Taken

First, a warning:  If you are squeamish when it comes to the “dirtier” side of sex, please go find something else to read because I’m going to talk about something regarding male bisexuality that tender sensibilities might not want to deal with.  You’ve been warned.

Okay, so, assuming that you do want to continue, the thought occurred to me that over the years, I’ve talked to a lot of bisexual men about how they got to be bisexual and I found that a lot of those men got introduced the same way I did, convinced, tricked, or even coerced into having sex with another male.  We label such things as abusive and I’m not debating whether it is or not – that’s for you, the reader, to decide based upon your own sensibilities and sense of morality.  It’s something that, when you really stop and think about it, has always happened because, like it or not, it is true that some men will go to great lengths to satisfy their lust.

The one doing the taking could be a friend, a relative, or even a total stranger and this, too, is nothing I’d call unusual, not if you are able to take a big step back and objectively look at this and without prejudice or bias.  Even when it sounded like a good idea at the time – and sometimes it does – there are so many bi guys dealing with the emotional trauma of having been taken by another guy or, in some situations, willingly gone along with things and then find out that doing so wasn’t that great of an idea… and now they’re kinda fucked up in the head about it.  A lot of the men I talked to about their beginnings admitted they got traumatized by it all, just like they admit that even though they are bisexual, that first experience continues to haunt them; because they shared these things with me, I got an early lesson on how fragile our sensibilities can be as well as how nothing our parents teach us about sex really ‘prepares’ us for some of the realities of sex, like, you could very easily run across another male who will want to have sex with you.

When I’ve told other bi men about my initiation, I’ve gotten such an outpouring of sympathy over my having been abused and taken advantage of and while I can accept and appreciate these warm platitudes, in my mind, I wasn’t abused even though one could say that, technically, I was by today’s standards; I say – and with some dismissal on my part – that if there were abuse laws in place, I wasn’t aware of them and, in my later years, I’ve actually never bothered to find out if such things existed – and it’s a moot point anyway because as we all learn in life, it ain’t illegal unless you get caught.  One of the things that I’ve always found interesting isn’t as much how another man was taken as it is how they dealt with it after the fact.  Some retreated into the deep reaches of their minds, shutting the event away and even “erasing” it from their memories; others found themselves doing the opposite, not really embracing it but something some have said was destructive behavior by seeking out more dick and even having a preference for being taken again.  The psychology of it is totally fascinating.

A lot of the men I talked to tried to chalk it up to just one of those things life likes to dump on us and move on from there but were unable to truly do this because despite any trauma experienced, yes, it was good; they liked the sex even if they were damaged over how it happened and I learned from them how this “conflict” can fuck with someone’s head in either covert or overt ways – how we deal with this can be so telling.  One guy I talked to told me a tale of incest, how he was repeated taken by his brothers and often against his will.  He talked of one telling moment when he was being gang-banged by said brothers and while he was being fucked, just came to terms with the whole thing and, as he related, couldn’t figure out why he would resist his siblings when they wanted to get their shit off at his expense.  Shocking, no doubt… but this is part of the reality that we, socially and morally, don’t ever want to admit to.  A lot of the men I talked to who were introduced in this fashion made their peace with it by writing it off as one of those “boys will be boys” things or even as a form of youthful experimentation.

And while the method was bothersome, the results weren’t that much of a problem even though those moments would “come back” to haunt them because, morally, such things are so utterly forbidden but they realized that not only did this not change what went down, it is once more one of the perils of life, that the rules in place about appropriate sex aren’t always followed or obeyed.  Some guys related that destructive behavior thing; they knew that their male relative(s) shouldn’t be having sex with them… but they wanted more of it from them and it put into their minds that, um, they could be quite perverted because they’d seek out this kind of sex and that even when those moments passed, their need for a father figure or brotherly figure to have sex with them remained.

Some men I talked to “blames” being taken for how they turned out as adults, like, a few gay men told me that having had their innocence taken by another man was responsible for them being completely homosexual; a lot of bi guys said that while being taken didn’t affect their desires for women, yeah, that taboo intimacy just kept hanging around, fucking with their heads until they stopped denying that getting some dick was also a good thing to do.  A lot of the guys I talked to really understood the allure of it, to have sex that is so forbidden that you just gotta find out why it’s forbidden… and then they found out; many were able to adjust while many more found themselves unable to fully justify things.

Of those men who say the were abused, well, this is such an ugly thing, ain’t it?  And a lot of those guys have said to me that they’ve “gotten over it” but it continues to haunt them and not in any good way.  They didn’t as much complain about being bisexual as they did about how it happened and the thing I’ve found fascinating is why it keeps haunting them when the initial act was so far in their respective pasts – and more so when they readily admit that they know that it happened, it’s long since done and over with and many of those guys, now very mature adults, still have issues surrounding haven been taken or otherwise found they were way in over their heads.

Like, for instance, some of the men I talked to who admitted that letting another male have sex with them sounded like a really good idea and simply because they were told never to do anything like that and that, sometimes, they were the one making the indecent proposal.  And while it didn’t matter whether or not the other guy was a friend, stranger, or family member, the thing that started fucking with their head was the conflict that arrived after the fact:  They just did something they were told never to do and they liked every moment of it.  In this, the morality that is hammered into us – the immovable object – collides with the irresistible force – they had illicit sex and the shit was good and now they’ve suffered some emotional damage because they were unable to resolve the conflict.  One guy told me that he took advantage of his drunken father and that he was genuinely obsessed with his dad after catching a glimpse of his father’s cock.  He said he waited until his father was quite drunk – and then (in his words) preyed on the man’s lack of inhibitions.  He said that fucking his father was better than he could have ever imagined until he had a chance later to think about what he’d done – and he was never really able to clear the conflict by justifying his actions.

At a high level, there’s so much fuss about what male bisexuality is, whether it really exists or not, and how it’s supposed to be acted up… but you don’t hear much in the way how some men became bisexuals because some of it is so socially and morally morbid that we don’t want to look at it; it’s easier to behave as if such thing never happen or, when they do, the outcome is always bad – and, yes, sometimes it is even worse than one can imagine because some men suffer such emotional trauma that they can never recover from it and, often, will end their lives; however, for those who like the idea of living, yes, being taken… or even getting in over their heads can fuck with a guy and not always in a positive way.

One guy told me how his older brother convinced him that their having sex was a good thing to do and he was, at first, very much against such a thing but eventually caved in.  He told me, “Man, it changed my life and in some pretty cool ways!”  And these positive and “cool” outcomes do, in fact, happen… except, again, it’s easier for us to insist that they never do or to act as if such things don’t really happen.  One of the things I took away from the many conversations I had about this was that there’s morality… and then there’s human nature and, specifically, lust – and these things are in such opposition and so much that many bi guys who have been taken can’t ever get rid of the guilt of it and that even when they are able to make sense of the situation, the guilt remains just under the surface and can even fuck with them even though that first moment of having been taken happened many years ago; it continues to insidiously fuck with almost every aspect of their lives and especially their relationships with women but, “oddly,” being bisexual is okay with them even though their initiation was, let’s say, less than stellar or according to Hoyle.

But there’s no standard for this, no rules of the road where man-on-man sex is concerned because it’s not supposed to be done.  Sure, some guys get initiated when they’re adults and it’s not always out of some romantic notion of “boy meets boy” nor can it always be blamed on the alcohol (or one’s intoxicant of choice); we shudder and try to turn a blind eye to the stories we hear about being in prison and even for “well-adjusted” bi guys like myself, the fear of going to prison and then being taken against our will is a powerful one.  Oh, sure – the law says that men who are incarcerated aren’t supposed to have sex with each other – they aren’t even allowed to masturbate… but we know the reality of it and the stark truth is enough to make a lot of us not ever want to wind up in prison because we fear being taken.  I’ve not talked to a single bi guy who isn’t afraid of being raped or otherwise coerced into sex in this setting… yet some guys do get introduced in this fashion.  Since this kind of sex isn’t supposed to happen in the first place, eh, we don’t talk about it; we say that there’s “no reason” why a brother would want to fuck his brother or be fucked, that there’s no reason why “Mr. Smith” next door would entice or coerce “Little Billy” into some form of man-to-man sex or, yeah, that our hypothetical Little Billy shouldn’t be able to prey upon the adult Mr. Smith… but it happens and it’s not because someone “doesn’t know any better” or has low morals or is unintelligent; sometimes, we just don’t want to admit that sex is a very powerful thing and that it’s not always directed at women like it’s “supposed” to be.

