I’ve never pursued dating muscle boys. My shorthand quip has been “If they spend that much time at the gym, they won’t be spending it at the Jim.” And the perception has always been that most of them are interested in other hardbodies; it’s not like I’m fat — I’ve got a small tummy and would like to lose maybe 10 lbs. — but I also sure don’t qualify as a muscle boy, not even as a muscle bear. But hey, on the occasions when one wants to play with my, I’ll give it a roll.
When he got to the hotel, he had me put on a pair of black socks he had brought, my black boots, and the black baseball cap he was wearing, while he put on a black toque. He wants to play with someone dressed like him? Okay, I can deal with a little costume fetish.
We got into some boot licking and cocksucking, but about every five minutes, he had to take a break to take a swig of what looked like Gator-ade and then of water. Gotta keep the electrolytes up and stay hydrated. Maybe he just finished a workout. Okay, I can deal with this, although it sure breaks up the rhythm.
Feeling up his ass while sucking dick, I found that his crack was hairy as all get out, and prickly hairy (like stubble a day or two old). Bodybuilders often shave to enhance the show of muscle definition. The amount of maintenance that the hair in his ass crack implied had to be done to keep the rest of his body seem so hairless boggles the mind, though. Okay, I prefer some natural hair growth to shaved or even manscaped, but it’s not required.
Every two or three breaks to hydrate, he went and stood in front of the closet mirrors for a moment and checked himself out. Looked himself up and down, posed. Total narcissist. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be here for? Okay, getting a little weird. Wonder if he’s just like this naturally or if he’s tweaking on something?
His phone beeped, as a text message came in. He reached for the phone — made it hard for me to stay on his dick — but he didn’t need to reply to the message, apparently. Once is forgivable. Twice is annoying. Three times is really annoying. But once you have me in the sling and your hands are gloved and covered with lube…
Let the damn phone alone!
Jesus Christ, if seeing the text message that you aren’t even going to reply to is so important that you’ll risk slopping Crisco all over your BlackBerry rather than wait 20 minutes, maybe you shouldn’t be playing with anyone. Decide what’s most important: a hand in the ass or two on the phone.
Needless to say, as soon as I could after that, I got things finished up and sent him on his way. There’s no graceful way to explode at someone’s behavior once you’re in the sling, so I just had to hurry things along and shut them down quickly.
Now, I don’t know if he had some important business deal or some such pending, or if the texts were from other guys he had hit up, or from his dealer or workout partner or whatever. It really doesn’t matter. It’s a version of the same thing that I said when people defended those whose cell phones would ring during a movie or the symphony: if you have to be reachable at all times, put it on vibrate and check it discreetly when it goes off. And if you being reached means you will have to drop what you are doing and leave, don’t do anything where dropping it suddenly will cause problems for others (like cutting out of dinner or the middle of sex). In those rare cases where such might occur anyway, let the affected other people know up front, and for God’s sake, apologize if it happens.
It doesn’t matter if you are a parent with a baby left with the sitter, or a doctor on call, or bodybuilder fisting top: “Don’t be rude” is the only rule you need in this situation.