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03 August 2020
First and the Last
Yeah, I know. It has been used. It was the account of the leader of Germany's Luftwaffe, Adolf Galland, about flying combat missions in the beginning of the war in Europe, and through at the end of the horror. He survived a long time after peace returned, and I met him at a book signing a couple decades ago. He was old, but there was still a twinkle in his eyes. An interesting twinkle that resonated to my lower midsection. I told him I liked his book. He smiled in thanks.
As I walked away, I thought what it would have been like to make love with him in younger days. Or right then. I had not thought of it before, but the thought of going down on the old man, an actual enemy, maybe in the store's rest room, had a definite erotic component.
So, I was looking at my own firsts and lasts the other day. It was a long and mostly fun journey. Times and hormonal levels have changed, but I can remember intimacy as one of the most powerful things in my life. I had my start on my maturation in a strange time. Christine Jorgenson had her surgery when I was still in elementary school, and his/her story electrified me.
We didn't know details then, of castration and enhancement and all the rest that came as we later learned about reassignment. But to me, then, the idea of losing my little penis and balls in some magical fashion and receiving the gift of a working set of feminine parts was something that excited me in a way I did not yet understand. I liked the girls in my class, and sometimes wished I could play with them rather than the rough boys. You have to play the hand you are dealt, I guess, and I lived a life split between trying to be one of the rambunctious boys while wishing I was one of the sweet and prettily dressed girls.
A couple years later- on the eve of middle school, I found a copy of the old porno novel "Fanny Hill." If I had found something different the impact might have oriented me more toward the traditional male role. Instead, I followed Fanny's adventures of maturation with great interest. The description of sex from her view was powerful, and the description of the delight of penetration made me think. I was just starting to masturbate then, and taking some queues from Fanny, I found a modest sized candle, and put it in the only place I could. It felt delightful as it penetrated, and made my little penis spurt remarkably when I pumped its length inside me and jerked off my little cock.
So, simply by chance, my idea of sex was wrapped around the idea of being penetrated and passive with the idea that I could actually be Fanny, and submit to a dashing young rake pulsing with hard manhood. It is strange to imagine it might have been some other way, but I thoroughly enjoyed my Delicious fantasy world that I knew could never be true.
Except it could.
I cannot locate an account I wrote of my last lover, a nice man named Richard. It was the name of shared by two of the men in my life. Looking through the anonymized files on my computer, I did find the story I wrote about the first one, though it wasn't, exactly. The actual first time I made love with a man, I was in my mid-twenties. My paramour included a commercial aspect, and he was dressed in women's clothes. Between the now ancient memories of youth, the reality of a sordid and demeaning encounter changed my life. I was humiliated by a man in a bra and panties. I was demeaned, treated as a throw-away and worthless plaything. It was in a hotel in a land far away, and in the bar, he was a striking woman in a tight shimmering short dress and with a slight sneer that recognized I was his prey. Later, after leaving the bar and taking a cab to a hotel, he commanded my obedience. After touching his erection with my lips below the shadow of his artificial but quite lifelike bosom, it was magical. I begged him/her to enter me, and as he did so, my legs wrapped around him. I felt his weight and rigid member force a new space inside me. Deep inside.
The feel of him slowly stroking in and out made me quiver in desire and discovery. The more and deeper he penetrated, the more the mild discomfort began to feel wonderful. There was a spot inside me I had never felt before, a spot that tingled when the tip of his cock touched it. I shivered in pleasure, begging him for more. He came inside me, something I would have thought about if I was really gay, and if he were really a girl.
I wanted to submit to him/her, give myself to the confusing and forceful dominance. When he had a good seal on me, and a slippery joining of our bodies into one, he began to fuck in earnest. I went to an altogether new place, writhing in pleasure as my bowels were churned on his pleasure stick.
It was magnificent and the best sex I had experienced to that point, and one that registered something quite new and yet something I had always desired. Submission to a man. Or a wo-man, as it happened, submitting willfully to his man parts while breathing in his feminine cologne. There was something that felt completely right about being pinioned by him, penetrated by him, totally dominated by his urgent, authentic need.
