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Grady

He’s not Trevor, but I fuck him anyway.

It was the hair that made me stop at his profile on Grindr, thick dark hair, long and uneven around his face.

He meets me at his apartment door in jeans that are open at the fly. A few seconds later, he’s on his knees, hot breath on my dick as I dig my fingers into that thick hair. It’s not soft, like Trevor’s, it’s coarse, but it works as my grip drags him forward. Works to hold him there as I force my cock into his throat. He swallows around me, then lets me fuck his face, hands on my thighs to steady himself. He’s just as dick hungry as his profile promised.

His tongue cradles me, lips firm over his teeth, but it’s the texture I’m after, the squeezing wet pressure from his palate and throat on my cock. My balls tighten, the load already sparking in them. I pull him off, and he licks his lips as he settles back on his heels. Swollen lips under the dark shaggy hair and I think of how pale Trevor’s skin is, how dark his lips would be if they were swollen and bruised from my cock.

“Wanna fuck?” he asks.

“It’s why I’m here.”

He leads the way through a tiny kitchen to a room with a double mattress on the floor and sheds his briefs before sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed.

Damn. I wish he had a regular bed frame, something to bend him over so I can stay on my feet.

Legs spread in front of him, he grabs lube and reaches under his balls to finger himself. “I’m on the prep.” He looks up at me and grins. “You can do me bare.”

Hell yeah. I have to grab the base of my dick to ease off the edge before I can slide the condom back in my pocket. A bare ass, sweeter than his mouth. If he’s hot enough, tight enough, maybe I’ll forget this isn’t who I want to be jamming my cock into. Forget that I want to fuck over my oldest friend and bury myself balls deep in his son’s ass.

He rocks on his fingers, watching me, still in my jeans and boots with my dick out.

I don’t like them to see my foot. Don’t need their sympathy, their curiosity or even their thanks for my service. But it’s gonna be hard to manage with his bed on the floor. I scan the room. There’s a pressboard desk with his computer on it in the corner.

“C’mere.” I crook a finger at him.

His fuck-me pout vanishes. “I don’t kiss.”

And I don’t give a shit. I jerk my head at the desk. “Over there.”

He nods and rolls to his feet, bringing the pump top bottle of lube with him. He moves the computer to his mattress and settles his ass on top of the layered pressboard. “Easier on your leg? Saw the limp.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He shrugs. I grab his hips and pull him to the edge. “Turn and bend over it.”

There’s an argument forming in his face even as his socked feet hit the floor. His profile said he was looking for a pounding from Tops, fit Daddys, straight-acting men. That’s what he’s getting in me.

I turn him at his shoulder and press him face down on the desk. He flinches with the full contact of the winter-cooled surface on his chest, but the argument never happens. With my right knee, I push his legs apart. His ass is small but curved. The face under that hair had been too weathered to be younger than 30 and his eyes are dark, close set. But with him like this, just narrow hips, vulnerable bony spine and shaggy hair, I can think it’s Trevor. Think it’s his ass I’m gonna drill. His thighs my balls will smack when I’m deep inside.

I move my jeans down to my thighs and use a palm full of lube on my cock. It’s a nice glide but if my hand was enough to fight the need to drag Trevor off to my bed, I wouldn’t be here.

I grab the guy’s ass cheeks and pull him open. His hole looks ready, dark and shiny with lube, but I still test it with a jab of my thumb.

He gasps. “I’m good.”

I hope he’s not a talker. I line up and push forward. His ass swallows the tip, no resistance as I sink all the way down. Heat, slick moving heat, soft around me, then he tightens up with a groan.

Yes. He milks me with his muscles and I slide a hand around his waist to lift him, change the angle so I can get deeper, shifting side to side.

A pulse around me, then his cheeks push up into my groin and we’re good to go. To fuck.

I feel sorry for any neighbors because I’m going to pound him through the wall. My balls have a lot of Trevor-frustration to unload.

I rock my hips back and then slam forward, going hard and fast from the first and he loves it, arching his back and slapping into me as he meets the thrusts.

Arm around his hips, I ride him, drowning in the sensation, the sweat-sex smell, the noise of our flesh, thud of the table, groans deep in our bellies. I slide my other hand up his back to his hair, that hair, tangling my fingers in it. I yank. His head twists up on his neck, mouth slack as he pants.

No, he’s not Trevor, but my dick doesn’t care. I fuck as hard as I can, turning his moans into whines.

His arms are spread wide, grip white-knuckled on the edges of the desk, so I give him my lube slick hand to fuck. The whines get deeper, his ass tightening and loosening around me, massaging my cock with every thrust.

He’s a good fuck, silent, sure of what he likes, and he likes to get pounded. Our bodies sweat together, drive to the same destination together, but we’re alone in it together, both of us just reaching for that personal best against the measure in our heads.

I’m going to win. Even if he’s holding himself back. He’s going to come first.

I let go of his hair, slide my hand down his spine and press at the base while my hand is stroking his dick. I pull all the way out and punch my hips forward, shifting the angle. And again. Again. I pinch his cheeks closed, making it tighter for both of us, straining for the leverage to drive in and down. He starts to lose his rhythm, stuttering, shaking under me. One desperate oh fuck and he’s coming, a warm fountain over my hand, shivering pulses on my dick.

I fuck him all the way through it, and when he knocks my hand away from his cock, I hold onto his hips with both hands, picture Trevor’s wide blue eyes, teeth sinking into that pouting lower lip, and let go. My dick goes off in this stranger’s ass, coats his ass with thick jets of come until more than my balls are drained. My whole body sags over him. My mouth is dry, sour from panting, my lips chapped.

I step back, sliding free and grab a fast food napkin from the desk to wipe up. He pushes up on his hands, head hanging down between his shoulders.

“You good?” I ask, because I may be a filthy bastard who wants to fuck–to own–the ass of the seventeen-year-old whose father is trusting me to keep him safe, but I’m not a complete asshole.

“Hell, yeah.” He straightens and blows out a long exhale. “If you want a repeat–”

“Sure.” My answer is fast enough to cut him off. But I won’t. No matter how many times last night plays in my mind.

©Cin Forrester 2016