Fuck-lore
To be a good top you need to be a good bottom.
Gay crap! “To be a good top you’ve got to be a good bottom.” BS! Can you hear the singy-songy scorn in my voice? It’s the kind of thing old men say. Losers who shag (out of desperation) other losers.
It’s great to jam my cock into an accommodating arse. To feel the crown breach that little ring of muscle. Then to slide all the way in until my pubes are rubbing against his taint and his expression tells me he’s loving every inch. I revel in feeling the tight warmth of his channel round my length, then pumping in and out until my slit fires jizz into him.
I also love pulling my knees up to my ears and feeling a dick at my entrance. Then the glide as he pushes his shaft into me and, after a slow build-up, him pistoning his dick in and out hard. I love it when it lasts a long time. I love lying there with him in my hole. I love it when, eventually, he shoots his cum into me.
And then there’s Brendan. I wish I knew what it is about him but I know I want him the moment I lay eyes on him.
It’s not usually a problem to get the men I want but, that evening, I flirt my little (and it is little) arse off and he doesn’t bite (if only).
He is charming and his eyes sparkle. He makes every indication that he wants me but, when the barman calls time, he gets up and exits, leaving me with an unfilled arse and the wrong kind of ache.
Brendan is getting on, at least 35. He wears his clothes in a way that reveals the lovely body beneath but doesn’t scream ‘look at me’. He holds my gaze but doesn’t make me feel objectified. I so want him.
Another evening at the bar. Another evening where he walks away. Another evening where my flirt leads to a resounding but unspoken ‘No’.
It’s not a word I’m used to hearing. When I want a man I have them.
Time to be more direct. I kiss him. Gently at first. Our mouths meet in a fantastic, intimate dance. He smiles. I bring my tongue into play, sweeping it over his soft, passionate lips. Teasing his tongue tip with mine. Deepening the merging and mixing our saliva. Opening my mouth as wide as I can and feeling his exploration. Sensing the quickening of my heart and the hardening of my dick.
“Can I fuck you?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“Or you can fuck me.”
“Why?”
“It’d be fun. I’m good at it.”
“Are you?”
“I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Hmmmm.” He holds my gaze. “You’re a beautiful young man… but if you’re going to fuck me it has to be good. You need to be a good top.”
I’m more than a bit surprised. He turns on his heel and leaves. “Well fuck you,” I think. “Arrogant prick.”
He’s in my mind, though. It’s a bit disconcerting. I should be able to wipe him out of my consciousness but there he is. With that slightly wicked, nearly naughty smile. I can feel his hands on my hips as we kiss (although it’s all in my mind). I can feel my arse ready to open for him. I can feel his hole as I push into him and ease out then repeat.
Then that infuriating expression pops into my brain: “To be a good top you’ve got to be a good bottom.” It won’t go away, so I Google it: what makes a good gay top? There are dozens of articles and I skim read some of them. ‘Don’t go too deep at first.’ ‘Make sure he’s well prepped (so you can avoid the often off-putting experience of a shitty cock)’! ‘Push the head of your knob repeatedly against his prostate.’
There’s one article, though, that explores the whole ‘good bottom’ thing.
Over the next five nights I bottom for England. There’s no shortage of guys that want to fuck me. I’m young, fit, solvent and have my own flat. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Oh, and I have a decent-sized knob! Giant tick.
It’s annoying, though. As I’m lying there on my back with their cock in my arse I can’t get three of them to meet my eyes. If I’m honest, I normally prefer doggy-style when I’m receiving, so it’s not an issue, but it surprises me, when I think about it and try to put it into action, how many prefer to close their eyes or look anywhere but at my face. Even the ones that will meet my eyes do so fleetingly. One, eventually, allows his gaze to lock with mine and, admittedly, it establishes a kind of link between us. For the first time I actually feel like he feels he’s fucking another person, not just pumping up and then firing his jizz into a hole.
Similarly, it’s quite difficult to get them to slow down. I’d never realised before the difference between fucking (having sex) and getting fucked (dumping my load or being a cum-dump). I do have to confess that a slower pace helps me feel more, both physically and (although I’m scornful of it) emotionally.
Using my internal muscles to milk his cock is a revelation… I experience things I never have before… but hard work. Previously, just giving or taking cock until we cum was enough… but tightening my sphincter round his meat really helps me feel something more.
I did know where my prostate was and how it could react but it was something that rarely featured in my fucks. For five nights I try getting my fuckers to include mine as they shag me. Only one gets the message. He helps me soar but doesn’t really seem to care. It’s as if it doesn’t really matter to him whether I have a good time or not.
That leads me to mentally ask how I get a lover to want it to be good for both of us.
