Internalized homophobia is something we’re all familiar with in our community, an evil we can spot right off the bat when the person it’s plaguing starts projecting it. It is something that irritates me mightily, especially when these idiots try to weaponize their shame against others. Like the ones who are married and start telling me to do like they’ve done – like, how can you encourage someone to step into the kind of trap you’ve set for yourself? I laughed when an MGM, whose marriage had crashed and who was preparing to get married again, still had the gall to “advise” me to do like him. I laughed, and then I told him exactly where to shove his “advice”.
But this story isn’t about internalized homophobia. It’s about a different kind of shame – and until I met Manuel, I didn’t know this was a thing.
We met organically, among friends. He was a good looking guy, tall and dark. I remember thinking he reminded me of the actor, Mofe Duncan, because he was built like him. We hit it off as we chatted over drinks, flirting with each other in the way that made me so sure we’d eventually end up in bed together.
Soon, we got separated from our friends for a more intimate chat, and because sex was uppermost on our minds, the subject of what roles we play came up. I am top and I told him so. He said he was Vers Top.
“If we are to hook up, surely you’d bottom for me, won’t you?” he said with what was no doubt supposed to be a knowing grin.
“No, I won’t,” I said to him. “I am strictly top.”
This is something I know rankles with some gay men in our community: this idea that there are men who play top, and that is it. There are those who believe that every Top is just the right partner away from spreading their legs to get fucked in the ass, and that if you say you’re a Strict Top and that you don’t want a dick going up your ass, then you must have a problem. And this is ironic on two levels:
1) This kind of criticism is never leveled against Power Bottoms. A Bottom can say he only ever wants to ride dick and his sexual preference would be accepted as the norm. You won’t get gay men calling him insecure for never wanting to top.
And 2) It is some of these gay men who castigate Strict Tops for being too unyielding with their sexual preference who will then turn around and deride the Tops who bottom in secret, saying they’re not man enough and calling them confused – none of them realizing that it is the atmosphere of criticizing Tops that make those who are interested in bottoming to do it in hiding.
There’s just no win with pleasing people, and I’ve long ceased to bother. I simply identify what makes me the most me, and I stick with it. And I didn’t waste time setting Manuel straight that there’d be no bottoming for him should he choose to have sex with me.
I figured this would be a deal breaker for him and was prepared to reconcile myself with the thought that I wouldn’t be shagging this Mofe Duncan lookalike, but I was pleasantly surprised when he chuckled at my response and told me we should go out on a date sometime.
It was a movie date, and we went to the cinema to see Love is War, the Richard Mofe Damijo-and-Omoni Oboli-led drama about a husband and wife who find themselves on opposing sides of a gubernatorial election.
From the cinema, after the movie, it was late in the evening, and because we’d agreed to this earlier, we went to my place. We knew what we were here for and didn’t waste time before falling into each other’s arms and making out once we were indoors. We kissed for some time, and I had reached my hand around to grab his ass, when he pulled back and said, “You say you’re strict top?”
I paused. “Yes.”
He made a face and said with some disgruntlement, “You know, I don’t like guys who say they’re strict tops.”
I tried to fight down the sudden surge of irritation that swelled inside me. Seriously? “But I was very clear about this,” I said. “If this is your way of wanting me to bottom for you, then you clearly weren’t listening when we talked about this.”
“Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never given up your ass for anyone.” There was a mocking tone in his voice, like he didn’t believe me.
I sighed. I wasn’t about to start debating this. “Do you want to continue with this hookup? Or should I conclude that this night is a bust?”
He pulled me back to kissing him.
After some intense making out, our clothes flew of four bodies and we were grasping and writhing against each other with passion. I love to give pleasure. I think good sex happens only with the satisfaction of the other guy. And Manuel was going to be no exception. I was all over his body with my hands, mouth, tongue, stoking up the fires of desire in him as I sucked and caressed my way across his body. I easily swallowed his cock, sucking him hard while also pleasuring him with my hands on his nipples. He was trembling and moaning, but I hadn’t even started with him. After several moments of this, I turned him around and took over his asshole, licking and exploring his hot ass with my probing tongue. I love to eat ass, and I nibbled and sucked and stroked and thrust into that hole with my tongue like my life depended on it.
