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Special moments with Roy Jones Jr.
So I got a call to have a session with Royston "Roy" Jones Jr., and I was thrilled by the prospect.
I wasted no time in going round there, and as soon as I dropped my pants I could see Roy's reflexes were still sharp, giving me four left hand tugs on my old fella in the blink of an eye, then eagerly gobbling away at my throbbing bell end.
"Take it easy, Roy," I cautioned him, "you don't want to rush in hard against it with your chin... remember what happened against Glen Johnson, and I don't have an oxygen mask with 98 days worth of supply in it."
Well, he was good, for sure. Some people like to criticise Roy, and say that, although he does look spectacular in the **** ring, he's only ever bummed cab drivers or part time policemen. But I was enjoying every minute of that blowie and a little pre-cum sprinkled his tongue as he nuzzled it with finesse. But not in a gay way... I'm not queer for fuck's sake.
Well, it was my turn, and I'd waited years for it. I pulled down Roy's pants and I was mightily impressed with what I saw. Not only was it as black as the ace of spades, but I'd say it was around 4-5 inches long on the flop. Personally, while my taddywhacker is slightly above average length and considerably fat, I'm a grower, not a shower, so I thought if it was that long soft, how big would it be when he got a full panhandle?
I was determined to find out, so sucked down on it gratefully, and then found.... it hardly grew at all. I knelt in front of him, in a daze. This was Royston Jones Jr., one of the greatest boxers of our generation, and instead of, as I'd expected, an impressive tummy trombone, he just had what resembled a charcoal penny whistle?
I could hardly imagine playing a note on something so small and thin, so turned my back on the guy. He mistook this as his cue to enter me, placing his phallus within me and shouting out "Pensacolainthehouse!" I wasn't actually sure if it was up there or not, so underwhelming was his shaft, and knew that my chances of shitting blood in the morning were about the same as him being compared to Chuvalo.
I got my things and started to leave. I could see he was hurt, and felt bad. But it just wasn't there for me. I picked up my coat, and walked out the door. Did I think I was cruel? Maybe. But I'd expected something more impressive in the taddywhacker department.
Still, I went back in to apologise, but as I did I overheard what sounded like someone talking in between mouthfuls of fresh cock:
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... yum yum yum... yes, I've got over 1000 photos of my home improvements.....mmmmmmm... lovely tasting dick, Roy....mmmmmmm... yeah, I'm thinking of putting all my house repair pics into an eighteen hour slideshow..... mmmmmmmmm... your cum tastes the best, Roy.... yum yum yum, nom nom nom... yeah, maybe I could release it as a documentary, with one of your raps as the backing music? You're a great rapper, Tupac had nothing on you... mmmmmmmmmmm... lovely dick."
I went in there, and saw Dustin Diamond from Saved By The Bell, and instantly asked him for his autograph.
"I loved you as Screech," I said.
Both Dustin and Roy looked round, perplexed.
"This isn't Dustin Diamond", said Roy.
I failed to understand. But then, as the stranger pulled back, I could see that Roy had painted a picture of an alien on the end of his bell end, and all the complex pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.
"Reed?" I asked. He shook his head in denial.
"The Reed (TM)?" At this I got a nod.
"But... but... I thought you were black?"
Roy got angry. "Why bring race into it for? It doesn't matter what color The Reed is, he's chugging on my cock and swallowing every last drop, y'all must've forgot."
At this, The Reed (TM) excitedly clapped his hands and said "oh, that's EPIC! You're better than NWA ever were, Roy! And your cock is really massive, you're like a black John Holmes." The effort of saying it made ten bucketfuls of cum fall out of his mouth.
I left them to it. They were both trapped in their own delusions, and I wanted no part of it.
I wasted no time in going round there, and as soon as I dropped my pants I could see Roy's reflexes were still sharp, giving me four left hand tugs on my old fella in the blink of an eye, then eagerly gobbling away at my throbbing bell end.
"Take it easy, Roy," I cautioned him, "you don't want to rush in hard against it with your chin... remember what happened against Glen Johnson, and I don't have an oxygen mask with 98 days worth of supply in it."
Well, he was good, for sure. Some people like to criticise Roy, and say that, although he does look spectacular in the **** ring, he's only ever bummed cab drivers or part time policemen. But I was enjoying every minute of that blowie and a little pre-cum sprinkled his tongue as he nuzzled it with finesse. But not in a gay way... I'm not queer for fuck's sake.
Well, it was my turn, and I'd waited years for it. I pulled down Roy's pants and I was mightily impressed with what I saw. Not only was it as black as the ace of spades, but I'd say it was around 4-5 inches long on the flop. Personally, while my taddywhacker is slightly above average length and considerably fat, I'm a grower, not a shower, so I thought if it was that long soft, how big would it be when he got a full panhandle?
I was determined to find out, so sucked down on it gratefully, and then found.... it hardly grew at all. I knelt in front of him, in a daze. This was Royston Jones Jr., one of the greatest boxers of our generation, and instead of, as I'd expected, an impressive tummy trombone, he just had what resembled a charcoal penny whistle?
I could hardly imagine playing a note on something so small and thin, so turned my back on the guy. He mistook this as his cue to enter me, placing his phallus within me and shouting out "Pensacolainthehouse!" I wasn't actually sure if it was up there or not, so underwhelming was his shaft, and knew that my chances of shitting blood in the morning were about the same as him being compared to Chuvalo.
I got my things and started to leave. I could see he was hurt, and felt bad. But it just wasn't there for me. I picked up my coat, and walked out the door. Did I think I was cruel? Maybe. But I'd expected something more impressive in the taddywhacker department.
Still, I went back in to apologise, but as I did I overheard what sounded like someone talking in between mouthfuls of fresh cock:
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... yum yum yum... yes, I've got over 1000 photos of my home improvements.....mmmmmmm... lovely tasting dick, Roy....mmmmmmm... yeah, I'm thinking of putting all my house repair pics into an eighteen hour slideshow..... mmmmmmmmm... your cum tastes the best, Roy.... yum yum yum, nom nom nom... yeah, maybe I could release it as a documentary, with one of your raps as the backing music? You're a great rapper, Tupac had nothing on you... mmmmmmmmmmm... lovely dick."
I went in there, and saw Dustin Diamond from Saved By The Bell, and instantly asked him for his autograph.
"I loved you as Screech," I said.
Both Dustin and Roy looked round, perplexed.
"This isn't Dustin Diamond", said Roy.
I failed to understand. But then, as the stranger pulled back, I could see that Roy had painted a picture of an alien on the end of his bell end, and all the complex pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.
"Reed?" I asked. He shook his head in denial.
"The Reed (TM)?" At this I got a nod.
"But... but... I thought you were black?"
Roy got angry. "Why bring race into it for? It doesn't matter what color The Reed is, he's chugging on my cock and swallowing every last drop, y'all must've forgot."
At this, The Reed (TM) excitedly clapped his hands and said "oh, that's EPIC! You're better than NWA ever were, Roy! And your cock is really massive, you're like a black John Holmes." The effort of saying it made ten bucketfuls of cum fall out of his mouth.
I left them to it. They were both trapped in their own delusions, and I wanted no part of it.
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