doing, oh yes. The soft and gentle, the strong and demanding touch of sensuality.

I pumped his face a few times, out of control now, and he liked that, obviously. He responded by taking me fully deep, nearly head butting my body as he swallowed all of me with meaningful and purposeful deep strokes. I was impressed, since I knew that my endowment had caused more than a few talented mates to gag and gurgle. But he had me, all of me, and he was not going to move away until I was drained. It did not take long with his obvious prowess before he succeeded, draining my protein without missing a drop. Finally, I had to move him away when I became too sensitive to permit him to suck and lick me any more. I fully intended to demonstrate my own oral genital expertise but realized it was too late as I felt his hot liquid juices splatter against my ankles just at that moment. Then he was gone before I even recovered from my deep breathing.

I did another quick shower, and dressed with no sign of him anywhere. On my way out, I checked the sign-in register, but could not identify a name, only a scrawl of a signature for a daily guest visitor. Not going to be a repeat, I mused, if he remains a mystery.

Outside, however, I saw him standing near the curb, waiting for me no doubt. So my macho ego told me that he was wanting me again. With that same macho hormone churning, I sidled over to him, saying “You look like someone I know.”

With only a cold glint in his eye, he responded, “Surely you must be mistaken” in an accent that threw me momentarily as it registered. I had not heard him speak until that moment. Almost at that instant, a black limousine glided up to the curb, and he slipped into the back seat and the car silently moved away. In that moment, I recognized him.

I laughed out loud and people who noticed me must have thought me loony. And it was a bit loony, I suppose, as I thought to myself, “Nope, I did not recognize you at all when you were completely naked in the changing room and sucking my dick. You had to get fully dressed and stand on the street before I knew who you were.”

I instinctively knew that this was a private encounter that no one would ever know about. And who the hell would ever believe me? I’m not a gossip, you know.

If you want to read more of Ned’s Collection, you have to let him know at nedncster@gmail.com.