Guest Writer October

Dear readers, today I'm introducing the monthly guest writer entry for Sex Won't Bite. Every last Thursday of the Month you'll get to hear a new voice writing about one of the themes of Sex Won't Bite. I will normally invite these people myself, but if you have anything you would like to share concerning surreal sex, dating behavior, sexual freedom and ethics or art please do contact me. It'd be a pleasure for me to provide the platform to free yourself and speak. Also, there are many good, interesting and funny things out there and I just can't screen them all!

This month's entry comes from the owner of a very peculiar fetish porn website. I was curious about the background and experience of that very special fetish. Out of that comes today's post.

It isn't only a fascinating story, but it's very touching too.

It's an introduction to a world most of us don't know, and for those who do it may be something to relate to. It's also a scream asking for understanding, for the freedom to express one's true sexuality without other individuals rejecting it because of fear.

In the last part of his entry he also writes a little about his website and what made him start it. We chose not to include a link to his site, since it's not the blog's nor my guest's goal to sell you anything and we found this might have given a wrong impression. However, if after reading you are curious about it or interested, you can contact me and I'll link you to it.


Fetish: A blessing or a burden ?


My story.

I have been a fetishist my whole life, at least as far as I remember. My fetish? Male feet, particularly in socks and shoes.

While growing up I never thought whether it was ordinary or odd; I just took it as another asset I was going to live with. Still occasionally I was afraid of being the only one in the world with this passion. A passion I couldn't explain yet.



My family was composed as follows: a father who fled quite early from my childhood and drunk himself into despair; a very strong, gorgeous mother empowered by the feminist movement of which she was a leading figure; two older brothers and a loving nanny.


Given these circumstances I have always lived in my own world. My fetish became but another part of that wonderful, complex, often lonely microcosm I was creating for myself.



In this parallel universe, male feet were an important part. And it was going to be my secret. I started to unconsciously research for the right shoes and socks to look for in a man.


I would often end up lying, ever so casually, at my mother’s friend’s feet, in the absurd hope that at one point they would place them on me. Why would they do that? I was thinking exactly the opposite: Why would anyone not place his feet on a kid lying on the floor?.



I also remember I used to cut out photos out of magazines. Pictures of fashionable men, beautiful men, politicians, actors whose socks were in sight. I would then lock myself up in my room, place a hand in between my legs pretending it was the foot of one of those semi gods and jerk off in my pants. Once, when I was 13, I came in class by robbing my crotch against my desk. One of my classmates was constantly playing with his penny loafers and I couldn't hold myself. In my fantasy world he was doing it for me



Puberty came and it was pretty obvious to me I was gay as early as my love for male feet started. I still had no idea whether to consider it strange or yet another asset of my world to be.


At the age of 16 I started having sex and dating older boys. They all wore more mature and interesting foot wear and socks. At that time I wasn't really justifying my choices that way though, I just liked older guys.



My very first, roman boyfriend was a revelation. I was 17 and he was 20. I never gave him any indication of the fact that I liked feet, or socks and shoes but the first night we spent together it happened. I was lying on the bed and I pulled his hips to my face to give him my first blowjob ever. All of the sudden I felt his beautiful, big, elegant feet grabbing my stiff cock and he started, very impressively, to jerk it. Needless to say I came in an instant. Not very often you get a chance to experience two amazing feelings for the first time in one night.



From that moment on he would always, at one point or another, voluntarily or invited, play with his socked feet on my cock. I loved this guy ;-) and he made me feel, in the end, that this passion of mine was as ordinary and “accepted” as anything else in love making. Little did I know. We ended up breaking up and my search started again.



Boys liked me; I was an attractive, sexy young fellow with SEX written all over my face. So they came and they went. Often, when making out, my hand ended up grabbing their shoes and with a subtle, sensual gesture taking them off. Some of them were surprised, went along, but never thought about playing with my friendly cock; others were annoyed and would put their shoes back on. I started feeling an outcast and my fantasy world was slowly starting to crack.



I moved to NY where I had several boyfriends and the story stayed the same, some were fine with it, others made me feel lonely and misunderstood. One thing they all had in common: none took the time to understand that this was what I actually liked. Maybe when you are a fetishist you are more sensitive about satisfying your lover‘s needs, whichever they may be, because you always wished someone would do the same for you. But I have to say some of these men were good to me and tried.



I became political about it and promised never to compromise such an important part of who I was for another man. Take it or leave it. It was then that I met the man of my dreams, the man that was going to be my guardian angel for the next 11 years.



When, for the first time I placed his foot on my crotch he spontaneously started to play along and would ultimately give me a great foot job. He told me later that he had never thought about this as a possible sexual act. But from that day on he made it into his art. I often saw him exercise and play with his toes to get better at it. He became the best in the business. Together with his unconditioned love, I got the best foot jobs I could possibly wish for. I thought the male orgasm was the way I always had them: exciting but a mechanical act. Boy I was wrong.



He wanted to know everything about this passion: what the mental implications were, what turned me on about it. Why a pair of socks more than another? or a pair of shoes?. He understood my fetishism in all its complexity and my orgasms became more like those of a woman than of a man. The mental aspect became impressively important.

He passed away a year and a half ago.



My life has changed forever and I know deep in my heart that I will never meet another angel in my life. So now I am not so concerned with finding love, I have had it at its highest and I am thankful for life. I also thought love would last forever but I was wrong. Now that I have accepted this another thought is constantly crossing my mind: how will I ever satisfy my undeniable hunger for feet, socks and shoes again?



My quest



I started researching about it, now, after so many years from that famous night with my young roman boyfriend.



SEXUAL FETISHISM: sexual attraction to objects or body parts not conventionally viewed as being sexual in nature. (Doesn’t that remind you of how the world considers gay, lesbian and transsexuals?).



