I don’t know about other people but I tend to have moments of clarity during sex, that moment when lust has happily crawled back into its cage, releasing its control over me and letting me think again. Now, usually, clarity returns after busting that nut and working through the highly intense feelings that the accompanying orgasm has laid on me… but I was just sitting here thinking about those times when clarity interrupted the mental fog of lust.
One time (and, no, not at band camp), I was quite naked, writhing on the bed, my legs gaped open and wrapped around the other guy’s back as he sucked me. It was a wonderful moment and more so since, only a couple of minutes prior, I had successfully – and delightfully – turned his raging erection into a limp lump of flesh, his seed nestled in my stomach and now it was my turn for that sweet, oral release. He was very good, teasing my cock and balls with his mouth, lips, and tongue; I opened my eyes to watch him eat my dick when out of nowhere, this popped into my head: What are you doing?
The effect was immediate, like being doused with ice water; my cock softened somewhat and I was just too aware of the fact that there was another man giving me a blowjob. The part of my mind that contains all of the restrictions about such things was now having a field day, yelling and screaming about how wrong it was for me to be doing this and that I should cease and desist lest I find myself burning in the hottest parts of hell come judgement day.
I don’t think the guy sucking me even noticed the change in my demeanor; I had gone from a near-mindless “mass of quivering flesh” to damn near completely immobile as the analytical part of my mind kicked in and started to clinically dissect what he was doing. I was also frantic – why did this happen… again? Oh, yes, this wasn’t the first time a moment of clarity descended on me while I was in the middle of getting my cookies crushed; I’d had similar moments during sex with women and, of course, men… but I thought I had gotten a handle on my mind by putting up a mental “Do Not Disturb” sign up so that I could enjoy what I was doing… but it was rather apparent that my mind, amazing organ that it is, had other ideas.
I’m lying there watching this guy blow me, taking in everything that was going on, from the flushed color of his skin to exactly how much pressure he was applying against my still-erect dick and even where he was making those delightful changes. I was very much aware of his hands cupping and kneading my balls gently, right down to the temperature of his hand and the science behind why his body temperature was so elevated. Even as the clinical dissection continued, my conscious – I guess – was berating me for once again breaking the rules of sexual conduct and having very carnal knowledge of another man.
It was disturbing because I couldn’t get the clarity to go away and let me finish enjoying this most excellent performance of fellatio; it did have the, ah, added benefit of taking my desire to cum from 100 to 0 – it was going to take him much longer to finish me off. My mind was fucking with me big time as the guy started sucking on my balls: “You know you might not cum now, don’t you?” and “Why don’t you just quit while you’re ahead? I’ve got my finger on the button that controls your blood flow so if you don’t just give up this foolishness, I’m gonna make sure you stop being hard!”
It took a great deal of effort to ignore these thoughts, to do that internal shifting of priorities so that the needs of my body would once again override the shit that was going through my mind at the worst possible time. I did eventually cum – the guy was, thankfully, very persistent – but it was one of those releases that just lacked the intensity that was both wanted and expected. He was happy… but I wasn’t because it’s bad enough when some external thing interrupts your groove… and even worse when your own thoughts do it.
It made me once again wonder why this happens. I’ve been in the middle of being fucked, only to have that moment of clarity do its version of coitus interruptus and whispering in my head, “Why do you have another man’s dick in your ass? Hmm?” or “You know you have no damned business doing this, let alone enjoying it, don’t you?” Now, I didn’t think it was all that unusual to have these thoughts after the fact and during that moment of clarity that comes post-orgasm… but to have it show up before the fact and quite unbidden and without reason? The good thing is that I can count – and without having to unzipper my pants – how many times this has happened to me so it’s not that many but, man, did it used to fuck with me whenever it did!
I’d run a “Level One Diagnostic” on myself, searching for the reason why this event showed up before it was expected. I looked to see if I had been having moments of a guilty conscious or some other “morality safeguard” that somehow managed to get tripped and activated. Yeah, I could think of one moment when guilt jumped all over my ass – the first time I fucked a woman other than my wife. My mind asked – and while I was happily thrusting away inside of her, “What the fuck have you done? You know you shouldn’t be fucking this woman because she’s not your wife!” In my analysis, sure, I could understand Guilt paying me a visit in that moment, insinuating that moment of clarity into my awareness and in an attempt to make me stop doing what I was doing… not that it worked, mind you. So, yeah, I could account for that… but when it would happen whilst being engaged with another man?
I still have no answer that makes sense that would explain those rather awkward moments of clarity. It wasn’t guilt; I had pretty much banished the guilt associated with this kind of sex a long time ago. I thought maybe it was my moral compass showing up to remind me that it was still around, that I hadn’t totally and completely disengaged it… and I had felt this was a good candidate except if this was my morality exerting its influence on me, why wasn’t this happening during every moment I’d have “immoral” sex? Even in the expected moment of clarity – after the fact – I’ve never had my mind berate or question my actions except maybe to wonder if I could somehow do away with that damned refraction period so I can get right back to doing it.
I thought that perhaps the conditioning I received regarding sex was rebelling in spots because I had effectively disconnected it but since it’ll always be a part of me, it would pick certain moments to let me know that it was still there, that I had no fucking business having sex with the guy I was with and, as such, I should feel ashamed of myself for continuing to do that which I’d been told never to do. It wasn’t going to stop me from doing it because in the internal argument of “Why are you doing this?” the answer was – and is – so very simple: “Because I can and I want to – go away, will ya?”
