Sunday, June 11, 2017
I think it started when I would start setting aside a bit of my monthly salary for a gay spa visit regularly. I wanted to shift from shared rooms, hurried blowjobs and bathing rituals under watchful eyes to familiarity of my own bed (or the convenience of not carrying lube). I met you on one of my spa visits. You could have been any other - I would have been one of many. For the first time, I had actually chosen the guy on phone and asked specifically for him. I didn't plan on having penetrative sex with you. We met, we talked, we liked each other?
I have bottomed for very few. Impulsively, I decided to do it
for with you. I think in your life you come across some dicks, which not only fit just perfectly inside you, but make you feel like you could worship them. Suck them till your jaw starts hurting. Make them rest on your face while you gently caress them. Compare notes with them. Have picnics with them. Miss them when they are not around. Make you feel like that there is still good in this world.
You were that dick. The one which I wanted to get fucked from. The first one which made me realize what getting fucked actually felt like. Which made me forget that the only reason, that dick was there in the first place was because I paid for it. It became much easier for me to only equate the entire incident with just that dick. I refused to imagine that a thinking, emotional body was attached to it. I took your number, and started calling you to my house. I don't know when I started thinking of you as an intimacy (rather than a fuck), was it when you moaned out my name when you were fucking me? Was it when you kissed me and told me that you rarely kiss your other 'clients'? Was it when you just wanted to lie down next to me and hold me and break the one hour-payment rule? Or was it when you, while putting your dick inside me, said that I remind you of your ex-girlfriend? (lolz) Silly me, I started looking into your eyes instead of your balls. We talked about our respective future plans and we both opened up about our exes (lolz, again). What is with me! Why do I always have to attach these deeper meanings into moments which are....transactions...
I realized that there were only certain kind of intimacies that I started privileging in my memories. The intimacies which made me feel like shit afterwards. I started thinking that I deliberately go for 'paid sex' because it was, in lot of ways, similar to my 'un-paid' encounters. The kind of masculinity I seek, the kind where I wanted to feel like I was lost. Maybe I want to feel like shit after having sex. I want to feel even more lonely. Whenever guys would not go anywhere near my dicks, or not get fucked by me, I would immediately think of you. Think that at least you knew how to please me in bed, and how I never had to bother with all the nonsensical build up on any social media with you. Atleast you knew how to use your dick even when you refused to go near one
It ended abruptly. I started giving massages to women as a side-job to earn extra cash (I still hate and will always hate my first job) and after the 7th (or was it 17th) I just couldn't get the smell off of my hands, even after washing them 10 times. I could smell her sweat, her awkwardness while she unhooked her bra in front of me, her involuntary moans while I pressed her back. I could feel her tension running inside me when I touched her, I could feel her pain when I pressed the thumb on her spine. I just couldn't do it anymore. I thought that perhaps, you would also wash yourself many times to get my smell off of you. You would also look at our time in bed together as a daily chore.
We still talk to each other. Sometimes.
I get those occasional spa mass forwards on my phone from you and wonder did I ever transition from a client to friend?