The next morning I wanted him again, to experience the amazing experience once more. My asshole was raw but the pleasure that it generated confirmed the desire that grew with the size of his dick, and the shudder I felt as he spewed his seed within me.
I did not decide to be gay then, though the thought of how complicated it would be was part of it. And how could it be gay if he was a woman? The confusion stayed with me, having been his bottom and sucking his proud member left glorious forbidden memory. That delightful soiling has stayed with me for over four decades. Still, things were complicated then, even criminal to conduct myself as a cock-loving sensualist. Instead of following desire, I married and tried to live the life I always assumed was right.
It didn't last.
The version I wrote about the next time I decided I wanted a man is accurate, and followed a decade in which I tried to do whatever the right thing was. I slowly found the memories of being penetrated and submitting to a man emerging from the crevasses of memory. I allowed myself to remember, and attempted to figure out how to advertise for a sexual partner who could take me to that amazing place in space and time. It was a new sensation, erotic but harmless. Or so I thought. I got closer and closer to the memories, actually going to meet some of the men who answered my innocent but honest ads. As months passed, I found myself daring to actually meet men for a couple sordid and unfulfilling encounters. I could quote the story I wrote about it, but that is a work complete. I found a man who was assertive and confident and had no problem putting his spectacular manhood deep in my mouth, dominating me to the core. It was so good and hit my submissive buttons so thoroughly that we stayed regula lovers for nearly five years.
I mentioned the amazing shape of his cock, and I wanted it buried deep inside me. Although we tried a few times, he was just too big to penetrate me. We settled on kissing and then him placing that amazing cock on my lips. I would take him deep until he shot his warm slightly acrid seed over my tongue and down my throat. In the end, we drifted apart due to his retirement and decision to move to the beach. I kissed his dick as I looked in his eyes before we parted.
That relationship- it was one- was part of the process that lead to an ugly divorce. I had finally failed at something in my life, and in a strange way it also set me free to cast my eyes about, though I still was unwilling to let it go and come out of the closet. I still had business to do and wanted to avoid a public spectacle. Ego, I suppose, and the paradoxical desire to maintain my dignity and still find a man to penetrate me and make me his own.
That was a time of exploration, like the workman who let me blow him in the cab of his truck. He let me clean him up with my tongue, then zipped up and told me to get out. He drove away without another word. I watched him go and tasted his seed left in my mouth. Erotic.
That was the weird part. Newly single, I started to go to the only gay bar on my side of the river, and I enjoyed the new sensation of flirting with men in the open. I did a fair amount of cruising around, low key, but eager to find someone I could offer myself to. I don't remember at this late date how I encountered Robert. It might have been through a well-crafted ad on the local gay site, accompanied by the usual slightly awkward initial meeting and all the rest of the things that go with offering the most intimate part of yourself to someone you don't actually know.
I do remember our first kiss, in the living room of his nice condo in the southeast part of town, and that there was no rush involved. What he was looking for was a partner in a continuing psexual adventure, someone to actually love, rather than a hurried anonymous coupling in the back of a car. I found those times wildly exciting, even if it just involved me sucking off a guy I didn't know but who had the need upon him. Submitting to that was electrifying, but the aftermath of swallowing his spontaneous seed carried a risk.
With Robert it was different. There was no urgency in fishing out our genitals, but something much more erotic and captivating. The possibility that this distinguished man might wake, and take me as part of his morning. We made a date for our next encounter, not a weekend hence, but in a couple days, and seasoned with the new advantage of confidence. We now knew we were both professionals in our trades, both well-spoken and intelligent, though his eyes held something more that made me want to please his desire.
He was a little older than I was, white, and retired as a professor and director of stage arts at the local African-American college. Many of my furtive encounters had been with men of color, not by choice but by availability. By then I had been with perhaps a dozen men, all but two of them tops. Some liked to rub in my subservience, others were nicer but just as happy to be in control.
