The Fools We Are As Men

“Hurry up, we’ve only got 10 minutes,” Richard said while hastily removing his office attire. I, on the other hand, had already got my trousers off, with my cock standing proudly in position. In another blink, Richard was already on his knees, burying his face deep down my quivering loin as I slowly jammed my hardon down his throat, hands grabbing his head, and hip starting to pick up the pace. I could see clearly our reflection clearly in the mirror, in the room that I grew up in.


That’s how we met. I picked him up on Scruff one Monday, after much deliberation, and we decided to go for lunch. We were supposed to go back to the office at 2 pm but decided to take a swing by  my place for a 10 minute session instead. You could tell that it was a worthy decision.

Richard is working for a huge international institution. Already in his 40s, Richard possessed quite a fit body, firm chest muscles and the ass that would pop all night long. Despite his rather impressive education background, social status and high professional ranking (and I could say wealth), he is rather at ease being submissive, at least in bed.

The first time we had sex, he kept on begging me for more, in his mouth, his hole and everything. When I was close to cumming, he directed my cock towards his hairy chest and let me cum all over while enjoying himself getting soaked up in my juice.

Richard has the craziest ideas. Rubbing himself in my cum and getting humiliated is one. One time, he suggested choosing a cucumber together for some bedroom sports. The other time, he threw in the golden shower card. It fits my preference, being a bit controlling and dominant on the outside.

Later on, I realized that I was the one throwing ideas in as well: toilet sex, exchanging underwears during lunch break (since our offices are close by), fucking by the window, group play, etc. Days and nights, we wasted time by sending each other sexual fantasies, of what we would do to each other, of what I would make him do or to be more exact, of what he would love to make him do. Was it another character that I was playing, the dominant top, or was it Richard’s sexual charisma that has provoked something in deep down inside?

Kinky as he is, Richard is a perfect example of what is usually portrayed as a foul mouthed sassy housewife. British and all, he’s got a way with words. Pretty much all the time sitting behind my motor, he would complain about his boss, his assignment and all the fake things he had to say at work everyday, and of course, his missing testicle. “You could do well with a monologue show,” I would throw some shades here and there along the way.

And I don’t know since when but I started calling him “my boy”, even if I’m with Fiji Bear now (Fiji Bear even once referred to him as having a serial killer look). Whenever Richard is around, on my motor, with his thighs pressing against mine, whining to me about everything from A to Z, I would feel bigger than who I am, partly.

One day, when I was asking him to lend me his bike, there he was, with the bike, all shiny and new, with tires pumped in advance. Richard himself was dripping sweat from running to get the bike in its best state possible after a long abandonment. And I found him way more sexy than ever, in that sweatpants that hug his buttocks nicely, revealing a a slight bulge down under, and with a rare smile on his face while he was still breathing heavily.

The only thing prevented Richard from being my boy, my play mate, is that he was in that complicated string with a guy that he had met way before me. “He was nice. And he made me omlette,” Richard said, referring to his guy, while rejecting my booty call that day. “After all, this is what you’ve advised me to do,” he continued.

Yes, that was what I said he must do, to come clean to his guy that he wasn’t in love with him, that he had been fooling around with people, including me, that he didn’t find in him attraction anymore but what was left was just gratitude. I advised him not to feed the guy with false hope of a relationship that never was. And he took it at another turn, to come clean and then be bound to it, to something doomed from the very first start.


The other night, text messages from Richard. He was complimenting on my man choice, saying Fiji Bear was a ‘keeper’ (which he later explained as someone with marriage material), after we all went for dinner, me, Fiji Bear, Richard and Johann. Out of the blue, I guess he was still in one of those creative scenarios and playing the character like we always do, he asked: “What are you, to me?” To which, I replied “Of course, I’m you master…” and then a pause followed.

“… but only in fantasy. In real life, I’m your friend, right?”


I guess that’s how it’s always been. Our relationship, the dominant top – submissive bottom one, one in control and one being controlled, just exists in such world. After all, we ourselves are the first and foremost to understand our status, our boundaries, of what we could do with each other and what we couldn’t do. I’ve chosen my man, and Richard has made up his own mind as well, to have someone to share omlette with. But still, there’s this intimacy that still binds these two entities together somewhere in the space between what is real and what isn’t.

This entry was published on September 29, 2015 at 5:31 pm. It’s filed under Richard and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: