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Two days ago I got a message on one of my hook-up sites from a guy who lives a couple of hours away, coming down here to visit family. My profile on that site says something along the lines that speaking more than one language is an asset as far as I’m concerned, and in his message he asked which languages I spoke; his profile said he was interested in languages too, so I asked him the same question an it turns out he has a degree in Russian (and that he did his year abroad in the same place as my friend Hitraya, but they weren’t there at the same time).

From the way his messages sounded (“Well if I’m free I’ll let you know…” “Sorry I can’t be more specific…”) I assumed that he was just interested in chatting and that we wouldn’t actually meet, but today I was in town and he text me; it turns out I was in a shop he works for in a branch in his own city, and he offered me his staff discount (40%! Hello!) so of course I said sure and along he came and, true to his word, the discount happened. He looked as good as he did in his photos; 26, around my height (185cm, if you’re wondering), maybe two or three kilos heavier if that; dark hair, cut fairly short, with designer stubble, and of course, Big Brown Eyes. Yum.

We went for a coffee, and had a chat about our times abroad – always interesting to hear about other peoples’ experiences like that, and it turned out he’s actually been on holiday to the city I lived in in Italy, which not many people have (I usually have to explain to people where it is!). When we left the café, I invited him back to mine, and we jumped on a bus.

Unlike my bad experience with That Wanker from last week, this was really quite good! First of all, he was a good kisser; everything was reciprocal; he’s versatile too but bottomed for me. I think some of my experiences with the Boyfriend might have ruined me a little, because I now seem to have trouble staying aroused if I don’t have a hand around my neck, but this guy was very obliging about that. We switched between a few different positions before I finished myself off over his chest as he fingered me a little, kissing the whole time, and then he came in my mouth, before we got cleaned up and headed back into town. He was really easy to get on with, easy to talk to, and he’s said that if I’m ever in his city I should let him know because he’d like to fuck me; likewise, if he’s back down here any time before I leave (only 4 months to go!!) then fingers crossed for a repeat performance.

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Over and under

I’m just back from a lovely extended weekend with the Boyfriend. I had my last set of classes until mid-April and a mock exam (which I excelled in, obviously; fingers crossed I can pull off a performance that well the last week in May) on Thursday so went out and got drunk that night, and turned up at his very hungover the next evening, he helped me recover by means of extensive cuddling and we had a fairly early night followed by some morning sex.

This time it was my turn to be the one in charge, which I quite enjoyed and he seemed to like as well. The first time he properly dominated me I wrote how it was a bit hypnotic to be focused 100% on someone else’s pleasure; having someone else 100% focused on you is equally amazing, if a bit more effort. I fucked his face for a while before lubing up, pushing him on his back and getting on top of him. You would think (I certainly always did) that bottoming also meant automatically being the submissive one in these contexts, but that couldn’t be further from the truth! Tumblr provides us with some useful advice here, from a blog called The Healthy Dominant:

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Having a hand around the throat really does help keep the submissive under control, and it’s quite a nice sensation to have your hand there in the first place. There’s something quite gratifying about seeing his face turn red as he’s fucking me from below, and thanking me for spitting on him. (Actually he doesn’t like being spat on as much as I enjoy spitting on him, so we compromise and I spit in his mouth instead.) As we got closer to the end his breathing got faster and the thrusts became more frantic. “Come on, fuck me, really fuck me, do it like you hate me” and he did and it was brilliant. I came on his belly before he pulled out and we kissed while he finished off, then had a cuddle and some toast. Not a bad start to the day!

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Very busy week

Remember that potential fifth person in the city that I mentioned in the last post? Well…

On Wednesday morning I got up, went to uni, did what I had to do there, and when I was on the bus back down into town to go home I got a text from Lion Boy saying he was in town with some friends for a drink and that I was welcome to join them. I don’t know the city centre particularly well yet but I knew where the bar was that they were in, so I went, and I went back to Lion Boy’s and spent the night. Hands and faces again, but fun nonetheless.

Thursday morning, I went straight from his to university, stopping at the pharmacy on the way for a toothbrush and toothpaste (both half price, by the way, it’s like they knew I was coming) and spent the day interpreting, since that’s what I do. I then went back home, was there for less than an hour and a half, and then went back out to meet my uni’s LGBT society at the only gay bar in town. It was a social event between our university and the other one in the city, and who attends that one? Lion Boy. So I found myself in the awkward situation of trying to look like I hadn’t lost interest in him – which I haven’t – while simultaneously (successfully) trying to get to Cheeky Fifth’s bedroom too. As the night wore on and we were talking, I took out my phone and sighed. “Look at the time,” I said, “I’ve missed the last bus home”
Cheeky Fifth cocked his head to one side. “So what’re you going to do?”
“A long walk home, I suppose… or… well, I’ll sort something out”
He winked. “We’ll get you sorted.”

