There are also things that just bug me: like older men (over 35, and especially those over 40) who only want to be with boys under the age of 20. Something about that dynamic creeps me out – probably something to do with the imbalance of power (financial, educational, life experience) implicit in such a relationship. I hate it when people take advantage of other people. It strikes me as just this side of pedophilia. I also have to ‘just say no’ to anything involving pantyhose, women’s panties and bras – especially when worn by a man. It just does nothing for me (but I respect your right to lead your own parade). Also the world of pnp? Uh-uh. Meth makes for bad sex. And there’s enough bad sex in the world without anyone chemically inducing it. Some would consider poppers and 420 as part of the pnp world, but I don’t. I’m okay with poppers and 420 – as long as the sex doesn’t suffer.
But then part of me also says, “to each, their own” - not when it comes to the illegal stuff or the painful and dangerous stuff. But for those of you who adore the look of your pleasure trail leading to something pink and frilly, or those of you who get physically ill over the idea of having sex with someone your own age… hey, whatever floats your boat. Live and let live.
That pretty much sums up my list of “uh-uh’s”.
I do have personal preferences, but nothing I haven’t made exceptions for.
I‘ve had sex with people of every race. I love all the physical differences and the variety of cultural mindsets related to sex – especially man on man sex. When it comes to race, I base my decision to pursue or be pursued solely on whether or not the personality involved is one that trips my trigger. Yes, I’m an equal opportunity enjoyer!
I’ve also been with people of every size – and I’m not talking penis size, although I think I’ve dealt with the full spectrum there, too. As a general rule, obese people do not turn me on. But there have been exceptions. Never underestimate the power of a great smile, a little charm, a good sense of humor, or a double martini. Circumstances and desperation play their part, too, no doubt. The same can be said for the borderline anorexic. No, as a general rule, but there have been some rather sweet exceptions.
And age? Well, as a general rule of thumb I don’t pursue anyone under the age of thirty (I’m too old for you, and you are too inexperienced/unformed/uptight for me) or above the age of sixty (I have had some really bad surprises when opening the mystery date door). But then again there have been some incredible exceptions. And some not so incredible – but I’m flexible and willing to work with what the universe gives me. Good sex is good no matter the package.
I think at this point in my sexual life (having gotten a really late start) I have reached a point where in order to continue expanding my whore-izons (horizons) I must decide once and for all: Should I become a total slut?
I was originally going to title this ‘Should I Become a Slut’… but based on the sheer number of sexual partners I have in had thus far, I’m thinking that the ‘should’ in that query, at this point, is pretty mute. I am a slut. No doubt about it. I don’t wear it as a badge of courage (on occasion I still try to get away with being demure), but when cornered, I don’t deny it, either.
No, the question before me is, should I become a total slut. What, you may ask, is the distinction?
For me – and I realize this is a personal delineation/definition (for some, I have crossed that line, too) – it has to do with a little device called a sling. For those of you who live at church, a sling is a platform, usually made of leather suspended from the ceiling or a metal frame by chains. It serves as the altar of sacrifice (giving it up oh-so willingly) for your average power bottom.
I now consider myself a bottom (not always the case), but I am still not a power bottom. To achieve that distinction I would need to give myself over to a world I am not sure I belong. The whole dungeon scene intrigues me. I have stood on the side lines a few times – but it made me feel like a spectator at a coliseum in ancient Rome. I’m also intrigued by leather, group play (I have never been to a sex party), multiple/multiple partners, bath house and backroom scenes; basically the underbelly of the male gay world.
I need to point out that I don’t mean underbelly in a bad way. There is a hierarchy in the world of m4m sex. The hierarchy of the male gay world (according to me)? That’s another blog entry, maybe next week’s installment. Maybe.
Back to the question of total slutdom: To become a total slut, I would have to immerse myself in a world that frequently involves things that I can’t see myself ever gaining any pleasure from. In fact, the few times I have danced along the edge of the underbelly, I found myself having to say ‘no’ to a lot of things: (“No, you may not stick your fist in my ass. No, you may not strike my ass with that leather riding crop. No, you may not choke me. No, you may not bind my balls and smack them with your hand. No, you may not hit me in the face.”). Okay, so the provided examples may indicate that I may have, in fact, stuck my toe in the water a bit. But you get the general idea of what I fear happening.
