Acquired Tastes, XX: Fisting

Introduction:

What exactly is the allure of having another man cram his hand up inside your ass?  What compels him to want to do this?  Is it the ultimate control?  And the ultimate surrender?

In light of my recent interest in the more extreme elements of gay sexual expression, I have decided to delve into the subject of fisting.  My hole has been closed all week due to something I allowed someone to try, when I really knew better and should have said no.  I’m paying the price for my silence (or at least my poor hole is).  So realize that when I approach this subject, my perspective drips with bias and that bias will definitely color what I have to say about:

Fisting

Scope of Activity:

The insertion of an appendage of one gay male into the anal cavity of another gay male.  Appendages include: fingers, hand (fist), arm, and foot.  May be the sole activity in a given sexual session, or may be combined with other types of sexual activity.  Straights engage in this activity, too, and there are actually some really brutal dudes out there punching something other than the butt, Bob.  That said, fisting is much more popular and common in the gay male community.

Also known as: handballing, brachioproctic insertion, or fist-fucking.

The Official Line:

From Wikipedia and SacredTouchForMen:

Fisting is a sexual activity that involves inserting a hand into the rectum.  Think of it as a slow anal massage.  Once insertion is complete, the fingers either naturally clench into a fist or remain straight.  In more vigorous forms of fisting, such as punching / punchfisting, a fully clenched fist may be inserted and withdrawn slowly.  Fisting may be performed with or without a partner.

Typically, fisting does not involve forcing a clenched fist the rectum.  You warm up to that.  Initially, the fister forms his hand into the beak-like ‘silent duck’ – also known as ‘Duck-Billing’ (think ‘sock puppet’). All five fingers are kept straight and held tightly together.    This allows the fistee to relax and open up to allow further penetration. 

Lots of lube is used.  LOTS OF LUBE.  Crisco is actually a lube of choice for those from the old school, though there are many other products designed specifically for this activity such as: Slam Dunk, Elbow Grease, and Shaft.  Experienced fisters also recommend J-Lube; a veterinary lube that comes in a powder and water.  For clean-up: Dawn Dishwashing Liquid is the soap of choice.

Novice fistees should really seek out a partner with tiny hands.

More experienced fistees may be able to take two fists at a time (double fisting) and may also be able to take the fister’s arm (typically up to the elbow).  Thrusting of the fist (punchfisting) is another activity that should only be attempted by veteran fistees.

Precautions:

• Fisters should wear latex gloves.
• Lots of lube should be used, with frequent pauses in the action to check-in with the fistee regarding comfort level and to reapply lube. 
• A safeword should be put in place so that the fistee has a means of instantly stopping all activity. 
• Fistees run the risk of colorectal perferation. 
• Hepatitits B has been linked to this activity. 
• Fisters need to be careful not to contaminate their lube by ‘double dipping’. 
• Fistees should not be under the influence of drugs or alcohol when being fisted.  Remaining alert and aware of your body is very important. 
• It is important that the fistee clean his ass thoroughly before play. 

I really want to recommend that you check out the site: www.sacredtouchformen.com/fisting/

If the link does not work, please google the site.  This dude knows his stuff!

Psychological Aspects:

For the fister: Ownership, control, power.  Basically he’s wearing the other dude like a sock puppet.  But that would be making light of the power exchange, which can take on an almost spiritual quality.  If you think of it as a slow, methodical anal massage, then really the fister is giving the fistee a gift – much like the active partner gifts the prone with a full-body or back massage.  When viewed that way, there is a nurturing aspect to this activity.

For the fistee: A sense of surrender, a need to trust, a desire to be invaded, consumed, owned. 

The term fisting, for the uninitiated, conjures up images of violence or seems violent in nature.  Violence is not typical in fisting.  Punch-fucking is something more extreme and yes, there is definitely some major angst involved with that.  Typical fisting is much more gentle, though still incredibly invasive. 

My Experience:

My ‘no fly’ list is pretty short.  There are definitely activities that are not favorites of mine (toys e.g.), but I will participate if the dude I am with is really into it.  And then there are things that are simply never going to happen. Fisting is one of those things. To my credit, I have tried.  It’s just not for me and because of the extreme nature of the activity; something tells me that I am not alone.

I had to give my ass the week off thanks to a particularly aggressive dom top I hooked up with last Friday night.  He’s one of those cagey types with no head shots on A4A.  His stats looked good (black, 6’, 190, muscular, 8.5 dick).  His age was listed as 99 and I, even after meeting him, still have no idea what that actually translates to.  His pics featured a lot of leather, so I knew I was up for an interesting night.  Sub bottoms are his thing. 

I arrive, slip into his apartment, and am quickly ushered into a back bedroom.  This definitely serves as his little sex den: flatscreen playing kinky leather porn, a nice large futon cushion on the floor, good lighting, and great fuck music (techno).   I don’t pay enough attention to what’s on the flatscreen, and had I; I guess I would have known what I was in store for.

Assessing the dude in person?  He measures up just great.  His dick is not only 8.5, but also nicely thick.  He wastes no time in putting my oral skills to the test and I do believe I passed with flying colors. Deepthroating him is pure pleasure and I like his hyper-masculine manner right from the get go.  It’s in his voice; deep, resonate, and sexy as hell.  The futon-like mattress on the floor allows for maximum comfort and flexibility and I really start to get into my role as his bottom bitch, spreading my hole for him and doing whatever flips his switch.  The kissing is top notch, and I suspect that he realizes right away that kissing is one of my main triggers, for he begins pulling back a bit, using them as rewards for good behavior/service and as a means of encouraging me to go beyond my comfort level. 

I can’t stress how perfect the set-up is in his sex den, or how much I enjoyed lying prone in a man’s arms.  Climbing up on top of him, I work his meat into my hole, using just my saliva as lube.  This is something I have been doing more and more and is really a practice I need to halt; lube was created for a very good reason and pausing the action long enough to lubricate properly really needs happen (kind of like the same way taking the time to put on a rubber used to happen).  Also, I need to get my ass to Ye Olde Sex Shoppe and purchase some decent lube.  I have been relying on the little porta-packets they give away at events for such a long time now, and if I need to start B.Y.O.L.ing. (Bring Your Own Lube). 

