matthieu and the art of the edge

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one i left out last night, due less to oversight than the fact that he'd never texted me a message of sufficient salacity to merit a screenshot. 



one of the most important questions in the standard guttermorality post-coital interview is the following:

you find it easier to relax, edge yourself and have to hold back from cumming watching porn, or with an actual guy?

the answer i get back is almost always, "oh, porn--no question."  and after probably having spent the better part of the last hour tryin to get said interviewee off, i have no trouble believing that.

the other reason i have no trouble believing it is because it's true of me, too.

but, boy, it's not true of matthieu.

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i was never much for porn in my early days--i mean, yeah, there was that one night back in my last year of architecture school when my horniness finally overrode my fear and i drove 30 miles to an adult bookstore in a remote suburb of austin where nobody could possibly know me, grabbed the first two gay videos i found, rented 'em without once making eye contact with the clerk, rushed back to my place and spent the next 24 hours explosively jerking off to what was probably the lamest, cheesiest porn on the planet, but it still excited me tremendously.  even so, i wrote it off at the time as a poor substitute for what the real thing must be like.

my next brush with gay porn wouldn't happen for seven years until i moved to LA, came out, and realized it was everywhere, including the bedrooms of lots of the boys i ended up going home with. which annoyed me to no end, because why would i want to watch two guys on a video screen when i had a warm, flesh-and-blood version of the real thing right there in my arms--and, more to the point, why would they?

all porn back then was the same to me--basically, naked kabuki.  two or more buffed, manicured boys would politely take turns fellating one another, then would come the rimming, followed by the standard rear entry, after five mechanical minutes of which they'd switch to some formalized sideways position before finishing up missionary style, during which the designated top would pound away until the bottom finally shot his load, with the finale being the top pulling out and flogging his semi-flaccid meat until he, too, finally managed to nut.  jesus, where was the fun in that?

then, a couple years ago, i discovered xtube, and everything changed.

*     *     *     *     *

i came out late after years of controlled self-denial, and i've always wondered if that's why i have such a hard time relaxing during sex--and i mean, even good sex.  to me, every hookup is a performance, a role to be played and mastered, and even when in the saddle and fully engaged, i'm at the same time a detached, outside observer, watching and evaluating my every move.

all that fell away when i discovered online amateur porn--my god, real, uninhibited guys, actually into each other, filming their sex for all the world to see.

that first weekend, i probably spent 30 hours patiently combing through xtube's archives, culling the wheat from the chaff (no small task, trust me), collecting those rare instances of guys--pretty, not-so-pretty, didn't matter--busting all over each other without even tryin'.  and then edging and uncontrollably busting all over myself while watching 'em over and over, in a way i'd never been able to achieve with an actual partner.

*     *     *     *     *

i remember my first sight of him--short, round, buddha-bellied--and thinking i'd made a huge mistake, but not having the heart to tell him we weren't a match.  and then finding out how wrong i was.

matthieu is one of those rare ones who is unselfconsciously comfortable in his own skin, and totally receptive to every attention paid him.  i've learned through experience exactly what to do and when, and i can tell from his breathing, body tension and heartbeat how far i can push and tease him before i have to back off--i can take him up and bring him back down over and over again until he can't stand it anymore, he says, "that's it, mike", and i bring on the big finish and he shudders in my arms for half an hour.

i've told him more than once he doesn't know how lucky he is.

"me?", he says, looking down at himself and grinning.

yeah, you.