Dear Diary,

I zoned out of everything for some reason. I stayed offline, ignored messages and used every free time to read a book, watch a TV show or sleep.

This went on for about a month till I went back online to catch up on everything I left behind. My DMs and inboxes had a significant amount of messages which I responded to accordingly and slowly eased back into the flow of things.

On this very good Sunday morning, while I was getting ready for church, I decided to respond to a message from a guy whose picture was just his chest. I was turned off by his internet-type spelling of “good” as “gewd”, “cool” as “kewl”, and other cringe-worthy expressions that many people seem to take a liking to. But I indulged him because I was bored and had already started replying his messages prior to his spelling blunders.

The time came to get pictures exchanged and I was pretty impressed. He was a muscular, jock-type guy, slightly above 6 feet and had a good amount of ink on his body. He was Tim. He asked if I was willing to meet and I said yes, although I wasn’t that enthusiastic about meeting. I had become quite a bore and wanted to remain that way for a little while longer.

Now, Diary, I used to have this weird policy about not engaging in any hook-up on Sundays. I guess it was the little leftover of my religious mentality that Sundays were the day of the Lord, to be kept holy, and so I constantly avoided any sexual activity, even if it meant waiting till 12:01 am of Monday morning.

But that slowly began to change when I moved over here. Sundays turned out to be the only days I was available to meet or engage in anything. All the other days were tied up with different commitments. Sunday evenings became my only free time.

I went over to the gym later that day, totally forgetting about my promise to Tim till I received a message confirming if we were still going to meet. I thought hard about it, still feeling reluctant and still a little paranoid about him being a catfish; he was a pretty hot guy and he didn’t exactly give me his house address, instead he’d given me the address of a popular store. I replied that I was at the gym and would get back to him when I was done. He seemed okay with my reply and requested I inform him of any changes.

After my time at the gym, I sat in the car reviewing his pictures, checking the distance to his location and trying to understand why my guts kept telling me to go, that everything was fine. I tried so hard to find a reason not to go, but each excuse I told myself seemed illogical.

While I was still seated in the car, he called me. I answered and the voice on the other side matched his picture: white, brolic and masculine.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” I replied.

“Are you gonna come?”

“Um… yeah, I’m currently on my way.”

“Cool, cool. When will you get here?” he inquired.

Okay, someone is really horny, I thought, and replied, “In about 20 minutes.”

“Ok, call or text me when you get here,” he said.

“The location you gave me is actually that of an electronics store,” I quickly added.

“Yeah,” he said. “Call me when you get there,” he repeated.

“Okay,” I muttered, half curious and half paranoid.

Then I started my car and started to drive.

It was a Sunday, so the roads were relatively free and I got there on time. Still paranoid, I didn’t park where he requested. Instead, I parked at a furniture store half a mile away and texted him where I was, half expecting him to be mad that I’d thwarted his evil plans.

Instead he replied with a text: Okay, cool, give me a minute.

And I said to myself, “Duke, stop being fucking paranoid!”

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message: I’m here.

My heart skipped and began pounding off the charts. I stepped out of my car to see a white, super-clean Mercedes driving towards me.

Ah! He probably sells people’s organs or something! I screamed in my head.

He stopped in front of me and I could see he was just as the pictures he had sent. I stepped into his car and that was when it all started.

In the three-minute drive to his house, I got to know so much about him! How bad his week had been, how much it cost him to get his car tires fixed, how he couldn’t go to the gym today, how is brother was “high maintenance”, and so on and so on, all in the space of a few minutes. I was stuffed with so much personal information. I wasn’t surprised because this was something white people are known to do – share their life stories and experiences with strangers. But this? This one was off the charts!

I finally got to realize why he asked me to park at a store; he lived in a secured estate and one could only be granted access in with an access card. He continued talking endlessly till we walked into his room and as he took off his clothes. At this point, I zoned out and wanted this to end as soon as possible, and started taking off my clothes to reveal an erection.