The term, and this is interesting, was used by the Portuguese to refer to objects used in religious cults, how ironic, by the West African natives. Karl Marx refers to commodity fetishism as an important component of capitalism. Finally, I found out Sigmund Freud appropriated the concept to describe a form of parafilia in which the object of affection is an inanimate object or a specific part of a person.



There are different classes of fetishists, from mild ones to thieves (who steal the object that turns them on) and even to killers willing to murder to posses the specific part of their desire from an innocent body. By many it is considered a condition to be cured through intensive therapy. I, with joy, discovered I am part of Class II: the Cravers. Nothing to be afraid of. I have a passion, maybe close to obsession but since I love sex for the joy of sex when the object of my desire is denied I can still enjoy a “normal”, healthy sex session. What a relief.



Then I found something that made my heart skip a bit. Fetishism also has been a reaction to epidemic sexually transmitted disorders. For example, during the AIDS crisis, people finally started to see the foot as a new sexual item. It is definitely safe and if so many people do it, why not try it. I now discovered that people are intrigued by this newly found practice.



When I tell men about my love for feet and what it does to me they want to try and see if they can make me cum with theirs. How fascinating. And so my search for the best sock job has started again. I met a few contestants and I have to say it’s amazing how fast we, human beings, can adapt and learn to produce a “new” way to give pleasure.



Albert Einstein once said: The mind is like a parachute: it only works when it opens.



My website



In 1996 I bought my very first PC and the first thing I did was surf the net for socks/shoes themed web sites. I found many, but of all of them only one triggered my interest. The quality was impressive and it matched almost entirely with my own fantasies. I immediately subscribed to it and started downloading all the videos and photos they had. It satisfied both my fetishes, socks/shoes and voyeurism.



One day the site changed look, name and owners. I wrote a message to the administrator to ask what had happened to the only salvation I had on the net. I received a very kind message saying that the previous founder, David, had died of AIDS complications.

Since that moment there was no site left that would satisfy me. That why I, together with my angel, started to make amateur videos containing what I had always wished to see. I showed them to some of my sock buddies and they all seemed to love them. At least, they always asked for more.

That brought me to the idea: why don‘t you try to sell them?.

I put up a simple website, and it works well. Still, I have this dream of opening the Ultimate socks/shoes web site. The one I have always dreamt of finding.



A proud fetishist.

For the love of the arts

I went to an art gallery yesterday. I saw an amazing exhibition that really captivated me. It was so absorbing that I didn't even notice the hot, alternative guy in the room. Later he told me he had been following me since I came in but it wasn't till the last piece of the exhibition that he started talking to me.

We were both watching an installation and he commented about it out loud. At first I thought he was talking to himself, but when he asked how I felt about it I realized he wasn't. That's when I looked at him for the first time. Dark hair, nice lean body, green eyes and a taste for modern art... I smiled and answered.

Soon we were engaged in a very interesting conversation about the exhibition and it's theme. I was really enjoying it. We walked out of the room together, letting conversation shift from art to our personal lives.

He was a starting visual artist, which I already quite expected. He had this concept about shooting different kinds of natural pigments onto a canvas with some quite undefined patterns.Very different than my work, but an interesting and personal way of expressing himself that made him even more attractive to me.

I convinced him to stay at the museum caffetaria with me. We had some warm drinks, sitting around a design table in a room with wall-size windows everywhere.

The october rain outside made the moment even more perfect.

We stayed there for a very long time. We talked about visual art, music, dance and other stuff. I was really enjoying the moment. There was one thing though, that made the whole scene very sexual for me.

While sitting there and talking, the guy was constantly standing up to pull his jeans a little bit down as if they were too tight. It wasn't very effective though. Whenever he sat down I could see them getting tight again. It was very effective for something else. It made me focus over and over on the very prominent bulge in his pants and was really turning me on.

On a certain moment he put his hand on my thigh. A first step.

I played that it was a totally meaningless thing for me. I guess he knew though, as I always know when it's me doing this trick, that no one would think that gesture's meaningless. Still I faked, I just didn't immediately know how to react. It doesn't matter how many times I find myself in this situations, I always need to think before reacting.

“I'm going to the toilet, wanna come with me?” is what popped out of my thinking and excitement.

He arched his eyebrows, laughed and nodded. I tried to hide my satisfaction smile as I stood up and walked towards the toilets. He finished his coffee and followed.

Now comes the part in which trying to have sex in a public toilet designed by a modern artist isn't such an easy task.

We found the “toilet unit”. It was greenish and was almost fully made of papier-mâché. We opened the door of the men's room to discover there was only a wall behind it. It took us some time to figure out how the thing exactly worked.

Once we found the not so cubic cubicles we sneaked inside one of them. We started to make out, which was a little bit hard for the floor of the whole thing was inclined. Despite everything, we had a great chemistry. In no time we had already undressed one another while furiously french kissing. I guess that the fact that we were in a public “toilet” also contributed to that rush. The extra excitement and the hurry.

He turned out to be hiding a beautiful piece of art under his white slips too. This guy seemed perfect. I'll save you further details.

It's enough to say we sucked&fucked all over the papier-mâché and it was fantastic.

But, as we all know, all good things come to an end. One great thing about sex is that when the end arrives you get a final treat to make it less sad.

We were standing naked, face to face, ready for the final sprint. Ready to light the fireworks. Fireworks is a great word to describe what happened. It went high, was awe-inspiring and made my eye burn like fire.

Once I was done “ending” and opened my eyes he was still busy. And, without exaggerating, he stayed busy for about 10 more seconds.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Loads of sperm were flying everywhere, landing all over the greenish cublicle. An unbelievable volume of sticky liquid raged around me. Our clothes (specially mine) that were lying on the floor also got a good share of irrigation. My eyes, open in awe, made a great target.

