Another Dirty Dozen: Dirty Questions to Ask a Guy That Will Turn Him On

Another Dirty Dozen: Dirty Questions to Ask a Guy That Will Turn Him On

 
Today’s Dirty Dozen comes from the same post as last week’s: 100+ Dirty Questions to Ask Your Boyfriend That Will Turn Him On by Tatiana, on a site called Paired Life.
 
https://pairedlife.com/physical-intimacy/dirty-questions-to-ask-your-boyfriend
  
1. What's the best thing a man can do to you in bed?
 

Bring me breakfast.
 
I am sure I will have earned it the previous night.
 
And none of that, ‘here’s a protein bar and some water’ bullshit.
 
You get your ass to the kitchen and scramble me some eggs. Hot, black coffee. Whole grain toast, dry. And some taters if you’re feeling ambitious.
 
Hey, I earned it.
 
I slept on the wet spot.

 
2. Your thoughts on morning sex?
 
No.
 
Uh-huh.
 
Been there, done that. It is never good or a good idea.
 
Never good: sorry, but a morning orgasm is never quite the same as one you achieve the other parts of the day. It’s like your dick is on mute or something. I always feel desensitized. Like my dick is full of Novocain. Yes, it’s hard, but where’s the sensation? Takes a lot more energy to shoot a load and when you do it’s like that Peggy Lee song… ‘Is That All There Is?’.
 

I want fireworks and fresh sweat - like one of them NASCAR racers revving up and then shooting around the track…
 
…and then missing a turn.
 
The other thing that bothers me: all those stale smells. And it’s moist. You’re moist. Their moist. Their breath. Your breath. My pits are stale. What’s that odor in his hair? What’s that odor near my hole?
 
And then there is the matter of consent. I made this mistake with a woman once. You make damn sure they are awake before you start poking your morning wood around. And no means no. Please keep in mind that this was the mid-haties and I was as dumb as a box of PVC dildos. But, still, no excuse.
 
You need to extend that same courtesy to guys.
 
Also… keep in mind that contents may have shifted overnight. You go digging in someone’s hole at the crack of dawn, you deserve what you find!
 
3. What was your first time like?
 
It felt rote. Like an out of body experience, but not in a super exciting way.
 

I was doing summer theatre, my first year as part of the core group - we would act in the shows and do all the tech: sets, costumes, lights. It was exhausting. Long hours and I never ate. We did five shows in rep, which meant that there were always hell nights when one show would close and then another would open the next night. We would be at the theatre until 4:00 in the morning, having started working on the transition after that night’s production had wrapped. I was on the light crew, as well sets, so I got to work closely with the lighting designer; a mean queen a few years older than myself (I was seventeen). He was tall, thin, jet black hair and fur, and a pair of nice cushy lips which always seemed pursed in an expression that communicated, ‘I smell shit’.
 
We had gone drinking, playing Frisbee golf, and skinny dipping together with the other core members during our off hours and, while I desperately wanted to belong, I kept my distance from this queen because, even though he was the ringleader, he could be just nasty mean.
 
So, we were sitting up in the clouds on one of the catwalks, resetting gels and lights and were just about done when he put his hand on my thigh. My eyes went wide and I was like… huh?
 
He lived in this tiny house kitty-corner from the theatre. So, I followed him there. It was like 5:00 am. His place was a fucking mess and there was a mattress on the floor. The house was basically a big room with a tiny bathroom.
 

We started with a little 69. I was totally inexperienced and had no idea what homo sex was about, so I simply followed his lead. He complimented me on my oral skills, saying… ‘oh, you must have done this before’ (roll eyes, here). Then he had me lie on my back while he mounted my dick, which he was also complimentary about.
 
I really liked his dark fur and big lips. He was sort of handsome. And, being naive, I kept imaging us being ‘in love’ (insert finger in throat and gag, here).
 
His breath smelled of cigarettes and coffee (I didn’t smoke, yet) and we worked up quite an early morning summer sweat. He worked his dick while riding mine and when he started to cum, so did I.
 
It was rudimentary, at best.
 
Post coital, we were talking things through, and I said something about not ever expecting to sleep with him because he was sort of ideal… and he stood up dramatically, whipped open the bathroom door, pointed to a picture of a big-dicked porn cowboy he had tacked up there and said… “I am not ideal. This… THIS is ideal.”
 
Then he told me about a crush he had on the quarterback in my high school class. How they both worked out at the YMCA and he would follow the kid into the locker room so he could watch him shower. (A little creepy, but what did I know).
 

Next day, he acted like it never happened and treated me like crap the remainder of the summer. That fall, He was off to L.A. I saw him once, when he came back for a visit. I tried to tell him about the affair that I was having with the actor from the Guthrie and he had no time for me. I was crushed. He just used people.
 
And such a nasty queen.
 
4. Do you like sexting
 
No.
 