His housemate then dragged us both onto the dancefloor where we made out – Lion Boy standing right next to us, am I a bad person? – and then left together. He lives very centrally (I don’t) so we went back to his. His room is huge, but freezing, and it’s on a main road so it’s quite noisy in the mornings, but what can you do. He’s a very good, very enthusiastic kisser, and very much a bottom. I didn’t fuck him because he didn’t want to (this time), but we had a lot of fun anyway. He kept making all these little noises, not just moaning but almost squeaking at points, which was a bit of a weird turn on. I spent the night and went straight to uni – I preemptively took my new toothbrush out with me this time – and that’s where I am now, between lectures. Anyway, he’s having a housewarming party on Saturday that I’m planning on going to so hopefully there’ll be a repeat performance there… and of course Music Man, who I think is coming back to mine again on Sunday.

Well, they did tell us to have a hobby to keep us sane during this course.

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Don’t Hate The Player, Hate The Game

Following my last post about running into Talkative Boy and having an ill-advised conversation with him, KittyMama commented that “we say it a lot, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” But when you’re drunk and the player is right infront of you, it’s hard to hate the game.”

I used to quite like the phrase “don’t hate the player, hate the game,” it has a purpose; a bit like religion, it lets you shift the blame for someone’s shittyness (totally a word) away from them and onto this mysterious outside force,  over which they have no control.

BULLSHIT.

I choose to hate both the player and the game. Because you have a choice, you always have a choice. You choose whether or not to pick up the gun, take that pill, pour that next drink, to eat that chocolate, or to play the game. Not that I’m saying game-playing is on a par with manslaughter and LSD, but you know what I’m getting at. No-one forces you to obey the three-day rule, or to “not seem to keen,” or any of the other weird rituals we have around copulation. I’m not saying that some of these things don’t have their place, but the majority of what goes on in these situations is unnecessary, frustrating and a waste of time.

I’m no saint, and I have been guilty of doing the odd bit of game-playing at various points in the past, but I really do try to avoid it as much as possible. It’s really very simple; be honest, be direct, be upfront, don’t be mean. You’ve got a much better chance of getting what you want, of being happy with the outcome, and it’ll help you avoid making enemies.  If everyone hates the game as much as they claim to then why are so many people still playing it?

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Flashback Friday – Crossdressers in the Cupboard

The youth group I mentioned in last week’s Flashback Friday turned out to be a really fun thing to go along to on a regular basis and though I really didn’t appreciate it at the time, looking back I can see that I had a very good (I won’t say “healthy”) sex life for a sixteen year old. The second residential weekend I went on with them involved once again, a bunch of LGBT young people with hormones flying everywhere staying in an isolated house in the countryside. Sounds like the opening to a really shit and predictable horror film, doesn’t it? It wasn’t.

I think, if I remember rightly, we were there to film an an awareness/coming out/ anti-LGBT-phobia type DVD for the health service but most of the weekend was spent just having fun in that way that teenagers consistently will. On what I assume was the Saturday night we had a drag workshop and so I ended up in a dress and make-up for the first time in my life (but definitely not the last!). There were very few boys there that weekend, I can only think of a few, but one of the others was a painfully flamboyant boy who at the time was called K but has since changed his name to L, so since we already have one story about a K recently we’ll stick with L. We were all a bit over-excited, running around this house, and L and I – whether by design or accident I’m not sure – ended up alone in one of the bedrooms. Against a wall. Ahem. We sensibly decided though that a bedroom anyone could walk into at any time probably wasn’t the safest of places to be at it so we ended up down the corridor in the boiler cupboard. Yep, I’m that classy. (What do you expect from someone whose first sexual encounter was at a church?)

The advantages of wearing dresses and skirts became obvious to me for the first time that night, in that you have almost unimpeded access to everything you need to have access to to have sex without having to actually get undressed in a cold boiler room in the middle of winter.

And wow, I’m all for sexual preferences, but to say that L was a completely submissive bottom bitch doesn’t even begin to sum it up. Had I been more experienced and adventurous I probably could have done just about anything to him and not only would he have accepted it, he’d have gotten off on it. It took a couple of attempts since I’d no idea what the hell I was doing really, and fell out a couple of times, but in the end we got there and I properly fucked someone for the first time. It felt great being on top, dominating, sort of powerful. Because I’m a far cry from being an Alpha-male, it’s a rare occasion I can find someone passive enough for me to completely take advantage of, so I have to enjoy it while I can, and I’m sure that it all stems from this one experience of fucking a boy in a dress in the cupboard.

After I moved to my current city I never really heard from him for a few years, though I got updates on his ever-growing level of campness from a mutual friend who sees him out and about sometimes. I ran into him a few weeks ago in a club on Barman night (I saw a lot of people from years ago that night, it was a bit disconcerting) but we have nothing to talk to one another about so we simply didn’t.

There we go, another tale from the archives. Submissive Sunday coming up, I’ve already had a few stories in and if everyone that has offered to write me a guest post follows through we should have some really interesting stuff coming in the next few weeks!

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Successful week

I’m trying so hard not to put in any clichés about sex being like buses, you wait for ages and then loads come/cum along at once. I’ll just leave it at that.

