ErosWired

This strikes me as an unfavorable situation for you because from your narrative it seems fairly clear that the critical dynamic in the relationship is occurring only within your own mind. It’s not the mutual regard of an actual relationship, but a psychological landscape you’ve constructed for yourself around him. The confusion and distress you’re feeling now comes from a subtle but growing awareness that you’re not both playing anything like the same game - that your investment in it is unrequited. It’s telling that you began wearing the cage before you met him, and that the crossdressing was something you thought about to try to please him.You say, “He made me feel ashamed, he made me feel worthess” - but is that perhaps a little disingenuous on your part to yourself? Perhaps more than a little? It sounds to me from reading your account that it could be said that you engineered yourself into this position with him because he enabled you to act upon impulses you maybe didn’t give yourself the freedom to act upon alone. If he’s not been trying to contact you, it’s entirely possible that you really are just another hookup in his eyes, and this “my owner” thing is pure fantasy you’re keeping alive inside your own mind. If that’s the case, I can understand how it might eat at your thoughts and make you question yourself, when the evidence before your eyes doesn’t marry up with the story you’ve been telling yourself is true. I’m saying all of this to you because I went through a very similar process of self-questioning when I was with my former Master. Now, in my case, he did, in fact, own me. We had gone to the extent of drafting on paper and executing a formal Deed of Ownership granting him title to my physical body for any purpose. A court of law would not have upheld it, of course, but between the two of us, that piece of paper was as legitimate and binding as any vehicle title, any deed to real estate. I belonged to him. But that didn’t mean that everything that I became under his ownership was his doing, or even his design. It took me a very long time to realize that what I had told myself was his plan for me, his design, was in fact something far more subtle - he simply intended to find out what was already inside me. He wasn’t going to change me into something I wasn’t, but see how extremely he could animate something I might otherwise repress. I can say with absolute certainty that had it not been for what he did to me, I would not today be a free public whore for men, taking their cocks and seed into my body with pride and without shame. But I can’t say that he made me do this. Yes, there were things he made me do in the sense that he used coercion and force of strength to make my body, mind, and orgasm submit to his intent. But in the end I became this because some deep part of me wanted it, and I happened to find a sadist who knew how to drag it out of me. My relationship with him didn’t last forever, either. He wasn’t in love with me and had no interest in possessing me as a fucktoy for his personal needs, so when he was satisfied he had experimented with me all he wanted, he handed me back the deed to my body and turned me loose on my own. It was really hard at first, and occasionally still is hard, when I stop and realize that a man owned me once and wasn’t interested enough to keep me, and the chances of ever finding another man willing to pick that up are next to nil, to keep a sense of personal value. It’s made harder still for people like us in the twisted position of finding that our sense of personal worth relies on other men seeing us as worthless. But what gets me through from day to day is trying to keep a clear realization in my head that although I may give what I have to any and every man, I’m beholden for what I am to no man.

I have found fingers the most potentially damaging common “insertable” that isn’t actually meant to cause damage. I a forever having to ask men - and for some reason it’s usually men above a certain age - to refrain from fingering me because of the length of their nails. I can always tell when it’s going to be an unpleasant probing, too, because a man will usually come into me not with his finger loosened and flexible, but tensed up and hardened, to the point that if he has knobby knuckles or dry, rough skin on his hands, I definitely feel that like sandpaper. Worst, though, is when we get to the hallmark of the finger-fucker, the 360-degree crook-and-swirl - he’ll sink his index finger inside me, form it into a bend like fucking Captain Hook, and give it a quick full-circle swipe around the inside of my assring like he’s trying to scoop me out from the inside. That always hurts, and it hurts worse when nails are involved. Plus, fingers touch everything when it comes to sex, so they’re probably even more likely than cocks to be an STD vector if you let them spend a lot if time inside. I’ve toyed with a no-fingers policy for my cunt before, but here’s the thing: Every once in a while I’ll be ass-up hosting in a dark hotel room and I’ll hear the door open and shut. There’s the sound of clothes hitting the floor behind me, and then a long, long pause, until suddenly I feel the warm tips of fingers sweep across the hot, wet lips of my cunt and the man draws in his breath in disbelief... his fingers seem to freeze in place as though he fears that if he blinks he’ll lose this unbelievable moment when he realizes through his fingertips what his whole body is about to enjoy. That moment is heady, potent, electric. I could no more deny that to another man than I could cut off my own arm. And then, there’s the one, very special, memory from Cincinnati, the night I learned for the very first time what it meant to be broken in submission. I had met a Too there who really got off on finger fucking. He bent me over the back of a tall couch so my chest was low, my ass at his elbow level, and my feet unable to touch the ground. He tied me in firmly that way and began to finger-fuck me continuously until it became uncomfortable and I wanted him to stop, and said so. He didn’t, no matter what zi said. Thar night I understood true submission for the first time, at the end of a finger that would. not. stop.

