This memoir has been on my mind for a long, long time. I think it may be a common story. I’m always reading these days about bi curious guys. There’s a chat room I visit where the guys talk about how they would like to try sucking dick. Some may never try, and just get off talking about it, but many are genuinely curious about the fantasy they have in their head. And I remember the days long ago when even the straight porn then talked about horny straight guys innocently or accidentally trying homosexual sex. It was usually two friends, after a day of construction work, drinking beer, having shots of tequila, getting drunk, each missing their girlfriend, each of whom had been gone for several days, out of town, and, as you might guess by now, this leads to talk about pussy (in that macho way guys supposedly talk about pussy) and then horniness and hard-ons, until one thing leads to another and they are masturbating together or one or both of the guys is sucking a friend’s dick. And recalls liking it.
Today seems like a good day to begin this story because I am hornier than ever and the internet just isn’t giving me much satisfaction. I should probably begin this with the apology or disclaimer that I’d guess is routine for this sort of queer memoir.
I am a regular, straight, bourgeois, U.S. guy. I have some sports and athletic interests, but, really, it’s not a big macho thing for me, so I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m fairly intelligent, but I’m not an egghead. I have been blessed with some looks, mostly the looks of a regular, straight, bourgeois, U.S. sort of guy. (As in, I may not always be one, but I play one on tv.) I’ve taken advantage of that. It’s helped me in school and in my career. It’s helped me with women. And there’s always been men who were equally attracted. It took me a while to notice that, but I did.
Oh, I should tell you I’m also married with a few kids, and we do all the family things one can imagine. On the surface, it looks like the ideal American family. Really.
So my story begins with women. I know that people on this site don’t have sex until they are 18, but that’s pretty much true for me. Then all of a sudden I was having sex with lots of women. Women hit on me. Women bought me drinks. Women took their clothes off for me. They touched me underneath restaurant tables. They invited me to their place. They would grind themselves on me on the dance floor. They let me kiss them, smell them, touch them, fondle them, finger them and fuck them. By the time I got married late in life, I tried to think how many women I had slept with. The number was astounding to me. How had it happened?
The journey was quite remarkable. I thought that women, as a rule, were so beautiful. I met such wonderful women. I saw in each a unique beauty. I had to know them. They had shining eyes and warm smiles; they talked about interesting things I knew little about; they laughed; they flirted; they let me take them to bed, where I loved and ravished their bodies. Some were younger, pretending to be worldly; some were older, with much more experience than me. Some were quiet; some were bold. Some played; others were reserved.
Some I met at work. Some I met in bars. Some I met through friends. Some I just met, almost passed by, and paused just long enough so we could connect. Some I dated for a long time, took them home to meet my family, traveled together, made plans. Some I hardly knew their names. Some were lonely. Some were drunk. Some were friends. Some were just looking for a good time.
And here’s how straight I was: I never got much into fetishes. It was much, much later when I Ankara escort would meet women who wanted to try light bondage, or role play, or golden showers, or threesomes with other women or men, or even anal. Actually, it was me who wanted the anal sex, but it took a long time to meet a woman who would try it, let alone like it.
My only fetish, if that’s what it is, is small breasts. I think this started with my infatuation with the head cheerleader in high school, who was almost flat chested but had the most exciting hard nipples. She wouldn’t date me—she was a senior—but she let me feel her up almost every day.
Okay, the stage is sufficiently set for now and if you have stayed with me this far at this site you are eager for something more “erotic.” “Bare” with me.
I love firsts, and maybe this is really a story about firsts. The first time I…
The first time I got turned on by a hard dick. There’s a couple of ways this came about. I was, of course, infatuated with my own dick. The harder the better. This has to be a common theme with men. They just love being hard. My wife doesn’t get this. She thinks I want relief. She thinks I want to get unhard as fast as I can.
