Actually it was an incredibly nice later-winter day with the sun shining, warm temperatures with a cool breeze, and sunlight cascading gently down through the trees, which is why he wanted to go somewhere outside, instead of coming over to my house or going to a restaurant or something.
He, in this case, being a fuck buddy I’ve spent a couple of exciting evenings with, who randomly texts me and who I sometimes hook up with. I wouldn’t say his name anyway, but he’s referred to by myself and the friends who I’ve spoken to about him as Monster Cock. Because I’m subtle that way.
Monster Cock suggested we go to a park, and we ended up heading to this nature preserve that’s full of walking trails and creeks and ponds and all that lovely stuff. We parked and started off down a trail into the woods, me being completely unprepared for a journey into the wilderness, as evidenced by the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything all day and the only hydrating fluids I’d brought along with me were contained in a plastic Coca-Cola bottle dangling from my fingers.
We had interesting enough conversations while we walked the trails. He told me about being in the military, I told him about the time I went to boot camp for a field trip in fourth grade (long story, tell you some other time), and it was all well and good. We passed our thousandth park bench and, because the preserve was about an hour from closing, there was virtually no one else in the woods, so I sat down on the bench and tried to persuade him to do the same. He wanted to keep walking, and I actually didn’t care about sitting down, I just wanted to get him to sit still for a moment so I could try and kiss him, so I walked up to him, placed my hands gently on his waste, and leaned in for a kiss. He sort of sheepishly kissed me back and probably looked around or looked away or something, I don’t entirely remember, just it seemed that he was nervous.
Now, to his credit, anyone can be nervous when they’re kissing. It’s adorable actually and I quite like it. He was probably even more nervous because I happen to the one who had recently devirginized him (I had learned he was a virgin in all sexual activity shortly before the festivities commenced on our first night together fooling around, and I offered to hold off on the sex if he wasn’t ready, but he gave me the green light), because we were in the middle of a public place, even if it was a public maze of trails deep in the woods with almost no one inhabiting them at the moment, and probably also because he is closeted and bisexual.
We kept walking and talking. Eventually we ended up on a little overlook that looked out on a small creek. It wasn’t anything spectacular, even as creeks go. I wasn’t really interested in the nature anymore though, at this point my dick had started thinking for me and I was just looking for a secluded place to get to make out with him. He was talking when I boldly slipped my arms around him, leaned in and started kissing him again. He kisses softly, tentatively, with no tongue. It’s very cute, and there’s something endearing about it. I always get a bit weak when I kiss a guy, but even if he doesn’t realize it, it’s the soft kisses that really make me tingly and excited. I got a little bold and slipped by hand down the front of his shorts and into the lip of his underwear, where I felt his cock and was suddenly reminded that it’s roughly the size of a naval combat vessel. It seems to get bigger and bigger every time I see him.
I thought, what the hell? And I slipped his cock out of the top of his shorts, got on my knees and slipped the head into my mouth. He laughed, “Here?” he asked. I made a sound of agreement with my mouth full, then popped it out and said “You can keep look out.” Believe it or not, it completely escaped me that I was sucking cock in a public park, and thereby fulfilling a gay stereotype. It’s something I didn’t realize until I went to tell this story. In defense of the gay community, though, I don’t think sucking dick in a park is necessarily a gay thing. For me, it’s a “I’m a horny bastard who will do just about anything when no one is looking” thing. I’m gay and I actually don’t mind it being one of the things that defines me, but if I had to bullet point which aspects of my personality define me, I would say that I’m first and foremost a weird person, second a nerd, and third a gay man.
See, the thing about being a weird person is that you tend to attract exponentially weirder people to you. As I’ll get to in a minute.
