The Crooked Treehouse
  • Tips From The Bar
  • Honest Conversation Is Overrated
  • Because You Politely Requested It
  • Popcorn Culture
  • Comically Obsessed
  • Justify Your Bookshelves
  • Submissions

Honest Conversation Is Overrated

Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In  Twentieth  And  Twenty-First  Century  America

A Cournicopia Of Bad Sex Talkers

11/24/2007

0 Comments

 
Until this week, the worst thing anyone had ever said to me during sex was You're better than my brother. Until this week.

On Monday night, I was feeling particularly not feeling. Checked some long neglected (but, apparently, not long enough neglected) dating sites, and saw that I had a bunch of mail filled with a bunch of males.

Forgetting the three that only figuratively blew me off, the first guy I agreed to meet had the same name as me (Safey, for those of you playing with yourselves along at home). I'd always wondered what it would be like to be able to call out your own name in bed, without looking egotistical, so I replied to his e-mail. His picture indicated he was blessed with clear skin. Lots and lots of clear skin. "I hate that picture. I've lost about thirty pounds since then." So I agreed to meet him, not realizing that, while he may have lost thirty pounds since the picture, he had gained all of it back. And those pounds had accumulated friends.

He was pretty adamant about getting fucked, and I was pretty drunk. I rolled my eyes at the fact that he was wearing a jock, bent him over the bed with absolutely no foreplay, strapped on a condom, and went to work.

It was okay. Nothing Earth shattering. Nothing terrible. Until he said "Breed me." And I said, "Huh?"

"Breed me."

Fags can't breed. Even if I hadn't been wearing a condom.

"Oh, yea. Breed me, daddy, breed me."

So, I faked an orgasm, pulled out, threw away the condom, and got dressed. He left. An hour later, he sent me an e-mail, talking about how my come kept oozing out of his ass. Again, I was wearing a condom. Again, I hadn't actually come, even in said condom.

The next night, I needed some balance to the universe.

I answered an e-mail from an absolutely adorable guy who, because I hadn't updated my profile in five years, thought I lived down the street from him. We go over the requisite info: I'm a top, he's a bottom. Both recently tested negative. Neither of us admitting to being crack addicts or serial cat rapists (shut up, it was one time, and that cat was not being clear what it wanted). As per usual, I offered to host. My apartment is nicer than those of the people I tend to meet. He wanted to meet at his place, except his roommate didn't allow him to have friends over that she didn't know. Why alarm bells failed to go off in my head at this point, I can't say.

"So you could come over," he said, "but we would have to fuck in the basement." Okay. "And then you'd have to take a cab home or something." Not okay.

So I told him I wasn't at all interested in going over to his apartment if it meant I was going to have to hide in the basement, and flee in the night like some sort of closet case ass burglar. Finally, he agreed that I could sleep over. "But I don't know about sleeping together. That may be weird." Again, no alarm bells. I was, not drunk this time, but overtired and seeking something to eclipse the memory of Mr. Breed Me Jockwearovich.

So I hopped on the last train to his house. Called him from the end of the street, to let him know I was almost there.

"Are you into anything kinky?" He asked.

"No." I refer to myself as French Vanilla. Sex talk is fine, spankage, light bondage, "Nothing involving a suit or a ball gag." I would later regret making that last statement. "And no bodily fluids except semen and saliva."

"No watersports?"

I sighed. "Not unless you're trying to tell me you've got a pool, a jacuzzi, or a heated lake in your basement, no. I don't want anything coming out of your penis that isn't thick and white."

"What if I just want you to pee in me?"

Now the alarm bells were in full cacophonous mode. Fuck. And it was entirely too late to get a train home.

When he answered the door, I realized, once again, this guy looked nothing like his picture. However, for once, he looked much better than his picture. He was wearing long pajama bottoms and a Good Bush/Bad Bush t-shirt, which concerned me, not because I disagreed with his politics, but because neither of the bushes depicted were the sort of bush I wanted either of us to have.

He got right to the kissing and, while not the best kisser in the world, was not bad, either. It wasn't long before his clothes were off, and he was bending over the basement stairs. I put on a condom, and got to work. His ass was magical in every way. Shaped properly, only slightly fuzzy, and tighter than a Republican wallet at at an NEA fundraiser. His moans were adorable. After about five minutes, he stood up, leaned into me, kissing me, while clenching and unclenching his ass like the gassiest sinner in Church. We adjusted positions pretty regularly for about forty-five minutes, and then he pulled away from me, and let out a series of small farts.

He blushed.

"It's okay." I said. "There's been a lot of in and out going on down there."

"And a lot of beer before that." He smiled.

He then proceeded to suck me off for a few minutes while jerking himself to orgasm. And then I came. And then, "Are you up for more?" He asked.

I'm always up for more.

So he laid with his back down on a futon mattress. I folded him a few different ways, listening to his amazing whimpers. Then he pulled my head to his, looked me straight in the eyes and said "You've been tested before, right?"

"Of course." I said. And I wasn't lying.

He got this weird look on his face, that I confused for a wince of pain from being fucked for so long. I resumed fucking. He resumed moaning, and then he said "I want your hot, poz, seed in me."

I flinched so hard, my cock popped out of him, and I think I may have sustained mild whiplash.

What is with gay men and their "I want to get barebacked into getting a horrible disease" fetish? I'm not HIV positive (abbrevriated poz, apparently). And, once again, I was wearing a condom. There would be no seed of any kind inside him. Certainly not hot, poz seed.