I’ve always been grateful and appreciative of what those men shared with me about their “sordid” bisexual beginnings; I’ve always felt that I can better understand myself by trying to understand what other guys have gone through, to see how they dealt with it then and now and, yes, being able to see the truth that being taken by a man – or even willingly giving yourself to one – happens despite all the rules and laws that says it’s not supposed to.  This writing isn’t about it being right or wrong – you draw you own conclusions if you care to:  I just felt like writing about something that no one wants to talk about when it comes to male bisexuals because it’s not always enough to know that we’re bisexual – sometimes, why we are is rather important, that method or situation that first put us on this path…

 

Going Too Far

I was just remembering, which can often be as “bad” as thinking, about being a young, horny, wild, and wanton thing back when I was all totally caught up in getting laid and on both sides of the fence.  At some point, I understand now that you can be all buck-wild and just going for all the gusto you can but you also begin to realize that running around and having sex with almost anyone who wants to isn’t always a good idea.  Of course, this is something a lot of people learn but it’s then just a matter of when you learn it and begin to start picking and choosing who you’re going to have sex with and when you’re going to do it; it’s the beginning of learning the lesson that just because you can doesn’t mean you have to and that thinking and doing are not really one and the same.

I was like 13 or 14 and was all set to spend the night at a friend’s house and it wasn’t like I didn’t like the guy or his family but, for some reason, I was feeling edgy as well as having second thoughts about agreeing to spend the night.  It could have been that it was the first time I’d been back to the old neighborhood after we moved and that could have made me feel out-of-place or something – I’m really not sure why I felt the way I did – I just wasn’t feeling the overnighter as much as I thought I would – but backing out and without having a good reason seemed to be a rude thing to do.

The day, despite how I was feeling, was kinda awesome, getting to reconnect with all the friends I left behind when we moved, catching up on all the latest kid gossip and even feeling nostalgic to be back where I spent my formative years and, of course, returning to the ‘scene of the crime’ as it were because, of course, this was the neighborhood that gave me my awakening as a bisexual (even though I didn’t know the word existed at the time).

When it was bedtime – read this as, “You boys take your asses in the room!” – my friend and I went to his room as instructed and began a game that may sound familiar to you when you’re doing a sleepover called, “What Do You Want To Do Now?” which calls for the host to ask the question and for the guest to formally respond, “I don’t know – what do you want to do?”  Now, sometimes, this was easy because the host might have board games, a deck of cards, or other things to keep young minds occupied before being told to go to sleep… but this wasn’t one of those times.  It wasn’t that my friend didn’t have things we could have dived into to keep ourselves amused… but we just couldn’t seem to agree or decide on what to do – it’s a weird sort of boredom that tends to get young men into trouble.

I knew that whenever I was hanging with the fellas and we got to this point, the only ‘logical’ thing to do was to have sex… and I really didn’t feel like it and, yes, this friend was in our little club of fuckers but he wasn’t high on my list of favorite guys to have sex with even though today, I’m not really sure why that was.  Anyway, you could see this coming from a mile away as suggestion after suggestion got brought up and tossed aside and I was even beginning to think that my friend was deliberately nixing ideas so we could get to the “let’s have sex!” deal.

I just wasn’t feeling it but, at the same time, sure, a part of me was – that developing part of my intellect that says, “Well, it is a chance to have sex and you might not get that chance when you go back home…” – and, yep, it was pretty much right on the money because I hadn’t been in my new neighborhood long enough to learn who was down and who wasn’t.  But I didn’t bring it up; my mind had settled into a kind of state where if he wanted to, okay, we’ll do it but if he doesn’t mention it, that works, too, and more so since I was oddly not hyped to have this kind of sex.

In a perfect world, he never brings it up… but you know he did.  For the record, I did say that it was a good idea (duh) but I really didn’t feel like it, words that proved to be ‘fatal’ in that it was the first real time that I allowed myself to be seduced and with something I didn’t have experience with – fooling around.  Up to this point in my sexual life, things were rather black and white – either you wanted to or you didn’t; there was no middle ground in this… or so I thought.

So we fooled around which was really a mock wrestling match and with neither of us wearing anything.  The fun in that is trying to wrestle with each other, our bodies all up close and personal, while trying not to make too much noise and draw parental attention because, of course, trying to explain why we were both naked and with erections would have been impossible to do and would have resulted in some major pain and other things I shuddered to think about like, oh, having to confront my mother while she listened to why my friend’s parents brought me back home early.

So we tussled with each other, our cocks good and hard because there was a lot of dry humping and even a little intercrural going on and, yeah, it was kinda fun but only because I made the ‘contest’ a little fairer by not using my skills as a purple belt in judo – I was letting him get the best of me while reminding him that I did have some skills.  In the course of our tussling, much oral sex was happening, you know, you pin the guy on his back and while he’s ‘helpless’ you give him quite a few good sucks, not enough to make him cum but, well, you get the idea, right?

And I was fine with that and was even hoping that at some point, he’d cum and wouldn’t want to continue; I remember saying to him that I didn’t want to go too far with this but, again, famous last words because he somehow managed to get me onto my stomach and before I could counter his move, he shoved his cock into my ass rather quickly… and a strange feeling came over me, a combination of being pissed that he broke his promise not to go too far with this and feeling the very familiar and comforting feeling of having a guy in my butt and humping away.

I could have gotten him off of me easily enough… but his dick moving in and out of me was feeling good and I was shocked and amazed at how easily I capitulated and went from not really feeling the sex to really feeling it – it was weirdly comfortable and disturbing all at the same time.  When he came in me, I felt the usual good feeling to have sperm being pumped into me… but I was also quite pissed, both with myself and with him for getting me to do something I hadn’t wanted to do.

I was still feeling some kind of way about it as we switched places and roles; I felt that rush of pleasure shoving my bigger cock into his butt, hearing him cry out, the sound muffled by the pillow he had buried his face into, and even saying “Aah…” when I broke past his sphincter and was now officially inside him… but the reluctance to be there remained even though I pounded his ass, which was nice and soft on the outside and almost prohibitively tight on the inside despite very liberal use of Vaseline.

I was having a moment of crisis because I was doing something that I didn’t really want to do; something in my head said, “Well, just stop what you’re doing, dummy!” while another part was more than willing to veto that particular action and, yeah, that veto had much weight behind it the closer I got to creaming his butt… and I did but it just didn’t have that same exhilarating feeling because, of course, I got goaded into doing something I didn’t really want to do.

We spent the rest of the night having sex in some form or the other; sneaking out to the bathroom to clean our cocks and asses wasn’t all that difficult and, of course, quite mandatory, just like the bath we both had to take before all this happened.  I found it bothersome to be having my dick sucked – and even skillfully so – because for the first time in my young life, I was an unwilling participant.  No, it wasn’t rape nor was anything forced – it was just me caving in and I didn’t like the feeling at all.  I stopped being pissed with him because I realized that nothing would have happened if I hadn’t gone along with it so now, with me watching him eating my dick as if he was starving, I was trying to make the best of the situation and, if I could, try to enjoy it all.

It was a restless night; we’d get each other off, clean up, and declare that now we were going to sleep… but it’s hard to sleep when you feel the guy next to you not only spooning you but his new erection is right there, just begging and ready for entry and you’ve resigned yourself to just letting him slip it in, a task made easier after being fucked three or four times already and, while he’s humping away, you’re already thinking about what you’re going to do when he pulls out and turns over to present his butt to you.  I was learning that if your mind is on anything other than the sex taking place, it’s not a great deal of fun or, really, it’s not as much fun as it would be if you were gung-ho to get it on in the first place.

I remember that it was like two in the morning before we both fell asleep and with plenty of space between us… but my sleep was fractured and troubled as my mind tried to suss out just what the hell happened and how I could have gotten ‘suckered’ into doing something my better judgement – such as that was – was against doing.  I wasn’t happy with myself even though my libido was more than sated.  Even when we woke up early and got right into a 69 – he woke me up by sucking on me – it was nice to feel him shooting a load into my mouth even as I shot mine into his – a pre-breakfast treat, as it were.  My reluctance from the day before was gone but not forgotten; it was something I would have to examine once I got back home but, first, it was time to get hard again so I could fuck him as nicely as he fucked me, both of us getting this part in before his father came banging on the bedroom door and hollering at us to get our asses up, get washed, dressed, and to the table for breakfast.

