Date: Sat, 12 Jun 2004 03:14:29 +0000 From: J.T. Bottom Subject: Me Talk Dirty One Day It was Saturday night and instead of going out with my friends I had decided to be a homebody and stay in. I was planning on doing so many things - iron my clothes for the week, shampoo and perm the dog, add a chapter to the book I was writing, "Jesus, Those Crazy Teen Years!" Martha Stewart could take notes, I was going to be so productive. Well that lasted for about 10 minutes until my dick got in the way. I was ironing my socks when I happened to realize that my ass really, really, needed to get fucked. It always happens that way. One minute I'm thinking about the war in Iraq and the next I'm thinking about my hole. The transition from not thinking about sex to having one's ass begin to twitch is quicker than you might think. In fact, it doesn't take much to set me off at all. The trigger can be just about anything really. Because if you think about it, just about everything has some connection with sex. It's true. It's like that "seven degrees of Kevin Bacon" thing. You can take any object and connect it with sex. As an example: I was watching the nature channel a few weeks ago and there was a show about baby bird eggs. (1) Bird Eggs - fine. (2) Eggs hatch baby birds - fine. (3) Baby birds have wings - fine. (4) Tampons have wings - fine. (5) Tampons are used on bloody pussies - fine (6) Pussies are filled with cocks - fine. (7) Cocks make my ass twitch - BING, BING, BING!! I'm not sure what the connection was that night, I think my balls just itched, but next thing I knew I was making plans to get fucked. I have a ritual I go through, probably not unlike many of you. The first thing I do is light a candle because there is nothing more spiritual than douching one's ass by candlelight. I think it brings me closer to God. I also like to put on some good music to help me stroke my mood. My favorite is The Carpenter's Greatest Hits. There is nothing more relaxing than sticking a hose up your ass while singing the words. On the day that you were born The angels got together And decided to create a dream come true So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold And starlight in your eyes of blue. That is why all the girls in town Follow you all around. Just like me, they long to be Close to you. Just like me (Just like me) They long to be Close to you. Wahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. Wahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. Hahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. Lahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. I loved Karen and I miss her. While we are on the subject, let me give some of you a little advice about douching. I strongly recommend the ole hot water bottle. You can pick them up at just about any drugstore and they are a hell of a lot cheaper than all those fancy gadgets that they sell at the adult book stores. You start by filling the bottle with warm water. Don't use hot water. You don't want to burn your colon do you? After you have added the water, add a small amount of liquid cooking oil. Try to stay away from the vegetable oils, the various nut oils, and any other type of natural oil. You want the most synthetic oil you can find, otherwise you just might start to grow mushrooms up that hole of yours. The oil serves two purposes. First, it helps clear out all of that shit that is stuck to the sides of your poop shoot. Secondly, and more importantly, it makes the insides of your ass slicker than a politician on election night. I know that when I'm in the mood to get some serious dicking, I'm gonna need all the help I can get, so by lubing up my insides ahead of times it allows my ass to keep going and going and going. Just like that pink rabbit. except with lube. Continuing with that subject, to douche or not to douche. There shouldn't even be a fucking debate. You douche that hole until it sings. I don't know how some guys can even think about getting their love well filled without first making sure that Mr. Hanky has left the building. It's not the 70's anymore guys. We've cleaned up our act so it's about time we cleaned up our ass. Also, tops are a lot more sophisticated than they used to be. You just can't get away with not cleaning that hole like you used to. Back in the old days, you could get away with a little oil on the dipstick, but nowadays it's about as acceptable as the guy with the bigger dick being the bottom. It's just not right. I can't remember the last time I got fucked when my Top didn't do a quick "shit check." You know what I'm talking about. Your stud of the hour has just popped your button, and you're starting to get into a little groove, when all of a sudden he pops his dick out of your ass. He's not doing this for your pleasure, trust me. What he is doing is making sure that there is not a big chunk of peanut crackle crunch hanging off the end of his dick. Those Tops may be stupid, but they are getting smarter. So do yourself a favor, and clean things up a bit down there in the brown palace before having that midnight ball. I've got my douching down to about 5 minutes. Two trips max from the shower to the toilette. I've also learned the hard way to make sure that the bathroom floor is completely dry before I begin my quick dash to the potty. It's one thing to slip on the floor and almost do the splits. It's something else completely when you slip and do the splits with a gallon of warm water up your ass. Just make sure the floor is nice and dry. Trust me on this one. After flushing out