The Tennis Match----- by Richard Saw

About The Author

Richard Saw is an Australian ex-pat with a British passport, who works for an American multi-national and does a very good impression of a Londoner when on the escalator at Piccadilly Circus.

His original piece of writing was The Eating Guide to Soho (now in its 4th Edition). So for the past twelve years he has been eating and drinking his way through London and only his sense of the surreal has stopped him becoming a huge food snob.  

https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B00CLRMLC0?ingress=0&visitId=f24b3647-8c73-435f-94e8-c2e5da37f8cc

The author's Twitter can be found here https://twitter.com/gayjockgeek

Gary and I had played tennis against each other for years. We’d met in our twenties in a tennis group when we’d both lived in a big city and we instantly bonded. We had both grown up playing tennis, playing tournaments and following the professional events like the soap operas they were. I was better than Gary was, that was never in question, but we never thought that should stop us having regular hits. We’d meet up early in the morning on city courts and smack the crap out of the ball, me performing miracles at the net, Gary slamming laser-like groundstrokes from the baseline.

And then we’d go have breakfast together and talk about the various men we were shagging. Gary and I fooled around a few times in the early days. After all we were fit gay men in a big city. It was all good fun to be had. But we never were at the same place in our lives at the same times, so we never dated, and the sex drifted away as a fond memory down the years.

We were still catching up for regular hits on the court years later, when Gary sent me a picture of some fashion brand that was using the tennis look from the 1970’s… wooden rackets, tight polo shirts, you know the look. The only tennis look that had impacted fashion. Unfortunately. 

‘So cute’ I texted back, talking of the model.

‘We should do that,’ Gary messaged back.

‘Do what?’

‘Get some old wooden rackets. Get the polo shirts and little shorts, some canvas shoes. And then play a match dressed like that.’

I laughed aloud. That was a genius idea. If we could find the gear, that is. ‘We gotta do it, I agree. I’ll get the rackets. You get the gear. That’ll be our mission.’

‘It’s a plan.’

Of course, it took longer than hoped for. I had to eventually purchase some old rackets in an auction and then convince a friend of mine to re-string them, so we could actually play with them. The clothing was a little easier but even then Greg told me he’d struggled. When we both declared that we were ready, Greg messaged me to come to his place early Sunday morning and we’d get changed at his place before going to a tennis court near his place in a school where we didn’t even have to book because no one used them.

The temperature was already climbing into the low 30’s as I jogged around to Greg’s. I was so impressed with the rackets I had, and how I’d got them ready to play. I couldn’t wait to play this match. I mean, I knew I would win, that was easy. I’d never come close to losing to Greg, but it wasn’t about winning.

“Greg! Buddy!” I greeted him at the door. “Holy crap!” I exclaimed as I took it all in. Greg was wearing a tight white polo shirt, perfectly pressed little white shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination, white socks pulled up thigh-high and a pair of Dunlop volleys. It was iconic.

“What do you think?” He laughed.

“This isn’t retro,” I chuckled. “This is vintage. Here,” and I gave him his racket. “Have a swing with this.”

“Perfect,” he said as he swung the racket. “Damn it’s heavy.”

“I know!” I chuckled. “I had a little hit myself. It’s gunna be tough. So, where’s my gear?”

“In the bedroom,” Gary said, pointing.

I hurried in, closed the door behind me and picked up the… no. I couldn’t believe it. This was some joke. He wouldn’t…

“Gary!” I stuck my head around the door.

“Yeah?” He looked at me, all innocence.

“Very funny. Now where’s my shirt and shorts?” I asked him.

“You told me to buy the vintage tennis gear,” he smirked. “You didn’t say it had to be men’s clothing.”

“But I can’t…” I protested.

“No one well see,” Gary assured me. “I had to think of a way to even the odds. And I saw the dress in a vintage shop when I was getting my shorts and I thought, I know who will think this is funny.”

“Yeah, it is,” I admitted. And it was, and did I care? You could do these sorts of things with a real mate, and Gary was definitely the person to have a laugh with. “Fine,” I chuckled. “But your Bjorn Borg is definitely going down to my Billie Jean King.” I ducked back into the bedroom and stripped off out of my street clothes. There didn’t seem much fabric with these tennis dresses, and it was well tight over my big pecs, even if it was made with a woman’s tits in mind. And boy it finished short. Just over my bum crack…

“Gary?” I called out again.

“Yes?” he stuck his head around the door with a big grin.

“I can’t wear this. I didn’t bring any underwear with me,” and I gestured that you could see the tip of my cock underneath my dress.

“Here,” and he threw a pair of … frilly knickers at me. “I knew you never wear underwear. So, I was prepared.”

“You are too fucking bad for words,” I laughed, pulling the knickers up underneath the tennis dress. He’d even gone to the effort of getting my little socks with the pom-poms on the back. Damn that man.

Gary couldn’t stop grinning as I stood in front of him. “Satisfied?” I laughed. “You’re going down you male chauvinist pig,” I teased him. “Billie Jean is going to thrash you.”