I’m sure they don’t, and I suspect most of them don’t even realize how their word-stingy profiles make them appear indistinguishable from all the other word-stingy profiles. Coming full circle back to the OP’s original point, it may be that the words themselves may still have power to guide the right men together, it’s just that a significant number of people have simply stopped using them at all! If a profile says nothing but “Ask me” it suggests the owner doesn’t possess the emotional or sexual vocabulary to answer them if you did. For him, those words lose their meaning because they were never used.

*sigh* Bless you, you’re like me, always trying to be extra-helpful just when they didn’t even want to know they needed it. That dude is blithely tooling around with an shell of an app profile, likely thinking to himself, “These apps suck, nobody ever hits on my profile” and spends his day in sexual frustration because he can’t be bothered to use his words. Like you, I probably would have assumed the message was a bot or s scam, and even if some little intuition made me check him out, I might have asked him the same questions. I gather you did not “help him cum?”

@bbzh makes some excellent points - the need to morph words into code - to intentionally give them a sub-meaning so that we can still communicate certain ideas past moral firewalls - absolutely is at play. And I second seeking out those disrete (though not necessarily discreet!) communities where bears-of-a-feather bump uglies together. They form clubs, munches, have special events at gay campgrounds, all kinds of things, and apps like Growlr do, at least for now, seem to serve mostly their chosen tribe. Perhaps this is because their categorization terminology is more targeted. Personally, I would never put a ‘dream guy’ pic in my profile because something like that is likely, I think, to filter out more than it filters in. It basically forces the prospective hookup to swipe left or right on himself on your behalf, without any discussion, based on an assumption of what you will reject - i.e., anything that isn’t in that picture. Maybe that’s your goal, but You may find it a long, dry spell between fuckings. Ding! Give the man a free bathhouse coupon. The internet in general, and social media in particular, is becoming exponentially more visual-based. Verbal/textual skills are declining right before our eyes - people are even falling out if the habit of spelling standard English words, amirite? B4 u kno it ur post iz ful of this shit. SMH. TLDR; What he said ^. One thing I have found, though, because I myself refuse to abandon the beauty and rich expressive utility of English when I send messages to people is that they usually begin to respond at least somewhat in kind. I think they realize that I’m not going to speak their app-creole bastardization of the language, and so they default to the real thing to communicate. I don’t know hiw much use that is in dealing with the broader problems you point out arising from word generalization, but I think the less we choose to promote it in our own communications with other men, the slower it will take hold. Societal change comes only from individual change.

You are not alone. I attribute some of it directly to the apps which prompt men to build profiles for themselves on the basis of checking of groups of “interests” or “tribes”. In doing so, guys then associate themselves with words that attach to practices they’ve never actually done, so to shoehorn themselves into the category they stretch the category to fit themselves. Esoteric communities like the BDSM lifestyle are particularly susceptible to this because every guy likes to think he’s a little sexually edgy, and the dearth of actual understanding about what BDSM is all about makes it easy to imagine that it’s exactly what you want it to be. Every vanilla fucker sees Fifty Shades and suddenly he’s all about the lingo even if he’s never been flogged in his life. I think other cases are simply a matter of there not being s better alternative. “Daddy” gets too much use because there’s a broad swath of dad-bod-ish men past a certain fresh age that don’t meet any significant category, but need a word to describe them. Likewise, bear is overused, but there really aren’t that many other mammals (besides otters) available. I just fear the day we turn into one of those drink-vending machines that let you combine flavors - eventuall, all the drinks start to taste the same.

That’s a tough one. Doublelist doesn’t make it easy because of all the restrictions on what can and can’t be written in an ad. I have yet to come up with an effective text for getting across the fact that I am accepting more than one man into a hotel room for an evening. Most things that I’ve tried have been shot down by their censors - every time I try to set up a sex ad on Doublelist I end up feeling like I’m in the Vatican trying to put up a flyer for a brothel. The truth is, if you’re in a city overrun with too many bottoms, there’s not much any app is going to be able to do to help you. The electronic wells have been poisoned by men willing to say whatever they think will get them a cock. There is no level playing field in a Jungle Of The Bottoms. My first thought was to suggest that you take your fight to the streets and try your luck with some real-live cruising, but then I recalled that you said Grindr and Jackd were full of familiar faces from around town... is it possible that the reason you aren’t finding any different men is that there simply aren’t any different men there to find? If you go out and cruise, will the same faces as the ones on the apps be staring back at you? I wish you luck, because if you’re in anything like my situation, the only solution is travel.