After I got home, I was sullen, my mind feverishly working on how and why I let things go too far.  Sure, one the one hand, I had what normally would have been a night of amazing sex… but I also saw that I had also violated a principle I actually didn’t know I had – if you don’t want to do it, just don’t do it and no matter how much cajoling, pleading, or begging is going on.  Yeah, sounds good on paper but as I grew older, I did find that this didn’t work all that well in real situations because you do get… trained in a sense that when a woman wants you to have sex with her, telling her no isn’t a good idea and only something like being really sick or even contagious – like having the measles or something like that – is a viable excuse not to give her what she wants and when she wants it.  With guys, nah, it didn’t always work… but it taught me to speed up my thinking so I could weigh all the options if and/or when I was propositioned and if the risks were low, well, okay, let’s do this and maybe because I need to get laid like this to lift my spirits or something.

But when I said no, I did mean it and the nice thing about that was having both the muscle and certain skills to make that decision stick… and, yeah, a few times, some mild violence did jump off – but that’s a story or two for another time…

 

When Opportunity Knocks

In her comments to “What We Think,” Lovergirl brought up something I just had to expand upon, namely, the likelihood of guys taking advantage of an opportunity to do the guy thing or, really, to have sex period.  Sadly, it makes us look indiscriminate, that we really would fuck anything that’s alive and breathing and without much in the way of other considerations.  It may come as a surprise, but we can and do say no to sex, depending on one’s tastes, preferences, whatever; but when it comes to getting some dick, well, sometimes we might want and need to say no… and the word will never cross our lips.

The why of this is easy to figure out:  We stand a better chance of getting pussy than dick in the majority of times and since running across another bi guy and being able to throw down with him seems to be a rarity, when that opportunity knocks, yep, most of us are going to answer.  Then some of that thinking versus doing stuff comes into play, something I find a little interesting.

When I think about getting some dick, oh, lawdy, my imagination can run pretty wild and I can envision a great deal about the guy and whatever acts are going to be performed that will lead up to a delicious and spermy end for both of us.  I can easily think of what requirements I desire in this guy, running from the color of his eyes to the color of his pubic hair and everything in between and, oh, hell yeah, spending an hour or more rolling around in the bed with this guy would be time well spent.

The reality, however, is quite different; the requirements can be quickly dialed back to a bare minimum, like, he looks okay and if the shit gets hairy, I can whup his ass easily enough and, oh, yeah, he not only said yes but his dick’s hard already!  That’ll work!

In my head, I can think about high-end oral skills; the reality could be that the guy going down on me can barely manage to get me into his mouth, he’s using too much teeth, not enough tongue or suction, and other irritating things of that nature, all of which can be summarily ignored if, together, we do things that will result in me busting a nut – whether it’s in his mouth or all over his hand won’t matter until far after the fact.  If I’m doing him, I’m thinking about giving him a sucking he’ll never forget; the reality can and has been that I’ve done something as simple as suck on his balls and he’s spewing spunk like a freshly-tapped oil well; after only thirty seconds have gone by, my thoughts have been replaced with the reality of the situation.

In my head, I can think about how I’d loved to be fucked – if I were going to be into this again (and I’m not) – and I can think about the guy topping me being just the right size to be inside me and have great staying power so that I can enjoy the curiously good sensations of being fucked until he loads my ass up with cream.  The reality is that if the guy can even get it in me, he may not last very long at all; hell, for that matter, if I’m doing him, I might not last very long!

Sometimes, I think that people think that bi guys spend their free time – when they’re not screwing women – by having sex with men… and that’s not really true.  Some bi guys are lucky in that they can have access to a ready supply of pussy and dick… while most of us don’t; some of us could go for years in between having some dick and simply because everything just doesn’t line up right for us so, yeah, when opportunity knocks, a lot of us will answer before the sound of the first knock starts to dissipate.

Does it make us look needy?  Shit, yeah it does and it does because a lot of us are quite needy in this.  Don’t get me wrong, pussy is some damned good stuff to have some fun with even if in the back of your mind you’re craving a nice hard one as well.  We do appear to be indiscriminate when it comes to sex with men and I think that’s because a lot of us don’t care about the same criteria that women do in that situation; as you’ve seen me write many times, all we really need is for the other guy to say yes – and whatever happens after that, well, it is what it’s gonna be.

The sex might be good or bad and, for some of us, this isn’t the point; the point is that we got a rare chance to throw down with another dude and unless something went horribly wrong, just having that chance is a very big good thing.  After the fact, we can sit around and think about how and what was good about it, what was bad, what can be improved upon the next time – if there is a next time – and other things that now dwell in the land of the subliminal.

When it comes to this – and I think very much unlike women – we (bi guys) will settle for what’s available to us; negotiations can be kinda intense and involved but that depends on what each guy is into and you can pretty much always count on the other guy being willing to settle for spending some nice time in a 69 sucking each other off.  It’s not just about putting out the fires of being horny for some dick; it’s also – and simply so – about being able to do it – period.

Preferences?  They’re a good thing to have even if they’re just a baseline indication of what you’re willing to do, the kind of guy you want to do it with, shit like that.  But a lot of times, when opportunity knocks, our preferences don’t mean a whole lot; even when you get to the point where you’ve decided to throw down with him, it’s not like you don’t have your preferences in mind… they just don’t matter when there’s a hard cock in front of you – you can lament about not sticking to your tightly-crafted preferences after it’s all over with.

A lot of bi guys, like it or not, have to be opportunistic unless they’re fortunate enough to have a boyfriend or a regular fuck buddy.  We wind up sleeping with a lot of gay men because they’re easier to find than another bi guy would be… but it’s one of those opportunities that could come knocking, ain’t it?  The chances that we’re gonna find a guy we can really get into on some site are fairly slim; you’re more likely to find some dude willing to sleep with you on a whim than you would that one guy who might be on the site who shares a lot of other things with you other than a love of pussy and dick.

Having to be opportunistic probably doesn’t speak very well of bi men in general and more so when word gets out that some bi guys often get jacked up in various ways because they have to rely on opportunity more than that sure thing.  I think of my moments of answering when opportunity knocked and, yeah, sometimes, I wish I hadn’t answered and I’ve even found myself saying that while the situation wasn’t the best it could have been, at least I got the dick I wanted and that it counts for something.

So when opportunity’s knocking at your door, do you answer… or do you ignore it?  We may very well think that we’re going to ignore it… might even have some solid reasons to ignore it… and we may not ignore it because that chance to, say, suck dick and get sucked doesn’t come very often – and, yeah, the pun’s intended this time.

 

I Was Thinking…

Sounds dangerous, huh?  But I was thinking about something specific, something that, again, just popped into my head unbidden and I even had to ask myself why the thought appeared.

I was thinking of my ‘finest’ moments as a bi guy.  The topic popped into my head… then I started shifting through all my bi moments, looking for things that could or would make me pat myself on the back and give myself an attaboy.  There have been so many things, so many moments where I’ve been with men and have had some kind of sex with them… and the one thing that kept being highlighted was the first time I managed to deep-throat a cock without gagging (or throwing up on the guy).

I remember the moment, one of those chance meetings with a like-minded guy; we chose neutral territory – a motel – and started to get into it.  When he got undressed, he was hard and ready and, for some reason, I just knew I could suck him down to his pubic bone even though I also knew that it probably wasn’t going to be as easy as it looked.  I mean, the guys who had gone deep on me made it look easy – how hard could it be?

After showering together, we got onto the bed and got into the sideways 69 position and went to work on each other, first with light kisses on each other’s tools, then our tongues got into the action.  I sucked his knob into my mouth and ran my tongue along those wonderful ridges, delighting in the spongy feeling of his knob and smiling inwardly to taste the pre-cum that was already flowing from him.  On the other end, he was kinda duplicating my actions but I could tell he was a little nervous – I could feel his lips trembling on me but, hey, that was okay.

I don’t know how long I sucked on the head of his cock before something in my head said, “Do it now!”  I took a deep breath and just swooped down on his cock without really giving my gag reflex time to relax, concentrating on breathing only through my nose so that I could keep all of him in my mouth and throat; I had one hand cupping his sac and pressed upward on it gently as if I could get more of him into my mouth… if he had more, that is.

I had all seven inches of his dick; I could feel his knob pressing against the back of my throat; breathing was a real bitch and I could feel that sense of panic starting to rise in me as my body started to demand more air than I was giving it… but I was determined to hold him there for as long as I could; I was in control of myself and felt that I could hold him like that for as long as I wanted to.

And I would have, too, if he hadn’t shot his load.  I felt him swell and before I could back off, he was pretty much unloading his spunk directly down my throat without me having to actually swallow it.  Oh, I was deliriously happy with myself despite the part of my brain that’s always paying attention to shit telling me that it would have been embarrassing if I had drowned on his spunk.

When I did let him go and propped myself up on an elbow to look at him, he was looking at me as if I had grown a third eye or something even as he was trying to regain his composure; my own cock lay against my thigh, totally forgotten in his moment of ecstasy – and I was okay with that because I had deep-throated a man’s cock – finally!

