“Call me a bad server, because I always spill the tea”
–Sheree Whitfield –
Sex, in general, is such a weird concept to me. I mean… think about it. What aspect of sex do you actually enjoy as you are indulging in this animalistic occurrence? What does sex mean to you? Is it something that you use to deepen your relationship with a loved one? Is it more about pure pleasure? And why should we be ashamed about sex if it is something that makes us happy? But most importantly, can we all agree that objectively speaking, there’s something silly about spending hours laying on all four waiting to be pounded to oblivion? Don’t we all have more important things to do? I feel like if we as human beings collectively stop having sex, we could spend more time doing more things to fix more pressing humanitarian issues. Instead, here you are, eagerly reading stories about gay sex from a random Asian twink because sex is still a less-talked subject and you would rather interact with it from the comfort of your own smart devices.
When I first arrived in London, I was awestruck by the beautiful architectures that paired seamlessly with the modern underground railway system. But being the horndog that I was, I could not help myself observing the other beautiful scenery in town, also known as the British men. There is something about the way these men carry themselves that
aroused fascinated me. From the overwhelming number of trench coats on the streets to the classy yet seductive accent, British men seem to have it all. I was so used to the LA gays with their slutty tank tops and a pair of overly tight shorts so seeing these fully-clothed, dapper men was a much needed, refreshing change. These handsome British men could drink their English Breakfast tea all over my body all day every day. God. Bless. The. Queen.
I finally arrived at my accommodation in Shoreditch area after several failed attempts at navigating my way around the Tube and I was slightly disappointed at the size of mattress provided. I thought, “There’s no way one bottom could be penetrated comfortably on this tiny ass mattress!” After meeting a friend for dinner (by the way, you guys should check out Sketch, the bathroom selfie alone should be worth the expensive meals), the jetlag finally kicked in and I was ready to hit the hay. But hey… I am a self-proclaimed basic homo, so I did what most homosexuals do before dozing off: checking out Grindr. And that’s how I met the guy who changed my life… or at least the arrow emoji on my Grindr profile. To those of you who don’t understand the “arrow emojis” reference, well… consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to deal with that bullshit.
This British man in his late 20’s wasn’t exactly my type. I mean, if you have been an avid reader of my blog, you guys already knew how I feel about bald men with thick facial hair. More importantly, you also knew how I feel about men whose height is, well… how do I say this without sounding offensive, below the 50th percentile of men’s height around the globe. I’m sorry, I don’t wanna come across disrespectful, but hey…everyone has their own preferences, just like how some people prefer blondes to brunettes. Nevertheless, I decided to give this guy a try since he seemed unmalicious and he offered to show me around the Shoreditch area, which I have to admit, was a nice gesture. At the same time, I ain’t no dummy… I knew I had to set my expectation low since this was Grindr after all.
I told him to meet me at the minimart near my apartment and he followed my direction with no hesitation, just like how Trump follows Putin around like a little puppy (just kidding. well, not really). Upon meeting him, I realized that we rocked a suspiciously similar look: a floral t-shirt and a pair of
slutty skinny shorts. For those of you who aren’t super familiar with the gay culture, a floral tee and tight shorts are pretty much the universal uniforms for power bottoms (this is clearly a hasty generalization that I included for some comedic values; calm the fuck down before you decide to come for me).
At that moment, this twinkish Asian bimbo finally had an epiphany; we didn’t really talk about our preferences in bed.
To be perfectly honest, the thought of penetrating someone had not really crossed my mind until that moment. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, instead of seeing myself as this hypermasculine dominant top with big dick energy, I kept seeing this weirdly-shaped, awkward guy with low self-esteem. But I guess there’s something about being in London for the first time that gave me a boost of confidence in trying something new, and I thought, “I might as well try something new while I’m here since I won’t be seeing this guy again if shit happens (literally and figuratively)”. I mean, sticking my penis in someone’s butt won’t be too hard (no pun intended), right?
