The problem was the means of achieving this desired pinkness. In the same way that The Captain needed Tenille, I needed a pink hole! The exact shade of pink didn’t matter - bubblegum, blush, bashful - so long as it was pink. I felt an immediate wave of embarrassment at my less than perfect hole. But, if I was going to be honest with myself, it was not as inviting as that perfectly pink masterpiece I had just used. Actually it was more like a nice rosy magenta. So I placed a large mirror on the floor of my bathroom and peeked into my nether regions. R’s kitchen, I became curious about my own hole. And worse, I would use this memory to torture myself about my own asshole: dirty, dark and dank.įollowing my sexy time under Mrs. Every subsequent ass I was destined to meet over the years got compared to Jason’s. Talk about showroom new! This image, a pristine butt with its new car smell, would follow me for the rest of my days. I arranged the candles so I could see better, and what I saw was Heaven. Once I arrived at the glorious Y, I set up camp, spread his legs and got myself my first real taste of ass. OH HOLY DAY! Yes… It turns out you can put your mouth on it without tasting shit. But was I really going to lick my buddy’s ass? I have sometimes been a bit too confident of my own charms, and this was one of those occasions. I decided I should kiss his neck to help pry that vise open. He responded by raising his ass in the air a little. This was new! Pleased I wouldn’t have to make out with him and his braces, I positioned myself on top of him and started rubbing my dick on his ass. We quickly got undressed and then he lay down on his stomach. What I didn’t realize then under that house was that soon I would be a slave to the hole, that holes would boss me around for the rest of my life, and that my adoration/infatuation/obsession with taught PINK man snatch would consume most of my remaining hours on this planet. I wonder now who was the one really being seduced there. Like the little lady that he was, he had arranged a carpet, pillow and candles just so. (Central Arkansas in the pre-internet 80’s was not a gay porn haven.) He called me nasty and declared that I’d have to be happy with blowjobs.īut now he was guiding me into a dark, spider-filled crawl space to give me his virgin ass. I showed him pictures of butt-fucking that I’d cleverly managed to procure. A couple of nights before we had argued because I was ready to fuck him and he wouldn’t let me anywhere near his ass. I‘d like to think that I have emotionally grown from that young little douchebag place I came from, but truthfully these are still my go-to emotions.
Leading up to this moment I had been distant and mean. His parents were having a BBQ when he led me under the house into the crawl space for a surprise. I wasn’t a knitting, boa-clad queer, but I definitely had an affinity for sweaty boys. But what frightened me most of all about this arrangement was that I liked it, and that meant that my brothers were right, and I was a giant faggot.
It annoyed me that he pretended we were a couple when we were alone. I didn’t really want to kiss those braces. Jason had a little head that housed a tiny tooth-filled torture chamber, and I was looking for options. high school, best friends with benefits, and I had grown bored with his mouth. In this case the asshole belonging to a skinny blonde redneck named Jason. I mean the hole, the mysterious, puckered x, unique to every guy, that marks the spot where every red-blooded top wants to bury his bone, and usually his tongue too. July 4th, 1985, was the day I fell in love with ass.