Friday, February 1, 2019

10 Seconds More, Then Fisted

Hanging out on the little stage in the basement of The Cock, I met a guy. After exchanging glances we gravitated towards each other. We started making out. As the making out progressed to us feeling each other up through our clothes, then digging down each other's pants in a dark corner, sex seemed to a definite expectation that night.

In our feeling each other up, he went for both my dick and ass just as much as I went for his. So I decided to do what I always do with a guy, even if he focuses more on my back than my front, or vice versa. I asked him if he was a top, bottom, or versatile.

It's unfortunate how the ignorant sexual roles based on color/ethnicity and body weight/height imposed upon us in the gay community by gay media forms made me fear I wouldn't trust him once he answered. For he was white, shorter than me, and our feel-up session informed my hand that he had an ass to die for on that smaller frame of his. So the racist sexpectations of me that I've experienced so many times before had me prepared for him to say that he was a bottom.

Instead, he said he was versatile (like me), but (unlike me) more of a top. From that moment, he didn't earn my complete trust in his character, but he earned a hell of a lot more than a white guy of any height saying he was a bottom. Because at least I knew by confessing to me he was more of a top, I knew for certain that he wasn't another gay white male taught by porn as to what a Black male's role should be during an interracial sexual encounter.

Some of you reading this are probably thinking that by bringing this up that I'm exasperating the racism. Such accusations come from 2 types of people:
  1. non-blacks who refuse to understand and;
  2. blacks who falsely validate their sex appeal by an interracial sexual encounter. Lowering themselves to becoming complacent in allowing those non-blacks to continue to not understand.
The fact is that I've seen the effect gay porn has had on our sexual expectations based on such "-isms" as racism and ageism, and I refuse to live in silence about its effect on my sex life. Because if I don't realize this consciously, then it becomes a catalyst for the subconscious uber-aggressive, brutal topping that too many ignorant black males do to appease non-blacks taught by porn.


But I necessarily digress.

After he told me he was more of a top, I lit up. Because that's actually what I wanted from him. We continued making out for a bit. Then went back upstairs to the bar for a drink. He then extended an invitation back to his place to which I graciously accepted.

We got back to his place. He asked if I wanted something to drink. I chose water. He stepped out and came back. After a quick sip, we immediately stripped off our clothes. I saw that fit physique of his in his underwear, and it only made me want his body to connect with mine even more. For his dick to be a key, and my asshole to be the keyhole by which entry of his key can unlock my horniness and his.

We started making out, and he put me on his bed. We continued making out, then he asked a question that threw me for a bit. He asked, "Do you like to get fisted?"

In my blogging over the years, I have put up much fuss as to how out of love for my tight hole, I would never try it. Then I remembered an interracial couple that lived in Harlem where each of them tried fisting me, and only got up to their knuckles. But through them I began to change my tune.

For I started realizing that I allowed them to get that far because I was so into them that I wanted their bodies inside mine in every way possible. So from that point on, I knew someday, I would get completely fisted. But that night was not the night.

So I thought that this night was going to be the night. Because I was that intensely into him. So to answer his question, I told him, "Not completely. But I'm willing to let you try."

And he did, He lubed up his hand heavily. He tried going in, and at first, only got as far as the couple in Harlem. He then offered me some poppers. Breaking my long-standing anti-poppers rule, I must confess that I took him up on his offer. And trust me, I am not proud that I did.

My head felt the usual light-headedness that I've come to know (and loathe) even by a contact high from poppers. However, even though I took a huff, I was still determined to prove the point I made in all of my anti-poppers articles. I then took a deep breath, and he started moving his hand around inside me. I had no idea as to how deep inside he was. However deep it was though, it did feel good. And this was not the high from the poppers talking because by the time I acknowledged the pleasure I was feeling, the high from the poppers had worn off.

Then it suddenly became too much. So I had him stop. I could see in his beautiful light eyes that he wanted to keep going, but he did what a real man would do. He listened to me listening to my body and stopped.

Afterwards, I asked him how far had he gotten inside me. It felt like he was all the way in, and while he was doing it, I saw none of his hand. So I asked to be sure. He said, "Another 10 seconds, and I would have been all the way in."

