I’ve bottomed four times in the last six months. Twice for the Russian, once for Tim the senior, and once in a group encounter I’ve not recorded yet. It’s something of a giant leap for me—the number is four hundred percent more than I had bottomed in more than a half-dozen years prior.
I’m not suddenly turning into a big old bottom dad or anything, trust me. That isn’t on my agenda. It has been kind of nice, though to be able to go into an encounter knowing that if some handsome man or sweet boy plays with my hole, I can choose to roll over and present my butt. For years, thanks to my own fears and misgivings, that wasn’t even an option.
It’s always nice to have options.
After the Russian wrecked my hole in March, though, I limped back to Grand Central feeling as if my intestines had been turned inside out. For days I was sore and tender down there. A pleasant kind of tender, to be sure. The kind of ache accompanied by glowing memories. But at the time, I thought to myself, You know, I’ve really got to do something about acclimating myself to that monster dick.
Over the next few days I parsed my memories of the experience of the Russian fucking me to find out the parts I really needed to work on. What it pretty much boiled down to is that my most uncomfortable moments had to do with the initial penetration. I would tense up when the Russian fingered my hole, or jammed lube in with his fingers. Sure, some of the discomfort probably had to do with his passion and impetuous desire to get inside me as quickly as possible, but a lot of it simply arose from the novelty. I might rub the outside of my hole on a daily basis in the shower, to get it clean, but I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d fingered myself.
Luckily, that was easily taken care of. A couple of sessions in the shower with a bottle of lube, and I was getting my fingers inside me as easily as I could slip them inside some eager hole. Not that tough at all.
I needed to do something more, though. The Russian’s dick is a hell of a lot bigger than a finger. I went online and browsed through some penetrative sex toys, hoping to find something that could help me get more accustomed to the sensations of having something hard and stiff slide inside me. I looked at dildos and considered a couple, but was easily intimidated. I checked out some smaller butt plugs and thought they looked intriguing. And then I saw the Aneros.
The Aneros advertises itself as a prostate stimulator. It’s curved to reach the prostate. It has a handle at the base to aid removal, and projecting knobs that stimulate the perineum from the outside. Basically, it looks like a designer door hook you’d buy at Target. And whatever it calls itself, it’s a god damned butt plug.
I looked at the product’s web site and rolled my eyes at the over-enthusiastic forums, where people were posting rave comments about how the Aneros had been utterly life-changing, and where a lot of users were comparing notes on things called “P-Waves” and “Super-O’s.” (They’re apparently not breakfast cereal brands.) But I had known a couple of people in the past who’d bought the first iterations of the toy, and they’d loved it, so I tossed out a little cash and thought to myself, What the fuck.
The Aneros arrived a few days later. I looked at it, compared its rather diminutive size to some of the dicks I took in my teen years, compared it to the hulking girth of the Russian, and mentally nicknamed it the Wee Willy Winkie. But later that night I hopped in the shower and cleaned myself inside and out, threw a towel onto the bed, got out the lube, and figured I’d pop it in for a minute or two. I greased it up, slid it in, was pleased that I didn’t have much discomfort getting it in there, and then let it sink down to the base.
And oh my god.
The rest of this entry is going to sound like I’m shilling a product for a paid ad, so let me assure you I’m not. When the head of that Aneros hit my prostate, it immediately started sending stimulation up my spine in a way I’d never before experienced. It was a bit like the good moments during a fuck, all combined and assaulting me at once. It was a lot like the tingle I feel when someone makes me blush furiously—how the rush of sensation and pleasure comes from nowhere and wraps around my neck and midsection like a tight, hot girdle.
For years I’d known some of my better fucks claiming to have anal orgasms, and I never quite understood what they were like. No one had ever given them to me, when I’d been a bottom. After the Aneros went in, I was actually pretty sure I understood what those bottoms had meant. I lay there on the bed, gently drawing up one knee and then the other as I rocked my hips back and forth. I spread my legs and and drew up my heels, and gently thrust into the air, just to enjoy the sensations. My cock was rock-hard the entire time, but I wasn’t masturbating myself very often, or with the intent of shooting. I was just enjoying the sensations, and riding on a wave of pleasure. (I don’t know whether I was having P-Waves or Super-O’s. Personally, I think they sound gimmicky.)
When finally I took out the Aneros, I felt like a million bucks. I’d intended to leave it in for five minutes. I left it in there for two hours.
Two fucking hours. The first time.
I’ve used it several solitary times since, and I’ve decided that I most enjoy it when I insert it and simply concentrate on the sensations. I can watch porn, or chat dirty to someone online, grind a bit, and come away feeling tingly and satisfied. I’ve tried having orgasm while it’s in there, but they’re intense—intense to the point that they’re more painful than pleasurable, but they certainly leave you feeling as if your pipes have been cleared.
Now, a plastic and silicone toy is no substitute for warm human flesh. Nothing is going to substitute for a good and attentive lover who knows what he’s doing. A toy can’t engage in intimacy with you, or touch your body, or kiss your neck. But you know, to a top guy who has on many occasions been mystified at what bottoms feel when they’re really enjoying a fuck, it has been a great tool.
I kind of get it, now.
I kind of want to get it, too.