Moaningful Confessions | Issue 6

Moaningful Confessions | Issue 6

How many times have you come close to death? To see the edges of the world grow void of colour, and feel everything growing impossibly distant, only to be wrenched back to unfortunate reality. It happened to me twice in one night, and it was the first time I met with someone I met on Grindr.

The default silhouette messaged me within the first 10 minutes of setting up the app. The conversation was by no means small talk, and within a short dialogue I knew firstly that he was a hung top, and secondly where he lived. After the initial chat, I showered and made my way there, which was a few minutes walk down the hill from my flat, coincidentally, during which time we talked further, but only to discuss what we were liked. I listed rimming, strangulation, and toys as my favourites. Big mistake.

I arrived, he opened the door in his boxers, and took me to his studio room. He got on the bed and removed his underwear as I got undressed. He wasn’t one for intimacy as much as ‘strictly business,’ which isn’t my preference, but I was hardly going to complain, so I started sucking him off. Not very long after starting, he said seven of my favourite words: ‘I want to sit on your face.’ So, I lay back and let him.

Right now, I’m in my element. As possible as it is for a being to be sustained by anilingus alone, I am. Give me the option of only performing one sexual act for the rest of my life, it’s this. I’m where I belong. But then he gets a little too comfortable, shall we say, and leans back a little far to block my nose. I don’t mind at first, he’s probably just adjusting his position, he’ll get off soon.

Then I feel that he isn’t. He won’t have realised, I should let him know. I give him a couple taps on the leg and vocalise, as I would with any other partner, but he doesn’t move. I’m at that point where my brain is keenly aware that I haven’t been breathing, so tries harder to get air. Again, I try to communicate, but yet he stays. I panic and start trying to push him off, but I’ve never been known for my strength, but he’ll surely notice that I’m trying and yelling into him. This continues for some time, and then a thought comes to me: ‘of course, this is how I die,’ and everything starts to feel calm.

Finally, he notices something is off. Perhaps it’s that I lost my erection, or that I stopped moving, and he gets off. Suddenly able to breathe once more, I gasp and cough, while he sits there, looking a little sorry for himself, but not really. As I’m getting everything back together, he says ‘oh, sorry,’ a pause, ‘do you want me to fuck you now?’ I didn’t almost die for no pay off, so I agree, because I’m going to at least get something out of this, damn it.

There’s a trend that I’ve noticed with cock size and quality of sex that says bigger is, almost invariably, not better, and it started here. When he first tried to go in dry, I should’ve left. When he tried again, I should’ve asked him to leave his own room, but rather I insisted on the lube he should’ve started with. Nothing could redeem him as a lover, I thought, and nothing could make me think he’s worse. But he got worse, when he thought he’d try the second thing I said I liked.

Feeling him inside me was good. Having his hands around my neck, even better. How hard he started squeezing, not good. Just a pointer, the power of strangulation is restricting blood flow to the brain, thus depriving it of oxygen, which requires very little pressure. I don’t care what you’re into, but you deserve better than to have your windpipe crushed during sex, however, someone thought that’s exactly what I deserved on this day. It quickly becomes too much for me, so I try to communicate, again, for him to stop. Again, he doesn’t. After what felt like five minutes of further struggling, I have another thought: ‘no, this is how I die,’ and something inside me gives up. At last, he lets go, and has the same sorry face as before, while I’m spluttering. Now there was no way I was leaving without cumming, so he starts up again, without trying to kill me. We both finish without further incident, for which I’m very thankful, and he says something that will forever be a source of amusement for me: ‘there’s no ‘round two’ when it comes to me.’ Sorry, I think, but did I ask? After what happened, do you really think that I would willingly engage in any sort of physical contact with you? I got out of this alive, and my parents did not raise me only to be accidentally manslaughtered by some big dicked man who’s not all that great at sex. But I just say ‘me neither.’

This article first appeared in Issue 6, 2020.
Posted 3:41pm Sunday 10th May 2020 by Critic.