my wrinkled kiss-kiss I was ready to head out. I had already decided that I wasn't going to beat around the bush. I was going to head straight to where the action is. The bath house. Chicago has two bathhouses and they each cater to a different type of bottom. I'm not going to name names, but one in particular has more people who are what my mother refers to as "catalog people." They look good, but if locked in a room with one of them you'll end up either killing them or yourself. I'm not saying they are stupid, but one can only talk about the new fall collection at the Banana Republic before you reach for the knife. The other house of sin however tends to attract a crowd that one might consider a little more "urban." Those of you who live in Chicago know what I'm talking about. I'm not a betting man, but if I were I would bet my left nut that this other bathhouse also has on average tops with bigger cocks. Again, those of you in Chicago know exactly what I'm talking about. I, of course, go for the big cock, so I headed to the latter. I was there by 10:00 PM and the place was already crowded. There is nothing that gets my ass quivering more than walking into a bathhouse to see the placed filled with horny men walking around half-naked. It's truly a beautiful thing. I headed to my room, my cock getting more excited with each step. It was going to be a good night, I just knew it. After getting to my room I quickly slipped out of my clothes and put on the jumbo jet size towel they gave me. Towel tucked firmly at the waist, I headed out to explore my possibilities. Being a professional bathhouse explorer, I knew exactly what I was looking for. Unlike my first hundred or so trips, I now know better than to waste the first hour or walking around and "just checking out the crowd." What a complete waste of time. Let's face it, when you make the commitment to go to the baths it's better to grab the first good cock you see and head to your room. If you beat around the bush too long several things may begin to happen, none of which are going to get your legs in the air. The first thing that begins to happen after walking around a bathhouse too long is that your brain actually starts to work. You don't want your brain to get into the action, just your ass and dick. Once your brain kicks in you're doomed and the next thing you know you're experiencing a guilt trip from hell because you realize that you are so desperate for sex that you actually had to pay for it. Walk past a few too many open doors with the attitude that something better is around the next corner and you might start to realize just how pathetic your life really is. Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating that one not be picky. I certainly have my standards. All I'm saying is that you remember why you are there in the first place, which is to get your butt plugged. You are not there for social hour. It's one thing to go to the bathhouse and get fucked a couple of times and get the hell out of there. It's quite another to be there long enough to see the front desk do a shift change...twice. The first place I always head is to the steam room. Forget the locker room, forget the TV room, the action is always in the steam room because in the steam room everybody looks and feels great. In the steam room your eyes take a back seat to your imagination and when your horny baby your imagination can really put on a good show. One needs to be careful though, because your imagination can play dirty little tricks on you. How many of you have mashed with a dude in the steam room only to come out and realize that the dude was so fucking ugly that you immediately headed to the shower with the hopes that whatever skin disease he had wasn't spreading? Just be careful and never, never, make a commitment to go back to your room with someone unless you get him under some really good lighting. One of two things always happens to me when I go to the bathhouse. One is that the steam room is fucking broken. I don't know what it is about bathhouse steam rooms, but they are more fragile than my grandma's hips. They either are too fucking hot, in which case I barely have enough time to grope around and start to feel the guy up before my skin begins to fall off in chunks. Or, they are broken and there is the little paper sign on the glass door, advertising that yes, in fact, the steam room is broken. I'm usually only mildly miffed, however I really feel for those poor ugly bastards whose only chance to get someone to suck their cock just went down the drain. The other thing that inevitably always happens is that I meet someone who is fuckable, but instead of just doing the deed, they just want to talk. You know the type. You meet them, do a little touch and feel and then head to your room. But once you get there, instead of finding yourself with a hot chunk of cock ready to be pumped dry, you find yourself with some chump who wants to talk about how tragic it is that Anne dumped Ellen. I usually put up with a little chitchat for a while, but eventually you just want to tell the guy to shut the fuck up and lube up that cock. Let's just get one thing straight. I do not go to the bathhouse to socialize, and thankfully most of the other guys I know feel the same way. However, it never fails that of all the hot and horny dudes in the club, I find that one guy who must have the most empty life imaginable because in order to strike a conversation with someone he has to be wearing a towel. Hey, I'm not against practicing one's social skills, but if I meet