We headed out of the apartment, across to the school playing fields and onto the tennis court. As always there was no one around, so we took some selfies of us in our kit and started to hit some balls. It was tougher than either of us imagined. So used to modern equipment were we, that we struggled to find the sweet spot of the racket or put the ball in the corners like we used to. Gary was taller and heavier than I was, and it seemed that while we both struggled, it was easier for him to swing at the ball and strike it heavier. I was used to rushing the net but I found my balls landed in the middle of the court and if Gary didn’t hit it past me, I struggled to hit a winning volley. Plus, my much better serve was totally negated, they seemed to land in the middle of the box, right into Gary’s hitting zone.

It wasn’t the only problem. The damn tennis dress kept restricting me as I tried to serve. And when I lunged for a backhand volley my big pecs, pushed up by the dress, kept getting in the way. It was weird too, feeling the dress creep up, exposing the frilly knickers. Did girls go through this? And where was I supposed to put the second ball? I’d seen girls put it up their knickers, but it kept popping out when I did it. Plus… and I couldn’t quite believe this, but Gary’s shorts were so tight I could see the outline of his cock. As I double-faulted to go behind 4-3, we crossed over at the net. I was sweating like anything, the leather grip on the racket frustrating me. Gary on the other hand looked cool and calm, in his perfect whites. I bent over to pick up the tennis balls – these damn rackets made it difficult to scoop them up – and I could feel Gary standing behind me. Oh god, I could feel his semi-hard cock against my arse in these silly, frilly knickers. That boy would do anything to break my rhythm.

“How’s it going Billie-Jean?” he whispered. “Maybe you shouldn’t be on a court with a man. Only place for a girl like you is on her back.”

I laughed. “It’s these damn knickers. So small.”

“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” Gary laughed as he took the balls off me. “Your cock is so little you don’t even need the knickers.”

I gasped. My dick was a perfectly good size, thank you very much. Sure, it was a grower and not a shower, and sure nothing like Gary’s thick 8 inches but… Now this should have inspired me to crush him. We always teased each other, and I never let a good insult get in the way of kicking his arse. But as I took up position to receive, I stared down the other end of the court. Gary smirked at me and stroked his cock. By the time he served I was still thinking about his cock and my return didn’t make the net. It seemed to inspire him on and three more hard serves later, Gary had the game. I hadn’t given up a set to Gary in years but here I was, struggling and as he strutted around the court, I made error after error, to give him my serve and the set.

We went to the net to grab a drink and change ends. This had to end, I had to take control of the match. “Well one set to me,” Gary teased. “That means your knickers are mine. Com’n, hand em over.”

“What?” I blustered. “What do you mean?”

“One set down, you lose your shorts. You can win ‘em back in the second.”

Gary sounded so confident that I never thought to challenge him, except to say, “But what if someone sees?”

“Can you see anyone around?” Gary pointed out. “Plus, your cock’s so little. No one is going to see it.”

I blushed again and without thinking, I put my racket down and peeled my knickers down, handing them to Gary. 

“Good girl,” he chuckled as he put them in the pocket of his tight tennis shorts.

We got into the second set and I was determined to get ahead. Twice I broke his serve, but each time I immediately surrendered my own. The slippery leather grip of my racket meant I couldn’t serve like I expected to. When Gary held serve to take a 5-4 lead we changed over. “I break you here, I want the title as the better player,” Gary demanded.

“Not a chance,” I protested. 

“Why? We’re playing tennis as it should be,” he claimed. 

I don’t know what it was, but Gary had thrown me for a loop today. He had me thinking up was down, and left was right. I found myself unable to argue. “Oh, you can’t!” I protested. “You’ve got to let me have that.”

“All this time,” Gary smirked, “You’ve claimed you were the better player. And now we’ve stripped it back to proper tennis it turns out you’re just a little princess with a tiny cock trying to play on a man’s court.”

I blushed and stammered. “No Gary, please.”

Gary eyed me up and down, as I found myself trying to pull my dress down a little to cover my dick which – traitor it was – was staying as small as it could be. “Very well,” he said, taking a step closer to me, making me feel even smaller. His racket swung between my legs and nestled in my arse crack. “I’ll protect your reputation. I won’t tell everyone you’re not the player they think you are. But in return you’re going to lift that dress like a girl and I’m going to fuck you right here on this court. I’ll have your big arse out on show, begging for my cock, with that little tennis dress riding up as I slam into your arse.”

“But… but… my boyfriend!” I protested. “And we’re mates…”

“And we both know your big arse has been begging for a proper fucking for years, hasn’t it?” Gary pointed out. “And there you are running around town being the big top. We both know you need this. I just had to get you into a tennis dress to make you realise what you need.”

I gasped. Had Gary played me from the very beginning? “I don’t have much choice, do I?” I protested.

Gary just grinned back and gave me the balls to serve. There was no way I was going to lose this game. Five times Gary had match points and each time I ran balls down, striking winners. But Gary wanted the win even more than I didn’t want to lose. I slipped on the next point and my passing shot just fell wide. Gary rocked from side to side, cupping his huge cock in his tiny shorts and licking his lips. But I knew he was nervous and so I pushed him back and came forward confidently. His weak return floated but with him out of position I tried to be a little too clever and my volley floated just wide. Gary pumped his arms in victory, “Fuck yeah!” he roared. Gary never spoke like that and now I found myself staring at his biceps. How had I not known they were so big? 

