Swing, Swing #3: The Pig's Orgasm

You cannot keep a secret from your woman. You may be able to keep the details a secret but she’ll always know that a secret is being kept. She’ll look at you like she’s waiting for you to come clean and you’ll squirm under her gaze, uncomfortable and unable to hold eye contact, worried about how much she does and doesn’t know. I almost cracked and told her everything on many occasions but I held strong. I knew that my secret had to remain a secret. She would never understand.

It made me feel like a terrible boyfriend. Besides that fact that I was actively sleeping with other people, what kind of a man keeps a secret like that from the one person who is supposed to have his back no matter what? It’s not like she was a homophobe. She hooked up with girls all the time and revelled in telling me exactly what every ass in the girls dormitories felt like. Why couldn’t I do the same? As long as I wasn’t hooking up with girls then she shouldn’t mind. That's what I kept telling myself but I knew it was irrelevant. I didn’t want to tell her because I needed it to stay a secret and there is no secret that survives its first telling.

The responses to my ad were slowing down. I’d get one or two messages a week now and most of them were from guys who’d already tried and failed to get my attention. Either they had amnesia or they thought that I did.

One Saturday afternoon I got a call from one of them. I’d seen the number before and screened it but decided to give him a chance this time.

“Hi,” said a melodic voice on the other side of the phone. “How are you? I got your number online and just wanted to say hi. Si, we meet up for coffee or something?” Just wanted to say hi? Meet up for coffee? He was making things a lot more complicated than they needed to be.

“Yeah, I’m not interested in coffee,” I said. “I just want to fuck. Can we meet at your place?”

He chuckled on the other side of the line.

“Um, okay. I live in Kangemi. Can you come on Sato?”

Kangemi, all the way on the other side of town. I’d have to take two matatus just to get there and I knew absolutely nobody there so there was no chance of getting recognized and having to answer awkward questions about what I was doing there. In and out like a flash.

“Sato is good. And just to be clear, we’re going to fuck, right?”

He chuckled again and sounded a little unsure, put off by my direct approach.

“Yeah. Just make sure you fika.”

                              [##]

This time round I wasn’t nervous. Got to our arranged meeting point and met a tall, light-skinned gentleman with a permanent smile on his face. The kind of smile that’s always there even though he didn’t really mean it. Like he fell for that bullshit that if you force yourself to smile then you’ll actually convince yourself that you’re happy.

He was cordial enough. God bless him for trying to be good host but the thing you have to realize about horny teenagers is that they are always ready to go. Older women in their 20s need to be wooed and made to feel comfortable but that’s because their hormones are telling them to find a good place to nest. Teenage emotions are all about sexual release- a place to nest is nothing less than an afterthought.

Once again I found myself taking the lead. If I waited any longer then this john might have started telling me his family history. Maybe he was afraid to make the first move because of my age. If I was the one leading the interaction then he could absolve himself of blame. I hated the fact that the government got to choose when I can do what I do with my body and who I do it with. I understood that the idea was to protect us from being abused but I was the one taking advantage of him. He was the one taking all the risk. He was the one who’d end up in prison as a kiddy-toucher if he got caught.

The poor sap didn’t even realise that I was only using him for his body. In his mind he already had all kinds of romantic aspirations of how I‘d be his new boyfriend. I could tell from the way he kept trying to kiss me and got more and more offended each time I refused. He resorted to rubbing his stubble on my cheek which was even more disgusting.

The wood was good though. Medium length; medium girth. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get him to cum in my mouth. A quick jizz would have put an end to the evening’s entertainment before we got to the main event but swallowing a load was on the to-do-list as well. Plus I was a little hesitant to get anything near my ass. What if I clammed up again and couldn’t get it in? Ah, performance anxiety, you olde bitch.

I told myself to just suck it and take it while I lay on my back with my legs in the air, the top of his wood probing for my hairy little asshole. He got points for experience too. Right before laying me down into his favourite position he brought out a little blue sachet. Tore it open and lubed my ass up like buttered toast. He put some on his cock then rubbered up and put more on the outside of the condom. Even with all that wetness I knew it was going to be a tight fit.

During my solo adventures I'd found just the right fix for clamming up right before I get penetrated. I call it the Pig’s Orgasm. I just needed to stroke myself until I’m right on the edge of cumming then hold back, let the pressure drop a bit then slow my strokes until I’m right on the edge, but never go over. The theory states that with enough discipline and practice, a man can remain in this perpetual state of bliss indefinitely. But even the longest Pig’s Orgasm in the universe isn’t enough to overcome a limp-noodle. Putting a condom on killed the erection that I nearly broke my throat getting up. Plus there was my insistence on going really, really slow.

He pulled the condom off and made some excuse about not being able to stay up for long with a rubber on and I believed him. Exact same thing happened to me. I had to bareback Clare for a few strokes before I was stiff enough to put a condom on. But with her we were only worried about keeping her from getting pregnant. Obviously that wouldn’t be a problem with [for the life of me, I can’t remember his name] but there was the risk of catching something nasty.

I looked down at his golden-brown penis and tilted my head. It looked too neat to be carrying any serious diseases. My education on STDs and how to tell if someone has one was limited to an after-school infographic that showed us hundreds of the most disease-riddled and wart-infested genitals on the planet. Penises pulled apart by flesh-eating bacteria and blue-waffled wart-holes. They even showed us a guy whose balls hung all of the way to the floor even though I’m pretty sure that elephantitis isn’t sexually transmitted. The people who organized it probably got a kick out of watching our reactions to the most disgusting things we’d ever seen. For most of those kids it was the first time that they’d ever seen another person's genitals and were scarred for life. I guess the AIDS epidemic had reached its boiling point and the higher-ups decided that scare tactics on kids was the only way to win. Well, it didn’t work on me because looking that smooth texture of that brown phallus made me want to drop the condom even more.

I didn’t ask for permission. Just brought it closer to my ass and rubbed. He responded immediately with a fresh pump of blood. The tip started to stretch me out then pushed forward with a sudden thrust and I gasped in pain. All the powers of the Pig’s Orgasm couldn’t keep me from clenching which sent hotter shots of pain up my ass. It felt like my entire rectum was gagging. I pulled his cock out and writhed across the bed. [I think his name started with a J or something] followed me around making cooing sounds, then as soon as it looked like I’d cooled down enough he flipped me over and tried to shove it in again. His wood barely brushed me and I knew that wasn’t going to happen. It felt like there was a tear in the fabric of my anus. For the next week, every shit I took felt like it came through with a saw blade attached.

I closed my account down that night. Nothing was worth going through that kind of pain for. I’d had enough.