Oh, Lord. This is going to be one of those deals where (if he actually goes through with this at all) you’re going to have to sit him down somewhere comfortable before any clothes come off and before you open up you bag of gear, and just talk. All the texting you’ve done doesn’t mean a thing - you’re going to have to show him that you absolutely will not hurt him and will not let anything bad happen to him in the whole experience. He may think he wants to be taken, but right now, he needs to know that he is in complete control of everything that’s going to happen, even if that means he decides it’s too much for that evening and calls a halt. Be prepared for your long night to potentially be a short night. If this is his current stage of development, I’d say him getting a hotel room and asking you to come do some demonstrations is his equivalent of me throwing all good sense out the window and agreeing to let a dark, angry-looking Top with “Fag Killa” tattoed on his bicep tie me up, slam me, and whore me out to a large, violent street gang for an entire weekend. In no way is he ready to take anon cock in a hotel room, and it probably wouldn’t be safe to leave him to do it, even if the security measures at the expensive hotel were such that an anonymous stranger could get to the room in the first place. Not telling you what to do, but if I were in your place, I would tell the guy (assuming he hasn’t bolted on you before this) that you think he’s sexy and plucky and hot, but let him know straight-up that he’s got some experimenting and self-discovery still to do before he’s anywhere near ready to try what he’s contemplating. I concur. Absolutely do not take a camera. If the way you describe your friend is anywhere close to accurate, he is in a very vulnerable place right now. Tread carefully. One other practical tip, by the way - take all those hand-me-down dildos you’re planning to give him and run them through your dishwasher before you pack them up. Better to make sure everything’s squeaky clean. You’ll be dealing with virgin ass, after all. 🙂

I’m not a particularly vain person. This is possibly because I don’t usually notice other people’s appearance either. It doesn’t register to me as significant until I discover whether or not they have a brain isn’t instantly tiresome (so many are). If their appearance isn’t important, my head reasons, why would my own be? Except, of course, for the vast majority of humanity - a primarily visual and basically not at all telepathic species -appearances are huge. People judge books and pretty much every other fucking thing by their covers. Especially the fucking things. That’s where the trouble lies for people like me, who really somewhat keenly want to be a fucking thing. I’ve said it many times on BZ - I’m no Adonis... more if a Caliban, really, to keep with the motif and because I don’t actually have live snakes instead of hair. I don’t rate, I never have in my whole life. I mean, I suppose I’m not hideous - I don’t curdle fresh milk when I pass by or anything - but I find mirrors a little too honest to stand and look at them. From time to time some guy or another will comment to me that I’m ‘cute’ or ‘handsome’ or (inexplicably) ‘hot’, which I hold up as proof that there’s no accounting for taste - but I also know what constitutes a smokingly attractive man in a broad and generally agreed-upon sense, and I’m not it. Lots of men, and particularly as we age, face some degree of appearance-angst. The muscle tone starts to slip, the pecs aren’t as full as they were, the calves aren’t quite as rounded, you can’t really bounce a quarter off that ass anymore. The skin looks a little drawn. The hairline has crept back a little, perhaps, the eyebrows aren’t so dark, there’s a hint of silver in the beard. There are a couple of crinkles in the corner of the eyes that won’t go away. Each thing in itself is a small matter, but taken together... and worse, stood up against a bathhouse wall next to a 24-year-old jock with a head full of jet-black hair... they add up to potential self-dissastisfaction. I point out signs of aging, but it’s by no means limited to that - in our body-hyper-conscious gay world, how often does a young man suffer in silent misery because he has an extra ten pounds around his belly, or lacks a confident jawline, or just wasn’t genetically “gifted” in all the ways that mark a member of The Beautiful People? Sometimes I pause just a tad too long in front of the mirror, and then I touch my face and start to wonder: What would it be like if I could have this changed? It’s not completely out of the realm of physics... What if I had just - reasonable changes made, an angle changed, some mass rearranged, so that what is unhandsome looked attractive? What would happen then? I have the kind of visual imagination that allows me to see that result in front of my inner eye, and then I realize that it might work... but the person I’m looking at isn’t someone I know. So if that face were on me, who would I be? My mom wouldn’t recognize me or feel the same as she would around regular homely old me. Okay, I think, well, then, what if it’s nothing so drastic? What about just knocking that pesky gray out of my hair and getting it back to its normal color - fortunately, I’ve still got a head full of it...that, at least, is in my favor, right? Ah, but it’s just the same as bodybuilding, trying to keep a specific appearance going against the irascible forces of entropy: If the balloon has a hole in it, it will inevitably deflate unless you keep pumping forever. And you can’t keep pumping forever. So, back to solutions with the greatest possible duration, up to and including permanent changes. Hey, I know about body mods. I’ve had a steel bar straight through the meat of my cockhead for, like, 13 years now, and it’s not going anywhere. Some, wide-eyed and gesturing NopeNopeNope, might think that puh-lenty Illustrative of a step too far to change the way one sees oneself, or the way others see you; I can’t say, because I got my ampallang piercing for completely unrelated reasons. Has it drawn interest to me? Possibly. Has it drawn interest to my cock? Fuck yes, it has...the one place I don’t want men all over me, goddammit. Has it changed the way other guys perceive me - has it made them more interested in me sexually? Who knows? They don’t even find out about it until they see me naked, and I don’t share cock pics. I keep meaning to start working out on a regular basis, to reverse the damage done to my physique by AIDS six years ago, and the ravages of ART since then. I’m gradually slimming back down. Then I pass by the mirror and it says to me, “What for? I mean, look at you! You’re no prettier than you ever were, you’re never going to be hott, and even if by some modern plastic surgery miracle it were possible to turn you pretty, Quasimodo, why do you need a pretty face when all they want from you is your warm, wet ass?” The silvery motherfucker makes a sharp argument, but I still, still find myself wishing I could walk through the bathhouse and know that the confidence I project with my buck-naked body isn’t just me obliviously embarrassing myself. I think there must be something nice about being attractive, and knowing that other people lust after you. I’ll never know that feeling, I suppose. But I do wonder how far anyone else would go to get that... and if it would be worth it.