Of course he hit the spot.

When the show was over, he just sighed deeply with a satisfied look on his face. I, on the other hand, was getting dressed in a hurry. I just HAD to cleanse my burning eyeball on the washtable. Luckily there was nobody standing outside and I could go immediately. I exited the not-so-cubic-le with this guys “paint” everywhere on me. My clothes, my body... I tried, in vain, to wash my eye.

He started talking about something but I was't really paying attention to him, concentrated on the rinsing. I wasn't until he started talking about his boyfriend. That was the only thing this whole scenario was missing. This guy wasn't even available, my clothes were all dirty wet and sticky and I had a red eye that burned like hell.

I got a deep understanding of where his artistic concept, shooting natural pigments on a canvas, came from though.

I'll just think it's all for the love of the arts.
.

The Fresh and Frisky Years: II

This is chapter number II of The Fresh and Frisky Years. If you want to read chapter I (not necessary to understand this one) you can find it here.

I had a boyfriend for a short while, back when I was fifteen. We had been introduced to each other by a mutual friend of ours. The boy who would later become my boyfriend had just moved in to town and didn't know anyone yet. This acquaintance we shared gave him my contact information hoping we would get on well and I would show him the nightlife in my city.

As a young gay boy getting to know someone in the gay scene of the city you're living in is difficult but important. Many people, including myself, find it very hard to go to a bar or club all by themselves and finding someone to go with you to a queer place is not so easy. Most classmates and colleagues will not join you for that.

That's why, once he was finished moving, he contacted me. I didn't really know that many gay people either, so I was happily surprised by his call. Curious what it would bring. We talked for a while before deciding to meet up.

The day of our date, I was standing at the door of the fastfood restaurant where we would come together, ten minutes before the time we had set. I had had two showers, shaved my (almost imaginary) beard, put gel in my hair, perfume on my skin, wore my favourite clothes, had told my mother I was going to meet a friend from school and was pretty damned nervous. I was fifteen, allright?.

Ten minutes of eagerly looking at every young guy coming my way later, the boy arrived.

I found him cute, he was very sweet.

During our first date we did the typical grown up dating kind of things. We went for a drink, had a walk in the park, ate a hamburger... until it was time to go home.

The “good boys dating protocoles” were not finished yet though. He still had to walk me home, thank me for the amazing night he had had and clumsily kiss me goodbye. I remember my heart was beating like crazy while I walked up the stairs of my building. I entered my appartment, kissed my mother on the cheek and then fled into my room to hide my blush.

At this point, when I look back at all those protocoles I used to follow, I realize how ridiculous it is. We had learned this way of dealing with dating from movies I guess. Lately it strikes me how many people in their twenties or thirties, still follow that schedule. If they wouldn't do it, they wouldn't feel whatever is going on between them and their date is justifiable. In the future, when I start writing about sexual moral and freedom, I will devote a full entry to this topic. For now just let me ask you:

Why would we have to go for a drink, a walk and dinner before feeling we can yield to our very natural sexual attraction?

I'll leave this subject for now, and go on with my story.

Of course, we had to have a couple more dates before we could start to touch, feel and grab each other more intimately. It wouldn't have made sense to follow all of the “good boy dating protocoles” concerning first-date-activities and not the ones concerning amount-of-dates-before-sex-is-allowed.

I'll tell you how the first date in which touching was oficially allowed was like.

We were at my appartment, my mother wasn't home. We were lying on my couch, making out for quite a while. Then I (maybe I was young, but it's still me) took his T-shirt off and made him take mine off too.

We kept on kissing for a while, half naked, until I dared to touch his package. It didn't feel that big to me, but I didn't want to judge just yet. I cautiously slipped my hand into his pants and underwear. I was very excited, it would be the fourth dick I'd ever touch (including my own). I had too little experience to know what to expect and was very curious.

I didn't expect it to be totally soft and sticky, but it was.

First thing I did was taking my hand out of this pants, while still kissing him. He was kissing me back. It took me like five minutes of making out to gather the courage to ask him about it.

“Why are you not hard? Do you not like me?” I asked, worried, while sitting on him.
“No. It's just that I already came.”

...

I was confused. This of course explained the stickiness of the domain under his slips but not the rest. How or why he came, how could he not say anything about it was beyond my understanding. Not only did he come by telepathy, he also kept it totally quiet and continued messing with me for who knows how long!.

I was speechless until he broke the silence.

“But if you want, I can still make you come too”

I just stared at him and burst into a laugh because of the whole situation. When I calmed down, I lied down next to him. I started asking him if it had happened to him before, if it was always like this...

The guy answered affirmatively to all of my questions, very calm, without showing any embarrassment.

Needless to say this was our last date. Maybe I could have tried again, have worked it out with him but I guess I just didn't like him enough. I don't feel sorry for it though. After some months I called him again and offered to go out together.

That was the beginning of a very good friendship that lasted for many years.

You can read chapter 3 too if you want.
.

The Viagra Cocktail

I went to a sauna this weekend. For those of you who don't know what a gay sauna is all about , I'll explain.

It's a place, like a spa, where men go to relax and maybe have sex. The most common facilities are a sauna, a jacuzzi, a steam room, a darkroom and some private cabins. At the entrance you get a towel and a key for a locker. You are expected to walk around naked, except for the towel that you can wrap around your waist. Of course you drop it when using any of the facilities.

Before continuing with my story I'd like to share with you the way I think about gay saunas. Most of you who have never been to a sauna, will probably feel some rejection towards it. I can understand how that feels, and relate to it, since that's the way I felt before I visited one for the first time.

The first sauna I visited was not a fancy one. It was quite small, the interior design was pretty lousy. I went with three friends of mine, two of them regular visitors while the other one was a novice just like me. He was the one who came up with the idea of going there, curious about how saunas in Europe would look like. I'm always willing to try out new things, to live, so I closed my ears to my prejudices and insecurities and acceeded.

