Wednesday, February 17, 2016

The Trip of Small Cocks: Couchsurfer Host #2

This is not one of my old posts, but one by Pervertically Virtuous
In the process of recovering my own old posts via email I discovered some of hers. Like me, her old accounts have been terminated, and she seems to have disappeared from the internet. This is a damn shame since I consider her one of the best sex bloggers I've ever had the chance to read and follow. I'm reposting her old posts as a historical archive, and if she ever returns to blogging I'm happy to hand them back to her. 
To be clear: the copyright on this work is hers, and remains with her - I didn't write it and I make no claim to it. (FYI: all links in this post are dead)


Pervertically Virtuous posted: " This is the last installment of a 4-part piece. For Part 1, 2, and 3 of The Trip of Small Cocks, see The Couchsurfing Host #1,The Colleague, and The Client. I grabbed my suitcase out of my Client's car and, shutting the trunk, I put that whole, somewha"

recovered post on Pervertically Virtuous

The Trip of Small Cocks: Couchsurfer Host #2

by Pervertically Virtuous
small-cock-sexy-man
This is the last installment of a 4-part piece. For Part 1, 2, and 3 of The Trip of Small Cocks, see The Couchsurfing Host #1,The Colleague, and The Client.
I grabbed my suitcase out of my Client's car and, shutting the trunk, I put that whole, somewhat unfortunate, episode behind me. It was time for my last adventure in this particular West Coast city.
I turned my attention to the house that was going to be my final home on this trip - Couchsurfer Host #2's. It was a small, single-story house in a row of similar small, single-story houses in a narrow alley off the main road that ran along the ocean. As I opened the low, iron gate and stepped into the cute little front garden, I saw (what had to be) my host through the curtainless windows to (what had to be) his living room. He must have recently gotten back from wherever he was all day, and was now changing into more comfortable clothes.
He first took his shirt off, then his jeans. He couldn't see me, so I quietly stood and watched my own private striptease show. In the few moments before he put on a t-shirt and shorts, I was treated to a view of a very thin, but incredibly lean body. He was my height and fairly small-framed, but there was not an ounce of fat on him, something I have great respect for. I was delighted – I had chosen well.
When he got dressed, he took his guitar, sat on a stool, and started playing. It was time to announce my presence. I knocked on the door, and he opened with a welcoming smile. He was cute. Very young, but very cute. He showed me in and gave me "a tour" of his one-bedroom home. The house was practically a beach shack, but clean and cozy, with lots of cool art everywhere. We sat next to each other on his couch in the living room, the couch that I was nominally supposed to sleep on, and chatted. Over the next couple of hours, I learned that he was not only hot and cute, but he was a really fascinating character. Even more so given the was only 21.
He was originally from Houston, Texas, born in a rich family that went bankrupt while he was in middle school. When time came to go to college, his family couldn't afford to send him out of state, or even out of town. Refusing to either stay at home and get into serious debt, he thought of a better alternative: Join the US army for a few years, then get his college paid for. But not just any section of the Army - he wanted to join the part that was least likely to require him to kill people or be killed by people: the U.S. Coastguard. So he spent two years in training in Hawaii, did really well, and scored high enough to be recently transferred here on the beautiful West Coast instead of some other, less appealing alternative location. He was now flying helicopters, patrolling the West Coast seas, rescuing people, and chasing drug smugglers. After another year and a half of service, he was going to college for free, wherever he wanted.
That, in and of itself, was pretty remarkable. But there was more. He didn't own a TV. He listened to jazz. He PLAYED jazz in a local band. He played sax, the guitar, and the piano. He couldn't stand the frat boy party culture that was raging in other parts of town. He surfed several times a week. His surfboard leaning against the wall and his wetsuit drying in the shower still wet from this morning's session were a proof of that. He started each day by jumping in the freezing cold ocean, followed by a 30-min beach workout. He rode a bicycle. He cooked. He read voraciously. He was an atheist. He was pro-gay rights, pro-abortion rights, pro-gun control, pro marijuana legalization, pro everything I believe in. He voted in the last elections, the first time he became old enough to vote.
When I asked what I thought was a rhetorical question, "You voted Democrat, right?" I was not ready for his answer.
"No, I voted for Romney," he said reluctantly.
I was shocked. The disappointment on my face must have been so painfully obvious, because he followed his confession with a question: "Why, was that wrong?"
"Why did you vote for him?" I asked him instead.
"I don't know, I thought he'd be better for the economy."
"Do you follow politics? Do you know what he and the GOP really stand for?"
"Not really. I mean, I'm from Texas, my whole family has always voted Republican."