I’m not surprised at all that you haven’t had much injury considering the nature of your use - it’s the equivalent of a high-performance athlete staying at the top of his form. Constant training prepares the body to endure the full range of potential events. Contrast this with a guy who hasn’t worked out in five years deciding to go hit the free weights. Something is going to get sprained, strained or torn unless he is very cautious. I don’t have your access to sexual use/training (if only) but in my own way I work to stay flexible in all the ways that ward off damage. Contrast this with my general gymnastic ability though - I can tear a rotator cuff just looking at hand weights online.

In your mind, as you say. Not in science. Just because you learn to re-purpose something to your advantage doesn’t mean it was intended for that purpose all along. The function of the concentration of nerve endings in the anorectal region is principally to signal the body when it is time to evacuate waste, and to signal when the zone is empty and the process is complete. Without this complex signalling system, we would be constantly fouling ourselves without notice, if we had any bowel control at all. Not ideal - ask anyone who has to live with a colostomy bag. In nature, mother animals often stimulate their young to produce bowel movements by licking the anus until the young animal has matured enough to continue regularly. This can be observed with cats and young kittens, and because they’re domesticated, cats never really forget that anal pleasure is something associated with a caregiver. So when your cat wanders up to you with its tail straight up in the air, guess what it’s halfway hoping for? When mine does this I just look at her and tell her flatly, “I’m not licking your butt.” The prostate is where it is because that is the optimal location for forcing seminal fluid into the urethra in combination with the other components of semen and compressing in under its muscular contractions so as to give the fluid the ability to exit the other end of the penis with enough velocity and force to reach its destination inside another body. The prostate did not evolve into its current location because gay men couldn’t enjoy buttsex without a g-spot to call their own. Really, we have a hard enough time as it is getting the heteronormative world to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, we really were born wired for same-sex attraction - trying to foist an obviously absurd argument that the human ass was actually designed for gay sex is not going to help matters.

*sigh* I can’t count the number of bottoms who have contacted me wanting me to mentor them. I find that the vast majority of these aren’t actually looking to learn anything - they’re just too lazy to find their own Tops and they want to hijack my hotel room and get fucked by the Tops who come for me. It’s gotten to the point now that I reject all requests out if hand. The exception to this is at the bathhouse - it seems like just about every time I go, some sheepish, uncertain babe-in-the-woods bathhouse first-timer comes into my room to ask questions. I don’t know why they seem to gravitate to me - maybe it’s just the fact that I hang a sign on the open door to my room that says “Welcome! Cum on in!” Or maybe it’s just that I worked a public information desk for so long that I radiate something. Who knows. But they come in, I sit them down, calm their nerves, and have conversations that invariably involve extremely intimate details discussed matter-of-factly until we get them to the point that they feel they can have a good time at the baths. Often there is show-and-tell (and try) with the contents of my gear bag. They can touch me all they want. Sometimes I’ll end up giving them a tour of the facility; as often as not this concludes in the steam room where I position them strategically next to some guy with a hard cock and don’t leave until the cock is in their hand. This isn’t so much tutoring as facilitating, but it at least gets their ball rolling. I have done some legit bottom tutoring. Most of my experience came in assisting my former Master when he would do sessions with new guys, but I also mentored in a club environment, that kind of thing. Frankly, I find teaching other bottoms how to bottom about as engaging as teaching someone how to cook an egg. I can share information, tips, advice - but success in bottoming is defined by two things (one or both of which will matter to the bottom): the sense of personal physical gratification experienced; and the satisfaction the Top experiences. Psychological gratification for the bottom is tied to one, the other, or both. But regardless of which it is, I as a mentor have no real way of monitoring that as a process along the way to tell whether the guy in my care is making any progress. Yes, I can check off the list, has he learned how to clean out, has he learned how to relax, has he learned how to stretch his ass, has he learned kegels. Much, much harder is to determine whether he’s learned the really vital skills - how to read a Top’s movements, rhythms, sounds, intent; how to know when to open up inside and when to clamp down on the cock; when to whimper, when to growl, when to stay silent. In order to teach him any if these things, I would have to be camped out inside his head while he’s being fucked so I could mentally whisper to him, Do it now... So, I don’t bother comprehensively trying to mentor bottoms anymore. I can help them better on a forum like this by openly (very) sharing my personal experience and letting them then go learn for themselves what only they can only learn by doing anyway. And getting them through douching training bores the- well, bores the shit out of me. I do, however, occasionally mentor Tops on how to be effective Tops. That may sound odd coming from an absolutely total bottom, but I have had very good success in helping a few men, particularly young men lacking in experience and self-esteem, realize confidence in their role as Tops or as readily Versatile partners. Although I freely admit that I don’t fully comprehend how Tops think and what drives them, I can say with assurance that if I take one of these Men under my wing and into the safe harbor of my cunt, he’s going to go back out into the world as a man who takes personal pleasure in fucking another man and is confident in his ability to deliver satisfaction. I can accomplish this for him in a way I can’t with bottoms because I’m able to use my own skills to teach him how to enjoy fucking for himself, and can use my own physical response as feedback to help him refine his technique in giving pleasure (or pain) to a bottom. In teaching a Top, I can achieve synergy - in teaching a bottom, I can’t. (As it happens, I currently have an opening for a Top training spot... but then, when wouldn’t I? 😉 )