What I want is to be hard and stay hard. I want my wife to make me hard. It can be a touch. It can be a word. It can be a look. It doesn’t take much, as long as we’re both on the same wavelength, so to speak. I want to be hard. Period. Okay, I want more. I want my hardness to be worshipped. I want it to be adored. I want it to be fawned over and pampered and played with.
I think this is the origin of phallic eroticism. I love pornographic images that are phallic. All those old Greek statues and vases with erect penises. Longer and harder than real, because when you are truly aroused, you are longer and harder than you’ve ever been before. I love the paintings and drawings and etchings of erect penises. The satyrs unabashedly chasing the nymphs, literally running after their erect dicks.
For men who find this erotic I think this is a form of narcissism. We are sympathetic to the feelings of the satyr. We understand how it feels to be so hard. For women, I would guess they see the phallus, when it is erotic, the same way straight men look at pussy and tits, the images of vulvas and mammary glands. They say men objectify these sexual attributes of women. We worship them. I know I do. I want to get on my knees and taste them adoringly.
For me, masturbation is most enjoyed feeling how hard I am. The feeling of the hardness is intense. It is truly as hard as an oak, a rock, a rod or sword of steel, a shank, a bone. And yet it is sensitive to touch. Yes, it yearns to be stroked in simulation of intercourse but my hand is not only simulating intercourse, it is marveling at my hardness. You can gauge the hardness by grasping it. There are no doubt accompanying fantasies, and those are fun, too, but it is the hardness which is the center of my masturbation.
So here I was in an adult theater sometime in my 30s. The place is raunchy and very dark. It takes time for my eyes to adjust. There are rows of theater chairs with arm rests separating them. There are people on the screen having sex, and if you are lucky they may be attractive and somewhat authentic. Naturally, you take your dick out at some point. It stands in your lap, sticking out from the opened zipper.
While it should never have surprised me, there were other guys in the theater with hardons. I couldn’t see them at first. But once I saw them, I was turned on by the sight. It was just the whole idea of there being guys like me with hard dicks sticking out of their Ankara escort bayan pants as horny as I felt. They were turned on just as much as I was turned on. This was like an orgy. That turned me on even more.
And so I would sneak peeks at the hard dicks near enough to be seen. I loved to see the hard dicks rising from the guys’ laps. Firm, pointing straight up. In my mind they glistened. I could make out the mushroom heads. There were many short ones and fat ones and long, thin ones. I figured out how average I was; maybe slightly better than average but a few were in a different league altogether. I was especially attracted to those that looked like mine: pale and pink, skin taut along the shank, the head popping up clearly. That part was narcissism. But I was equally attracted to the long, thin ones: the phallic ideals.
Seeing hard dick like this around me made me hard and horny, and I’d stroke myself for a long time. As I did so, I’d noticed that I was being watched, too. Eventually, it was evident that one guy sitting nearby was getting off exactly in the same way as me. We watched each other. It was the first step to mutual masturbation.
The first time I…. If you don’t mind, I’m going to skip ahead for now. I want to get to a couple of good stories I think about these days. They were pretty recent. One involved oral and, for good or bad, poppers. The other was anal and completely drug and alcohol free.
Somewhere in my evolution of sex with other men, someone had poppers and I asked what it was. I tried it and I loved the warm feeling that came over me and the intimacy I felt for the first time having sex with a man. I’m going to be frank about this because it’s part of the story. I’m sure there are some men who are excited that I’m bringing it up. Others know how vile the whole thing is. I think you can imagine the story without it.
Here’s the thing, though. I was at a stage that I liked playing with guys. It gave me a rush like no other. I was still new to it, but I had experienced an intense and wonderful time with another bi male, not much different from myself, in a shower and understood how exciting the sex could be. It was pure adrenaline.
I still wasn’t much into oral, however. I also didn’t get into gay porn. It just didn’t interest me, and it still doesn’t. I guess you could say the poppers opened a door for me. I remember trying them when I was watching an attractive woman giving a long, slow, loving blow job. It was the kind I liked to get and could imagine giving. She twirled her tongue around the head of his dick and gently kissed it with her lips, while gently holding the shaft of his dick in her delicate hand. That was a good start. The other beauty of this oral scene is that you could see the entire dick as she held it and kissed it. I took a whiff, and all of a sudden his dick was immensely beautiful to me, and I wanted to be holding it and putting it in my mouth just like the woman. I wasn’t the woman, but I craved the dick.
