Gay men are kinky gits. It’s hardly breaking news.
About a year ago, a young emo kid I pulled wanted us both to dress up as chavs for the night. He took me shopping, picked out white briefs, sports socks, pale blue trackies, a Le Coq Sportif polo shirt, blue trainers and a cap. Then I donned a gold chain and ragged him around the room for a couple of hours till he was satisfied. My sister was staying over at the time and tells me she recorded the sex noises/battle cry for future blackmailing purposes. I told her I hope she sells it to The Daily Mail and gets a good price.
A few weeks ago a guy asked me to wear my trainers again and give him a good trampling. The offer didn’t really appeal, until the guy asked me to drive over his hands. Hang on! I thought. Did he really want me to drive over his hands? Yup. He wanted to go to a field (the ground is softer and his fingers could sink into the soil) and drive over his hands in his brand new car. It wasn’t a small car, either. Naturally, being the investigative journalist I am (Oi, you! Stop laughing at the back!), I decided to get behind the wheel.
‘What would you do if you actually broke a bone or something?’
‘I wouldn’t care. You’ve told me to do this,’ I said.
So I did. I drove over his hands just to see how much he enjoyed it. Only, now I wish I’d filmed it and posted it on YouTube. It’d get a million hits within the hour. Paris Hilton’s sex tape was nowhere near as risqué. I think I’d have preferred her firing ping-pongs from ning-nong. Maybe she’s a closet necrophiliac. Or, more likely, we’ll next see her in Two Rich Girls, One Horse. They say girls who horse-ride often break their hymens. I’m beginning to understand that in a whole new light . . .
But I know there are other, stranger fantasies out there. A friend of mine reportedly likes being fucked by glass objects. I only hope he doesn’t clench and find himself in bits. Another likes to cut her girlfriends and lick up the blood, lesbo vampire style. When a guy asked if he could suck my toes, I thought him positively boring.
To be honest, I’m game for anything. Life’s for living and you can never say never. Much of my experimentation comes from boredom. After your thousandth shag, doggy style just doesn’t cut it. It’s like drugs. You need bigger and stronger hits to get your rocks off. In that respect, I’m the sexual equivalent of Amy Winehouse. Whilst she’s smoking crack, I’m licking crack; and whilst she’s shooting up, I’m shooting rent boys with a BB gun just so they can get it up.
But there have been some things I’ve shied away from so far. One guy wanted to put on a wetsuit and have me piss on him. I’ve never been one for golden showers and I’ve never visited Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, if you catch my drift. There are some depths I’m yet plumb. Maybe one day I’ll get bored and find myself swinging from a chandelier, ready to take a dump on a hungry geriatric below.
Then again, maybe not.
"...and her nurse, with her pitchers of liquors and milk." - Sunny today. The temperature is sitting right at freezing, 32˚F, but the windchill's at 24˚F. It occurs to me that I have not left the House since January ...
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