Therapy is a tool, a means to an end. In my many years of sparring with my own brain, I have found the greatest value of therapists is when they sit quietly and listen to me talk, speaking only occasionally to insert an astute question here and there. Your therapy is not about discoverIng “The Truth” - it is about discovering the right questions to match the answers that you already know. The therapist is most useful when you feel stuck, to help nudge you off the sandbar of your own preconceptions and back afloat under your own sail. Knowing what to talk to the therapist about can be as simple as asking “What is it that’s causing me distress?” Unlike a psychiatrist who is qualified to prescribe you pills to change your mental state, the only tool in the therapist’s box is words. Any change that takes place in therapy comes from you making either a conscious or subconscious decision based on a new way of thinking. So as you as yourself whether to share the details of your deepest inner sexual desires with your therapist, you might start by asking yourself whether you see that leading you to a new way of thinking. Or, if your therapy has brought about a new way of thinking that conflicts with your inner sexual construct, sensing that distress could be a sign that a conversation is in order. If you feel conflicted about the disconnect between your sexual drives and moral/religious/control imperatives, boy do I get that - right up to the moment I lost my virginity - I shit you not one but - I absolutely believed I would be struck by lightning if I fucked anyone before I was married. I was astonished - astonished - when I walked outside of that apartment and was not instantly electrocuted. Absolutely true story. Too ridiculous not to be, like everything else that happens in my whole life. (Sometimes my therapist would dissolve into silent laughter as I related my latest debacle, because he just couldn’t help it. He always apologized profusely, but I just said, “Hey, you either laugh or cry. At least one of us is enjoying my life.”) Untangling the fraught sexuality knot for yourself may or may not be something you have the inner perspective to do yourself, but if you do decide to take advantage if your therapist as a sounding board, I would suggest easing into it. Don’t fling open the lid to that Pandora’s Box all at once. Tackle it one angst at a time. A therapist is not a repository of Truth, and if he or she ever attempts to be an agent of Justice, an ethical lapse has occurred. So with a competent professional therapist, you should find no reason to fear either ideology or shame being thrown at you. If it happens, the fault is not yours, but a failure of the therapist to act as one. This voyage of discovery is for you, no one else, and in the end you’re only going to arrive at a place to which you’ve guided yourself. Use your therapist as intended... as a compass.

I think that's a hard limit by definition. Really, though - an experience of anything, and one’s relative enjoyment thereof, is defined by reaction to the thing, post-thing. One cannot, therefore receive any benefit of having been fucked to death. Not even in the sense of anticipatory response, in which one thinks, I am going to die during this violent fuck, and resigns oneself to it, can one actually gain the actual experience of the event - it may not end as expected. (If this scenario appeals to anyone, by the way, I urge you to speak to speak to a doctor or therapist; it is not a healthy mindset, even in fantasy.)

