“I want to suck your socks off”

(The title alone should be enough to signal that this posting is totally inappropriate for kids and the sexually modest, as are three others to follow it. But a lot of this material is stunningly raunchy and also personal, so I’m issuing an especially strong warning. Two of the following postings merit a warning about heavy linguistics as well — phonology in one, syntax and semantics in the other, but even they are fugues on the vocabulary of fellatio, so men’s genitals and sex between men will be with us all the way through.)

Not a morning name exactly, but a quotation I woke up to a couple of days ago, a quotation bringing with it the recollection of an encounter from 40-some years ago that was so intensely pleasurable that I came to consciousness smiling and chuckling, with morning wood just a stroke short of a happy ending.

The speaker was Jake (his sex name), addressing Alex (my sex name), offering this service to me out of desire for my body and out of a powerful emotional connection between us that had been established while I, totally naked except for sandals, was being fucked by another guy — Topman was thoroughly competent at this task and I gave him a good ride, but he vanishes from this story as soon as he shoots his load — in the middle of a fair sized mensroom. Topman and I had somehow ended up performing a fuck show for an audience of four or so other men, all except one enjoying our act with faces in unreadable Workman mode.

Then there was Jake, who gave me a sweet half-smile conveying admiration, then an offer of friendship, then naked desire, meanwhile coming forward to become my sexual spotter: the standing fuck is tricky if the bottom has nothing in front of him for support, so Jake stepped up, said “Put your hands on my hips”, and became my rock while Topman slammed me. Then I was looking up into Jake’s eyes, with thanks, and soon an electric connection to him.

When Topman finished and stepped out of my life, I stood up to face Jake; we smiled with delight, kissed. And in a throaty baritone, a bit over the top, mocking his own words, Jake declared his desire: “I want to suck your socks off”. Which made me laugh, triggered my dick to spring into action. Which he took to be my body’s way of saying “Yes, please!”

So he knelt down in front of me, put his hands on my hips and gave me one of the greatest blow jobs of my life, all the while holding my gaze and giving little moans of pleasure. I stroked his hair, smiled at him goofily, appreciated both his technique and his open hunger for my cock, admired his nicely muscled shoulders and chest and his square solid face, realized he was wearing an Army fatigue jacket with genuine patches on it, somehow understood that he was in fact not only a hunk but also for this brief moment in love with me, was flooded with reciprocal love for him, filled his mouth with my hot cum.

I would have offered this very nice man any sexual service he might have wanted, but it turns out he came in his jeans, right after I came in his mouth.

When we caught our breaths, I took him out for a long lunch, making the most of what we both realized would be our first and only date (since we were both about to move away from the place where we’d come together). In its own way, it was as pleasurable as our sex. Two very different people (for one thing, he was a real guy guy, but with enough distance on himself to see that that was kind of funny, and enough social adeptness to square that with being totally guy-oriented in his sexual desires), sharing a passionate commitment to our work (he was in training to become one of the first EMTs, me you know about), building a rapid friendship out of mutual regard and admiration. A golden moment.

That’s the six-paragraph digest version of the story, which I’ll flesh out, so to speak, in “Jake and Alex”, an extremely fictive fictobiographical piece — extremely fictive because it’s recalled from so long ago (I’m sure about the locale, about my sex-show fuck, about the words of Jake’s offer, about his remarkable blow job, about his being a Vietnam vet, about that excellent lunch; who knows about the rest?).  Like my gay baths postings, it’s also full of participant-observer accounts of the t-room milieu and meta-reflections on the social organization of public sex, and it’s also unashamedly pornographic.

Before that, I’ll give you the two pieces already fully blocked out, on linguistic aspects of  suck your socks off.

But even before that, since those postings are all words, words, words, the story of Jake and Alex (and Topman) in images of items of clothing.

Tees and socks. The tees from previous postings on this blog. A t-shirt for Topman:

(#1) Love the amiable face

And two for Alex:

(#2) Pity this one wasn’t available back in the Age of Reptiles, when I frequented the gay baths

(#3) Less directive: just announce what you like / want

Then, socks for Alex to wear, as instructions for Jake:

(#4) The socks available on Etsy from Risqué Design; other versions are available from many other suppliers

Or a tee for Jake to wear himself:

(#5) The guy from #2, advertising oral instead of anal

2 Responses to ““I want to suck your socks off””

  1. Robert Coren Says:

    One amusing (to me) sidelight is that, if I read your description of the situation accurately, you were not wearing socks at the time.

    • arnold zwicky Says:

      I was indeed sockless. In fact, the form of Jake’s declaration involves no reference to socks at all. There are (at least) four different expressions suck your socks off, and only one presupposes socks; the other three, including the sexual construction, are mute on the sock question. More impressively, one of them doesn’t even presuppose sucking (in any sense), though the sexual sense crucially does. Stay tuned for coming attractions.

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