We stayed for about two hours. We undressed in the locker room and started walking around. We went from the sauna to the steam room, then layed for a while in the bubble bath, went back to the sauna, had a drink...

I'm not gonna tell any of the stories that happened that day, for I'm preparing a specific entry about awkward situations in a sauna. I'm just going to make my point before continuing with my main story of today.

Once I got over my insecurities it was great. I experienced this place as a place of great freedom. You could just go and relax, people who wanted to could have sex while you could decide if you wanted to watch it or not, join them or not, leave or not. I felt we were all being ourselves. In a way, dropping your clothes makes you drop your facade. You, my dear readers, probably have had the experience of someone transforming when his or her clothes are off too.

In this place you could feel that everything, everyone, was allowed while nothing was expected.

It was a greater acceptance of one another than I have ever felt before, very different than the “meat market” I was expecting it to be. I'm not a regular though, don't get me wrong. Just once in a while, after a rough night or when my muscles are tired or hurt. I enjoy giving myself a full break, a break for the body and the soul.

So I went to a sauna this weekend, a new one, the place to go some people said. The first thing me and my friend saw when we got in was a beautiful restaurant. We decided to sit for a drink before doing anything else. While we were looking at the menu, the waiter came to us and gave us two cocktails.

“I think you're wrong, we haven't ordered anything yet” I told him.

“It's just a house rule. All visitors under thirty get a free cocktail from us” He said, and left to help other customers.

Well, that was great news. The drinks were very expensive here. My friend and me smiled at each other, toasted, and started drinking our cocktail.

Once we were finished, we stood up and left to explore the place. It was huge, with three different kind of saunas, two swimming pools and a lounge bar besides all of the standard facilities I mentioned before.

We decided to start with the jacuzzi, for it tends to get full and at that moment only two men were in it.

We were just lying there, relaxing. I gotta say that, somehow, I felt a bit umcomfortable this time. Maybe because the place was so fancy, so open and light. I missed that great feeling I have had with other, smaller, places. This one was pretentious, and therefore everyone was more in “hunt mode” than I'd like them to be.

I was in a jacuzzi, but I couldn't chill. I had to keep myself busy with not looking into anyone's eyes for too long. I felt they could misinterprete me, that's the vibe I got from this sauna that made it so annoying. I was so busy not looking into faces, that the fat dick next to me could not pass unnoticed. Bad idea.

I immediately felt how my own body was reacting to that. Normally, I would be able to control that, getting a boner in an awkwad situation. I thought I had left that behind, together with coffee being just coffee, when leaving high school.

This time was different though. I got a huge hardon. I didn't understand why and I started getting nervous. Even considering the place where I was, I didn't feel so good about walking around like a flag.

I also knew that the jacuzzi cycled between bubbles and still water. I hoped really hard my boner would cease before the calm. Of course it didn't.

The bubbles had stopped and my pillar of shame was right there, in front of all of us. I was trying not to care about the glances the (fiercely unattractive) strangers were throwing at us, my hardon and me, but I did care of course. I turned to my friend and sent him a help glance. He just pointed to his own crotch. He had one too.

Great.

Luckily on that moment the bubbles started again. It was a relief, still I was trying harder than ever not to look to anyone. After a while, the guys got bored and left the bath.

“What's this all about?” I asked when we were alone.

“I know!” my friend said “I don't understand, are you this hard too?”.

I nodded and laughed. Note that we had already been like this for about twenty minutes.

“Well, let's just wait here. It'll pass.” I said. I let my body sink deeper in the bath and tried to relax.

Two more groups of men came in and out of the bath, repeating the same scenario. Twenty more minutes would pass and we would still lie there, our fingers already looking like raisins.

“Is there something in the water?”

We couldn't really understand. Since I had been feeling worse and worse, when the second group of guys left us, I proposed to go. It was better than staying there like this.

“Are we gonna walk to the locker room in this condition?” My friend said.

“Well, lying here for other fourty minutes isn't good either. And if the water is the problem it makes no sense staying here.” Plain surreal.

So we breathed deep in, stood up, took our towels and built some nice tents around our bodies. We walked to the lockers. My friend was looking to the floor, walking fast but I figured that if I was to do this I would do it good. I just walked around, looking at the face of everyone who passed us. I was proud of myself for daring to do so I gotta say.

We finally arrived to our lockers. We changed, still hard, hiding it as good as we could inside of our pants and left for the ext. We had almost crossed the exit door when I saw something hanging on the wall. A picture of a green cocktail with the text under it:

“Try our new Viagra cocktail”

If I hadn't felt that awkward (and horny) I would have made a big drama about it. I just let it rest for this time. Never accept candy from strangers, Mom always said.

By the time we were getting out of the train that took us back home the storm had ceased. I was really tired of all of the tension of that day. I said goodbye to my friend and went home. I was feeling so horny after that whole evening, I tried to get rid of it with the help of my hand. I (it) was so exhausted though that I fell asleep in the middle of it.

The Fresh And Frisky Years: I

Welcome to the first chapter of The Fresh and Frisky Years. Every Wednesday, during five weeks, I will be telling a different kind of story than I got you used to. These stories, all previous to my seventeenth birthday, have a more innocent character and a sweeter taste.

Since these tales are meant to be different, and my blog entries this far can be considered sexual misfortunes (sigh), I’m starting The Fresh and Frisky Years with a success story. At least sexwise.

We were sixteen.

I met him due to a guy we both dated. I call that guy “Sleeping Beauty” in My Serial Monogamy and his story will come in the near future. For now let’s just say that he tried to make my Twinklove jealous by talking all the time about me. It turned out he miscalculated, for my hot Twinklove ended up dropping him and started dating me.

