Two stories about bottoms on T:
1). Smokin' hot guy asks me to fuck him im his barn/dungeon. We start. He sucks me for maybe 30 seconds, then stares at the porn playing on the TV. I try to eat his ass to get him in the groove. He's sure he's dirty. I assure him my face is right there, he's not. We try to fuck. After every other stroke he moves away, flips the position or claims he's dirty. I finally let him go back to the house to do a double check. He doesn't return. I wait a full 15 minutes to go find him. And I do--scrubbing his kitchen floor. He forgot I was there.
2). New Year's Eve a year later. I now know a lot more about drugs. I know this guy often parties, but he swears he won't since he knows I hate it and I want connected play. We fuck--great. I move to fisting. He wants to check his clean out. Gone forever. I know what he's doing. He comes back--can't keep still. At midnight, I get my fist up him. He picks up his cell pohne and starts calling every gay man on his contact list: "Hi, yeah---Happy New Year. Yeah, I'm great, I got a fist up my ass right now...Dinner tomorrow? Let me get back with you...." Connected play---yeah, sure.....