Crystal Rock

Crystal Rock

Sex keeps getting better as you age

All characters portrayed in this fictional story are over 18. © Copyright, Brunosden, 2026. All rights reserved.

I'm Cory Bookman. This is my story. It's quite different from what I expected to write earlier this week. I was going to tell you about one of my successful hooks of a young hot guy, part of the series I've put together on those encounters. It didn't work out that way. You'll soon see what I mean.

Five of us had created a venture capital firm four years ago. At the time we were acquaintances, competitors really, rather than close friends. All of us had been working in the high tech finance field for larger investment houses or banks. We had met many times at the various tech expos in Vegas, New York, Austin and San Francisco--where we pitched money for promising investment ideas. We had partied, played some squash, stayed at the same hotels. And we had competed for business and maybe some of the same potential hooks.

Guys tend to be like that--they compete for everything. It makes life's journey much more interesting.

The idea for CR was hatched at The Last Hurrah, a San Francisco bar and sometime club, known to be an easy pick-up place--both hetero and homosexual.

The expo was finished, and our flights home were not until the next morning. We all wanted to find some fun before returning home where discretion definitely crimped all of our styles.

We had a lot in common: the same profession (investing in and financing start-up high tech ventures); were about the same age (35-38); are well-educated with MBAs; workaholics; recently divorced; straight-acting; and about the same size and physical condition (around six foot, dark brown or black hair, "banker's" haircut, no facial hair, about 10 pounds overweight; a little out of shape). But, overall we are still very much in contention in the meat markets of most cities.

And perhaps most importantly, we were all bored and restless.

We had each started looking for a date for the night, but the pickings were slim. We were all hunting for about the same prey: good-looking, younger, in-shape, and willing bottom.

Unfortunately--or maybe fortunately, we all failed. So we ended up drinking together and, on a lark, or maybe a dare, decided to give more thought to creating our own firm. We all knew we could do better.

Four out of five of us are bi; the other (Jeff Bridges), the most-recently divorced, is in denial and bi-curious. At least he was then down on women, given the clean-out that his former spouse had subjected him to--after years of sexual denial. He's gonna get there. Just give him a few more months.

We weren't initially, or even now, attracted to each other. It would be like taking your bro to bed--the one who competed with you for every fucking thing. They say that fucking your opponent or competitor is gratifying, but he weren't there. We respected what each of us had been through. And the effort and intelligence that it took to get where we were. It was more like a team sport--where all of us were both in the hunt and wingmen, urging each other on, cheerleading and occasionally critiquing style.

Jeff at that point was the biggest skeptic of the stories we told, and the sole outlier. He was still looking for the perfect woman. And he had yet to confess really enjoying sex.

We joked, after a few, how much better we could be at this (banking, not cruising, that is) if we didn't have the restrictions of a large, overseeing, conservative master looking over our shoulders all the time. And from these jokes, a few months later, I made a serious proposal: we should form our own firm. We decided to meet after the next expo that all of us planned to attend. We'd talk then, conceptually, and maybe set some things in motion.

And there, Austin, after another dry night of cruising, Crystal Rock was born. Within a few months, all of us had resigned, tried plying our trade from separate locations, and, after a few successes, we moved to the new space in Palo Alto.

We had leads. We had enthusiasm. We had purpose. And, we seemed to get along with each other pretty well. The office took on the atmosphere of a locker room. Lots of homo-erotic jokes. Lots of teasing. Lots of story-telling. (Although we were careful during office hours not to "create a hostile"--and judicially actionable--"work environment." )

We never propositioned, let alone, dated an employee.

Some time later, as our confidence and success blossomed, we were all at the San Francisco Expo, the only one where the entire "executive" team gang-worked the conference. Typically the pickings were good enough to warrant such attention.