At some point during this, Manuel gaspingly pushed me away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, bewildered.
“You want to turn me into your bitch,” he said, fighting for breath.
I didn’t understand what he was on about, and I was too turned on to care. I grabbed at his ass, sliding a finger into his quivering hole.
“Come on, man, you know you want this,” I cajoled.
He didn’t fight it. He couldn’t. He pulled me back to him and we started kissing again. I was fingering his hole and he kept pushing down on my finger like he couldn’t wait to be invaded.
At after some time, overwhelmed with the pleasure coursing through him, he began groaning, “Fuck me. For chrissakes, fuck me.”
His wish was my command.
I turned him around and began sliding my dick inside his ass, only to feel some resistance, like he needed some more lubrication. So, I bent over him and ate some more of his ass until he felt very puckered and willing. Then I went back into position, this time, succeeding in sliding into him. The sex was very fast and furious. I was soon slamming into his ass nice and deep, as his appetite for more built into vigorous levels of me thrusting and him backing up against me. We were at this for awhile, and then we changed positions, with me lying back and him grinding down hard on my dick. Then I flipped him onto his back and took control of his ass again. As I picked up the rhythm of this intense fucking, he took his own cock in his hand and began jerking himself. As I banged away at his ass, the intensity reached such a fevered pitch that led to his cock erupting his creamy load of cum. I wasn’t too far behind. I whipped out my dick from his hot hole and unleashed my hot load of cum all over his belly and heaving chest.
We dropped onto the bed like heaps of exhaustion and satisfaction. I felt drained. This was good. And I expected us to luxuriate in the feelings of post-coital warmth.
But then, Manuel turned to me and said, “You want to tell me you can fuck, abi? You don turn me to bitch, eh? I don’t want to hear that I bottomed for you from anybody’s mouth. Don’t you dare tell any of our mutual friends, because if you do and I hear about it, you won’t like me.”
There was something very chilling about those words, and when I looked at his unsmiling face, I knew he was serious. I didn’t feel threatened though, I just felt really, really annoyed and baffled by this guy.
What exactly was his problem? He had told me his role was Vers Top. I had to assume that is what he identifies as – and there is an understanding that if you’re Versatile, whether Vers Top or Vers Bottom, you’d bottom. So, why did he seem so perplexed by the fact that he had bottomed for me and that anyone might get to know about it? I was sure I wasn’t the only one he’d wanted to hook up with and told he was Vers Top. Or perhaps, all his other hookups turned out to be Bottoms who he instead dominated during sex? This was someone who had clearly so enjoyed the sex between us, he’d basically led with admitting that to me. Why then was he so mortified by how he enjoyed the sex – to the point of threatening me over it?
I know bottom shaming is a thing, but the way I’m familiar with it is of it being external: other people trying to shame those who bottom over their choice of sex role.
I’d never known this kind of shame to work like this: where the gay man himself is triggered by his own desire to bottom.
It felt too similar to internalized homophobia: being aware of what you love and having no acceptance for it. I do not like internalized homophobia, and I definitely didn’t like this – whatever this was that Manuel was exhibiting.
And right then, even as our bodies cooled from the exertions of the sex we’d just had, I was done with him. I pulled away from him and eventually went to sleep. When, around 5 AM, he woke me up for another round, I declined. I wasn’t about to serve dick to someone who didn’t appreciate the fact that he was taking it.
And as he left my house that morning, I was deleting his contact, very certain I’d never see him again. He can go deal with his issues with some other guy.
And again, seriously – “I don’t want to hear that I bottomed for you from anybody’s mouth. Don’t you dare tell any of our mutual friends, because if you do and I hear about it, you won’t like me.”
Oga, ees just top I topped you. I no kill person.
Written by Ebi