We had a very passional relationship. I guess because of our age, and of how new everything was for us (we both had some experience already, but very little). We would spend most of our time together just messing around.

We would make out various times a day, which always led to something exciting. I remember we had sex everywhere: in his house, in my house, in the woods, in a public toilet, in his parents' swimming pool. You name it.

Once, he gave a birthday party and all of his friends were invited. Almost no one knew we were gay back then so we had to meet at hidden corners, where we could give ourselves a furious minute. When the time was finished we came back to avoid any suspicion. We also sneaked up the stairs for a quick fuck no less than three times.

Everytime we came down with cumstains on our clothes and bad excuses on our mouths.

The relationship was a lot of fun, but things started getting complicated. His parents were very wealthy people. Usually, when very wealthy people get paranoid it means trouble.

Once they found an open condom package in his trousers. When they asked him about it, he became nervous and made up a very weak story. He told them about us, giving my part to a female. I'm sure all of my gay readers know how typical this is for young gay people.

The sex change worked for some weeks, but lies are unstable.

From that moment on, every time he had been out his parents wanted to know what he had been doing, and he would make up a new story again and again. After a while, his legions of lies did their thing and started revolting.

A normal parent would just get worried about the contradictory facts. A normal parent would look for the best way to support, advise or help.

These people hired a private detective to follow their son.

I didn't know that of course. I received an sms saying he never wanted to see me again. This sudden change caught me by surprise and hurt me. I can't say I was really in love with Twinklove, we were more about the fun. Rejection is just always painful.


I texted him back, asking for an explanation, but he never answered. I sent him a couple more of them before giving up. I didn't understand what had happened, why he suddenly got so angry at me, but I just carried on with my life.

About six months later I saw him walking in the city. I crossed the street, ran towards him and shouted his name. He turned around, recognized me, and quickly got inside a Starbucks.

I followed him inside. I looked for him everywhere, and finally found him in the restroom. He smiled at me, nervous, when I opened the door. He pulled me inside a cubicle and started explaining.

Of course it was all his parents' idea. Once they had hired the detective, it didn't take long before they knew about me, who I was and what I did with their child. They were not amused about their son being gay. They swiftly concluded it was my fault, that my influence was confusing him. And therefore I had to be removed.

I wish they had seen how their little boy enjoyed laying me down on my belly.

They forced him to break up with me. They took his cellphone off him. They forbid him to go out, to stay longer after schooltime. They kept that regime for 3 months. Then, when they were sure we weren't seeing each other anymore, they restored his freedom.

After telling me the story, we did it like crazy. It was one of the most amazing sexperiences I ever had. When we were finished, we said goodbye. I felt this was the last time I would see him and I think he felt the same. I left the Starbucks first, feeling relieved and sad.

Of course we never came back together again. Too much trouble. Still, when I look back, I think of my time with Twinklove as three months full of fun. I sometimes miss that feeling of all being new and exciting. Actually, I shouldn't complain. I'm meeting with a straight, married, businessman at his hotel tonight. It's new to me and it's exciting :).

This was chapter I of The Fresh and Frisky Years. You can read chapter 2 here.

-0-

This was Chapter 1 of The Fresh and Frisky Years. Please, tell me how you feel about these "spin off" series. This Sunday, of course, there's another true adventure coming up, of the kind I usually write.

I also received the first draft of my first guest writer's entry. It's a very interesting piece, naughty but very sweet. I think you'll like it. It will be up the last Thursday of this month ( the 29th of October ).

From that day on, every last Thursday I will upload a new guest entry. If you have anything to say, you think it fits Sex Won't Bite, and you'd like me to post it send me a message and we'll discuss it.

Hope you're week is going well. If you want a tip, always be aware of your Freedom of Choice. It's one of the best things in life.

A.S. Thomas

The dog that barks does howl

We all know the expression “The dog that barks does not bite”. I did some research and found out it's Bosnian in origin. Almost every western language uses it in it's translated form, while the image stays the same. I guess that means that no one had verbalized the concept before the Bosnians. Apparently, every folk in the world had been confronted with it but missed the words in their language to express it. Someone heard his Bosnian neighbour saying it and found it so fitting he included it in his regular conversation.

If you ask me, it was probably a female who created this expression. I'm sure some horny Bosnian lady got very frustrated by men not fulfilling their boasts, leaving her as unsatisfied as she started, She then looked at how her little toy dog only dared to bark at strangers when hidden under a cupboard and unconsciously made an association.

The words in the proverb express it's concept pretty well, still I think this Mrs. Petrovic forgot something. In my experience:

The dog that barks, doesn't bite, but it does howl.

Once again I had a date at my appartment. This guy and me we had been flirting for about two weeks. In that lapse of time he created many expectations. I told him to calm down, told him not to be too enthousiastic too soon. If you read my blog, you surely understand my skepticism.

When we finally stopped chatting and actually saw each other, he turned out to be a really cool guy. He was sexy, smart, interesting and funny. I really, actually, liked him. Not only did I like him, I started believing in everything he had promised to me.

I'm not going to tell you exactly what we did before getting into my bedroom. I realize that I repeat this “greet, coffee, bedroom” structure quite often and you already know all about it. It isn't necessary to tell them over and over again. I'll just go for the crucial parts.

On a certain moment conversation drifted to his car, that we could see parked outside my window.

“I think you better leave now. I don't do men who don't ride a Ferrari.” I joked.

“Well, the reason I don't drive a Ferrari is that I don't need to compensate for anything” He said, with a naughty look.

“ Is that so?”

