ErosWired

I acquired them over time from various sources, but all of them (and more) are readily available online. Just google ‘speculums’. They even make them for use on horses…

Oh dear God, no. Anything but “Feet”. I do my level best to cater to just about anything a Top wants from me, but I simply can’t deal with foot-fetishists.

How do you know when you’ve crossed the border into being over-occupied with thoughts about sex? Is it when you realize that you’ve posted almost 40 entries to a blog about bareback anal sex? That could be a hint, but in this case that’s not what’s got me wondering. Yesterday it snowed here. We got around 4-5 inches, which to some of y’all in winter-hardened places may count as a “skiff” of snow, but here it was enough to cause a 20-car pileup on the freeway, stall traffic for five solid hours, and cause my dentist’s office to call me first thing this morning to reschedule today’s appointment. It was just as well - I couldn’t have got out of the driveway anyhow. But it left my morning at loose ends, and the mind does tend to wander. So. I decided to take advantage of the time to do a little anal stretching training (I really would like to be able to take a fist si as not to disappoint Tops who want to use me that way.) I cleaned our, geared up, poppered up and fired up a couple of vids I like for that kind of exercise… but my cunt is being a a little bitch this morning and is being temperamental and not particularly stretchy. It doesn’t help that it’s 11 degrees F outside and the bedroom is cold. Frustrated, I got up and went into the other room, where I happened to look out the window. It won’t get above freezing today, but the sun is out trying to melt the snow, a perfect arrangement for the creation of icicles. Big, long icicles with rippled surfaces, thick around the base. Just hanging there, like they’d been put there for a purpose. Have you ever taken a big, thick, rippled icicle up your ass? I have. Not for long. I can’t recommend it. Very peculiar sensations, on entry, while embedded, and for some while after removal. I don’t think the rectum is meant to be chilled. On the whole, the experience has got me wondering whether my acceptance of my life role as a cunt needs to be tempered a bit; what I just did was, by most any standard, nuts. Worse, it makes me think twice about my plan to go out walking in the snow later. God knows what I could end up doing, and be found later frozen naked in the drifts. Yet I can’t help imagining wondering what it would be like to find myself one day at a gay ski resort. I don’t ski, you see…

I think it’s a combination of these. You always have a choice about the path you’re going to take. We make choices about our life’s direction, large and small, every day. You may feel a need and a deep desire to do these things based on some combination of your biological nature, your upbringing and your psychology. The desire may become intense enough to occupy your thought to the point of obsession, to the extent that you may feel compelled to act upon it. You are not, however, actually compelled to do so. Hundreds of thousands of would-be sluts live deeply closeted lives because, for whatever reason, they make the choice not to act on their desires. This decision sometimes leaves them miserable and unfulfilled because they are neglecting a deep need that they have, but the need does not dictate what they become. Many here will reflexively tell you that it’s what you are! You have no choice! Go for it! Without suggesting fir a moment that you stop to think. If you want to be a slut, weigh the potential consequences of that decision - there are potential social and medical consequences - and if that price is something you’re willing to pay in exchange for satisfying your urge, then do it. If not, don’t, and be content that you have made the best decision fir your own life. I felt a strong need, and, prompted by a sense of urgency that I was losing any opportunity to try, made the choice to indulge in it. I have paid heavily for that decision, and my path has led me to be fundamentally transformed. Before I began, I was a sexually reserved straight-arrow. Now, I am a trained sexual submissive who believes absolutely that I have a duty and purpose to be cunted by Men for the satisfaction of their lusts, and I have become a debased, debauched, devolved thing little resembling what I was. And it feels natural to me now for a man I have never met to violently rut his penis in my anus until he ejaculates inside my body. Consider carefully.

Interesting. It has a couple of demerits, though - there’s no option to record Double Penetration (always a significant event in my view) or the number of loads deposited in the encounter, and the kink section is somewhat limited (though to be fair, how could one ever hope to capture everything?). At least there’s the option to record anything not directly specified as notes. It’s somewhat amusing that you’re asked to “add friend” to designate the person with whom you fornicated - I can see that, as a matter of efficiency, I will probably need to add my friends Anon-Bathouse, Anon-Hotel, Anon-ABS, Anon-HomeHost, Anon-Camp, and Anon-Whereverthefuck.

