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I'd been given an opportunity to bum Saul "Canelo" Alvarez and, though I wasn't particularly interested in bumming him, it had been ordered by the WBC, so I had to go with it.
I got him in the bedroom, and, while everyone claims that he's a megadish, he just doesn't really do it for me for some reason. It's possibly a red head prejudice, but at the risk of sounding like a total faggot, I didn't want to have sex with Alvarez that much.
As soon as he got out his freckly, pasty body, I switched the lights off just so I could pretend I was in bed with Haye. However, he appeared to have brought his own flashlight along, as a red glow soon filled the room.
"Did you bring a torch, Saul?" I asked him.
"No, senor," he informed me, "it's my ginger pubes... they mucho mucho mucho glow in the dark, amigo."
Well, we got down to it. My plan was a simple one... I was going to use lateral movement to cause him to ejaculate at unexpected angles. I was either going to make him shoot in the side of my gob, or wank him off onto his own feet. However, he was determined to finish himself off right up my ass, plowing forward.
It wasn't going to plan, and straight away Freddie Roach, waiting in the bedroom, was quick to criticise.
"R-r-r-remember what we planned, Annieeeeeeee," he said, "you're letting him cum forward. Don't let him cum f-f-f-f-f-forward."
I felt like I had no choice, as he came in an effective yet oddly unappealing fashion, his hands always in the same position, ready to wank me and give a fisting at the same time, always stock still, and his body upright, in a very European style, ready to be sucked off. I can't quite explain it, because there was nothing wrong in what he was doing - he was getting the job done, after all - but it just wasn't exciting. In fact, it made me nostalgic for Andre Ward, that's how fucking unappealing it was.
I have to give him credit for having a big ginger eel. When he put his dick in my ass it made me wince like I'd just seen a copy of the Quran at an Eagles of Death Metal concert. But there was something so... pedestrian about his bumming. He'd come forward, and he'd bum pretty hard, we all knew that was going to happen. But there was no real spontaneous excitement, no "X Factor". I knew he wasn't going to suddenly take his dick out of my asshole and stick it in my mouth, or teabag me while hitting my balls with an egg whisk. It was all kind of just A to B.
I came, and so did he. I imagine a lot of people would be fans of his bumming performance, and he did a serviceable and effective job. But as I wiped away the drying spunk out of my eyelids and bade him farewell, I couldn't help but feel that some spark was missing.
I shook hands and left his apartment. I promised I'd see him again sometime, but in my heart I wasn't sure how much I meant it.
I got him in the bedroom, and, while everyone claims that he's a megadish, he just doesn't really do it for me for some reason. It's possibly a red head prejudice, but at the risk of sounding like a total faggot, I didn't want to have sex with Alvarez that much.
As soon as he got out his freckly, pasty body, I switched the lights off just so I could pretend I was in bed with Haye. However, he appeared to have brought his own flashlight along, as a red glow soon filled the room.
"Did you bring a torch, Saul?" I asked him.
"No, senor," he informed me, "it's my ginger pubes... they mucho mucho mucho glow in the dark, amigo."
Well, we got down to it. My plan was a simple one... I was going to use lateral movement to cause him to ejaculate at unexpected angles. I was either going to make him shoot in the side of my gob, or wank him off onto his own feet. However, he was determined to finish himself off right up my ass, plowing forward.
It wasn't going to plan, and straight away Freddie Roach, waiting in the bedroom, was quick to criticise.
"R-r-r-remember what we planned, Annieeeeeeee," he said, "you're letting him cum forward. Don't let him cum f-f-f-f-f-forward."
I felt like I had no choice, as he came in an effective yet oddly unappealing fashion, his hands always in the same position, ready to wank me and give a fisting at the same time, always stock still, and his body upright, in a very European style, ready to be sucked off. I can't quite explain it, because there was nothing wrong in what he was doing - he was getting the job done, after all - but it just wasn't exciting. In fact, it made me nostalgic for Andre Ward, that's how fucking unappealing it was.
I have to give him credit for having a big ginger eel. When he put his dick in my ass it made me wince like I'd just seen a copy of the Quran at an Eagles of Death Metal concert. But there was something so... pedestrian about his bumming. He'd come forward, and he'd bum pretty hard, we all knew that was going to happen. But there was no real spontaneous excitement, no "X Factor". I knew he wasn't going to suddenly take his dick out of my asshole and stick it in my mouth, or teabag me while hitting my balls with an egg whisk. It was all kind of just A to B.
I came, and so did he. I imagine a lot of people would be fans of his bumming performance, and he did a serviceable and effective job. But as I wiped away the drying spunk out of my eyelids and bade him farewell, I couldn't help but feel that some spark was missing.
I shook hands and left his apartment. I promised I'd see him again sometime, but in my heart I wasn't sure how much I meant it.
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