I couldn't get the roguish grin off my face. Next to all of the qualities I had already noticed, he also seemed to have a big “confidence”. I looked into his eyes as he said:

“Would you like to check it out?”
“Yes” I said plainly, leaned forward and kissed him. We kissed for a while until he proposed:
“Take me to your bedroom”

I did. We closed the courtains and kissed, teased, touched and undressed each other. It was amazing. The kissing was great, he had a nice body, a nice smell and really liking his personality made it even better.

Once in our underwear, I pushed him on the bed and lied down on him. I then felt his hard confidence, which was big indeed. We kept on messing around. It actually was getting better and better by the moment.

Without any notice, he suddenly started shaking. At first I thought he was a premature ejaculator. I thought he was so excited that he was already cumming. I am so used to bed disasters that I even make up theories before seeing what is actually happening. Then I opened my eyes and saw it was far from that. He was not having an orgasm, he was crying.

I immediately took some distance and looked at him for about a minute, perplex.

“Do you always do this?” I asked, starled.

He shook his head and kept on crying.

“No, it's just that... Well it really has nothing to do with you but...” He said, sniffing wildly between words. “There is this guy... and I'm in love with him... and I'm actually free, and I thought you were hot, but I can't... I think this isn't right... I'm really sorry... It is not you...”

I couldn't believe it. I understood how he felt, what I didn't understand is why the hell he didn't think about that earlier. And besides, it was him who started our whole flirting, dating and finally going into the bedroom thing.

I hate men who go hunting without a gun.

And that's exactly what I told him.

As an answer he came closer to me, put his head on my leg, coiled up like a little cat and started crying even harder while apologizing. I was overwhelmed, and not happy about my upcoming blue balls but this whole scene of his was breaking my heart.

I just put my hand on his head, sighed, and let him cry it all out.

We talked about this guy of his, about why it wasn't really working, about how he was looking for sex as a diversion to forget about that. And me, I could only play along. What else could I do ?.

A while later I had a reason to stop it. I was going to meet some friends and needed some time to get ready. He nodded, silently dressed up and left thanking me for all the good care. Once left alone, I started thinking. Why always me ? What is it that makes me be able to keep this blog updated, without lying?

I truly have no clue.

Talking about the blog, a few updates. You may have noticed a new list to the left. My Serial Monogamy. It's my continuously updated, chronologically organized list of bedpartners (sounds pretty impressive, doesn't it?). Every time I have a new one, it will be added at the end. Of course I give a code name to every one. I wonder if it is more or less than you guys expected.

The names with a star at the end will be coming in the future. Whenever I post them I will connect the name in the list to the corresponding post. The names in italics are there because there's a funny story worth being told behind them, but they're in italics because we never had actual sex.

Next to that, I'm working on a bigger program for the blog. I am making a plan of different but related topics to write about, with a fixed schedule. As an example, someone offered to write an essay for me. I would like to have a guest writer monthly, if possible. Also, starting next week, I will be writing an episode of The Fresh and Frisky Years every Wednesday. A short series with more innocent, a little cornier stories of my adolescence.

At last, I would like to apologize for a bug with the Talk To Me form. There was some problem with the HTML code and I haven't got any of the messages you sent before I fixed it. I'm sorry for this and for not noticing it earlier. Also, I'd like to thank everyone who (once that was fixed) sent me a message. I appreciate all of the feedback and support.

Hope you're all free, centered and satisfied.

A.S. Thomas

Fashion Victim

Lately I've been very focused on structuring my life better. I changed the way I spend my time, what I eat and even my goals and beliefs. For example, the last two months I've dedicated every Sunday to writing, cleaning and coming closer to myself. Well, I did do all these things and discovered that being rested and calm also makes me horny. Conclusion, I have had sex every Sunday for the last two months. Jealous?

Actually, it's very convenient for the sake of my blog.

I met last Sunday’s dude on the internet. I got a flirty message from him and checked his profile. Begin thirties, he looked attractive on his pictures, and his message promised an XL dick.

On one hand I had a lot to do, writing “Guest star to third wheel” for example. On the other hand, I was pretty randy. “I guess whoever likes what I write will fully understand that I delay my writing and meet him” I thought.

We chatted a bit until I asked him to come over. I usually prefer staying at my appartment when sex-dating someone. I pay a lot of money in order to live in a place of my own and I want to make proper use of it.

He arrived and rang my bell. I opened the door, we introduced ourselves (always funny when you both know what you’re up to), I let him in and offered him some coffee.

I started talking. I wanted to have an idea of who he was before going to bed with him. What kind of energy he had. I need to feel a connection point to feel truly attracted to someone.

“ So, how did you want to start ?” He interrupted me.
“ Well... I didn't really have any set plans ...” I said, a little overwhelmed.
“ Because I was thinking… we could undress and tease each other in our underwear. No touching allowed until we can stop ourselves any longer”.

And so we did.

I had never played this game before, but I figured it could do no harm. Besides, I am always open to try new things, see if it works for me.

We entered my bedroom and started undressing. He was wearing a white Aussiebum while I was wearing a simple, H&M slip. If I had known how this would develop, I would have chosen something flashier. It's just that, usually, my underwear doesn’t stay on for long.

Once we were in our undies, the atmosphere became a bit awkward. I didn’t know how to play this game yet. I think he didn’t know either. We had to explore the new possibilities. We walked around slowly for a while, looking at each other's image.

Although unusual, I have to say this was a liberation. For men, visual stimulus are a big turn on but, I always felt inhibited to freely look at my counterparty. Worried about what they would think if I stared at their dick. Now that it was the only thing I could do, that was allowed, I freed myself of that. And it felt great.

After a while we lied down on the bed, very close, but without touching of course. I could feel his breath and warmth.

Suddenly he stood up and asked if he could look into my underwear drawer.

