Yesterday I got home from work, lit up a joint, and—as usual—felt that familiar horniness kick in hard. One of my regular bottoms hit me up and asked if he could come over and take care of me. I told him yeah, I was down.
He showed up about twenty minutes later. We chilled, put on some music, passed the joint back and forth. Before long he was face-down, ass-up, and I had my hand on the back of his neck, breeding him deep. When I get in that zone and feel myself getting close, I tighten my grip on his neck, thrust harder, grunting with every stroke. I could feel my dick pulsing inside him as I unloaded.
We went a couple more rounds, smoked some more in between. Afterward, while we were catching our breath, he looked at me and asked, “Why do you always say ‘I’m sorry’ when you’re fucking me?”
The question hit me like a brick. I knew I’d been saying it—I’d heard the words slip out before—but having it called out forced me to actually face it.
Deep down, part of me still believes what I’m doing is wrong. I don’t even know exactly why I feel that way, but the guilt is there. During the act, when I’m right on the edge, it’s pure euphoria—like I’m finally complete, whole, alive. Then the second I finish, that high crashes and I feel dirty, ashamed, like I’ve done something unforgivable.
I tell myself I should stop. But my sex drive is relentless. The moment I see a nice ass, my brain shorts out. Next thing I know I’m on Sniffies, or cruising spots, chasing that next breeding. It’s like I’m wired this way and I can’t flip the switch off.
I’m stuck between the rush that feels like the only time I’m truly present… and the regret that floods in the moment it’s over.