The Man Who Came Too Much (2 page)

knowledge that it was so perfectly
right
.

James was a good teacher. But he wasn’t quite prepared for what was going to happen.

About four weeks into our sexual boot camp, he said, “When are we going to flip this

around?”

“What do you mean?” I said, knowing exactly what he meant.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said. I told you he was precise. Direct.

“I’m enjoying the buildup,” I said. “I like learning how to make you happy.”

“Bullshit,” James said. “You’re scared.”

“Maybe.”

“Tonight, then. No more putting this off.” He moved close and put his hand on my crotch. I swelled almost immediately to meet him.

What can I say? There was no more delaying the inevitable. We spent a tense thirty minutes over a dinner of turkey burgers and red wine. I guzzled the wine. Then we watched a few minutes of TV before I clicked the remote and rolled on top of him.

Four weeks of buildup was actually not all that enjoyable. I ached. I decided it was time to put all of my previous lessons to good use, and not the gentle ones. James could take it. I could tell. I yanked his khakis (and underwear) off before he even knew what was happening. His cock was hard already and I spent a quick minute with it in my mouth, tonguing the shaft and cradling his balls the way I knew he liked.

He stroked my hair and then lifted my face to his. “Don’t spend so much time on that,” he said.

That was all I needed to hear. I slid off my shorts and turned James so he was in a sitting position. Then I lifted his legs to my shoulders, resting them there. I pushed his legs, curling him in on himself, and like magic his ass was inches from my throbbing dick. I reached for the lube we’d left on the end table the night before. I coated my cock, then traced a finger over James’s asshole so that it tensed. He tried to pull his shirt off and stopped. The fact that we were still half-dressed – I still had my shirt on, too – made it hotter.

“Ready?” I asked, glancing between James’s face and my cock hovering near his ass.

James nodded, smiling, and said, “Here we go. Enjoy the ride.”

Enjoy it I did. I pushed the head of my cock into James slowly, but I have to admit my self-control was lacking in the heat of the moment. A couple slow strokes and then I was clumsily banging away at James. The couch knocked against the wall a few times. James was grunting, taking my full length and surging back at me, wanting to give me the fuck of my life. I have to say, for a long time it was. I was expecting it to feel tight, but this was on another level. It’s like he was trying to squeeze the life out of me. When I bottomed out, balls flush up against him, I was seeing stars.

I’d blocked out the fact that James was going to get doused. I figured, hey, I’m doing the right thing now. I’m fucking dudes and it feels perfect and whatever happens, happens. This is probably how it is for everyone. Surely James had seen an extra dose of semen here or there in his thirty years.

Whatever I told myself, it worked until I’d been grinding my dick into James for about three minutes.

Then, it hit me. The unstoppable orgasmic surge where your vision goes white and someone could slap you in the face and you’d never notice. A second later I was throwing myself into James, shouting “Holy mother of fuck I’m going to cum!” or something equally witty, gripping James’s thighs so hard he had bruises for six days.

I started to shoot my load and I think his ass was filled in two or three bursts. He was groaning and clasping at my arms, close to his own orgasm if I’d just thought to reach down and massage his engorged cock. I was more worried about what was going on in his ass – I could see my cum starting to leak out of him as we squished together. He began to notice, too.

“Okay, sweetie, let’s take it easy,” he said. “Pull out slowly. It feels electri—gah!”

He didn’t finish the thought. I’d pulled myself out and couldn’t stop. I had his legs in my hands, and his neatly bespectacled face was about two feet away from ground zero.

“I’m sorry, James, I don’t know what to do!” I shouted. “I can’t slow it down!” My dick was waving side to side, splattering his face and the throw pillows he was wedged between. James flinched. Everything slowed down, like a war movie action sequence right at the climax.

“Noooooooooooooo!”

Splat. Splat. Splattery-splat.

“I’m hit!”

“Tell Sammy I loved him!”

“Sergeant Davis likes getting fucked with a rifle barrel!”

Okay, maybe he didn’t yell some of that.

“God, make it stop!” is what he did say, putting his hands over his face. “What the Christ?!

Are you pissing on me? My pillow!”

