Monday, August 16, 2010


When he meets with clients, or works with the big three for the auto show, he’s known as Aaron. When he contacts me, he calls himself Cunt.

I’ve seen him in action as Aaron, the salt-and-pepper-haired daddy who commands respect as he organizes the biggest displays for the manufacturers. He wears tight dress slacks that show off his beefy butt, roped tight by an flawless black leather belt. His tailored shirts hug his body; his neckties are expensive and pristine. More often though, I’ve seen him as Cunt. Those times, he’s ass-up, hungry, and aching for my dick.

I’ve fucked Cunt for a good twelve years at this point, I’m guessing. It was shortly after I’d moved into my current home that he came over the first time. He wasn’t Cunt, then. He was a top who was relatively new to bottoming—and not very good or relaxed at it, either. Two years later he’d accepted his desires and learned how to please cock with his ass, and we settled into a more or less unvarying routine to which we stick, every time we meet.

Here are the things Cunt won’t do: kiss, suck, or use his mouth for anything but occasional replies to my commands. Here’s what he does very well: pussy up for a big dick. We don’t make love. We fuck. When I visit him, as I did Friday at dinnertime, I park in front of his exquisitely-maintained bungalow that’s only a ten-minute drive from my own home. I stroll up the manicured sidewalk, open the storm door, and find the front entrance ajar. No matter what the season, the inside of his home always smells like the ashes of fire logs, and of the oil he uses to keep shiny the leather of his living room sofas. If it’s winter, I’ll shuck my coat and my boots. Otherwise, I’ll head up the stairs and turn left, where the master bedroom door will be open.

And there he’ll be, kneeling on the bed. Ass-up, waiting, in the same position he assumed the moment I messaged to tell him I was on my way. Hole exposed and vulnerable. Cunt.

Cunt’s moved his bed to the center of the bedroom. A television rests on a ledge close by. Below the bed’s head is a bookcase, and a small stand where rests the latest issue of The New Yorker, open so that he can read while he waits for me in the position. On the bed corner rests a stack of small hand towels and a cylinder of lube.

Friday evening, when I strolled into the room and saw that familiar ass, I whistled as I kicked off my sandals. Off went my cargo shorts. I hadn’t bothered to wear underwear—just the shiny gold-colored cock ring that the Astrologist had accidentally left behind the week before. “Nice,” I said. Without any preliminaries, I knelt down on the hardwood floor and buried my face between his cheeks.

He grunted slightly as I licked at his hole. I’d asked him specifically not to pre-lube. Since the Cunt doesn’t suck or make out, I need a way to get hard, and diving into an ass with my mouth is the surest way. Cunt doesn’t have a tight little hole. There’s nothing little about that well-used chute at this point. The lips of his ass began to pucker and bulge the more I sucked at it; there came a point when I could actually seize those lips with my teeth and chew on them. It was then that I got a real reaction. Cunt began to buck and grind his hips in the air, and to drive his butt backward so that I’d have no choice but to munch on them with even more vigor.

That’s when I stood up and backed away. Cunt doesn’t get to have an opinion or a say in what happens. Cunt’s just a cunt.

I snapped open the lube bottle and, using my middle two fingers, roughly shoved a dollop of it up the hole, and then slapped some on my dick. My entry into his ass was rough; I shoved half my dick in there without warning, and then waited while he hissed and contracted around it. Once he’d calmed down a little, I shoved the rest in. I didn’t say a word as I began to stroke, very slowly, in and out.

Cunt’s ass is round and meaty. In slacks it gives the appearance of being a muscle bubble butt because of the laws of compression. Surrendered to a top, it’s revealed to be very soft and pillowy, like a woman’s ample rear. I like that. It means that when I pound hard, the ass cushions my blows. His flesh quivers and rolls every time I slam against him—the perfect physics demonstration of the properties of waves. I slapped his ass hard enough to leave big red handprints, and all Cunt did was grunt. He likes to be plowed rough. It makes him feel as if he’s of use.

“Make it tight,” I commanded. They were the first words I’d said since the one I’d let drop on my entry. Immediately Cunt attempted to tighten his hole’s muscles to grip my dick. He did a good job. It wasn’t a vise-grip hold by any means, but my dick appreciated the extra pressure. It responded by letting loose a glob of pre-cum. “Good cunt,” I whispered.

