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A Fulfilling Overnight (or, “Love me for the man I am – use me for all that I’m not.”)

Skill Seekers and Fantasy Finders (…Working Somewhat Backwards…) (For the first part of this experimental three-pieced entry, click here.) …And, cheek to your chest, I had fallen asleep, the intention of romance having balanced primal impulse in my nocturnal nod to that sacred space under the covers as I struck the center of your forceful read more..


Skill Seekers and Fantasy Finders (…Working Somewhat Backwards…)


(For the first part of this experimental three-pieced entry, click here.)

…And, cheek to your chest, I had fallen asleep, the intention of romance having balanced primal impulse in my nocturnal nod to that sacred space under the covers as I struck the center of your forceful physique to feel the connection only two men can elicit – above your secretiveness over work and wife and seemingly illicitly immersed in the scent of secretions splashed in espoused love in a life temporarily unbridled by the timelessness of a singular moment and two nameless men claiming to be unashamed in our nakedness as we’d wed covertness with clarity.

Intent on taking the whole of you to completion, my second hole still throbbing with your thrust from an hour-long pummeling hours prior, I awoke you from a heated dream to the ease of warmth as you leisurely perceived movement beneath the sheets and released power as you laid back into wakefulness as you re-realized my lips as they wrapped around your prick – my face hungrily consuming your hungness, granting us both the capacity for emancipated expression as my tongue teased the tip and my throat thickened you until you spilled.


But before we’d drifted into suspended reverie I’d carefully slipped the condom off your rod to contain your load. I held it up, upended by your cockiness, observing your Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down as you offered up a dumbfounded, ”UFFA!” With a reverence for self and sort and spirit and startled by insight, in being tempted by the forbidden, we had simply employed an ordinary approach to fully enjoy spastic orgasms in a bottomless freefall of delay and delight.

Our faces down, and my rump up, your belly had filled my back’s arc as you slid in and out of my arse, peering downwardly as your sack slapped behind mine, your bone buried from sight, as you made out my mounted mounds, motivated by the sound of sweat on enmeshed flesh as you poked my backend and pounded me endlessly as I worked your packing unit by backing into you.


In fumbling to tear one another’s clothes off to show off torso and legs, posterior and pegs, we stumbled upon access to parts to place our probers-cum-pockets on. And you descended to every toe only to notice – then lick – each nipple, ascending to whisper words to whet my eagerness while wetting my earlobes to get the go-ahead to taste me open while I closed my eyes to test you, opening them to regard a decreased sag with each gag as you groaned between my cheeks and grew inside my gullet.

However, after shutting the door on these many months since we’d last rekindled the flame, you’d required my mouth so badly you at first madly straddled me on your best friend’s sofa and banged me with abandon. A man’s man you are, and you were mine, and as you whacked me with your salivated willy I surrendered a sucked nut to petition you with my rendition of, “Amami per l’uomo che sono – usami per tutto quello che non sono.” And in my position of submission, with downcast eyes you saw me as your capable guide so long as I stayed your vulnerable equal



I adore this concept of deliberate and adept cocksucking rousing a man from the involuntary images and ideas, emotions and impressions of unconsciousness to provoked, awakened prospect.

Your homework is to reflect on how sex affects you when at its best. Then dream up ways you can affect artistry and effect instinctiveness to wake yourself and others up to previously unequalled possibility.

If there’s anything specific you’d like to work out – or up! – I’m here. ☺

(Note: Men Alive!, I’m presently meaning-making and fantasy-finding across the globe with my beastly bestie. Please feel free to comment, but be patient respecting a response as I give myself space to explore in a gleeful crack at answering the unanswerable in unearthing the everyday in the exceptional. ”Woohoo!”)

(To continue, middle to front, click here.)

Add a Response 6 thoughts on “A Fulfilling Overnight (or, “Love me for the man I am – use me for all that I’m not.”)

  1. It feels strange that though it has been sometime since I’ve seen you, it is only now that I’m aware that I’ve missed you, knowing as I do that you are out of town, and far away in a country where I spent a couple of years of my childhood. But perhaps that’s what I’m actually missing. I mean those childhood memories, because they’ve come flooding back ever since you left. Your story of “rousing a man from the involuntary images and ideas. . .to provoked, awakened prospect,” has worked its magic on me.

    Casablanca, Rabat, Marrakech. The camel markets where the baby camels were not yet as obstreperous as their parents, but curious and a bit pushy, like me at nine years old. But then, not long after, seeing lambs being led away to be slaughtered. The stench of leather curing on rooftops, a smell recognizable, faintly, in even fine, finished Moroccan leather. A street dentist, his rusty pair of pliers proudly displayed on a blood stained blanket, and a little mound of rotten teeth piled neatly on the side.

    Snowcaps on the Atlas mountains.

    A cobra found curled in the back of the house, and the sheer mad excitement as servants came running from all directions, and Zara gathered me up and ran calling for help into the streets. Heaven!

    That same Zara pouring a hot cup of mint tea, from a pot hanging over an open fire, calming me down each day as I ran home from school, flushed with the excitement of being let free. Who knows what she put in it in addition to the mounds of sugar heaped on the bottom, still granulated like soft sand. I would be pleasantly dopey the rest of the afternoon, as I sat, leaning against her, talking in an Arabic I didn’t even know. I felt loved.

    I was a water rat, and I swam mostly at the pool reserved for enlisted men and their families, because there were more children my age there than at the Officers Club. I could go back and forth between the two, but found that my poolmates could not. Showering later in the men’s locker room, a man, whose cock sprouted from a jet black bush of pubic hair, so entranced me that my father had to tweak the back of my neck to awaken me; though, I assume, he didn’t know what it was had stopped me in my tracks.

    I wouldn’t be surprised if you are staying at the same Marrakech hotel, or at least nearby, where Churchill loved to vacation, and paint landscapes, from the large walled garden. Truly this must mark me as the oldest of your clients when I say that it was there I was urged by star struck parents to tiptoe past the hotel’s breakfast room, instructed to look, but not make a single sound, at the great man, as if just by passing by, I would be bestowed some kind of grace. But the image that remains with me is of the handsome Arab, pouring Churchill’s coffee at that very moment, who spied me, and whose stern look caused a new and pleasurable sensation in my stomach.

    I love your cock-stirring description of bringing your lover, this man’s man, awake, surging, and spilling back to life, and your reverie about this now, and how the everyday moments contain in them, all the elements we need to feel alive. Pleasure seekers and pleasure givers: it makes me think how this capacity begins so clearly at such a young age. As if all those moments we thought, in retrospect, that we’d been sleepwalking through, come back to us, in the flick of a tongue, and we swallow them in one heavenly gulp. How I look forward to your return, when I can stop feeling your absence. How I look forward to being transfixed by stories of your adventures—in my faraway land!

    • Oh, Chris – those stern looks are reawakening old and pleasurable sensations in my belly! From your faraway land to our shared one: “Salam alikome!” XO Adam

  2. As-Salamu Alaykum from NYC.
    Another interesting entry. After traveling in the intimacy of different situations throughout my life, I cannot agree more with you: “the connection only two men can elicit”. Of course, it has to do with personal choices, but having tried everything and anything, I exactly know what you mean. Enjoy Morocco. It’s a wonderful country.

    • “As-Salamu Alaykum” from Fez, Gil! You were spot on – on so many levels. What a glorious experience! I anticipate sharing so much of this warmth with you… Adam


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