LARGETONY Blog

I’m going to stray from the usual Hump Day post this week. That’s cause there were two Hump Days last week. I know I only posted one Hump Day guy for you last Wednesday. That’s because the other Hump Day was only for me. And it came on Saturday.

I had to go to the mall (which I hate) to get measured for the tuxedo for “J”’s wedding. Now, before you get ahead of me, this is not some situation where some clerk shoves a tape measure up in my package to measure my inseam and the electric guitar starts playing and the pizza boy shows up. The pizza boy comes later. (So do I.)

Seriously though, I only tell you about getting fitted because that’s the reason I was in the mall in the first place. I hate shopping and I hate stores and I don’t go into them unless I have to, and then only to get what I need and get out. This particular Saturday I found just what I needed at the mall. Or more like I rediscovered what what I needed.

No, it wasn’t some situation where I was relieving myself in the food court men’s room when an electric guitar started playing and the pizza boy suddenly showed up at the next urinal. Be patient. The pizza boys comes later. (Two or three times.)

Actually I was in the food court eating a Chik-fil-a when a guy slowly approached me. There was no electric guitar on the muzak and he wasn’t carrying a pizza, but he was definitely coming my way. He said my name in a “Is that you?” sort of way and I looked at his face. He looked familiar, but I could not place him…so I tried to do that thing where you say “Hi!” to someone who you’re supposed to know, but don’t. And you do it so bad that they know that you don’t know.

When he said “It’s Patrick” I suddenly realized who he was. Memories went rushing into my head and blood went rushing into my cock. You see, Patrick and I knew each other a long time ago. While I wouldn’t say that we dated, we did hang out together quite a bit and had more than a bit of seriously smoking hot sex. Before you think of me as the fuck ‘em and forget ‘em type understand that we have not seen each other in about six or seven years and we both look a little different. We both have crossed that line from boy to man since then. That’s why we didn’t immediately recognize each other.

So, I got up and we gave each other a big hug which only made the blood pump even harder through the main vein. It’s a little problem I have. I guess its’s just that I enjoy the strength of a guy’s body or something, but when I get in a good strong lingering bear hug kind of thing, I chub out. (Maybe that’s why I’m real reserved when it comes to casual contact with people. I’m afraid the Judas in my britches is going to betray me.)

He sat down and we caught up with each other. Turns out he has been living in Charlotte for several years and was back in town for a wedding, himself. Before long, some friends of his joined up. (No, one was not a musician, and the other was not carrying a pizza.) Patrick had to run along with them but took my number in case there would be a chance for us to talk again before he left town.

I left the mall and went to Target. Which, oddly, I do like. As stores go, Target is pretty cool. The prices are not bad, and their stuff isn’t cheapo junk like either of the ‘Marts. And the stores are not crowded…either with people or merchandise. I never feel ike I have to get out of Target fast. So, I was walking the aisles, thinking about how good it was to see Patrick and filling my baskets (both of them…the latter of which I was pressing against the one I was pushing).

Mind you, I was just recalling memories. Not making any plans for when he calls. I’m wasn’t expecting to hear from him. And even if I did, the twang of electric guitar and the smell of pizza had not even fallen onto my radar yet. It was just a nice accidental mini-reunion with a buddy from days gone by. That’s all.

About an hour and a half after I ran into Patrick I was back on the highway and on my way home. My phone rang and it sounded strangely like electric guitar. It was Patrick and he was back at his motel asking if I wanted to meet him for a drink. I was already on my way home so I apologized and told him I really didn’t have time. So, he gave me the facts pure an simple: “Fine,” he said. “We can skip the drinks.”

I knew what that meant. I hem and hawed. I want to, but I felt like I shouldn’t. But I wanted to. Real bad. And I hadn’t in a long time. Real long. He tried to coax me, telling me about when we hugged, “I could feel your thing, you know.” Dammit. Judas betrayed me and now he’s ordering pizza. In half a minute I was on my way back into town.

I must have looked like a big time whore pulling up to a motel in a pick up truck in the middle of the afternoon with one pocket stuffed with rubbers and the other stuffed with a several inches of myself. I found the room, knocked on the door and when he answered I said, “Somebody order a pizza?” He didn’t get my joke. But he hadn’t been in on the dialog in my head all afternoon. So, how would he know?

He took me at my word of not having much time, closed the door, went to knees and treated me like a king. He slathered me with so much affection (and spit) that I had to back myself into a chair to from getting dizzy. Patrick smoked me like he was Castro and I was the last cigar rolled before the tobacco crop failed. And, if I may say so, my first fireworks display before an audience in a year and a half could have rivaled the closing cermony at the Olympics. Only the marathon was just getting started.

I went to clean up in the bathroom, and within the time it took Patrick to remove all his clothes, he was right in there with me offering a helping hand (or two). The bull was out of the barn and now it was time to ride him. I won’t go into the particulars of the rodeo, but we didn’t leave the bathroom through the next three orgasms (the next one of mine and two of his). I’d done it the bathroom before, but never on the floor. And let me tell you, those cool tiles feel real good against overheated skin.

We did actually make it to the bed for the wrap up. I stayed a little longer than I should have, and not nearly as long as I wanted, but after a little over two hours I was back in the truck with a grin on my face and a softening lump in my jeans. Last I saw of Patrick, he was about to doze off with a grin on his face and a couple of loads in his…well, not literally…we did use condoms.

He was so into making it happen for me that I felt like a god. Don’t think I didn’t provide for him too. I tore into his back door like a S.W.A.T. team. “SWARM! SWARM! SWARM!”

I admit, I’m feeling a bit cocky. I had been a little concerned on the drive over that it had been so long that I wouldn’t do as well as I would have liked…or more importantly, as well as he remembered. But, sex is like riding a bike. And I was freaking Lance Armstrong.

Just like Stella got her groove back, this camel got his hump back.

You know, I never realized until I found this picture how much I look like a camel. Look up at the header. Then look at Joe. Tony…Joe…Tony…Joe. Big nose. Fat lower lip. Good forearms. Fuzzy face. All I need is some shades.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 21st, 2006 at 6:26 pm and is filed under dating and sex. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.