Gary walked to the net, calm as ever. As if this was his right, as if he had expected to win the whole time. I went to shake his hand, but he ignored it, as if to indicate we were not equals, instead he grabbed my head and brought his lips to mine. I almost melted in his arms as his tongue slipped into my mouth. “Come over here,” he whispered, as he took me to the side of the court where there was a single plastic chair. He sat down, spreading his legs as he did. “Go on,” he said. “Get it nice and wet and hard.”

There was nothing for me to do, but to get down on my knees, my big arse forcing my tennis dress up to leave me exposed, as I un-zipped his shorts and pulled out his cock. God it was bigger than I remembered. How had I not given into this cock when we were young? How had I not begged to suck it every day and spread my big arse for it? I took it in my mouth, and it tasted as salty and as masculine as I’d ever wished a cock to be. I licked around the head and struggled to get the shaft down my throat. It was bliss and I would have stayed that way had Gary not reminded me what I owed him.

“Time for you to give the man what he deserves,” he smiled, standing up and forcing me to do the same. One of his big hands pushed me against the wire fence, while the other lifted my dress up. Even though it had been exposed during that second set, now my arse was totally open, I could feel the cool breeze against it and I shivered. He slipped a couple of fingers in my mouth, forcing me to suck on them. And then Gary slipped them around to my hole.

“So tight,” he smiled. And he slipped down, burying his face in my arse. “Ohhh, ohh, ohhh,” I couldn’t stop myself from moaning as his tongue opened me up and got me even wetter.

“Are you ready for a big cock?” I heard him ask.

“Yes, yes, please, yes.”

“What do you say?”

“You’re the better tennis player,” I gabbled. “I admit it. I’m a little girl on the court against your man. Please fuck me, take my big arse and show it what it’s there for.”

“You need it bad,” Gary declared. “I knew you did. So good to hear you admit that I’m a bigger man and a better player. I’m gunna keep this tennis dress around. Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear it when we play tennis. I’ll just look at it to remind me what a little girl you are. And maybe I’ll make you put it on whenever I feel a nice big arse to drop a load up.”

“Yes, yes,” I agreed.

“And when you put that tennis dress on you’re going to take my dick any way I want to, aren’t you? I’m gunna fuck you nice and raw, dump a big load of my swimmers up there. Maybe get you pregnant.”

“Oh please!” I moaned as I could finally feel Gary’s cock resting at the opening of my hole. He was right, I hadn’t been fucked in a long time, but I’d spent all morning – from the moment I squeezed into this tennis dress – desperate for a cock to be inside me. I opened up for him, right there. “Aww fuck,” I groaned as I felt him enter me.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Take it nice and deep.” Gary brought me back down on his cock and then lifted me up onto my tippy-toes, my little pom-poms pointing to either side as I let out a squeal, before sliding me all the way down, his huge cock filling me.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” I had been missing cock like this and now I barely knew how to handle it. But Gary was there to teach me all over again. He kept sliding into me, not letting me catch my breath, not letting my prostrate have a seconds rest. Eventually though he lent back a little and without thinking, I sat back on him, and started to ride the cock all by myself. 

“Oh baby,” Gary growled. He slapped my arse several times as I milked him, before grabbing my waist and holding my down as his cock throbbed and shot inside me. As he did, I felt my body react in pleasure and I felt my own dick, which hadn’t so much as grown an inch, start dribbling cum down my leg.

“That was amazing,” I whispered as Gary slowly withdrew. And it was true. It had been great sex.

“Come on,” Gary smiled. “Let’s get back to mine before anyone sees us.”

We both found ourselves looking around, realising we’d taken quite a risk and she grabbed our gear and hurried back to Gary’s place. We both chuckled and smiled at the whole scene, showering to get the sweat and cum off. It was like it had been great fun between friends, and great tennis. “That was a one off, wasn’t it?” Gary asked.

“Yeah definitely,” I laughed. “But an awesome one.”

We both agreed and I got back into my street clothes and picked up the wooden rackets. We hugged, a quick kiss on both cheeks and I headed off home. 

But I’d taken two steps out the door and I found myself stopping. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. But I turned around and knocked on Gary’s door. He opened it and I found myself trembling. “Please Gary I need your dick. I just need it bad.” 

You Weren't A Good Match For Stacy Anyway

Jake was hysterical when he got to my house.

"Three days before our wedding she tells me she met somebody else?!" He shouted as he barged past me. "Three fucking days?"

"Calm down," I said in a reassuring voice. "It's not like you were a good match for Stacy anyway."

"What the fuck would you know about it?" He turned his anger to me, then he got suspicious. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Yeah," I said, figuring now was as good a time as any to tell him. "You're gay. You have no business being with a woman."

"Don't you  think I'd know if I was gay?" he asked, still angry, but with a bit of fear creeping in to him.

"I think you do know, but you've been repressing it for a long time,"  I told him. "And you've got a crush on me."

"Fuck you!" He was yelling again. "I don't even like you."

