Whatever Happened to Playing Video Games?

Egocentrism does not bother me. I myself stand tall and proud, even if the guys with ripped abs look down at me. I may not have the looks, but I have interesting stories to tell outside of the gym or bedroom, athough many stories start, begin, or end in fact on a bed. I live life outside my sexual escapades, and find my mediocre life to be more enlightening than most. Now, I find egotism grand for one reason; it can be manipulated much like when I met the man named Hector.

Hector worked in music and although he did not have a ‘big break’, he had an almost clichéd attitude of a musician. The focus of the conversation constantly shifted back to him. He told stories and only stories he found interesting we not interrupted for one reason or another. He had a minor attraction factor. He worked out or at least kept in shape with a lithe body and abs. He looked cute in a boy-next-door sort of way, without having the allure of actually been the boy next door. I saw him and wanted to fuck him.

Our mutual friends introduced us over dinner and as we drank various types of alcohol from Margaritas, to a Ginger and Vodka drink my friend created, a few Crispin Ciders, and finally a hard lemonade (hand pressed not from a bottle) we all got decently inebriated together. We hung over for several hours and around 1:30 AM, Hector got up and called someone.

“Hey, how long is the wait time on a song?” He had a strong tenor voice, but the more he drank the wispier the sound.

My ears promptly jumped up at the idea of karaoke and at the idea of going back him with him to the city. The clothes he wore consisted of the clothes he wore at work. Black pants and a button-up white shirt covered his lithe frame. I wanted to see what his body looked like without those clothes on top of me fucking me hard. 

“Yeah, it’s this bar I know called ******.”

“Well, can I go?”

In a matter of minutes, the four of us all headed out into the city. We walked down the street while I talked to my friend and Hector talked to her boyfriend. The conversation remained inconsequential in the sense that I only kept looking down at his ass as he walked.  The first bar turned out to be a bust, considering my female companion had no identification saying she was of age (of course, she wasn’t so this fact made complete sense), but Hector needed to harass the doorman about it instead of just letting it go.

On our way back, however, I heard a noise that was either a dying animal or people singing karaoke. We walked into the bar, asked about karaoke, and then headed upstairs to this dimly lit longue and bar area with a small stage and two microphones. Two flaming men stood up there and danced and sang with drinks in hand. We all smiled as we walked in and made our way to the DJ. We all requested songs, got more drinks, and then proceeded to drink in more excess.

Finally, my friend and her boyfriend decided to leave, which left me alone with Hector. He still wanted to sing (after the second bar stopped karaoke), and at 3:30 in the morning the only other place was the bar we formerly could not get into. Without my friend, we walked right in. Hector vanished for several minutes, and he appeared only long enough to get us all kicked out.

At this juncture, I must say that I do not smoke marijuana very often. I tend to keep my addiction to alcohol. It is simple and legal. Due to my inebriation that night, however, I began smoking right there on the street with Hector as we walked to his train to bring us to the Upper East Side.

I stroke his ego the entire trip and as we finally got off the subway, he blatantly started laughing from either the thc in his system or the alcohol that reddened his face. “I find it amazing that two guys like us can meet and have no attraction to each other.” I paused for a minute, and glad that he looked away, due me just wanting sex.  “It’s a wonderful thing.” He turned to me with a broad smile and squinted eyes.

I pushed on my best fake smile and nodded, “Well, I just wanted to make sure you got home. So, I will see you around.”

“Is this about what I said?”

“No, this is about the fact that it’s 5 AM, and I need to get home.” If my night was going to lead to me going home and jerking off, I’d rather quicken the pace to the jerk off session than sit in the city and figure out what’s going on.

He looked at me for a second and responded, “Why don’t we go back to my place and play video games?”

For a second, I looked at him as if he just spoke to me in Klingon. Then I shrugged my shoulders and followed him back home. The entire trip back I continued to question him, and he answered everything I said with another question, which I promptly answered. The man seemed to take everything in and spew it back out only looking for my answers. This infuriated me, but in all honesty, I wanted a place to lie down and sleep or to perhaps play some video games.

When we arrived at his place, instead of putting on a system, he turned on Boardwalk Empire. I have heard good things about this show. However, I did not want to start watching it during Season 2; Episode 12. Neither one of us knew what was going on. I sat on the middle cushion of the couch and he was pressed up against the left side. About twenty minutes in the episode, he stood up and walked into his bedroom. He came out wearing only a towel. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

In my head, I picture the two of us under a faucet making out rubbing bodies together with me leaning down to draw his smaller body into mine. He left the door unlocked and I made my way into the bathroom.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you were taking a shower.”

“Yes, I’m taking a shower. You can wait in there.”

I about slapped him and left, but the chance of sex still lingered. At the very least, the sexual tension between the two of us was growing, mostly because the tension between us was growing defiantly from my side.

When he came out of the shower, he walked into his bedroom in a towel. I followed him in and we began to embark on another one of my ego-stroking conversations. I wanted him out of the towel. I wanted to see his cock and his ass. I wanted to see it all. I wanted to fuck him and make him moan.

