Date: Sat, 12 Jun 2004 03:14:29 +0000
From: J.T. Bottom <luvblkmen@hotmail.com>
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,