So back to the story, here I am, squatting down at first, then getting on my knees to suck off Monster Cock, as he stands back, moaning gently, and adorably his legs are shaking and quivering mostly the entire time. Eventually I lost my patience with squatting and proceeded to just plop down on my butt, however he’s short enough and his penis is so incredibly huge that this didn’t hinder my ability to give him a blowjob at all, I just kept right on sucking, all his cock did was aim a little downward. Now, getting your dick sucked can sometimes be an experience that involves a little bit of pressure, so compounded with the fact that he’s very inexperienced, and was in a public place, and also is so insecure about someone finding out he’s bisexual that he refused to let me mention it too loudly while we were driving in the CAR for fear some passing motorist might hear, I could see why it was taking him a long time to get off. I pride myself on never failing to make a gay cum when I give him a blowjob, it’s something I can say I’ve achieved on almost every single occassion, even once with a guy who warned me that it takes him a LONG time, and indeed it did, because we watched two entire movies in the time it took me to get him off, but I’m a trooper that way, and I like making guys happy, especially if I’m doing it with their dicks.
Still, I couldn’t help but wish he would give me a status update. A slightly louder moan, a grunt, a “yeah,” a “don’t stop,” a “getting closer,” or “just like that,” or something along those lines. All in all I probably sucked him off for about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes is a long time when you’re out in public, on your ass, uncomfortable, and wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt when dusk is approaching and you’re in the middle of the woods. Still, I kept at it, and as much as I enjoy sucking dick, particularly one the size of an independent territory, even I was starting to get impatient, and I gently asked “Are you gonna cum?” When you read it, it sounds demanding, but I promise I said it in a very kind way, in an inflection that implied no pressure, like I was asking “Do they sell cheese fries here?” Except I wouldn’t ask that because I don’t like cheese fries. Also we were on an outlook by a creek and there were no dining establishments in sight.
What was I talking about? Oh right, blowjob.
So finally, as I was taking a moment to breathe, swallow and prepare myself for another long suck while stroking his cock, he started cumming in my hand and I had to quickly catch it in my mouth so as not to get it all over my clothes (or face, or hair). It was tangy and bitter, I’ve tasted the seed of a few guys and while only one or two have ever managed to produce cum that actually tastes ENJOYABLE, most can make some that tastes better than absolutely disgusting. His is on the “meh” end of that spectrum, it isn’t completely gross but I was glad to have a drink of my Coke afterward. As it happens, there was a lot of it, too, my mouth was pretty full by the time I swallowed.
Aren’t you glad you came along for this story?
And so, as I kissed his cock and each ball goodbye before returning them to their rightful place in his underwear, licking the head for any last minute cum leaks (because I’m romantic, dammit), I stood up, realized that this adventure had been a good physical workout after all since my entire lower body was now incredibly sore, drank some soda, kissed him again, and we continued on our adventure.
This was all very nice. I drove him back to his car and we sat and talked for hours as night fell. This is when things started to get weird.
Earlier on in the day, he had texted me “How do you feel about blood?”
Now look, I am no one’s definition of a prude, but even I have limits. Still, I didn’t expect what I learned about him to be as bad as it was. I assumed “How do you feel about blood?” implied that he was into a lot of kinky biting during sex, possibly to the point of drawing blood. My answer to the question had been “Blood makes me woozy,” both because it does and because I was shutting this door before it opened. However, he brought it up again, and I had actually forgotten about the earlier text, and he said “Well, there was a reason why I asked that.” I told him I’d figured that was the case.
It was at this point I noticed there were razor blade cuts along the top of his arm, under where his sleeve would be if he were wearing a longer-sleeved shirt. I had actually noticed them while talking to them and looked right at them without at all registering that they were slash marks, I was too busy talking, or listening, and I think I’d just assumed it was a scrape. This is when he told me he’s been cutting himself and drinking his own blood. I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond here. The compassionate part of me instantly recognizes cutting or any other self-harm as a sign of depression, anxiety, or other emotional upset, and I gently ran my fingers over the scabs, supressing the urge to kiss the spot out of concern, but he said he wasn’t cutting himself because he was upset, he was doing it because he’d been learning about “vampires” online.
Yep, this is where it was headed. Did you see it coming? I should have.