Afterwards, it seemed that the club in San Francisco was going to yield some interesting rewards to our days of successful work. After an hour or so of talk and drinking, we had all risked the dance floor (except Jeff who was already chatting up a cute blonde at the long mahogany bar who had caught his eye). Four of us ended up with a younger, eager guy in our separate beds in our separate rooms that night. Jeff alone struck out and complained about his blue balls at the early buffet breakfast served at the hotel. The hooks and the resulting night all hold a special place in the historical lore of CR. The first dividends of our initial agreement had been tangible. The tentative, alcohol-induced courage to try something new had emboldened us. The guys had all proven both willing and anxious--during the brief wild dances at the club and later. Four of us had topped a young buck who had been induced to spend the night. My guy turned out to be the perfect partner: hung, horny, nicely muscled, happy to bottom and responsive. He wasn't a virgin, but he did exhibit the desirable qualities of a power bottom. He took everything I threw at him, and gave it back. He was loud, doing a running commentary on every pleasure point that I tweaked, urging me deeper and harder, groaning every time I bottomed, even cumming with me at the end. So I, at least, got another shot late that night, a satisfactory blow before we left for Palo Alto, and a phone number for replay when I returned to the foggy city.

We had landed several potential deals. And I had landed a new partner in a city that I visited often on business. I think the others, save maybe Jeff, had had similar experiences.

Needless to say, we all teased Jeff unmercifully about his technique, his physique, and the size of his dick. And urged him to make the "transition" to our team.

Over the next few weeks, we had opportunities to recount the San Francisco experience. Each time one of us tells this story, the guy gets handsomer, is more athletic, has a bigger, nicer bubble and a tighter man-cunt, and is even more into each of us. Banker stories tend to get bigger with the telling--like our desk-bound asses over time.

(Isn't it ironic that as you get more successful, your ass gets bigger and spreads--but your cock doesn't get any longer or thicker? It's not fair.)

I guess we still had it. Or rather, I should say we still have it. (The ability to hook a desirable boy? Or the bullshit talking about it?)

Nothing much changed in our sexual adventures over the next years. None of us settled down. We all continued to hunt. And Jeff continued to search for the perfect woman.

******

Our years went by faster than I can really imagine today. It's been four years. We are a success. Twenty or thirty expos later, and almost as many deals, we are comfortable. All of us have condos, take regular vacations, and frequent the many spots frequented by the students at all of the nearby universities. But all of us are still restless. None of us has remarried. Some had close calls--after months of dating. But, none has made it to the altar. And the date hunts have begun to morph to exclusively gay bars. Over time, we've discovered more satisfaction with men. No games. Often no expensive pre-dinners. Sometimes no names. And each of us, I think, is beginning to realize how much we enjoy the chase, even before we "bag" the prize. And all of us profess to be total tops--aggressive, take-no-prisoners, gladiators.

All of us, maybe save Jeff, have adjusted our self-image--we are clearly higher on the Kinsey gay scale than we once thought possible. And, as I said before, we've each gained maybe ten pounds. I can almost pinch an inch, and my six-pac, never really deeply cut, is now softer. Fortunately, the weight has softened our faces (and prevented the lines) and we all still have our hair--and its dark color. And time in the sun has given us all light tans, year round.

In short, we are at the leading edge of "daddy-hood"--in experience, if not quite of age--sophisticated, well-dressed, good-looking, financially successful, and obviously in control of most situations. That attracts a certain kind of boy. And I, for one, am quite happy with that situation.

******

We decided to "present" at the annual Vegas Tech Expo--and Jeff and I drew the short straws for the duty. Past years had demonstrated that the Vegas event was all hype, little substance, with lots of fraudulent entrepreneurs selling snake oil (or the latest advance in micro-computing or XXX). But CR had to be there. Our rep demanded it. Just not all five of us.

The most desirable hotels had upped the cost of the rooms absurdly. So Jeff and I agreed to share a room with two queen beds. Given his recent luck, we had agreed that if I scored, he'd hit the casino for a few hours. We parted after dinner. Neither of us considered the other to be a reliable wingman. So we were going to go solo.