This question sounds like one of those that isn’t really asking what it asks - instead if really wanting to know if we care what a Top does to us, it feels like it’s just baiting bottoms to say how debauched they are. Asking “Do you really give a shit” is pretty much the same thing as asking, “You don’t really give a shit, do you?” But hey, I’ll bite. I’m an opinionated smartass who thinks too much (Tops note: this is what happens when a free-thinking cumdump isn’t fucked daily - prevent this if possible) and I have my usual longer-than-you-wanted answer to this question. I’ve always known that men weren’t going to choose me for my looks - I have an average body and a face made for radio. My ass apparently has a come-hither quality when in certain poses, but it’s not going to score me a gig as an underwear model. I’ve always known I wasn’t going to be competitive against the Pretty Boys. So I made my body attractive to men not on the basis if how it looked, but on what they could do with it - utility over appearance. By deciding to open my body to all the things Men imagine doing to other men, I discovered that I could give them something valuable that was usually quite hard to find - I could let them live their fantasies. For reals. Once guys get past the “Really? No shit?” stage of disbelief that they have an actual real-live sex toy at their fingertips and grasp that they have the right to use it however they want (getting them to this point is waaaaay more difficult than it ought to be), Men have done so much to my body. Have I been defiled, degraded, abused, treated like a lab specimen, tortured for a sadist’s simple amusement? You bet. Filled, emptied, shocked, probed (so impossibly deeply), stretched, skewered, encased, stripped, fucked, raped, double-penetrated, pegged, fucked by machine, fucked in bondage, sounded, cock-milked my machine, finger-fucked until I cried, edged until I broke (twice), threesomed, foursomed, gangbanged. Whipped, flogged and fire-flogged (yes, with flame). By my conservative calculation, men have pumped more than a standard U.S. gallon of their semen into my body; I have no idea how much my own I’ve been fed along with it. All of that, and more - absolute True Story, no exaggeration, no BS - Men have done to my body because they find freedom in me - a way to express everything their animal sexual natures desires. And yet - despite all of that - there are things I will not do and will not allow to be done to or with my body, no matter who the Top is. I do not cross-dress. I do not do age-play, and if a Top so much as hints that he touches a child, he is in mortal danger if I can reach him. I do not deal with human waste of any kind, and I do not Do blood or breath play, or any kind of play that has the potential to risk life and long-term wellbeing for the sake of passing sexual gratification - for the one receiving it, that is wise; for the one administering it, that is unconscionable. Apart from the utility of procreation, what is the point of sex save individual pleasure and mutual connectedness? And if what men do to us becomes distasteful to us and causes us to disconnect from the men that do it? Why would we bother? Because naturally, we care, we all care, at some level, what Tops do to us.

We’re using our anuses for things they are decidedly not designed for, and sometimes even allow other men to use that part of our anatomy in ways that they know will intentionally cause physical trauma. Of course we experience anal health issues. Providing hole for bareback sex, if you do it for long enough, will inevitably get you infected with STDs. It’s a question of sheer mathematical probability. So far, I’ve been knocked up with gono and chlam twice each, and siphylis once, and of course HIV, all administered up my cunt. I’ve had the occasional hemorrhoid, but they’ve never caused me any real trouble. Anal fissures, on the other hand, are show stoppers, and there is no pain like them. I ultimately had to undergo surgery to deal with mine. I give them 0/10 Do Not Recommend. The human digestive system is meant to be a one-way street, but we keep driving things the wrong way up its narrow alley. It’s meant to be self-cleaning, but we keep flooding it with repeated washings. We introduce all manner of foreign substances that should never be in there, from urine to alcohol to vegetables to other people’s unwashed unmentionables, along with all the foreign germs that come with them. So the least we can do is try to maintain as much of the natural function as possible with diet, hydration, and extra fiber. Pelvic floor exercises are a good idea as well to try to maintain internal muscle tone. Every bottom has an ass issue sometime. It comes with the role. Indeed, the fact that ass problems are discussed so relatively uncommonly strikes me as evidence that most of these stories of hard-pounding ass-wreckings with ten-inch monster cocks are pure fiction - you don’t come out the other end of something like that without at least a little ass trauma to tell about.

With the force (and volume) that I’ve seen some men ejaculate, I’m not sure that in all cases it would be necessary for the victim to actively do any snorting. But you know best, I’m sure; I have mercifully zero practical experience to draw from.

Well. That’s a new one for me. Never had that happen. I don’t plan on it. Getting sinuses full of another guy’s spunk sounds like a way to derail a perfectly good evening.

Formerly: park ranger, graphic artist, novelist, librarian, nonprofit manager, historic preservationist. Currently: Retired and I. hate. it. I need a purpose in life. Yes, I know most of you Tops would point out that taking cock is the purpose in life for a guy like me, but there just aren’t enough of you to fill up all the time on my hands...