As a bottom, when on top of a top, I tend to be as aggressive as logistics allow.  The length of a given dick, the angle, the amount of space… it all affects the amount of leverage and propulsion I am able to muster.  With this dude, I am up with my feet on either side of his torso, raising and lowering myself on his dick with maximum strength; my ass is pounding down on top of his dong.  However, I’m wearing my ‘leather’ hardcore boots and they are stiff and heavy, so I find myself tiring out faster than I would like.  No problem.  Dude really wants a look at my hole, so I oblige.

At the head of the futon mattress is a leather club chair.  After some oral action and kissing, he tells me to get on my knees and to rest my elbows on the seat of the chair.  This would prove to be a really great position for me.  Did he rim me?  Maybe.  I don’t really remember.  He was fascinated with my hole, which, when given any attention at all or commented on by a top, causes me to blush like a little girl.  I can’t take the compliment because in my way of thinking that hole has definitely seen better days… it looks like Courtney Love’s face (hmmm… now THERE is an idea for my next blog post!). 

He fucks me.  Hard.  I love it.  I think this is the first time that the poppers appear.  He does some and hands them to me.  I take two hits and am good to go.  I also believe some lube comes into play (finally).  I really admire and appreciate the amount of masculine energy moving up my ass.  I arch up and we kiss as we’re fucking.   Warning me, he tells me he’s getting close and asks me if I want him to cum.  I’m thinking, hey, this is good and if he needs to nut, who am I to deny him?  He cums in my hole and we cuddle for a bit. 

This is when I notice his armpits.  I’m up in those in a flash – nice and spicy, funky and fresh.  My whole mouth goes crazy on those pits and I think he admires my aggressiveness.  Lots of kissing and some nip play follow.  I go down on his dick and he’s still hard from our last fuck.  Wasting little time, I find myself on my back, with a towel under the small of my back to arch my hole up.  Entering, he takes his time, teasing the entrance with the big fat head of his cock.  When he leans down for a kiss, his dick enters me completely and my mind is flooded with the kind of rush you can’t get from poppers.  His eyes search mine and his lips rarely leave my mouth as he rams his dick in and out of my willing ass.  I just give myself over to the experience.  Again, and I cannot stress enough just how much I am enjoying having a mattress to play on.  I have gotten so used to getting fucked in non-traditional places (garages, the woods, etc.) that I had lost touch with how sweet being completely naked can be and how nice it is to have a man’s body pressed into mine.  He shoots his load for a second time and I am thinking, aww… game over.

Again, we spoon, kiss, and make out.  I don’t know what it is – the music, the lighting, the dude’s overall manner… but I simply don’t want to leave him yet.  Which is rare.  Lately I am like – 20 minutes? All done? – fuck ya later!  But not this time.  Again, I blame that mattress.

Suddenly, my hole is of great interest to him.  He asks me if he can play with it and I thinking, oh, he has a toy or something he wants to shove up there… sure.  He gets up, sanitizes his hands and puts on rubber gloves.  This is when I notice what kind of leather porn is playing on that flatscreen.  It features some hardcore fisting!  Like dudes from France whose holes know no limits!  With my back resting against the front of the chair, my knees go back and up.  He brings out this mega volume of pump lube.

I immediately feel myself tense up. Fear.  I have to go through this whole checklist of thoughts.  Do I trust this man?  Is my ass clean enough to handle this?  Will I be able to relax enough and allow this to happen? 

He starts very slowly, and because of the angle and the fact that there is no mirror, I have no idea exactly what he is doing down there.  For the first 10 minutes, I would have to say that it felt like heaven.  I had to let go and trust and just allow myself to sink into the feeling of what my body was experiencing.  After that initial honeymoon, things started getting… a little aggressive.  I locate the poppers and start huffing them for all that I’m worth.   He’s great, checking in with me, backing off, trying again.  And at some point I enter this state where I really feel myself opening up to him.  Probably ten minutes pass before I start getting a little concerned.  I stop the poppers and focus.  What am I feeling?  He’s trying to get his knuckles beyond that initial point, and my body does not seem capable of accommodating.  I finally call a halt to play.  I can tell he’s disappointed, but my comfort level had been breached and when it comes to my hole, I tend to go with my instincts.

Yep, he’s disappointed, but also incredibly turned on.  He fucks me again!  This time, all my anal tissues are stressed out and tender.  He tells me that my senses have merely been heightened.  Honestly?  It was like getting fucked with a bag of nails.  Fortunately, he only lasts for ten minutes (which feels like an eternity).  We then spend the next half hour in each other’s arms, talking.  He tells me all about the crazy Frenchmen in the movie we’re watching and he’s really disappointed that I don’t get to see one of the dudes sit on this other dude’s foot and jerk off. 

I leave feeling pretty satiated and we plan on getting together again sometime. 

The next morning?  I’m not so sure.

This is not the first time some dude has attempted to fist me.  But I think it may well be the last.  This certainly was the most invasive.  While I love the sense of giving myself over to another man, I do not think fisting is for me.  Not in the slightest.  My hole is hurting and upset.  And by Sunday morning I come to the realization that it is going to be a longer recovery period than initially thought.  Of course I beat myself up… stupid, stupid, stupid.  So this week I pay the price for my stupidity and for my silence.  No play for my bung hole.  Sad face.

That’s okay. This comes at a time when I really need to reassess just where the hell I am headed, sexually.  I don’t think extreme butt play is for me.  I value my hole and enjoy vanilla sex too much and my hole is ugly enough as it is.  So, in the future, I will take Nancy Regan’s advice – something she no doubt learned when Ronnie wanted to punchfist her va-jay-jay back in the 1950’s – Just Say No!

Which is a shame.  Because part of me will always wonder what I am missing.  Though I sure know what I’m missing right now – and that would be a nice fat dick massaging my anal canal. 