It wasn't what I expected to hear, but I was still both shock and disappointed at the same time. It's because I see now that I am capable of allowing someone to try fisting me IF my sexual attraction to them is intense enough. So I now do hope to try that again sometime.

I also learned that even if a full-on fisting doesn't happen, the attempt alone makes me horny as fuck for that fist to be immediately replaced by my playmate's cock. So we gave that a try. My playmate took off his underwear, and I could see his reflection in the window. So I was ready to look at a live porn show starring my playmate and my ass.

Unfortunately, my playmate drank too much and was unable to perform. And I was not at all mad. Disappointed, yes. But not mad. For he seemed completely sober. It was just a case where whiskey dick didn't hit during the initial act to cause excitement. It hit numerous acts to cause excitement. A situation I have experienced myself after a drink or 2 and intense foreplay. Especially on an empty stomach.

So we didn't fuck... That night.

A few weeks later, we ran into each other at a gay bar. With gay male's bad reputation for thinking of their playmates as disposable from life and memory, I expected him to not remember me if he saw me. It turns out he did remember me. Greeting me when he saw me. And from that we started making out again. This time, we didn't wait. We found a corner in the backroom, he undid his pants, and I immediately went down on him. While I was sucking his dick, I undid my pants and reached into my pouch and lubed my ass. Perfect timing. Because once he got rock hard, he picked me up, and turned me around with a quickness. Snatched down my pants. Put a spit lube on his cock, and put it in my ass.

He thrusted away at my hole. I reached back a few times to squeeze his nice ass as it flexed while he plowed into me. I grinded my ass on his cock a few times also because when I bottom, I am not a lazy bottom. There were guys watching this, but they were of no concern. However, my always multi-tasking mind did realize something about the crowd that was wrong, but too familiar.

With racism in the gay community being alive and well, the initial optics of this gorgeous shorter White man putting, then thrusting his eager cock inside a slightly taller Black man with an equally eager hole stunned many enough to make them look. But just for a moment. For many of the white guys, once the sexual racism ingrained in their so-called minds made them realize they were seeing something that "broke the rules", they left. So in my haze from the pleasure of my playmate's dick in my ass, I noticed that we were surrounded by mostly men of color.

I didn't really give a damn about whether the crowd watched or not. As far as I'm concerned, as in all my public sexual escapades, the mood to fuck hit me and a hot guy in a space I could release the tension, so I took advantage of the space and time. Whether or not people are there, or if they watch is not a necessity to make me do what I do. Therefore voyeurs are of no concern to me for the sex to be satisfying.

And speaking of satisfying, my playmate thrusted in my hole until I felt those throbs of a man's cock that I love to feel when bottoming. He shot his raw load into my ass. So I finally got that ass pounding from him that I had been craving since the night he was just 10 seconds away from completely fisting me.

So now, I'm wondering when I will experience that full-on fisting. If it happens, that next time I am determined to do it without the slightest bit of poppers. For I allowed myself to stray from my rules once, but it will not be a constant thing. Because within my loathing for hypocrisy, I view poppers as a hazardous crutch. So if I can't get fisted without poppers, then I am not meant to be fisted.

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

I Said I Was A Sex Blogger, And He Ran Like A L'il Biatch!

I was standing in front of the DJ booth. In this deep dark, I felt myself being watched. So then I had to figure out by whom. It turned out being a tall, slim, dark-haired white guy at a diagonal to my right. We slowly started exchanging glances. As this continued, 2 others guys came on each side of me, closing me in, which I hate. So I moved over to stand against the wall to the right of the DJ booth, which actually put me still at a diagonal behind the guy, but a very slight one. He turned, and the exchange of glances continued. He then proceeded to stand against the wall next to me, but still not saying a word.

This made me think back to my playmate from "French Kiss, Big Bliss". Introducing himself to me by saying, "Either we can keep looking at each other, or one of us can say 'Hello'." So instead of us continuing to gawk at each other, even with him standing next to me against the wall, I initiated conversation by saying hello.

We exchanged names. His name was Robert. He was White American, but born in Spain. Well, whatever the case, he definitely adopted the too typical American attitude towards sexuality that I've encountered.