Typing on the phone is not my thing. I have to hunt and peck with a single index finger. My stupid thumbs don’t work like those folks who can toss off a quick one.
 
I can toss of a quick one of another kind, though…
 
But that has to be done in person and sexting, while somewhat gratifying, never leads to in-person time.
 
When I do indulge another in that manner, I consider it charity work. They need to get off and I need to supply enough heat to get the job done.
 

Talking dirty comes natural to me. I simply pick up on whatever gets the person off and dive as deep as necessary to get the job done. But it does little for me. It’s kind of like phone sex. The kind people get paid to provide. It feels bloodless and sexless.
 
5. Have you ever done it in front of other people?
 
LOL.
 
What a silly question.
 
I am like Ms. Andrea and her True Connection… more, more, more.
 
“Get the action rolling, get the camera going.”
 
Not that I have to be the center of attention, but I am a good, active bottom. You connect me with a nice, verbal dom top at a bathhouse or at the prairie, and they are not shy? Oh, yeah… watch all you want.
 
But keep etiquette in mind, folks. Do not approach and assume you can participate. Uh-huh. Not unless you are invited. You are the audience. We are the performers. Do not cross the footlights.
 
And NO flash photography. Unless you want me to throw a diva fit like Ms. Patti LuPone did during ‘Anything Goes.’
 
It always gives me red-eye.
 
6. Do you like getting tied up?
 
Meh.
 
I have been, many times. Here’s an example… yes, that’s me. 

And yes, he used a flash.
 

See, I have this thing about too many props when it comes to sex. Typically, the person tying me up is more interested in the rope than my holes. So, it feels empty. I end up feeling like a prop; a stale interloper treading on whatever mojo exists between the rope and the guy knotting the knots.
 
Also, there is the whole being incapacitated aspect.
 
I had a bad experience where this really hot leather dom invited me over. I strip naked, start licking his boots and nursing on his cock when he suggests we move to the bedroom. I am thinking, yay, I am gonna get fucked. But no, he wants to blindfold me and tie me to the bed. Fine. I play along… because I am going to get fucked, right?
 
But no. After he ties me up, there is this pause in the action. He’s in the room but I have no idea what he’s doing. What he doesn’t know is, I can sort of see out the bottom of the mask if I tip my head way back. And there he is, smoking crack at the foot of the bed.
 
Well, needless to say, I immediately ‘developed’ a ‘ severe migraine’ and told him I thought I was going to hurl all over his expensive black satin sheets!
 
He untied me real quick and I got the hell out of there.
 

Uh-uh. Mama does not put up with that bullshit. You want to do hard drugs? You want to party? Then don’t invite this Mama. I don’t have time or the energy to put up with your limp ass dick or risk getting an STI from the likes of no crackhead. I don’t care how much money you make or how fine your dick is… like Ms. Whitney (gawd bless her spun out soul) said: crack is whack.
 
And it makes for TERRIBLE sex.
 
You may think you’re rockin’ the world tweaking about, trying to be all creative, but it is a big snore on this end, hon. It’s like trying to have sex with the roadrunner; you’re here, you’re there, but the one place you ain’t is hard as rock up my pussy ass.
 
7. Have you ever played strip poker?
 
Yes. Once. When I was maybe twelve or thirteen.
 
He was a year older. It was summer. I was at the public pool in the middle of town. By myself. Always. Thinking back, not a good idea, but times were a bit different then. Stranger danger hadn’t even been thought of. And had I drowned? Nobody would have noticed.
 
Anyway. This guy in my older sister’s class starts talking to me. And I am polite. No one ever talked to me. I was such a nothing. Grateful for the attention, I simply wanted to please. He’s taller than me, jet black hair, and somewhat handsome. He wasn’t popular in his class, but that was because he didn’t take part in any extracurricular activities. He kept a very low profile. Also, he wasn’t Catholic, so I didn’t know him at all, other than having seen him in the hallways at school.
 

His house was right across the street from the pool and he invited me over. I couldn’t think of a reason not to go, so I went. We’re in our wet bathing trunks, so the first thing he suggests is that we change. I am like… into what? When going to the pool, I typically rode my bike and all I would wear was my suit and a pair of tennies.
 
He told me not to worry about it, that he had something for me to wear. (?)
 
We got to his house (very nice) and went to his room. I remember we spent an awfully long time getting out of our wet suits and into dry clothes. A lot of staring. Then he suggested that we go play in the camper trailer that was parked in his driveway. He asked what card games I knew how to play and then suggested strip poker. I remember we were down to our underwear when I believe I announced that I didn’t want to play anymore. Then I remember we moved to the top bunk in the camper and… well, I am not sure what we did. Isn’t that funny?
 
It may be one of those things that my brain won’t allow me to remember.
 
But I kept his underwear…  
 
8. Would you ever pay for it? Have you?
 
No, and no.
 
I am not sure why I am such a prude about this. Or what it is about it that bothers me.
 
