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[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]My favorite part of sex with a guy is when he cums in my mouth or, when I was into it up to my eyeballs, in my ass and I found that whatever I was thinking sometimes affected the way I felt in that moment.

Sometimes - most of the time, to be honest - it would be, "Yes!" to feel that first warm spurt of cum jetting into my mouth and getting busy to swallow it as it continued to flow in... unless it tasted not all that great and I'd go from, "Yes!" to "Ew!" and now I'm thinking about spitting whatever is left out or be resolved to finish swallowing it... and thinking about needing to rinse my mouth out. Feeling his dick twitching and pumping between my lips would evoke a lot of thoughts and feelings that defied being put into words but, again, whatever I was thinking and feeling would be affected by each other and, of course, whatever was going on with the guy who just unloaded in my mouth.

Ask someone what they're thinking about during sex and they'll usually say that they aren't thinking about anything but I found that despite being focused on what was going on, my mind would be hard at work just being in the moment even if my thoughts would be all over the place and, usually, whatever was going on in my head as I sucked a dick would match the way I was feeling.

Excited; having been nervous before the fact forgotten; and focused on the dick in my mouth and even then my mind would be working at doing this or that with the dick so that my combined efforts would get him to do the thing I wanted him to do: Cum in my mouth... and that included whether I wanted him to cum "now" or later.

Or, sometimes, wishing he'd hurry the fuck up and cum; I could usually tell when a guy jerked off before we got together to suck each other and that's always a bummer in my thoughts and feelings but he's here, I'm here and now it's about settling in and working to get him to cum again. Sometimes, when the guy was... behaving badly, I'd find myself thinking about maybe this was a mistake and my feelings would be muted; it was great to be able to suck a dick but his behavior would often take something that was supposed to be a great deal of fun for me and make it less than the fun I was looking forward to. One of the things I learned to tune out was whatever the guy was saying as I blew him - and provided he didn't have a mouthful of my dick, too. I'd found out that there were certain things a guy might say as I sucked him that would instantly piss me off, like calling me baby, a bitch, or telling me to suck his dick like a good little girl.

I'd hear this... and the urge to give his cock a good, hard bite was hard to resist and I'll admit to giving him a non-damaging nip but my enthusiasm for blowing him would go from 10 to maybe about 2 and now all I want him to do is cum... and he might not get to do it in my mouth... or if I lost my temper, the blow job would stop right then and there.[/SIZE][/FONT]

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[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]Was I some kind of "sex fiend?" Well, yeah, to be honest about it but only in the sense that I loved to have sex - it was just a thing that I wasn't all that picky about who I had it with male or female. I didn't matter to me whether I was eating and fucking pussies or sucking dicks and fucking asses or being fucked. It was sex. It was fun. It all made me feel good to be able to have sex and even more when there were a whole lot of guys moaning and groaning about not being able to get laid and even if they liked dick; they were, as I'd find out, being too picky about it and I'd often find myself sitting around and listening to them being rather proud about themselves about all the dick they were turning down because of this, that, or the other... but also complaining and whining about not being able to get any dick.

I felt good that I wasn't one of those guys; I was getting all the dick I could handle because I made it so damned easy to get it but, yeah, I would say no... I just didn't say it a whole lot. Even as I got older and HIV/AIDS hit the scene, I knew I had to be careful and more selective... but it was still any guy who wanted to as long as he was healthy and, something new I came up with, not my idea of being an asshole. I still didn't care if the guy was white, Black, orange or whatever... but if he had an uncut dick, well, shit; okay, the cock sucker in me wasn't going to be happy about that and I knew that my problem with it was... just me and something I'd have to learn to not bother me as much as it did.

Didn't matter if he was short, tall, fat, skinny, humongous dick or a small one. It was dick and dick equaled sex and sex was not only good but damned good. Gay men would give me fits because they usually wanted more from me than I was willing to give and even after I'd eventually fall in love with a white, very effeminate gay man; we could be friends, could even be occasional sex partners, but the "I want you to be my boyfriend!" thing? Wasn't feeling that a whole lot and, no, there's no way you're gonna convince me to give up the pussy I love so much and you're not ever gonna make me believe that I'm really gay.