I'm glad I wasn't at the tables that night. My luck was not good. I chatted up one young guy, a real nerd, who might be the next Einstein--but not the next porn star. He was short and had a cute baby face, too long hair, wearing the proverbial tortoise shell glasses, and an ass that filled his baggy chinos. He looked like he was about fourteen--although I had ascertained that he was nineteen with a non-convincing ID that claimed twenty-one years. I thought after the second drink (which I bought of course), I was at least on first base. My hand by then was resting firmly on his thigh. I squeezed a few times. He reacted, looked into my face innocently, and I thought he was going to drop to his knees and blow me right then and there. I could tell he was hard, and that his dick was below average in size. However, that ass was promising. It overflowed the bar stool. His color was darkening. His breath was coming in shorter and shorter puffs. I knew then that I had him, and decided that I wanted him--or at least that young ass. Just a bonbon to finish off the day.

Then, he left to use the john and didn't return. I waited, maybe ten minutes, and finished my drink. The realization hit. Fuck! The nerd stiffed me! Literally! Fortunately, I hadn't sent the text to Jeff--yet. So I wouldn't have to live down his deprecatory jokes.

I looked around. The place was still crowded, but it appeared that most of the desirable hooks had already happened. So, I swallowed the last of the scotch and headed upstairs. Horny and a little angry.

Jeff was in the room--in the shower. I stripped and grabbed one of the hotel robes. I poured one last drink from the mini-bar and sat, waiting for my turn in the bath. Jeff emerged from the bath a minute or two later. He was nude--and surprised to see me. He hadn't heard me enter, apparently, thanks to the shower. He turned and grabbed a towel to wrap himself--but not before I noted that he was carrying about as much extra weight as I was, and that he was hard. I had seen him naked before--we played squash regularly at the club. But, never hard. Fuck! He's a grower. And it seems he's bigger than I am. And fuckin' A, he grooms!

"I didn't hear you come in. I guess you struck out."

"Yeah. The little fucker just disappeared like a scared rabbit. After I bought him two expensive drinks. Ungrateful bastard! I think I'll go take a shower now--so you can finish what you apparently started in the shower." I pointed to the bump in the towel. He was still hard. So he hadn't done it in the shower, obviously deciding to finish himself off in the room.

He grinned back. "Nah. That's okay. I'm not a kid. I can wait."

(What the fuck did he mean by that?)

The shower felt good. It was a large marble-tiled space with double heads and wall jets. So I took a long time--to give Jeff time to do whatever it was he needed to do. Just thinking about him--and the needle jets stimulating my equipment had me hard within seconds. I considered doing myself as well, but decided I too could wait.

That turned out to be one of the best decisions of the entire trip. I came out of the bath, again wrapped in the robe, expecting Jeff to be in his queen by the window, maybe with the lights out, having finished himself off. Boy, was I wrong!

Only one light was on--between the two beds, and it was set on a dimmer. Jeff had pulled the duvet from my bed. He was on his belly in the center--of my bed. Naked. Both pillows stuffed under his gut, both arms reaching up to the headboard, legs spread, lube tube on the sheet near his arm. He was obviously offering himself. How did he know that I hadn't used the time in the shower?

I froze, wondering. But, not for long. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

I almost laughed it off. But, it didn't seem that he was teasing--or pranking. He wanted me to fuck him. Did I really want this--with a partner--here--at this point in our relationship? I stared down at the body. Sure, there is a bit of a muffin, but on his belly, I can't even see the extra weight he's carrying there. I've seen his dick. And I can't wait to get my hands on it. But the ass! Pink, cleanly shaved. Nice full round globes. He's still got the dimples. The spread legs gave me a clear view of his hole, which he had obviously already greased--and maybe prepped. It was shiny, pulsing, winking maybe, inviting. How could I possibly resist? Jeff is obviously as good at seduction as I claim to be.

My dick made the decision. It lofted hard and heavy, easily sticking out between the loose edges of the robe. The twink in the bar had set me up for this. Maybe I should have taken the time in the shower to take the edge off. Well, why the fuck not?

