On the surface, things were perfect. I was face down, trying to let go and let someone else do all the work, getting a massage. Lights low. Music softly playing in the background. A tall, fuzzy otter with a perfectly trimmed beard on top of me exploring with his hands. But that's on the surface. There wasn't a hint of any kind of lubricating ointment in close proximity and his untrained hands were stretching and snagging on my skin in forceful pinches that made me anything but relaxed. Involuntary spasms as the shoulder tensed and then the back, all unheeded until I grunted and said, "It's been awhile since I last got a massage so you'll have to go easy on me."
Softer tugs on my back. A little better. Working lower and lower until he got to my ass. He cradled those globes for just a second before he lost all restraint and started kneading them like tough dough that needed to feed a hungry army. Oh, boy. Another top, I take it. Fuck, those pinches are gonna leave bruises.
And before I could say anything, it kinda snapped into my head how weird it was. this whole notion of top and bottom and their association with doms and subs. I never really understood why an oral top was the one getting his dick sucked while it's the bottom that was doing all the work, while fuck-wise it's the top that does the heavy lifting. Getting sucked can be and usually is (at least for me) the more passive experience but is considered the dominant role. And then here I am laying submissive and prone but in my head I'm the dom because the kid is servicing me. Ha!
It wasn't quite working.
I flipped over onto my back and there he was, hovering with arms on either side of me supporting the bulk of his weight and these heavy lustful eyes staring right into me.
I pushed his locked elbow out and his whole 6'3" 200 pound frame crashed into me before I took one hand to the back of his head and the other taking his scruffy jaw and pulled him into a kiss where I devoured him.
As my arms pulled him into a tight embrace, I let go in a different way. Instead of just trying to let go and feel him work my body, I let myself settle into some other base instincts. Despite all the pinching, the kid was hot and I wanted him.
He wrestled out of my embrace after a bit and, ironically with one leg wrapped behind him and him still hovering over me missionary style, says with some disappointment, "You're a top."
It wasn't a question, but I verbally assented anyway.
"Well, I have always been curious..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. I already knew. His body already gave me permission to squiggle his former boundaries. My body had already asked. His had promptly replied.
In the end, I fucked half my inches into him. Short strokes that felt every time his body tensed up and every time it welcomed me in. Even while wrapped. Smart strokes enough to make him feel good and to fuck the cum out of him. Ending the night with my fingers tracing the lines of his cum on his body and then my palm feeling the contours of his body, feeling every hair follicle that caught the cum, snagging the viscous emissions as my hands roamed in ways different than his hands snagged on my body, and bringing the night back full circle back to the beginnings. Roles reversed. And despite playing the active, dominant role in the climax, I couldn't help but sense that I was only doing my best to serve him and his needs.