I let go of his legs and tried to squeeze the head of my dick even though I knew the trick never worked. It didn’t help. Just made the spurts thinner, like little lasers. In a random miracle I’ve never since repeated, two mini-blasts hit James in the nose – one in each nostril – before he kicked me over backwards and I sent my remaining spunk flinging in a random pattern around the room.

“Oh fuck,” I said. The back of my head hurt from where I’d smashed into a vase. The last few jets had petered out on my chest. I looked liked I’d been lightly iced. James, on the other hand, was starting to realize he’d been fully frosted. I opened my eyes and he was standing over me, dripping on to the hardwood floor. He was wiping his glasses with a napkin, except that he’d just blown my spew out of his nose so what he was really doing was smearing my cum all over the lenses.

I felt something else start building – an urge to laugh that had me smiling and then trying to hide it, quivering, until I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing and James did, too.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. “That was amazing!”

“Really?” I said, totally thrown off guard. “It wasn’t weird?”

“No, it was fucking weird,” he said. “But also fucking amazing. We have to put this on the site.”

That was the first time I’d heard of the web site. James ran a blog called “stuntcock.com,” or something to that effect. He and his buddies posted about their encounters with “unreal, surreal, or just plain weird” cocks. Sometimes with pictures or videos, sometimes just descriptions.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” James told me. “You have to let me make a video. Do you realize how big that’ll be? You spraying down a dozen dudes? Maybe they’re holding

umbrellas or something? Maybe you fucking
drown
one of them, that’s what it looks like, y’know?”

There he was, standing at his laptop while my cum still ran down his legs. He’d forgotten completely that he was the first man I’d fucked.

You know what? I can’t say that mattered a whole lot at the time. I was twenty-two. I knew nothing. I was drunk, I’d just cum-bathed my lover with a superhuman quart of spunk and he was excited about it.

I made thirteen videos with James and I don’t regret a single fucking one of them. But I couldn’t stay with him. I took some money for blasting his giggling, umbrella-wielding friends and one day I stopped returning his calls. That’s how it had to be.

I could go on and on. The pattern continued. I was happy to have found men, found what I thought was love, and eventually I became a gimmick. Or just plain wore people out. One guy, who shall remain nameless, broke down one night after I’d accidentally sperm-blasted the suit he was going to wear to his mother’s funeral.

“I’m sorry, Chet,” he sobbed. “I can’t face the dry cleaners again. They know! They

goddamn know!”

They did, in fact, know. For a while there in the 90’s I was getting a commission from two of the dry cleaners downtown -- a “You Spray, We Pay” kind of thing.

I’ll save the other stories for later. What I want to say now is, I’ve found someone who might just be my perfect match. If I’m a superhuman cum blaster, he’s a preternatural cum-guzzling machine. He’s walking and swallowing proof that we
do
all have a soulmate out there. That’s what I think, at least. It’s all a matter of doing enough searching (and I’ve certainly done my share).

Here’s how it went down with Rodney.

He didn’t pay much attention to me at first. We both frequented the same Starbucks. He had lots of friends, I always sat alone. Eventually, he spoke to me in line.

“What are you always working on over there?” he asked.

“My memoirs,” I said, laughing because that’s just about the most pretentious thing you can say in this world.

“Really?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Where are you, then? What part of your life?” he said.

“Very hard to explain,” I said. “Something involving a tsunami and a Chihuahua.”

We proceeded from there. Within a week, he was sitting next to me on the couch and I had the long-lost butterflies in my stomach. I was terrified. I really liked Rodney. I didn’t know if I could stand another guy being strangely excited, and then strangely gone, in a matter of hours.

I had to tell him right off the bat. Standard policy after James, actually. I told him just like I told you.

“Rodney, when I cum, I fill jars,” I said. “Mason jars. The big ones.”

Rodney laughed. “Really?” he said. “Is that supposed to sound cool? You don’t have to build yourself up.”

“No, really. Here. Look.” I pulled a jar out from under the couch. It was completely filled with last night’s cum deposit, one that was easy to extract because I was thinking about Rodney’s thighs when I was rubbing my cock.

