Baked Beans

Dan Baked Beans. That’s how I saved his number in my contact. Welsh. Charming smile, slightly bearded. Just turned 40 and just got married. Newly weds, they do look their best, don’t they?

He had been in contact for about 2 months but we never got to meet up. I thought he was a fraud, or just afraid and back on the idea (you know, the typically closeted guy thing). The thing is, his wife is aware of it and also a bisexual so they usually invite people in or do it so lo. No moral resistance from me this time.

I met him after gym since I needed to drink a bit. There I met him standing in front of the beer place, hands clumsily trying to get some batteries from the shop next door to text me. I observed him for quite a bit and then approached him closer from behind. “Hey,” I said as I pat his small backpack from behind.


Dan was even more charming in real life, a little bit of what the Internet calls now as “dad bod” (not that much, really, still very sportive to me), a science majored student in college, teaching science to high school students. We shared the same idea of how local education system was automatically discriminating against their own native teachers while in favor of the “white” ones regardless of qualification. I made him explain to me how beer is fermented, just to witness in real life his ‘qualification’.

“You like Chelsea, huh? Or you’re just trying to fit in?” he asked as eyes gazing on my Chelsea football shorts.

“Neither. I just wear it for my workout session.” I smiled a bit since he seemed like a challenging hot mess, one that has only been with a few men alone.

Although it wasn’t a date, nor it was meant to be one, the conversation did get deeper. He told me about his dream of being an actor. “You could be,” I was flirty, “I mean, you were charming. An actor doesn’t have to be super good looking, but charm is necessary.”  He was flushing and turned his face to the side just to be able to hide his shyness. A bit weird and clumsy man as well. He’s the perfect balance of social awkwardness and interactive likability. To save him from feeling vulnerable, I told him about my musical dream as well, of being a professional songwriter and singer, of playing guitar fluently to have a more proper recording. “You could be,” he reused my lines.


We then decided on places to go and finally settled for his private place which he resisted at first since he was afraid some people might spot him. The wife was away for months so I figured it was much better than his idea of going to a short-term hotel. We just drove together to the water park.

“You’re not an average 20 something here!” He had to shout since the wind was blowing hard at our faces. That was when after he learnt that I was aware of David Lynch’s work.


Basically, the rest was just as smoothly pleasant as the beginning, even better than my expectation. He rolled me a joint after another beer round at the bar next to his place and I was hugging and kissing his neck from behind as he was rolling. “Keep doing it, pay attention to your thing,” I whispered. He had to drop the joints eventually to turn around and took our shirts off.

What I remembered was a massage, a bit painful but a much needed one. He slowly took off my boxer briefs as his hands moved down from my lower back, caressed my bare butts for a while, playing with the curves and gently put a kiss on it. He liked rimming, I could tell.

I then turned around. That’s when he had our proper first kiss. He sucked on my upper lips, which was a bit aggressive but didn’t hurt at all. His mouth felt good, no smoker stain, just like mine, despite the fact that we had been chain smoking all the way. His body smelled good and I was sure it was his scent, not artificial. He was not that kind. Plus, I could smell body sweat in it.

He then went down to suck on my already hard cock. I was paralyzed. Everything was so nice so I didn’t want to do anything but just laid there to drown in him all the way. Now I knew why the females were after him back in the days (or even now). I didn’t even want to initiate a different position just to be able to not break that moment. My eyes were barely open and the last thing I saw was the light from the joints flickering in the dark messy room, where his professional photography work can be found, together with his acoustic guitar and a seemingly newly opened PS4 set.


We did do intercourse. He did try to penetrate me with his tongue, which was also enjoyable and of course, not really penetration. I gave him a big rim job and then fucked him in various ways. It’d been a long time since he got fucked but the body didn’t betray any of my invasion but rather welcome it. It felt just right, just smooth and tight. I was looking at his face while fucking him, holding his legs up high. That was a beautiful pair of buttocks.

I think I felt asleep a bit afterward (probably because of the pot and alcohol) and woke up a few minutes after to a glass of coconut juice that he’d put on the table for me. He was outside, smoking on the balcony (which was also on top of that building), still naked, looking at the city in the dark. “I like him, and I know I want him to be a frequent buddy,” the thought glared in my mind.


I left, didn’t forget to give him a quick kiss in the elevator on the way down. He greeted  me to the door and as I was leaving, I realized that no matter how much chemistry (I thought) we had, how pleasant the sex was, how right the inside of his felt, I didn’t and couldn’t cum inside him. I thought of Joey all the way home. That damn bastard was still unresponsive. And I still didn’t know what went wrong. The more it prolonged, the more difficult to sleep and wake up.

Dan was a good distraction. It would have been OK as well if the distraction had been longer.

 

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This entry was published on November 5, 2016 at 12:17 am. It’s filed under Dan Baked Beans, Joey and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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