a guy and more than 10 minutes have gone by and his cock is not pumping my hole, then adios Oprah, I'm outta there. On this particular night the steam room was of course broken. As I walked away, fisted clenched, I wasn't paying particular attention and bumped into someone. Looking up I was presented with a tall black guy, about my age, who had one fucking hot body. He had his head shaved, and was already smiling down at me with his painfully bright, white teeth. "Woops, sorry," I said. "No problem, you can bump into me any time," he said, as he reached out and tweaked my nipple. I hadn't had any dark meat since my last visit to KFC, so I was due. Not being one to miss an opportunity, I slyly reached out and ran my fingers down his chest to his stomach, where I left them so see what response I would get. Getting no response, except for his continued smile, I figured I would strike the next blow. "So, what are you looking for?" I asked. "I'm looking for you Sweet Thing," he replied, smiling even brighter than I thought humanly possible. "When was the last time you had a black man feed you something nice and big?" he asked. It's at times like this when my desire to get fucked and my desire to make a complete ass out of myself find themselves in a desperate battle for survival. "Well." I replied, "I guess that would have been at the Sambo's back in 1978." He laughed in a way that told me he got my little joke. "You a smart-ass little fucker, huh?" he asked, as he reached down and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into his body. "Only around big, strong, tops," I muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. "Well, how about we go back to my room and this big Sambo can feed you some dinner," he replied as he reached down and sampled my ass with his hands. "If you insist," I said. "I insist," and with that he let me out of his bear grip and put his arm over my shoulder and headed me toward his room. It is at times like this where my expectations are at their highest. The reality that we are going to fuck is a given. The man established his position as a top and I had established my position as the nilly bottom. By that, I'm sure we both agreed. What was still unknown were some of the more finer details - most importantly "how big" and "how hard." Being a card-carrying member of SQA (Size Queens of America) I had needs to be filled.literally. I had already committed to the act at this point, but we hadn't even gotten to his room yet and I had already prayed to God and done a dozen Hail Marys that his dick please be at least 9 inches. We soon reached his room, where after fumbling around for about 30 seconds with his key, he finally was able to unlock his door and we both went in. It was one of the more fancier rooms. By that, I mean it had a bed , a mattress, and a sheet. "Now let me get a look at you," he said, as he took no time in grabbing my towel and pulling it from my body, leaving me standing there naked. "Turn around and let me see that ass of yours." Not one to be shy, I did as I was told. "Damn," he replied, using two syllables, as I turned around and showed him my sweet cheeks. "I like it, yes indeed, I that it a lot." "Food of the Gods," I replied. "What?" "Never mind." From that point, well you know the rest...being the modest person I am, I can't divulge the beautiful yet nasty details of our lovemaking. Needless to say, we both got what we were looking for. After it was over, we exchanged numbers. He gave me his cell number and I gave him the number and address to my ex-bestfriend Peter, who would once again be getting messages left on his answering machine by complete strangers asking if the "little white sissy boy was ready for round two with his new black daddy." I said good by, left him in his room, took a shower, got dressed and left. I never had sex with the same trick twice. That is my rule, and I stick to it. In the taxi ride home I thought about what I had done and once again experienced the guilt and depression that often follows a night of shallow and sexual frivolity. My mini-depression didn't last long and by the time I got home I was more tired than depressed. I didn't waste any time and silently climbed into bed. "Where have you been?" "Sorry baby, you know Mother. When she gets in one of her moods, she just doesn't let you leave until she drinks enough to pass out." "Well, you could have called you know," he said, propping up on one elbow. "I know, but I figured you'd be sleeping after having to work so late," I said, running my fingers through his hair. "Well, your mother needs help. You can't always be the one taking care of her." "I'm trying. Now go back to bed. You have a long day at work tomorrow and you need your rest." "Okay. Call me next time though, no matter if its late," he said, laying back down and rolling over on his side. "I will baby, trust me." I continued to run my fingers through his hair as he slowly drifted back to sleep. As I lay there looking at the man who took care of me, I thought about everything that he did for me. He paid all the bills, he paid for my car, he didn't complain when I couldn't keep a job for more than two weeks. He really loved me and it made me smile. I bent over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, and whispered into his sleeping ear... "Chump." The End PS - If you liked it, or hated it, or just need to vent...feel free to e-mail me at luvblkmen@hotmail.com. Also, for those of you looking for more stories of Adam in The Zone, well I hear he has a website of his own. See ya,