So I dropped the robe and moved to cover him. I positioned on his back, slipping my dick into his crack. He squirmed, maybe reconsidering, but I was now on top and in full control. There was no way he was NOT going to get fucked. I think maybe he realized that I was definitely going to do this. He squeezed his butt to trap my dick. Yes, he definitely wanted this. And so did CJ. I couldn't deny him (that is, Jeff or CJ) now. I slid my hard pole up and down the crack, forcing the crevice wider open and lubing myself with what Jeff had already deposited. My arms and hands cocooned Jeff and held him tightly under as my legs fell between his to widen and to complete the control. I whispered in his right ear, not really asking, but needing his consent, "Are you sure about this Jeff?"

He didn't respond at first. I remained on top enjoying the position, feeling the closeness. I eased off a little and slid my hands under his gut. I was fisting his steel pipe and fondling his hot balls. I had been right. He is bigger than I am. And it always feels so good to be taking someone even bigger than you are. It's my David and Goliath complex, I think.

He quickly ended my reverie. I felt him push into it, reveling in my total control. Until he finally said quietly, "Go easy, Cory. I'm a virgin."

"Are you kidding me? You were fuckin' married for thirteen years."

"Not that kind of virgin."

"You mean, no boys? No toys? No pegging? She never did you there?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Just believe me. Take it slow. And use lots of lube. You feel huge already in my crack."

Then, I blurted out the words I almost never use, "But, you are bigger boy."

Without another word, I released his dick. I pulled him up into a kneeling position, rose to my knees and grabbed the lube. I greased up a finger and pressed in. It slid easily--he had greased there as well, maybe even used a plug--as he hissed in response, and tightened down on it. I used my other hand to slap his cheeks a few times, harder than I had intended, leaving hand prints. He responded with a not-so-pained groan and by spreading his legs further and relaxing his glute muscles.

So I added another, and this time, I swirled and scissored before I began to stroke his prostate. The groan-hiss turned to a satisfied moan, as his ass rose from the bed asking for more. "Right there, Cory. Right fucking there. Oh fuck, that feels incredible." So I kept doing it. Finally, I added a third and began to finger-fuck my buddy. It took only a few strokes until he arched his back and began to push back into my invading fingers.

"It's time, Cory. Now or never. Put him in."

So I pulled my fingers out, bent down and planted a wet one on each globe (one of my trademark, ceremonial moves), used a hand to aim my cockhead at his quivering hole, and reached around to hold him steady. I applied the pressure. There was almost no resistance. My finger prep had worked. The head popped in quickly. I felt the renewed tension in his glutes, but held firm and kept up the pressure. He breathed out, and I felt the release. I was in another inch or so. His dick had gone limp in my fingers, but his balls, cradled in my palm were working overtime to prepare his little swimmers. I held for a second or two as I stroked his dick back to rigidity. By now I had two arms wrapped around him, both hands fisting his long thick pole. He is indeed a big boy. But, he's taking my dick like a hungry whore.

I pulled back and rocked in again. This time I connected with the nut. I felt the hardness on my cockhead--and I heard the purr of pleasure from Jeff, almost simultaneously. He said something, but I didn't hear it. His face now was mashed into the pillow. And his back exhibited a deep arch so my cock could easily connect with his prostate. I rocked again and again. Gaining depth with each stroke, feeling his tightness. He hadn't been lying. He is a fuckin' virgin! What a turn on that was.

Another stroke or two, accompanied by a stroke of his dick and a pinch of his left nipple brought me to the bottom. My balls bounced off his soft ass as he moaned in apparent disbelief that he had taken all of me already. I felt him relax. I consciously pumped blood into CJ increasing his size. Then, I started to pound. Over and over. Relentlessly bottoming, changing angle, petting his magic button. He was so fuckin' tight. And his chute felt so hot and smooth. I had had several drinks--and so I had a good deal of stamina. And given our age, we didn't both pop within seconds of getting hard and in.

This wasn't going to be the quick and dirty drill of a young stud. I continued, pounding, re-lubing, stroking until I felt I was near. That's when I sat back on my haunches and pulled him into my lap. I sunk to the root. And I know he felt it. He was now my fuckin' puppet, impaled deeply. He got the idea almost instantly. He started to squirm, bouncing up and down, enjoying having something hard and long deep inside. Over and over he used me to rub his nut.

