CLAW 2018 #1

I attended my 6 th CLAW a month or so back. As usual, I did more work there than play. It’s always the way with me. And as usual, it was harder to hook up with guys, as a bottom, than I think it should. Where I think a lot of time bottoms can have more power in bed, tops have more power to get guys too bed. Sometimes the bottoms are powerless in that regard.

The problem here of course is there are too many potential guys with which to hook up, so it’s a waiting game. And if someone else is potentially hotter, than you’re left in the dust. It’s much easier to top here. WAY too easy, in fact. The irony is – and I’ve said this before – a thousand guys right in front of you and the way guys fucking hook up are via Scruff and Recon phone apps. Frustrating.

That said, that is how I got some action all three times.

He was on Scruff. Average everything, but a nice face – though on the screen would be the only time I’d see it. His profile alluded to vers, but in the convo, it was clear he wasn’t. Or wasn’t for this trip. He was a big old bottom.

1604 was the room. Door would be open. And it was. He was head down, shoulders up, eyes blindfolded. I had on a kilt, so nothing needed to be taken off. I had gotten hard as I walked down the hall and pushed open the door. Scenes like that always get to me, regardless if I’m bottom or top.

I stood behind him, admiring his ass. I dropped to my knees and ate his hole. I wasn’t the first one there. This I knew, by smell and taste. Eventually I stood. I raised a hand and brought it down hard upon his left cheek. If it hurt him, he never let on. If he liked it, he never let on. In a certain way, that says a lot about a man. He wasn’t there to be interactive, he did the right thing.

I lifted the kilt, my hard exposed. I pressed it against his hole, no lubrication. I had a hunch I wasn’t the first one there. I wasn’t wrong. With enough resistance, but not enough to stop me, I entered. The hole was slick. I mentioned it. The only time he really responds to me. I’m #3 – so he claims. #I fuck. I fuck hard. This is about me. While it’s kind of about him, I try to make it less so. I want him to feel like he already feels – like a thing. Like a utility. I know that feeling. I’ve been that utility. I know how he wants to be treated, what he wants to feel like after that door closes.

He’s not one for aural ques. There is nothing telling me if he likes it or doesn’t. I don’t really care either way. I pump. I pull all the way out and enter all the way in. I started by sliding, then it was pushing, then it was punching. I don’t think I was his #3, but I’ve been wrong before. He was open. He was willing. All too willing. There was nothing ‘vers’ about this guy.

I held off an incredibly long time, actually. While he didn’t say it, I think he was annoyed. He was, in my opinion, looking for a pump and dump. Usually my triggers take care of that for me, and easily. Not today. But I was controlling this more than I usually do. Not quite edging. I never got that close, though I could have. I was enjoying this – not just the hole, but the scene. The blindfold. The pig.

Still, I had work to do. I made a promise to CLAW and I intended to keep it. I got close. At the precipice. Then I overacted when it happened. I made a show of it. I left the folks in the hallway know. I let the folks, if any, in the adjacent rooms to know too.

I let his guts know too. I filled them up with white hot sperm. Which added to the others he had lining his intestines. Which would be the lube for guy #4.

I pulled out. Dripped on his carpet a little and put my kilt down. I didn’t thank him. I didn’t say a word. He heard the door slam shut behind me.