I’ve said it before and will say it again: Never take your hole for granted!

My Conclusion:

Those who are truly into extreme sex are going to laugh when I place fisting in that category.  But I think that it is.  It lies just on the other side of that gateway that people who live vanilla lives and enjoy vanilla sex are terrified to venture beyond. 

Dudes have tried convincing me that the anal canal and anal sphincter are incredibly resilient and that fisting does not result in bruised assholes or discolored bottoms or stretched out train wrecks that pass for fuck holes.  But I can’t get over it. 

And this week? I really can’t get over it soon enough, if you know what I mean. 

It brings to mind that wonderful Sondheim song from the musical ‘Gypsy’ – ‘Some People’

“Some people sit on their butts;
got the dream, yeah, but not the guts.
That's living for some people,
for some hum-drum people I suppose.”

I guess I am hum-drum… just a run of the mill sexually addicted homo deviant.  Because I truly doubt I will ever get on the other side of that gateway.  Which is okay.  Because I really value taking a dick up my ass.   And to do that? 

You have to have hole worth fucking.

Post-Election Night: Erection Night and Breeding the Familiar

Election night did not go as planned. 

Oh, I am more than happy with the results: Obama won, the Marriage and Voter ID Amendment s were defeated in MN, Gay Marriage won out in Washington, Maine, and Maryland, while Graves gave Bachman a run for her dirty money.  The Dems kept the Senate.  Lots of the people that I hoped would win, like Tammy Duckworth, Tammy Baldwin, and Elizabeth Warren, came out on top and lots of people I hoped would lose, like Allen West (probably), Todd Akin, John Koster, Richard Mourdock, and super-putz Josh Mandel, had their asses handed to them.  My favorite part?  The reactions of those bigoted, ignorant, money-hungry, insane, self-important, egocentric, myopic, misinformed former celebs: Ted Nugent, Victoria Jackson, Donald Trump, Rush Limbaugh, Stephen Baldwin, Jon Lovitz, and – best of all – Karl Rove on Fox going apeshit over Ohio (Republicans never were any good at math).  

In the end, despite all the dire predictions and hyperbole put forth by the conservative right, the people of America decided to go with the one they knew had a good heart, good intentions, their best interest in mind, and a real plan (one where the math actual worked) for fiscal recovery.  Someone they trusted.  Someone whose message never wavered or morphed into whatever would get him elected.  Sure, he hadn’t delivered on all his earlier promises, but things are looking up.  In times of uncertainty, people tend to stick with the familiar.  And sticking with the familiar is not always a bad thing.

No, election night did not go as planned because, for once, I had real plans.  A fuck bud and I had joked early last week about ‘Fucking for Obama’.  Turns out we both have a thing for being watched by others and we imagined a crowd of supporters cheering us on.  He took the idea and kind of ran with it, and by Sunday had arranged a three-way with a bud of his.  Well, my day did not go as planned at work and when I got home things were not good either, so I had to cancel. My loss. Nope, I did not get to fuck for Obama, just vote for him. 

I avoided early election coverage because I knew it was going to be a long night and endless, pointless speculation tends to make me anxious. Instead I watched a documentary on LOGO, “The Most Hated Family in America”, about the Westboro Baptist cult.   It was a rather brilliant programming choice on the part of the network, in light of there being so much on the line for Gay Americans that night.  I think it’s important to know as much as possible about our enemies and those that spew hate in the world.  The documentary was done by the BBC, and while I found it informative – listening to the hateful rants and justifications of those in the cult, and witnessing the arrogance and evil that is Fred Phelps – I found myself wearying of the filmmaker’s attempts to make us feel sympathetic for the young cult members and his interaction with one of the younger adolescent females in the group.  I’m all for enlightening the ignorant, but that poor girl!  Even with his soft tones and soothing voice, the filmmaker still came across as nothing but a bully or a child pulling the wings off a defenseless fly.  I have little tolerance for the typical shtick that populates boilerplate documentaries of this nature, though I do recommend this one and hope you will seek it out.

At 9:00 pm, I fired up my laptop – checking RealClearPolitics, Huffington Post, and MSN - and then I chose to watch NBC for my election coverage.  I thought they called the election too soon, but I am glad they were right.  However, I went to bed believing that once rural Minnesota’s voice was heard on the matter,  the Marriage Amendment would pass, altering the constitution of our state in a way that would make legalizing Gay Marriage in Minnesota doubly difficult.  I can’t tell you how surprised I was when I woke the next day and heard the news.  It was like Christmas morning and I had just gotten that electric train set I’d always dreamed of.  Apparently there are a lot less intolerant, ignorant bigots in Minnesota than I had anticipated.

Wednesday marked the sixth day that I had not gotten a little something-something, so I spent a lot of energy throughout the day to correct that.  Actually, I had a date with a guitarist who not only wanted to sing and play music with me, but also wanted to get down and dirty.  Unfortunately he bailed at the last minute, sending me to my laptop and Adam4Adam.  I was only on-line for about ten minutes when I had two very direct possibilities.  They both opened with an email that stated: I want to fuck your ass (or words to that effect).  I quickly calculated the logistics involved and determined that I could actually do both.  It had been awhile since I had attempted such a thing, but given the close proximity of the two dudes, I decided to go for it.

Dude #1:

We have talked on and off ever since I joined BBRTS several years ago.  He has always been rather discrete (that’s a word for it) with his pictures, and when I agreed to meet him I had no clue what he looked like.  I knew that he was Caucasian, kind of Wiccan, kind of granola, in reasonable shape, had dark hair, and was a definite sex pig.  That he wanted to fuck me was kind of a compliment, given that he was pretty much a bottom himself. 