I like the idea of the sling. The total surrender it signifies. Being vulnerable is sexually arrousing to me. But the type of activities you open yourself up to in the kind of environment where you would find a sling brings the concept of vulnerability to a whole ‘nother level.
Now you might think it is the psychological impact and subsequent consequences that I am afraid of, but that is not the case. The mind games I can handle. My mind has been fucked (see reference to Catholic Church and the world of the theatre). I have developed a resilience to and the ability to recover from such fuckery. It’s the physical stuff that concerns me. Safety, being of primary concern. I don’t want to end up physically hurt or marred. I also don’t want the clap, crabs or worse.
The other thing that keeps me from delving in? All the props and costumes. I come from theatre (which is what the Catholic mass is really about, people), (I also ‘did’ the theatre/stage/performance thing for – well, a long, long time) – and I hate all that stuff (now). Don’t get me wrong. I love leather. The smell alone is enough to send me to my happy place. I also think at least twenty percent of those who wear it, wear it well. Yes, when it’s hot, it is hot.
But when it’s not? Well, that would be when it feels staged, inappropriate, or just looks tacky (I’m talking to the 80% of you who should NOT wear leather – and yes, I’m probably included in that number). I hate it when accoutrements get in the way of a good time. What I know of theatre, and I mean know the hard way, is that for a show to run smoothly you must coordinate your props well. A bad scene change can cost you your show. Pulling this off (no pun intended) is a learned skill and an innate talent. So, most people are simply not up to the task. Either the emotional/physical involvement of the actual sex takes precedent and things get fucked up, or they are simply inept and too uncoordinated to be successful.
Another thing that makes opening this particular door difficult for me, is the fact that once said door is open, many people don’t have the good sense to know the difference between what is ‘fun’ and what is ‘lame’. I’ll give you an example. I had a guy who wanted to role play. Now, I’m all for role play. I love ‘buddies staying overnight’, ‘coach gives a massage’, ‘coach and OTK’, ‘wrestling buds’, and ‘you’re in the army now-lick my boots scumbag’ scenarios. I’ll even play the whole ‘son/daddy/big brother/little cousin’ thing, as long as it doesn’t become too ridiculous. But this guy? He wants to play ‘good doggie’, and I have to be the dog. It put me off a bit. I had to think about it. I consider the following: I’m there, we’re both already naked and hard, the guy is reasonably attractive and the environment feels safe to me. So I pant for him. I ‘wag my tail’ for him. Then he makes the mistake of bringing out the props. He puts a leather collar and a leash on me. I wore it for about two minutes. Then I took it off myself. End of game. And believe me – I am all for trying new things and pleasing my sex partner. But that leash? Well, that was a span of leather too far. I couldn’t go there, because while certain degrees of humiliation can be very sexually stimulating… feeling totally ridiculous ain’t gonna keep my dick hard.
So there are my concerns. My issues. My sensibilities and take on the choice at hand. I have just enough experience and knowledge to make me leery of the whole thing. Maybe this is one of those instances where I should listen to that little feeling in my gut.
I can remain a generic slut forever. I may have to move to another section of the country or another country in order to find new sexual partners, but I can continue my edgy, dirtier-than-vanilla, somewhat skanky ways for the rest of my time on this earth. Or I could dive in, experience something new and then decide it is not for me.
Doing an about face is not always about admitting defeat. Sometimes it’s just good common sense or done in good taste. For me, there would be no sense of shame. No scarlet ‘A’. You see, sometimes that red badge of courage is just a big old scarlet ‘A’ – but in either case – it’s something earned. I could with that without deluding myself. I’m not one of those who fool enough to think I could be a virgin again.
But then that is what role play is for.
To be honest, I’m riding the fence on this one. At this point, I’m not overly concerned about splinters… but let’s face it – indecision sucks, and also - it’s not the kind of wood I like to have between my legs.