“Jesus, where did you learn how to do that?” he asked when he could finally speak.

I just shrugged… because I learned it when I did it or perhaps I learned it through the power of positive thinking.  I did ask him if he was okay and he allowed that he would be in a moment and when he was, he went on to suck me off and I’d have to say that he did a decent job of it.  We kicked back to smoke and regroup and he was still looking at me strangely.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“I feel bad,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t do to you what you did to me,” he said.

I was a little puzzled for a moment because I never saw myself as one of those guy who insisted on being taken deep and regardless if the person could do it or not.  After some more thought, I understood that he was upset because he probably didn’t know the trick of doing it… and I told him that he shouldn’t feel bad about that because it’s not an easy thing to do and that this was my first real attempt at it – and thanks to him, I actually pulled it off and in amazing style, too!

When round two started, I was all about getting more practice taking it deep and I pretty much drove him nuts by doing it quickly, then taking it really slow and just really fucking with his dick and setting in my mind that if I could do this to him, I could probably do it to a lot of guys.  I guess he was determined to figure it out – he tried to take me deep and almost threw up on me.

We ended our time together by fucking each other but, to me, busting a nut in his ass didn’t even come close to comparing with the thrill of deep-throating another guy for the first time.  The poor guy was so frazzled that he barely got the head into me before he creamed me; that made him even more upset than he was but for me, that was fine – I didn’t mind one bit because it still felt good to me.

The whole event flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds but hung around so I could share this with you.  I’ve done a lot of things with men but I still feel that this was my finest moment as a bi guy…

 

The First “Real” MFM

Now I’m all hot and sweaty from exercising and that’s after a refreshing shower.  Again, my thoughts are all over the place and latched onto what I’d have to call my first “real” MFM threesome.  It’s not that I discounted anything done when I was younger – with the crowd I hung out with, finding yourself with another guy and a girl and some sex happening didn’t happen all the time – but it happened.  I have tried to figure out why my mind put up a partition to separate my, ah, younger activities from my older ones and more so when I know the only difference was age and experience, stuff like that.

Anyway, I’m hanging out with an acquaintance and his wife and they were some really cool people as far as I was concerned.  We’re sitting around their place, talking about this or that when they dropped a bomb onto me:  “How would you like to have sex with us?”

They were both a good-looking couple and, yeah, I thought his wife was plenty hot.  Their question stunned me; my shocked brain was trying to figure this one out even as it reminded me that I had known them for a number of years and while I considered us close, it never dawned on me that they thought we were even closer than I could imagine.

While I fumbled around for an answer to their question, they just sat and waited on me to say something; I could tell by their demeanor that this was something serious, that they were into playing just as me and the [then] wife was… but this would be the first time she wasn’t a part of the deal.  I can’t honestly say what else I was thinking but I got over my shock and surprise long enough to say what had to be the lamest thing I’ve ever said:  “Well, okay, if you want to…”

Duh… of course they wanted to – why else would they have asked?

Without further ado, they led me to their bedroom, which now took on a different meaning than any other time I’d been in there – it was as if I’d never been there before.  We started getting undressed and I could not only sense their excitement but my own growing excitement – I had stopped thinking and just let my feelings take charge.  They got onto the bed and invited me to lie between them, which I did; she leaned across me to kiss her hubby, her ample breasts swinging across as well – the breast closest to me actually hit me in the face and I automatically reached to cup them, feeling that her nipples were quite hard.

She then kissed me, tentatively at first and then with meaning; her lips were sweet and soft but her tongue was quite aggressive as her husband reached over me to fondle her breasts right along with me.  Then it got interesting; she reached down to fondle my boner… and he did, too!  What?  I didn’t know that he…

The thought drifted off somewhere as he put his head on my chest and started playing with my left nipple; his wife took the right one and I thought, “Oh, my god… I’m being seduced!”  She was pumping my cock slowly while he fondled my balls and even probed my back door lightly with a finger and, well, I was pretty much completely under their spell at this point.

“Slide down some more,” his wife whispered to me.  I slid down until she told me to stop – then she sat on my face, giving me that first look and taste of her pussy.  I moaned and she did as she slowly fucked herself against my mouth and tongue; when it came to eating pussy, I was always in heaven and I was doing my level best to show her my appreciation, quickly losing myself in her wet heat.

I didn’t stay lost, though; while I was eating her out, her husband was on the move as well and the yelp that came out of my mouth was muffled by her muff when I realized he was now sucking my dick.  I looked up and could see that she had turned her head to watch her man blow me; it was quite a rush to hear her egging him on, telling him to suck me like his life depended on it and all the while humping and grinding against my face until she came.

Then they switched places; she went down on me as if she was starving while her hubby offered me his cock to suck; I really had to concentrate on not getting distracted – I was getting the living daylights sucked out of me on one end and having my mouth swabbed out by a nice-sized cock on the other.  I could feel the pressure building inside me; if this kept up much longer, I was going to lose it.

Maybe they both could sense that or maybe by some unspoken consent, they felt it was time to move on to the next thing.  She stopped sucking me and straddled me, sinking down on my dick like she owned it; I was able to give his cock a few more licks and suck before he took it away and moved behind his wife.

“Both of you… hold still a moment,” I heard him say; the next thing I knew, I could feel his cock alongside mine as he stuffed his cock into her cunt – and with me deeply in her already!  That sensation alone almost made me cum and (at that time) this was some unheard of shit!  We moved slowly, both of us impaling her cunt and it was both quite awkward and very stimulating and enough for me to utter stupidly, “I can feel him against me!”

The both laughed and, really, I couldn’t blame them – it really was a dumb thing to say.  Her husband pulled out and I knew that he was fucking her in the ass because now I could feel his cock on the other side of that thin membrane.  I felt as if I had shamed myself because I just lost it; I was gasping like a fish out of water, she was telling me to give it all to her and then I could feel her husband releasing his load into her backside.

I was, for lack of a better word, trashed.  They took up positions on either side of me again and they both put their heads on my chest as best they could as the three of us cuddled together and basked in the afterglow to end all afterglows.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven, that things couldn’t get any better than what I’d just experienced.

And I was wrong.  It didn’t take them long to get started on me again, both of them taking turns sucking me into hardness again while I alternated between sucking him and eating her.  When all the oral pleasure stopped this time, I was just flat-out dumbfounded as his wife turned to sit on my face so she could face him… while he took a seat on my cock.  They had me right where they wanted me, using me for their pleasure while heaping untold pleasures onto me.  My world only consisted of her pussy on my mouth and my cock in his ass; I could dimly hear her talking to him, cursing at him, and other things my overwhelmed mind couldn’t grasp.  As an aside, while I don’t have like a really huge donkey dick or anything like that, I’m not exactly small either – I was impressed that he sat down on my dick and didn’t use any lube.

Later, I’d find myself wondering if his ass felt better than his wife’s cunt – the jury decided to stay out on this one.  Anyway…

My face was lathered with her juices and I could feel the places where her movements on my face were beginning to chafe me; south of my navel, her hubby rode me and I could tell by just motion alone that she was jerking him off.  That whole ‘second wind’ thing went right out the window for me – I was scary close to sensory overload as my release built up and it had that weird feeling of being painful while feeling good at the same time.

I don’t know if they heard me curse when I gave in to my release – it’s hard to talk with a mouthful of pussy.  I think I heard him saying something about he could feel me cumming – hard to hear things with a woman’s thighs clasped around your head.  What I did know was that I close to hyperventilation and passing out as I struggled to breathe while my orgasm was kicking the shit out of me; I remember literally shoving her off of my face so I could get some air and, yes, I did apologize for that later.

It took a while before I could finally get my arms and legs to move enough so I could join them in the bathroom to clean up.  After we got dressed, I graciously declined their offer to go out to dinner; I mean, this was during that time when there was no one home but me so it wasn’t like I had to rush home or anything like that – but I did need the time alone so I could assimilate what had just happened to me.

They were happy; they had told me that for the longest time, they wanted to fuck me but wasn’t sure how to approach me about it or how I’d react.  He knew that I was bisexual – that came out one day when we were talking about gay guys – and because he accepted that without giving me any shit about it, I totally and completely missed the fact that he never mentioned that he was bisexual, too – but that explains why he knew he could suck my dick and not get punched in the face.

Again, another one of those hallmark moments, an event that made all prior events pale in comparison…

 

Even More Summer Heat

Myself and the usual suspects had been playing basketball in the hot sun for most of the day, winning more than we lost – but that really wasn’t the point.  A few of the fellas came across the street to my house, to cool off and chug a lot of ice cold beer – a foresight we had taken care of before going off to play.