Thanks to the GPS Navigator on my phone I have no trouble finding his place.  I go up to his apartment and find the door ajar and slip inside.  It’s one of those old buildings; the apartments have high ceilings, original turn of the century woodwork, and that smell that all such buildings have (a mixture of curry, damp carpet, and cats).  I walk into his living room and he’s nowhere to be seen.  The familiar sounds of Florence + the machine are playing on his DVD player and I relax.  I start stripping and look around, wondering just what is up.  Turns out, the dude uses his dining room as his bedroom and is lying on the bed, naked playing with his dick. He says nothing to me; no greeting, nothing – and this is the way it is until right up to the moment that he says good-bye to me at the very end.  Silence is cool with me, as long as there’s music.  I spot him and join him after putting on my cock ring and grabbing a bottle of poppers (at his request). 

He’s got a nice head of dark curly hair and a little bit of scruff on his face.  His bod is okay and his dick, while not as advertised, is a good 7”.  I climb up between his spread legs and take him into my mouth.  He moans.  If I remembered his BBRTS profile correctly, he is into lots of kinky stuff, so I give his balls a few light taps.  Yep, he loves it.  So a little CBT is added to the mix.  I force poppers (very strong) under his nose and continue to do so throughout our play date.  His nipples get a lot of attention, and then we kiss.  He’s a great kisser.  We tongue wrestle, I spit a little in his mouth: it’s all good.  I sit on his face and grind my ass on his mouth really aggressively.  As I’m doing this, I lean over and start slapping his balls a bit.  I figure, if the dude is just going to lay there and make me do all the work, then I am going to work his shit but good.   Some 69ing, more kissing, I climb on top of him and rub his dick on my hole.  I don’t go in for the armpits and I end up avoiding his hole altogether, as his hygiene is not up to my standards and I’m not in the mood for any surprises.

Finally, the dude rouses himself up and takes my ass doggie style.  Yay.  I get to use the poppers!  Jeez, are they strong.  He fucks away and it is a pretty average affair; good, but nothing earth shaking. He gets off and then sits at the bottom the bed.  I turn over on my back and start playing with my dick, thinking… hey – I brought it, now it’s your turn.  In a gesture that I can only term conciliatory, the dude sticks his finger up my ass and finds THAT SPOT.  OMG, it feels great.  I haven’t cum in 5 days, so it doesn’t take a lot of encouragement and within minutes I shoot.  Dude hasn’t moved from the bottom of the bed, where he remains for the rest of my stay, though he does muscle up enough interest to get me a paper towel to clean myself up with. 

I go in the other room and dress in silence, for Florence + the machine is all done playing.  We say good-bye to one another and I head back to my car.    Okay, so not the most wonderful fuck, but a fuck nonetheless.   Will he remember me tomorrow?  Probably, but not for the reasons one would hope.  You see, I kind of didn’t get the cap put back on the poppers when he started to fuck me and next thing I know, there’s poppers everywhere.  The smell is super intense and I’m thinking, wow, this is great, they are really strong.  I secure the cap and carry on.  It’s not until I’m in the car and I check the bottle that I see that it is completely empty!  In other words, he’s going to be sleeping on a mattress and pillow that night that is thick with the stuff.  Do I feel guilty?  Eh.  I just regret wasting all that good stuff.

I check my phone for text messages and A4A for emails.  I need to get someplace and douche my ass if I really want to go see Dude #2.

Dude #2:

After arguing a bit with my GPS Navigator, I finally make my way downtown.  Dude #2 now lives in a real nice apartment.  He and I have a four year history.  He appears in Minneapolis each fall and then travels for most of the summer.   Considering his age, and his expensive tastes in shoes and clothing, I don’t think he foots his own bills.  We’ve always met on the sly, pretty much, and I doubt I will ever know his full story. 

He’s cute – beautiful, actually.  He has a pouty bottom lip, flawless skin, hard, piercing eyes and the body of a Hispanic gigolo.  His photos on-line are high quality, very exotic looking, and feature faraway places.  What he sees in me (he’s 24) I’ll never know.  I do know that he is highly sexual.  We had a falling out last year – he once asked me to pick up a pack of cigarettes for him, which I did, and then he never offered to repay me.  Of course, it’s not the money at issue, but the principal – it made me feel cheap(er), as if I was buying sex with cigarettes.  Two weeks later, when he wanted to hook up again, I told him I would be right over and he texted me back, asking that I pick up some cigs for him.  So, that was it for me.  I never answered back and began ignoring all his emails and phone messages.  Fast forward in time, and he’s hitting up on me again, though this time I think he knows better than to ask me to pick him up anything. 

He comes down to get me.  He glowers at me (he always does), it’s that sexy Latin thing that make women swoon.  I’m over it.  Now, I’m all; are we going to fuck, or what?  We go up to his apartment and I slip into the bathroom where I douche my ass and disinfect what I can (yay, Clorox Wipes).  I then head into his bedroom and strip.  I get up on his bed, on all fours, spreading my ass for him to see as he walks in.  He does and says, “Don’t you have a jock strap?”  I’d forgotten.  He doesn’t like to see my junk – again, it’s a Latin thing, I think.  Fortunately I have my Pistol Pete in my bag.  I slip it on and he orders me to suck his dick. 

I like him standing over me, always have.  There was a time when he used to spit on me or in my mouth and choke my neck, but for some reason those activities have fallen by the wayside.  He likes my hole.  He likes my mouth.  That is all.  Oh, and he tells me that we have to be quiet?  Why?  Hang on, we’ll get to that.  So, he gets a giant towel and lays it on the floor.  Lying on it, he tells me to get back to sucking his dick.  His dick.  It’s nice, about 6.5 or so, but good looking and easy to take.  I take a lot of pleasure in watching his face and bringing him to the edge time and again.  Then he tells me he wants to fuck my ass.  I stand, bend over and he takes his time entering.  Then he starts pulling all the way out and diving back in.  Next up, a good old pounding.  At the 20 minute mark he shoots, he scores.  I get dressed and believe I am on my way home having taken two dicks up the ass.  What a slut!