Don’t feel obliged to explain your personal tastes and attractions just because I said to “dig deep”. Your personal tastes and drives are your own affair, and I don’t mean to pry. It’s just a quirk of my nature that my mind is never content to know that I feel something - I need to know why I feel it. And then why I came to think or feel the thing that made me feel it. And so on until I boil it down to what it’s really all about. I find it fascinating, but most people are perfectly content to just feel the thing and be done with it. They don’t need to know why.

I had not intended that my metaphor be taken so directly - I certainly don’t look at Tops as anything but men just as other men, and all human beings. By my analogy I was just trying to convey a sense of men who observe and respect a set of traits in one another that set them apart as men who breed men, and give one another a kind of berth or territorial arm’s length in the way one sometimes observes certain types of animals (principally predators) do toward one another in nature. There are such things as truly predatory individuals out there, but they are mercifully few - or at least those whom I have encountered have made up a distinct if notable minority. I think, nonetheless, that there is some value to observing all human behavior in terms of natural and animal analogues, lest we forget that we are, in fact, still animals in all but cognition. I tend to approach an understanding of human nature and behavior as much from an anthropological perspective as from a psychological one. I will say this, though - the most deeply predatory man who ever attempted to violate me did not do so by brute animal force or violence, but by the manipulation of the mind. Given a choice between evils, I would far rather a man overpower and physically rape my body than attempt to subvert and despoil my mind. But here I find I arrive full circle back at my original point of ignorance - Tops fuck me, and thus I assume they have an appetite for it, but I cannot understand what drives that appetite to begin with. It’s the sense of appetite that so inclines one, I think, to draw comparisons with predators and prey; in many ways we are to each other a thing consumed. Bottoms often in fact do consume what is fed into them in a literal sense, but after I have been bred I most often have the sense that the Top has satisfied some sort of hunger, filled some emptiness by partaking of my flesh. I’m so attuned to this, so trained now to respond to it, that my every instinct is to give him as much of me as he can take, to satisfy him completely. You say Tops love hole, have to have cumdumps, can’t do without them - but still not why. I can only wonder whether I’m offering more than is wanted because I can only guess at what is truly desired.

Truer words were never spoken.

But why was it so deeply satisfying? Dig deeper. Others are saying the same, that it’s a satisfying experience, fulfilling (or perhaps releasing) something. I wonder if in this context fucking isn’t somehow an alternative to fighting - a means of expressing aggressive emotions in the quasi-violence of sex. I’ve written on this forum before, in the blog, about a Native American who fucked me a couple of times, and each time I had the distinct impression he was taking out 400 years of colonial injustice on my European-descended cunt. I don’t speak a word of Lakota, but whatever he was saying during those rough fucks was seriously harsh, punctuated by spitting on me. That’s as close as I’ve gotten to a hate-fuck, as far as I know.

That’s the thing, and a big part of the reason I’m curious about this, because the Top who said this to me, while a Total Top, isn’t at all what I would call an Alpha. It’s the fact that he expressed it that made me wonder if it might be a more common sensibility among Tops in general than I would have supposed. Prior to this, I pretty much assumed that Tops simply prowled around each other like panthers, each allotting a certain amount of respectful space to the other, with a shared understanding that the herd of ass is so vast and plump for the taking that none of them need fear deprivation. By the same token, though, the way so many bottoms are so very easy to lay (I must plead guilt here too) I can imagine a Top from time to time wishing there were more of a challenge to it - what sport is in the hunt when the prey leaps straight into your arms? I’m actually perfectly willing to give a Top a little game - I’m trained in martial arts - but no one’s ever asked me. I wonder how it would change the experience of being fucked if I genuinely physically struggled against it… that would go completely against my training, of course. I’m trying to imagine what I assume is a Top state of mind that exists in basically the direct opposite orientation to my own.