There’s something to be said sitting around a bunch of guys with their shirts off and wearing shorts; the testosterone was flowing thickly as we sat in my living room and rehashing the best – and worst – plays made on the court; I got huge props when they stole the ball from us and the guy went whizzing past me for what he thought was an uncontested layup… only to have me make it back in time to reject his shot in superstar fashion.

We all laughed at the look on the guy’s face when he said to me, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

The first twelve pack went quickly and even I had a couple even though I’m not fond of beer – well, not like I was when I was in the Air Force.  We were well into the second twelve pack when one guy started rubbing his crotch and said, to no one in particular, “Damn, I wish I could get my dick sucked!”  A lot of us rolled our eyes and started giving him the business ’cause it seemed like that out of all of us present, he was the only one always wishing for a blow job and, it seemed, not ever being able to get one.

Someone mentioned that a local gay guy might be available – he usually hung around the courts so he could oggle all the man flesh racing up and down the court – and some of us laughed… but this guy didn’t.  He said, opening another beer, “Yeah, well, if he was here, I’d let him suck my dick.”

It was surprising, given how he’d rant and rave about gay dudes and their sexual behaviors.  I didn’t think much of it – he wasn’t my type of guy for that – so I went upstairs to pay my water bill after inhaling a couple of beers.  I guess I was only in there for a couple of minutes; I washed my hands, checked my face for any sign of a black eye from where I got nailed by an elbow, and the moment I came out, I knew something was ‘wrong’ – I could feel it as well as the obvious fact that I didn’t hear anyone talking.  For a moment, I thought they had decided to suddenly leave… but as I descended the steps, the sounds coming out of my living room told me that no one had left.

I tried to not be shocked at the sight of the guys I had been playing ball with giving each other blow jobs; in fact, I was strangely pissed that I was the odd man out!  I didn’t ask the obvious stupid question – I didn’t get a chance to; the one guy who was wishing for a blow job stopped sucking the dick he had in his mouth, smiled stupidly – and drunkenly, I might add – and asked, “I’ll bet you’re wondering what all this is about, huh?”

“I can see what it is,” I said dryly.

“Well, you know how it is, bro,” he said with a shrug before going back to what he was doing.

These were six guys I’d been playing ball with long enough that I thought I knew them fairly well… but I obviously didn’t know this about them!  One guy patted me on the ass to get my attention and I turned to look at him so he could ask me if I had any Vaseline in the house and if I did, could I go get it for him?

So I went and got it, then found a place to sit so I could watch what was going to happen next even as I was trying to figure out what started the orgy in the first place.  Two guys had already busted their nut; one recipient swallowed, the other had found a tissue to deal with what he had received; the jar of Vaseline, which had been kind of full when I brought it down, very quickly needed replacing as three asses – then three very hard cocks – got greased up.

One guy said, “Just go easy, man – I can handle your shit if you take it easy.”

I almost giggled.

Seconds later, the room was filled with some light curses and that unmistakable squishy sound when Vaseline is used as a lube for sex; back and ass muscles flexed powerfully as the fucking began, slowly at first, but with a purpose not even two minutes in.  All I could do was sit there with my cock hard and watched, still pissed at being left out and even more pissed that I hadn’t been invited – and in my own house, at that!

One guy stopped long enough and, as if he read my mind, said, “We would have invited you but, uh, you went to the bathroom and we didn’t think you’d be down for this…”

I couldn’t even find my voice long enough to tell him that, hell, yeah, I was down for it!  Three nuts got busted into three asses – and now it was time for the fucked to become the fuckers – that took care of the rest of the Vaseline.  One guy was on his knees, ready to be taken doggy-style, and facing in my direction; he looked as if he had something to say so I said, “What?”

“Um, well, uh, if it’s okay with you, I want to, uh, um, suck your shit off while I get fucked – that’s if you don’t have a problem with it,” he said as the guy behind him kept busy with his dollop of Vaseline.  “It won’t mean you’re gay or anything if that bothers you.”

I stood up long enough to shuck my shorts and underwear, looking at him and saying, “Chances are I’ve been doing this longer than any of you have…” I sat down and let him get set between my legs; I glanced at the guy behind him and when I blink, he drove his cock home.  The guy being fucked before me gasped for a moment, looked up at me and said, “That shit feels good…” then proceeded to suck me off while pretty much getting hammered from behind.

By the time it was all said and done, the sun had long since gone down; before my sense of smell shut down, the whole place was rank with the smell of hot male bodies, making me glad that the old lady and kids weren’t coming home for a couple more months.  There were beer cans all over the place – and some of the ones that still had beer in them had gotten knocked over in the chaos.  Someone got dressed long enough to make a run to the liquor store for more beer and something stronger – but only after a promise was made that nothing was gonna happen until he got back.  That gave me a chance to ask just what the hell had brought all of this on.

The best answer I got was, “Well, you know, bro, sometimes shit just happens…” and, “You know how it is when you’ve had too much to drink, right?”

I’d been at parties where some major sex wound up jumping off… but this was a first for me; this came out the clear blue.  And, despite me letting them know that I was down for all of it, they were all treating me as if this was my first time!  All but one guy gave me head – that one passed out not too long after the fresh batch of drinks arrived and were opened.  None of them would let me fuck or be fucked even though I really did do my best to convince them that it wasn’t going to be my first time doing either thing; I was a little offended… but I realized there was no point in it; they thought they were doing me a favor or being nice to me about it so I let them suck me and watched them fucking and sucking each other.

By 2AM, all six of them were passed out in various places in my living room and still naked.  I moved around them carefully, collecting empties and emptying ashtrays as quietly as I could before heading upstairs to the solitude of my bedroom and just marveling at what had taken place while trying to get my head around just why it happened.

By the time I got up later that morning, I found my living room totally cleaned – someone even washed the dishes!  They left me a note telling me to meet them on the court at 9AM and when I got there, it was as if the day before never happened.  Not that I was gonna bring it up, mind you, but I was quite surprised than none of the other six did.

Maybe this was just one of those times when the summer heat and lots of ice-cold beer combined to just make shit happen…

 

So Now…

After writing about my ‘sordid’ past, I move forward to the time in my life that saw me making ‘bad’ decisions when it came to getting busy with guys.  Again, this helps my ongoing post-stroke recovery and gives other bi and bi-curious guys an idea about how things can progress.

After I got raped – and even though I did revenge myself by beating the shit out of him – I finally realized that I had to be more careful about what dudes I got into bed with.  Not that all of those experiences/decisions were bad, mind you, but what I was realizing and coming to terms with that having sex with guys wasn’t as easy as it had been earlier and I had to understand what was different.

One major difference was that any willing guys were just flat-out hiding; the angst against anyone who appeared to be gay was pretty bad, with reports in other states of suspected gays getting beaten and/or killed so that keeping a low profile about liking dick was a pretty smart thing to do.  It taught me an appreciation that I didn’t have when younger:   Make sure you really enjoy what dick you get because it might be a long time before more comes along.

I found that if I were to go on the prowl for cock, I’d come up (no pun) empty; it’s like all the guys who liked sex with men knew I was looking for dick and just vanished… so I stopped looking.  It seems that the moment I stopped looking, I was now running into those “right place, right time” situations; a lot of “shit happens” situations were taking place with and without alcohol; I was being propositioned from unexpected directions, in unusual places, and by people I would have never guessed had a love for cock in the proverbial million years.

I learned what a lot of women know:  Men can be some real bastards when they want sex and that’s putting it mildly.  I learned why women are often offended and even disappointed with the quality of sex being provided, that thing where he gets his rocks off and leaves you hanging in the breeze.  I learned what it felt like to be seen and used as just a piece of ass – and literally, too.  Unlike some guys, I know all too well why women don’t suck dick or refuse to suck a guy off and if she has issues with anal sex, yep, I know about that one, too.

I also learned why sucking dick is just so much fun and that there can be something weirdly comforting about having a cock in your ass (or having your dick in someone else’s ass).  I learned in these times that sex with a woman and sex with a man is different… and not really so much.  I learned that one’s body really has few objections to who’s giving it pleasure – but your mind might want to pitch a bitch about who’s sucking your dick.  Indeed, in my post-cock whore days, I made it my purpose to really understand this thing about me, absorbing every bit of information I could get my hands on – and literally, too.

I found myself at times wishing I had never found out what this kind of sex was like.  I found myself asking a lot of questions, questions that took me years to answer – and then having to deal with the answers.  Pussy was plentiful and I think I did better than most of my peers when it came to this but, having dived into the deep end of the pool and found that the water was, for the most part, fine, being able to complete the other side of my desires was proving to be interesting and, sometimes, troubling.