He leaned in to kiss me. "Come on, baby. I want your hot poz seed inside me. I don't want to know your name, I just want your--"

"STOP TALKING." And I put my hand over his mouth. "Seriously, not sexy."

He shrugged, leaned back, and pulled me back into him. And I fucked, and I fucked, and I tried to erase all memory of hot poz seed, and then I pulled out.

"I want your hot," I stared at him. He stopped. And then he started blowing me. When I was finished coming, he stood up, and it was pretty obvious he wanted to snowball. I did not. So I pushed him away. "So," he smiled, "are you going to pee in me?"

"No."

"Well, will you at least suck me off?"

Of course. But, I suspected, since his cock wasn't at optimum erection, that there may be a pee plot, in effect. "If I sense even a drop of urine, I'm going to rip off your testicles." "Unless you find that sexy."

And I returned to blowing him. And then he wanted me to start fucking him again. At this point, we've been going at it for over two hours. And, apart from his weird bug chasing and water sport sex talk, it had been pretty good. So I fucked him for a while, and then he said "Can I fuck you?"

It had been a long time since I'd let anyone fuck me, but this guy was obviously drunk, had come in the not so distant past, and I was going to double wrap his cock, and, being as how drunk he was, he probably wouldn't notice. He didn't notice. He also never got inside me. Though, after about ten minutes of grinding his cock between my right ass cheek, and the mattress, he let out another little fart and said "I just totally came in you."

I smirked.

"Did you like it?"

"Oh, yea." I said "It was hot."

And he giggled, "Positive?"

And that's when I bit him.
0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    Categories

    All
    Asterisk
    Awkward Non Sexual Situations
    Awkward Sex Situations
    Beckee
    Being Gay
    Being Insafemode
    Ben
    Big Honken Liars
    Brookline And Qughincy
    Celeste
    Clarissa
    Comics
    Communication Problems
    Comrade
    Dad
    Dallas
    David
    Deaf Culture
    Dmitri
    Drugs
    Ducks
    Dude
    Elvis
    Emily
    Fledge
    Fortune Cookies
    Fucken Love
    Gay Sex
    Gender
    Hahvahd
    Hampshire Damn College
    Health Problems
    Holidays
    Horrible Pizza Place
    Im A Drunk
    Internet Dating
    Jackie
    Jbob
    Jennifer
    Jeremy
    Jim
    Kevin
    Kimberly Hyphen Surname
    Kimberly Hyphen-Surname
    Landlords
    Literature
    Mr Hpl
    My Family
    My Father
    My Mother
    Odd Jobs
    Online Dating
    Opening A Bottle Rocket With Your Teeth
    Pets
    Poetry
    Police
    Politics
    Quarantine Time
    Rainbortion
    Random Inanity
    Retail
    Roommates
    Ryan
    Saint
    School
    Scotts
    Sir Trick
    Slam
    Slow Flashes
    Sora
    Steggy
    Theatre
    The British Invasion
    The End Of The World
    The Loop
    The Numbers
    Theo
    The Slut Across The Street
    Tommy
    Trick
    Unharry
    Vegas
    Victor
    Wiz
    Zuzu


    Archives

    October 2022
    September 2022
    August 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    February 2022
    December 2021
    November 2021
    October 2021
    September 2021
    August 2021
    July 2021
    June 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    February 2011
    September 2010
    August 2010
    July 2010
    June 2010
    April 2010
    March 2010
    February 2010
    January 2010
    December 2009
    September 2009
    January 2009
    December 2008
    November 2008
    October 2008
    September 2008
    August 2008
    July 2008
    June 2008
    May 2008
    April 2008
    March 2008
    February 2008
    January 2008
    December 2007
    November 2007
    October 2007
    September 2007
    August 2007
    July 2007
    June 2007
    May 2007
    April 2007
    March 2007
    February 2007
    January 2007
    July 2006
    May 2006
    December 2005
    November 2005
    October 2005
    September 2005
    August 2005
    July 2005
    June 2005
    May 2005
    April 2005
    March 2005
    February 2005
    January 2005
    December 2004
    November 2004
    October 2004
    July 2004
    June 2004
    April 2004
    March 2004
    February 2004
    January 2004
    December 2003
    November 2003
    September 2003
    August 2003
    July 2003
    June 2003
    May 2003
    April 2003
    March 2003
    July 2002
    June 2002
    April 2002
    January 2002
    September 2001
    July 2001
    March 2001
    February 2001
    October 2000
    September 1999
    June 1999
    December 1998
    October 1998
    September 1998
    August 1998
    July 1998
    June 1998
    January 1998
    December 1997
    August 1997
    June 1996
    February 1996
    November 1995
    August 1995
    May 1994
    January 1994
    December 1993
    June 1993
    January 1993
    December 1992
    November 1991
    April 1991
    July 1990
    May 1990
    April 1990
    January 1990

    RSS Feed

      Need To Get In Touch With Me?

    Submit
All work on the Crooked Treehouse is ©Adam Stone, except where indicated, and may not be reproduced without his permission. If you enjoy it, please consider giving to my Patreon account.
  • Tips From The Bar
  • Honest Conversation Is Overrated
  • Because You Politely Requested It
  • Popcorn Culture
  • Comically Obsessed
  • Justify Your Bookshelves
  • Submissions