The realization that those two other men seeking submission was interesting. That was awkward, since we seemed to want the same thing, and I could barely get hard. These were men like me, men who preferred to be fucked than being the driving force of the encounter. That was about to change.
Robert was a nice man, a top, I thought from the way he caressed my back after that first kiss, and I decided I wanted to make love with him soon. Give myself to him. It had been so long, and Rick had preferred to feed me his cock through my mouth and down my gullet rather than the fulfilling delight of piston thrusting into my whole body, twirling my mind into wonton passion.
That came to pass. Given my most recent experience with a regular partner, I assumed he would like me to fellate him, which he enjoyed, but clearly wanted more, and that made me crazy with lust. He liked to fuck, and he was an assertive top with fat an turgid manhood. I knew I was now a confirmed bottom, and the feeling of him stuffed completely within me, thrusting to his climax fully inside was wonderful. We were together for two years, and we were out as could be, with me being the boyfriend. I did keep my old circles separate to avoid unnecessary gossip, but if he was satisfying both of us with his libido, that was no longer anything illegal or even discouraged about what had been a sin. His friends became our friends, and there was nothing as nice as waking up with him in the soft bed, teasing his morning wood, and then feel him enter me fully, grinding me into his joy.
Like with Richard, we settled into a regular sexual pattern. I still liked to suck him, but it was the exception to his taking me missionary style, and spewing his seed into me, no condom required. Once, down at the country place, I realized there was no lube. There were kitchen products available, but I was a horrid tease. I made him drive us to the Krogers in town to find some KY in order to satisfy his desire to fuck me, and I enjoyed the side interchange with the gal working the register at check out. KY, and nothing else. The extra step in that love session made it that much more special to have him fill me up.
It was nice to be gay and out, an unusual and liberating sensation. I enjoyed it, and nothing of any ill consequence came from being out on the town with my boyfriend, and acting just like a couple. I think we ended over the marriage question. We were doing fine, but I did not want that sudden burst of honesty that would come if I made an announcement, or had to decide who to invite. That did not seem as natural as bending face first with my dick buried in a couple pillows on the bed and my ass high as he bred me, squealing with delight.
Being single again caused more change. I saw women, though not romantically, because I had a strange feeling of companionship with them. In fact, sometimes I felt I had more in common with them than I cared to admit publicly. The whole trans issue was starting to raise its profile, and I sometimes found myself wishing I could just be one of the girls I had so much in common with. I kept a low profile for a while, and then the realization of what I was and what I wanted was clear.
It was still the time of that other plague, and the constant realization that what happened between men could end badly. I tried to prevent my libido and lust from ruling my life, and taking a bare-back trip to glory also came with peril. I did what I could to be safe but you know how it is. Sometimes the need overcame me, and I would gobble cock, or find myself doing something intimate I knew was risky. And dirty. And humiliating in the way that made me feel sublime.
That brings me to the other end of the spectrum, the last of it. I am pretty sure I met Richard the Second at the gay bar- some banter and flirtation led to an invitation to join me back at my place. It was not urgent or strange, it was intriguing and highly erotic. I was just nice, which seemed to be better than needy. He was an architect, lean and a little taller than me. He followed me back to my building and we parked in the lot. I walked with him to my door, which I unlocked and urged him to enter with me behind him. That was going to be the last time that worked for quite a while, since what I wanted was for him to be atop me, bending me to his desire.
Once inside, I tried to be a good host. I made drinks and we sat on the couch and we filled in some of the details that could not have been heard in the tumult of the bar. I couldn't quite understand his situation. He had a partner, but seemed to have an open relationship with him. There were some health issues, not the ones I feared, or so he said. I understood how awkward that was, and after a brief discussion of projects, we slipped together in a kiss that naturally transitioned to touching, and back to the bedroom and quick disrobing. On the bed we explored each other with our tongues, and had delicious long 69, face to crotch in delightful mutual embrace. He had a nice firm cock, white, of course, and as I tongued it, thought about color and taste. I just loved it, this manifestation of adoration for the fleshy sword I hoped he would bury in me. As we squirmed around on the bed, with our tongues briefly free of genital entanglement, I asked him if he would mind fucking me.
