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When I was in my 20s, the bar I worked at hosted an open mic for musicians, and Matt was one of our regulars. He was tall, broad, unfailingly polite and he sang Tom Waits covers. That was a super-hot combination and one night when I got off my shift a little early, we had some drinks and I took him home.
This story begins at a non-gay bar on a Saturday night. I went out to one of our usual hangout bars with two of my grad school buddies. We were drinking and joking and laughing and around 2AM they both said they wanted to go home.
After every sexual escapade my friends and I enjoyed in college, we'd ask each other one very big, important question: "Was he packing the heat? It's almost comical to think having a big penis equates to good sex, because, honestly -- and this is something I wish I could scream at my early something self -- that's just total bullshit. Because those are still great.
I was beginning to forget what a cock looked like! Though, the vibrating one did possess a certain charm after a couple of wines in front of the flat screen. Things had calmed down a tad between myself and the demon child, as of late. Actually, his face got off fairly lightly — just his eyebrows and all the hair on one side of his head.
He looked as if he could bite me in two, chew me up, and spit out the pieces. He looked as if he would enjoy that. So I continued to walk toward him.