mr napkin head

And Thursdays. I nod, looking at his tasseled loafers. These...not-dates? Not getting caught is winning; easy sex is first prize. Removing this book will also remove your associated ratings, reviews, and reading sessions. Jonah and I sit side by side on that blue sofa. Soon I feel someone coaxing me by the hips to stand; someone pulls down my pants. His head rolls to one side, yet his mouth continues working. Bullshit. Stares. To anyone else, it must look as if he’s pressing the page against his face. So I run into the kitchen, hoping to find a dishcloth, and finally return with a napkin to mop things up. We don’t speak until we’re at the bottom of the hill, well away from the picnic clearing. Competent. I’m the feral tomcat who’s pissed on his property to mark it as his own. I can’t grab on to him for balance as I straddle his legs, or hold his shoulders as I establish a rhythm with my narrow hips. However, if you’re typically a reticent type, I wouldn’t try leading with “Hey, shove those inches of yours down my throat.” That might be too much for a shy personality to handle, right out of the gate. We got bedsheets, twin size. Patricia Highsmith was an American novelist who is known mainly for her psychological crime thrillers which have led to more than two dozen film adaptations over the years. I hadn’t been able to lure him over to join in at any point. I’ve written before about Darryl, a guy I used to play with back in Michigan who had a serious fetish for underwear used as a cum rag. Only the police approach in a car after dark. After a moment or two, we hear a shuffle in the woods that’s too steady to be wildlife. Ever since I’d started hunting for sex in the park the year before, I’ve only encountered minor impediments in my visits. I don’t draw attention. Cocksuckers below would stand on the ground, the holes at mouth level, fighting for the prime cocks. The park closes at sunset. The unseasonably warm autumn weather has prompted more men than usual to make the trek to the Henrico/Richmond border. It’s possible I’m projecting my own long-forgotten grudge against the man onto the blank slate of his dull eyes. “Let’s move out, soldier,” he tells me. Here am I now, alone with him, in the safety of his own living room—and the man has seen more of James Garner in the last hour than he has of the real live boy sitting next to, or upon, him. All I know is that I’m speared on a stranger’s log when my head dangles over the edge of the table and my eyes open. Past summer’s peak, fewer shadows populate this section of the nighttime woods. Lotta flirting. Hardly. Week after week this man’s stares have pierced the nights as I’d copulated with strangers in the park. “You hungry?” Jonah asks. I didn’t know it was that late”). This one fellow’s short-sleeved white dress shirt, however, is resolutely buttoned up. The men who venture into Bryan Park after dark know better than to drive their cars into forbidden territory after it’s been swept through. It’s dark enough on the oak-lined street, though, that my furious blushing must not be visible. He gets to relax in his home, to watch the TV shows he chooses, to be accompanied by the boy he’s decided to patronize. Nor were any of us to make direct beelines to the street where most of the adults had parked their cars. In this commonwealth of picnic tables and barbecue stands where I reign, I am unused to being refused. It certainly does amp up and is crazy tense at times, even though I’ve seen the movie countless times! I recognize this isn’t mere discourtesy. Jonah quickly maneuvers us from booth to booth, accumulating a tray full of his favorites. He follows to where my bike leans against a slender elm behind the shelter. My briefs must be an absolute mess; I’m going to have to do a quick end-run around my parents until I can slip into the shower, or at the very least, some fresh pajama bottoms. In the end, none of it matters. The notion of strapping a mini-refrigerator onto the rattling old car and its bundles brings up visions of the Ozark Clampett family loadin’ up the truck and movin’ to Beverly…Hills, that is. My mom has helpfully informed me that I’ll never forget the combination if I remember the year that Texas joined the union…but frankly, it’s easier to remember a simple four-digit number than to keep track of historical dates. Is the man someone I’ve met in the tearooms? My elbows are planted on a picnic table, my knees digging into its bench, corduroys bunched around my ankles. I probably will buy one on my own and find out the answer - is this something I'd rather just fantasize about? But he’s always hung back, never unbuttoning, never unzipping, never stepping up to take a turn. If a submissive wants to deny himself luxuries in order to please his cash master, that’s one thing. It feels, though, that in my sheer enormity I’m roaring my repudiation. I’ve noticed a curious correlation between a huge rise in interest in chastity caging and the current pandemic. I need to hear the whisper of good boy in my ear from the bald and bespectacled man in a suit, deep in the plush recesses of the Hotel Jefferson men’s room. An obsession blooms and Tom finds himself wanting to be Dickie Greenleaf. I long for the feel of a grateful caress as a nameless fellow wipes away the last traces of his excitement from my lips and cheek. This evening I expected to be spending in an actual bed, between actual sheets, like an actual adult. Was it 1844 I’d picked tonight? I’ve begun to learn how to open wide to survive a savage throat-fucking from the biggest tools without gagging…and to sense when a man liked the sounds of a struggle, to enhance his pleasure with grunts and whimpers. It’s true that four years has made me lankier and taller—I’d tower over Jonah if I approached him. Those men aren’t any good.”