Quaran-turned

If you’d have asked me a year ago, what my go to jerk video was- it would have been reverse cow-girl. Nothing got me going more than laying back, laptop balancing on my stomach and fisting my cock to the sights of a plump round ass gliding over a cock. In some ways, that whole set up was like a poor-man’s virtual reality now that I think of it.

That was my daily relief back then. Waking up, working out a little, having a shower as the coffee brewed, and slipping on my headset to start the workday from my den. With the last zoom meeting dealt with, I’d shut everything off and retreat to my bedroom for a little quality laptop time.

Quarantine wasn’t really that hard for me to adapt to, working from home was a breeze, and I enjoyed getting to spend some time walking my neighbourhood instead of dashing off for another mind melting commute. But after awhile, my solo jerk sessions started to lose its lustre.

I figure that at some point, months into this whole isolation thing, my brain started to go on the fritz. While everything was great with my routine, and I felt more relaxed – I hadn’t had a real conversation with another person that wasn’t work related in… forever. I couldn’t even recall the last time I had physical contact with another person, let alone-

So there was a little bit of a spiral as summer began. I felt anxious around others, and that lead to a worry I was wasting my early thirties and would never recover. Seeing all my friends from college isolating in place with their partner. It started to grate on me.

So maybe that was where my porn habits began to change.

The big asses riding cock on my laptop, the anonymous, faceless nature of it all – I started to crave something else.

I’ll try to say this without sounding like a massive creepy pervert- and in my defence, this started more as a depressive spiral- but my new jerk off material became social media.

You see, I would find myself looking at all these cutesy pictures of friends and their girlfriends, reposts of old vacation photos, and I’d look up random strangers who were tagged, or pictures from the same location. Its that social media rabbit hole that accompanies boredom, right?

Inevitably, vacation photos, photos from resorts would yield pics of all sorts of couples in less and less clothing, and THAT is what started to catch my eye.

I would look at all these happy, smiling faces- sliding back and forth from what they looked like dressed in their everyday wear, to the board shorts and bikinis on the beach. I’d notice who was hiding flaws under those power suits, who put the extra pounds and folds beneath sweaters- and for some reason- which guys were hairier than you would have figured.

That seemed to trip me up a little, as I found myself thrilled to see these guys who posted pictures of them as alpha males, standing beside their paunchy girlfriend with a hairy belly. And every time I’d see a guy without his shirt on, posing with his girlfriend in a swimsuit, I imagined them fucking. Thats when a switch in my brain got flicked.

I had gone down a rabbit hole and found a couple at a Dominican resort- total strangers- who stood alongside a palm tree. The dude stretched his arm out, pushing against the trunk of the tree, and his lady had pressed herself to his side. She had wide hips and large pendulous boobs. You could just barely see some cellulite on her thighs as she bent over to get the focus on her cleavage. But it was him I found myself studying. He was like any other tall white dude you might see on the beach, broad freckled shoulders, sunglasses and close cropped hair do. But my eyes were locked on his torso. He had a loose set of pectorals and the beginning of a little belly, which made me think he was once young and strong. light blonde hair stretched across his chest and down his stomach, intensifying around his belly button before spreading below his waistband. And the thing about the picture was that those board shorts he wore, they fell loosely around his hips- giving more of a glimpse of his pubic hair than one would be comfortable showing.

Thats the picture that had me yanking down my pants and underwear in bed. I gripped my cock thinking about this anonymous couple with their average bodies getting drunk on the beach and sneaking away for a blowjob in the bushes. I closed my eyes and imagined this bro-dude all hard and horny, scared shitless of getting caught as his girlfriend drained him. My brain flashed to an image of this guy looming over his woman in bed -I had her point of view- watching him over exert himself, huffing away as he slammed his cock into her pussy. His body slick with sweat, the pubes I’d sneakily seen on the beach matted with pussy juice and cum as his face contorted in relief.

I came all over my belly as I groaned a little too loudly. My eyes fluttered and I caught a glimpse of the picture on my phone as I caught a breath. I wondered what their sex smelled like.

* * * * * * *

From then on, my porn tastes took a turn. I wanted to see faces, not just ass. I wanted to see bodies, not just pussy. I wanted to see HIS face.

