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16th September
2011
written by Dame Suzy

Okay, actually it was Basque-born, San Sebastian to be exact. I must make that distinction because seriously, I haven’t seen a perfect tool come out of Spain proper. And though, other than Basque-by-name-only Gonzalo Higuaín and heartthrob Eduardo Verasteguí, Basque boys typically are too bland/blond/pretty to turn me on. And in this case this guy, we’ll call him Inyaki, didn’t really turn me on, he just impressed me as cool and yes, pretty – very good-looking in fact.

He invited me and my just-friend Mario to hang out at his home. And even when the bisexual (mostly gay) Mario giddily couldn’t suppress his attraction, saying, “But dude, you’re great-looking,” a few too many times, the Basque kept his cool. There was no rush – I don’t know if the guy was just that confident or whether he didn’t actually care either way.

Alas, we don’t know where things could have gone because Mario had to work at 10am and left at 9. I asked if I should go with him, but he insisted I stay.

Let the games begin.

Oh, what a pretty penis, with a gentle but noticeable curve upwards, a nicely-defined head, a smooth uniform girth and a perfect length. And though Inyaki himself was on the thin side, his chest rather narrow with pockets of hair here and there, his legs were shapely and the overall package was pleasing. And he felt awesome inside for a little while until I spontaneously dried up. I tried adding saliva, but guess what? All those shots and drinks (about 7 drinks worth) in my pursuit of a buzz that I had failed to get the night before meant I was dry as a bone. Fuck! So guys could get limp from too much drink, and girls dry – equally annoying, especially since it had felt sooo good. Argh! Grrr. And I hadn’t packed lube because it was persistently leaky in my luggage, and knowing how wet I normally I am, I didn’t think I’d need it. In fact I’d packed panties so I wouldn’t leak onto the club floor and make someone slip and die.

So that time with the adorable out-of-shape Nacho who looked like my old crush – I hadn’t been dry from lack of interest; I’d been dry because I was dehydrated. Fuck! That wasn’t the only consequence of my drinking with Inyaki. I actually blacked out for about twenty minutes from the time we left the club, went by taxi and actually were sitting down on his couch. And that wasn’t the only other consequence. The following day I’d have a total fucking disaster that I will never talk about on this blog.

Afterwards, he asked if I wanted to sleep so we did. He did that close-sleeping thing that I tolerate and thankfully he didn’t cut off the circulation in any of my limbs.

At 2pm, he pointed out where the shower was. I offered to take a shower together and he said he felt uncomfortable. I said, “You’re timid? Or modest?” And he said he was shy, so I showered alone. I said I wanted to watch him take a shower and he was equally like No please.

And so I told him, I’ll go then. And he said, “You don’t want to have lunch?” And I said, “You don’t want me to go?” I mean really. I don’t want to wear out my welcome, plus it was liberating to meet a guy I wasn’t gaga over whom I could happily leave instead of my being kicked out.

And when he came out of his solo shower, he said he thought I’d have left while he’d been in the bath. And I said I’m not a rude person. And we went to lunch, during which he asked what my name was. Ha. I’d remembered his since I’d written it down because Basque names are unusual. This what’s your name thing I believe was a first for me, especially for a guy being so polite the next day.

We left each other with his asking for my facebook info, and offered himself as someone I could visit again the next time I came to Madrid. Though I’m not sure that will happen, I certainly wouldn’t mind trying out that deluxe tool again, this time with me wet like I was born to be.

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