The Great Cock Hunt. Alex

      Then there’s King Kong. He’s a guy I hooked up with back when I was dating Reese but didn’t really start dating until after Reese was over. Sometimes I thought he moved too quickly and then I wondered if I was just slow, but he had the biggest dick. He was totally nice to me and he treated me generally well (until the end—but isn’t it always that way?) but there wasn’t much of a challenge there and sometimes I thought he liked me too much. My friends thought I was crazy to even look at another man but, well…there’s my problem. The grass is always greener and all that crap.

      Anyway, things didn’t work out with King Kong in the end. Even though I totally blame him, it was really both our faults. His more than mine, don’t get me wrong, but I was still a little culpable. It’s been hard getting past him. Lizzie says it’s always like that: you never realize how much you actually loved someone until he’s gone. I’m sure like every pop star known to man has written a sappy song on the subject, but I think it’s kind of true. So, like taking medicine that tastes like shit every day but that you eventually get used to and fail to taste any longer, I’m moving on from King Kong.

      But in the end, King Kong, Reese, Lenny, and God knows how many other random dudes I’ve dated in between, were all nothing when compared to Jack. I think—usually secretly—that at the root of all of my relationship bullshit is Jack. We went to college together but didn’t really know each other at the time. He was a few years older than me and was friends with the older brother of a guy I hung out with. But the year after I graduated we met up at a Homecoming weekend thing and totally got into each other. He was absurdly smart and cultured and sexy as hell. I fell in love with him like instantly. I think it was the first time I was really totally in love. I was completely in love with every ounce of him. I would have settled down with him, put on an apron, and had a fucking family if he wanted. But he didn’t love me back. He led me on pretty well, he told me he loved me, and we tried to make a relationship happen—or at least that’s what I thought we were doing—but then he dumped me. I was crushed, destroyed; I had never before experienced sadness that real. But I survived and I fucked my way out of the misery. Then like a year later, we ran into each other again and we tried to date again. I hadn’t forgotten him for a second and was still so in love; my feelings were so raw. My friends all said I was crazy; they said I was an idiot and they were right: he dumped me again. It didn’t hurt as much the second time but it kind of hardened me a little. I don’t tell people this and haven’t even really admitted it to myself, but I still love him as much today as I did then. I don’t know if it will ever go away.

      In the beginning…

      Anyway, this whole Great Cock Hunt thing started with these e-mails that Tommy, Nick, TJ, and I used to forward around to each other. We called them the Morning-After E-mails and we’d send them the morning after being out together describing—sometimes in graphic detail—the dudes we hooked up with. They were funny and hot at first and more than once I’d find myself closing my office door on a Friday morning and taking my cock in hand while I read about Tommy tying up some stockbroker and riding his ass like a rodeo star. But like all good things, it came to an end. Kind of. It’s just that the guys all kind of got bored and lazy about sending theirs out. But I was so into it. It was like cathartic and erotic at the same time and I really liked it. So instead of being the only one to send the e-mails, I started this blog.

      I guess I was a better writer than I thought because thousands of dudes started to read it. I mean like a ton of fucking guys. All of a sudden I was getting e-mails from sexy, hung studs all over the world wanting to hook up, to just be e-friends, or whatever. It was surreal. I became like an authority. Guys who were just coming out would e-mail me asking for advice and guys who were thinking of bottoming for the first time would ask me how to deal with the pain and how to keep their assholes clean. It was kind of amazing. I got more and more into it and then some book publisher e-mailed me and asked if I’d be into writing a book about it all. At first I was like, I’m no Jackie Collins, I can’t write great literature. But they persisted and I kept thinking about it, and, well, here we are.

      So back to the beginning: like I said, I get a lot of sex, and this upcoming long weekend is sure to be a trip down cock memory lane. Lizzie, Tommy and I have a college reunion this weekend. This will be our second big reunion since we graduated: I can’t believe we’ve been out of school that long and that we’re that old but it’ll totally be interesting and fun—at least we hope. And, of course, I hope we’ll get some tail. At the very least I’m sure a lot of hot memories will be jogged. And since I don’t really know how to write a book, I’m just going to chronicle my trip like I would for my blog and go from there.

      Here goes…

      3

      The Rich Kid

      I had left work early and was heading home to pack for the weekend, which I feared could take forever, and then Lizzie was coming to pick me up and then we were picking up Tommy and hitting the road; it’s like a four and half hour trip when you drive fast. Anyway, I was walking into my building and ahead of me was a guy just coming in from a run. From down the street I couldn’t quite make out the jogger, but I thought it might be The Rich Kid, my neighbor Jason from upstairs. We’ve been known to hook up from time to time and he’s kind of hot and well, he looked good in a tank top damp with sweat and loose shorts.

      Jason is this spoiled young guy whose parents bought him a place in my building when he graduated from college. He’s some trustafarian (trust fund baby) who hasn’t really worked since I’ve known him but thinks that his photography hobby is his career. He’s like twenty-three, very handsome, but WASP-featured like crazy: straight blond hair neatly cut, creamy white skin like a J-Crew catalog model, clear blue eyes, angular face with prominent cheekbones, and a totally arrogant chin. He’s about five feet, nine inches, walks with perfect posture, and was trim and fit when I first met him but he’s been working out and has added a little bulk since then. When I first saw him, before I met him, the first thing I thought was: hot. And the second was: Aryan Youth. Hitler would’ve loved this guy.

      He lived a few floors above me and had a balcony that I totally coveted. He also had a body and an ass that I used to covet, and then I got my hands on it and I didn’t need to yearn anymore. Since he’s lived here I’ve had my hands—and other body parts—on and in it a few times. But he’s got a constant revolving door of boyfriends—to whom he’s usually faithful—so I never know when I see him if I’m going to get lucky or if he’s in the middle of another torrid but short-lasting relationship. Today he was single.

      So when I got into the lobby he was stretching against the wall next to the elevator while waiting for it to arrive. Or so I thought. His back was to me and I checked my mail and walked over to the elevator. He looked over his shoulder and smiled hello and I said hi. Then he pushed the button; he’d been waiting for me. He asked what was going on and why I wasn’t at work and we got in the elevator. I told him I was going to a college reunion and all that and he gripped one of his feet and pulled it up behind his ass and stretched his leg. I told him his body looked good and he blushed. Two minutes later the elevator stopped on my floor and he followed me out. Relatively quiet alarms were going off in my head; I knew I should be packing and getting ready to go to the reunion but I mean, come on, here was this hot, young, blond, fresh-from-a-jog guy looking for some action. Who was I to say no?

      So we went in my apartment and I told him that I was kind of in a hurry and he smiled and said that was okay, he wasn’t looking to be courted. He pulled his tank top off over his head and I dropped my bag and unbuttoned my shirt. His meaty pecs, swollen from his new workout routine and damp from his jog, glistened, and with my shirt half off I went up to him and knelt a little and took a bite of a nipple. He let his head hang back and I chewed on his sweaty chest and ran my hands down his sides to the top of his shorts. I pulled them down a little and reached my hands inside his underwear to cup his ass cheeks. He murmured something and pulled the rest of my shirt off so that the cuffs were trapped around my wrists.

      I pulled off of him and freed my hands from my shirt and while I busied myself with that he started to work on my belt buckle and my pants. I had worn boxers that day and my boner was tenting out the front of my pants. My cock surged