Maybe it was the inevitable boredom with the standardized female sex- or maybe it was a desire to imagine myself as part of a pair. But I needed to see full, real people fucking.

Even masked, I would go out on walks, and see couples on the sidewalk, sizing them up as we passed.

The more I got into amateur couples online, the more i began to see a wide array of kinks and contortions, and my world exploded. But the one area I seemed to be moving in, was anything that put the centre on the guy.

I’d had my fill of shrieking woman faking orgasms, or cooing as some headless muscle dude slid his cock between their tits- as though a new erogenous zone had been found in cleavage. I craved seeing dudes at their most honest. The videos with the camera on a tripod that just ran, those were the best. Unedited, you would see a guy fucking with abandon in a champions pose suddenly get tired and have to switch positions. The guy with the perfectly coiffed hair and shaven face would move into doggy-style and expose his nasty hairy ass to the camera, his hole showing after every thrust. I loved, LOVED the contradiction in the style and attitude with these men as they exhibited every flaw and fault with their human desires.

Psychologically, If I had been thinking about it all, maybe I just wanted to feel like I was in the videos i watched, and in seeing men in less than perfect portrayals, I could see myself. I was average in every way, a kind of skinny-fat 32yo with little noticeable musculature. I had a small patch of chest hair, a treasure trail and bush. My ass might have been hairier than need be, but while I wouldn’t bother trying to trim that, I would frequently get insecure about my armpit hair and trim it on regular occasion. My dick. I dunno. I’ll say average. I didn’t mind it too much, as it looked large after a shower, hanging low with the pink head peaking out from my foreskin. It looked normal, and normal was good enough.

It had been a couple years since I had hooked up with a girl, or had a girlfriend. Nobody ever had a complaint about my body or how I fucked, but I think that whenever it was a hookup, both of our mindsets were on getting off in the moment- playing with a new body before moving on. My one longer term girlfriend I had at 28, it was good. But to be honest, I don’t remember too much about our sex. It was there. We did it. We got off. In hindsight. Missionary, doggy, blow jobs and eating pussy- which she wasn’t a huge fan of for some reason- it was all pretty standard… Watching all the amateur fuck videos now, I wished I’d recorded things with my girlfriend, so I could see what I looked – I mean, what WE looked like.

As the pandemic continued, I found myself changing.

I started to linger in the mirror after showers, running my fingers over my patch of chest hair, through my pubes. I let things grow, without trimming. I’d find myself tickling my nipples as I lay in bed trying to sleep. I’d head out for a jog, and come back a sweaty mess. One day I realized I’d forgotten to put on deodorant, and when I got home I flopped back in bed, lifting my arms and turning my head to breathe my scent. It was fucking intoxicating. I swiped at my damp armpit hair before bringing my fingers to my nose to inhale directly. My cock hardened and I stuck my finger in my mouth to taste my salty stank. I jerked off to my own smell that day, with my shorts around my ankles, running shoes still on.

* * * * * * *

Discovering strap-on videos was maybe where things truly started to change for me.

I had started to branch out from amateur fucking videos when I slipped into the whole fem dom world. To be honest, it was the fem dom stuff that usually kept me away from the genre. I didn’t like the gimmicky shit, the leather and chains. All the chastity, cross dressing stuff, the wax and ball torture. Ugh, maybe it works for some- but not me. A lot of the dialogue in that stuff was dreadful, I just couldn’t get into it.

But there was a video that caught my eye, a couple blonde, midwestern college kids in a dorm room. The thumbnail had her laying on her stomach in a little college sweatshirt, while her guy ate her out from behind. They looked like the perfectly normal couple I wanted to see in a sexual, subversive way so I clicked onto it.

In time, I saw how the guy was naked for her service, which I found ridiculously hot. The focus wasn’t on his erection, but instead him giving her pleasure. The cunnilingus was great to see, as he made himself prone to her whims. She had the most perfectly cute, round ass- and you could easily imagine a guy submitting to anything just to get a taste and a touch. It was when the video cut to a shot her her approaching her guy with a flesh coloured strap on that I held my breath. You have to understand, I’m not a prudish virgin here who’d never seen a woman come at a guy with a strap on. Its just that any time I scrolled past a clip like that, the thumbnail was always some insane looking leather clad dungeon. This- this clip I was now watching, had a kind of earnestness to it that drew me in. All this time I’d been vibing off male vulnerabilities, coming to terms with my own insecurities- but for the first time, I was getting turned on with the prospect of pushing my own limits.