He was happy to do so, and thankfully it was his natural role of triumphant manhood. He prepared me with elegance I adored. I lay on my back watching him, legs bent at the knee and spread wide enough to accommodate his hand as he squirted some gel on his fingers and began to slowly work it into my ass. I had no condoms, so I asked him to pull out when he was close to ejaculating, but also to fuck me masterfully as long as he wanted. My need for him was vaster than my aching dick. I wanted to be used by him, taken by him, spewed on as he assumed the dominance I craved.
He smiled a thin smile that betrayed his understanding of my need for him. He wiped his fingers on my thigh, and took his position between my legs, taking his cock with two fingers and lowering to my waiting bud. It was very erotic, and I had not been taken in several months, so this was the height of desire. He seated himself at my asshole and pressed. He popped my sphincter and the sudden sharp pain made me gasp in anticipation. He continued his thrust for a couple inches as my fingers grasped his butt, then let me relax to take him fully in. It took only a moment, and as I slumped in acceptance, he again began to stroke slowly and gently until his dangling balls began to slap mine. He was deep in me, and I felt the contentment of his hard fullness fully contained.
He stayed slow only until he was convinced I was ready for action, and in short order he was churning me with passion. Resting on his arms above me, I saw his satisfied smile of dominance and my eager acceptance and gave me a few more hard strokes before withdrawing and shooting his load on my face and chest.
I licked up what I could, and tried to get to his cock to clean him up with my tongue, but he was too sensitive for my questing mouth, and we wound up tangled in satisfaction. I wanted to clean his softened shaft with my tongue, but he was still too sensitive. I was a little disappointed- my lovers of color seemed to like my cleaning services- but my bowels were shouting out their satisfaction of a decent fucking. I buried my face in his armpit, and licked the surface as the smell of his sweat made me a bit giddy.
We rose and agreed to meet the next weekend, and I decided I would visit the spa and get a full wax. I wanted to be smooth when he made me submit to the urgency of his desire. It was wonderful.
That went on for a few dozen more encounters, and a steady routine I loved. He would arrive and knock, and I would answer the door in my silky kimono. We would exchange greetings and the events of the week, and I would get us coffee. His disrobed slowly but carefully and my kimono slipped to the floor. We had coffee as part of the warm-up, and the taste of it on his lips and tongue were exciting. At some point, ardor rising, I would half tumble from the couch to my knees and lick him to arousal. Then I would stand and lead him by hand back to the bedroom. We did not do a lot more foreplay there. I always had condoms since we became regulars and he would lube me up and elegantly unpackage the slick tube, carefully rolling it down his cock. Then he efficiently drove himself into me, and with just a touch of courtesy at the beginning, he would fuck me silly until I felt his gorge rise from his balls and begin to shoot deep inside me.
That was the last time. I don't know what happened- something must have, either national or personal. I just dropped off the email and closed the gmail account. I did not seek him out. I just felt I was done with the whole thing. But man, what a great lover he was. And, at the moment, the last.
I wrote about that encounter at the time and filed it away. Now I can't find it. Damn. I wish I had the first and the last encounters as a cocksucker and willing bitch boy. It was the best sex of my life, and all the strange encounters in between. It was so satisfying to be on the bottom where I belong and thrive on the dominance and mastery of a good eager man.
Of course, if there is anyone out there that could use a proven cocksucker and howling bottom, that could change. There is something hypnotic about a man above me. A man in charge, who will rock my world as I beg for him to pound me hard.
Are you interested? I don't mind if you prefer to be sucked or like to deal out a good solid fuck. I am what I am, and that is to be whatever you desire. I need to please you. The taste of your seed makes me come alive. Feeling you spew your warm delicious semen deep in me is a thing that fills me with submission to your strength, and to moan your name in thankful joy. Drop a line. Anyway you want, just so long as I get to swallow and think dirty while you do me.
- Any-Mouse