"Don't lie to me. You'll be punished for it," I told him in a stern voice. "And by the way, I won't allow you to wear anything other than a jock strap in my house."

He didn't start to struggle until I had his shirt over his head. As his arms were fighting his shirt I used the opportunity to undo his shorts and shove them to his ankles. He wasn't wearing a jock strap, so he'd have to go nude. I then grabbed his shirt and just tore it off him. Before he caught his bearings, I pushed him down on my sofa and quickly stripped off his shoes and socks, then I pulled his boxer shorts off his feet.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He screamed at me as he regained his feet, but then he realized he was standing naked in front of me rock hard, pointing to the ceiling.

"Your punishment for lying to me is you only get spit for lube," I told him calmly. "It's your first time, so it's going to hurt, but it will hurt less over time as you get used to having me fuck your pussy."

"Like hell I am, and I don't have a pussy" he protested, but I grabbed him as he tried to run past me. I put my arms around him, and pushed him back onto the sofa, this time with me on top of him.

I needed both hands to hold him down, so he wasn't going to even get the spit. It was a little rough for me, so it must have been hell for him.  Eventually he realized he had lost, that my dick was in him, and that I was going to get whatever I wanted.

"You're still getting married in three days," I whispered in his ear. "But you're going to be the bride."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" He seemed stunned.

"No, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. You have no say in the matter. You'll be taking my dick and any other dick I say when I say. Your little clitty will get locked at the wedding, and that will be it."

It wasn't the wedding he expected but it was a very good day for him.

Desires: Memes and thoughts

I was having a conversation with one of my Twitter followers about my desires and this morning I felt I needed to share them here with you, in the hopes that by my sharing them, they will, some how, come to fruition.

If you read my blog, then you know first hand I identify as a pussyboy, I even consider my pussy to be my gender if you will: pussy/they/her a VERY non-binary approach to my gender identity. But if you understand the vernacular, and thinking of this topic, you may understand where I am coming from. I believe I mentioned here that my thinking goes beyond that of "faggot" which is a whole other mind set, and that my being pussy is more.

With all that said the real reason for this post is my desire. I want and or need a Daddy that understands me fully, accepts me fully and understands the thinking; but I think a lot of as pussyboi's want this. My desire goes beyond even this, and this is where it gets interesting.

I have this BIG really unexplored "Daddy" side when it comes to boi's/gurls like me. I find it so erotically charged when a boi/gurl spreads his legs and offers me his pussy. Now I know what your going to say, "Um, but, Charlie your pussy yourself, what the hell do you expect to do with another pussy?" Well let me tell you plenty!

I'm a huge fan of rimming, which I believe I've spoke about here. Last guy I rimmed, my face never left his pussy for over an hour,, before I came up for air! Then there is fingering, which I could do with a piggie guy for days on end. Then don't get me started on dildo play. Nothing hotter in my opinion than pegging another bottom boi, giving him.... even if it's silicone/rubber/plastic the pounding he deserves. In my thinking even in that situation I'm being of service to HIM! I'm making him happy. Then, not for the faint of heart mind you, there's fisting. 

I've had decades of experience as a fisting top, and thankfully, I have small hands, or so I'm told. If the guy gets off on it, I'll do it. And here is the odd thing, if you will, I get rock hard doing it, and in very few instances over the years I have topped. Now though, I wonder if my topping as a pussyboy, is letting "my brother" pussyboy disappointed as I'm not a TRUE top? Is my topping a disservice?

Anyway, I really believe, to the core of my being I could easily and quickly for in love with a guy/gurl like me. Have a loving, caring relationship together. In an open relationship where together and separately we serve MEN but are fully honest about those encounters with each other. Then come home to each other for our own fun.

A guy/gurl grounded in who they are, know who they are, willing to explore even deeper with me, who they are. Someone comfortable in their own skin to be a home nudist, and even public nudist, like me. Someone to hold at night, spooning each other. Someone to explore our kinks together. Someone I could even marry. Someone, like me who GETS it. I would move heaven and earth for either type of relationship.

Is it so much to ask for, and yes I'm open to inquiries! 

Emasculation: Meme's and thoughts

“Stick your tongue out at me, baby boy, and Daddy's going to put it to real good use. Your so goddamn pretty in in your pretty pink panties Daddy bought for you. It's not hard to resist my baby girl looking like that”. This was the warning I gave before I fucked his throat pussy over and over, blowing load after load on his face until he was completely glazed. Then I made him lick it all up. My finger comes out of his slick pussy. I give a lil slap on his boi-ovaries and I let go of his face.

"Turn around, baby girl, show Daddy that beautiful pussy." 

Then them hands was on my pussy. Just rubbing them pussy-cheeks. Slapping me playfully, jiggling them..

"That's a hot fucking pussy, baby girl and that goddamn perfect lil baby girl cunt."

I guess he was just looking at my fucking cunt, cause Daddy sure as fuck wasn't touching it yet, just playing with my pussy-cheeks.

 I proceeded to pound those cakes and blow another load in its petite little boy pussy.

Insolence has its price. In this case it’s a bruised throat and gaping boicunt.

This morning my mind is on emasculation.