I am pro-sex workers - as long as the worker is in control. Hey, it’s a living and hopefully one they enjoy.
 

But on a personal level, there is something that is not right for me. I believe I see it as a kind of defeat - like throwing in the towel. In my head, I literally hear myself say, ‘oh, I hope I never sink that low’. But. What does THAT mean? Why would I think of it in those terms?
 
Just before the whole Covid-19 thing hit, I did make an appointment with a masseur I found on Grindr. Big, buff, handsome, bearded dude a little younger than me, offering full-body, naked massage. I’d injured my right shoulder back in January and couldn’t even do a push-up. In constant pain, I thought perhaps a massage would fix it. I explained my situation, asked about his rates, when he might be available and booked an appointment. The guy seemed nice and I was looking forward to it.
 
I rather liked the ambiguity of what a full-body, naked massage meant. Would he be naked? I know I would be. What happens if Mr. Happy rises to the occasion? Would that be ‘paying for it’? Or would anything sexual that might happen be ‘off the books’. Or would he negotiate rates right at that moment?
 
But then Covid-19, so I called an canceled. He understood.
 
I have no plans on re-booking. Oh, my shoulder still bothers me (though I have rehabbed it to the point where I can do push-ups again), but something about the whole scenario seemed off to me.
 
It’s just not me.
 
9. Would you let me pleasure you while you were driving?
 
Yes.
 

By letting me choose the music and set the car to a temp where I am comfortable.
 
That would pleasure me plenty.
 
And no food or drink, Mister! This is a car. Not a restaurant.
 
Actually, I have been in both seats when it comes to pleasuring in the car. I prefer the passenger seat (to be ‘giving’, for those of you who are puzzled). But if we got into an accident, how would we explain it to the paramedics?
 
Would we have to explain it to the paramedics?
 
I bet they have seen it all.
 
I should try and ‘date’ a paramedic… just for the stories!
 
10. Do you like making the first move? Or should they?
 
I was going to say, it depends where we are… a bathhouse, a bar, a BBQ, but, no. No, it really doesn’t.
 
If I make the first move, I guarantee you it will only end one way…
 
…with me feeling utterly rejected and humiliated. It never fails. I… do… not know how to pick ‘em. And if they say ‘yes’? Why that’s even worse, because that means there is something seriously wrong with them. No, really, and it will be just a matter of time before it reveals itself.
 

Usually in the form of an STI test.
 
So, no… they should make the first move.
 
I’ll trust a complete stranger’s judgement over my own… anytime.
 
11. Is laughing in the bedroom okay with you or do you prefer keeping things serious?
 
Well, an audience is going to react the way they are going to react. All you can do is go with the flow and try stay with them….
 
Huh?
 
Oh.
 
Umm. Yeah. Laughter is fine. I mean, I think sex should be silly sometimes. Especially role play. Being playful. And when accidents occur… laughter is really the best medicine then. And by accidents I mean, someone steps in dog shit or a giant snot bomb is shot out of the nose of the guy hovering over you…
 
I mean, not when someone shits the sheets or, umm… I mean, those sheets, those are never going to come truly clean and… uh… you should… probably offer to replace them.
 
But, yeah… playful… and…
 
I guess I don’t understand the question.
 
12. Has anyone ever said anything to you in bed that made you get up and leave?
 

Yes.
 
Oh, and don’t worry, this has nothing to do with dog shit or sheets… (sorry about that)…
 
I used to hook up with this rather prominent member of our Minneapolis gay community. And by prominent, I mean he has a business that he advertises each week in our local gay rag which features his handsome mug. So everybody knows who he is… which is why I am trying to be vague.
 
He’s an absolute sweetheart. Big smile. Kind heart. He loves role play and I am always game. Typically it would involve a lot of father/son-boy talk. I would play the boy, which is funny considering we are practically the same age.
 
So, the last time I played with him, he obviously felt very comfortable with me and chose to take things in a very specific direction. Turns out when he wanted me to call him father he meant FATHER - as in Catholic priest. And I really did try to just go along with it… but he kept pushing the theme to include all sorts of theological references and then I learned that the boy I was playing was actually very, very young. So, once he began whispering the mass in Latin while fucking me, things got to be a little too CATHOLIC and a little too PEDO all at once.
 
I pretended I had stomach cramps, ran to the bathroom and then told him I had to go home.
 

We have said ‘hello’ on-line since that time, but, no… no, no, no. I have not been back to see him.
 
Also there was a Nazi who locked me in a crawl space once… but that is a story for another time.
 

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Yep, that’s another twelve and that’s all you get. And now, it’s your turn. Leave your answers in the comments section, or answer them all and post it on your blog and then place a link in my comments section. Be sure to tune in next week…
 
…and maybe I’ll get around to that story about the Nazi.

Maybe.

Like A Prayer - Madonna

More, More, More - Andrea True Connection

Is That All There Is? - Peggy Lee