“Most people talk about their fantasies. I’m living mine”
– Erika Jayne –
We can all agree that porn, in one way or another, plays a huge role in developing our sexual fantasies. However, it’s quite unsettling when your perception of sexual pleasure is completely distorted by the hyperfictional fantasies curated by these multi-million porn studios until you disregard your own safety. Please note that no matter how arousing or educational a porn scene can be, your well-being should always come first (and your genital second). Yes, I have to admit that I find some unorthodox scenes to be hot AF, but I have to keep in mind that these porn stars are professionals, meaning that they rigorously prepare themselves prior to a scene. And let’s not forget the magic of film editing because trust me, sex doesn’t always look as seamless as porn depicts, and this is coming from someone who has experienced countless fecal incidents when having sex.
I had often seen this college-aged guy advertising himself on Grindr nearby but we had never spoken to each other. I also knew that we went to the same college because of what he wrote on his profile (surprisingly, I didn’t need to do my usual intensive stalking to know everything I needed to know about this guy). It only took one Sunday afternoon, unfortunately, for our dynamic to change forever. He started messaging me and because we had many things in common, I decided to reply to his messages with some stereotypical responses found on dating apps. It didn’t take long for our conversation to revolve around sex because Grindr is a place where the gays shy away from basic human decency. As we were talking about the logistics of our fornication, I was dumbfounded when he sent me this message:
“I’ll be waiting in my room on all fours. My door is unlocked and I’m ready for you to fuck me”
HOLY. SHIT. Being a dumb gay in my early 20’s, I didn’t know the politically correct response to his offer. When I received his text, I immediately thought, “damn, this shit belongs in some sort of kinky porno!” I carefully weighed in my options and below are some responses that I thought could be appropriate in this situation:
A) “Don’t you think we’re moving too fast? I just don’t think I’m ready for this kind of commitment yet!”
B) “Has anyone ever told you how outrageous this sounds? Geez, you’re fucking gross!”
C) “Hi, I’m actually a 54 years old chubby man with record-breaking low credit score. Still wanna fuck?”
D) “That sounds hot, but I’m actually more into reenacting the scene from the infamous 2 Girls 1 Cup video. How good is your video editing skill?”
E) “Can my dad tag along? We’ll give you a generous royalty deal when the video becomes live on our site! Let us make you a star!”
F) “That’s cool. When can I come over?”
And to no one’s surprise, I went with option F.
I don’t even know why I feel the need to justify my choice to you (yes, I’m talking to you random strangers who stumbled upon my blog after searching the phrases “why are poppers so good with blowjobs” on Google. And yes, I’m not making that shit up). At the time, my only point of reference was porn and there’s something extremely arousing about the fantasy he wanted to reenact that I can’t quite figure out to this day. I wasn’t even physically interested in the guy and I only did it for the sake of saying to my friends that I had tried it before (I know… I’m a dumbass, but hey, what else is new?) You might ask… what if this was all part of a sick homophobic psychopath’s plan to trick dumb gays into their house? Well… I wish you could’ve asked my younger self that because at that moment, nothing seemed to be remotely close to stopping me from jeopardizing my well-being. In retrospect, I’m not even sure who’s more naive in this story, me or my venturesome bottom.
I parked my car and notified my arrival to my fellow carpe diem gay. He responded with his apartment number and instructions to help to navigate my way to his bum. The moments leading to the grand reveal of his asshole felt like a scene in a horror movie where the protagonist slowly walked into an abandoned mansion with some menacing sound effects in the background, and you know shit is about to go down. Once I arrived at his door, I turned the doorknob and expectedly, his door was unlocked. I thought, “I really hope I’m not trespassing the wrong person’s room!” I tiptoed my way around his room until I looked to my left to explore what seemed like a bedroom, and there he was… on all fours and butt-naked on his bed with a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube neatly placed directly under his chamber of secrets. Feel free to take a minute to fully grasp the imagery I vaguely described to you.
I was astounded. What was one semi-innocent gay supposed to do or say in this particular situation? Was I even supposed to say hello? Did I need to make any remarks about his flesh pink butthole? My body was moving on autopilot as I was taken over by a sex-positive divine entity and for me, the seemingly most logical thing to do for me at that moment was to drop my pants to the floor to get myself ready for penetration without saying a word. I told myself to recall the most arousing porno I could think of to speed up my awakening process of my best friend down there because I didn’t want to seem rude. I thought, “it’s probably the least I can do to help him live his fantasy!” After a minute of my awkward attempts at talking dirty (because nobody likes it when someone just sticks it in), my magic wand was finally ready for infiltration. I glanced at myself in the mirror on the wall and I was truly serving him Christian Grey realness. So I took a second to fully get into character, shielded my wand with a rubber vest, applied some lube on it, and hoped for the best. To quote Miss Carrie Underwood, I let Jesus take the wheel.
After what felt like years of pounding the shit of his ass (figuratively, of course. I’m not trying to tarnish my boy’s reputation here), I was getting bored and my boy could feel my enthusiasm dwindling to a trickle. I was completely aware that he tried his best to save ourselves from this predicament by making awkward sensual noises, and I truly appreciated his effort. However, for unknown reasons, I just couldn’t fully embody this dominant top who could channel his animalistic nature in the blink of an eye. Sensing the lack of spark in our chemistry, he suggested that we tried a new position, but it only made things worse. I guess there’s something about the missionary position that humanized him and took me out of the fantasy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I’m always into hardcore kinky shit, but to this day, I’ve always associated the missionary position with passion and intimacy. It’s just hard to feel any genuine connection with someone when your first impression of them is his gaping hole.
He eventually took matters into his own hands (pun intended) and utilized whatever was left inside his rectum and anal canal to pleasure himself to completion. I could feel that my pelvic workout would most likely result in nothing that afternoon, so I wasn’t angered by his selfish desire to reach climax without returning the favor. I mean… he had generously put his bum into service for me to stimulate my willy, so I had no reason to be mad whatsoever. If anything, I was relieved that he ended things early as I had had enough of this 50 Shades of Gay fantasy.
After we finished cleaning ourselves up, we began the slow process of coming to our senses as we were talking about ourselves and our school, or in his case, his alma mater. We gave each other bullshit reasons to excuse ourselves from the slightly uncomfortable situation we were in and gave each other a goodbye hug. During my entire drive home, I was pondering my most recent sexual encounter. I thought, “what the fuck did I just get myself into?” With that said, I have zero regrets about the entire experience; I allowed myself to step outside of my comfort zone and partake in something that I was hesitant to attempt. And hey… at least I learned that sex with zero normal human interactions is not my cup of tea (and that’s the T on that). On any other circumstances, I could see myself being a good friend with this guy. I could still be friends with him, I guess, but I wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about him on all fours whenever I stared into his eyes. That would’ve just been too much.