What followed was a 20-min lecture about what it meant to vote Republican these days. Not only was it NOT better for the economy and the financial prospects of everyone except the already ridiculously rich 1%, but it was AGAINST everything that he just told me he stood for: gay rights, minority rights, voting rights, abortion rights, religious freedom (including freedom from religion).
He listened attentively. "Maybe I should get more educated about these things before I vote next time."
"I think you should. Because based on everything you told me about yourself, you are not a Republican. You are a bleeding liberal who voted against everything he believes in."
I was actually pretty furious. I had been so enchanted with this kid, this kid who seemed so intelligent, and cool, and talented, and had his shit together, and this ruined it. I was ready to fuck him from the minute I saw him through the windows, and he became more and more attractive as the night progressed. This almost killed my desire.
Almost.
I generally don't fuck Republicans. But he was young, and he didn't really realize he was voting for the wrong party, so I decided to make an exception.
So I suggested we went to sleep. Quick, before I changed my mind, I thought. I was also exhausted – I had slept less than two hours the night before getting busy with Small Cock #2.
The entire time we were chatting, he wasn't particularly flirtatious. Perhaps he was cautious and didn't want to appear presumptuous. Or he was not yet spoiled – I was only his second couchsurfing guest, and he hadn't yet learned about the added benefits of couchsurfing. He simply seemed genuinely friendly and interested in meeting new, interesting people and expand his horizons.
I asked if I could sleep in his kind-sized bed. He agreed, of course. We got in bed, him wearing nothing but shorts, me wearing my see-through black nightgown. In a matter of minutes, my hand was on his torso, rubbing his hard stomach – something I'd been wanting to do before I even stepped foot in his house. He reciprocated.
"You're a very beautiful woman," he said very matter-of-factly.
"And you're a sexy young man," I returned the compliment, and pressed my lips and my body against his.
I felt his erection poke my inner thigh – and, given my track record on this trip – was not even slightest bit surprised to find that he was hard but small. By that point I had entirely accepted my fate for this week – this was the trip of small cocks. In fact, by that point, I was glad he had a small cock – otherwise this story series wouldn't be complete.
Luckily, what he lacked in size, he made up in passion and responsiveness. He couldn't have had a lot of sexual experience, and I don't expect much from 21-year-olds anyway – in fact, I rarely ever fuck kids that young – but he was good.  He touched my body well and fucked me with a variety of speeds, his rhythm often matching mine. I had a couple of orgasms before I got off of him and finished him off in my mouth.
He confessed that the same thing happened with his first and only prior couchsurfing guest, a girl from Norway: She also asked to sleep in his bed, and they ended up hooking up.
"This is not why I signed up for couchsurfing," he said, "but if getting laid is a byproduct of hosting, I'm alright with it."
"It doesn't always happen, but sometimes it does, and to a sexy guy like you, I bet it will happen more often than not," I suggested and gave him a tip: "Just don't ever be pushy, let it happen organically, and at her initiative. Don't come into it with expectations; hopes at best."
We fell asleep. The next morning I got woken up by his hard erection rubbing against my ass. It was almost a déjà vu of the morning experience with Couchsurfing Host #1, except #2 was way hotter and a better lover.
After a few orgasms, he convinced me to start the day the way he does – by jumping in the ocean. It was a warm day and he lived literally across the street from the ocean, so we put our swimsuits on, grabbed a couple of towels and walked out barefoot. We walked down the alley, crossed the street, walked passed a few more houses, and there was the beach. I'd gone to the beach a few times in my 5-day stay there, but hadn't yet touched the water. He dropped the towel on the sand and ran into the ocean. He suggested I did the same. Going slowly would be worse. I listened and ran after him. The water was icy cold, and you couldn't just stay in one spot. We started swimming to keep warm, but it was pointless, it was too cold. After about five minutes, I gave up, and we got out. It sure did wake me up instantly.
We went back to the house, rinsed off, walked to a nearby café for breakfast (where the waitress recognized him as the sax player in his jazz band), then got into his car to do some sightseeing. He hadn't been in the city for long, but he knew quite a bit of the history and the geography of the area, and I felt lucky to have him as a guide. Next stop was his Coast Guard base, where I got a tour of the base and a lesson in flying helicopters (though we didn't go out for a flight nor did we have time to give him a blowjob in the chopper – his shift was starting soon). Before he dropped me off at the train station, I treated him to one last meal – I had this unexpected $300 I had made the night before – at an absolutely delicious, busy, old style fish taco restaurant. Thirty minutes later, we kissed each other a rushed goodbye as I ran to catch the train I had almost missed.
My West Coast trip wasn't over, but my small cock streak was.
Pervertically Virtuous | February 17, 2014 at 4:32 pm | URL: http://wp.me/p3F90k-zf

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