For during our conversation, we talked about what we do for a living. He's an actor. As for his liking what I do, he was okay with me saying that I worked in a sex shop as my day job. However, when I added that my side job is that of a sex blogger, Robert did the oldest escape line in the book by saying, "I'm going to go use the restroom." Then added to show the finality of how this was a move to escape, "It was nice talking to you."

This is not the 1st time a guy has turned tail and ran when I tell them I'm a sex blogger. It has happened enough times that as with all such blog posts, I'm forced to make it public knowledge because it is indicative of a greater problem in the American gay community. And I must say American, because that is who this has most often happened with. With European suitors, along with the initial fascination most Americans give, they've also at least allowed me to say the truth of how I practice discretion. They at least allow that much to be said. Hence why I'm still in touch with my playmates from my years old blog posts, "Sexy Sweet Swedes" and the aforementioned "French Kiss, Big Bliss".

As my most loyal readers have seen, I don't put you on blast by name unless you have wronged me.

With that I'm sure some of you are asking: How did Robert wrong me? He did so by wasting my time. For so many gay males give off this idea that since we're out and proud gays, we don't have to abide by the sexually oppressive norms of the hetero-normative. Well, if you are a gay person with an issue with talking about sex, then you're a hypocrite to that bullshit hype about all gay males. A hypocritical hype often found with American gay males. Hence why in a sexually permissive space, a visiting European is often underwhelmed. Since they are not above lowering themselves to the colorism and racism I often write about, I have found myself passed over for a white/light American. But you can see they were just settling for the optics. For they later come back around trying to get me. Due to finding the sexual energy of who they settled for disappointing.

If you want to know what exactly I write about with sexuality, then simply ASK. One can very simply ask me questions like:

  • Do I write about sex in general, and/or do I talk about my own sexual experiences?
  • And if I do the latter, how discreet am I?
2 simple questions I could very simply gave the answers to with the evidence being throughout this blog in posts telling of my sexscapades. Unfortunately, members of this Grindr generation (like Robert) are too socially inept to communicate in one-on-one conversations. So they are totally oblivious about asking any simple question(s) that can put their mind at ease on a matter. 

I'm sure some of you are quick to say that not everyone wants to be written about. I am totally aware of that. Hence why with my 1st Amendment right to freedom of speech, I use discretion. However, with that discretion, if you've done nothing to be ashamed of, then you should have no problem knowing that such a tale of your sexual prowess (or lack thereof) is out there. Those who have allowed shame by activity, ethnic, religious, and workplace cultures, etc. to impose upon their pride in their sexual behavior are those most uncomfortable about such tales.

Being insightful, I can very easily surmise as to what some guy's apprehensions are. They feel my being a sex blogger means:

  • I'm studying them. Well, isn't that what anyone is supposed to do when they meet someone? You should be getting studied by the person you meet even if they are a mortician. So my being a sex blogger should not make a difference. The insecurity that males try to hide just makes them more aware of it. For they believe;
  • I'll be more critical of their sex skills. This is a threat to the typical male because as I have said in a post for Thotyssey NYC, we males are taught to think we're all-knowing when it comes to sex. So being in the presence of a sex blogger threatens a blow of that cover. Exposing how much males are not omniscient about sex as they pretend they are. Well, truth be told, if the guy possess such unfounded arrogance, blowing that cover is what he deserves. Otherwise, if I'm unsatisfied, I would do as I advised in that Thotyssey article, and honestly and respectfully communicate my dissatisfaction.
  • I'm going to without a doubt write about the encounter. At one time, that might have been the case. Because contrary to what many believe, I don't have sex as often as people think. So each sexual encounter was  a celebration simply because it happened. Especially after my late coming out. Now however, with my maturity, I've made the rule to write about the encounter when the sexual experience has actually taught me something. Knowledge to pass on to you, my readers. And since I don't have sex that often, and am sober when I do it, it makes the details to pass on that knowledge easier to remember. With that being the case, sexual encounters that are all about pleasure may or may not be spoken of in articles. And if they are, as long as I'm practicing the aforementioned discretion, there should be no need for worry.
  • they are actually doing something shameful and fear exposure for it. Such as those who fetishize one because of their color, ethnicity, age, religion, etc.; or those leading double lives because living their truth would be hurtful to the ones they have never lived their truth with from the start. And if you are doing such shameful things, you are concerned about being exposed to the public for it. Well, there's an easy solution to avoid being called out for those things, be it by a sex blogger (like myself), or a random person you crossed needing to vent on social media...

