The Texan needs a nooner

August 28, 2018 Greyhound Bar & Grill drink: greyhound

Two-hour fuck and Ten hours of flying

I didn’t think I’d see him until October. I’ll be driving from Tucson to Phoenix with him on my forty eighth birthday. Yes, he’ll make fun of me for being old, but I recently found a photo of the back of his head from the Yellow Rose from a few years ago and he had way more hair back then so fuck him. What was I supposed to be writing about? Oh right, the last minute “nooner” in his hometown. He sent a text: ‘Can you cum to [blank] tomorrow for a late “lunch”?’ The wife was out of town and he was horny. Also probably trying to do me a solid knowing I’d need money, but mostly that first thing.

I booked a hotel room near the airport. He’d leave work early and meet me once I had checked in. He’d have about two hours. I looked at overnight flights but realized I could fly out then come home in one day. I could change my ticket and spend the night if I absolutely needed to, but it would be nice being home in my own bed. Plus, parking would be cheap and Monkey would be happy. The thing I didn’t count on—not sure why it didn’t occur to me—was my extreme come down and being squished on a plane for ten plus hours. I’m so sick of flying.

I arrived without a hitch. This was only my third or fourth time seeing him in his hometown. Good mood. Not drunk but buzzed. I ate half an order of cheese quesadilla during my layover in Vegas. I took 1/4 Adderall and a tiny bit of Frank. Or wait, did I wait to do Frank until I saw him? He had bought small bottles of hooch. I barely drank into my Gentleman Jack. It was nice not being picked up by him at the airport and it was also nice getting to the room first. I was in my Texan fuck tee when he arrived. I was having a good hair day.

The sex: he told me right off the bat he wanted to come twice. Groan. Why he sets these goals from the get is classically male and not helpful. Porn. Booze. Drugs. He came. Great! Actually, I wasn’t completely sure he had but whatever. Then, as I would have bet the farm on, he was having a difficult time reaching that second fabled nut. If I do this run again I’m vetoing the two-time. Push for a longer buildup and juicy uno. I tried all the tricks. Nada. I was trying to predict what his twisted mind might need in order to come, but he’s such a freakshow, I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand what goes on in his head.

He finally gave up. It’s always odd to wrap things up on a no nut, but we did. He had to get going. He left. I called an Uber. Back at the airport. I felt good. I had another half order of cheese quesadilla (nothing else sounded appealing). My intake for the day was utter dogshit. I was dying by the long second leg. I’ll spend the night next time. Oh, on the second attempt, I went downtown but instead of the jingle bell move working, I travelled with a face and bangs full of coconut oil. By the way, the smell of coconut oil is now ruined for me. I should have predicted that. Still miles better than Vaseline.

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