. With Peter Sellers, Shirley MacLaine, Melvyn Douglas, Jack Warden. I recognize the implication. Most of the men prowling in the darkness wear jeans and windbreakers, or have unbuttoned their shirts to expose expanses of flesh almost luminous in the shadows. What if he forgets, or reconsiders our…I don’t want to think of it as a date. I’m probably the quietest kid in my eighth grade class. What am I really telling my mom and dad, with every glib tall tale? The action would always start on the second floor. I find myself nodding automatically, because I do indeed know how to get there. Fear of having to come up with new ways to deceive my parents for not meeting my friend Adam. In 1977, no one rebounds with grace after the Times-Dispatch exposes them as an active homosexual. Stronger. Until that day comes, here’s an image of kittens with laser eyes on pizza slices: I have a gentlemen caller who is trying to get me into a cock cage. I shiver whenever he turns his head and smiles. I thank you for bringing this unforgivable oversight to my attention. Almost immediately, I catch Jonah’s eye once again. He’s just…waiting. That’s as far as it goes for now—one chaste kiss, sweet and lingering. This is one of those last moments, I realize, that I still have the agency to decide in what direction the rest of the night will go. I could be stuck standing here at the corner of Brook and Sherwood for hours. Bruce Snider: Where are all the rural gay poets? They’ll suggest I sip their beers or ply me with harder liquor, then only laugh with good nature when I decline the offer. I extend my deepest apologies that you have tracked down and visited a sex blog on the internet to find that it is primarily focused upon . How many loads have I taken so far in the forty-five minutes I’ve been here? I’d sit in the stall further from the two doors leading in, sucking cock after cock. I feel guilty, somehow. Bryan Park might have been the easiest cruising spot within reach of my home, but it’s not the only park to play in. I'm enjoying every moment of his attention, though it is a bit hard to keep any sort of focus! Novels and Novellas 12/21/09: Family Traditions Ch. Not once, in the year I’d been sexually active, had a fellow spent more time with me than it took for him to empty his nuts into one of my holes, much less woo me with greasy food and views of Richmond’s Northside. I’m still. He’s acting as if nothing at all had happened between us—as if all we’d done was spend the last few minutes finishing up The Rockford Files. Away from the eyes of family I can shape and mold myself however I please. I feel too small and powerless to refuse. What if he’s late? As I feel it thrum anew once again, deep within, I realize how essential this power has become to my very being. To stand clothed before him face to face leaves me feeling shy in a way I’d never felt before, not even half-naked and violated with strange cock. We make a quick negotiation to meet the following Friday, shortly after dusk. I’m hyperaware how silly it is, after this man has witnessed me taking anonymous cock in the near-darkness, to be worried about him seeing a sudden tent in my cords. She laughed and giggled, nodding her head and making comments every now and again as they sat together. “And hey. I stop, waiting for some kind of instruction. When he comes, I halt. This was my first book by The Talented Ms. Highsmith, and I fully appreciate her skills and reputation. It’s the man with the necktie. Don’t use a toothpick without covering your mouth with your free hand, and if you’re going to wear a tiny string Speedo on … Jonah has fled the park. “We will,” he promises. Ask yourself the following questions: are you going to be in raptures at the thrill of being caged while the man caging you is towering over you, only to be irritated by the mundane realities when he isn’t? Lunch times were particularly busy. The redneck, even? It certainly does amp up and is crazy tense at times, even though I’ve seen the movie countless times! I’m a kid who overanalyzes everything, It doesn’t take much thought to sense the rebuke in his statement. “First time?”