    DON'T DO THE STUPID SHIT THAT MAKES YOU DESERVE BEING CALLED OUT FOR!!!
The problem is that all of these are based in guilt and shame about their sexual behavior. The first 3 bullet points though might very well be for no good reason. As some of that sexual behavior that guys are feeling guilt and shame over is simply them being gay. Hence those who drink to the point of drunkenness even when they don't even plan to so much as kiss a guy. They want to numb themselves to their action as a gay male.

This leads to another wrong of Robert. His alcohol consumption for liquid courage. Many, too many a gay males are okay with this. Completely ignoring the fact that using liquid courage to express any part of yourself, especially your sexual self is not a man.

And liquid courage is why Robert  tried coming back to me. Yes, you read correct. He was fooling around with someone else. I was standing nearby by paying him no mind. Then I saw a hand reach out for me, and it turned out being Robert. In response, I swatted his hand away and my inside voice made its way outside for me to say "Alcoholic faggot!"

He evidently heard me, and tried growing a pair of balls with his tone by saying, "Excuse me?!"

I leaned forward to give him a closer look in the eye and responded, "I said 'alcoholic faggot!'", and then walked away.

Don't try showing me the pair of balls that grew from being tiny seeds on you only because you poured liquid courage into them. Because I will get a sadistic joy from embarrassing you for it taking liquid courage for you to seemingly grow a pair.

I make no apologies for what I said either. For we, the American gay male community have too many "Roberts" among us. So while "faggot" might be an ugly word to use, as I said before, needing alcohol to be the sexual self you want to be is not a man. Thereby making it ugly behavior. And someone needs to call all such people out on that ugliness. The reason it took me so long to come out was because I did not want to claim I "needed" substances in my body that morph my judgment in order to be the sexual being I want to be.

So in short, this behavior by Robert, and there being so many versions of him among us shows that we need to do better for ourselves. Doing so will hopefully cause a chain. One in which doing more right to ourselves will lead to us doing more right to others.

Friday, January 18, 2019

He Was Wearing A Bootie Ring

One night at The Cock, I saw this cute couple. At first, I wasn't sure what they were to each other. Something in their energy did make me conclude that they were a couple. A couple that I soon I realized was checking me out.

I didn't instantly show interest, or make my shy self available for approach by them. In fact, the reason why explains why I rarely do either. It's a reason mostly people of a certain color, ethnicity, or age will understand.

You see, I'm well aware that some guys, especially young white males and light Latinos, will try to get the attention of medium to dark people of color, all to reject them when the medium to dark complexioned person makes a move responding to the eye contact. And with gays in couples, some play this game with guys of any color just to see if they as individuals, separate from their partner, "still got it".

So with one of them being a light Latino and the other being a shade or 2 lighter than me, I had my suspicions about their motives. So I did not respond to their stares.

We wound up getting close because we all went in the bathroom. There were a bunch of guys playing around in there. When I walked in, the couple was already playing with someone. Since I wasn't focusing on them, I have no idea as to why, or at what point that playtime stopped. They were about to leave the bathroom, then the lighter one stopped when he saw me. He immediately started making out with me. His partner joined in. I had no idea if one was a top, one was a bottom, or if both were versatile. Something in his energy however made me feel the darker one was a top, and as the playing continued, it even more so solidified that suspicion. I don't know if he was a total top or versatile top. Whatever the case, he was my favorite type of top. For he had no problem with me groping his ass.

