There were times in my life that I gave lots of thought about giving up the other side of myself, not because I was having so much fun with the, ah, straight part of my life but because… I dunno, maybe it was because I felt that being bisexual was pointless, frustrating, and so unfulfilling.
It wasn’t a matter of not being able to get dick ’cause I was in a period of my life where guys who wanted to do something were just drawn to me – I spent a lot of time turning down dick because I just didn’t have the time to accommodate them. But when I did find the time, it seemed as if my passion for the sex had gone by the wayside; I was sucking dick by rote, my mind and body on automatic pilot and not getting that familiar joy I was so used to. I’d get them off without any real feelings one way or the other and I would let them have their way with my cock… and there were times when guys would wear themselves out trying to get me off and it just wasn’t happening. That was frustrating enough and, no, it wasn’t because they weren’t putting in that good effort – I just wasn’t into it as I expected to be and when I would cum, the only thing I felt was relief that it was all over with.
At one point, I actually did just give up that side of me, turning down cock from guys who were otherwise rather interesting; I thought it made me feel better to tell them, “Thanks, but I’m not into that anymore…” and, for a while, it did make me feel better but what took a lot of that ‘good’ feeling away was knowing that sooner or later, I was going to have to seriously examine myself to find out where my head was about this; until I did this, I wasn’t going to know what had changed.
It was such a complicated process; even as I’d go about doing the stuff I had to do, a large part of my consciousness was hard at work trying to figure this shit out, taking in information from every available source and then scrutinizing it a hundred ways to Sunday, trying to find that one clue that would lead me toward the answer I was looking for. But after a year thinking about all that I could think about, I never found the answer, couldn’t explain why there was something inside of me that wasn’t getting all hyperactive over the thought of sucking a man’s dick. I had ruled out being fucked by the biggest dick I’d ever seen as a reason for my funky mood because the one thing had nothing to do with the other – and I had to consider it because maybe, just maybe, there was some relevance that could explain my mood but, no, that landmark event had nothing to do with it and, besides, that moment was years behind me at the time this hit me.
I had to find a way to recapture the joy and being introspective about it didn’t help; if anything, all that deep self-examination made me even more frustrated and because I learned absolutely nothing from doing it… except that I was now quite indecisive about whether or not I was ever going to revisit that part of my life. Clearly, the only way I was going to recapture that joy was to get back in the saddle and start sucking cock again, the thought here was that I could pay attention to myself while doing it and in this was get my joy back. Logically, it made sense but emotionally, eh, I still felt flat inside… but I was determined to do this because I had to know one way or the other.
So when some guy hit on me, I said that I’d be very interested in sucking his cock only – and he eagerly agreed. We went back to his place, spent a few minutes making small talk until the pregnant pause fell on us – you know, that moment when there just isn’t anything else to say and now it’s time for action. I broke the pause by shedding my clothes; I could feel his eyes on me and just knowing this made me shiver a little. I stood there, watching him watching me until he blinked – I think he realized he needed to get naked as well – and he started to disrobe. My eyes flashed downward from his chest to his crotch and in the moment I saw his semi-erect prick, the joy returned from wherever it had run off to.
I pushed him onto the bed and went after him like a starving man, working his neck, his ears, and his nipples until he was squirming and moaning loudly. I made a stop at his navel, licking, sucking, and nipping at the flesh there until he squirmed some more. Then I went for his cock… and I actually thought about what I wanted to do with it; did I want to tease him some more or did I want to just take his dick and eat it whole? I decided to tease him some more so I spent quite a bit of time sucking his nuts and making him think that I was gonna rim him (wasn’t gonna do that) before the beast within me was roaring loudly for me to get to sucking that dick.
I knew the joy was back when I ate all of his dick, relishing in the feel of having all of him in my mouth. I let go of my conscious thinking and just let my feelings guide my actions and, well, it got pretty crazy because, in my mind, I was taking out all of my frustration on his woody as I fed my beast on his flesh until I shoved him over the edge and he spilled his load into my mouth – and something inside of me was singing joyously as he continued to shoot for me, calling God and Jesus and anyone else he thought could help him at that point.
No one was going to save him from me, fuck no, now that I got my joy back and I let him know that I did by not letting go of his dick, keeping him my mouth in just the right way until he got hard again. As I did that, he was busy working my dick over and, damn, it felt so good and devilishly so ’cause he was reacting to whatever I did to his renewed boner until he gave up his spunk again – then I just laid back, feeling so happy and sated, and watched him suck me, still allowing my feelings to run the show. I had my fingers locked into his hair, holding his head in place as I fucked his mouth with various speeds and depths – and the beast was screaming happily as the pressure built up inside of me and I finally exploded in his mouth.
My indecision about my sexuality was over. I had recovered my joy… at that guy’s expense but I still didn’t know why it left to begin with – and I didn’t care. What I did know is that giving up this part of me just didn’t make sense; it’s not like changing clothes or something like that: This was as much a part of me as breathing was and to not do this with all the lust and joy I could manage would be akin to cutting off a finger or something.
There have been other times when I’ve been indecisive about being bi… but it doesn’t get me down like it did at first because I learned that the only person who can take it away is myself – and I’d be a fool to turn my back on the truth about myself…