Two Way Street

Sweet little Justin resurfaced yesterday, with a surprising text while I was working: "When I think about your lips on my cock it makes me so hard"  Far from poetic, but it sent a flush through me in the middle of the busy restaurant day.

Justin had begged off our relationship in May, saying he'd found a girlfriend and was "going for it" with her.  I knew I would miss his talented hands and tasty cock, as well as his sweet yet naughty energy.  I was happy for him; he wants to settle down and make a family, and he'll be an excellent dad when he does.  I had sent him a "thinking of you" text last week, and I guess he was.

As I drove across the city to his place near the beach, still keyed up and unshowered after my busy work day, I wondered:  if I wasn't to call on him any more because he had a girl, why was he calling me?  In my world of casual sex, shouldn't both parties be able to reach out to the other?

I was simmering already in the car, my new stereo feeding me Beck, and I was feeling the heat build in my legs and groin.  It wasn't like I was sorely in need of sex.  Mr. Wrong blew through town this past week, and we had a couple of hot go-rounds over several days.  My holes had been recently stretched and filled, and my thirst for come quenched several times over.  I had dropped him at the airport late Saturday night, and here it was Sunday afternoon and I was aching for more already.

Fifteen minutes later Justin led me from the street to his beautiful apartment, which he had to himself for the weekend while his roommates were out of town. The sun was just starting to sink into the Pacific, and we sat on the chilly roof deck for a few minutes sharing cigarettes and beer.  I needed to unwind a bit after work, and he said he had all evening.  He had been slowly drinking all day, and was in no particular hurry; this was a change from our most recent "blow and go" meets that had rarely lasted more than an hour.

"I didn't expect to hear from you," I said.  "What's going on with your girl?"

"I don't know what's going on there, and I wish I had more to tell you," he replied.

"There's nothing to tell, or there's nothing to tell me?" I asked.

"Both," he said.  I let it go.

Coming back in from the windy deck, he pulled me into his room and began kissing me, hands roving around my body over my clothes, gripping me hard around the waist, rocking me slowly to the blues music he usually listens to.  His mouth was as sweet as I remembered, and his gentle tugs at my hair exhilarated.

Despite his assurances that we had no schedule, I pushed on quickly, and it wasn't long before I was naked on his bed, waiting for him to return with towels for my inevitable wetness to come.   After he quickly arranged them on the bed, I lay down before him and his hands began their musical attentions.   He found my G-spot quickly and I gushed several times before his clothes even came off, my legs open to him as he stood by the bed and worked me over.  The man has very talented hands.

I sat up and pulled him toward me by his belt buckle.  I could see how huge and hard he was through his thin jeans, and my hands traced his length there for a second before I opened his fly.  I knew I could take as long as I wanted, but I didn't care to.  Down came his jeans and shorts and there he was.  My mouth found him quickly, and I took him deeply in my throat as I love.  He has a gorgeous cock, one I love to swallow.

Justin is mostly a suck buddy, not a fuck buddy.  He prefers not to fuck me, for reasons of his own.  But the combination of his cock in my throat and his fingers in my pussy is more than enough to satisfy me.

Fifteen minutes later, we were taking a break to clean up some of my mess (my gushes were wreaking havoc with his bedding) when I brought up the issue of reciprocity.

"This has to go both ways, Justin," I said.

"What?"

"If you can call on me, I can call on you, too, yes?  This can't be a one-way thing."

"Fair enough." he agreed.  "I hear you."

In my world of casual sex, this felt good.  I look forward to seeing Justin again.

Republished with permission from Liz Doherty. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.