It seemed a funny idea to me and I agreed, pointing to my drawer. He opened it and started searching inside. He selected some of them and put them aside. I watched, amused, curious to where this would lead to. When he had chosen enough he turned around, and said:

“ Would you mind wearing these for me ? ”
“You made the boxers I'm wearing feel very rejected right now. ” I said as I stood up and grabbed the slips he was handing me.

I put them on. He then made me walk around in them and watched. It once again felt weird, but seeing how his Aussiebums were reacting (and being allowed, even simulated, to freely look at it) was definitely worth it.

Specially because, about the third time I hit the runway, they started getting wet.

Yes, I DID have to walk the ramp a couple of times. After looking at one "outfit", he chose a new piece of underwear and asked me to get changed again. Over and over.

When he finally got fed up of dressing me (note that the fashion show had already taken about an hour) he asked if he could look inside my laundry-basket. “Well” I said to myself “If I came this far, I can go all the way”.

He chose a pair of white and blue striped briefs. Without saying anything he changed his Aussiebums for my used slips. He then turned around and smiled at me triumphantly. I felt that I was supposed to find that specially exciting or something. I didn't really.

At least the perfect moment for me to stop the show and start the action had arrived.

I was very aroused by that time. We had been teasing and watching each other for so long that we were really burning. Unfortunately, for that reason he didn’t last longer than 5 minutes. He soon had to cum and I, horny as I was, had to follow.

“The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long. And you have burned so very very brightly.”

For some reason, it happens to me quite a lot lately that men (already in their thirties, and therefore supposed to have enough experienc) cum much before the right moment. It's just frustrating. And it makes me miss my ex-boyfriend with our amazing sex.

Anyways, even though the sex wasn't that great I got something fantastic out of it. I think I freed myself forever of one inhibition. That's always priceless, always worthy.

-o-

Two little updates:

I posted a poll some time ago about what you guys thought about a list on the website containing all my bedpartners. Almost everybody who voted thought it was a good idea, so I’m working on it. It’s just so very hard to bring all of them back now!

The second thing is the Newsletter Subscription button above. Most people say they would like to get notified every time there’s new content on the site. It took me some work, but now you can enter your e-mail address there and will get the Newsletter whenever there’s something new to read. You can trust that I won’t hand your address to any third parties and won’t use it for anything else but the Newsletter.

S.

From guest star to third wheel

This week I had a threesome for the first time in my life. It has never really been one of my fantasies, but now I'm sure it will take some time before I go to Threesome City again. I should have known better, after all I always have trouble with the number three. Perhaps working on triangle relationships is one of my karmic missions for this life.

Anyways, I was at one of my favourite discos with some good friends. We were drinking, dancing, talking, having fun. I wasn't really looking for someone that night, still soon a guy appeared on my radar.

He was in his thirties. He had a flawless style, beautiful blue eyes and a great body. He was having a drink with some friend.

They were standing at a bar behind me, so I was unable to really make contact with him. Of course I could have switched places with one of my friends, but I didn't. He had already caught me twisting my neck to look at him twice, and a sudden position change would not pass unnoticed. It's the oldest trick of the world.

I hate seeing through someone's flirting moves so I take good care that mine are opaque.

I kept on doing my thing for a while until one of my friends told me that some guy at the bar was constantly looking at me. Given the fact they were standing right behind me, I'm sure you all know what part of me was being contemplated. I knew.

I made sure the guy my friend was talking about was the one I liked, and then just kept on dancing. I needed some time to make up a good battle plan.

Two o'clock at night and three Martinis aren't the ideal conditions for a stroke of genius though.

After discarding some absurd ideas I quickly finished my half-full drink and walked towards the bar, supposedly to get a new one. I had to wait a bit longer for my drink than I would if I had gone to the other, less crowded, very inviting and definitely closer bar but it didn't matter. The drink was not my main objective.

It took me some time but I managed to “casually” end up standing next to them. I acted as if I were unaware of their eyes on me and about to order a drink. Can I just thank my drama teacher at this point?.

Then the bartender came and I told him to get me whatever that guy was drinking. Then I turned to the left and said:

“I hope what you're drinking is good. I'm getting the same.”

He laughed and said I had a lot of courage. I wondered what he meant. When my drink arrived, it turned out to be whisky on the rocks. Great. I should have known this could (and probably would) turn against me.

“Oh well” I thought “Let's just laugh about it. Besides, it gives me more flirting possibilities than if I had liked it”.

And that's how we engaged in conversation. After some very nice chat he introduced me to the other guy. His very grumpy boyfriend. That made me feel quite disappointed, I actually liked this guy.

“Oh damn, I thought we were on to something.” I bitterly said.

The first guy smiled and looked at his boyfriend for a moment before saying:

“Well, in fact we both really liked you. Why don't you come home with us?”

Even though somewhere deep inside I was expecting something like this I blocked. I hadn't been in this situation before and it caught me off guard. I told them that I had never had a threesome, but that I did like them (the first guy was very cool and his nagging wife wasn't ugly). I was gonna think about it for a while.

I went back to my friends. I told them what had happened and once they were updated, I started hearing my mother's voice inside my head.

“Once you go there there's no coming back! It's perversion! If you start with those things when you're young you will get tired of love for good! You will get syphillis!”

That voice spoke right to my fears. It made me think that something terrible would happen if I did it and I almost decided to reject the invitation. Luckily I reminded myself one of my biggest personal convictions, never letting fear stop me.

“A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.”
Bernard Shaw

If I thought about it myself, I wasn't able to find any good reason not to do it. Seriously, what actual danger hides in having sex with two men instead of just one?.

After I had caged my fear, my curiosity started to become audible. That made me decide to do it and see what would come out of it. Maybe I was missing something fantastic, worth repeating in the future.

About half an hour later I came back to the couple and told them I was in. I was excited too.

I explained the whole story to my friends and wished them fun for the rest of the night as the three of us left the club.

