This is our truth, tell us yours
“The men that I’ve been seeing, baby
Got their soul up on a shelf
You know they could never love me
‘Cause they can’t even love themselves”
Bonnie Raitt – Love Me Like A Man
There are lots of things this blog tries not to do. When we’re writing about our relationship, Jem and I are adamant we’re not doing BDSM 101. When I write about our sex life I am desperate not to turn this blog into a humble brag, or worse still, to do a Hugo and lecture other men in the hope of attracting women.
However, there are things we need to write about sometimes. This is, after all, a blog that writes about sex. Writing about it from my perspective is a part of that.
Jem and I have been having sex for maybe days or weeks, even if those hours or days have been stretched out over more years than either of us likes to believe. I am dominant, Jem is submissive, and we both regard listening and observing as the filthiest, most sexual things we can do.
Among the things we do is a complex, informal process of improvization when we have sex. We know our roles, but there is no script, no plan, just a beginning that leads to experiences, observations and reactions.
Of course each of us brings to our role an accumulated body of knowledge and experience that shapes us as people. I know something both about being the man I am, and how I got there. All that knowledge informs how I react.
I’ve written variations on this blog before, but it’s one of those messages that bears repeating. I have better sex when I don’t assume my cock is the centre of the universe. If my cock isn’t the centre of the universe then, probably, neither am I. For a man who identifies as dom, this is sometimes a surprising admission.
I have at this point to make a very clear point. I know this, about being a dom man, not because I am a man who enjoys sex with women, but because of the sex I had with men.
When I was a young man I had sex with any number of men in anonymous environments. Those men were a crash course in what sex feels like in a world of narcissism. The low point was a man who softly held my cock while I wanked him to orgasm, then made his excuses without reciprocating and left because ‘his wife was waiting in the car.’
Anyone who wants to relate that incident to my later fetish for fucking married men in front of their wives is entitled to claim the ‘really fucking obvious inference award’ for 2017.
Mainly what I learned from having sex with men is that being a panda (as in eats, shoots and leaves) is a step beyond many of the bi or gay men I had sex with. Mainly they specialized in shooting and leaving.
All of those experiences fed into my first experiences with women. I knew what men did,and I tried to avoid being like them, because the men I had experienced had, in the main, been selfish bastards.
That isn’t an approach that reflects any credit on me. It’s simply how I was conditioned to be. As I have joked with Jem, a set of experiences that led me to approach cunnilingus like a fat boy offered cake opened doors for me that many youths my age didn’t even see.
Long before I was legal I was acutely aware that male orgasm is a little death, is the loss of impetus unless it’s challenged and wrapped up in self-awareness.
Sometimes,when I’m making smiles at Jem, I want to go back to my youth and find that man with the impatient wife in his car, and thank him for who I am.