But hold the phone!  Just as I’m slipping into my pants – the front door of the apartment opens up and someone comes in!  It’s his boyfriend? Partner?  Roommate?  WTF?  I finish dressing, he slips back into his silky shorts, his hard on sticking out like a divining rod, and heads out to greet whomever it is that just got ‘home’.  Oh, Lucy, I think… you got some ‘splaining to do!  And what the hell have I gotten myself into?  I wait.  And wait.  His other half is asking him “What’s wrong?”  And “What’s going on?  You seem different?”  And “Are you mad?  Why are you so different?  Last night you were so bubbly and happy.” 

Fearing that this other half is going to put two and two together (I’m sure I’m not the only guy Dude #2 is fucking around with behind this dude’s back), and come barreling into the bedroom at any moment, I try to think of where I can hide and make a quick getaway.   I choose the closet as it is to the right of the bedroom door.  It has a door that, when open, I can hide behind, or shut if the bitch comes for me (yeah, I know, I’m the one fucking around with her boyfriend, and, yet, I have the nerve to call her the bitch – not lost on me at all – got it.) 

While in the closet (?) I am overwhelmed by the boy’s taste in clothing.  EXPENSIVE!  And lovely.  I am so out of my league.  I contemplate stealing something; you know, as a souvenir and as a means of being compensated for being held captive against my will, but I believe in karma, and after picking a few things out, decide against it.  What I really want is a pair of underwear, but I don’t see any. 

Well, Dude #2 returns, smiles at me, and reassures me that it will only be a few more minutes (they are arguing about what to watch on television), and to hang tight.  Another ten minutes pass, and I am starting to feel much better about my decision to pay for that additional hour on my parking meter.  Now I’m eyeing his dresser.  Maybe I could open it up and find a nice pair of designer undies.  But it’s an antique dresser with really snug drawers, so opening it would cause a bit of noise and it would be difficult to close, so I nix that as well. 

I slip back into his closet and wait, hoping to sprung sooner rather than later.  Dude #2 reenters.  He smiles.  “Suck my dick.”  Well, when being held captive in Rome…. Do as the Romans say. 

He drops his satin shorts and I get on my knees.  He loves it.  This power over me.  I can see it in his smug little face.  I am kind of getting off on the fact that his… whatever, is in the next room watching television.  He’s close to shooting when he tells me, “I want to see your ass again.”  Well, I’m not stupid enough to undress again, so I shuck down my jeans and bend over.  The Pistol Pete nicely frames my globes, so I’m pretty sure he’s getting a good view.  Then I notice the mirror above the dresser and decide to move so I can see myself in profile.  He likes this idea, steps up behind me and starts fucking my hole, which is dripping with his first load.  He loves stirring the batter and is about to shoot when, he pulls out and orders me back on my knees.  I comply.  Then he lies down and we alternate between me sucking his dick and him jerking off.  This goes on for what seems like an eternity.  Finally, he fires off another round, right into my big, open mouth.  Very hot.   And then, he disappears again. 

Just as I start to eye the i-pod on his night stand, he returns and tells me to follow him.  Out the door we go.  Did his partner see?  I don’t know.  Nobody yelled at me as I scooted down the hall and down the back stairs, so I assume we got away with it.  Once outside, I make a beeline for my car and drive home as quickly as possible. 

That was an hour and a half of my life.  Considering I was done after 20 minutes, I kind of want that hour and ten minutes back. I think about stopping at McDonalds and rewarding myself for my bravery, as I am want to do when I am feeling like a totally used slut (isn’t that why all Americans eat at McDonalds?), but think better of it.  The poppers from earlier in the evening are giving me a sinus headache and there are lots of good, homemade leftovers awaiting me in my fridge. 

As I’m eating, I mull over my night.  It was all right.  Being trapped in a back bedroom because someone’s lover came home early?  That was a first.  But the rest?  It was all too mundane.  I really need to ask more of myself and my tricks.  I need to keep the quality bar up there, held high – otherwise it messes with my self-esteem and makes me think sex is not worth all the bother.  In the end, I try not to beat myself up too bad.  How was I to know? 

How could I not? 

I’ve been at this a long time.  You see, with the guitarist, or the promised three-way that I missed out on the previous night?  Those dudes I really know, because I have invested some time;  talking with them, getting to know them.  That knowledge leads to a sort of intimacy that is always going to be lacking when hooking up with someone on-line who doesn’t have a picture, or has a lover that he lives with that he sort of never mentioned.  I don’t blame them.  They don’t want any more than a place to deposit their load. 

I blame me, because I do know better.  And having articulated that, I will really try to remember that the next time five days go by and I haven’t gotten fucked, and I find myself on-line trolling for strange.

Yep, sometimes strange can be too strange… and familiarity? 

Well, maybe instead of breeding contempt…

…the familiar should simply be breeding me. 

Dungeons and Demons of the Most Personal Kind

When it comes to hooking up, the unexpected is typically unwelcome.  You know, those encounters where with a flip of a switch, a twist of fate, a fly in the ointment; an evening of unbridled passion turns into a do not resuscitate order?  I certainly have had my share of trysts that have taken a wrong turn to nowhere.   However, what at first may appear to be a detour to disaster, can sometimes end up being a life-affirming trip via the scenic route.

That’s what happened last Saturday.  I’d made this date to visit this dom top’s dungeon.  I was very excited, as it promised to be a new experience for me.  His invitation was the result of my recent renewed interest in the kink site, Recon.  I remembered admiring him during my earlier visits to the site.  I’d always wanted to meet him.  His pics on-line were very hot and while his profile was a little light on information, I was pretty sure that he was into some real kinky stuff – the kind that would turn my crank.  His subsequent text messages had been few and quite cryptic.  In this case, not knowing exactly what to expect actually heightened my anticipation.  So much so, that I was afraid I might set my expectations too high, only to be disappointed; a situation where even though the experience would prove to be more than adequate, I would walk away with unfulfilled desires.  I’ve done that to myself in the past and knew enough not to fall into that trap. 