You wonder why bi guys have the bad rep of being so promiscuous and willing to throw down with anyone with a cock… and you find out that it’s because there are few opportunities to get said cock and that you find yourself willing to throw down with almost anyone who wants to… and, no, not all of those moments are what I’d call sterling.  There were too many times when I’d be with a guy and found myself wondering why I said yes to him; there were times when some guy would be in my ass and, for some reason, it didn’t make me feel as good as the last time, whenever that was.  There were even times when I’d be working on a guy’s dick and doing everything I could not to bite that fucker right off of him.

It was often disappointing and unfulfilling… but the mind at the time insisted that it was better than nothing at all because that beast that now resided in me had to be fed and to not feed it seemed to cause me more problems than getting it fed did.  See, you think that because there are guys who like to have sex with other guys it’s a bad thing… but the real bad thing, if you care to see it as such, is knowing that you feel the way you do, that you want this most enticing sex, and that there are times when there ain’t shit you can do about it.

Today, I envy those guys who are bi and can say that it’s not a big deal to them to get any dick and that they’re just happy getting pussy.  I tried to tell myself that once, that pussy was more important… and I knew I was lying to myself.  Oh, yeah, pussy’s important… but so’s getting dick to satisfy that other side of me, that other side that I won’t hide from myself or anyone else.

I’m bisexual.  I’ve pretty much been this way almost all of my life.  And I wouldn’t want to be any other way.  But I’m not content to just accept that I yam what I yam (as Popeye used to say); I have to understand it; I pay attention to what other guys go through, compare their experiences against my own and then integrate all of this into the part of me that’ll eat a woman’s pussy until she cries and so I can better understand what she might be feeling when I’m dick-deep inside of her.

I dunno… If there’s a message to male bisexuals, curious guys, and maybe even the ladies, it is that in order to understand your sexuality (or your longings to be this way), you have to understand yourself; you have to look past that which others would find distasteful or deem to be deviant.  At some point, you understand that in any of it, it’s just sex; it’s just another of a lot of ways to please and be pleased which, other than that procreating thing, is the reason why we have sex to begin with.

To be bisexual means you’re not following the crowd when it comes down to doing the nasty; you are, in a way, unique in this because you learn that you define your sexuality and it doesn’t define you, doesn’t stick you in that stereotypical box that frightens a lot of other people.  You do learn that just because you can do it doesn’t mean you always have to… but you also learn that if you can, why the fuck not?

All that shit I did back in the day?  All it really did was teach me how to own both my sexuality and my satisfaction.  In my old age now, I don’t concern myself with what others think about my sexuality or any of the things I’ve done to date – this, too, is something that I’ve learned from all of this.  I’ve even seen where I’ve been a bit arrogant when dealing with straight dudes who have an issue with my sexuality, telling them – and with a bit of a wicked smile – that they’re just pissed off because not only can I do what they can do with women, I can do something else they don’t have the balls to do.  Yeah, it ain’t beyond me to fuck with people like that and more so when they’re trying to make me look like the bad guy, like I’m doing something wrong.  I know my sexuality bothers some people… and I won’t ever apologize for that any more than I’d apologize for all that insane shit I did as a kid.  The past cannot be changed and, in the here and now, it is what it is.

I’ve always had a bit of a mantra, to see where I came from, so that I know where I am, so I can know where I’m going… and this is true where the other side of my sexuality is concerned and, as I’ve written from time to time, I ain’t too thrilled about what some dudes do in this today.  I could choose to be like them… but then I wouldn’t be who I am, would I?  Some might even say that I make too much of a deal about this, that I’m too old school and maybe too much of a romantic about it… but since this is about me and no one else, of course it’s a big deal because it’s sex… and sex that I learned to love and embrace and revel in… because there’s no point in getting into it unless you’re really gonna get into it and find your own path in this.  I’m not being trendy – I’m just being the way I’ve always been.

I’ve been writing about my path, my thoughts, and my feelings then and now and at this moment.  It’s not my intention to weird anyone out… but I’m not going to hide this about myself either.

I’ve had fun writing about this… but it’s almost time for dinner…

 

Continuing…

Lovergirl mentioned something to me offline that was quite valid in reference to “More Summer Heat,” that being her reluctance to comment on how hot that particular memory of mine was because she didn’t want anyone to think that she was encouraging adults having sex with kids.

A good point; there are probably a lot of readers who are feeling some kind of way about that and I actually don’t blame them if they do.  I then wrote “A Fact of Life” because I felt it necessary to explain a few things that I learned – the adult looking back at what the kid was doing and, clearly, not only was the kid not all that concerned about it – other than getting busted – but the adult is made to accept some hard facts, like if something like that happened here in 2013, there’d probably be hell to pay.  But that was back in the 1960s; even the adult doesn’t know what laws were in effect back then but what I do know for a fact that I didn’t know or care about them back then and more so when I grew up in a time where you could get your ass beaten with an extension cord and no one would pitch a bitch about it.

I shared the memory for several reasons, the most important one being my ability to remember things after I had my stroke; doing all this writing is therapy and it’s been working out pretty good for me.  I shared the memory, not to shine any lights on grown-up wrongdoings – it was just something that I experienced and relative to my bisexual awakening and, yeah, y’all should know me well enough by now to know that I’m not going to gloss it over.  And, as I told Lovergirl, where you might read that and see victims, I’m telling you – and because I was there (duh) – that there were no victims, an illustration of how such things can happen because of a willingness for it to happen.

One of the things I have to do when I drag these memories out of my head is to not look at them as an adult – I must remember the precocious and very curious version of myself who discovered something he wasn’t supposed to so when I share these memories, I’d ask that you look at them in this same way – it keeps you from having headaches.  When I look at these things, I look at them to understand how I got to be the way I am now; I learned not to shy away from the evidence of how I got to love being bisexual.

And you shouldn’t either.  See the sex; see those moments of youthful insanity where the thrill of (a) having sex and (b) finding out how much fun getting dick was.  Sure, you can’t help from taking the adult view and saying, “Wow, that’s some fucked up shit!”  But that’s not what the memories are about and, trust me, I haven’t even mentioned any of the shit I saw that was totally and completely fucked up.

It illustrates things that we, as a society, are too eager to turn a blind eye to; my adult version understands this, just like he understands that my early experiences were not unique, i.e., I’m not the only kid who ever got dropped into the deep end of the pool – I just happened to be one who didn’t mind one bit and I’m one of the ones who didn’t get all fucked up in the head about it – I know too many of my peers back then who didn’t fare as well as a lot of us did.

Sordid and distasteful?  Yeah, the adult in me sees that… the kid knew it, too… but what I experienced back then doesn’t as much say things about me as it says a lot about how and why people behave the way they do when it comes to sex and, yes, for me to be okay with those experiences, I was made to look at it without the rose-colored glasses.  As I said, I could go on a rampage about those times when, let’s say, something that’s very illegal today happened; I could cry foul, talk about how damaged I became at having my so-called innocence snatched away in a moment of drunken indiscretion.

I could call myself a victim… but I know I wasn’t… and I’m telling all of you that I wasn’t.  The adult version of myself looks back and says, “Yeah, well, that first time was kinda fucked up.”  However, I remember what the kid was thinking and feeling and that’s what I pay more attention to when I bring these things up and analyze what I was thinking and why I was thinking it.  For me, it wasn’t about being victimized:  It’s about understanding why I am the way I am.

I tell you, my readers, first, because I can – I have no shame about those things at all even though the adult says, “Yeah, okay, maybe I shouldn’t have done any of that…” – which doesn’t ever changed the fact that I did.  Like I also told Lovergirl, people have it in their heads that kids can’t make such decisions, that we’re too immature, uneducated, and otherwise incapable of rational thinking.  My memories tell me – and say to you – that, no, that’s not always the truth – but that’s the truth we want to accept.  We hold true to the fact that adults should never take advantage of the immature or clueless folks… doesn’t mean they they didn’t back then and in my memories, any adult in the picture didn’t take advantage – they got taken advantage of and not just by me.  Sure, it shows a weakness in the adult mind at that period of time… but that’s not what this is all about.

It’s about what’s in my head and the things I learned about sex and, no, I learned what I learned in a manner that our society forbids; society thinks – and morality dictates – that no one should ever have to learn what I learned and in the way that I did.  The adult says, “Right…;” the kid said, “Bring that shit on!  I can’t get enough of it!”  And, yeah, I admit that I couldn’t; it’s the thing that makes me say that people who can’t get their heads around this just do not understand the delicious thrill of doing the one thing you were told never to do… but, if you have done some shit that you knew that you weren’t supposed to do, maybe you do understand even if your adult version ain’t too fond of what the implications mean today.