In light of the bad mood I was in for most of last week, I decided to head to the capital for an afternoon yesterday (Friday) to meet some old friends from high school and escape my own city for a while. Since I’m apparently very easily influenced – I don’t know why I’m bothering to pretend to be surprised by that actually, it’s nothing I didn’t know already – my friend who is in first year at a uni outside the city convinced me to stay in town overnight and go out with her and her friends. We headed over to the campus where she lives, stopping in Tesco to buy a toothbrush on the way, had some food and headed to her friend’s flat. Before going though, she – I later realised jokingly – said to me, “I don’t have a sleeping bag or spare blanket, so you’re just going to have to pull”. Challenge accepted.

And challenge it was. The part of the city I live in is bursting with queers and promiscuity… well maybe not promiscuity… but anyway, it’s never too difficult to find a boy who likes boys. (I have this funny duality in my head where I’m hesitant to go for one-night stands with girls, which isn’t to say it’s never happened, just that it’s less regular and I’m more cautious, but that’s another post for another day). Here though, the pickings were slim but I was introduced to a friend of my friend’s who is openly gay and openly available. He really reminded me of a well-known (on the scene) gay from the city I live in actually, in his appearance at least. He was really cute, if a bit more masculine that what I usually go for.

When we were out in the club I would have sworn dead that he wasn’t interested at all, every time his friends who were conspiring to get us together left us alone on the dance floor or made us dance together he would turn away or start talking to someone else and it wasn’t until after we’d all left the club and gone for a “magical mystery tour” through the woods at half two in the morning that any sort of interest manifested itself at all. I’ll say up front that I’m a bit of a wimp and while I’m no longer scared of spiders, I’m not great with the dark, so he held my hand through the woods to stop me getting scared, bless. And when we came out of the woods we just kept walking, with everyone falling away behind us, until we got back to his building. “You live here, right?”  – “Yep” – and in for the kiss. Straightforward, no games, just how it should be.

What happens when you get two dominating tops in bed together? A lot of fun, apparently. You’d think it wouldn’t work but it REALLY did. Really rough fun, quite loud (his neighbours must hate him or me now), lasted for hours, biting, scratching, yum. Best I’ve had in a long time, probably at least six months or so. Because of our preferences for not taking it up the bum no actual penetration happened but just about everything else did, including at least two things I’ve never tried before. I was introduced to the pleasures of having your feet sucked on and played with too – the idea of it had always seemed a bit weird but when he suggested it I just went with it and I think it might be my new favourite thing. We were only at it for a couple of hours but it was a fun couple of hours, and I’ve got lots of bite marks and at least two bruises so far to show for it. He’s coming through to my city (where he’s from, actually) for an event in a couple of weeks so he has the option of a repeat performance, and as always, I’ll keep you updated 😉

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Rainy Season

Well, that’s the dry spell over. Hopefully it’ll be the start of a rainy season – or at least a really wet one. (Ha, filth!)

I resorted to a hookup site that I’ve had a profile on since I went somewhere I’d never been before in the summer and wanted to make new friends. I’ve met one or two – actually definitely two – people off it before, one actually really nice guy who I see about town quite a lot and who always says hi still, and another who was visiting from over the border and who I’ll probably (hopefully) never see again. Tonight, bored, I went on and started browsing quite aggressively, sending messages to about half a dozen people or so. The first one to get back to me was a guy who lives in roughly the same part of the city I do, so I got him to drive over and get me (yes, I left details with a friend), and we went back to his.
The sex itself was all right, though I’d really like to know when I’m going to learn that I’m just not a bottom. I try, I really do, and I sometimes really really wish I enjoyed it, but I just… don’t. That’s not completely true; with my ex, who was anything but a bottom, I did enjoy it a few times. Not every time, but a few. (Then again he didn’t have a very big dick and came quite quickly). And with the aggressive top from late last year (there’s a bit of a saga there which I’ll write about one day. My friends and I refer to it as Sociopathic Wednesday) I did actually quite enjoy myself too, and he did have quite a big dick. (Actually thinking about it now, a friend in common might well have told him about this blog. If you’re reading this, hi!) But really it’s the exception that proves the rule.Tonight’s guy had a dick probably similar in size to the guy I’ve just mentioned and really huge balls, but it was just uncomfortable and I really didn’t enjoy that part of it at all.

Probably one problem is that in person I come across as quite passive – I don’t have a very dominating personality (at least, I don’t think so, correct me if I’m wrong) but that doesn’t really show when you first meet me. My appearance and mannerisms tend to suggest I’d be a bottom, or a more passive versatile. I suppose that’s why we shouldn’t rely on stereotypes to judge these things, though that is of course how gaydar works a lot of the time. (Though often it’s more intuitive than anything. A friend of mine recently said that “straight people have no idea how hard it is to work out if the hot person you’ve just met is in any way queer; is that an anorak, or a lesbian anorak”. It’s true).

How similar is it, using appearance and mannerisms to work out a person’s sexual preference, and using appearance and mannerisms to work out a person’s sexual preferences? Hmm. I need to think about that a bit more. I might have to end up calling myself a massive hypocrite on this case. Watch this space.

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