Only minutes into the act and Jeff seemed already addicted to having a cock buried deep in his ass. He fuckin' needed this! He had discovered his prostate--and its incredible potential. He was completely on board.

My lips fell to his nape, and I started to suck, being careful to keep below his collar line. One hand reached up and grabbed his tit, massaging it like I was handling ripe fruit. I squeezed the nipple, hard, and a deep guttural sound of both pain and pleasure emerged from his mouth. I held until he bounced again dislodging my fingers from the nib. I grabbed his neck, just over the windpipe, ready to block. Then, I positioned one hand at his root. The thumb and a finger circled--and almost touched--fuck he was thick!--as I jammed the heel of my hand into his taint.

He turned to speak, but he couldn't. He was overwhelmed with being taken so totally by another guy. His eyelids drooped; his nose flared, and his lips pursed as he concentrated on the intensity of the various erogenous points that I was stimulating.

"Oh fuck! I'm so fuckin' full! And it feels so fuckin' right!"

Obviously, he was not being taken by an amateur. I knew exactly what buttons to push.

Finally, he murmured, "What the fuck have I been missing all these years? Do me, Cory. Really do me."

(I thought that I already was doing him. He wants more?)

I felt the motion deep inside me. My cum is on the move. Already. In seconds, I'm going to spasm and blast deep inside my buddy. I released his nape and roared loudly, "Cum with me, boy. NOOOOOOOW." Then, I stroked his shaft vigorously while holding tightly to the root, as the other pressed on his neck and pulled him around for a kiss.

"Oh, fuck. What are your doing to me, man. I'm in pain. Let me cum, Cory."

I smothered his words by taking his lips and diving in with a tongue. I released the grip on his root, but continued to apply some pressure on his taint. The impact was nearly instantaneous. His dick swelled. He jolted and groaned even louder, a groan my tongue felt in vibration since it was planted so deeply in him. Then, I felt my own spunk moving up the shaft, and I swear I heard and felt the explosion deep in his gut. I felt the fluid moving up his shaft as I also felt his anal muscles clamping down on my dick. And, at nearly the identical second, we both let loose. My dick enlarged to maximum size, and my first shot emptied a hot load deep inside, while his long, thick cum rope arched up in front and hit the pillow several feet away. This was followed by another. And another. By then, my cock was wallowing in the creamy, sticky cum that I had deposited in his shaft--the best lube in the world.

I'd rate that in my top ten best orgasms.

I felt his body relax, the first release after the tension of a strong experience.

That was my cue. I pushed him forward and landed on top, plugging him with everything I had. His face fell directly into the pillow. He turned quickly to the side, but a gob of cum smeared on his cheek. While I held him tightly between me and the mattress. The aroma of his cum, glistening on his cheek, only inches from my nose, was unbelievably powerful. We were breathing the earthy, musky testosterone of a power male.

I froze, not wanting the intensity of the moment to end. Is there any better feeling in the world than plugging your spunk inside a bottom while you remain hard and sensitive to the slightest flexes of his chute? I doubt it.

Minutes, it seemed like hours, later, he moved. "Let me breathe, Cory." So I slipped out and rolled beside him. He turned toward me. I couldn't believe the look. Or the temptation. He was wearing his cum on his face while harboring mine deep inside his gut. My tongue emerged and swept his cum from his cheek. Then, my lips touched his, and we shared his spunk. He resisted at first, but soon our tongues were dueling, and his arms had surrounded me to held our chests tight together, glued by the cum he had picked up from the sheets.

"That was really something. I can't believe what I've been missing." He paused for only a few seconds, and added, "Next time, I'm topping, Cory."

"And next time we cruise, I'm going to be there to."

I'm guessing that CR is going to start saving money on hotel rooms when we travel together. I think we've each just found a new wingman. And I'm sure that there is some bottoming in my future.

I'm not giving up on college boys. I'm still very much on the hunt. But, a new dimension has been added to my life. Older men--well slightly older men--are a nice change of diet from young twinks and twunks.

I can't wait to feel that monster inside me. Or maybe I can. I'm having way too much fun bringing Jeff into my world.

BD