He showed me around the area and we had fish and chips for early dinner because I was really trying to immerse myself in the British culture. When I mentioned that my apartment was nearby, his eyes lit up and he gleefully took the statement as an invitation to “learn more about me” (that’s one way to put it, huh?). We quickly finished our meal and eagerly walked to my place for our dessert. As we were walking to my apartment door, I remember I had a mini heart attack since I didn’t prepare for a clear runway, but I thought, “oh that’s right, I forgot I’m not bottoming tonight“. Then I realized that I was gonna pop my topping virginity and that’s when I panicked.
Holy. Shit. This. Is. Finally. Happening.
It didn’t take him long enough to break our make-out session to unbuckle my shorts and get a feel on his tropical dessert. Next thing I knew, my penis was already in his mouth. I thought, “I guess there’s really no turning back now!” Although there were slightly more of teeth actions happening than what I would prefer, he did a decent job in waking up the beast and getting him to battle. I guess there’s something about the power dynamic between us that was pleasurable, exhilarating, and refreshing all at the same time. Hmm… how can I explain it? Let’s just say he’s someone who knew exactly what he wanted and he put in the work to get it. And at the time, the one thing that he desired was me. Or maybe it’s my dick, who knows?
Out of nowhere, he muttered six words that would send shivers down a top’s spine: “I want you to fuck me”.
As an amateur top, I was pretty overwhelmed with the whole penetration process. I decided on skipping the whole anal foreplay activities and just went straight to the “main event“. As a sexual being with a decent moral compass, I actually felt guilty for not treating my bottom with the utmost respect because I knew the importance of foreplay for someone on the receiving end of anal sex. But at the same time, I was not very comfortable with the unknown element of anal sex. At least when I am bottoming, I have more control over the number of “incidents” we’re gonna encounter to ensure any activity I perform is nutritionally safe and aesthetically pleasing. With that said, I looked at my date and he was already on all four in front of me, showcasing his groomed, bright pink rosebud. Something told me he didn’t need to get ready… he stays ready.
In the spirit of keeping everything real, I’m gonna be brutally honest about the whole experience. It wasn’t a life-altering event. I recalled my own experiences when someone entered their disco sticks through my back door and I kept seeing the same delighted reaction (the kind of reaction when you finally pass an extremely hard stool you have been trying to get rid of the past two days), which is immediately followed by some commentaries on how mind-blowingly amazing my tunnel down there. Relax, before you come for me, most guys usually say that to please their bottoms no matter how tight or loose the peach is. It’s like bro code but for the gays. Gay code.
But it wasn’t anything like that. I mean, I didn’t know how tight one’s rectal muscles supposed to be so I couldn’t make any
derogatory claim judgment on his sexual life. Let’s just say that it wasn’t as tight as I expected it to be. To be fair, this could mean many things:
- It’s possible that he was extremely turned on by my awkwardness that his rosebud automatically loosed itself up, getting ready for the possibility of insertion. I mean, damn… if that’s true, I don’t know if I should be flattered by his romantic gesture or impressed by his bottoming ability. Either way, I need to learn his techniques as it may come in handy in the near future.
- He recently passed a massive stool that helped stretch his rectal muscles, which means I should probably thank the Mexican restaurant he went to last night. Thanks, Chipotle!
- He had been fucked by many guys recently.
Something tells me option C makes the most sense.
Don’t get me wrong, the sex was decent. In fact, I actually found a new respect for tops from that experience; the constant pelvic movements could really drain your energy. And who knew how carrying two legs on your shoulder for over 15 minutes could be exhausting as fuck? And you have to do all that while watching every little body gesture your bottom makes to make sure he doesn’t need to worry about the well-being of his asset? And more importantly, you have to make sure you can control the moment you erupt while you’re doing all these? Geez, no wonder how tops generally have fitter bodies; it’s a fucking workout, people.
So yeah, in conclusion, my first experience penetrating a butthole had an anti-climatic ending (pun intended). Was I going to exclusively be a top based on that experience, you might ask? Hell no. But I could see why some people are addicted to it; I mean, I would not mind doing it again once in a while. Overall, it was an eye-opening experience for me as it shed a light on what most of my tops went through as they were pounding the hell out of my arse, so I have my British lover to thank for popping my topping virginity. Cheers, mate!