It took a lot of encouragement from Pink Panther and some mining of guts on my own part to let this post happen. I am a naturally reserved person, to the point of introversion, and I am not wont to drawing attention to myself. That is why I have being reading this blog since its inception and never once commented. But I’m pragmatic enough to know that when you have a problem which you cannot handle on your own, and you do not ask for help, then you suffer greatly for it.

So when I reached out to PP and he admitted he didn’t have all the answers and asked if he should bring it up in the house, I first hedged, and then I conceded.

For the purpose of this update, my name is Timothy. I live in Lagos. And I am a Bottom. Please, in your comments, it wouldn’t do to ask me why I’m not Top or observe how being Versatile can help solve my problem. I’ve identified who I am in the bedroom, and that is what it is.

Like I said earlier, I’m quite introverted, and so, I do not possess the interpersonal skills required to sustain an online acquaintanceship. Hence, I do not have profiles in any of the hookup sites. But I have friends, and it is through them I get to meet the guys I do. This means that I don’t have a very active sex life.

I’ve seen PP declare that he is not the kind of Bottom who thirsts for men with too much endowment. That is me as well. I’m also the kind of Bottom who can’t get back on the saddle for Round 2 moments, minutes, even hours after sex. This is why I do not bemoan my lack of regular sex, because I’ve come to realize that there’s only so much my anus can take.

I have the kind of anus that makes sex feel like the first time whenever I have it. Some of my friends tease me with the nickname ‘The Continuous Virgin’. As you can imagine, that means that every initial penetration hurts, and this has disturbed me so much that whenever I’m getting frisky in bed with a potential sex partner, I feel him up, not entirely for the pleasure of having a hard dick in my hand, but because I want to gauge just how much dread I should feel for the impending sex. In the event that my fingers encounter a small erection behind the boxers, I always heave a silent sigh of relief.

But this discomfort has been bearable, until last year, when a biting pain in my anus made me feel it up to discover there was a bit of skin sticking out from it. Warts, piles, whatever, I don’t know what it was. All I knew then was that it hurt whenever my rectal muscles moved, whether I was sitting, walking, peeing, pooing, or – well, sex went out of the equation when this developed.

I spoke to a straight doctor friend of mine about it, omitting the part about how I take D up my ass, and he prescribed the application of something-something-Odofin. Something-something-Odofin turned out to be this ointment of sorts that stings like a bitch when applied on your anus. Or any sensitive area of your body, really. But it was efficient. It was supposed to shrink the skin from its protrusion, and it did. Life returned to normal.

Then recently, I’m knowing a different kind of discomfort. There was no prompting for this. No protruding skin. No wild sex. I simply woke up one morning, went to the toilet, and had to fight back a cry of pain when the first surge of excrement felt like it was coming out of my ass with tiny needles sticking out of it, business-end up. The pain nearly made men push back everything into my intestines. But I had to go. So I sat there and endured the torture.

When I was done and stood to glance into the toilet bowl, it was to see a crimson colour mixing with everything else in there. My shit had come out bloodied. I panicked. This was a first for me. My panic kept rising when I wiped my ass and saw the toilet tissue stained with blood. Just blood o. No shit, nothing else, but the red stains of my blood.

For hours after that, my anus throbbed with dull pain. And then, it passed. And returned the next time I went to the toilet. It has pretty much become routine. I’m fine. No pain. No fuss. Until I have to go to the toilet, then it feels like I’m shitting pins and needles. And then there’s the blood. And then I’m fine. Until the next time.

I was tempted to somehow adapt to this cycle, especially when I was able to have sex last week for the first time since this started. I told myself, well, since I’m able to take the D and it didn’t kill me, then I can endure the nightmare that going to the toilet has become.

But concern over what is happening to me down there won’t let me be. I am constantly nagged by a need to know what is wrong with me, and what I can do to fix me. I can’t talk about it with my straight doctor friend, because I want to be able to disclose my entire ordeal to whomever I talk to, and this doctor friend is not very subtle with his prejudice against gay people.

So I need help. I need well informed advice. I need guidance. I need direction. And I need to consult with a non-judgmental medical professional, whether gay or straight. I need to know what I can afford to do to make me right. For anyone who wants to be more detailed with his advice to me but can’t put it down in the comments section, kindly send an mail to PP’s email address –


Submitted by Timothy

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