“The opposite of love is not hate. It’s indifference.” – Elie Wiesel Clearly, something about this man captivates you, grabs hold of you, doesn’t let go. You say you can’t stand the way he talks to you - what does he say that offends you, and why does it bother you? Can you think of things about him that you would otherwise find attractive were it not for the things he says? Is it possible that your annoyance arises from some frustration that results when an unconscious attraction clashes with a negative response to his behavior? I’m just throwing stuff at the wall here. Only you can tell if anything sticks, and you may decide you’re not even interested in knowing why you feel the way you do, but you are here questioning yourself, so… Sometimes interpersonal attraction occurs strongly on a biochemical level that has nothing to do with conscious perception. Whole television series have been built around this premise and the damn near unbearable tension that ensues as viewers watch and wonder when the two main characters are ever going to just break down and fuck. You, apparently, have cut to the chase, but the tension remains unresolved. Tune in next week.

I’ve bought mine over time from various sources, so I can’t point to any one specifically. I would, however, advise you not to do this on the cheap. Speculums are intended as medical instruments, not sex toys, and good quality equipment will be designed to work without defects or hazards to the body, for use in a medical setting. Look for descriptions like “medical grade”. Buy only stainless steel, and double-check materials before you buy. On one site, you can find a Mathieu speculum in stainless steel and also a nearly identical “3-Prong Anal Speculum” in chrome-plated brass. You want the steel. Don’t try to do it on the cheap - some places mark up like crazy so shop around, but don’t buy an inferior device just to save a few bucks. Cheaper versions of objects may not be as well machined and the mechanism may not operate reliably, or the device may be made with stamped metal parts that retain sharper edges - look for descriptions that specify smooth edges if you can find them. Under no circumstances buy anything made of plastic. If you can source one from an actual medical supplier, you stand the best chance of ensuring a quality device, but some such suppliers may not serve the general public. A number if kink and fetish outlets, however, do. Just google “speculums” and click the “shopping” tab - there are options.

This is another question directed specifically at Tops - bottoms, my sweet boys, you can’t answer this because you don’t have a Top brain, so please don’t try. This week, in the afterglow of the nuclear blast that is the fucking that I receive from my local Top, we were lying on the bed (he relaxing, me a quivering wad of creamed flesh) and he commented, ”The big thing among Tops is fucking another Top. Not a vers bottom, but a real Top who usually doesn’t take it. To get in there with him, and see which one of us gets the upper hand - that really gets me going, when I’ve conquered him and sink it in.” ”Because bottoms are too readily conquered?” I asked, very much conquered. ”Yeah. I love bottoms, but Tops are a challenge.” Tops - what do you say to this? Is this true among Tops generally, or is it just something particular to my local Top’s interest? Kink.com devoted a whole site to men basically competing to see who gets to fuck the loser, so there has to be a market for seeing it, but I’m interested in knowing if this air of competitiveness or challenge exists among Tops. It wouldn’t surprise me if it did - a competitive aspect pervades men’s lives in many spheres, business, sports, even who keeps the yard looking better or the car looking sharper. My grandfather and his neighbor had a legendary rivalry over home-grown tomatoes that lasted til the day they died. Talk about getting your cherry…just try laying a finger on Papaw’s prize tomato. But I digress. Tops, I await your views.

How does this work for you? I find planned sexual encounters to be the most fragile of commitments - they’re like baking a soufflé - the slightest jostle and they fall flat. I never put any faith in a hookup request for any later than the coming evening, even for a local regular, and even then I’ve been known to rinse out my guts only to be canceled last-minute. And anonymous? “I’ll stop by on my way home from work” practically never actually happens. What’s your secret?