They drove me to their house. Already on our way there, I started feeling I was in the middle of something. I couldn't really put finger on why but I felt quite uncomfortable, and the source of this awkward feeling was not in me.

The first guy was still very talkative and open. His boyfriend, on the other hand, didn't say a word during the whole car ride. I had a hunch this couldn't be any good, but I ignored it hoping it would all work out well.

We arrived to their beautiful appartment. They made me sit on the couch, between both of them and started feeding me wine. I was genuinely thankful for that, for we were desperately in need of something that would relax the atmosphere.

Before I knew it, Guy#1 was kissing me. I wasn't even started enjoying it when Nagging-Wife turned my head in his direction and started making out with me. I thought I could feel how he was consciously trying to be fierier than his partner.

This structure repeated itself constantly, in crescendo, towards a finale worth of Puccini.

It happened when Guy #1 was finally on and in me. Our aria of (many) passionate centimeters of man ended abruptly and was followed by an intense, dramatic scene:

“You never try so hard with me”

I had totally forgotten about Nagging-Wife. When I looked past the body of my colossal lover, I could see him, sitting on a corner of the bed looking at us. He had already lost his hard-on, his dick hanging between his legs like a corpse for an extra dramatic effect.

Guy#1 sighed, got out of me, and turned around to face his partner.

Suddenly, I was lying naked and hard in the middle of a huge marital argument.

Nagging-wife turned out to be a great actress. Soon all kind of invitations to guilt flew around the stage, supported by some convincing tears. At the theatrically right moment she stood up, left the room and slammed the door behind her.

Guy #1 looked at me, sighed and silently lifted his shoulders.

“I'm very sorry. I'll call you a taxi. Of course it's on me... ”

I sighed too and nodded. Deep in my heart, despite the desdain I felt for Nagging-Wife's course of action, I could understand the way he felt. I started bringing my clothes together as Guy#1 followed him into the living room. I got dressed and tried to make myself as small as possible while leaving. When I was already halfway the door, I turned around and waved goodbye to my tragic hero. He waved back.

“What kind of person would dare to wave goodbye after I... ” I heard right before the courtain fell.

It had been a breath-taking play and I had to deeply inhale in the empty elevator. While waiting for the taxi, I tried to go over what had just happened. About how at first I thought I would be guest star for a night and ended up being the third wheel.

A friend once told me “In general, threesomes are a mechanism for a couple to exercise their complicity”.

Apparently their complicity needed a big boost. I wonder how it all ended. Maybe (almost hopefully) soon I will see my tragic hero again, alone, and we will end our act as it deserved to.

Coffee, no milk 2.

This is a midweek update on Coffe, no milk

Almost three weeks ago, I was standing outside the door of a bar with some friends. I suddenly saw mister No Milk heading towards the place. He was not alone. In a second I prepared myself for an uncomfortable meeting. I was aware I had no idea of how to behave or feel towards him and that made me feel a bit insecure. I really couldn't figure my standing point out, so I just smiled and let whatever was coming come to me.

When they finally arrived, he tapped my shoulder and said hello. I turned around, appeared to be surprised, and greeted him back. Then I saw his date and understood what had happened that fateful night. Me, I had already passed puberty and was therefore not his type.

He didn't acquaint me with the kiddie. He probably didn't know how to introduce the anklebiter to me, or me to the him. Or both. After some superficial chatter, they entered the bar.

They stayed for a very short while. I guess he didn't feel very comfortable. For some reason this guy seems to feel awkward pretty often. Even the company of his little suckling couldn't help him feel at ease.

We succintly said goodbye, and I forgot about him for the rest of the night.

As I posted, after our very first meeting I didn't hear from him again. But this incident at the bar made him start texting me.

And it got weirder and weirder with each message I got.

No Milk

“Hey, how r u doin?”

S

“I'm fine thanks. I thought you didn't want to talk to me ever again?”

No Milk

“Hello S.! Why did you think that? Because I didn't want sex? We already talked about it. Besides, we had a great time at the bar, right?. I have no idea why you think that. Everything ok by the way ?”

S

“Ow well, I just thought I had traumatized you. Everything fine here, by the way.”

No answer, it worked. I didn't want to stay in touch with him. But, 12 days later (30 september) ...

No Milk

“ Hi S. How are you? Do you still know who I am ? We wanted to meet some time ago but I couldn't at the time. I'm in a city close to yours, so if you have time we could meet the afternoon? Let me know. xoxo”

I didn't understand anything. I didn't even know what to think about it. Was he doing as if nothing ever happened ? Hard to believe. Did he send it to the wrong number?. The name and city were correct.

I didn't think about it for long, for I found it unworthy, but I was puzzled.

One hour later...

No Milk

“Are you a top?”

...

First of all: is he blind?

But besides, after the story we had he comes up with a text message asking me about my sexual preferences. Was he testing me? Desperate?. I didn't answer to this message either, hoping he would get the message. And still, two hours later...

(Now I'm looking at the messages and see he only wrote sms every 15 over an hour. What's behind that I wonder now?)

No Milk

“ I DID remember you weren't a top, but I was fishing for a reaction because I would like to see you during nightlife again. 17 okt?”

What can I say? It doesn't even make sense. If I already wasn't in him, now I wanted to keep him far. So I undertook action to make things clear.

S

“Hey, I'm sorry. I find this whole thing you're doing weird. If I ever meet you at a club, that's fine with me, but stop texting. S.”

He hasn't answered.

I totally don't understand what he's all about. I do know he got the wrong guy for these games.

Does he really think I care enough about him to play along?

I had this idea that he didn't like me because I wasn't young enough, like the neonate he went to the bar with was. This text message history proves it wrong though, and now I'm out of theories. At least one of my readers send me his own about what happened but I wonder if he thinks the same after reading this.