The girl in the video didn’t shout or yell, she didn’t beat her guy or call him names. She helped ease him into positions, and gave him time to accept her cock.

It was mesmerizing.

I’d watched most of the video before I noticed it was just about done, then reset it so I could jerk off in earnest as I watched. I shot ropes of cum onto my chest in record time, pulling my undies off to help clean up before dashing into the shower.

I soaped myself up and stood under the hot water, letting it wash away my jazz and soothe my muscles. Safely under the stream, I quietly moved a soapy finger downward, between my ass cheeks, until I could feel my pucker. While no stranger to cleaning my ass, this time was more… well, curious.

Gently inserting a digit into my hole, I gripped my cock at the same time. No. This isn’t it, I thought to myself. I lowered myself to the shower floor, resting on my knees before bending over. I’d let go of my cock to brace myself as I pushed my finger deep into my ass.

This felt… good.

* * * * * * *

As days turned into weeks and I logged more and more time in isolation- the desire to tickle my taint grew habitually. Every day I had a wank, and every day I was exploring my ass with a greased up finger. By the time I came to grips with my emptying bottle of vaseline, I went online looking for lube, and became engrossed in the vibrators, dildos and shiny metal toys in the “anal” sections of the shops. Tentatively I put in an order for a large bottle of water based lube, and a tiny pale vibrator.

When my package arrived, I tore down to the mail room to unlock the parcel box. I felt a tad embarrassed, as my cock thickened in my sweatpants. Nobody knew of course what I had just received, but I felt a bit exposed as I excitedly dashed back up to my unit. Locking the door behind me, I checked my work email and headed for the bedroom. I was naked and on my back in no time, wrestling the seal off the top of the lube bottle, and pulling the vibe from its package.

If you know, you know – the smell of lube, the smell of a silicon toy. The sour artificialness that trips the brain into sex mode. My nipples hardened as I delicately dripped lube into my hand, spreading it across the tip of my rubber toy. I scrunched down further in bed, bringing my knees up to my chest as I guided the little bullet below my balls and between my hairy cheeks. The cool gel allowed me to push directly into the centre of my puckered hole, and with my thumb I triggered the vibration.

I lay back with my eyes closed, feeling and hearing the hum. My hand went to my dick and my breath went ragged.

In no time, the mini vibe was replaced with larger one, then a long skinny purple probe. I bought a prostate massager with an e-coupon, and poured over online threads about milking the prostate. My porn viewing was strictly educational now as I searched for a greater physical experience than the last toy had given me, it wasn’t enough to watch people fuck anymore, I wanted to feel myself at the edge.

I threw a bunch of money at a heavy metal wand, and spent hours abusing my ass with it. I began to keep the lights on in the bedroom as I maneuvered it deep inside, just so I could watch the precum dribble from my tiny limp dick. It amazed me, seeing the little dew drop on the top of my cock as I milked my prostate, watching as that drop became a flowing leak.

Curiousity got the best of me at this point, and I scooped up my jizz with a finger and tasted it. It was thin, salty and warm- and for some weird reason, I wanted more.

Overtime I learned that I couldn’t milk myself like that every day. The well would dry up, and sensations wouldn’t be as great if I didn’t give myself time, if I didn’t let my body relax into it instead of forcing myself. I was evolving.

I think it was when I graduated to “The King” though that I had firmly crossed a line.

I had seen more than a few videos of guys who had gone “hands-free” with a suction cup dildo. Sticking their toy to the bathroom floor or shower wall and riding it to orgasm. I wanted to feel that, I wanted to grip my cock with both hands, and feel my ass filled. So I did a little research and found the perfect cock for me- a veiny purple dildo nicknamed “The King”.

I guess it didn’t really occur to me until I had it in hand, but “The King” was the first toy I had bought that resembled an actual penis. In all my experimentation, I’d always bought smooth, sleek toys that looked like alien sculpture more than – well, a cock. As I lay in bed that night, rolling it around in my hand, comparing it to my own, I felt a giddy flush come over me. I slowly brought it to my face to examine the realistic glans, and found my mouth opening. I closed my eyes as I wrapped my lips around the rubber cock, feeling every groove and vein with my mouth as I gently pushed it into my throat.

