The sun wasn’t the only object out to greet me this morning. I turned over from sleeping on my side to reveal a morning woody smiling at me from between my legs. “That’s fucking great, this is just what I need,” I irritably mumbled to myself through the pillow covering my face. I removed the pillow and pulled the ice-blue satin sheets over my rock-hard tool so I wouldn’t have to look at it and be reminded of the complete and utter frustration that accompanied last night’s encounter.

I’m not really the type of person that meets other guys and hooks up with no strings attached, but I’d been going through a rough time in my life since my boyfriend deserted me for his ex-girlfriend. Who could possibly want to go straight again after being gay? My self-esteem especially took the break-up with difficulty, and I suppose my getting out there and experimenting with random guys was part of that low self-esteem. Before last night, I’d had only a single previous one-night stand. I participated in the most carnal sex of my life that evening, and it felt wonderful. It brushed away all those suspicions I had held about my ex’s reasons for leaving me, foremost my conviction that I had not been good enough in bed for him. That night with the random guy helped me realize once again that I had a pretty good ass and that my ex was simply missing out.

I had hoped that last night would repeat that first amazing experience. Unfortunately, it did not. Last night wasn’t even worth the money I had paid to get us a spot at Emerson’s Bed & Breakfast, one of the nicest and most romantic places in the city. I’d always wanted to try it out with my ex, but we never got around to it, so I decided that I would use that opportunity to test it out. I’m glad that I at least chose a place where I wouldn’t feel dirty when I awoke.

I met last night’s encounter online a few months ago. He called himself Guy, and judging by his personality, I wouldn’t doubt if that was his real name. We would talk about two or three times a week. Guy came off as extremely charming when we chatted. He would constantly compliment my language, calling me an “internet poet.” I was fairly susceptible to flattery at that point, so I took it in stride, choosing to ignore his many misspellings and immature abbreviations, such as “u” for “you” and “4” in place of “for.” Our conversations definitely had a sexual overtone about them, but that made it more exciting for me. I finally heard his voice a week ago on the phone, and we helped each other come through the phone jacks. He told me that he was stroking his nine-inch monster and fingering his asshole, wishing that my cock could terrorize his backside. He did most of the talking. That should have been a hint to me, but once again, I desperately needed attention from another man.

After we both came on the phone, we decided that the next logical step would be to meet up in person. I suggested Emerson’s because of its low-key location, high-class service, and small pool. Since I’m a swimmer, nothing feels better to me after sex than a short dip