You’ve probably heard about these people before, they show up every now and then on a Discovery Channel documentary or a particularly strange episode of Jerry Springer. The people who refer to themselves as “vampires” are people who drink blood. Monster Cock (now that we’re getting into vampire territory I’m thinking my choice of nickname was either wildly inappropriate or right on the money, you decide) said he’d been researching it online and supposedly learned that blood can provide a lot of nutrients, and then went through what sounded like half-baked pseudo-science he was repeating secondhand from someone who had no idea what they were talking in the first place about a DNA mutation that made it possible for you to ingest blood and gain sustenance from it, and then it became even more juvenile when he started talking about vampire hunters and “slayers,” like we were living in an Underworld movie. It became even more pitiful when he mixed in the fact that he’s a furry (read: people who for some reason like to pretend they are a certain kind of animal, usually a cute one, and draw very bad amateur anime portraits of themselves with the ears and tails of their preferred animals, post them on Deviant Art, and then have sadly juvenile sexual role plays on online message boards, while spouting words like “kawaii!” and calling people “chan!” and “kun!” because the furry culture seems to be somehow mixed in the wanabe Japanese culture). He apparently “identifies” as a vampire and an animal. Not as a fantasy alter ego, but in reality.
Now, this was getting sad and creepy for a number of reasons. Firstly: this is a guy who’s been through at least some military training and carries around a sharp, curved, serrated pocket knife with him at all times and who had jokingly earlier in the day that he knew about ten different ways to kill me but would feel bad if he did it. Strangely, this is NOT actually the first time someone has made that comment to me. However everyone who’s said it to me has since been red-flagged and promptly ejected from my life. Secondly, this was creepy because this is a guy I’ve been having a sexual relationship with. I believe that he was a virgin when I met him, and I know this cutting-himself-and-drinking-his-blood thing must be a new development because the last time I saw him he’d been quite naked and quite without any cuts that I could see, and believe me, I was conducting a pretty thorough investigation of all of his crevices. I also don’t believe he’s drank anyone else’s blood yet, though he mentioned it’s something he’s interested in. I’m sorry, but drinking other people’s blood sounds like an express checkout lane to buy tickets for the express train to AIDS town, and that is a town I do my best to avoid.
And thirdly it was just, quite frankly, sad. He should have been going through his “I want to be a vampire,” “I want to be a fox,” “I want to be moody and goth and different” phase when he was fourteen, not now. He’s clearly a kid, and vampire or no, he’s self-harming, and that can never be indicative of a sound, well-adjusted mind. That doesn’t mean I’m dismissing him as someone I’d never speak to because he self-harms, but it does mean that I can see the potential for this relationship to become incredibly scary incredibly fast, and when I say “relationship” I do not imply romance because there has never been any.
He finally went home. I got out of my car and went inside to use the bathroom, wash my hands and my mouth, and try to forget I’d just ingested the semen of someone who was ingesting his own blood.
Might have explained the bad taste, though.
At first I was a little undecided on what course of action to take. I could still see hooking up with him as a fun option, and, slut that I am, he is packing quite a lot of heat between his legs which tends to blur my vision to all other things, but even I, an incredibly accepting, incredibly weird person, can only abide so much, at least in someone who I plan to exchange semen with, and who’s insides I intend to probe with my most precious of appendages, and vise-versa. He may be hung like a quarter horse, have an ass as soft and smooth as butter, and be able to instantly hit my g-spot better than any vibrator I’ve ever touched, but I just don’t feel safe fooling around with him anymore.
See, this is why I need to write memoirs. Between this, and stories like “The Time I Dated A Married Couple,” “My First Sexual Experience Was A Bisexual Threesome,” “The Time I Had Sex With A Girl Who Happened To Be A Lesbian,” “The Time A Couple Had Sex On My Bed While I Picked Out Mood Music For Them,” “The Time I Made Out With Someone Just To Piss Of A Girl Who Invited Us To Church,” “The Time I Got Drunk For The First Time In A House Full Of Six Gay Men,” and “The Time Me And My First Crush Jerked Off Back To Back While Telling Each Other Dirty Made Up Stories In A Tent While Camping,” I could be a bestselling author in no time.
Or at least end up on the banned books list.