I'm tall, and used to wear long hair down my back in a big braid. I lived at the gym. My friends called me Thor. I have a nice big, fat cock and know how to use it. I would fuck any hot boy that walked. They often ended up calling me 'sir', even though all the master/slave stuff didn't interest me.
We all get older. We can't work out all the time. The golden fur curled out from a treasure trail to cover my slightly beefier belly and my muscular chest and arms. My hair is short now and I sport a beard that tends to go gold and red in the summer.
The boys that ignored me in my glory days were waiting for me to get to my 40s. I have numbers for the hottest 20-somethings I could fuck any time I wanted. More often than not, now, I was looking for a date, a scotch and a good talk before I wanted to use my skillful hands, mouth, body and cock to get some stud to give up his virgin "top" hole to my thick hungry dick.
My best friend these days is a tall, square-shouldered redhead from work named Rhonda. We traded stories of being dominant with men. She joked with me about my search for a long-term thing, telling me I was turning into a lesbian.
She'd been shacked up with some guy for a few weeks and I hadn't seen her much. She asked me to meet her out at this place called the Watering Hole for a few drinks, maybe meet her new beau.
The place was a little trashier than I expected. I got some cheap Irish whiskey with lots of ice and leaned against a wall in my shorts and Hawaiian shirt, watching the undersea ballet of beautiful young bodies grind against each other. Seemed like a tangle of straights and gays. Not too surprising South of Market.
The young made way for Rhonda. She was kind of a Norse queen. She joked the 2 of us were royalty. And you knew what happened to Norse heroes...
We hugged. She was looking radiant, sweaty, happy. We joked with each other. She asked me how my lesbian life was going. I told her to fuck off, but I was thinking about how long it'd been since I'd been the one who'd been swept off his feet. How my ass longed to get fucked even while my brain protested.
"Okay, so I've told Lan all about you," Lan was her guy, apparently, "and he's dying to meet you." Her smile was big. That made me a little nervous for some reason.
Rhonda got me a larger glass of cheaper whisky. It was a little cloudy and had a bitter aftertaste. But even on my big body with all my resistance to liquor, it started making me warm and relaxed. I found myself subtly flexing for boys who were noticing me.
She brought Lan back with the third round of drinks. Mine a repeat of whatever strong, crappy whisky she'd gotten me. He was intensely hot. Maybe Italian, or Turkish. Not her usual type, which was mine too: thin, smooth, boyish. This was a *man*. He was little, maybe 5'9, but built. Big shoulders, big pex. A light dusting of dark hair on his arms. He was wearing a black UnderArmor compression top and he looked like a gladiator with his hawk nose, his crop of black beard stubble. He was wearing chinos that showed a big bubble butt and a big package pushed out the front.
