There’s this nerdy guy at my gym who’s built like Corrin Sanchez, except with even more muscle. I see it every time he bends over to pick up his clipboard, every time he does a rep of, well, anything.
I’m not getting a clear gay vibe from him, but like I’ve said before, my gym screws with my gaydar. Either way, I’d love to see him naked, jacking off.
Although it hasn’t been that long since I was last at underwear night, I feel like there’s been a dearth of arousing men’s undergear in my life. Sure, it’s butt-ass cold outside, but there’s got to be some ski lodge somewhere with a roaring fireplace packed with men in nothing but their skivvies.
Last night with my bearfriend was great. We drank, screwed, took a couple of Vicodin, went out for steaks, drank, saw Santa, screwed and passed out. Come to think of it, it’s actually only the second time we’ve fucked under the influence.
Okay, so I may not be into the guys (Kayden Gray is somewhat doable), but I’m definitely into the scene. I haven’t had someone worship my feet in far too long, and I’d be happy to reward him by letting him smell my socks while I fuck him.
I know just the guy for the job, but he’s out of town until next week! I don’t think my feet can wait that long…
Now that I think about it, I had lots of great sex this weekend, and I have to say, I’m pretty exhausted. A satisfied exhausted. Like I don’t need anything except a cocktail, a cigarette and a balcony with a view of the moonlit bay.