. He holds my gaze until I nod with concession to that demand, too. I watch him drive off toward the Boulevard. Missed tributes. And I realize that for quite some time, I’ve been holding my breath. “Alone. Every time a man defiles my ass, or fucks my throat, I can spy even in the dark the glitter of desire in Necktie’s eyes as they devour every act. I’m grateful for his help and his concern, happy to be on the receiving end of his warmth. “Pussy,” he mutters. What am I going to do if he doesn’t arrive? I’m rewarded with a squeeze above the knee. I don’t think so. Occasionally I did have a report I had to complete, or a nighttime band concert, or a play rehearsal run long, but it was unheard-of that I’d voluntarily keep away from my secret life for an entire seven days. Save for a wad of paper towels hidden at the bottom of his kitchen waste bin, I’ve been scrupulous to hide all evidence of anything that might or might not have happened between us. He groans slightly to feel the warmth and wetness, but his hands remain on the sofa as if invisible straps restrain him. I’m already beginning to doubt how much of what I apparently need we’ll be able to squeeze into our seventeen-year-old Dodge Dart, especially on top of the clothing and books and journals I’ll already be taking with me. “Puh—“ he aspirates. My mouth parts slightly with pleasure, but no sound emerges. My sterling reputation seals the deal. It’s only the work of a few seconds to pull on my clothes and get my denim jacket back on. When I make a move to loosen the hug, though, he pulls me in a little closer, and holds me still. I feel grown up when I’m on my own, with my brethren. It’s thicker, larger. Students, faculty, staff, men from the streets. In control. He hasn’t abandoned me after all. If I spin the leftmost disc instead of the one at the right…. I hate what I’m doing.Tears form in my eyes the faster I ride; the lump in my throat makes it difficult to swallow. It’s fastened with a numerical dial lock. His hand has been on my chest during this entire brief conversation. Maybe this is a good question for my readers, too—have any of you gentlemen harbored a fetish for cum rags? They rough up faggots; they release the names of the unfortunates to the papers. Left to my own devices, I likely would have spent a half-hour visiting all the booths and obsessed over the prices before I chose the single, most inexpensive thing on the menus. —Mrkgnao! Sturdy. I was able to pick up some pointers if I ever sink low enough to do what Tom Ripley did, but I doubt that will ever happen. “Follow my lead. His eyes haven’t opened once, these past few minutes. Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Lakeside is the pretty little suburban area where I’d lived until my parents had moved us into our current home in the city. “Yeah. I am the giant at the top of the beanstalk. He draws his pants and shorts to his knees. He directs his attention once more to the road, but leaves his hand resting on my thigh. Is that okay?”. His solidity has gone slightly soft over time. I’m accustomed to my private wildness. I’m convinced he wants me. No doubt the picnic shelter is already echoing once more with sighs and soft sounds of pleasure. I’m feeling no remorse about my decision. Emails that sound stressed or distraught. . I respond when my teachers ask something of me directly, but I don’t volunteer. Then I feel a hand on my arm. “Just, you know, you and me. There’s a big smile threatening to break loose across my face, but I rein it in. Small talks mortifies me—I’m convinced what little I have to say is much, much too small for anyone older than myself. He stands, pulls up his shorts and chinos around his still-hard cock, tucks in his dress shirt, then buckles the belt. I know, it all sounds very good, but after the hole had been open for about a month, a rival arose. I know I am wanted. Pummelling Peto's pussyboy some more... (bb video). Men would occupy the stalls and fuck and suck through the holes and beneath the partitions; others would stand at the urinals on the side of the U invisible from the door leading in and out, and either fuck and suck there, or watch what was going on in the stalls, or wait for someone to open a stall door for sex. When another pair of shiny loafers strides into the stall moments after that, I’m feeling next to no guilt when I raise the tip of my sneaker and initiate a tap. I’ve got some pine needles or debris tangled in my long hair. He’s not reacting. Floors four through seven had smaller restrooms with only two stalls apiece. It takes a moment before I realize he can’t see me nodding in the pitch black, so I clear my throat and softly assure him I’m fine. I was on my own, I guessed. For those unfamiliar with the scene, or with my relationship to it, I advise taking a moment to review what I said there. My eyes keep darting to the left, trying to scrutinize his expression. In Virginia, sodomy is punishable by incarceration. While it seemed to have a slow build in the beginning and took me awhile to get into it, I think it was probably my own distractions instead of the book’s fault. Now I’m waiting nervously near a bus stop on Brook Road, halfway between my home and A. H. Robins. “Let’s be quiet.” His mustache gently abrades my ear as he sighs the suggestion up close. Some perverse impulse, however, made me slant my bike onto Bryan Park drive rather than continue to the Lakeside neighborhood where I was expected.

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