At the agreed upon time, I texted him for his address.  I had spent the previous two hours shaving and buzzing, trimming and buffing, douching and showering; I was pretty sure I was as good as I get.  Having a general idea of where he lived, I was already eastbound in the car when he texted me back.  We were on.  I had on my blue Pistol Pete jock (as requested) and my kick-ass boots.  He would end up being really impressed with the boots.  I arrived earlier than he’d expected, but no worries, he was all prepared.  His house was really nice; one of those old refurbished Victorians in a little nook on the East End of the city.  The interior was equally well appointed; just the right amount of antique furnishings populated each room.  The hardwood floors shone, as did the dark, rich original woodwork.  I was impressed by his sense of economy (not too much crap) and taste.   It all gave me a sense of a disciplined man used to working hard to get what he wanted.

I missed his final text, where he told me to just walk in, so he had to come to the door.  He answered it wearing a yellow jock, a leather vest, a pair of boots, and a leather arm band.  Dude was hot and much more handsome than his pics on line led me to believe.  If you looked up dom top on Wikipedia, I’m pretty sure his picture would be there.   His body was smoking, too – great legs, manly pecs, chewable nips, nice arms.  His full head of hair was neatly trimmed in a perfect phy ed coach buzz cut.  It really brought out the squareness of his jaw; the chin of which was decorated with the most perfect cleft.  His eyes were the color of storm clouds and just as intense.  He seated himself in a turn of the century leather chair, its arms and legs, ornate wooden spindles, and the effect, rather regal.  He ordered me to strip, telling me to leave on my jock and my boots.  I also left my cap on.  Pointing to a chair in the entry hall, he told me I’d find a collar and leash on a chair and that I was to put it on.  The collar was heavy - studded leather, and the leash, a thick gage chrome chain.  I struggled a bit with the collar.  I’d never put one on myself.  Once secured, he commanded me to kneel before him and smell the pouch of his jock.  I was in heaven.  This is exactly what I had come for.

He gave the orders, I listened and complied.  My lips wrapped around his left nipple.  I sucked hard, and then was told to bite.  I took it as far as I thought appropriate, which was right to the edge and he seemed to love it.  My hands never strayed from the wooden arms of the chair.  I had been warned not to touch what I was not asked to touch.  His nips took quite a chewing.  His armpits were moist and warm, fresh, with just a hint of natural musk.  Kissing his biceps, licking them, worshipping them, my nervousness gave way to completing the tasks at hand to the best of my abilities.  I brought my A-game.  More attention was paid to the nicely stuffed pouch of his jock.  I mouthed it, swallowed it and was rewarded with his cock and balls – but only for a few moments.

Taking the chain, he led me down to the basement to his dungeon.  It was smaller than I’d anticipated – a tight squeeze actually – but it had everything that one could want: a generous, overstuffed, black leather settee with a boot rest, a glory hole, a small television playing porn, a sling, and a cushioned kneeling station where ‘X’ marked the spot.  Upon entering, I was told to kneel on the ‘X’.   He put a small harlequin mask on my face, but this would later be discarded, as it kept riding up, obstructing my vision.  My first job was to lick his boots.   I lavished them with saliva, my tongue giving them the perfect spit shine.  My mouth then traveled up his leg, kissing and sucking each inch of flesh, until my nose was buried deep in his jock once more.    After that he would have me alternate, sucking his dick and chewing on his nips.  These activities were punctuated with spitting and kissing.  He proved to be an excellent kisser.  Sometimes he would spit in my mouth (which I would choke on) and sometimes he would simply spit on me.  I found this really erotic. His voice, too, deep and masculine, took me to a place of complete subservience. 

But something got lost on the way to paradise.  Namely his hard-on.  About twenty minutes into play he starts telling me that “it’s” not working for him.  Those are words I hate to hear.  It means that there’s something wrong with me – I’m not attractive enough, my body sucks, I smell bad, I’m not skilled enough, my energy is a turn-off.  So I go into a sort of panic mode and work his dick with my mouth for another twenty minutes, thinking, I have brought the dead back to life with my skills in the past, I can do it again.   But it’s no use.  Finally, he calls it.  Game over.  We head back upstairs.  I feel awful; like a total loser. 

He sits in his regal chair as I take off my boots so I can put back on my jeans.  We begin to talk and it all comes flooding out; it’s not me, it’s him.  He tells me that he’s always been a dom top and he used to be so good at it, but recently, he has, on occasion, not been up to the task.  He’s worried that he’s losing it.  I know his anguish, for there was a time when I was a full-time, hard core top.  At that time the idea of being a bottom never appealed to me.  And then I turned a certain age, and well, one works with what one has to work with, am I right?

He spoke of his life situation and how it was playing with his head, convincing him that he was now ‘old’ (at age 50?  I think not.).  I shared my conversion story with him and told him that becoming a bottom really isn’t what he needed to do to get his groove back.  Sex columnist, gay activist, and hero Dan Savage has given the same advice to many a chronic masturbator no longer able to perform as before; if all you do is choke your chicken with a death grip then your dick becomes desensitized – it gets tired of the same treatment and loses the ability to react to stimuli.  Dan’s suggestion?  Change up your game.  Try a little tenderness.  Try fucking a melon.  Try… something different.  And I thought that same advice applied to my disillusioned dom top.

I suggested a new locale, or a new way of communicating with your sex partner, or trying something completely vanilla.  And then I explained it like this… you know how when you’re on-line or on a phone app, and you’re horny?  How you keep refreshing the page and clicking the profiles, searching and searching.  You keep pushing the buttons; pushing the buttons like a lab rat that pushes a button to receive a pellet of food.  Only one day, there is no food, but the lab rat doesn’t know that, so he keeps pushing the button.  And pushing the button.  And he gets anxious and he gets frustrated and he gets angry.  You begin to resent the button.  You begin to resent the pushing, but you can’t stop pushing.  It feels frenzied, you feel out of control.

You ask yourself: Are you a sex addict?  Maybe, but probably not.

Are you the very definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?  That’s getting closer.

What you need to do is change your game up by exploring new ways to get the pellet. 

