Finding a New Sam

I’d gotten my rocks off, which was what my cock demanded. But he was just too swishy for me. And I had no intention of going back to the Rainbow Connection again—although, on second thought, I had some unfinished business with Jackson. I didn’t really see myself with a black partner, but he was athletic, manly, and I didn’t get full time with that sweet ass of his. Still, he hadn’t been completely satisfying yet when I was pulled away from him. I’d been fucking him, but he hadn’t been fucking me back. He’d been concentrating on taking what I was giving him—just like Travis did just now and the rent-boy had done on Christmas Eve.

As Travis hobbled out of my house, I couldn’t resist taking and embracing him in the foyer. I kissed him and told him it was fine, he’d been great—that it was me; I’d recently lost a lover and was having a hard time getting back. He clearly didn’t want to leave and clung to me, and we kissed.

“Give me time,” he whimpered. “I can please you, I know. I can take it all. Just give me time.”

“You did take it all,” I said, lying; I’d had a couple more inches to give him when I decided he couldn’t take any more. “It’s not you; it’s me. I can’t control myself well enough. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” And it was true. My anger was getting in the way. I was looking for another Sam, and what I was getting was wanna be girls. I wanted another man—a man who could take it. I wanted a man who could and would take nine inches and buck with it like a bull with all nine super-thick inches inside him, a man who would come with me and then turn me on my back and ride it again like a bull. I wanted a Sam.

“Maybe sometime again . . .”

“Yes, maybe sometime again,” I answered. I doubt either one of us thought there would be a “sometime again.”