Goggle dictionary describes emasculate as: Depriving a man of his role or identity. Synonyms include: effeminate, effete, unmanly. unmasculine, girlish, namby-pamby, sissy, girly, camp, limp wristed, queeny and epicene

Or to make a man weaker or less effective. Synonyms include: weakened, make feeble, debilitate, enfeeble, enervate, dilute, and erode.

Personally I enjoy the idea of being girly and limp wristed. I'm gay, duh. I'm supposed to be a bit campy in my opinion, and maybe that's my generational thinking as I'm soon to be 55. I'm also a pussyboy power bottom. I adore getting fucked, and fucked stupid. You know, walking a bit funny, your pussy is sore from use, it could be difficult to sit. More or less, in some vernacular some would say I'm a faggot. I don't mind that word either but this is coming from a place of my being involved with Queer Nation and ACT UP. I was a big time, very loud activist nationally. I embraced by faggotness.

I didn't and still DON"T want to assimilate. I am not everyone else. I am not the societal norm, by far. I don't see myself as male or female. Possibly non-binary, but I've written on here this idea of being a third gender, and then taking it the step further that I'm just my true sex organ, and that sex organ happens to be my boipussy. That being pussy is my gender. I know it's very unique, different and possibly disturbing idea but I think it wraps up beautifully who I am. 

Submissive, yes. Passive, yes to the point you would think I was June Cleaver. Does my pleasure come from being of use to a dominant, hell yes. Does that pleasure come from being HIS pussy, fuck yes. Put me in thigh highs, chastity and even high heels you bet your life. Call me a girl, yes. Am I a housewife type, you better believe it.... henny I was Martha Stewart before Martha ever hit the scene.

I don't mind emasculation. Hell, I thrive there. But, here lately I see myself with someone like me in a long term committed relationship, loving each other but in an open relationship where we service MEN together and separately but come home to each other for our own fun together. Maybe, somebody younger than me, or just a tiny bit older.... as I've always been the younger "boi" in my long-term relationships.

Submission: Meme's and my thoughts

Submission is the starting point. It’s the mindset required for you to achieve everything you need to fulfill your purpose. Submission isn’t the goal, it isn’t your purpose. It is only the starting point. Submission allows you to empty your brain, allows your Daddy to replace the contents with HIS own thoughts, ideas, opinions, and desires. Submission allows you to accept you are an empty vessel and in need of ownership. Submission is where it all begins, preparing yourself to be molded by Daddy who gives you the gift of allowing you to worship him. Becoming what he deserves. Never thinking of anything beyond what he deserves. That is the goal. Submission is the starting point. 

Receiving= getting fucked. Simply receiving. It looks easy, but there is a lot of training in it. This boi has learned to keep his hands away, keep his legs spread wide. The boi knows that its limp dicklet/clitty/nubbin is irrelevant. Daddy isn’t interested in how the boi is doing. HE isn’t interested in the boi’s enjoyment. He isn’t interested in what the boi is thinking. HE is interested only in the total submission of the boi. HE is interested in the boi’s focus on the Daddy's pleasure only. HE is interested in getting what HE wants, what HE deserves. Boi's, this is all HE ever wants from you, an open, willing, greedy, hungry pussy. Keep your mouth shut unless HIS dick is in it, keep your head empty, and keep submitting, obeying, and being grateful for the opportunity to worship.

Properly Presented Pussy: Meme's and my thoughts

This morning I want to talk about "perfectly presented boipussy". We should know what that is, right?

For me it means preferably on all fours, legs spread which which seperates your pussy cheeks,  back arched, pussy high in the air and on full glorious, wonderful display. The kind of display that wants to make you either eat him out for hours on end, or if your a top fuck him stupid.

I first got the idea of "pussy presentation from @VikingMuscleXXX and his infamous line "Present that pussy to Daddy". I went weak in the knees hearing it the first time and in all actuality in my home I presented my pussy to him! I'm not lying. I wouldn't be lying if I said I want in all actuality desperately want to do that for him. I think he truly needs an experienced, more mature pussy that KNOWS how to be it and in ways that only I/we as older gay men can do.

I feel it is imperative as pussy for men, we PERFECT our presentation. That way they WANT to NEED to fuck us. Many years ago my first lover Michael told naive me at 19 in 1986 "that when at the baths, and in a room with the door open you, and you bottom you must show yourself off in  the perfect way to draw tops. That your pussy does the talking." Michael basically said it years earlier, and it is still a motto I go by today.

I also think that a perfectly presented pussy reiterates my/your place. That we/you/I get it who we are, why we are the way we are. That in our proper pussy presentation we FULLY embrace who and what we are....

 

Do you think having a micro penis is important for a sub boy?

So a guy I follow on my new Twitter... @CjDale66  asked his followers this question. 

Do you think having a micro penis is important for a sub boy? I want to seriously work on it and I don't know if the alphas appreciate it 

I personally in the last year have come to realize, and have come to a full conclusion that it is VERY important. 

I'll begin by saying I'm a grower. My dick doesn't show! He's a bit of a nubbin limp. Fully hard though I'm 7.5 cut inches. Not huge, but not dinky either. Kind of packing. But as a bottom pussyboy, my dicklet has never fully been my big thing! I'm the kind of guy that doesn't even touch my junk.

