire are some strong pecs. And a delicious cock.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask him.

“I’m good,” he says, and laughs nervously. Softly, he says, “Glad I have this briefcase.” He moves it aside. He’s hanging left today.

When the elevator stops, we’re on the top floor. The condo’s lounge has glass tables, and it’s deserted. He leads me down the halls. Last time we checked the gym, where eight Lifefitness treadmills sat unused. Today he doesn’t bother. He feverishly scans his keycard, unlocking the large mahogany doors. We rush into the changeroom, then into a small, dark chamber, barely big enough to be a closet.

The sauna is cool and dark and redolent with the smell of cleaning spray. The light switch is on the outside, but neither of us bother to turn it on. It’s more exciting this way. The moment the door latches, he drops his briefcase and pushes his pants to his shins. A dark smear encroaches across the left side of his underwear. He’s been leaking precum his entire drive back.

I lay down the rules. “I want to keep you going as long as I can. Just tell me if you’re going to cum.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.” Once his pants are a pile on the floor, he stands on the bench and laughs nervously. His penis, hard as hell, curves up from under his dress shirt and tie.

I can barely see it in the dark, but I suck the top like a lollipop and taste its wetness leaking out. Seconds later, he gasps, pushes me away, and his cock spasms and bounces in a dry ejaculation. This was going to be a challenge!

I go for his sack instead. I reach under, gently lift it, and use my finger to press and massage his perineum. Then I turn my head and suck on his balls. His cock rests on my cheek as I knead them with my tongue, delicately going over the sensitive parts. He bucks and tiny wet droplets sprinkle onto my skin near my eyes.

He touches my head lightly. “Umm you’re going to make me cum,” he warns me. I release too late, and once again his cock bounces and spasms in his second orgasm. His eyes are squeezed shut as he grunts with the great effort, but he manages to hold in his sperm.

Wow. This guy is a find. Wish I could do that.

I take a moment to rethink it. This time I stick out the tip of my tongue, and just lightly tap the bottom of his cock head. It’s hard and tense, full of energy about to be sprung.

His whole body shudders. “Please, I wanna cum so bad,” he asks.

“No, not yet. I still want to play.”

Using only my tongue tip, I start from the bottom and very, very slowly lick to the top. Then I kiss his slit, and very lightly slurp up the next load of his precum. With my lips, I spread his wetness up and down his length. He leans back against the wall and bucks his hips at me. I pull away, just out of reach. The tension is palpable.

“Please, please please let me cum. I have to cum, I have to… it’s been so long….” he begs me, his eyes pleading with the urgency of impending biological need. He’s starting to sweat now, and I take a deep breath full of the scent of his musk.

Finally, I grab his ass and let him slide all the way in. I give him maximum stimulation, massaging the bottom with my tongue all the time. In response, his penis leaks a steady stream of fluid. Up and down, twisting, I go all out. Amazingly, he lasts through this, until his hands fly to the back of my head. His knees buckle and he doubles over, his powerful grip holding me to him, each breath a moan, and with each moan I feel my mouth fill up with more of his seed. It is plentiful, and thick, and nutty, with no trace of bitterness, and I keep it and his organ inside me so long that he gasps once again with the pain of release.

“Thanks,” he says, zipping up. He’s looking down at the floor, anywhere but at me as we head back down the hall. On the way down, there’s someone else in the elevator. “Good seeing you again,” I tell him, when we get to his floor. He blushes, clutches his briefcase in front of him, and leaves.