Month: June 2019

Getting Pissed on Taught Me The Secret to Being Free

Discerning Daddy

“What are you doing?” Clay Texts me.

It’s Monday. 6:30pm.

“I’m being lazy. What about you?”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“If I were you I’d take off all my clothes and sit in the shower with the water off.”

I feel my dick get hard.

“I’ll go do that now.” I text back.

“Good boy. Wait for me.”

I strip naked and get on my knees in the shower. I hear Paco start to bark, then the front door opens.

I close my eyes and breathe in deep.

The bathroom door opens and I am overwhelmed by how handsome he is. He is dressed in a blue button-down oxford, dark pants. He has just come from work.

He smiles when he sees me. The way he smiles makes me feel proud.

I watch as he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out. I brush my face against it, my cock hard in anticipation, and then he is pissing.

I lean my head back, letting it run over my face, into my mouth: I drink it and let it run over my head and down my back.

He must have been saving it for me. He likes to spoil me.

When he is done I take his cock in my mouth: it is hard too. I kiss it, stroking it. Then I stand.

Clay kisses me, tasting his piss on my mouth.

“Shower. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

He leaves me to wash off.

In the bedroom he fucks me like he owns me. He holds me down, teasing my hole then pounding it, kissing the back of my neck, biting at my ear lobes, he holds me tight as he grinds into me, saying my name, reminding me that I am his, to use, to do what he wants with.

When he cums he rams it in deep, pinning me to my bed, his weight heavy on me.

When I jerk off his fingers are deep in my hole, and he talks me through, working me to that place where he is in total control.

When I cum it shoots far, and then he is kissing me, wrapping his arms around me, and I am laughing.

I always laugh when he makes me cum.

Some people might call me a sexual deviant. Or a slut. Or kinky, or into fetishes, or a bottom or a sub, or a top, a bear, a daddy, queer, gay, masculine, feminine, but I’m done with these labels. With the ways we divide and separate each other. The ways we try to make ourselves feel special or elevated, above someone else. I am done with the idea that being kinky, or deviant, or open or poly, or monogamous, or vanilla, or into leather, or any word we use to somehow establish an elitist idea of how someone should behave or be are the things that define who I am.

I like when Clay pisses on me. Not because I am into piss play but because I am into Clay. I am into exploring the boundaries of sex and dominance, the limits of who I am and who he is.

But I also like to cuddle and watch Schitt’s Creek.

I also really love “vanilla” boyfriend sex. The kind of sex where we are both just chasing our nut. Sometimes that is my favorite kind of sex.

What makes something a kink or a fetish? One person piggy and another not? Why can’t we just like what we like without labeling it? Without using it to divide ourselves?

I’m not saying I don’t think communities aren’t valuable. I think finding like-minded people who share your preferences is essential to no longer feeling like a deviant, an outcast, alone. I think celebrating our sexual identities, our desires, celebrating who and how we love, is the way we become visible: the way to acceptance from ourselves and others.

By being visible we normalize what can sometimes seem foreign or threatening.

I like trying on different labels, different fetishes, exploring the ways in which my sexuality expands and grows, but I do not want to be defined or limited by these desires.

Just because I loved that moment when Clay was pissing in my mouth and all over my face doesn’t mean I don’t also love when he holds me tight and whispers that he loves me, looks into my eyes, the moments when we are vulnerable, when I am jealous and scared and he reminds me of who I am.

The minute I allowed myself to stop thinking of myself as a label I was able to discover a vast landscape of possibilities.

I think this is what it means to be sex-positive. To be aware of the ways in which we limit ourselves and each other. To stop viewing our sexuality as something transactional.

There is a whole world of experiences out there just waiting. I want to be free to explore them, to be open to them, I want to feel secure enough and happy enough to trust that I can move outside the boundaries I have created for myself and try something new.

So I’m gonna keep writing about them. Keep trying to make sense of who I am and who I am becoming. And maybe it’s arrogant to think this, but I can’t help but believe that by doing this, by being as open and honest as I can be, maybe I am helping to light a path, to let others know they are safe too, that we get to be as big and as vast as we want to be.

To be pissed on and fucked, to dominate and submit, to follow all our desires and fetishes without shame or stigma.

But to also be more than those desires and fetishes.

I’d love to hear your stories. To hear some of your adventures.

If you’d like to read more of my writing check out the stories on my blog or my book, Accidental Warlocks, on Amazon.

Your support means everything to me. We are in this together.

In Celebration of Fucking and The Freedom to Explore All of Who We Are

Discerning Daddy

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Clay whispers in my ear, his cock buried deep inside me.

We are lying in my bed, there are candles burning, scented sage and lavender.

I am on my stomach. Clay is on top of me, the full weight of him pinning me to the bed. An arm is wrapped under my neck, pulling me up slightly.

