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My jaw muscles are aching -- Cocksearch 2009 -- May 10

Ten years ago, an attorney at law, based in Chicago, decided to document one year of his itinerant sex life on the blog Cocksearch 2009. LustSpiel reposts his findings man by man, date by date. Enjoy the writing, which ranks among the best in contemporary erotic literature.

Yeah, that pic was in the ad. Goddamn, I gotta have that fattie. Look at it: it's at least 4 times the width of that thumb. I don't care if he's married (he's not). I don't care if he wants to reciprocate (he doesn't). So what if he's in the suburbs. It's the weekend. According to Google Maps, I can get out there in about 15 minutes. No problem. Well worth the effort.

Ooops. Traffic. Lots of it. Damn. Who'd have thought a weekend would be so f'n slow on the road. Shit. And then I get where I'm going, I go one exit too far, and I've gotta backtrack. I'm getting aggravated. But the drive through the pleasant, verdant, prosperous older suburb to his house is soothing. So many nice, well ordered and properly funded lives in one place - well, it is kinda soothing. But only kinda. I'm late for a huge slab of non-reciprocating cock.
I pull into the parking area of some pleasant townhouses, and quickly find the right door. I'm greeted by a somewhat heavy guy in basketball shorts. Nothing special to look at, except that there's definitely something heavy in those silky looking shorts. It swings slowly, tantalizingly behind the fabric, but it's not hard. Not yet. That's going to be my job.
The place has bachelor written all over it. No attempt at making it look nice. The furniture's for comfort and easy TV watching. There's a baseball game on the screen as I walk in. Conversation reveals he's an accountant, and works from home. Dude's very calm compared to my agitated state. I ask to use the bathroom, as I've worked up a bit of a leak while stuck in traffic. I note a home office next to the bathroom. As I'm pissing, I note a discarded prescription bottle in the trash. I fish it out and recognize it as an anti-depressant (weird side-effect of my work: I know a fair amount about prescription drugs). OK, that accounts for his highly placid manner. Curiosity piqued, I check the medicine chest. There's another bottle of the same stuff, but no other prescriptions. OK, no problem.
I step back out into the living room, and he chats amiably with me. He's shy about getting me into his pants, so I deploy the time-honored ice-breaker: I stare. He gets a little embarrassed and says something totally unoriginal like "you like that, don't you." "Whip it out, bud, I'm here to blo you!" I reach for the waistband of his shorts, and he does the same. Together, we shuck his shorts in one smooth move. He's commando, and I'm slightly disappointed. Yeah, it's heavy, but short and not as fat as the pic had looked. No time to back out now, though. And it's still a tasty piece of meat. I drop to my knees and start to work on getting him up. He responds slowly, but steadily.

OMG, this thing is huge!

He drops onto the sofa and I stay on him, highly encouraged by the progress of his hard-on. His slow progress continues. And continues. And continues. OMG this thing is HUGE. I slow down to admire it periodically. A true 6.5" long. (Note my use of hte word "true". A "true" 6.5 is big, well above average.) But that's not what's so impressive. Dude's got a serious fatty. I mean I can't close my thumb and middle finger around this beast. There's a good half-inch gap, even with a firm grip. Wow. I'm impressed. I've handled a lot of cock in my day, and this one's a standout. My jaw is straining to the limit. And my throat is totally stuffed. I keep jamming as deep as I can go and loving it. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and my saliva's running like a stream. Oh, god this is good.
But it's going on a long time. I come up for air and he asks if I've had enough. Oh, no. I can always use more of this. Always. I go down for more. But he's starting to lose his erection very slowly. Damn. I'm starting to think maybe I need to give him a graceful out. I come up for air again. He asks again if I've had enough, and I allow as how I don't think my jaw can handle the strain anymore. "That's OK, because I don't think I'm gonna cum." I pushed the idea of maybe he could beat off, but he shies away from that. Not gonna push the dude. "That's cool." I compliment his meat again, and he pulls up his shorts. I thank him for the opportunity to work on his exceptional meat. He's clearly pleased to have the compliments, and he returns the favor, praising my cocksucking skill. We part with mutual admiration. Yes, I'm disappointed that there's no load to be had. But the cock alone was well worth the effort.
In the car I note the time. I was on his cock for at least 45 minutes. I had no idea how long it had been. Proof, once again, that time flies when you're having fun.
Back home, I have a flash: anti-depressants can impair orgasm. Google confirms it. It's a side effect of this particular medication. Poor guy: one of the finest cocks in the entire state, and medication's keeping him from cumming.

My jaw muscles are aching for the next couple days. It truly was that thick.

I keep going back and forth as to whether I'd do him again. Answer: yeah, maybe so. But next time, I'm gonna make it an hour's worth. Even if he doesn't cum.


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