For those who say that you come out and discover that nobody cares if you’re gay, I’m very glad that you live in such a place. I never have. There is no such place anywhere in Appalachia. At best, people will say nothing or even feign support, but you will find yourself discriminated against in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. At worst, you can be openly called a faggot and physically assaulted. In my county, is would be most unwise to walk down the sidewalk in the county seat wearing a t-shirt that says “We’re Queer And We’re Here”. I am 55. I grew up in East Tennessee at a time when it was absolutely not okay to be gay. In high school, guys would call me a fag in the hallways. But you couldn’t exactly say I was in the closet - I’m Autistic, and as far as anything sex-related was concerned I was a very late bloomer. My entire sex education was self-taught from the Time/Life Illustrated Book of the Human Body. Which, it need hardly be said, made no mention of homosexual intercourse. Or any actual intercourse, for that matter. I owe the fact that I didn’t awaken to any same-sex attraction from the start to a fluke of chance - a girl was attracted to me and made advances that eventually (very eventually) led to hand jobs and a couple of instances of oral sex, none of which I was ready for, and set me back a bit. Having a girlfriend tamped down a bit on the fag-calling in the halls, but the irony is that that girl now goes by George and lives as the man he was meant to be on the other side of the country. So my first relationship was essentially gay and neither of us knew it. (To make this more complicated, George’s best friend in high school, who came out as gay in college, was also one of my best friends, and although I had no way of understanding it at the time, I was in love with him. He was in love with George, but George being female at the time left him confused also. It was a wretched little retrograde love triangle mired in closeted confusion. Even as an undergraduate in college I still hadn’t quite wrapped my head around the gay sex thing until I encountered my first gay porn, which was transformative. It was a bite of the fruit of the Tree if the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and I couldn’t un-bite it. I was, however, God-fearing in a pretty serious way, and for the next four years would buy gay videos, watch them, then destroy them in shame and self-loathing. I had discovered a part of me that I did not want. Mind you, I like ladies just fine. (I eventually married one and had two children with her.) It was a good female friend who, the year after I graduated from my undergraduate years, kindly took pity on me and relieved me of my virginity. At the same time I was also relieved of the burden of thinking that God would strike me with lightning for fornicating; I was rather surprised that he did not, and decided I should revisit that thinking. Loosening the death-grip of religion on my sexuality didn’t free me, though; I also had my self-imposed morality ingrained by growing up in a place where they called you “fag” in the hallways, and fag was not something I wanted to be. So from 1990 to 2004 I walked a Straight path exclusively, and got married. Marriages often don’t end well for Autistics. Mine did not. She chose to go her own way. She was unhappy, and I gave her an out that would let her leave gracefully - I told her that I realized I was gay. This was a half-truth. Had she not left, I would have been monogamously faithful to her to my death. But she grabbed the chance with both hands and used it as the reason for her decision. In that way, I both allowed and forced myself to be un-closeted to family and some friends. With her gone, and my obligation ended, I decided to lance this damn boil that had been festering deep under my skin my whole life, get it over with once and for all, and go find a man to fuck me. Eighteen years later, I’m still making up for lost time. Do I regret being closeted up to that point? Hard to say - on the one hand, I do feel a sense of lost time and lost opportunity, and because of it I feel an urgency to do more now. But on the other hand, I have a feeling that if I had even once been cunted in my 20s my life would have taken a radically different turn during a period in the AIDS crisis, and I suspect I might not be alive to write this if it had. I’m not openly “out”, now. I mean, I’m bisexual, and I’ve been trained as a sexual submissive specifically for men so that’s largely what I do. But to be honest, I’d be absolutely thrilled if sex never crossed my mind again. It’s a nuisance. If someone asked me today, “Are you straight, gay, or bi?” I would say, “I’m Autistic,” and leave it at that.

I don’t at all doubt that that is often the case; my personal experience, however, has largely been that of being in the hands of Dominants who wished to enable me to receive the best possible (read: most thorough and extensive) experience of humiliation, debasement, degradation and torture. I don’t say that to characterize them all as villains - they haven’t been - but there is a reason they were looking for a submissive man like me willing to permit them to indulge in their predilections: They have an appetite to satiate. Without any doubt, each of them wished for me to have an unforgettable experience at his hands. Most of them succeeded. “Unforgettable” doesn’t necessarily mean “pleasant”. Still, I continued to make myself available to such men. The nature of the interaction, while hardly gentle or benign, offered some quality of reward for me at some deep level that I still yet cannot fully describe. And it still does.

Interestingly, when I was much more involved in the scene as a bondage submissive, the encounters I had were rarely short, in-and-done affairs, and many times I ended up not being fucked at all, because that wasn’t the Dominant’s principal driving interest. In those sorts of encounters, even if it’s only one time, both men end up spending a significant amount of the time learning about each other. In many cases that’s the Dom’s delight, finding out enough about the sub to be able to get inside his head and exercise control. For submissives, there’s a desire to understand the mind that Dominates, so as to better respond and savor that response. Were it not for the reciprocity, the scene could not develop and the power exchange could not occur. Yet these encounters are not relationship or dating-type intimacy (though they may take place within such context); neither do they have the quality of an anonymous hookup, even though it could be an anonymous, one-time scene. An interesting middle area, perhaps.

