After getting lost via GPS, I called him to come rescue me. He pulled up next to the car and from the look of him, I figured he'd do. I followed him back to his place, which was a modular home on a plot of land a few hundred yards off the main road and down a gravel pathway, next to a creek. He was shorter than me, a little stockier. Late 50s, lots of white fur everywhere. Bearish beard and handsome face. Great hugger, decent kisser.
Fucking awesome cock. Thick as fuck, a real handful, and under 7 inches long, making it seem even thicker. It was a really perfect cock. We rolled around a while, trading blowjobs. I got between his legs and sucked him off. He had a problem staying hard the whole time, which made me a little nervous. I really wanted to suck him off and I didn't think he'd be able to cum. I figured he'd be one of those guys you have to just give up on and let them jack themselves off. But imagine my surprise when he shot off in my mouth. After cuddling a little, he finished me off and we cuddled some more. It was raining that day, and we listened to the rain hitting the roof of his house. It was nice.
And here's the bad part: he talked. A lot. He was one of those people who talk to you and you never get away from. Conversation is a difficult art to master, so I don't have many expectations most of the time. But Jesus Christ, don't trample me with your words. Don't plow right over me without caring if I'm listening. Engage me, don't make me feel like I'm trapped at a church service.
Plus, his house was decorated with creepy clown dolls. It was kinda weird, being back down a gravel road with a clown collector, far off the main road where a scream wouldn't be likely to be heard.
I doubt I will be back to visit him.