That said back in 1988, at the age of 18 I was THEN wearing jocks to hide my junk. The focus, well,  on my pussy. Still, even more so, since last year March learning of the term and realizing I've been that my whole life.

If I wear anything during sex it is a jock, although I tend to call them pussybra's <lol>!

I just bought my first chastity device too. A silicone one. With a decent shaft one it as I'm not sure I'm ready to explore shrinkages, although I find it very erotic. I also don't use masculine terms for my penis. I use clitty, dicklet, and nubbin/nub. I do it as I don't see myself as a MAN, male yes but MAN no. My mind set is very sub, very pussy centric that in and of itself is NOT masculine in my mind. I'm very much 3rd gender as I write about here. Pronouns; he, they, her. I could very easily be Daddy's good girl.

"I'm Daddy's good girl" 

this link is my example of what I mean.  

I, truly, believe this that a Daddy/DOM/MAN doesn't want to really, fully see your dicklet. He wants to see that pussy. Nothing else, especially your alleged "manhood". So hide it away in a jock, Lock it up. Daddy/DOM/MAN certainly doesn't want to see you playing with it as he fucks you, UNLESS and only if he says you can or asks you too. There's only dick if your with that kind of guy and it's HIS, not yours. A lot of THEM want us in chastity too. It forces us to focus on OUR true sex organ.

If they do want to see our dicklets, and especially during fucking us, they want more than anything, I feel, to see our dicklets very limp, flopping around during sex. Caged and flopping around even better, because I feel even then that their thinking is we are focused on serving them even in that situation as our focus is on our pussies, with their dick stuffed in it and doing what we need to do with our pussy to bring them to ejaculation and breeding us.

I really feel so much of this is our mind set as his sub, or as his pussy, or even as his faggot. I also think there are depths to this mind set, meaning deeper thoughts then here. One example: that by doing this things, our sacrificing these things are our way of better serving him and being of service to him. Our needs don't matter in the least, a lot of the time. Our true joy, true fulfillment comes in being the very best us for him in the way HE wants us.

I do find that in the back of my brain that even I want to explore shrinkage, because even in shrinkage we are better serving, and fully serving him. In our shrinkage we become better pussy, that our focus truly is forced to our pussies even more so. Some so go so far as to be mounded... surgically inserted into us, but left with enough out to piss. A few go so far as to have it fully removed, or so I here. That's a whole other thing, for a whole other time...maybe. I think shrinkage also makes us less male, if you will, as virility is based on size.; and for those of us, myself included we don't even see ourselves fully male either. See other posts on this especially the one on being third gender. I see myself as "Daddy's good girl" while being his boi. That make sense? I hope.

My final piece of advice: go get naked, grease up your pussy, grab your poppers, and your favorite porn, and go wreck your pussy for Daddy Charlie.... but leave ur nubbin alone. lol>

Chastity cages, ejaculations, and orgasms---- oh my

 I just have a question , not sure who to ask. Perhaps you have an answer for me. So, I’ve been in chastity for about a month and a few weeks. I came the other day my rubbing and tugging my cage. Cum dribble out of it. Is that cheating ? I mean is that actual orgasm or just ejaculation ? Thanks

I got this question on Twitter about four days ago, and this is the first chance I've had to answer it.

I'm going to assume first off that you don't have a Daddy/Dom/Sir to turn to with this kind of question, and that based on the way you formed the question that this "just happened" where with a Daddy/Dom/Sir this may not have happened at all. Who really knows? I know it probably isn't the best to just assume things from a question, from a guy I don't well. It does happen all the time though. I think people presume all kinds of nonsense about us even if they just see us in passing. So many of us I think have just become accustomed to it, that for many of us we never give it a second thought.

First thing, I've got to commend you on being in chastity for a month, and by the sounds of it all by yourself. Meaning you took the leap to do it, realizing that this was something you needed for yourself, to complete yourself. I've debated it since March, but haven't worked up the courage to do it as of yet. Hopefully next year. But your doing it needs to be commended and I think so many of us a "fellow brothers", if you will, this is the least we could do for each other.

I've heard from so many guys on Twitter say that once cock-caged they feel free to be themselves, this almost "non-male", if you will, and that so many once having done it realize that for them their source of pleasure is their "pussy". Please see other posts about the thinking behind all of that, why recreate the wheel, when you can read about it. That their "cocks" are not even really part of the equation, and the more I think about that, the hotter it gets.

I've just recently have read about guys using vibrators on or below their cock-cages to "cum" without getting fully hard. I've not read if they feel it is "cheating" however. With that said, if your a bottom guy who is cock-caged and thinks otherwise I for one would love to hear your thoughts. I've also read quite a bit about "weak orgasms, dribbling, hands free orgasms" from dildo use, or even just taint stimulation. I've done completely hands free once and it was mind blowing to say the least. Dribbling I seem to a lot of, is it equal to an ejaculation--- no it's not, it's not even close to that, but when I think dribbling I think more of a dribble ejaculation that is caused by not using your hands.

