|notreallyme10 (notreallyme10) wrote,|
@ 2007-08-20 12:53:00
Post 513 Series
Sidebar to Pictures
Originally posted: 6/11/07 LJ
The flight was fucking long and all I want to do is go to bed, but I feel like I am covered in a layer of grime and I know I’ll sleep better after a shower. I promise myself that when we finally arrive I will not just pass out on the nearest soft surface. I will clean up and brush my teeth and actually get under the covers.
My resolve is starting to slip as we stand at the check in desk for what feels like forever.
I finally drag my suitcase to my room a mere 13 hours after I left home. The seven hour flight wasn’t even the killer. It was the three hours we sat on the ground before they let us take off that put a plane full of people in a shitty mood.
I must be getting fucking old because I use to be able to sleep six hours over three days and still feel like dancing. Right now I do not feel like dancing. I could use a nice blow job and a good night's sleep.
I’ve been fucking horny since we were sitting on the runway in New York. Brian thought it was funny to talk dirty to me while I was stuck in a small enclosed space with a bunch of angry New Yorkers waiting to start their vacations. I guess it could have been worse, I could have been in coach.
I jerked off in the bathroom over the Atlantic but it was less than satisfying with the stewardesses chatting away just outside the door.
Sadly, two weeks of jerking off loom before me and I find myself already looking forward to my return home.
I unzip my suitcase in search of clean underwear and my toiletries and find instead a large manila envelope.
I know what it is even before I open it.
I set the envelope on the bed, find my other shit and jump in the shower. Envelope full of dirty photos or not, I stink.
Naked in bed 20 minutes later, my cock is already throbbing. It is pretty pathetic that Brian can do that to me with a manila envelope.
The first picture confirms that they are the ones he took the night before I left. It's my face, arms tied above my head, blindfolded with his dick resting on my lips. I remember the jolt I felt when he took this picture and I feel it pulse through my cock again seeing it. It's beautiful and smutty and sometimes I wonder how Brian captures these things. He really is an amazing photographer.
The next one is my belly splattered with pools of his come. Come that Brian scooped up and fed me only moments after this shot was taken.
While I sucked greedily on his fingers he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "I’m not sure I’m going to let you come at all tonight Justin. I might just send you off to Europe like this, desperate."
The third picture is the last and it makes me take a brief second to wonder if anyone at the airport looked at these. I decide it really doesn’t matter when I am looking at a close up picture of my hole with two of Brian’s fingers pushing inside.
My balls are pulled tight to my body and I know this isn’t going to last long when I finally put my hand on my cock.
I spread the photographs out in front of me, and too lazy to search for the lube, I spit in my hand and recreate the second picture.
Two days later I have just finished my first meeting in London. I’m thrilled with how it went and I’m planning to spend the afternoon at the Tate Modern but I need to change first.
In my room I receive a message saying they have a package for me at the front desk. I ask them to send it up.
It turns out to be a Fedex box with a manila envelope inside- and Brian says he doesn’t do romance.
In the 13 days I am gone I receive four deliveries. Brian teases me, saying that he sent five and he can’t imagine where the fifth one ended up. God, I hope he is teasing.