The entire time I’m talking with him, I am kneeling between his legs, caressing his nipples, his pecs, his arms, his face, the top of his hair, giving him the occasional kiss – in short, I am creating intimacy.  I tell him that intimacy doesn’t mean you have to marry the dude and that love… well, there are all kinds of love and saying the words ‘I love you’ doesn’t necessarily mean anybody is planning on moving in with you.  It may just be a case of the person loving what you are doing to them at that moment. 

Before I know it, the kissing is taking precedence over the talking.  But no worries because I got my message delivered and understood.  This was a good man who just needed to cut himself some slack and try a little tenderness.  As we’re kissing I tell him that if we do nothing else for the rest of the night but kiss, I would go home happy, because I got to be with him.  And that I was honored to be with him in whatever capacity I could.  He made me stand up and told me that he thought we should give it another go in the dungeon.  Well, he’s the boss, and so we returned, only this time, no collar and leash. 

As we entered I told him how much I wanted to hump that leather settee ever since I laid eyes on it in the photos in his profile.  I also told him that I loved the photo of him licking up cum on its seat.  He took the head of the settee so he was sitting over me and told me to lie face down before him, facing his direction.  He began to stroke his cock, watching me as I humped the settee.  Fuck, it was hot.  I loved the fact that he was watching my ass go up and down.  At some points I was bouncing on that baby for all I was worth.  Humping is a hot word; just the sound of it gets me hard. 

And apparently, I was not the only one my little show was getting hard.  My dom top was definitely into it.  He would spit on me occasionally.  Then he ordered me on his left nipple, and before long we were kissing again.  He spit in my mouth and ordered me into the sling.  Did I mention the mirrors on the ceiling?  Well, I guess that’s because I hadn’t noticed them until I was in the sling.  First off he starts eating my hole and let me tell you, this man knew what the fuck he was doing down there.  Not a shred of hesitation, not a single tentative lick… this fucker really ate my ass.  I couldn’t get over how good I looked in the mirror and I loved the feel of his buzz cut between my legs.   But as impressed as I was with myself, things got even better looking in that mirror when Mr. Dom stood up and shoved his big, fat dick up my ass.  The lighting was perfect.  The angle.  Everything.  I had never watched myself take a dick like this before.  I was kind of mesmerized.   For a bit, he went back and forth, eating and fucking my hole.  I was so excited I remained hard as a rock.  Eventually, on his way up after lavishing my man cunt with his tongue, he came face to face with my dick.  Fortunately, he’s a man who can’t pass up a free meal.  So then he began going between sucking my dick, and eating and fucking my hole – right up to the moment when I could not take it anymore and I deposited a nice load on his waiting and worthy tongue.

He told me to get out of the sling and to lie on the settee, face up with my head facing him.  He resumed his position at the top of the settee looking down on me and began cranking on his dick.  In no time at all he spewed his load.  Cum rained down upon me.  I was smart enough to keep my eyes closed.  It felt so good. 

We kissed a bit more and then went upstairs and talked as I dressed.  I suggested a few other things he might like to try and he suggested that we go to leather night at the Eagle in November.  I asked him if I would have to wear the dog leash and he said he’d be happy to buy me some knee pads. 

We exchanged a few more kisses and the smiles on our faces as we left one another’s company had more to do with bond we’d temporarily created than it had to do with the awesome sex we’d just had. 

As I got into my car, an old Elton John song sprang into my head.

“When I think of those East End lights, muggy nights

Curtains drawn in the little room downstairs…”

I’m not grandiose enough to think that for a moment that I really saved anyone’s life that night. 

But I am pretty sure I’d left someone a little better than I’d found him.

And isn’t that what we are all supposed to do for one another?

Deep in the Jungles of Recon: Life Among The Kinky Nerdy Monkey Boys

It’s nice when life offers up a brand new experience. There is such a plethora of sexual kinks out there and I have been exposed to or become aware of so much, I find it refreshing that, on occasion, even I can stumble onto some undiscovered, fresh terrain.  Last Saturday afternoon was just such an instance.  Part of me felt like Jane Goodall, observing and interacting with an exotic species, while the other part felt incredibly honored and lauded. 

It all began over a year ago.  I happened onto a reference to a site I had never heard of before: Recon; an internet site dedicated to gay kink in the form of bondage, leather, and extreme activities (sounding, fisting, etc.).  Of course, I joined immediately (it’s free) and spent considerable time checking out the profiles of local kinksters while fielding inquiries from those overseas.  On occasion I would strike a chord with one of the locals.  I actually met one person – my movie theatre buddy whom I fooled around with as detailed in a previous post (Ass Play At the Movies: I’m Ready For My Close-Up, 1/20/12), but my fascination with the site proved temporary and, soon,  I stopped visiting altogether. 

Six months went by without me paying any attention to it.

Well, Recon is a pretty savvy site.  They know how to get you to come back.  I got an offer for a 90-day free trial which would allow me complete, unlimited access to the site.  I ignored it for the first 30 days, but, after I had taken some new pics in the locker room at my gym and was updating my other profiles, I decided to also post them on Recon as well.

I tell you, the best way I know to create some renewed interest in an on-line profile?  Post some new pics.  That, along with my unlimited access, allowed me to touch base again with many local kinksters.  One happened to be this 26-year old photographer from a city close to Duluth, MN.  We’d talked quite some time ago, but due to the distance and logistics involved, it never went anywhere.  This time he told me that he would be staying in town at a friend’s place that very weekend and would like to finally meet me.  A time for him to send me the address of where he would be staying was arranged and I waited and planned for the day. Keep in mind that I had yet laid eyes on an actual picture of him; his profile is filled with the photos of others whom he has done sessions with.  In these photos I noticed he had a predilection for duct-taped mouths, mouth gags and hog-tying his willing victims with white nylon rope. I was intrigued.  And, I must confess, a little scared.

