Posted on Poppers Guide's Forum
Topic created by Daddy’s Twink
on Sun, 14 Feb 2021 at 00:52
Daddy’s Twink said on Sun, 14 Feb 2021 at 00:52...
I was 19, 5’11”, lanky, bronzened by the Arizona sun, and enrolled at an infamous university for parties... and sex. I loved the boys, especially this senior who was closeted and in a Frat. Presumably, he was like all the wannabe alphas on campus; white, tall, bearded, with his hat flipped back. He dicked me down good. At least that’s what the poppers taught me.
Up until that point in my innocent boy life, he was the best sex I ever had - everything I imagined prior to having my cherry popped. He invited me over on a Friday night and we laid in his bed drinking cold beers and listening to the chain smokers. He didn’t stray too far from the rigid white man’s definition of cool as established by yacht clubs and country club members. We might have been two cans in when he started to undress me. His hands went up my shirt and he kissed me with the seeetest devotion. Light pecks and deep stares. He’d strengthen his gaze and treasure me. I was on my back and he was on his knees, in between my legs when he pulled down his sweat shorts and dropped the hung cock I’d been adazed by.
He knew it’d be lots of dick for my world.
There was little dialogue at this point, I was merely something he’d been itching to enjoy and I knew I wanted this man to play with too. He was looking deep into me when he started to open me up - I wanted every inch but I could only handle so much. I could feel his long schlong opening my walls, excavating deep, like iron wedging into my stomach, cracking plates on my back.
He enjoyed it.
As I feared up with the drama of my biggest dick ever, his eyes showed me sympathy but he carried on mercilessly because he knew it had to be done. And he was slow which I loved. He must have had the longest conversation with me when I noticed he was balls deep inside me - the tan in scrotum pressed up against the supple cheeks around my hole which he’d pried open.
He pounded me deep, and I knew he loved it because the drip in his precum oozed out as the flesh on my walls gripped onto his cock when he pulled in and out. The pink inside me was beaten by the gore in his thrust, and I was amazed. My legs in the air, I was in wonder. Never knowing there was dick that big. But it was too real and I felt everything raw.
He’d beaten me deep to his mattress making me moan for my life, squishing my hole squish after squish. That’s when he lifted me in his arms carried me to the living room docking me down on an ottoman. I’d never have sex like that again.
I didn’t think I could take anymore and I told him. “Here,” he gestured.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Poppers, take some,” he offered.
“I don’t do drugs,” I informed him.
He laughed with what breathe he had left , “they’re not drugs lol. Come on, try them.”
In a matter of seconds, the handsome devil who’d become a news reporter in San Diego had convinced me to take my first sniff. And it was surreal.
It all went warm with vignette and all I could imagine was his chest pressed against mine. My heart began beating. My breathing was loud. I felt the glue in his aura that projected onto me and I could almost bite the fervor in his domination of my bod. It was devilishly heavenly. And I wanted it all. I wanted everything.
His legs hugged the ottoman while mine wrapped around his back. One of his hands held my neck while he gripped onto the furniture with the other. He pounded me deep, gave me every inch of his cock. I could cry from the love of it all. He had me wet. I was dripping with the way he had melted me, then he slowed in his rythym and I almost erupted.
What I’d give to go back to those days.
“It’s better than your boyfriend?” He asked. Tho I didn’t have a boyfriend. Little did I know he was obsessed with cookhold and he wanted me to let him knock up and kick me back to the boyfriend I didn’t have.
I loved his dick and I never imagined that I’d feel truly fulfilled. I my nails sank in his back and he gave me more and more cock. I sniffed on the bottle and cried for more dick. He delivered. And I was obsessed. That ottoman was rustled around for a good 40 minutes before I asked for the end.
“Fuck me! Pound me! Oh yeah... dick me down... dick me down,” I begged , “dick me down.”
Little did I know that this would be the start of a toxic relationship with a tiny vial that could empower my sex life for years. I’m 24 now and I have yet to give up my romance for poppers. Most times I’m ashamed, but I’m always in love when I huff them.
What I learned was that poppers were going to let me absorb any cock any size from here on out. I fell in love with dick 8” and bigger - a pipe I could never have managed prior. But the stigma and the confusion bogs me still - whether I’m a drug addict or if I just deserve dick everyday.
Has anyone else found that poppers evolved their ability to grip onto bigger, fatter, and larger schlong? Does it make you afraid that you have a problem. Do I have a problem?
Crashing said on Mon, 15 Feb 2021 at 12:00...
In three words, to your three questions.
The Dreadful Flying Glove said on Wed, 17 Feb 2021 at 11:08...
Wow....nice writing. More of this please
>Do I have a problem?
Nope. You are just fine, bro.
Estrogel said on Sun, 14 Mar 2021 at 10:50...
Yes, lovely writing and a sweep-you-off-your-feet story with delicate grace notes of nostalgia...
Well, you don't have a 'problem', per se, it's simply that you've found yourself loving life and all that it offers. No place for shame in that! Have fun, be good to yourself, be good to others, live up to your potential...what could be more rewarding?