Sometimes the guy practically cums just from me rubbing that hot, no-longer-still-a-jock-but-not-quite-yet-a-dad-bod bod. That is, I will gladly kneel behind his sweet ass and fuck him for as long as he wants me to.Īnd boy, does he want me to. This life of his, it’s the life that life’s given him in part, and that he’s chosen in part, and he’s decent enough to stand by his promises–mostly–and so, I figure, I can stand with him all that, love him as he comes to me, enjoy him, and then move on. You leave it there, let it grow as it is, and love it. No asshole actually wades into the pond and picks the lily pad out of its environs. I love the guy, the way you love a lily pad. But I don’t see it that way, and not just because he’s an eager fuck, or because his ass is the tightest piece I’ve ever had.
People would call him a hypocrite, married to a woman, going to mass every Sunday, raising five kids to be hetero-normative breeders like him, and all the while slipping away to get naked with me and be my little Honey Bunny. Not many men would appreciate him like I do–I know that. It’s almost 4:45, and rush hour will be a serious bitch for him, but I think I’ll let him sleep.