This shut him up instantly like a mute button would do to a television. The only sound we heard in the room was the screaming and yelling of the actors on a reality show on the TV. (I wasn’t surprised he was into reality shows; he talked and behaved like someone who watched a lot of it. And oh…he has two Masters’ degrees, by the way!)

We started getting down, touching, kissing and groping each other, and it started getting exciting. He was a good kisser and still a talker in the bedroom. Though this time, his talk were moans and requests: “Touch me there”, “Don’t stop that”, “Oh, that feels good”. Normally, I would have considered all that talked corny, but there was something about the delivery of his requests that seemed genuine and sexy.

It started getting intense, the foreplay, and we had some amazing chemistry. Then he pulled out a small bottle and sniffed it and asked if I was interested. I was curious as to what it was, because I’d only ever seen it used in adult movies. He said it was poppers and was excited to have me try it. He demonstrated how to use it, and then I held it underneath my nose, closing one nostril while I sniffed with the other one. I sniffed once, and then again.

The effect I first got was like I was thrown to the bottom of a pool and every consciousness I had of my surrounding faded. He touched my erect dick and I felt every nerve and stroke in the most orgasmic way possible. Then he proceeded to sheathe my dick, lubricated it and sat on it like it was some gym equipment.

He was tight but resilient. He took another shot of the poppers, and started to ride my dick, pulling it in and out and tightening his ass muscles when I was in him. He continued with this tease till I couldn’t take it anymore. Still under the influence of the poppers, I flipped him around to his back and pushed harder in while his legs were over my shoulder.

“Slow down baby, I need to get used to you,” he murmured as he pushed me out from him.

He made a joke about not ever giving me poppers again and eased me slowly into him. He continued easing me in, then pushing me out, in and out. Then he picked up the pace.

The effect was mind-blowing!

We continued this way till we got to the highest pace, with me pounding deeper and him groaning and biting his lips while he stroked himself. I felt his ass tighten as he shot his hot load up on my chest, using his free hand to pull me close to him. He held me close and I could feel his hot, heavy breath against my face. I kept hitting, slowly this time, and pulled out just in time to strip off the condom and shoot my cum on his face. He pulled my dick into his mouth and swallowed, licking every drop and groaning like a hungry beast.

We continued kissing, and then he flipped me to my back and sat on my face. His ass was pink and still soft from the fucking. He stroked his dick and mine while riding my face with his muscular butt. My dick still felt a little sore but he had control of it, stroking it at varying speeds while my face was under him. Moments later, I was unbelievably shooting my load. He quickly put his mouth over my cum-spewing cock, while vigorously stroking himself until I felt warm liquid splash across my belly.

We both lay down, facing the ceiling and catching our breath.

“Wow,” he said, laughing. “That was fucking amazing!”

And this time, I knew this to be true, unlike other times I’ve hooked up with other guys; when they said this after sex, it didn’t feel just as honest.

Tim held my hands and pulled them to his mouth. He kissed the back of my hands and said again, “That was fucking  A!” He went on about how great the sex was, like the talker that he was. And then he said, “Where are you from?”

I lied and said the Caribbean.

“Oh, I would have thought you were Nigerian,” he said.

And instantly, I regretted lying.

He continued, “Where in the Caribbean?”

“Barbados,” I replied.

“Any chance you are related to Rihanna?” he joked.

We both laughed. Then he looked at me and said yet again, “That was amazing, bro. Let’s do that again soon.”

In my head, I said, “Hell yeah!” But to him, I said a simple OK.

“I love the way your skin glistens when we fuck,” he said. “It is hot.”

I knew this was a compliment, but for some reason, it felt wrong. I said thank you and proceeded to go have my bath.

After he showered, while he was still talking about how great the sex was, we proceeded out of the estate to where I parked my car. As we shook hands, he said, “Let’s do this again. We are fucking beasts, bro.”

I laughed louder than I’d intended. But yea, I felt the same way.

I got into my car happy that I hadn’t let my paranoia win. Happy that I’d just had what was arguably the best sex I’d ever had in a long time. And happy that all my organs were still intact.

Body Count: 4

Written by Duke

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