Objectifying Men: Optimus King

Optimus King

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Please allow me to tell you the horrible story of my brief (but not brief enough) affair with Optimus King.

Please note: while I have changed his name for privacy, the name I have chosen is only equally as ridiculous as his actual name.

He and I met at the library closest to my house. He ran after me as I was leaving and gave me his number. He was very built, but had an odd skin tone.

Because I was still deciding whether or not I could look past his skin color, I texted him and asked him to meet me at a restaurant near my house. This was certainly not my standard operating procedure, but I wanted another chance to check him out before taking him to bed.

Not shockingly, it went poorly. I hated him by the time the appetizer arrived. However, he was even more ripped than I remembered. I could see every bulge and ripple of his upper body through his thin Ed Hardy t-shirt. What a tool. Who still wears Ed Hardy??

Anyway, I tried hard to see the outline of his dick through his (bedazzled) jeans, but was unsuccessful. In fact, I spent most of dinner alternating between staring at his biceps and staring at his crotch.

Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice. I suspect it was because his head was so far up his ass. I tried desperately to ignore the ridiculous name-dropping bullshit that was coming out of his mouth.

I should have told him that the fact that he didn't have a car negated any efforts to impress me with the illustrious career and connections he claimed to have. But he was so hot....

He spent (what felt like) an hour talking about his enviable career as a fashion designer. Not only was he "rich and successful" but he was the "#2 fashion designer of sportswear in the world."

I considered asking him whether he was ahead of Reebok or Adidas for the title. I really should have for my own amusement, but instead, I just stared at his crotch.

Then I got to hear about his latest fashion design. It sounded like a terrible combination of a jersey and a quilt. Whatever. His biceps were as big as my thighs, (which are pretty large).

As we left the restaurant, I decided that I did want to sleep with him, but that I needed at least a day to shower the bullshit off of me.

Fast-forward to me picking him up from the bus stop near my house (story of my life). I had a game plan! I blasted the radio in my car so as to remove the temptation for him to talk to me. I chose a country station because I hated him. And I sang along because I really hated him.

The moment we got into my house, I dragged him upstairs by the wrist. I threw open my bedroom door and pushed him down onto my bed.

I immediately removed his shirt (another Ed Hardy v-neck) and pants. I couldn't tell if they were the same pants from our last encounter. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to have multiple pairs of bedazzled jeans.

He was hard by the time I got his jeans off. I love that. Soft dick has never done anything for anyone.

I was thrilled to see that it was almost as thick as a beer bottle. It wasn't particularly long (maybe 6 1/2 or 7 inches), but the girth was amazing! It was very symmetrical, and one of those nice cocks that gets and stays rock-hard. And his body was just the icing on the cake.

Of course he didn’t bring his own condoms, but I had a few (hundred) magnums in my drawer for just such an occasion.

I got on top of him and slowly worked myself down onto the cock. And suddenly, listening to all the bullshit was so worth it! We fucked for a little over 2 hours, with him doing most of the work. And he sure did know how to work it!

I would revisit this cock quite a few times before blocking his number.