He asked me to leave as he got dressed, and I came back in after the appropriate time with him already under the blankets. I lay down beside him and we continued talking. Eventually, I just gave in and moved over to kiss him. The conversation bored me, and if this kiss bored me, I would leave. He suddenly became very aware and pressed his lips against mine as I leaned over him.

I moved my hand down his body feeling the ridges of abs and the muscles of his pecs. I moved it down to his red boxer briefs and felt the member promptly growing to its full size. I pulled at the band of his underwear and his cock popped out. It was more then adequate if he was going to fuck me long and thick but nothing expressive in terms of length or girth. Just right.

I pulled them down and he kicked them off as I took his cock into my mouth. His hands, instead of groping my head, he began to feel himself up completing the egocentrism in his personality I saw all night. It made me smile as I kicked off my pants and took my mouth from his cock long enough to take off my shirt. I moved my cock up to his mouth and forced it in.

He grabbed the base with his hands and began sucking the head. Eventually, mostly due to his inability to actually please me this way, I began kissing him again. He got aggressive and turned me over on my side. He grabbed at the edge of his mattress that filled the majority of the floor of his room and grabbed a condom. With me on my back, he placed it over my cock and grabbed the lube to lube himself and me up.

He brought his body down on it slowly, but not slowly enough and I could see the pain contort on his face. He got most of the way down, and then pulled up turning around on all fours with a simple, “Fuck me.”

I did just that and got up pressing my cock into him. He craned his head around with his eyes closed and mouth opened. I put my cock into him slowly, and after a moment began pounding him. After a couple minutes, he could not take it any more, and had me pull out.

He rolled over onto his side, and to finish, we watched porn and jerked off. I ended up coming all over my chest and he did the same. He stood up with his cock still protruding from his body hard, perhaps ready for another round. “You need something to wipe up?”

I raised my eyebrows at him with a chuckle, “Yeah, obviously.”

He handed me a tissue.

As he walked into the shower, I used the tissue, which stuck to my body and looked like a wad of cum when I finished with it. I tossed it in an old Abercrombie bag that I believe had nothing else but garbage in it. I did not pay enough attention to care. I promptly grabbed all my stuff and left just as the sun illuminated the city. I opened my phone and put in the coordinates to get home looking them over just long enough before my phone died.

The trip home took longer than anticipated as I got lost going further north instead of south, but I made it home nonetheless.

The following day, I told my friend, who set us up, about the sexual adventure. After giving me a “Don’t ruin this for us,” she stated she was going to see him that afternoon. I found out he said he was glad I left, as he just wanted to sleep. I was glad about another story, enough if I did not get to play video games.

Introducing Beau de Jour

Sex. Even the taste of the word feels a little dirty. Your lips part slightly as the syllable rustles through the edge giving your lips a tingle that eventually filters through your entire body. Some people cannot say the word without disgust. Some say the word with laughter to cover the awkwardness it holds. I say the word with a smirk, because sex, my friends, is what I do best.

Who am I, and why should you care? Well, Beau de Jour, I am obviously not, but one has to keep some things a secret in this world of decadence. I keep my personal life personal and my sexual life sexual. My partners may not be as open as I am, but their stories will soon find their way to the masses. I have had sex across the United States in places from the wilderness to hotels. Mostly with men, but even a couple women find their way into my stories. I do not pretend to know anything of romance, even though some of these stories lead to romantic entanglements. The truth is, who I am is not as important as who I do.

I moved to the New York area a little over four mouths ago. Since then, I had a threesome with two lovers, a romantic entanglement with excellent sex, an actor whose sexual prowess reminded me of a drunk dog, and a man who wanted me simply because his friends had me.  This was only in the NYC metro area, not including the strange, devilishly handsome, and awkwardly stagnant people back in the Midwest where I originally lived.

My flavor changes. Normally, I find myself bending over and forcing a man into me simply because I want it. Sometimes, if they’re forceful enough they can actually take control of me. Generally, I’m the one getting what I want and they’re just the receptacle for my need. My needs change. Sometimes, I need to fuck, or be fucked, sometimes I want someone to slap my ass or lick it. A few times, I might want to force someone to need what I have to give. Regardless, one-night stands are all about me.

Do not mistake that I do not care for my partner’s satisfaction. I do want my partners to finish, but I do not pick-up men randomly to have some emotionally lethargic experience. I pick them up because I need cock or I want someone to sit on mine or beg for me to complete their needs.

I would not call myself handsome. Some people would find me downright in opposition to the idea of the ‘gay ideal’. I am hairy which could be helped with waxing, but why do I give a damn when I hope to never see most of the people again. I am balding, but I do have a nice cock that may not be huge, but people seem appreciative nonetheless. I’m also fairly agile and lithe with only about five pounds too much in my stomach to have it be flat. Most people ignore me, but the few that don’t always leave me with a story to tell.

Those stories shall be here for the world to read. You may call me a slut, tramp, trollop, whore, or harlot, but at the end of the day I know what I like. Someday, I may want more, but if that day is to come, the boy still has to be able to please me. Let’s see how many people do before that time, shall we?