The world is a beautiful place, but that doesn’t mean everybody you meet at an orgy is your type.
I first met Guy #204 in the company of Guys #200, #201, #202 and #203.
To me Guy #204 was the odd one out. He was the only one older than me and as such not quite my type: he wasn’t a twink, he had chest hair and he wasn’t a twink.
Yet on all objective accounts Guy #204 had the looks of a pornstar successful enough to make a living out of it. He was a gay Guy of the overtly manly type, sensitive and considerate, but with enough testosterone to perform magic tricks like changing the oil in a car, plastering a wall, doing some plumbing, or any of the other things I’ve never seen a twink do.
When I first laid eyes on Guy #204 I realized two things: this man is very handsome and it’s a pity he’s not my type.
Seeing as orgies are by no means all-you-must-eat buffets, I appreciated Guy #204 for the company he was, not at all expecting him to become Guy #204.
But when Guy #204 and I started talking, I did intuitively like him and his manliness. I’d like to consider myself manly in the presence of gay people, but part of me would bend over for a hundred car mechanics before I’d even think of attempting an oil change myself. Being in the presence of someone ostensibly manlier than me was refreshing if nothing else.
When it became apparent Guy #204 was into me I was mostly flattered, and I allowed him to come on to me a little. We were at an orgy after all.
It wasn’t my intention to go all the way with Guy #204, but it seemed that if I wanted him to stop, I would have to make him.
And I didn’t really want to make him.
Not because he wasn’t my type or because I suck at rejecting people, but because I simply liked him too much to reject. And I really liked how much I was liked by him.
Before long I was lying on my back on a couch with Guy #204 hovering over me, gently but steadily making me push my boundaries bit by bit.
“You’re not really my type,” I giggled, and I immediately regretted the possibility of having hurt Guy #204’s feelings, so I lapsed into a clumsy monologue along the lines of I mean, I can tell you’re very handsome, but I’m more into twinks and such, but if I were into manly men of the car mechanic type you’d be heaven to me.
Guy #204 calmly absorbed my words, clearly understanding them while at the same time undeterred in his ways. It was hot to see him strike a delicate balance between being assertive, keeping his distance and seducing me.
“Do you mind what I’m doing right now?” Guy #204 asked while showing no signs of stopping.
“No, not at all,” I said, enjoying the fact someone took the effort to play me and actually be good at it.
“I’m just going to continue doing what I’m doing, until you tell me to stop,” Guy #204 said.
“Okay,” I smiled, swayed and turned on by how smoothly he worked consent into foreplay.
As someone who mostly does younger Guys I’m accustomed to being the one in need of consent. But because I’m shy like a flat earth believer on board the ISS, my main tactic for getting consent is playing hard to get and waiting for even shier people to come onto me, a strategy that ends in failure most of the time, because gravity simply doesn’t work like that.
To have someone like Guy #204 make the effort to conquer my consent gave me a sense of relief I seldom get during foreplay and, as a result, during the sex itself as well. It literally gravitated me toward him.
Guy #204 and I didn’t go all the way on our first meet-up. I enjoyed his sexuality and the personality behind it, but did want to give myself some time to embrace his physicality.
I embraced it in multiple positions about a month later. And on several occasions after that.