I bring all of this up because there’s this assumption that bisexuals – and men in particular – are without morality, that their installed compass is broken to the point where it can’t ever point in the “right” direction and that, basically, we don’t have a conscious about what we’re doing with each other. As I said in the beginning of this, I don’t know about other people but I do have those “moral moments of clarity” and it’s just unfortunate that they’ve shown up right in the middle of me doing something immoral, like having sex with another man, or having sex with another man’s wife, stuff like that. It’s not like I don’t know I’m a rule-breaker or that I’m not aware of the angst against breaking the rules because I am aware of these things as well as the consequences behind breaking as many of the rules as I can get away with.
It is said that men do these things (and many others) with a certain mindlessness, that we’re always being guided by our dicks – read this as our lust being totally in control and logic, along with common sense, has been wiped clean from our consciousness – and, well, that’s not entirely the truth even though, yeah, there’s truth to this because like it or not, we’re born to have sex; the imperative built into us says we have to do it and if we find other ways to do it, well, that’s okay… as long as we do it when it has to be done and, sure, for some of us, the rules almost have to be set aside because our drive to have sex can be sated when the other person is just as male as we are.
I’ve learned that these moments of clarity is my consciousness having a fight with the ‘lizard’ part of my brain that contains – and maintains – the imperative to have sex until you can no longer do it and, ha, the psychology of it all is pretty damned fascinating. I’ve seen these moments happen with people I’m having sex with, that clear moment that hits them and says, “You shouldn’t be doing this…” and I have to admit that it’s pretty fascinating to see it happen and, yeah, often very disappointing since for some, it means the sex has come to a grinding halt. Being able to justify one’s decision to have the “immoral”sex is often difficult; the needs of the body – and that lizard part of our brains – more often than not outweighs the other imperatives to have sex in the right, prescribed, and very moral way. Some people, on the surface, appear to be able to ignore this internal battle better than others; it lends itself to the notion that when it comes to sex, morality just doesn’t exist, that the tenets of appropriate sexual behavior just don’t matter – but busting that nut and by any means necessary is the only thing that matters.
I’ve learned to accept those moments of clarity that have interrupted me in getting my freak on because it’s a “natural” reminder that I do, in fact, know the rules but, equally in fact, I choose to break them whenever the opportunity presents itself… and because I can and it does feel pretty damn good to be bad when I’m not supposed to be bad.
The last time this happened to me – and it was years ago – I was with a “true bottom” kind of guy. He was good in bed, having sucked me off and revived me in record time so I could fuck him. I had my fingers in his ass, applying the lube I had already slathered on my dick to his back hole, listening to him moan and feeling him pushing back against my invading digits (all three of them) and my mind was fully into it, my lust flooding my mind and in ways I just don’t have the vocabulary to describe. He bade me to put it in him and I was more than happy to oblige him; I pressed the knob of my cock against his hole and watched with an indescribable giddiness as my dick began to slide into him, taking a lot of really perverted pleasure to hear him cry out as the pain/pleasure washed over him. I had my dick fully buried in his ass; my lust was roaring with nearly insane pleasure and I was about to pull back and plunge back into him when my brain asked, “what the fuck are you doing fucking this guy in a place your dick has no business being in?!”
It stopped me dead in my tracks… and he noticed it, too, because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I replied and, yeah, it was a lie because there was something wrong and I was now distracted, trying to figure out where that damned question came from even as I started to fuck him and since I was now in my fully aware and clinical mode, it was all quite mechanical, fucking his ass more by rote than by that desire to do so. Now, I know that us guys will do everything in our power to keep from cumming when we don’t want to, like thinking about dead puppies and other such sordid things that will knock our need to cum down a few notches so we can enjoy the sensations for as long as we can… but to have it done in this manner and in this moment? Talk about a buzz-kill!
Since I was fucking him doggy-style, I was being quite visual, watching my cock sliding in and out of his ass and clinically noting that, yeah, if something really big can come out of there, something really big can go in there, too. All the while, my mind was fucking with me, flooding me with all kinds of dire warnings and other admonishments and it kinda pissed me off and I really started to fuck this guy’s ass good and hard until the moment of clarity had passed, choosing to let that fucking question go unanswered until later. He was so very much enjoying it… but I wasn’t and that pissed me off even more because when I eventually shot my load, instead of that totally mindless feeling that comes with busting a nut, I was instead thinking about the conversation I was going to have with myself when I got done. Even after we both got all cleaned up and he wanted to blow me again before I left, eh, I wasn’t totally into it and that made me feel bad because that moment of clarity was robbing me of my ability to fully appreciate this man’s skills… not that it stopped me from busting a nut again but, fuck, that thing in my head just took all of the joy out of being a bad boy, taking something that should have been supremely satisfying (and record breaking, I might add) and reducing it to being as mundane as anything could possibly be.
It’s not that I don’t know right from wrong, that I don’t know what the rules for having sex are but since I choose to ignore them – and in a way morality just can’t stand because I love pussy and dick – I came to accept that, yep, there might be moments when my mind will insert that moment of clarity just so it can remind me that I’m not doing things in the prescribed manner. After that last time, I also learned how to shove that moment out of my head the instant it tries to ruin things for me – and I’ve gotten good at it because while I understand the morality involved, I’m still responsible for my own sexual pleasure and if I have to break some rules in order to fulfill the rule of “take care of your own ass first,” well, I can only hope that the rules have some kind of insurance policy because I will continue to break them and because they have to be broken.
Okay. on to other things…