Gay bottom stories

My boyfriend had been wanting to cum inside me for a long time (we were using condoms initially, for quite some time) for ages. When I finally let him go bareback I told him to cum inside and he loved it. I didn’t feel the cum, but seeing him enjoying it, lusting for it got me really aroused.

Besides, if this was

I also loved the idea of his seed inside me. Posing as a married couple trying to spice up their love life, River and Duffy are sent on a mission to infiltrate a Soho sex club run by the notorious Malcolm Bernard. But when the mission gets complicated and the two are forced to keep up their ruse, River and Duffy realize the feelings they’re acting out aren’t so far from the truth.

10 /?. The notion has changed tremendously of the masculine top & feminine bottom in the gay community. However, a lot of my straight friends still think in those terms and I've had to explain more than once that it's really not the case. Exploring the Cavern 01 - Yearnings Gay bottom finally explores his yearnings with older top. Keep scrolling to learn 15 things only bottoms understand.

(Curious minds can also explore a few struggles that tops go through!) 1. Prostate stimulation. Let's start with the best part of anal. Dad died when I was six. The rabbi who lived in the apartment below took over for him. My brother was four. We would secretly meet in the woods, hug each other and cry. I learned to hate all religion and still do. Mom was a dark-haired, curvaceous looker, juicy, and in her prime.

She liked sex but decided that all men had to pay for it. The butcher brought steaks; the florist, flowers; the bagel man left fresh hot steaming bagels by our door every morning for months. Leon, the ice cream man left ice cream. And not to forget Abe, the jeweler, who brought, well, jewels. They all tried to get inside. Some did.

When Mom met the man who brought it all, she married him. We lived in Borough Park, in Brooklyn. Until I ran away, I thought everyone in the world was either Jewish or Italian. I was intimidated by all the dark, Brooklyn-rough Italian boys in my class. Busing started, a few black kids filtered into school, and I made a new friend, Eric, who took me home to meet his mom in Bedford Stuyvesant, thought to be a dangerous black ghetto.

I was the only white person there. Steven was in my history class. Handsome and fair-skinned, he was a Neapolitan boy with curly blond hair. I sensed something different about him, so I asked him if he would like to come over to do homework together. Yes, he had—his junk was twice the size of mine. Every Friday afternoon, after class, Steven brought over dark, tough-guy Brooklyn-Italian, thirteen-year-old boys, to fellate.

They came sometimes two or three times. Steven sometimes came over alone.

He sexually teased and tormented me. I was under his thumb, scared, ashamed, and aroused. In , I turned thirteen. I was a wild child, filled with a bursting curiosity about the world out there I wanted to explore. Craving adventure like the feral, ferocious horn dog I would soon become, I was on fire for something more in my life. In my Catskill Mountains summer camp, just before my thirteenth birthday, Robert, who was twelve, looked over all the boys; then he hit on me.

We spent most of the summer hiding in a secret treehouse, having sex above the forest.