No, I don't give a fuck how big your dick is; does it work? Is it healthy? Okay, at least we got that out of the way. And while I knew that I grew up being a slut when it came to dicks, I was okay with it because, again, I was getting more dick than I knew what to do with while other guys like me were barely getting some because they cared about some shit that I just didn't give a fuck about... except those damned uncut dicks... and I'd eventually - and "all late and wrong" - get over my issues with an uncut dick and I did feel more... complete and whole once I got that taken care of.

What kind of guy to I like? Any guy who is of legal age to have sex with me, who's clean and healthy, and who isn't my idea of an asshole. I came to understand that there are guys who won't and can't pass my "asshole test" and it's okay that they fail. Younger than myself? Older? Never mattered and still doesn't as long as they're legal and all that. White? Chinese? Whatever? Means nothing to me and, no, it doesn't bother me one bit to look at a guy and not start drooling over him... well, unless he's gonna let me play with his dick - then he's got my attention.

It's just the way I am; it's the way I learned to be. It's why I've had so much sex with men because I don't go out of my way to find reasons not to; I want to blow them (more than anything else these days) and I want them to blow me so it just makes sense to make being able to do this easier than to make it harder.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]Earl and I wound up back in his bedroom and there we were on his bed, locked into a serious 69 that included fingers being used to fuck each other's holes... but I was distracted because the things that made such a difference to him didn't make much of a difference to me. For the first time between us, dicks replaced fingers in each other's butts and him for the first time but for me, seriously old news.

I laid under him, feeling his weight on me and his dick being shoved into me with some... urgency and in my mind, who he was didn't make any difference to me but being able to have his dick in my ass was all that I really cared about and more so when, duh, we didn't have a beef with each other. It felt like he'd busted the biggest nut he ever did in my ass and it felt gloriously "nasty..." but it always did and no matter who was fucking me and if I really "noticed" anything, it was how comfortable his dick felt in me.

It took some doing to get my dick into him but we managed it and as I gently fucked him he asked me, "So it can feel this good even if the guy is white or whatever?"

"Yeah," I said. "It really doesn't matter to me all that much."

"Even with some old dude?" he asked.

"Still doesn't matter a whole lot," I said, feeling my dick starting to get fatter in Earl's ass. He moaned, I groaned and cussed and exploded inside him and that part of my brain that never gets affected by anything took note that cumming in my friend's ass felt just as good as any other guy's ass I had cum in and, no, when he had cum inside me, there was only the fact that it felt good that he creamed me.

Why would anything else really matter? Back in the old neighborhood, sure - the word had gotten around that if you wanted to do it with a guy, just come and find me and I'd be more than happy... and it was clear that was very much more than happy to suck them until they came or to have them fucking my ass until they came. I was really understanding that it wasn't the guy so much... but the sex? That's what mattered the most to me and it just "made sense" to me - and in ways that I really didn't understand - that if I liked it as much as I obviously did, saying no a whole lot to any guy didn't make a lot of sense even though, sure - sometimes, letting a guy do it to me wasn't always thought of as such a great idea but, okay - it happened and that's a good thing because it could have not happened... and there's no fun in not getting any dick at all.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]As it turned out, I wouldn't find the answer to that question for another ten or twelve years in the future and even then, yeah - it made sense to be more discerning in this but made no sense to eliminate or disqualify guys like so many other dudes were doing so it was still any guy who wanted to... as long as they were okay with me... except any guy with an uncut dick - still wasn't going to give him a blow job and he might have to settle for being jerked off since I saw the sense in not letting "everybody" get into my ass and as I'd done as a matter of course and fact.

