Wednesday, 25 January 2017

Pre-dinner fun, post-dinner not so much...

Having declined me the night before, the Syrian is down the line early, keen to set a date for us to meet.  We decide he should come to my place around 5pm for some fun, then we can head out for dinner.

He's there on the dot, and unusually chatty, sprawling on my couch and drinking seemingly endless cups of tea, but I'm keen to get started on our 'fun' as I don't want a terribly late dinner, nor do I want to have sex on a full stomach.  During our conversation I let it slip that my contract here is almost up, and that I doubt they'll renew it, meaning I'll be transferred again.  He goes quiet at this, then returns to more mundane conversational matters.  Finally I take the initiative, and drop my head in his lap, nuzzling his bulge through his jeans, and he gets the message.  We retire to the bedroom, and strip, pausing only to kiss in our briefs, then onto the bed itself.  We have an enjoyable session, alternately rimming and 69'ing each other, and much kissing.  He's grown out his moustache a little, so it's not shredding me, then he rolls off and reaches for the nightstand.

Suiting up, he wriggles down beside me and begins to slide his cock up and down my slot, finally taking me in his arms from behind and entering.  He goes at me for a while, and it feels good, but then he drags one of my legs over his body and begins to go hard.  It's awesome - as he bucks and thrusts, he's jerking me off, and as I shoot a small load, he withdraws, removes the condom and drenches my balls with his load.  Aaah!

We shower together, then head out for dinner.  There's a reasonably grand rooftop place very close to where I live, and we rock up in jeans and trainers, but after an initial sneer from the maître'd, we're in and up to the top.  It's pretty quiet, and the Syrian doesn't really want to be there, but I insist and we take our table, noticing nothing odd.  After some chit-chat, we go to the smoking area, and return to find our belongings at a table some distance from where we thought, and ask the staff why we were moved.  They're surprised at this, and we persist.  "Oh but sir, the restaurant, it revolves".  Fuck.  Never is there a surer sign of a shitty restaurant than that novelty feature.  The Syrian, however, blanches.  "What?" he asks.  We go back to the table, and the food eventually comes - it's not too bad, but I've ordered for like 6 instead of 2, and we plough through as best we can.  But the Syrian spends the whole time telling me the movement (which we'd not previously noticed), was making him queasy and could we please leave.  Ok, so we're done.  I take a doggie bag, depositing it with the concierge as we walk past my building, but the whole time we continue our stroll the Syrian is chainsmoking and telling me how unwell he feels.  We eventually go back upstairs for tea, but he's soon gone.

An hour later the Harus messages me, asking if we can meet.  Sure.  But he won't come to my place for some reason, asking instead that we go for a drive and I blow him in the car.  I decline, and once again go to bed alone...

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