I think tugging and or rubbing your cage is ok. Not cumming at all, ever, is not healthy for a long period of time and could produce health problems later on. What could be viewed as wrong is your taking off your cage and having a good old fashioned wank. Other chastity boys might agree with me. I think their are many ways to cum/orgasm with or even without ejaculation.

One of which is prostate orgasms, I call them pussy-gasms, others call them fag-gasms; it's all the same thing and these I do have a lot. My record is five in two hours of dildo use. My legs were weak afterward. The feeling is way more intense than just an ejaculation caused by a wank. These are full body waves of pleasure crashing over you. For me the start very deep with in me, after all mine have all come from dildo use. A warm sensation, then tingling, the pulsing and building and building until woosh, here it comes. Feels like a flood almost, and every time I have one I end up shaking-- in a good way. Many ways if or when I have one I don't feel the need to ejaculate at all. 95% of the time when I've had one my dick has been limp as a dishcloth, completely ignored. But that is me, and it may or may not be the same for everyone, so keep that in mind.

Personally, I wouldn't make a big habit out of rubbing or tugging your cage especially if you feel "guilty" later, this is about pleasure not guilt. However, with that said, if you continue to do so, do so guilt free. I think there are other venues to pursue to reach an orgasmic state.

Tips to further bring out the dominant side of myself to be a better Dom/Daddy.

 Do have any tips to further bring out the dominant side to be better for the bottoms I have in the future?

Boy, do I. Like many gay men, I knew very early one I was "different". Being born in November of 1966, I was at the cusp of the very gay liberation movement, and being gay was something fairly new to the mass public, and so was the pride so many felt in being such. I grew up in a very rural, very small town in Northeast Ohio that in 2010 had a population of 2,801--- mostly very conservative, or Amish & Mennonite. Gay was not a thing where I grew up. There were no role models, and the ones on television in the 1970's were mostly negative. I didn't even hear the word gay until I was 14 years old, when I was being bullied for being "assumed" as one---- "the faggot, fairy, and queer". That term, faggot, for nearly all of us, within the LGBTQIA+ community carries very deep, very painful memories and many of us hate the word to this day.  

Others though like myself began to embrace the term "faggot" in the 1980's with the creation of Queer Nation, a very vocal activist group pre-ACT UP demanding our rights as queers/faggots. Taking a negative word and making it positive. Which many communities across many backgrounds have done.

        A.  I bring all this up because I see myself as a faggot, and in my mind there is a difference in being gay and being a faggot. Faggot means, for me, not the norm socially, morally, spiritually and sexually. Especially sexually speaking for the purpose of this post. Faggot, for me means, not necessarily being built to to have a long relationship with another man, although I've been in two of them--- and certainly not a strictly monogamous long term relationship with a man. Neither of mine has been from my point and without "my husband" knowing of my infidelities. My being, as a faggot, revolves around being of sexual service to MEN plural. The more men, the happier I find myself. It's just how I work. Yes, my heart still loves, and would I leave----no, but I also understand my needs. Being a faggot, for me, means being a slut cum dump. In those moments, having a dick up my boy-pussy is when I'm FULLY alive and only then. 

At ten though I knew already I was attracted to guys. 

I bring this up because, I at even ten, and a virgin, KNEW I was submissive in nature. I grew up with a verbally, emotionally, & physically abusive father, and as a mama's boy, and around very emotionally strong, yet abused women. That this behavior was what was normal & to be expected. Walking on eggshells, if you will, your entire life. Wanting his approval, never getting it, or even a fraction of it. I  knew at fourteen, that when, or if, I ever had sex it had to be with a man, and I WAS going to bottom for him---- it didn't happen till I was eighteen, and I was very fortunate that he was so loving and caring in the process he became my lover, which I write about on this blog. He was older than I was, he came out at 16 in 1950 in Brooklyn, NY to his Orthodox Jewish family who disowned him and threw him into the streets. 

He was where I got my initial thoughts on what to expect from a dom/daddy. He was my "Daddy", and even though he died in 1988--- I still see him as my Daddy. Years later, I'd have the chance to have a second "Daddy", even though we never acknowledged that role or used that term. But he cemented my ideas, after a 10 year relationship on what truly the term means for me. Hopefully, this resonates with you.

1. The term "Daddy/Dom" for me means, of far greater worth or value than myself. 

That might sound odd at first, and I'm not saying I'm less than by any means; but what I am saying is he is the things I strive to be, but know in my depths I never can be, and especially without him present in my life. There's this idea that we submissive's are seen as "pathetic" or "losers" or even as "weaker"; but that's nonsense in my opinion.  There are just things we know we can't be, or do; it's part of our very genetic make-up, if you will. We might be male, but many of us, especially myself do not see ourselves as men. No matter how I old I get, I'm still just a boy. A state of growing, learning, accepting, needing approval. And for me that's ok. It works for me. 