I'd hooked up with Earl again a few days later and as we walked and talked he asked me if I'd ever done it with a guy who wasn't Black and I said that, sure, I had; what's the big deal? He got this look of... loathing on his face and asked me why I'd do it with a white guy and it took me a moment to process the question and to understand what he was getting at and more so when racial tensions in the city were just beginning to ease after being dangerously high. To answer his question, I just said, "They have dicks like every other guy does so why turn them down because they're white or whatever?"

"So, if I was a white guy, we'd still do it?" he asked.

"Sure, as long as we were okay with each other," I said. "I know, if nobody else does, that white dicks get hard, shoot sperm, and get soft just like any other dick and, to be kinda honest, some white guys are more fun to do it with."

He asked me if white guys (or any guy who wasn't Black) was better and I said no - it wasn't about who was better but it was about being willing to do it to each other that really mattered. Earl kept giving me the third degree about the different kinds of guys I'd done it with and there was a couple of things about that. One was he was starting to piss me off with all of these questions... and it was making me very damned horny and it was obvious it was doing the same thing to him.

"My parents raised me not to discriminate against someone unless they did something to me to piss me off," I said. "So, no - I didn't care what color the guy was or what he looked like or anything else and as long as he was okay with me, there was no reason not to have sex with them. Their dicks taste and feel good just like anybody else's."

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind and asked, "So, really - any guy? No matter what?"

"Yes," I said.

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"No, it doesn't - should it?" I felt good being able to say that because after a few days of kinda beating myself up for being so eager and easy, I realized that there was no reason for me to feel bad about letting or wanting any guy who wanted to do it, do it, well, as long as my instincts didn't tell me it would be a bad idea.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]I spent the rest of the day thinking about myself in this and pretty much accepting that I'd been running around having sex with any guy who wanted to because having sex was the greatest thing since sliced bread... or anything else that had ever been invented and because it was so forbidden, that made doing it even more fun. It wasn't that I didn't care that it was a bad thing to or that I didn't know that it was because I did know and I did kinda care... and not a hell of a lot. So there was no way in hell I could ever say that I didn't know what I was doing.

When a guy finds out how good it can be to get some dick, he can just go off the reservation to keep getting more; I saw this in myself early on and in my friends and other guys... but I didn't really pay it any real attention because I was too hyped and focused on being able to get all the dick I could and to keep the fun of it going and it was even more exciting to know and meet other guys who were just as "cock crazy" as I was. I knew that this... insanity wasn't just something that went on where I lived; it was "everywhere" in the city and I had learned that it was "everywhere" whenever I'd go out of state somewhere and, well, some guys were crazier than others and that wasn't a bad thing.

Why would I want, let, or allow anyone with a dick have sex with me? Why not do what a lot of guys were now doing and being very picky about who they did it with? I reasoned that I was the way I was about it because to not be that way wasn't a lot of fun. There were times when I'd tell a guy that I didn't want to do it or, yeah, sometimes tell that lie that I'd never done it with a guy and didn't want to; either I just didn't feel like it or, as I'd later understand, there was just something about him that "told" me that doing something with him would be a huge mistake and I had long since learned to trust my gut instincts.

Otherwise, why not? I didn't care if the guy was white, Black, "Puerto Rican," short, tall, fat, skinny, ugly or good looking, older than me, way older than me, my age, or even a bit younger and being related to me somehow didn't mean a damned thing.

After I left Earl, I wandered around thinking about all of this and I had an epiphany; it hit me that while I was probably right to be thinking the way I was thinking, there wasn't a damned thing I could do about whatever I'd already done and I have to admit that in the moment that hit me, it was such a revelation that, um, I actually walked into a phone pole and gave myself a bloody nose for my lack of attention. I found myself sitting in my room with a sore nose and asking myself if it would be to my... benefit to be like other guys were being an only let certain guys get into my underwear. One part of my mind said that would be a good thing... and another part was asking, "What would be the point in that? Why would you want less dick when you're so used to getting more dick?"[/SIZE][/FONT]