“All of this,” he says, his cock pushing deeper into me, grounding me, filling me until there is nothing left, “is mine.”

He begins to fuck me harder, his arm tightening around my neck: reminding me of what he has just told me: that I belong to him.

My cock is so hard it hurts, but I won’t cum until he does. I won’t allow myself release until I know he is totally satisfied.

I have allowed myself to explore my sexuality: to be the dominant top, the dirty fisting piss daddy, the lover, group sex, gang bangs, public sex, I have been a master and an alpha, brutal and kind, all in the relentless pursuit of the edges of who I was.

But it is here, in my bed, pinned underneath the man I love, his cock pounding into me, that I find my real frontiers: the edges of experience that had always seemed just out of reach.

No matter how scared I get, or jealous, or insecure, I know, that I am safe with him. Even when we are in the middle of some pointless fight that doesn’t seem to end, I am safe here.

It is that sense of safety that allows me to feel free to express my needs, and to be open when he expresses his.

Last weekend Clay and I went to Por Detroit, an afterhours party from Mexico City that takes place in a warehouse in Downtown LA.

We arrived at 1:30 in the morning. The music pulsed through the room, all around us people were dancing. The room burst into cheers as the DJ elevated us, pulled us along, pushing us to the edge and then pulling us back.

Clay slipped his hands down the back of my jeans, his fingers playing around my hole, tickling it, his teeth nibbling at my ear. My hand went straight for his cock. He was hard: he has the perfect dick, big and fat, the kind of dick I want inside me all the time.

“Look how hard you make me, baby,” he whispered in my ear. “That’s what you do to me.”

He led me through the crowd: drag queens and queer royalty, club kids and muscle bears and art fags, queer kids and gender-fluid, dancing and laughing, losing themselves: and I remember thinking: this is my world, my friends, my family: this is where we are safe. Parties like Por Detroit and Ostbahnhof, these worlds of music and dance on the fringes of the City, are where we, the freaks, beautiful and glorious, get to come to be who we really are, where we get to be loved and celebrated.

Clay lead me into the dark room. He took me in his arms, kissing me, pulling me into him, in the middle of that room: surrounded by people fucking and falling in love, sucking and exploring desires that only exist inside those moments: at night, in the darkness of a club where all of us come together to share our bodies and our fantasies and he pushed me to my knees, taking his dick out and my mind went blank, the only thing I knew in that moment was that cock, and how bad I needed it.

We moved toward the back of the room, where a tall muscular man in his 50’s dressed in a leather harness and leather jeans was getting his dick stroked by a sexy boy in a jock strap.

“Do you want to suck his dick, baby?” He asked me.

I dropped to my knees, sucking on the man’s dick. When I looked up, Clay was licking his nipples, rubbing him.

Standing up, Clay said to me, “How was it?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” I said.

I loved watching Clay suck that dude’s dick. I love how much my man loves to suck dick.

And I love that we get to be there, together, exploring all the sides of our sexuality, not limiting ourselves, and not limiting each other.

But here is the other truth: none of this is easy all the time. I can be a jealous cave man, full of fury and insecurity. And I am learning that I need to share these parts of who I am with Clay as well: that by sharing the whole truth of who I am, the ugly and the beautiful, the scared and the proud and the sadness and the joy, only then will we be truly open to each other.

Because, for me, that is the point: I don’t want either of us to limit the other. Not because we are afraid. I want my dude to grow and explore, not just sexually, but as a man, a human, an artist, and I want the same.

And I believe we can do that together. If we are honest with each other.

Someone recently asked me why I need to always write about sex, and in such a “pornographic way”.

I really thought about that: because sure, I want to turn you on, I want your dicks to get hard, I want you wet and I want to make you horny, and I want you to validate me, but I also want to say,

Whoever you are, you are okay. That we are all in this together. And sex is fun. And love is vast and beautiful and scary and that we, all of us, are full of such potential, if we allow ourselves to reach it. That we should be allowed to be our biggest, fullest selves.

I am lucky. I live in a city that is open and tolerant. I live in a world that allows me to explore the boundaries of my desires, that allows me to explore who I am as an artist and a man, as a top or a bottom, as a lover and a partner, as a fucking human being. Not everyone is as lucky as I am.

So I write. About who I am. About my adventures. My relationships. Sometimes I fuck it all up. Sometimes I participate in something really amazing.

But this is the bottom line: you are fucking beautiful. Whoever you are. You deserve the right to be the kind of human being you want to be.

And also, sex is fucking fun. We all need to lighten the fuck up. Go out, get laid, have fun, fall in love, fuck your whole life up and then recreate it all into something new and magnificent, because here’s the other thing: this ride is going to end. We might as well get everything out of it we can.

Hey, if you liked reading this, check out my book, Accidental Warlocks on Amazon. Your support allows me to keep writing.