Never mind religion/mythology. Making decisions about whether it is acceptable to have intimate relationships with certain classes of people on the basis of the pool of fucking candidates in Eden, or in the decidedly soggy world after the Ark ran aground, really doesn't touch on any of the relevant matters. Neither, of course, in this case, does the question of biological hazard in regard to genetic abnormality resulting from reproduction within limited genetic diversity. But science does inform the discussion. While I am not a sociologist, I've done enough reading in that, anthropology, psychology and other disciplines to think that the following is not wholly off-base. What happens when human beings have sexual relations with one another? A fairly well-established body of scientific observation demonstrates that chemical changes occur in the body and brain that promote bonding between individuals. This bonding is a powerful emotional (limbic) response that creates a reinforced connection between two individuals that influences other behaviors toward mutual ends, exclusive of others. That is to say, we feel toward our lovers in a biologically compelling way that we do not feel toward our friends, or even our family. We can't help it - it's chemistry, not mythology. This connection is flattened, in that it's 1-to-1, one heart to one heart, even if there is a dominant/submissive power dynamic at play - it levels the two persons involved as two equally invested parts of a single whole. Now, let's apply this broadly to the OP's question. Why are some types of intimate relationships "non approved" by society? Society has come to reject certain types of intimate joinings because the nature of sexual/emotional bonding is deleterious to certain types of relationships. As pointed out above, there is an inherent conflict between you try to insert a pair-bond into a stratified hierarchical power structure, such as when a boss and his employee have a relationship. The chemistry makes it extremely difficult for the two to maintain the vertical separation necessary for the hierarchy to function, and those within the hierarchy but outside the relationship cannot fail to observe the dysfunction. Incest isn't simply a question of dicey genetics. Incest isn't simply a question of dicey genetics. Family structures provide multiple types of connection needed for the development and maintenance of healthy psychological relationships both inside and outside the genetic group. God knows families are often dysfunctional, but the core function of the family is support of the individual as he grows outward into the world, throughout his life. Pair-bonding with family members draws the individual inward, and makes the support feed upon itself. It no longer functions as intended. The healthy psychological benefits gained from having relatives whose experience one can observe with a common understanding but also at a distance are lost if the two men essentially bond into one. (I am somewhat skeptical of @manux32ccs' claim that 90% of gay and bi males start with a relative, but if there are studies that support that statistic I would be interested to see them.) Any relationship that involves a Duty of Care of one person for another (for instance, teacher to student, therapist to patient) is incompatible with sexual pair-bonding because the strength of the limbic influence over the person who must exercise the care has the potential to override the duty and cause the person to act in ways incompatible with the best interests of the person in his care. So the question of whether consenting adults should feel free to pair-bond with men of 'non approved' types is not simply one of 'should we be free to love'. The possible negative/unhealthy results have nothing to do with moral snootitude. They are predicable outcomes based on what we know about what happens to body chemistry when we fuck. The word everyone (including @drscorpio) keeps trying to use in this thread that gets snagged by the '[banned word]' filter is a word from a Proto-Oceanic (Pacific Islands family of languages) root, and meaning 'forbidden use or contact because of what are held to be dangerous supernatural powers'. There's nothing supernatural about them, but most of these prohibitions derive from a time in human society before there was such a thing as science. They could observe when things went badly, though; societies have forbidden practices for reasons, almost always quite practical and commonsensical, even if those reasons have been lost in time or obscured by people trying to push an agenda. It's kind of amusing that in Tonga, in modern usage the 'banned word' means "sacred". Don't fall all over yourselves using that to justify fucking your brother. Or moving to Tonga, for that matter.

Got it. He's a friend, but basically sponges off you. While the considerations I raised about mid-life making matters worse and the question of whether he's the soft of friend you would go out of your way to help are still worth thinking about, this new information points back to the answers given by @ejaculaTe and @BootmanLA about legal obstacles you might face in merely showing him the door. This page offers some general Q&A-type advice about terminating tenancy: [think before following links] https://www.legalnature.com/guides/what-are-your-rights-when-a-tenant-will-not-move-out-of-your-home#what-is-the-first-step-if-tenants-will-not-leave-your-home Among its principal advice is what you have heard from several here: Talk to him first and try to resolve the issue without resorting to legal eviction. The law may provide him protections, but your home is still your castle. Ultimately, you will be able to send him on his way. It might involve the cost of legal services. Whether it comes at the cost of your friendship is in your hands. Besides, you just told us the solution yourself - he ever meets someone he would leave at the drop of a hat - find him someone! When he comes crawling back, you don't have to say yes, and if you've already rented his room to someone who better fits your lifestyle, you couldn't anyway.

I understand you very well. I had a friend in high school, who came out after he left for college, and our relationship had an almost breathless, achy quality to it that I never understood until years later, when I realized - I had loved him. Had I not been such a ridiculously late bloomer, had I understood my feelings even slightly at the time, I sometimes wonder where a moment of intimacy might have taken us... And then, like you, I learned second-hand if his death, hundreds of miles away, causes unclear. No chance now to deliver a message from one heart to another.

And then he came back and found your valuables being plundered. You had one. job. ... 😉