It’s only a word. It’s a word that many gay men don’t like, but to Cunt, the word holds so much power that every time I utter it, it renders him helpless. He buried his forehead in the crook of his forearm and let out a sound that was more animal than human. I reached down and scritched my nails against his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.

Cunt and I only fuck in one position. He doesn’t like to lie on his back and lift his legs in the air, or to roll on his side and spoon. He’d have to show his face, to do so. He’s a handsome man by any standard, but when I’m pants-down in his bedroom, he doesn’t want to be admired, or wooed. He shuns compliments and small talk. He wants my dick, and he wants it as deep, and rough, and hard as I can give it. For several long minutes I obliged. Gradually I built the tempo, increasing the frenzy of my fucking until I felt as if I was leaving bruises on his backside. I know my pelvis was sore.

Then again, without warning, I yanked my dick out. It glistened in the early evening sun. When he whimpered, I ignored it. “I could zip up and walk out right now,” I announced. He didn’t answer, so I said it again. “I could zip up and walk the hell out right now. And then what would your hole do for dick?”

When he replied—and I knew he would—his answer was small and shamed. “Don’t.”

“”Don’t what?” I said loudly. He muttered something. “I can’t hear you, cunt.”

Again, the word had power for him. His back arched; he lifted his ass higher in the air, trying to find my dick in unseen space. “Don’t leave,” he said. I knew the words cost him. “Breed me.”

When I nudged the tip of my dick against his hole, he tried to lunge back against it. I didn’t let him. “Why should I?”

“Because I need your dick,” he said. “Because I need your dick. I’m empty without your dick. Please, sir. Give me your dick. Give me your seed. Please give me your big dick.”

It was good enough to end my bluff. I shoved my meat back inside its warm home. The little interchange had brought me closer to orgasm than even the roughest part of the fucking. I rammed home so hard that the bed began to bounce forward and lodge into the little stand at its head; the New Yorker slid from its place onto the floor. His chest thrummed as he clutched at the sheets and growled out, in his loudest and most bestial voice, “Fuckin’ breed me.”

It’s the only command I ever follow from Cunt. I unloaded in him with several sharp thrusts. The bedroom was air conditioned, but I was sweating like a pig anyway; beads of perspiration fell from my forehead and the long lanks of my hair onto his back. One more sharp jolt, and a shudder, and then I was done. I stood still for a minute and let the sparks clear from my eyes. Then I withdrew.

My dick slopped out. A glob of my cum followed. It splatted onto the floorboards with an audible plop. I followed. My knees hit the wood and my face went back into his butt. Using both hands, I parted his cheeks so that I could get at his well-fucked ass lips, which were glistening with lube and the white streaks of my load. I’ve always loved the taste of my own cum. I especially like eating it from a hole I know is guaranteed to be clean, after I’ve delivered it.

When I stood up again, my face was as wet as his ass. My beard smelled of the fuck. It wouldn’t be the first time I left Cunt’s home reeking of sex and sweat. “More?” he asked.

“Gotta go.” I stepped into my sandals and then began hauling up my cargo shorts.

“More?” he asked again.

“Gotta go,” I said, meaning it. That’s when he flipped over on his back. His dick—a big, thick knob nearly as big as mine—was rock hard and an angry red. He scooped some of the mingled fluids from his hole and rubbed them into his engorged flesh. His eyes stared into mine as he began to stroke. I paused at the sight of his big, strong forearms working so hard over his meat. His pecs bounced as he jerked. My own shorts hung just below my balls; my half-erect dick began to stiffen again.

With my right hand, I stroked it fully into hardness. I hadn’t intended to stay, but I liked showing off while he watched. I knew he was looking at my dick, and imagining it inside him. The thought made me swell. My left hand still hooked the belt loops of my shorts so that they snugly held up my balls. There was enough cum and lube on my dick that as I ran my fist back and forth over it, the sound of slickness filled the bedroom.

I stood there, and he lay, while we stroked for each other. His eyes closed. Then, wordlessly, he convulsed. I watched as a geyser of sperm flew from the tip of his dick, two feet into the air. It splattered down onto his chest and face. He made no effort to wipe it away. He shook and shuddered with his silent orgasm. I simply stroked while I watched him.

Then his eyes opened. “More?” he said, just as hungrily as he had before he’d unloaded. He flipped onto his front, then pulled in his knees and sidled to the bed’s edge. Cunt was hungry.

I paused for only a moment before replying. “Yeah,” I said, dropping my shorts on the floor with a thud, and then stepping forward. “I can do that.”


