May 29, 2011

A Guest Post by BIG FISH IN A SMALL POND

If blood is thicker than water, is cum thinner than blood?

At first, there was nothing particularly attractive about him. He was a bit of a humpty dumpty. Mash potatoes with no gravy. Physically he was average in every possible way. Easily and often overlooked, he was the kind of guy bursting at the seams with a desire and the capacity to give. And I mean give it good. Maybe it was pent up MoJo from infrequent sexplay, or perhaps he thought I was giving out medals? Either way, I’ve yet to meet anyone that compares to this daredevil’s gumption.

I’m not sure if this is relevant but he was a beautiful writer. He had a way of carefully wrapping up bundles of words into these brightly coloured packages that you wanted to consume, spit out, and then consume again. A mama bird feeding her babies kinda feeling. His average-ness faded away.

He was always trying to impress me or out-do himself with an array of sexual tricks and feats of wonder: hands-free ejaculations with only nipple play allowed bonanzas; five ejaculations in five minutes spectaculars; the elusive triple play simultaneous finger fuck-dick suck-nipple tweak extravaganzas – all proof of his hidden gravy.

One night when he said he was going to deepthroat me I don’t think I even noticed. It seemed so boring. Average. I was sitting on the bed and he was on the floor on his knees in front me. I have replayed this scene a thousand times in my head and to this day can’t figure out why he chose that position. Particularly considering the features of my penis which in this case, is relevant. It’s curved (a little to the left) like a crescent moon in a clear night sky, and for lack of a better description, full figured.

My daredevil’s gaze locked on mine, he slowly, and ever so carefully began to descend, inch by inch, his one hand gripping the base of my shaft ever so tightly. He stopped halfway to come up for air, spit on my dick, and started back from the beginning. Each time he tried to get round the bend, a favourite Duran Duran song from my youth would pop into my head:

“the reflex…dada dada…the reflex…flex flex flex flex flex.”

Somehow I suppressed my urge to giggle. His eyes would bulge out of his head, sweat dripping off his forehead, and the sound of his gag remixed with Duran Duran. After 20 minutes I tried to make him throw in the towel, told him it was too tricky and not even necessary. Clearly I had never spoken to a daredevil before. To him, my words were not fanciful packages, but rather a row of 24 delivery trucks and a poorly made ramp…

.

.

“I’m going hands-free all the way down. Watch me.”

He crossed his arms behind his back, in that handcuff position, still kneeling in front of me. He was grunting and gnarling, psyching himself up, getting into the zone. My giggle is sly and easily outsmarted my defenses to fill the room. He looked at me the way you look at a fool.

“Watch ME.”

It all happened so fast. It was a bit of a blur. I am assuming he decided to sprint to the finish line, rather than play the role of the tortoise, thinking this was the best way to reach his goal. He took a deep breath, and in one gulp made it past the bend and a stone’s throw from the base when it happened.

The gag was all I heard, and my balls and crotch were suddenly very wet and warm. He had red wine and shepherd’s pie for dinner. The barf splatter was hitting the floor, the stench had already reached my nostrils, and as his body heaved, his teeth scraped along the length of my moon.

At that moment, my body involuntarily jerked at the sight, sound, smell, and feel of this disaster and my right knee hit the daredevil right in the nose. KABLAM! After a high-pitched wail, his hands cupping the flow of blood now gushing from his nose, we were both apologizing profusely, stuck in our positions. There was a huried clean up process followed by awkward silences.

We went to the hospital where we learned he had a slight fracture. After that night we never saw or spoke to each other again. My daredevil Santa was no longer delivering his packages as a result of my lump of coal. I am always mindful now that in the blink of an eye, the ordinary can easily transform into the extraordinary. Come to think of it, I never did cum that night. I wonder if his nose now curves slightly to the right?

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