03 February 2011

I am still a Gemini

News came out a few weeks ago: I am no longer a Gemini, but rather a Taurus. Ok, Ok: only if I were born yesterday or after January 2009. Nothing against Taureans (spelling?), but my mother is a Taurus and her personality is totally not mine. True to the sign, she is stubborn and most times determined to let people know it. Me? I am an entanglement of paradoxes. The yin and the yang. The good and the bad. The top and the bottom.

So speaking of, recently I have ventured away from my online nom de plume: sub bottom. My experience has been interesting to say the least, but over time I have gotten the hang of it. To be totally honest, I love lying on my back, getting on all fours, or being bent over a balcony banister. But in my older, more open-minded days I decided to attempt the world of top-dom and see what all the hub-bub was about.

Bernard was my guinea pig - a Cali surfer dude who prided himself in being the same sub bottom I always claimed to be. He invited me over to his place having moved into town recently due to job relocation. Blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, golden tan, abs of steel, he had me over for a couple of brews and some light conversation: what do you do on your spare time? What is your favorite movie? How do you want to fuck me?

When we got to the boudoir, he showed off his trick-jaw and non-existent gag-reflex. Pretty talented guy, if you must know. His lean body was easy to manage, manipulate, and flip over so I could lube him up and enter through his exit. As I rolled on a rubber, my heart started racing. He whispered, “Put it in.” With a deep breath, I plunged in. At first, all I could hear was circus theme music because I was fumbling awkwardly with my positioning behind him between his legs as he squirmed. But then I heard it: he moaned and started gyrating. I knew what he was doing; my years of experience as a power bottom told me that he was trying to get some deeper penetration. Success! So I gave it. And gave it. And gave it. Flipped him onto his back, threw his legs onto my shoulders and kept going until he barely touched himself to only give himself his own facial.

Proud, I gave one more thrust for good measure - at which point I could have spit on him and slapped him across the face, but I didn't - and flopped next to him on the bed staring at the ceiling. “Did I enjoy that? But I didn’t finish. Was that any indication? I don’t think I truly did. How do I know?” I discussed with myself.

After a long exhale, he asked: “You ready to go again?”

Point of the conversation: “We are who we are.” Ke$ha

- DeeCue

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