P.S. It's taken a while for me to write this post. I have been meaning to write this post since almost a year and just couldn't find the right way to articulate this. Because? This is so fucked up. I am romanticizing something where people often don't have agency and where the profession is exploitative in so many ways.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
I was getting fucked. Hard. Bareback. His smell was pouring on to my face. His body towering over mine, I felt like my body's center of gravity wanted to leave me and just engulf him. I felt like my mouth was open but my body couldn't articulate how desperately it wanted for every inch to be felt. It felt like his dick would dissolve inside me. The warmth of his dick rose my body's heat. Whenever his dick would hit my prostate, I would simultaneously feel like shitting, peeing, and experience that numbness inside which made me want to just close my eyes, roll them backwards and scream OH FUCKING LORD. I had been told by him couple of times previously that he wanted to slap me. To tie me up and beat the shit out of me. I liked it. Who am I kidding. I fucking loved the idea of it. This time after I came, he asked if he could slap me. I agreed. He slapped me. He started slowly and then his hand hit hard against my cheek. My entire face felt red. Images of teachers slapping me in school, couple of bad fights at home flashed just for a second. I felt like I wanted more. But I didn't! Right? He slapped me again. This time even harder. This time it didn't feel like it had hit my cheek but my brain. My head started spinning. There was sharp ringing noise in my ear. I tried putting my head up but couldn't. I had lost my erection, my dick completely flaccid. He asked me, 'Are you ok? How are you feeling?'. All I said was, 'I am still figuring it out' and gave a weak smile. I honestly didn't know how my face looked. I wanted my eyes to be closed. What if he saw hurt in them? I didn't NOT want this to happen. I wanted it. I consented to it. I wanted to see his face. There was lust. There was anger. There was greed. There was concern. There was confusion. I panicked. Am I giving away too much power? Why the fuck is my cock not responding, but why did it feel like my entire body just came? I wanted him to get angry. I wanted him to actually mean it. To lose control. For him to slap me so hard that my lips would tear and bleed. For my face to get marked by his hand. My body started recoiling a little bit. I instantly felt the need to just get into a fetal position. Twist-idly I imagined him breaking my fetal position and slapping me again. I know you must be thinking how the fuck can ALL of this happen within a matter of minutes but trust me, it's like every minute broke down into million parts for me. I don't know what was happening. Did I want to take control of the situation? But lord, his face. His eyes started reddening. He was looking at me like he owned me. And In that few seconds, I just discovered something about myself. I had never before truly known what being someone's bitch felt like.
I don't know when did my obsession with getting slapped started. I walk on streets and look at some men and think about nothing but their potential of spitting on my face, slapping me while fucking the soul out of me. Before you start psychoanalyzing this (by all means please do), let me point out that I haven't really been slapped (much) while growing up. I was a well behaved kid you see. I know the discussion here becomes much deeper about figuring out your personal relationship with BDSM and what kind of kinks you want to indulge in or have but something about it always had me confused while I am in bed.
Besides exploring the person's body/interests/bank balance (lolz), one of the things that always hooks me is attempting to situate what kind of power dynamics I have with the person I am in bed with. I am not trying to talk about it in a master-slave sense but in the way of how much power I am willing to give and take without pre-deciding any sort of role while fucking. I am constantly thinking of what ways my tongue needs to touch the body, to what extent I want to pleasure him, till what extent I am willing to take the pain while getting fucked, how my body positions in between fucking: do I caress his back, do I smell his hair pulling him closer to me, in what way do I look into him while fucking/getting fucked by him.....I guess each act becomes a power play. As much as I just let my body be and feel the other person, I get caught up in the imagination of power and the performative display of that power.
I remember the first time I was slapped (in bed) was when I was in the middle of giving a blowjob. The guy, while pulling my hair at the back and moving my head up and down smacked me with his other hand. I stopped. I almost had tears in my eyes, but made it seem like they were a result of choking on his cock. I was hurt? I was.....intrigued? Spanking, flogging, even punching (not in the face) are things that I have always been okay with. I guess I have just always seen a slap as an act of discipline. Perhaps this is just the kid in me who began his education in a strict Christian convent school talking where slaps were given almost like free fucking candies. Over the years, I have started wondering about what is it about not able to detach meaning with a slap. I have perfectly been able to take other kinds of er humiliations(?) But am I reducing the fun of it all by constantly thinking about stupid things? Not like the other person is devoting so much effort into this right? But how does one NOT figure themselves out through sex! It's so revealing! It makes you see yourself as if you are observing a movie. I honestly thought that maybe I'll know where I am headed with respect to 'figuring out' what really happened inside my head but lolz, I don't know what the fuck am I doing with my life. Why do I actively look for ways to get fucked up. All I know is that I want to see him again. And again.
He said something about how he finds the scar on my body (as a result of a surgery) to be weird. That perhaps I should get it removed. He said something about how my body isn't really showing any signs that I have been going to the gym. He said something about how I wasn't a good bottom. Even when I had bled a little and still wanted to get fucked by him. Even when we were in bed for hours. And in those moments, all I wanted from him was to punish my ugly body not by evidencing it, but losing control and
fuck slap the shit out of me.
To make me feel a sense of loss,
of not just giving away a part of my body by letting him slide inside me,
but a sense of loss by which I would feel some victory over having control over letting myself lose
by making him the winner and have the control.