It was just after my bachelor party or stag night when we macho men were supposed to be banging girls that popped out of cakes or burst balloons but I was popping my cork and bursting my balloon for Dave. Pastor Dave actually. He was a minister in our local Baptist church and keen on football. He was also very well endowed. I know because he’d built up quite a reputation. He liked to work out at our local gym and used to give all the so-called straights boners as he came out of the shower and walked through the locker room baring all before him. You would have thought that a man of God would have covered his earthly endowments with a modest loin cloth or something instead of displaying his rod and his staff to all and sundry. He certainly put a ding in everyone’s dong and I’m absolutely sure many a guy would gladly have gone jogging along the road to perdition just to get some juice out of that appendage of his. Anyway we fell asleep in a drunken stupor on the hotel bed and woke up doing it. Talk about my cup runneth over! I’ve never seen – or felt – anything like it. It was unbelievable. Indescribable. And you’re going to have to believe me because I’m not going to describe it to you. It’s not that I’m a party pooper or a cock teaser or anything – although I can be both of those too – but this story is supposed to be about how I switched from husband to hustler so I’d better get on with it before you lose interest. Suffice to say I’m real glad Dave wasn’t performing our marriage ceremony. I’d have found it difficult saying ‘I do’ in front of somebody who’d done me to a crisp only a few hours previously. As it was, I felt like I was marrying him and not Barbara when he handed over the rings. Besides his other endowments, he had big brown eyes that you literally melted into. But once again I digress. Let’s get back to the magazine article and fuzzy lines.
I concluded he was probably Egyptian or something. This was before 9/11 – and bomb scares and such – and good looking Arabs were still a turn on for most women … and men. Especially the refined type which he definitely was. He kept looking across the room at me so I knew he was interested. What the hell, I thought. While Barbara was away why shouldn’t Barringer play! I gave him a cursory glance and smile as I headed for the elevator. I was just stepping in when I found him there beside me. We didn’t say anything. People usually don’t in elevators. But there was soon a horny haze of desire hovering just a humping space between us. The elevator arrived at my floor and I was just about to get out when he grabbed my arm. The firmness of his hold and the browness of his eyes sent the blood flooding to my dick. I was hard immediately. “Why not join me for a drink?” is all he said. “I live on the top floor. There’s a stupendous view.”
We duly arrived ‘at the top’ and the lift opened directly onto the executive suite to which he had a special key. I’d never seen such luxury. “I’m Samir,” he said. “Barringer,” I replied. He drew me towards him by my open-necked shirt. I dress casually in the afternoons. Even in a 5 star hotel. He kissed me. Very lightly. No penetrating jab or stab of the tongue which I had half expected but a marvellous manoeuvring of the lips that had me half hypnotised with the pleasure of it. He worked his way into and under my shirt and his fingers were just as soft, just as expert as his mouth. They passed slowly but surely over my nipples and drove me wild. He’d honed in immediately on one of my most erogenous zones. My legs gave way and my pants followed obediently. Soon he was hand fisting my dick with his silken palms and making me purr like a contented kitten. All this only ten minutes after we’d met. Then he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. I’m no lightweight but he made me feel like a piece of thistledown. Absolutely boneless.
Afterwards we had a long relaxing shower and then sat in his hot tub imbibing what room service had speedily produced. Then he did something nobody had ever done to me since bath night with my mom. He padded me dry with a huge soft towel and tucked me into bed. I didn’t get any hot milk but I got plenty of cream and fell asleep in his arms. I woke up with a start to find a text message on my mobile. Barbara was tied up and wouldn’t be back for dinner. I almost found myself saying “Barbara who?” I was so far gone by then. In a never-never land of sexual fulfilment. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he quietly announced that he had a midnight plane to catch and would be back on March 21st. He kissed me a fond good night and pressed something hard into my hand. It was a cigarette case. I didn’t smoke but didn’t think this was the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. I tucked it into my pocket and limped back to my hotel room. Just in time too. I was only 5 minutes ahead of Barbara.
You can say that again, I thought as I sailed into sleep. Next morning Babs was already out and about. I remembered to look at the cigarette case. It was silver of course but there were no gold-tipped cigarettes inside. Just five hundred dollars. I don’t suppose I should technically classify myself as a whore. Not yet anyway. But I certainly have no intention of giving Samir his dollars back when I meet him on March 21st. What’s more, in the meantime, I’m hankering with the idea of following Barbara to Chicago, and maybe New York, to see what ‘happy hours’ I can find there. Just to keep my hand in so to speak. I’ll keep you posted. The model used to illustrate this story is Dartan. If you'd like to see more photos of him, click here. The Badpuppy.com model in these pictures is Dartan |
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