  1. How could you possibly say no to that? Hot!!

  2. Anonymous,

    With Cunt, at some point you and your dick have to say no. He doesn't give out easily.

  3. AMAZING. Sure the sex was Hot, but the way you lay it out.. the picture you paint. I read your blog EVERY day, I look forward to traveling with you on your adventures. Thanks for raising ALL of our imaginations!

  4. Awesome post. Nothing better than lapping your own junk from a freshly-used butt! Love your work, man!!

  5. Anonymous #2,

    Thanks for reading and enjoying. That means a lot to me.

  6. Ranter,

    Yeah, I like it too, from a really clean ass. Thanks for reading and commenting, buddy!

  7. Sounds like the perfect fuckboy to take out the built-up aggression and frustration you've been feeling lately. Nice. I'd fuckin' love to tag team that hole with you sometime, bro.

  8. Very hot post! Love the ending. You're so accommodating.

  9. You tell top Aaron to come to Toronto.

  10. I love that you can be so many things to so many people. Sensual lover, hot fucker. All in one package.

  11. Wow! that was so fucking HOT! CUNT is the perfect fucktoy for your pleasure and calling him that is a real turn-on! I'm in awe and envy of your description of this encounter not to mention horny as fuck!

  12. Doc_Rob,

    I hadn't though of it that way, but yes it is. That's a frustrating-pounding hole, all right.

  13. luv2suk,

    That's me. Mr. Accommodation.

  14. Tyler,

    No, I get first dibs on all the Toronto bottoms!

  15. Richard,

    You flatter me. But it's a little like saying a dildo has multiple functions when really it all goes into the same holes!

  16. Anonymous #3,

    That's why you should come over and visit me. :-) Thanks for enjoying, my friend!

  17. Nothin' beats havin' my mouth planted on to a well bred, cum dripping hole. That's really the time to suck on that hole, enjoying the taste of the hole's ass juices mixed with pre-cum, cum and spit....

    It strikes me that "ass to mouth" action, felching etc is somewhat of a recent fetish, but maybe I'm wrong. So, as you look back through your journals over the years, what can you tell me--Recent or been popular for years ?

    Thanks mate. Be well.

  18. In the beginning I used to feel shame and in all honesty was shamed by my tops into thinking that being a pussyboi with a cunt was a bad thing (esp for a beefy furry cub like me). It's people like you that reaffirm what I know about myself.

  19. RoswellTop,

    Interesting question. The concept of guys eating out a hole they've fucked has been pretty much played out all my life, but I didn't know its name, or know any men who specifically asked for it, until the mid-nineties.

    But you know, it's like barebacking. First it's just something guys do, and then it got a name, and then it got fetish status.

  20. Mtlpussyboi,

    There is no shame in bottoming or in calling your personal parts whatever you want them to be. Enjoy your sexuality. That's what it's there for.

  21. Well, of course, I have something to add about the question on felching….I may be too late, but I was away---felching 7 loads out of a particularly hungry butt. Truthfully.

    The act was described in the dirty porn novels I found under my Dad's bureau in the early 1970's. The first time I saw the term in print was in Larry Kramer’s novel "Faggots," published in 1978. As I remember it was used slightly pejoratively about the person doing it. You are correct, of course, that it’s been done for years. But one of the reasons it did not gain wide acceptance was that men did not learn to clean out for anal sex until the mid 1980’s. I fucked my first ass in the late 1970’s and stopped for several years, because I hated putting my cock up that hole--I certainly wasn‘t going to put my face in it after I had been plowing it…
    By the mid-1980’s, with clean outs being much more common, it changed the whole nature of the fetish. I still get many onlookers assume I’m into scat--something that couldn’t be farther from the truth. And I agree it was the new wave of BB porn from Dick Wadd and Treasure Island that codified it into a more “mainstream” fetish.

  22. FelchingPisser,

    Fascinating. I read Faggots at an impressionable age and don't remember it being in there (or maybe it was just one of those things I thought I'd find out about at some point or another).

    I think the availability of VHS porn in the nineteen-eighties was one of the factors leading to the widespread acceptance of douching out before fucking, and indeed, became one of the reasons guys started expecting bottoms to have spanking-clean holes. I'd not thought about the enema factor being a deciding reason for the spread of felching as a fetish, though.

    Boy, this blog surely is educational for us all, eh?