! Having experienced the size of your endowment, if your Collins speculum is the same size as mine - and I would have thought they would all be - I’m a little surprised you could insert without difficulty. My local regular Top has a nice cock, but nothing like your dimensions, and he did briefly enjoy fucking me with the Collins in place. It creates a kind of open echo chamber that magnifies the wet, sloppy, squelching sounds of inner fucking. He liked that a lot.

I see this topic went unanswered when it was posted - I also recently posted a question about speculums in the General section that got very little attention. I’m amazed that a group of men so fixated on stretching their anuses open has so little familiarity with speculums. Used with care, speculums are an excellent means of augmenting a hole-training program. That’s quite aside from their myriad potential in BDSM scening. I have a particular thing for the feel of unyielding steel applied against my body, so you might be unsurprised that I have more than one speculum. I have three, in fact, and a fourth device that isn’t technically a speculum but falls into the same category of ‘hole spreader’. Here they are: This is a true anal speculum, as in designed specifically for the anus. Some other types are actually intended for vaginal examination (all speculums are intended as medical instruments) and the vaginal ones don’t always comport as well with the anal anatomy. On this one, the action is by squeezing the grip or by turning the widening screw, then locking it in position with the set-screw (knob). The widening screw is useful for pushing your limit in fine increments once you reach a stopping point with the handle. This is a Collins speculum, one of the vaginal types, but I use it quite a lot. The action is by turn of the widening screw, and it widens remarkably. You have to use some care with it so that the tall blades don’t scrape the walls of the rectum, but it provides a significant stretch. This baaaaad boy is a Mathieus speculum. It’s the only three-prong design I’ve encountered. The action is similar to the anal speculum above, but much more reactive - you have to take it gently, because it opens quickly in response to the grip. Holes aren’t really designed to open in triangles, and you sort if have to get used to this one gradually to avoid injury. I’ve maxed out on all of these speculums - they’ve stretched me as far as they can reach, and now I mainly use them as warm-up for bigger challenges. Like this: I got this as a Christmas present for myself. Not a speculum per se, but designed specifically for stretching an anus to the o.O level. The action is by tightening the wingnuts equally on each of the six posts around the ring; the more you turn them, the closer the bar is pulled toward the ring, until it finally rests against the ring at full extension. When the bars are fully retracted, the ring is large enough to pass an average man’s hand and forearm through it. I have tried it twice now, solo, and have managed to reach the stage you see in the photo. I could go farther, but this device is, as you might imagine, somewhat awkward to use on yourself, and once you reach the point of physical distress it becomes a bit impractical. My local regular Top has expressed a keen interest in using it on me in the near future, so we’ll see how it goes with some assistance.

Well… to be fair, if you’re going to go around openly displaying that obviously very nice cock, there’s a limit to how surprised you can be if you draw cock-hounds. It’s like leaving an overripe banana on the counter and then saying, “I can’t figure out why I can’t get rid of all these fruit flies.” Candidly, if I were ti see that in the flesh, my initial response would be “Yes, please,” not “I wonder if he Tops?” When I’m at full mast, I’m 7”. It’s a nuisance. Plus, when you add in my ampallang cockhead piercing, they will not leave it alone. So when I’m in service mode I often try to minimize the distraction by wearing a cock cage, a jock, or just keeping my bathhouse towel strategically positioned. (Not that that stops them - I was once reclining in s steamroom with my towel over my cock, eyes closed, and the next thing I knew some guy came over and without a word just lifted up the towel for an inspection. (!)

I live in Kentucky, a state with 120 counties, and my county is one of the five with the highest infection rates per 100,000. Of our total population, 21%, have now had COVID so far. I don’t go out unless I must. Few here would agree with very many of these listed items. I, on the other hand, agree with 9 of them. I must decline to render an opinion on number 10, as I consider “high risk” too undefined to evaluate in the context of the question, and I believe “sufficient capacity” in hospitals, again, in context, implies that there is an acceptable level at which we can accommodate otherwise avoidable suffering and death as long as we have the space. I am uncertain as to your intent, so I abstain on this one.