@BlackDude - I’m going to give my answer in two parts. Part I is going to take your question from a practical, perspective. Part II is going to dig a little deeper. You’ll have to decide for yourself where the important points are. PART I It’s unclear from your post what your exact position is with regard to the property. You say you charge below market rates, so that implies that you own rather than rent or lease the property yourself - is having a roommate a financial necessity to cover a mortgage or to meet other financial needs, or do you rent the space simply because you don’t want to live alone, or just want the additional income? If having a renter is not imperative, it might be possible to simply say that you have decided to stop renting your room. After he departs and resettles elsewhere, a ‘situation could arise’ making it necessary to rent again - to somebody else. If having a renter is imperative, all the more justification for an increase in the rent, which, if you own the place, have no contact to the contrary, and are not subject to rent controls, you have the right to do at your discretion. It may be that the only thing keeping him in the place is the cheap rent. Tell him that, times being what they are, you’re going to have to start charging a value that reflects the market. If necessary, you can let this mean the high end of the market, until you find a figure he decides isn’t worth paying. What would happen if you lived the gay life you wanted as though he simply weren’t there? Is your discomfort with him seeing you go out at night to hook up because you’re embarrassed at what he thinks of it, or because you’re worried about hurting his feelings? In the first instance, that’s your problem; in the second, that’s his, and not something that need constrain you. If the fact that he’s awake with the light on and door open is spooking your hookups, then you are absolutely within your rights to tell him he’s cock-blocking you and to ask him to close his door after a certain hour. You don’t specify what he’s complaining about, only that the complaints are increasing. Are any of his complaints legitimate and being ignored? Before you complain to him about his complaints, make sure you’ve actually listened to him. Which brings me to: PART II Your friend of several years is, by your description, facing a situation eventually experienced by all men, some with greater difficulty than others - mid life. Mid-life awareness is often not easy to cope with, and illness, especially chronic illness, can make it especially difficult and lead to a spiral into depression. Mid-life awareness as a gay man is a whole other Circle of Hell. There is a strong sense if the End Times being upon you - helplessness, regret, foolish gym memberships, embarrassing exhibitionism, and desperate manscaping can result, followed by a collapse into bitter despair once it becomes obvious that the mirror isn’t a goddamn liar. The psychological battle of coping with mid-life, worsened by stress and illness, can absolutely produce the effects you see in your friend. Inability to sleep, lack of motivation for daily activities like chores, darkened mood state, dissatisfaction with life, suppressed libido - these are all classic symptoms of a person having a hard struggle with depression in response to a major life change. He needs help, not an eviction notice. You say you’ve been this man’s friend for years, yet you characterize the changes in him simply in fuckbuddy terms - he’s become a problem for you because (one assumes in order of importance) 1) He’s no longer young and interested in hooking up with you, 2) He’s no longer entertaining, just annoying because of his complaints, 3) He’s cramping your gaywheeling lifestyle/he doesn’t work as a wingman, and 4) He isn’t even worth keeping as a household servant because he doesn’t do chores. You say “I’m trying to be empathetic” - are you actually? Have you looked at the problem you want to solve from any angle other than getting rid of him? Have you considered the possibility that addressing his unhappiness might resolve some or most of your issues? This only applies, of course, if you are actually friends - if you have a relationship deeper than the transactional level one has with fuckbuddies or friends-of-convenience like people who are merely roommates by circumstance. My mother always told me we make two kinds of friends: ‘friends of the road’ and ‘friends of the heart’. Heart friends are your close circle, your forever friends, your BFFs. Road friends are the people whose lives swirl around in complement to your own, but do not fuse to yours. Which type is this man? Is he friend enough that you care enough about his well-being to sacrifice some of your own for it? Or are you merely friend-ly? The answer to this may guide how you proceed. There is nothing wrong with you wanting to live a lifestyle of your choosing that pleases you. There is no moral or ethical standard that places a duty on you to abandon your own happiness because another person cannot find his. If you choose to try to help another person as well, that speaks well of you, but his burden is not yours. Do not, however, make his load any heavier if you can help it. If you can’t help him, then don’t dick him around, don’t try to manipulate him, don’t backstab him, just give it to him straight. Lay it out. Give him his options. A man who feels as though he’s losing the ability to control his life wants to know where he stands, and what his choices are so that he can be the one who makes those choices for himself. My recommendation is that before you try anything else you do what @drscorpio says above, and talk to the man.

Forgive me, but I’m not sure I quite understand your narrative in this post. If I follow you correctly, you’re saying that your relationship was open - as long as neither of you ever had to know that the other was actually doing anything? You say that on this vacation together with your don’t-ask-don’t-tell SO, you’re both venturing off into the dunes to have sex with other guys, and you both know you’re both doing this, you’re just not doing it where you can see each other? And so essentially, if I’m still on track, the thing that has caused your boyfriend’s unhappiness at the last is that a you allowed a guy to lay pipe in you in the open on the beach where he could walk out and see what you both knew you had both been doing anyway, just not talking about? Did the two of you have some sort of arrangement whereby you made sure neither of you ventured into the dunes at the same time to avoid a similar discovery, and if so, I guess this is where I’m having a hard time understanding the point. Just trying to understand the relationship dynamic. I’m probably never going to have a deep relationship with another person because I’m too much of a social/emotional simpleton; I’d be in waaay over my head, and trying to navigate the tricky waters of a DADT open relationship is something I can barely imagine. I suppose that’s why most of my connections with other nice guys usually just end up with them saying, “Oh, just shut the fuck up and bend over.” 🤷🏼‍♂️