That morning, I got up, shaved all my privates, did all my usual maintenance work; I wanted to look as good as I could.  I did not work out, rather, I went shopping.  The timing couldn’t have been better, for just as I’d found and purchased two pairs of black Levis, I got a text from the little kinkster.  He was in town and sent me an address in NE Minneapolis where I was to meet him.  Turned out the place was within the same complex as the movie theatre that I had frequented last winter with my other Recon bud.  I parked, and after waiting in the lobby of this rather high-end building with the security guard at the main desk – who was kind enough to buzz me in – asking repeatedly who I was there to see (I had no idea), I was then told, via text, to exit the lobby and come up the fire escape.  I got outside and was then greeted by two men – one, a good-looking, shorter man about my age with really nice forearms and a tall, cute, blonde, broad-shouldered, young twink-type.  They introduced themselves and guided me upstairs.  Neither of them was the man I was there to see. 

No, he turned out to be on the other side of a rather heavy fire door at the top of the steps.  First impression – he looked like Justin Timberlake (so, for the purposes of this post, I’ll refer to him as Justin) during his scruffy phase.  Turns out he’s cute,   sweet, and a bit nervous and nerdy.  Oddly, I am not nervous at all, which is surprising, considering that I hadn’t expected there to be other people there and was wondering just what I had gotten myself into.  The condo appeared bright and modern, so I’m not creeped-out in the least. I’m escorted into a studio and immediately I get a sense that I know this place… and I do – I’ve seen it in photographs in the profile of another Recon member – a far kinkier member.  His photos are a bit more extreme and sexual than Justin’s.  This worries me for a bit, but I remain cool and professional, as I remain throughout the entire four hours. 

We get to work right away.  He wants me in my street clothes.  He hog ties me with white nylon rope and starts to take pics, as the other two watch.  Eventually he adds a black leather-banded ball gag – a favorite of his.  Initially, he struggles with the camera a bit, but he seems pleased with me.  We work five more scenes; playing in the shower, the bathtub, on a leather couch, and in the studio.  The other two photographers hang around the entire time, observing, commenting, and making suggestions.  After the first scene, I comment that I had assumed I’d be wearing a lot less clothing, and the more experienced photographer chimes in agreement.  I end up wearing much less in the next few sets; black jockeys, white briefs, black Calvin Klein bikinis – but never nude.  Turns out Justin really likes my body, but that nudity is just not his thing.  Duct tape, on the other hand…

Duct tape, when ripped from the mouth, stings.  Big surprise, right? 

The really big surprise?  No sex.  None.  Yes, he touches me on occasion.  He smacks me on the ass, squeezes a nipple, grabs my crotch, but it’s all rather playful – more horseplay than sexual in nature.  And had I bothered to read his profile again completely, I would have remembered this.  On one occasion, he did something to me as I was getting out of the bathtub.  It hurt or surprised me, so I reached back (my hands tied), grabbed his crotch, and squeezed hard.  He squeaked and quickly got the message that whatever it is he had just done was not okay with me.  In the end, the closest we come to sexual contact is when, with me handcuffed,  my hands behind my back and the handcuffs tied to my ankles, he sets me on my knees and puts an ice cube in my underwear, under my balls.  I’m wearing a blindfold and a ball gag at the time, so I found it, in my sensory-deprived state, rather erotic.  He fondled my junk quite a bit during this test (that’s what he called it) and I get aroused (not that it leads to anything).  The biggest reaction I got out of him was that he seemed amazed that the ice cube melted as quickly as it did.  Still, it felt good and I told him as much.

The same could be said about the whole experience.  It felt good.  I got some great compliments.  My ego left definitely well-fed.  Throughout the shoot, Justin showed me the pics after each session and told me he’s happy with what he’s getting.  He kept checking in with me to make sure I’m okay, and, other than a few times when I needed to flip over wearing handcuffs or when the handcuffs cut into my wrists, I was comfortable the whole time.  I leave feeling like Justin got what he wanted and feeling pretty good about myself, as well.  Yes, I’m a little long in the tooth to be doing a photo shoot, but, hey, if the photographer is happy, then I’m happy. 

Justin has promised to send me some of the pics, once they’re edited.  He’s also assured me that they only place they will appear is on the Recon site.  Man, I hope they don’t suck.  I am not exactly photogenic and cringe whenever I see a photo of me that I, myself, have not taken, edited and/or approved.  But you know what?  I have to let that control go in this case; those images belong to him. 

It was an interesting experience – and not what I expected.  I really thought there would be a lot more sex (implied or actual)  – especially with two other dudes around.  But, apparently, for some, bondage is not about sex – it is a kind of art.  In a way, I felt like I had spent the day observing kinky monkey boys/men working out their nerdy obsessions.  There was something rather ‘Big Bang Theory’ about the whole scene, which I think is why I felt so at ease.   I really was able to let my guard down with these total strangers while one of them trussed me up like Bettie Page.  Yes, there was conversation that didn’t have anything to do with the actual photography, but not much.  After the first half hour had passed, I really felt as if I was there to do a job, and nothing more.

I left on a very cordial note.  As I walked back to my car I had no regrets.  Yes, I wished I had gotten my penis photographed, but hey, that’s not his thing.  And as I kept reminding the other two photographers when they would make suggestions – the whole thing was his thing – he was calling the shots, literally.  Would I do it again?  Probably.  I would really like to work with the more extreme dude – he’s into electro-stim, bondage, head masks, and milking scenes (though, I suspect, he is only into young things).   On the other hand, what Justin liked was good, clean fun – so I’m happy to spend more time doing the same, if he’d like. 

I guess the proof will be in the pudding – or, in this case, the actual photos.  I hope they are good enough for him to post and that I haven’t wasted his time.  It would be really cool if they did get posted and somebody actually got off on them.  Eh, we’ll see.

It was great to discover something unexpected.  Bottom line – I found the whole experience to be very refreshing.  Every time I experience something new for the first time, it’s like a sexual reboot; I get a renewed sense of my own power and find that my sexual focus, having been altered, becomes more keen and energetic than before. 

This weekend I plan on paying a visit to a dungeon.  I have some idea of what to expect, as I have had one previous experience in someone’s dungeon, but also know that I need to get the dungeon master my ‘no-fly’ list before submitting to anything.  It should be interesting.  And who knows… maybe my booty will get…

…a leather reboot!