I think there’s something to this. It would go a long way toward explaining flaking and ghosting, because online shopping has also conditioned people that cancelling transactions is effortless, painless and harmless. I might point out that men in general are not known for greatly protracted displays of sexual intimacy - that is to say, men tend to get down to business. Women, naturally, have been complaining of this for millennia. It is, however, understandable from the point of view of our past as animals; fiddling about prior to intercourse, in an environment in which you have to compete with other males for reproductive* rights, could cost you the opportunity to mate. It is not, in general, a practical strategy for survivability of your genes. Wild turkeys may spend time strutting about with their feathers all fanned out in competitive efforts to woo a hen, but once she makes a choice, they waste no time, and when he’s done, he’s done. (By all indications, the hens prefer it that way. And can you blame them? I mean, have you ever actually seen a turkey’s head up close?) Personally, I am not looking for, and carefully avoid, any kind of intimacy that could encourage a Top to form an emotional attachment to me. That’s the nightmare scenario. About a year and a half ago I agreed to meet a guy for a hookup at an outdoor recreation area so he could have me in a secluded area off one of the trails. When I arrived, his last text before we actually met in person requested that I call him ‘babe’. Red flag, alarm 🚨 I went through with it, did as he (needily) asked, and spent the next six months repeatedly blocking him on the apps because he had attached to me like a boil. The close intimacy you seek is not without risk - sex by its biochemical nature promotes bonding between the participants, and most men aren’t looking to get stuck. Sticky, perhaps, but not stuck. Some men, like ‘Babe’, are the fucking La Brea Tar Pits. I try to strike a balance. I offer my Tops warmth, compassion, and my undivided attention - when a Too chooses me for service, our time is all about him, and I never hurry anyone along, even if he needs me for hours. If a man needs to be held, I hold him. If he needs to talk, we talk (this is risky-I can expound at length on many topics and am prone to do so). If he needs to rut my cunt, slap my ass and leave me sore and dripping without a word in five minutes, it’s all good. But there is zero chance of me falling in love with him. I’m a public sexual servant. It’s like expecting the post office to love you back. *I initially mistyped that as reprofuctive - I think I just found a new word for what we do

I will never forget the Dominant who taught me what submission truly meant for the first time. He positioned me over the back of a couch, with my ass highest up, my hands bound and my feet off the floor so I couldn’t get out of the position, and he proceeded to finger-fuck me. He kept at it, on and on, in and out, until finally I had had enough. He had not. I don’t know exactly how long that finger-fucking went on past the point of I-really-want-this-to-stop-now, but it had to have been close to an hour. By the time he was done I understood what it meant to surrender to another man. Not because of that incident, but I really don’t care for finger fucking. Mostly because of nails, but I absolutely loathe it when some guy will come up behind me, stick his finger in my ass, make a hook out of it, and quickly sweep it a full 360 degrees inside my cunt. It hurts. I don’t know why they do it unless they’re trying to scrape for cum off the walls of my hole. I’m also not very keen on multi-finger jabbing. If you want to try to fist me, dude, knock yourself out, but learn out to do it first. (Hint: There’s no jabbing involved. Also, lube.) I have a certain level of patience for men who want to play with my cunt, especially if they’re the sort of men who for whatever reason aren’t able to be effective penetrators with their cocks. I find that a disproportionate number of men who finger me tend to be seniors, and a certain number are young men just beginning their journey. Part of the reason I serve is to provide a safe opportunity for men to explore their sexuality, and I try not to discourage any of those men’s explorations, even if they involve a certain amount of finger probing. But the guys with the Captain Hook fingers can fuck right off.

Heh. Check out from :34 to :56 >

I’ve been to Buckwood several times. It’s a great place, and the atmosphere has always been very open and welcoming, I thought. All types, all (legal) ages, all kinds of fun. I had my best gangbang there… but it was also there that I became infected with HIV. Not the camp’s fault - condoms were available - buy like everywhere else you play, you buys your ticket and you takes your chances.