Jack’d

For the Bottoms who like to eat a Top’s Booty

Perhaps I should not expect so much; we all sell our bodies. From Serena Williams’s body that sells tickets at the grass courts of Wimbledon to President Obama who had to sell a fresh and promising feral masculinity demonstrated through an agile smile and upright shoulders to secure votes and Eminem, the rapper, who confessed “Shady knew Shady’s dimples would help/ Make ladies swoon baby (ooh baby!) Look at my sales.”

Jack’d Guy: I wanna fuck you.

SingleBlackQueerMale: That’s wassup. I’ll eat you then I’ll ride you.

Jack’d Guy: WTF

SingleBlackQueerMale: What?

Jack’d Guy: That’s backwards. Bottoms don’t eat ass.

I wasn’t upset. A little annoyed by ignorance. You know . . .  less by the ignorance and more by the prudish attitude that labels must limit us to explore other desires. To him, I suppose I sold myself as a bottom. Surely my ass pictures advertised the fact that I don’t mind anal penetration. Maybe that’s why Serena is seen as the Black female brute, her and Venus hyper-sexual in their on court tennis fashions: all power and sexuality. Serena (unwillingly) has sold herself as Black athlete, perhaps that’s why (prejudicially) Maria Sharapova has acquired substantially more assets in the form of endorsements away from the tennis court.

 

It is difficult for people to recognize you as complex being when they have put us into a box with singular monolithic descriptions.

 

Newest guilty pleasure: Divorce Court on YouTube.

A lot of the complaints from those that are considering divorce or those that have decided on divorce are the stagnant depiction of the role of wife or husband or sometimes the brand they have put on their spouse as one of the aforementioned.

Sometimes the women, believe they can no longer has exciting and lavish sex because they are a mother and sometimes their husband have put the June Cleaver brand on their backs. Sometimes the husbands become insecure that turns to anger, all because they may be in between jobs and cannot be the protector. At times it’s the woman who has put that brand on the man.

Perhaps I’ve sold myself short. Not only am I not a bottom, but I’m not a sexual object and perhaps if I didn’t present myself as one this man would have known me better to not have thought me eating his ass before I rode his dick perverse.

Advertisements

Gays are Choosing Lust over Love

My fetishes for certain attributes and things have definitely ruined some romantic relationships. I’m not sure when I became one of those Jack’d boys, but I did. Now I am hardly ever negative, For instance, I’d rather list my wants rather than my dislikes. However, I’ve had several instances when I have passed up some really great guys because they let their body slip while we were dating. I would stay to entertain them with my company, but as their bellies started to bulge and their biceps started to diminish, my disdain for sex with them grew. There are times when my sex drive was high and because someone (again a serious someone) did not have on exactly what I wanted I refused to have sex. The worst instance has to be the height requirement. While 6’2’’ is an excessive demand, I really do prefer 5’11’’ at least. There was a time in a relationship admittedly and embarrassingly stopped respecting my significant other because he was 5’9.” Of course there were other factors involved as well.

CLICK HERE TO READ COMPLETE ARTICLE

When Is The Last Time You Bottomed?

I do not bare the shame of online dating; historically there aren’t many places for gay men of color to congregate safely. I am also not one of those men that whine and complain about the type of men that are online; I just talk to the ones that intrigue me and make fun of the ones that do not. Yes, I, too, can be juvenile. I have no qualms regarding the sexual being I am, on the right day, you hit me up and I may oblige you. On the wrong day, well it is just the wrong day. However, regardless of the day, please be creative not clinical. Please be stimulating; do not saunter with your request.

With all that said, it does baffle me why men who prefer to top ask this question: When is the last time you bottomed?

The fuck I look like?

September 8th, 2014, I was asked this question by someone online. Blessings rain down upon that this will be the last time. I scolded him like I was his 7th grade teacher and he gave me some lame excuse that his dog ate his homework: inappropriate.

His reply (verbatim), “Y be ashamed to answer. It’s prob a scale factor to determine frequency and/or elasticity in that area.”

I had to school the young 27 year old. It’s not that I’m ashamed. You could ask me how much money I have in my bank account and I’m not going to answer that either. Some things are not to be shared with strangers, when the last time I had sex is one of them. Asking me my status would be appropriate. Me asking him when is the last time he prematurely ejaculated leaving a lover unsatisfied would fall under that inappropriate category.

Although he gave me an adequate answer, I would be remiss in not expressing that I feel as though the question has something to do with that all inflatable and perilous male ego. When men stick their penis inside of holes they feel some since of conquest; it goes back to Rome, it goes back to the Congo, it goes back to Greece, and it goes back to warfare on the African continent in 2013, yes that recent. Sexual intercourse is often the spoils of war.

Have you ever had a dude get up behind you, while you’re on all fours, ass inclined in the air with a downward arch in your lower back? (If you haven’t try it). If he’s getting it, and I mean getting it good, to where you try to crawl away (just a little bit). If he’s a real nigga in the bed, he’ll say “whose is it?” Why: because, the penetrating male genuinely feels ownership (however fleeting) in his sexual conquest.

And most men, outside of trains and sexual group activity, want to conquer something they feel hasn’t been too recently conquered. That reasoning does harken back to the gentleman’s answer of frequency and elasticity.

However, my biggest problem: it was a turn off. I dropped the mic and walked away. On the other hand, this 6’1’’ brown skin, caesar hair cut wearing mofo, with a bottom pink lip anyone would be jealous of asked me in only his second message, “You want to get nasty with a nigga?”

I creamed.