Lovergirl used the word ‘pedophile’ when we talked.  Frankly, I don’t remember any being in our neighborhood and anyone we deemed to be creepy was, in fact, avoided like the plague – you should have heard some of the horror stories we were told about creepy men like hobos and the few homeless guys wandering around.  So, no, my memories ain’t about being preyed upon; in fact, that didn’t happen to me until I was unfortunately raped many years later – and that was yet another lesson learned because I was ‘dumber’ then than I was during my cock whore phase.

Go figure.

People want to believe that youngsters don’t have sex… and, oh, man, are they so very wrong.  True, they shouldn’t have sex until they’re legally capable of making that important decision but, yeah, it really does happen way before that age comes around; my memories support this and the adult version of myself understands that even though it’s not supposed to happen; the kid version of me says, “Yeah, right…”

I am bisexual.  I know how I became that way just as I know all that I did along the way.  I write this to not only remind myself but to share my sexuality with those who care to read about it.  Don’t any of you who care to read this get into your head that I was a victim; I know what laws say but, in this, if I didn’t see myself as a victim, you shouldn’t either.  If my idea of an adult back then was involved, do I see myself as being abused?  Nope, not at all; again, I didn’t get abused until I got raped.  All that shit I did back then didn’t ruin me in any way; it didn’t make me shy away from sex or see it as the evil the grown-ups back then said it was.  Sure, there are times when the adult I am today looks back at all that shit and asks, “Boy, what the fuck were you thinking about?  Huh?”

Here’s what I admit to myself and to you who read about my memories:  I was thinking about sex.  I was thinking about eating pussy, sucking dick, fucking and being fucked – nothing more, nothing less.  I was thinking about doing the shit that I was told not to do… and probably because I was told not to do it.  I was doing all that shit because when I asked why I shouldn’t do this or that, the main answer I got was, “Because I said so.”  I grew up in a time where there was no such animal as sex education; whatever you learned, you learned in the streets because, back then, parents weren’t even trying to tell their kids the real deal about it other than to tell them not to do something, using scare tactics to keep them from discovering sex, and other good and moral mind-fucking techniques.

And I learned some shit, folks, and the adult version of me understands that what I learned was important; see, the kid didn’t know how important those lessons would be later on in life – all he knew is that he learned to eat pussy, suck dick, and fuck both boys and girls and that despite how the adult version looks at things, that shit was a lot of fun.  I didn’t wait until I was, say, 16 to learn the facts of life – I got a head start.

When I write these memories, in a way, it’s the kid I used to be telling the story while the adult does the typing (and sometimes shakes his head).  Even today, there are times when I just can’t believe that I behaved the way I did because, of course, the adult version wouldn’t behave like that because he eventually learned not to.  Except for a few holes that are still unreachable in my mind, a lot of my memories are intact and/or coming back to the surface – overall, this is a very good thing for me.

And, finally – and I know y’all were wondering when I was going to stop writing – what I know is that there are a lot of people who just will not talk about how they became bisexual and if there are curious guys out there, well, what are they gonna find out about this if no one is willing to share their experiences?  I actually envy today’s bi and bi-curious guys – there’s a wealth of information they can access to help them understand why they feel the way they do.  Me?  I learned the ‘hard’ way – I learned by doing.

And I don’t have a problem telling you what I did as I dove deeper into the pool of bisexuality and even in the murkier parts of the pool.  It happened.  I survived it.  I fucking loved it.  Hell, if anything, I’m kinda pissed that I grew up because as an older bisexual now, I’m having less fun today than I was way back then!

I hope you understand and are not offended…

 

A Fact of Life?

So I just told y’all about something I remembered from my younger days and as I was writing it, man, there was a small war going on inside of me.  I look back at those early days of my life and all the shit I either did or witnessed, shit that in the here and now, would land people in jail for life.

The adult me says that, today, such behavior cannot be condoned; it’s inexcusable and violates so much of our morality it ain’t even close to being funny.  The remembering had me thinking – and not for the first time – whether such behaviors are just one of the facts of life, a dark look into how some humans can behave even when they know good and damned well that they shouldn’t be doing such things.

I know a lot of guys never have such an experience; some guys have one, maybe two, in their youth; I know that a lot of guys never discover this other side of them until later in life.  I know that even back then, I used to wonder just why these things happened; was it some kind of aberration?  Or was it ‘simply’ because these kinds of things have always happened, some branch off of the road of life that some folks wind up taking while others have avoided?

There are times when I don’t feel good about the shit I did back then – but that’s the adult in me frowning on it, not the kid who got introduced to sex way before most people do and just got all caught up in it.  It’s a hard reminder that the past cannot be changed, that it’s easy for me, as an adult, to look at it in retrospect and say, “Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that…” or “I know I should have left before I saw what I saw…”

Sometimes, it’s troubling – but, again, that’s the adult looking at those things; it often shames me to admit that I was a cock whore for quite a few years, doing shit that even then I knew I shouldn’t be doing.  And, of course, it makes me wonder just how different I’d be today had I not just jumped into the deep end of the pool.

I remember telling someone how I got initiated and, for a moment or two, I was perplexed by the guy’s incessant apologies and his sympathy.  He’s going on and on about feeling sorry for the way I got indoctrinated into man-sex and it took me a few moment longer to realize why he was acting as if I had been a victim – because he thought I was.  Sure, in the here and now, I could be seen as having been a victim of some very illegal acts.  His sympathies served to remind me that even though it was probably just as illegal then as it is now, if I didn’t see myself as a victim then, as far as I’m concerned, I wasn’t a victim – people seem to think that when you’re young, you can’t make grown-up decisions about things… and they’re quite wrong because I knew what I was doing even though I did know I wasn’t supposed to be doing it.

I take things to a higher level of thought, taking a step back and looking at my cock whore days and what I see can be construed as a fact of life even in the face of our morality saying that this should never be.  And it shouldn’t be… which, always and forever, doesn’t change the fact that these things have always happened – we just turn a blind eye to them.  We shun them rather vigorously, cry out angrily that these things aren’t supposed to happen, that anyone with half a brain should know that they should abide by the rules and not do these things.

And yet, they happen.  It happened to me… it’s happened to so many others.  Do I regret any of it?  Yeah, sometimes I do – like I’ve said, when I think about it sometimes, it’s pretty embarrassing but then any regret that I may feel seems to dissolve because I do realize that if those things never happened, I wouldn’t be the person I am right now – and I love who I am.  Man, I used to make myself crazy trying to figure out what kind of person I’d be had I not dove into the deep end!  It’s all just speculation but factual enough for me to say that had I not been introduced, things would have been different – I just really can’t say how different they’d be.

It’s something that comes to mind when I hear or read about whether or not being bisexual (or even gay) is a choice or something hard-coded into us in our genes.  For me, it was a fact of life and one that, in one singular moment – I decided to go along with; it doesn’t matter why I did.  In that moment, the lie we’re all told was exposed:  Boys really do have sex with other boys and age doesn’t seem to make a difference; grown-ups can be just as irresponsible as kids can be when it comes to doing something they know they shouldn’t be doing.

Today we see such things as deviant and perverted behavior and all very much illegal as it gets.  Someone once asked me if I thought that the man who ‘broke me in’ was a pedophile… and I had to say that not only did I not know what a pedophile was back then, I couldn’t honestly say that he was anything other than a man who was drunk, got horny, and found an easy way to deal with it.  Doesn’t make it right then or now but that’s the way I saw it; legalities and even morality aside, the only thing that really matters is how I saw it at the time or how I see it now in the retrospective.

I settle my thoughts and say, with honesty and conviction, that I don’t hate the man who broke me in for what he did; in a very odd way, I can actually thank him for introducing me to a fact of life that I could have remained ignorant about or, at the least, might have found out later on.  The thing I’ve come to understand about this – and despite what morality has to say about it – is that, yeah, shit like this happens; it has always happened, it’s happening right now somewhere in the world… and it will continue to happen.  It’s not exactly a failure of our culture, our society, our morality – it’s just the way humans can behave; it’s how the lure of sex can drive any of us to the many extremes that are doable in this.

Another person once asked me that if I could go back to that initial moment and relive it, would I do the same thing or not.  The question made me laugh because it’s one of those “if I knew then what I know now” kind of questions.  The only answer I could give them was, “I don’t know – it’s too easy for me now to say that I would have hauled ass out of the house and prevented something at, in reality, has already taken place.  But, if it were possible to go back and change something, nah, I don’t think I’d change a thing…”

They didn’t understand my answer; they couldn’t understand that from my point of view, what I experienced was just one of many facts of life – right or wrong doesn’t really play into this when you strip away morality and just look at it for what it is.

