Hyatt Low

It was hot. August hot, with humidity so high I could taste it. My old Jeep Wrangler did not have AC and my ringer tee shirt was sticking to my back. The traffic slowed and thickened without any reason. It was a weekday, I was unemployed, horny, 38, free, and headed towards a C-List hook up at the big Hyatt by the airport.

His post was promising: "mwm, masc, athletic/fit, 45, 6'1", 185, ddf, discreet. Giving head to completion. Be HWP/fit, cut, hairy, >35. I host, afternoon, airport hotel." Just enough information, not crazy, and the scene I usually looked for when hooking up via CL. Hit and run. Drive-by. Get some and go. Hotel scenes were like catnip for me. Anonymous and easy.

There was something so stunningly transgressive and naughty about going to a suburban hotel on a weekday afternoon for furtive sex with a complete stranger. Married guys in hotels were often dead serious about catching a dick while they had the opportunity. It was a win-win paradigm for all, but mostly for me, as I did not have to even pretend to care.

At last I was off the freeway, threading thru a labyrinth of corporate office parks and various price-points of airport hotels. Armies of groundskeepers labored in the heat, tending lawns and landscaping that few noticed and brought no joy. I could see the big horizontal slab of the Hyatt rising over the trees; mirrored, silent, assuring the corporate traveler that they would have a good hospitality experience, but not a great one.

I parked the Jeep. Discreet patches of surface parking, packed in among landscaped berms and pointless ponds. Some fearsome storm clouds were off to the west, so I zipped up the yellowed plastic "windows" that enclosed the back of the Jeep. It would leak anyway, but at least I made an effort.

Revolving door into the lobby, where I was slammed with a wall of AC so cold it chilled my sweaty tee shirt. I was still wet, but now I was wet and freezing. The huge lobby was mostly empty. Hot youngish desk clerk looked up, made eye contact a bit too long. Pushing forty, dirty blond, still trim, I was now 'daddie' to guys like these, and I imagined him in some messy back office, on his knees, licking the sweat off of this daddie's balls.

I sat a on a bench near the elevators, leaning forward so maybe my shirt would dry, looking at my phone as if all manner of crucial biz texts were coming thru. I wanted to get to the room a bit late, just enough to ensure that my arrival would be that much more appreciated. I had learned that a certain laconic confidence worked well for me.

Up the elevator, and I was at his door; no TV on loud, no phone convo for me to interrupt. I knocked firmly with clear intent. My new buddy opened the door, standing in only boxers. "Hey" I said, he moved back, indicating I was to enter the room. He was hotter than his post and pic. Tallish, athletic, dark ginger, two day scruff, nice jawline for 45. Nice pecs with fur and great treasure trail down to the Brooks Bros boxers. Swimmer, runner, golfer, suburban jock daddie, he was a dead ringer for my HS swim coach. No problem with that. "So, you like to eat cock?" I asked.

Wicked grin; "Hell yeah. Those shorts and sneakers need to come off." I complied. My old Merrell Moabs were grubby and grass stained, worn mostly without socks. He grabbed up one of the sneaks, held the open part to his nose and mouth and huffed, twice, tenting his boxers. I felt like a debutante whose dance card was full.

One king bed, utterly fucked over. sheet and bedding pulled almost off at the foot. Piles of tortured pillows at the padded headboard. Clearly I was not his first guest since checking in, there is no problem with being a total man slut. Wanting to mark my own territory, I kicked back in the easy chair, ass at the front of the seat, knees spread, indicating that I was to be serviced and that he was to kneel on the floor.

Cock and balls out the fly of his boxers he was lubing up with some AstroGlide, A super girthy 6.5", uncut. Nice. 'Get on your knees, bitch, show me some head skills' I said evenly.

"Yes sir". He needed some dom, just a bit, nothing too theatrical. My own blond pink eight incher was liking the scene, big balls hanging low from the hot day.

I kept my nether regions untrimmed and hairy. I lifted my scrot and said "lick me down there." He put his face into my 'taint and huffed my scent. "Lick. Get in there!" His tongue giving eager long licks, I fed him my balls for some oral worship. I pointed my dick towards his mouth. "Yeah, service me you cock sucking slut. You like that shit? Getting on your knees to suck off men?" His groan of pleasure trailed to a whimper. Excellent skills. Slow, lips, tongue and wet.

I was in a trance of lust, trying not to cum too soon. "You wanna lick my ass, coach?" I pulled my legs back, and he dove into my hairy manly ass. I grunted and moaned. Tip of tongue, quick flicks, the way I liked it. "Fuck yeah, lick my hole coach! You needed to tongue some sweaty butthole?" He groaned, cleaning up the surrounding area too.

I lowered my legs and let him get back on my cock. I put one hand on the back of his head, loving the short clipped hair above the nape. My hand went firm and I forced him all the way down. He gagged some, but relaxed and took it, I held him down. "Damn, coach, you went deep." I eased off him, hand still on his nape, guiding. Faster now. I was grunting, and unloading in his mouth, holding his head down hard, a swirling chaos of release, "fuck fuck FUCK!" I growled. He slowed, gulping the mouthful of jizz I had just blessed him with.

I was in no hurry to get up form the chair, my cock still in his mouth. "Yeah, coach, 'bate n cum with my dick and jizz still on your tongue. Go for it baby, grunt out a load for me!" which he did, grunting out a pool of semen on the carpet.