            A. Some of us don't even see yourselves as boys, myself included, not quite girls either in some ways, but we see ourselves as only our pussies. Notice I said pussy here, not asshole; for we don't see ourselves as having an asshole, but having a pussy. See my post on being a pussyboy for more. Not every bottom guy though see's himself as being pussy. Being pussy is, in my thinking, more submissive in nature, more passive, we crave/long and thrive in getting fucked, we strive to please a bit more, and some of us are a bit more "feminine" in nature and thinking. For me it's not a kink or a fetish it is WHO I am. Being his gurl, is who I am and I want to be the best damn gurl for him I can be. Being his gurl, is how identify, and for me it does mean a bit feminine, but not all girlie-boys are that by any means. I've seen many a jock-type call himself Daddy's girl, and I find that very erotic. 

2. We accepted, not chose, that we are submissive. 

I never dated girls in high school, never kissed a girl other than my mother, grandmothers or aunts, never saw one naked till I was 26 yrs. old--- but that's a story for another time. I knew I never would marry a girl, or never had ANY desire in the least to have sex with a girl. I knew things were going to be very different for me, and leaving podunk nowhere was my key to that life. My first sexual intercourse with a man, when I was "cunted" (which I write about this term too on my blog in other posts) cemented my thoughts and that I was right in wanting to be a bottom gay guy. I desperately needed approval, of any kind, from a man---and by god my getting fucked by them in my mind said they not only approved of me, but wanted me sexually, even if just was that one fuck. It only needed to be once; their fucking me and yes, their breeding me was their stamp of approval especially the breeding part. His breeding me, in my thinking, was he thoroughly enjoyed my pussy, that it went beyond meeting his needs, and his breeding me was his thank you.

Acceptance of myself as a submissive faggot cum-dump didn't come easily, but once it did the floodgates opened, and I dove into the deep end of gay sex, and gay sex clubs, and orgies. Acceptance, brought out my inner whore, and my first lover encouraged me to be that whore, thankfully. By the time I was twenty-one I had been fucked by over 400 guys. But acceptance brought new awareness to: that I loved anonymous sex. That anonymous sex with complete strangers fulfilled me in ways, other gay sex couldn't. That random men in gay sex clubs not only found me attractive, but wanted to fuck me, and in their anonymity approved of me by fucking me. That being naked, ass up in a room, in a sex club, I could draw a man into my room gave me confidence I never have and still does. Hopefully this makes sense for you the reader. I could write about this more at length, but I see it as a different post.

        A. For the most part, as submissive's we choose who we serve, how we serve, as well as why. Can we serve YOU fully with out you understanding our submissiveness and going along with it, can being dominate really work if we are not into it? Not in my opinion, because it's a give and take process. Without us giving our submissiveness and without you understanding what we are giving and why, the whole thing just kind of dies. With that said, I think most good dominates know this, as well as appreciate it and us. Most dominates also try to build us up in ways that encourage us and reinforce for us that we can be even more submissive to them---beyond going ass up. For many of us, myself included, it is way more than just being fucked. Any bottom guy can get fucked, but once again not every bottom is submissive. Being submissive for us fulfilling and rewarding. Being submissive for HIM can involve many things, and that in itself should be a separate post.

3. Being a good dominate/Daddy also means, in the long haul: a shoulder to cry on when we need it, a teacher to broaden our thinking, as well as bring us into being fully ourselves, a role model of what it means to be "a man" in a world that sees that role vastly different than we do, a father figure in our moments of turmoil, a disciplinarian when it is required, a lover in our moments of loneliness or sadness, our council when we need advice or input, and a good sex partner. Being a dominate/Daddy also means caring, loving, affirmative, passionate, compassionate, being emotive, communicative, adventurous and supportive. Being a dom/Daddy is way more than sex. 

        A. Having other doms/Daddy's as friends and role models I think is a great idea especially for beginners as they can be the ones you can turn to in moments of uncertainty of what, how, or even why you should react they way you do versus what could be expected. I think there are certain stereotypes of dom/Daddies that are viewed as negative, in nature, and I think those moments are the rare exceptions and not the norm--- especially in BDSM scenes.

4. A good dom/Daddy is and understands the key to good communication. He fully listens, by that I mean he's not thinking, while your talking, of what he is going to say next but is invested in every word you say. But communication is also much more than just verbal. It is being able to understand eye contact, body language and silent cues that so many people today miss because they are not full invested in anything let alone another person. How can a good dom/Daddy know that he is fucking you right? Non-communicative language here is the key. A BDSM scene is going well, non-communicative language and spoken words. You get the idea, hopefully. It's also a process that doesn't happen overnight and takes real work for both parties. I'd add in here the use of "safe words", that the action/actions have gone awry and aren't working, you say that word and the dom/Daddy knows to stop instantly.

5. A good dom/Daddy is sexually adventurous, and helps his boy/sub see that it can broaden their sex play. From piss play, bondage, flogging, fisting, exhibitionism, cuckolds and beyond. The world of gay male sex is to be explored. Is everything for every one, No it's not, but you may never know if you aren't willing to try. Granted we all have our boundaries of things we will never do, and that does need to be acknowledged. Besides, plain ole vanilla sex gets boring quickly.

Finally I think that being a good dom/Daddy or a good sub/boy requires the other party, you got to have each other, to really make it work. Like any good relationship it takes real effort, and doesn't just happen. I hope my tips helped and if you have any you'd like to see added just let me know and I'll be happy to revise the post.