One of many facts of life.  Some people never experience this; some of us are even naive enough to believe that our morality should protect us against such things… and because it doesn’t, well, that should be rather telling, huh?  The cold, hard truth is that it doesn’t offer much protection against the human drive to have sex and by any means necessary.  I even wondered about how things may or may not have turned out if today’s laws were in place back then:  They may have prevented some of what was going on… but not all of it… so it’s a different that makes no difference.

A powerful fact of life gave birth to the bisexual I am today.  One could argue against the notion that they way I became bi isn’t a fact of life because morality was violated… and I’d beg to differ with them because the facts of the matter are just because you think they shouldn’t happen doesn’t mean they won’t.

Some folks discover their bisexuality the easy way… some don’t:  It’s just a fact of life even if it’s seen as being a shady one.  To understand one’s bisexuality, you just have to get to the root of the matter and examine it, understand it and then, if you can, embrace and accept it.  Don’t get caught up in the retrospective – that’s a good way to make yourself nuts trying to think about what might have been if, say, your cousin or a friend (or anyone) turned you on to this way of sexual expression and way of thinking (or even being).  However it happened to you, it happened; you can’t change it… but you can, as I have, learn about yourself because it did happen.

Just some additional thoughts I had in my head… because my blog is about what’s in my head!

 

More Summer Heat

The heat and humidity are already oppressive this morning, so much that I kinda blanked out for a moment, giving my brain a chance to remind me of another such day back when I was quite the younger man.

One of the fellas and I went to a friend’s house to see what he was up to and to find out if he wanted to hang out with us, the plan being for us to scour the neighborhood looking for bottles so we could cash them in and get enough for us to go the pool at Kruse’s, over on the east side.  It only cost a quarter to get in but when you’re between allowance money, well, you do what you gotta do to get that quarter.

We got there and the friend’s older brother, known to us as Jock, told us he had gone to the store for him and that we could wait for him to return.  Jock was one scary dude, big and muscular and with a neighborhood rep of being a badass; we once saw him punch a guy in the face for accidentally bumping into him so sitting there with him while he talked to someone on the phone had us both pretty nervous.

Then Jock pulled out his dick and started stroking it until it was very long and hard; I wasn’t sure about the guy sitting next to me but my mouth started to water the moment he took it in his hand.  We looked at each other then back at Jock, who was busy talking and stroking himself and I know we were both thinking, “Wow, he’s got a really big one!”

While we had both earned some money having sex of some kind with other men in our ‘hood, Jock’s cock was, at least for me, the biggest one seen to that point.  It was much darker than the rest of his body, like a huge stick of ebony, so majestic that my own dick throbbed strongly as it was trapped inside my shorts.  Seeing it was making me nervous, had me quite excited; my friend was squirming uncomfortably as he sat next to me; a quick peek told me that he had his eyes riveted to Jock’s dick, appearing to be hypnotized in the same way cobras hypnotize their prey before striking.

“Come over here and suck my dick,” Jock suddenly said, still stroking himself as he looked at us.

“Who?” I asked nervously.

“Not you – him,” Jock said, pointing at my friend.

My friend started stuttering nervously, trying to say something like he didn’t do that… but I knew it was a lie and, apparently, Jock knew it, too.

“I know you like this shit, so get over here… NOW!” Jock growled menacingly.

I was frozen in place – this guy was just plain scary!  My friend, who I thought was equally scared, crossed the distance between us and Jock so fast he appeared to be a blur, falling to his knees and allowing Jock to stuff that big-assed dick into his mouth… and all I could do was watch and, yeah, even with a lot of envy because I realized that in the back of my mind, I had been trying to figure out just how I would suck that huge thing.

I even found myself wishing that he’d tell me to get over there as I watched Jock fucking my friend’s mouth and if any of you think he was being victimized or abused, well, you’d be wrong; if I thought that I was a huge cock whore back then, this kid made me look tame by comparison.  My friend was working on that dick as if his life depended on it, clearly enjoying himself and by the dreamy look Jock had on his face, he was enjoying it as well.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of the scene before me.  I do remember wondering where the friend we came looking for was and why he hadn’t come back from the store yet (I’ll tell you why in a moment) and more so since the store wasn’t even a block away – but it was just a passing thought.  I wanted to suck that dick, too, but I wasn’t even going to move from where I was sitting… but Jock had another idea.

“Take your dick out and jerk off,” he said to me, his voice containing a lot less menace than before.  “Let me see you do it…”

It seems as if I blinked – and then my dick was in my hand and I was going for the gusto.

“Hmm,” Jock said as he nodded.  “For a young dude, you got a nice-sized dick – I like that.”

His praise flowed over me like warm honey; any time an older dude gave you some props, that was a big deal.

I’m watching Jock getting his monstrous cock sucked and he’s watching me spank my monkey and, whoops, my release hit me hard, sending a jet of spunk arching into the air and had me whimpering under the powerfully good feeling.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Jock said, smiling at me.  “I need to do that, too…”

He stopped my friend from blowing him – I could tell my friend was very unhappy about that just from his body language and Jock saw it as well – he just laughed for a moment and told my friend to take his pants off; hell, my friend lost his shorts and underwear so fast you would have thought he never had them on to begin with!

Still recovering from my manual release, I watched with amazement as Jock applied a lot of spit to his dick and my friend’s ass – and gasped as the older guy shoved quite a bit of dick into my friend’s butt; my own butt puckered just to think about how much that had to hurt going in and I wasn’t feeling all that sorry for him at that moment.  My friend, however, just smiled as Jock began to fuck him slowly; he never even uttered a sound as he was being penetrated.

I’m sitting here remembering what happened that day (minus the excitement of that moment) and thinking a few conflicting thoughts.  The adult me realizes that, back then, it was what it was; it wasn’t all that unusual for what I had been watching to happen even if, in the here and now, it’s something I wouldn’t approve of… but to reverse a popular saying, this is now… that was then.  It happened and I accept that it did – just one of the facts of life learned.

My friend’s moaning happily now, encouraging Jock to stick more into him – and Jock was more than happy to oblige; my dick was hard again and I was about to put my hand to use again when Jock waved me over.  I’m not even sure how I managed to walk over to him but I did; he said for me to hold still and, yeah, you bet your ass I held still!  He was still in my friend’s ass but unmoving as he put his hands around my waist, picked me up as if I weighed nothing, and swallowed my cock and balls in one gulp.

I shot my young load immediately – to this day I remain impressed that he did it like that.  Jock set me back on my feet, smiled at me, and said, “Yeah, that tasted good – thanks!” and went back to cornholing my friend as if  nothing had happened.

I pulled my gear back up and just stood there and watched this huge cock going in and out my friend’s butt; Jock started to grunt and move faster – even I knew that he was about to shoot his stuff.  I swear to you that I actually saw Jock’s dick get bigger just before I saw it convulse; Jock was cursing, my friend was actually laughing as the older man creamed my friend’s butt.

Jock finally pulled himself out, a flood of spunk oozing out as well and it was as if the spell had been broken; I was aware of how hot and steamy the room was because I was now sweating as if I’d gone swimming with my clothes on and I was strangely happy that while I got to bust two nuts, I hadn’t been on the receiving end of that very grown up dick.

The moment everyone got settled back into their original positions, the friend we came looking for walked in the door with a bag in his hand… and I smelled a rat and especially when I saw the little sly grin on his face that told me that he had set us up and that he was the one who told his big brother about what we liked to do when we hung out.

You gotta know that we pretty much kicked his ass when we left the house because he broke a rule of being in our ‘club’ – he told a grown-up about what we liked to do and other than getting a little beaten up, well, you can probably guess what the rest of his punishment was.  Today I think about his punishment and how he – and everyone who participated in administering it – enjoyed it and, again, the adult that I am now can only shake his head in wonderment at some of the shit we used to do when summer’s heat was upon us.

There are times when I really do wonder what I would have been like had I not experienced the things I did during those hot, muggy, summer days.  I know that I can’t act like it never happened – well, I could but then I’d just be lying to myself so there’s no point in denying it.  That I can’t deny it feels… right, even though I realize that some folks would find all of this pretty sordid.  And, perhaps it was – but it’s easy to say that in retrospect and, of course, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened.

If the weather wasn’t the way it is right now, I probably would have never recalled this moment from my past and I continue to be amazed at how something as innocuous as a hot summer day can trigger memories that I thought were buried or lost…

Stand by for a follow-up blog on this…