Recovering from his moment, he gave me a shit eating grin and said "Damn! That was great!!"

"Yeah, thanks, I needed that" I said, striding to the bathroom, Leaving the door open, I was standing over the bowl waiting to get a post cum piss stream going.

He was in the doorway, "Wait! I want that!"

He kneeled next to the bowl, head back, mouth open. I held my dick slightly in his mouth, and started a strong fierce stream. "Damn coach, drink that piss!'

He gulped to keep up, but my piss overflowed his mouth, running down his chest, cock and balls and onto the floor. "Fuckin' hot piss. I knew you would have it" he said.

The western storms had blown in while I was getting blown, and the curtain wall of mirrored glass flexed with an alarming sound of steel grinding on steel. We both stepped back reflexively at the raw violence of the storm. "Whoa. That was probably a micro-burst. You can wait the storm out up here if you want" he said.

"Do you get high?" I asked, casually.

"Sure. OK" he said, giving me a wicked boyish grin, one that probably got him laid constantly in college, and still had great magic. I went to my shorts, found the lighter and the Altoid box with two Dog Walker pre-rolls inside. I had recently leveraged an old back injury into a medical cannabis card, and smugly shared my dispensary grade shit with select hook-ups. We went into the bathroom and closed the door, hoping the vents would carry away our guilty afternoon smoke. I lit up and let him have the first hit, no coughing and he held it like a champ. It was always the quiet ones, hellfire on a dimmer switch in their eyes. By the 3rd hit he was like "Whoa, this is good shit!" Yep, it sure was. I carefully stubbed out the roach in the basin, maybe two good hits left, and tucked it back in the Altoid box.

I was stoned, but he was really stoned. He had slipped on a pair of worn sweatpants, drawstring hanging loose at the front. Sweatpants on a man always sent green birds of lust flying around in my guts, and he unwittingly evoked further images of my HS swim coach. I had put my shorts on, but he had my well worn Hanes boxer briefs up to his face, huffing my scent in his cannabis infused state. "Can I keep these?" he asked.

I laughed. "Sure. Take them, keep them, enjoy them!" I was touched that he planned to savor me during a furtive 'bate session after he flew off to Berlin or Bangkok or where the fuck ever.

We got on the bed. I pulled the white sheet up over us. He let me spoon him. My arm around his furry pecs, my faced buried in his golf course browned nape. Every muscle relaxed in him all at once and his breathing slowed. I held him, this complicated sexy man whose name I still did not know, both of us under a cool white sheet on a rainy August afternoon.

I awoke with a start; the light had shifted to late afternoon, the storms had passed to the east, raging in some other part of the metro-sprawl. I was fully erect against his backside.He was awake, and had wood too. "You wanna beat off?" I asked, my voice rough from sleep. "We can cum tribute my boxer briefs." He hesitated, amazed again at the extreme naughtiness of my dirty mind.

"Hell yeah!" He found the AstroGlide and I laid the boxer briefs flat on the bed, fly side up. We knelt, facing each other, he lubed us up, and we tugged each other like horny school boys. His uncut girth was fearsome, and it made me want to be his boy. He had a hot stroke style, fist behind the head, allowing the foreskin to slide on the lubed glans. I was transfixed, and wished I too, had a foreskin. I had my hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles work as he stroked, I kept his pace, slowing and speeding up.

I took my hand from his shoulder and touched his balls with my finger tips, this triggered a low grunt and he was cumming, jizz spuming out the foreskin. Horned by his masculinity, I came too, aiming for the underwear we were soiling, but a big gob of my white splooge landed in the fur of his forearm. Finished but still dripping, I bent and licked my own gob of semen from his fur, and swallowed it.

He was fetching around, a bit dazed from the 420, the nap,and the inexplicable male joy we had just shared. We both shot decent loads considering events earlier in the afternoon. "Leave the boxer briefs there to dry, just where our cum landed." I advised. I could see his mind quickly registering the benefit of following my instruction.

I hit the shower, he followed. We rinsed and soaped each other in the hot spray; chests, balls, assholes. It was good to get clean, and to touch him all over and feel his touch. He grew quiet as we toweled each other dry, knowing I would leave soon.

I dressed slowly, and then quickly asked "Do you get back this way often?'

"Yeah...every other month or so" he answered. I grinned as he saw what I was heading for.

"Let's trade numbers, and you can HMU whenever you are headed this way." Numbers entered into respective phones. "Name?" I asked.

He reached out and shook my hand. "Dan. Dan Forrester", introducing himself as if we were meeting in the offices of the latest hot hedge fund.

"Travis. Travis Ravenel. I answer to 'Trav' for my buddies." Thereby implying he was my buddy at this point. He gave me the wicked grin, and we were far away from the hedge fund once again.

"Nice. Very nice." he said slyly, realizing that I had fully called his bluff on the sharing of full names with cell numbers. I patted down my raggedy cargo shorts...keys - wallet - phone - Altoid box. Time to go.

"Safe travels!" I wished him. He nodded gravely as I passed thru the door, which closed behind me, quietly and discreetly.

I padded down the hushed hallway towards the elevators with some added swagger from the great afternoon, mildly elated that future such afternoons with Dan seemed in the cards. I hoped the Jeep had not taken on too much water during the storm.

WG