I admit, in the past I’ve only really wanted him to enjoy sex enough to cum, and to feel it enough to jizz myself. I realise I was just trophy-collecting: boosting my own ego by making him climax… giving myself physical satisfaction.
I think about Brendan and my arse twitches. I get shivers through my body. After five nights being fucked my reaction to the thought of him tells me all I need to know.
“I sooo want you,” I text. “Come and teach me what I need to know.”
Two days go by. “Please,” I text.
Four days later he replies: “Good manners always help. Maybe I don’t want to be teacher. Perhaps I just want to be well fucked.”
“I’ll fuck you,” I reply. “But you seem to think I can’t do it well. So come and show me how.”
A fortnight passes.
I wonder whether Brendan is going to get mushy with me but, no, it’s a pragmatic fuck. Having his six inches in my passage feels good. It’s hard not to do my usual thing: mentally anticipate how good a session we will have based on the size of his dick. And it’s a relief that he fulfills the minimum requirement size-wise even if I am asking him to guide me through a new approach to bottoming.
I do all the things my reading and ‘research’ have suggested, meeting his gaze (I’m on my back as we shag), slowing down, squeezing his dick with my anal muscles, guiding his crown to my prostate (and letting him think he’s found it himself). I’m also a little surprised to find myself bouncing my hips and rotating my pelvis to meet his thrusts.
It all serves to increase the feeling of connection… and then something perplexing happens. I find myself wanting to make the sex good for him and realising that he wants to make it good for me. It’s like some strange cycle. The more I respond to him the more he responds to me. It becomes about Brendan but for him it’s about me… almost as if we gain our own satisfaction from helping the other feel good.
I’m transported away and our actions mirror each others’. There’s no race to climax, we (eventually) get there by mutual consent. He shoots his jizz into my hole while I ejaculate huge spurts of cum onto my chest and face.
We’re both breathless and exhausted. It takes us a while to come down off the cum climax.
As he sleeps beside me (something definitely unplanned) I awake in the early hours and realise the word ‘share’ now means something different and much deeper to me.
I awake on my back with Brendan straddling my hips. His lubed-up hand is behind him and I can feel it spreading gloop on my morning glory. He guides my crown into his hole.
What a way to wake up! My eyes snap open as soon as he grabs my engorged knob and as he eases my head into his sphincter his eyes find mine.
He smiles... and out of no-where, inexplicably, my mood soars.
Brendan slides himself down all the way, until his arse is against my balls, then starts a lazy rocking, sliding my length in and out of him, slowly at first but gradually building up.
He feels delicious on my cock and the look on his face and in his eyes suggests that’s what he’s feeling too. I revel in his enjoyment, loving the fact that his emotion is written in his expression. He isn’t just using my shaft to get himself off... he really seems to be savouring every millimetre of my pole while massaging it with his hole and responding to my enjoyment.
He works me up to near climax, then slides all the way down and just sits there until my excitement has subsided a little. He shifts himself on to his feet, placing one either side of my hips, then begins bouncing. Judging by the way his eyes light up the sensation in his hole is different from a few moments ago, just as it is for me. I never realised that seeing a man enjoy my body so much would feel so enriching.
And then he squeezes... and another new feeling floods my system. As I enjoy the feel of his muscles on my knob I'm guessing it shows on my face as his naughty grin makes itself very visible.
I so want to spray my juice into him but he very skilfully keeps bringing me to the brink and then backing off.
He flips us, lying on his back and guiding me into his entrance. With each move, though, his eyes are there, waiting for me to engage and enjoy all the more. I suddenly realise the imbalance and it becomes my turn to bring him to the brink of climax and then back off.
He'd taught me the previous night, as he was topping me, to be aware of both our reactions and to feed off them to create even more intense feelings.
It wasn’t about me fucking Brendan or Brendan bottoming for me. It became about a shared exploration and enjoyment of and for each other. All the time his eyes, lips and body are telling me how to make it good for him and how he’s trying to make it good for me.
In due course I fill his hole with my cum (and even grow dizzy doing so) while he pumps long strings of jizz on to himself and the bed.
Undoubtedly, learning to 'be a good bottom' is a gift and sex with Brendan broadens my sexual scope in ways I could only have imagined. I can't wait for us to hook up again, hopefully creating 'a dance' where we exchange top and bottoming roles as the sexual drive leads us, but when Toby texts, I don’t hesitate to say ‘Yes’ to his offer to ‘pound your arse into the mattress’.
This story was written as part of a Naked Men Talking Writing Workshop, in response to the prompt "To be a good top you need to be a good bottom". Copyright remains with the author - this story cannot be republished or distributed without the consent of the author.
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