  23. My big brother also credits early porn with clean out's acceptance. When our first gay super stars gave interviews about how they got ready for the shoot, gay men took notice....
    And he just told me in a text that felching was always happening at the Mine Shaft in NYC--but he watched it shift from the extreme-anything goes guys to being popular with many more as clean outs became mandatory...(Oh, and I know it's mentioned in "Faggots" because I had to ask my bro what it was!!)

  24. FelchingPisser,

    Your brother sounds like an authority to whom we should all bow!

  25. My brother should probably be the subject of our next late night bar talk.....

  26. Uh...we were using enemas to clean-out for fucking in the mid-1970s...and eroticizing enema use and play. While porn may have popularized many practices and fetishes, we didn't need to watch movies or wait for the invention of VHS to learn how to fuck. And we knew about the...uh...duality of the rectum and how to make time spent there more...pleasant and pleasurable. I'd been fuckin' a l-o-n-g time by the '80s. To say that men did not learn to clean out for anal sex until the mid-1980s is--at the very least--inaccurate. I'm just sayin'...

  27. Throb--

    I don't think anyone's suggesting that there wasn't fucking before the invention of VHS. Far from it.

    What is true, however, is that porn--particularly filmed porn--has a tendency to codify practices. Enema play certainly existed before VHS tapes, but it wasn't a part of every good bottom's unspoken routine. I don't remember in the seventies and early eighties it ever being required before fucking, as it is now among self-proclaimed power bottoms.

    When I was a bottom, it was pretty sufficient for me to clean out with a quick external rinse and maybe a two-fingered to-the-second-knuckle brief scrub-out. After 30 years of porn, I'd find that unacceptable for myself today if I wanted to be fucked, just as I'd find it unacceptable for my own bottoms. More to the point, there's an entire industry devoted to the creation and marketing of enema set-ups for guys to prepare themselves for fucking, and even Fleet's just released a special line of its own enemas specifically marketed to gay men for anal sex.

    Or for another example, look at modern-day practices with body hair. In the past, only a few fetishists and professional body builders shaved their body hair. With the preponderance of smooth bodies in porn, though, we now have an entire young generation who think that body hair is supposed to be trimmed. We have the word 'manscaping' and body razors and depilatories.

    Were people going smooth before porn? Sure. Was it expected, as it is now among many? Not at all.

    That's what porn can do—give people the impression that the practices that happen in porn, and the men and women that appear in it, are typical and normal, or turn formerly fringe activities like felching or bukkake into more of a mainstream fetish.

  28. My friend Terri would say "I hear what you're singing, sistah!" I've been a pornophile forever and I'm aware how the sleek and shiny bodies of California porn of the '80s affected what gay men look like now. And also the theory that such antiseptic hairlessness (and squeaky-clean healthiness) was a direct reaction to AIDS. All I'm taking issue with is FelchingPisser's suggestion that "... men did not learn to clean out for anal sex until the mid 1980’s." (And not heavy-handed or dissing issue at that, so I hope it didn't come across that way.) There was gay sex in the '70s not pictured in Joseph Lovett's movie of that name. Some of it involved enemas pre-sex; a couple of fuckbuddies of mine in college kept those red rubber bags hanging in their showers and expected tricks to use 'em before fucking. Some of it involved enemas as part of the sex play; one top was known for administering 3-H enemas: high, hot, and a helluva lot. Some of it involved piss-enemas during or post-fuck, but that's a whole 'nother story.

    So, no, cleaning out wasn't a part of every good bottom's unspoken routine—but it was a part of some good bottoms' routine. (Especially if that bottom was expecting more than just dickage. Or, for example, the tandem cops I've told you about.) Different times, sure, but different people did have different expectations. I guess all I'm saying is one size (or one generalization) does not fit all.

    I may not've been Everybottom for Everyman—but I did the best I could. (This is starting to sound like I fucked pioneers in Conestoga wagons, so I'll step down from my soapbox. Or box of depilatory, as the case may be.)


    PS: What were you doing up and blogging at 5:00 on Saturday morning?!

  29. Throb,

    You're the Laura Ingalls Lots-Wilder of the Little Bathhouse on the Prairie, stitching together pig bladders to make your enema bags and repurposing Pa's old hoe as a dildo once the blade's given out during turnip harvest time. I bet that bitch Nellie Olsen douched out her hole a day in her life, right?

    And yet you still look young in your photos!

    I was up at five in the morning because I firmly believe in an early start to each gracious day. Either that or insomnia. Take your pick.