This left me to try figuring out the preferred position of his partner. Well, he seemed quite focused on my cock. For while kissing, he slipped his hand down my pants. In return, I slipped my hand down his. As I went down with my strokes on his growing nice-sized cock, I felt a very thin cockring at the base of his shaft. At first, I thought it was the cheap and flimsy 50 Shades of Grey vibrating cockring. That thought made the sex toy consultant in me surface enough to give him an internal side eye wondering why he chose such a cheap, flimsy, and ineffective sex toy. Nevertheless, I still enjoyed playing with his dick. So in tickling around the base of his shaft and touching that thin cockring, I then went to tickle his balls. That's when I discovered that the round bullet and battery compartment I expected to find was not there. Instead, there was a piece leading under his taint (perineum) that was thicker than the cockring. So whatever this guy was wearing, it was not the 50 Shades of Grey cockring.

I let my finger follow the trail on this newly discovered piece of this cockring. I then realized that the trail went not just partly, but under his entire taint. So far that the trail led to his butt-hole. That's when I realized that he wasn't just wearing a cockring. He was wearing a Bootie Ring by Fun Factory.


This discovery almost made me bring my job of Customer Assistant at a sex shop interfere with my sex play. For I wanted to lean in and whisper in his ear to ask, "Are you wearing a Bootie Ring?", but to not break up the hot action, I decided against it.

Instead, I took advantage of what I know about a Bootie Ring. Such as how the curved butt-plug's purpose is to stimulate the prostate. So I brought my hand back and started again from right behind his balls, massaged the trail to play with his taint, and when I reached the bottom of the butt-plug, I started rocking it back and forth. That made him start moaning. I'm sure some thought him tooting his ass out while I did this was because I was just fingering his hole with my finger. When the truth is that probably only his partner and myself knew what exactly I was doing to make him start moaning like that. 😉

I then went down on him, and started sucking his cock. He enjoyed it so much that he, as it has happened many times before, he picked me up from my bended knee because he felt if I kept going that he was going to give me a mouth full of cum. Which in the words of Jerry Seinfeld... "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

He rewarded me for all this by giving me a fantastic blowjob. Based on the many past disappointing blowjobs I've received, if he wasn't already taken, he could have easily made me bypass dating, and go straight to marriage. Partly because this hottie definitely stroked my male ego. For out of all the hot cocks in that circle of voyeurs that took a break from me to suck on at some point, he kept coming back to mine. As to make mine his goal to suck to the point I'd gush.

To be honest, jizz gushing out of my cock never happened. However, had it not been for the negative energy from those living vicariously through us, he damn sure would have succeeded.

This guy reminded me of someone. And if you've followed this blog long enough, then you know that I have a history of (merely by chance) either hooking up with, or being admired by mainstream celebrity and pornstar doppelgangers. Case in point, I've played with look-alikes of: former gay pornstar Mason Wyler; straight male pornstars Johnny Sins and Charles Dera; Olympic swimming champion Michael Phelps; and have been admired by a look-alike of Kristen Bell. And now,...

I've exchanged blowjobs and played with the butt-hole of a look-alike of Raphael de la Fuente.

You might best know him from playing on the first 2 seasons of "Empire" as Michael Sanchez, the then-boyfriend of Jamal Lyon (Jussie Smollett's character). So yes, I still have great taste in who I play with.

I have to give that couple props for thinking to do this though. For I have seen many couples come to The Cock, and get into arguments because one member of the couple allowed someone outside the relationship to do something to one of them that was not allowed in their perceived agreement. Well, in this case, this couple took the proper steps to avoid an un-agreed upon fuck to happen.

Being that smart, I would definitely love to meet them again and have a very much agreed upon fuck.

Friday, December 28, 2018

He Called My Asshole A Pussy,... And I Liked it


One night I went to Incubus NYC. While I was getting undressed, my peripheral vision caught the frame of a hot naked body. I then got inspired to look more directly at the person. That's when I saw that as he continued walking, a beautiful semi-erect cock swinging, and a profile of a nice ass. An ass that as I watched his back showed itself to be a sweet, juicy bubble butt.

At which point, I could foresee me and him fucking. And even though I was trying not to set myself up for disappointment, I did say to myself, "Damn! I want a piece of that."

And I didn't want him as my bottom. I wanted him as my top.

