“Life’s a porno and I’m getting skull-fucked”
Full disclosure, this one is absolutely porn on paper. I had the best sex ever the other week. Sex is a complicated creature and we all have different things that get us off. I’m not saying I like it rough but if I don’t leave looking like I’ve been the outcome of an actual hate crime, I probably didn’t find it that great. Rough sex is good sex and despite my collective stature being that of a newly planted tree in a recently gentrified area, I will still use my branchy arms to choke you sexily. The 20-minute walk to his was enough time to send my friend the details in case I was murdered.
After sexually stripping three layers off, we hop on to the bed and start making out. Solid start. I then start moving down his chest and start giving him head. I’m not saying it’s a skill but I used to dip six biscuits into a cup of tea and bite into it at once until I finished the box for breakfast; so unhinging my jaw was nothing new and my gag reflex was more absent than my father during my childhood years. So, I’m sucking dick. And usually, when I do that, I’m the one in control. But not this time. Now, I’m no fan of skull-fucking and so when his hands end up on my head, I do my best to take it like a champ whilst resisting the urge to bite down. Next thing you know, I find the perfect angle to be absolutely gagless and consistent, like a warm fleshlight of a human. Romantic I know.
All of a sudden, I’m actually flipped over, and he is going down on me like a weekend starved gay at brunch after only consuming poppers, iced coffee and vodka red bulls. It was honestly feral. And it couldn’t have been better. Taking turns rimming was great! He has flavoured lube! Caramel ass truly is a gift.
After doing this for a good while we get to fucking and honestly it was almost charming the tonal gap between the intuitive roughness that was the sex and the sensitive and accommodating nature of asking if I needed to use a condom. This oscillation between civil questions and quite rough sex continued as:
“Hickeys? Yes? No?”
“Absolutely.”
“You?”
“Only below the neck.”
“Sweet.”
“Scratching?”
“Go for it.”
I went through the usual initial sphincteric pain of having something stuck in my butt and we got back into it. I am usually a pillow queen but the amount of effort I put in that night; Gold star. There was some Kama Sutra shit all up in there and honestly nothing feels more powerful than cowboying it whilst stabilising yourself using their throat to the bed and their arm against the wall. There was even a bit of spit in mouth which felt absolutely filthy but confusingly hot (I’m both ashamed and impressed by that one). Anyway, the sex goes on for a good while and things start winding down and we end up trying to finish. He points out it’s less likely due to his medication which is absolutely fair but always sorta feels like I’m letting the team down. So, I finish. We lay there for a minute before I’m like “could I please have a towel to wipe all of this cum and lube off?”
I usually hate the pleasantries following sex, but the conversation was decent, and the jokes were witty, so I was content. We would hear his flatmates also fucking as they lived above his room so that was an entertaining parallel.
I take one look at this man’s back and simply have to take a picture. He asks why and I say it looks like an exuberant game of noughts and crosses happened on his back. It looked like he rooted Hugh Jackman as Wolverine and not some teeny tiny twink.
Was this pornographic? Absolutely. Did it need to be said? Not at all. But guess what? When was the last time you got dicked that good and didn’t feel the need to tell someone? Moral of the story, everyone deserves a good root and I simply got what I had cumming.
Yours sincerely,
The Tatted Twink