I noticed this a few times more; almost always the same scene. I tried it a couple times with strangers and it made me want to grab their dicks. Now I understood what it meant to want dick.
One day I was back in the theater and a man about my age sat next to me. He was quiet and I sensed this wasn’t something he regularly did. He undid his pants, slid them down, and even pulled out his shirt tails. He took out his dick and began stroking. I did something I don’t normally do. I initiated contact. I reached over and gently began to stroke his dick. Then I did something I had never done before. I bent over him and took his dick into my mouth. Escort Ankara It felt so good in my mouth, and I fondly stroked it and kissed it and licked it. He made no noise. I sat beside him, my head in his lap. I never went fast or hard; just slow and easy. Only a few minutes passed, and as his dick was in my mouth he began to cum with almost no warning and no alarm. The cum simply began to flow from his dick. It washed my mouth and I let it dribble onto his belly. I loved it and now when I watch heterosexual porn (and I’m crazily horny for whatever reason), I have the same craving to take a dick into my mouth and give him a warm place to cum.
About the same time, I became desperate about receiving anal sex. I wanted to feel one of those ideal hard penises inside my butthole. In another chapter, maybe I’ll go into my history of anal sex, from every side. Suffice to say, it was a mixed and mostly unsuccessful experience from the receiving end. One thing that made a difference was reading a book about anal sex written by a woman. (Again, I’ll talk more about this another time, I’m sure.) The point I got from the book is that there was a bit of a mental trick that came with it. You had to just let it happen. You had to be willing to submit yourself.
So I talked with this guy for many weeks and he said he would fuck me at his house. I felt comfortable around him. He said he was average size, which was good because I had learned that it wasn’t going to work for me with small dicks, no matter how eager they were. He also said he preferred bare back, and once I was convinced that he was clean and that he would not cum inside me, I consented to that.
Finally, a day for both of us worked and I went over to his house. We didn’t waste much time.
Here’s what I remember more than anything else. In the first place, it didn’t hurt in the way I thought it might. His dick went inside me fairly easily. I just let him inside. I didn’t try to fight it. But what I remember more than anything is how much I moaned. He was fucking me from behind, just the way I wanted it, and with every thrust he gave me, a low moan came out of my throat. It was very animal of me. It surprised me. It was a moan of want. I wanted him fucking me. I wanted him thrusting himself against me and with every thrust his hard dick filling up my hole. This was such a strange sensation. I didn’t care if I was being used or acting like an animal. I didn’t care if I was being used or acting like a woman. I wanted him fucking me. And the harder the better. I was being banged and I loved it.
I wanted him to enjoy fucking my butthole. I wanted to say, baby, baby, please fuck me good. I wanted to hear him say how much he enjoyed fucking me. And he did.
He turned me over and continued to fuck me. I was on my back on his bed. My hard dick and my big soft balls were visibly flopping as he continued in and out. But I hardly noticed a thing and kept on moaning. Then somehow, without hardly being aware of it, I started cumming all over myself. My lover withdrew as he had promised, amazed at the sight before him.
This was so remarkable in so many ways. I’m not changing sides, as they say. I’m not interested in cross dressing or panty fetishes, but it was strange to me how much I liked what I think of as the passive or feminine side of fucking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m trying to be sensitive to the feminine politics of sex but it seems even clearer to me now that when it comes to sex there is a bottom and there is a top; even when the woman is on top, she receives. Some women understand this better than others and enjoy the eroticism, even if it’s just a fantasy role play, of being a slut. I say this because I use that word for how I felt. I felt like a slut. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted a man to fuck me and I wanted him to want to fuck me. It surprises me how much I want to be fucked again.