After I got undressed down to my underwear, I went upstairs. That's where he was. Sitting on a couch with guys crowding him. While they were crowding him, I saw him looking at me. So I wound up in the mix. The guys swarming in seemed to become too much for him, and then he left. I knew I wasn't part of what overwhelmed him, but my suspicions of how they made him feel made me leave as well.

We soon after met up in the backroom of Paddles. We started making out. He then did something to me that I often do to guys when making out with them. He started massaging me. It was making me melt, and I let him know that. So he offered me a full-on massage.

I laid down on the medical table in that backroom. He started massaging me while he stood on the floor. Every time part of his massage positioned him moving pass my face, the sight of his swinging dick, hanging balls, and thick well defined thighs made my dick start growing underneath me. So much that I started wondering if I could end up cumming from the friction of his massage making my repeatedly growing cock rub against the soft cushions of that medical table.

My repeatedly growing cock stayed hard when he decided to continue his massage by getting on top me with his naked body. So now, I had those fit thighs on each side of me. As well as his equally fit calves. And it was heaven on earth feeling his dick and balls rubbing against various parts of my backside. Especially when his massage moves made his dick slip down the crack of my ass.

He was massaging me for so long that for a moment I thought  he was only going to give me a massage. But I was more so hoping that the massage was to relax my body for a nice hard butt-fuck from him.

Then he said something leading to me to an answer...

He said, "I want to fuck your pussy so bad". When he first said it, I felt a little weird because of what I told myself about calling the asshole by any other name but. However, I was also kind of turned on. Because of that being "kind of turned on", I hoped that after I said yes, and he began thrusting into me that he say it to me again. For I wanted to see if my being kind of turned on by my asshole being called a "pussy" was a passing moment, therefore making me need to stop him. Or was it something I could get into.

I got my answer by him putting that cock that I enjoyed the holy hell out of sucking, being hard enough to put in my ass, him slipping a condom on, and thrusting away at my hole. As he thrusted away at me, while I laid on my stomach, and his crotch massaged my also bubbly ass. He asked if I liked him fucking my pussy, and I told him I did. This time, his voice calling my ass a pussy turned me on more than it did the first time.

We soon change positions. Missionary. I was more than pleased by this because I was finally going to be able to massage his bubbly butt, while he massaged my hole with his dick. So good that when he asked if I like him fucking my pussy, I mirrored his words by responding, "Yes. Keep fucking my pussy, Baby!"

Yes. I referred to my own asshole as a pussy. And I didn't care. At first, I thought it was something that happened in the heat of the moment that I would regret in the hindsight that kicks in immediately following the afterglow of sex. Well, to this day, and as I write this. No such regret has hit me. He and I both called my asshole a pussy, and each calling of it as such sparked the word-perv in me, and got me closer to getting off.

Hindsight being 20/20 may not have given me regret, but it did teach me something. It taught me that the annoyance (expressed in a article I wrote 2 1/2 years ago) with guys calling my asshole any other names besides an asshole did not pertain to someone calling it a pussy. My annoyance was more about those idiotic names like "mussy", "bussy", "man-gina", "boy-pussy" were names that were made up as an attempt to gender an asshole --- a body part that is not specific to a gender.

I said in "A Sexually Geeky's Why I Heart Sex", when one refers to a vagina as a "pussy", they are often speaking of it as a female's canal to receive and give pleasure to the sex partner. During anal sex, when done right, the asshole does the same thing. However, I see now that I stayed away from calling one's asshole a pussy out of respect for allowing women to have a name for their unique body part that is a means for sexual pleasure for them. After all, females have had enough taken away from them by cisgendered males for millenniums. Plus, we cisgendered males have a dick, which the head of is actually the equivalent of a female's clitoris. So how would most males feel if women started referring to their clit as a dick? Many males would probably feel like females are trying to claim something that is unique to a male as their own, even if that is not their intention at all.  I see a male calling his asshole a pussy the same way. Hence why if you've followed my writing long enough, you have read me referring to my means for anal pleasure by the term "ass tunnel".

So while I have no regrets about my playmate referring to my asshole as a pussy, me referring to it as such myself, or me getting pleasure from either, out of the respect for women I spoke of in the previous paragraph, I won't be making it a habit of calling my asshole a pussy. I'll enjoy it in that moment, then move on.

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