“My, my,” Rodney said. “That’s actually impressive.”

“That was all in one go,” I said. “I was thinking about you. It took three minutes. A record.

You can go now if this is too crazy.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “it’s pretty fucking hot.”

“You sure?” I said.

“I guess it’s time for me to tell you something,” he said. “I could drink cum all the time. I mean, all the time. I think I’m addicted to it.”

“Now you’re just playing with me.”

“No, seriously,” Rodney said. “It turns most guys off after I have a second glass. I’ve never gotten enough. It doesn’t keep well.”

“You might just be in luck,” I said. I didn’t believe him, not one hundred percent, but I was getting hopeful.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s start off in the shower. Eliminates some mess, if there is any.”

“Oh, there will be,” I said.

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

We went to the master bathroom and undressed each other slowly. Deliciously. Rodney was taller than me, and he worked out with the same passion that I employed actively
avoiding
weights.

(Don’t get me wrong – I’m fit. I just like running outdoors more than exercising like a gerbil in a cage.)

I devoted a considerable amount of time to running my hands all over Rodney’s wide chest.

It was like a magnet. His taut stomach rippled with muscle. We were both standing there in our underwear, dicks bulging, taking each other in with these silly expressions popping out.

“Ohhh, look at these tasty pecs.”

“Your thighs are like a soccer player’s. I want you to shoot and score and score.”

Things like that. You know how it goes when the crazy endorphins start zipping around.

Eventually we stepped into a hot shower and started to lather each other with body gel. I stood behind Rodney and let my cock rub against his ass while I worked on his shoulders, arms, and chest. My dick was soapy – everything was – and I slid it between his legs in a slow thrusting motion.

“Making sure I get everywhere,” I said. I reached in front and started lightly stroking Rodney’s cock, which was, of course, rock-hard at this point and aimed straight at the shower faucet.

I kept that light touch, slowly working my hand up and down Rodney’s shaft. He was bare, super-smooth all around his cock and balls. It added an extra electricity. My own cock was throbbing insistently now, that familiar ache at the base and the building desire to unleash what was inside.

I turned around, twisting Rodney so we’d flipped positions – his dick was now slapping

against my ass and I bent forward slightly.

Rodney had stopped with the small talk, like I had. He was breathing faster, rasping as he massaged my back and ran his hands down my thighs, squeezing them. Testing them.

“I’m ready,” I said, looking back over my shoulder. “You really need to fuck me. Now.”

Sure didn’t take Rodney long to get started, let me tell you. I didn’t mind that one bit. He pushed the head of his dick against my ass and shoved the first couple of inches in with a quick jerk on my hips, yanking me back so I was filled almost immediately.

I won’t lie. It hurt, that delicious kind of hurt that you know is tied directly to pleasure. I struggled to relax against Rodney’s thickness, and finally did, letting my ass rest down on his cock and struggling to control my trembling legs. Rodney was smooth and firm after that. He found a rhythm and stuck with it. My head was thumping against the wall of the shower but I assure you, I did not give a flying fuck about that. The sensation of Rodney filling me up was enough to make my eyes water.

I held on for dear life as the tempo increased, our skin smacking together under the hot streams of water. Rodney grunted louder and his grip strengthened on my waist. He leaned into me, his mouth suddenly on my neck, and then I felt him spasm once, twice, and I lost count. He came so hard that he reared back and thrust himself back and forth into me a dozen more times. I was left gasping up against the wall.

I turned around and Rodney was smiling. I grinned back.

“Epic,” he said.

“I’m going to be walking crooked for a week,” I said, “especially after you do that to me some more. Rodney, you have a beautiful, beautiful cock. Let’s just make that clear.”

“It’s time to think about yours,” he said, dropping to his knees.

“Are you sure?” I said.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said, beginning to stroke me and run a hand up and down my thigh.

Rodney held my cock in his right hand and ran it gently over his face. It was incredibly erotic, standing there under the showerhead as this massive man held me so softly. I swear, I almost lost it right there. My dick hurt, it was so hard. My balls were already constricting in a pre-orgasm state, wanting to let everything loose.