That night I would try to fuck myself on the bathroom floor. Lubed up “King” stuck to the floor, and my ass sliding along its girth. It was awkward, and my knees hurt from the tiles. Not exactly the amazing experience I had hoped.

It wasn’t that failed experiment though that made me cross the line, to take the next step- it was the moment earlier in bed, with the toy in my mouth when I pulled it out… and sucked it back in again.

* * * * * * *

I had all but given up porn at this point. Working form home was my sole distraction from my newest hunger. I would wake up, splash some water on my face and log on. I had streamlined my zoom meetings into phone calls, which allowed me to wander around in my underwear all day. My hair had grown long, and started to curl, a beard began to gather on my face while my bush had engulfed my soft penis. Though my body had begun to round, I felt stronger. No longer a wisp in a sweater vest, I was a chunkier, hairier man who was enjoying his natural scent, and fluids. My communications -professional and otherwise- were brief and monosyllabic. I had gone almost a year without physical contact, and had turned a corner.

I started by downloading an app. Then two. Then three.

I began taking pictures in my underwear. Pics of my bulge, my pits. I threw myself into these photoshoots where i contorted myself into a variety of naked, vulnerable positions, and relished in sharing them with strange men I found online. They would send me pics in return, but I was often more interested in showing off, hearing about the rude nasty things they thought of while looking at my ass. One guy had even made a video of him jerking off on a printout of my naked body.

I was a complete tease though. I loved the attention, but had no intention of doing anything in the real world. The back and forth on apps was enough to fuel my wank sessions as I imagined my ass as the object of many perverse affections. At some point, I started getting off by humping a dedicated pillow, feeling my ass cheeks jiggle in the air.

But then I got messaged on the app one day.

It came from a faceless profile. Just a closeup on a hairy, older man’s sagging pectorals. I had exchanged pics with him before, more of a lopsided affair with me oversharing my goods, and him replying with a shot of his erect penis. It had been a good month since that swap, and there really wasn’t much conversation between us- but the message he sent sucked the oxygen from my lungs and nearly buckled my knees.

“17th floor?”

I was stunned. I had been so careful to remain as anonymous as possible. But somehow this man knew where I lived, and likely- who I was.

I wanted to erase the app and throw my phone out the window, i was chilled to the core and suddenly frightened… but the message… I wanted him to type more.

So I waited, aware he could see I had read his message, scrolling back through the pictures I sent to try and figure out how he knew. There were close-up pictures of my furry ass, my hands spreading my cheeks to expose a gaping hole. There were countless cock shots, a full naked body front and back I shot in my darkened hallway. Maybe he lived in the building, and had studied my pictures so much, he could spy my body from a mile away. That had to be it. But…

Ding. He wrote again.

“You were in the elevator today weren’t you?”

My mind raced, trying to recall anybody I had been around. I had gone down twice for packages, once for trash, and once for food. Sure, there were people- but I was off in my own little world, I hadn’t taken notice of anyone. Everyone wore masks, how could I? How could HE?

“a couple of us have talked about you on here, we’ve all enjoyed your pictures. You’ve got a sexy little ass on you.”

Oddly encouraged, I wrote back. “thanks”

“Didn’t mean to freak you out about the elevator. I was standing behind you and noticed the moles on the back of your neck. Started checking you out in person. hehe”

My body warmed with confusing feelings. I was reminded of the feeling of danger I had each time I pushed my limits. I hadn’t really considered a couple moles on my neck as an identifying feature, but I guess in close proximity…

“I live here too. Would love to get a shot of that ass some day 🙂 Name a time and I’ll be right down.”

With that, he sent another picture of his cock. This time it looked as though he had pulled it out of his shorts while in the elevator. The 17 on the panel had been illuminated.

I shut off my phone and threw it across the bed, flopping down with a pillow over my face. I meekly screamed into the down, still shaken by what had just transpired. This stranger practically knew where I lived, had all my naked pictures, could probably identify me on sight, even with my mask on… and I was so incredibly fucking hard.