It started off simply enough. I had been casually pursuing a guy with a French screenname for some time, but never got much of a reply until one afternoon he happened to finally respond, leading me to unlock the photos showing not just a hardon but my face, besides.
His public pictures featured medium complexion, a pleasant demeanor suggesting a handsome visage and physique of certain muscular bearing; firm without being especially overworked. All disembodied parts and pieces, and a penis pic was conspicuously absent. Jackpot - tinymeat. We quickly covered all the bases: Poz, yes; Bottom, most assuredly; and with a small uncircumcised penis to boot.
He arrived at my door looking perhaps thirty pounds heavier than the pix, but overall seemed pretty much as promised. The added weight added much to his desirably “child-bearing hips” and offered no impediment to my desire. Moments into our encounter my fingering turned into knuckling then deeper yet. His ass seemed to be inhaling my hand, which I didn't mind at all but hadn't expected based on our on-line banter.
Turning around, he asked if I'd fist him, to which I replied that there's no better way of preparing a nice, sloppy open hole for fucking. I stood in my doorway naked, my right hand and forearm slathered in Crisco. The only remnant of my hardon was a thick, viscous stream of precum drooling from my dick and collecting in a puddle on top of my right knee down to my foot.
I wrote his odd behavior off to Tina, and sat on my bed, stroking absent-mindedly to some straight porn I had playing on the VCR. He emerged from the bathroom wiping a towel across his broad back, which he spread on the sheets of my bed before climbing up on the mattress, knees down, ass up, doggy style. Three good pushes and my right hand completely penetrated his anus without his seeming to have felt a thing. Greasing my forearm up with additional Crisco, I pushed in further and he squirmed a bit, but still said nothing. A bottle of poppers under his nose, he pushed back onto my arm and it slid half-way to the elbow. He was, without a doubt, the most nonchalant fistbottom I’d even encountered.
Then he pulled his torso forward so that just my hand was left in and asked me to push up.
This confused me…I've been in enough asses to know that, from that position, there is no "up": there's only in and, maybe down toward the prostate. I was unclear as to what he wanted me to do. Sighing slightly, he told me to wait, and pulled his ass off my arm altogether. Flipping onto his back, he lifted his legs high and told me to try again, inhaling from the poppers, only this time to push down.
As "down" was only in the direction of his tailbone, I was genuinely perplexed but did as he’d bidden. About six inches in, I felt a flap of skin, just a slight fold, and he broke into a grin. Inhaling deeply, he nodded his approval at my having located whatever it was he’d been wanting me to find.
“You’ve found it,” he intoned in a voice heavy with emotion and lush with pleasure. “That’s the other hole. Open it up.”
It was gummy and gooey and tighter than his rectum, which was open wider than my closed hand. Gobs of Crisco oozed over my arm as I pushed one finger at a time until all four had found this odd, secret place. This excited him hugely. He wriggled and pushed until my entire hand was deep into this “other hole”, a place I’ve never even heard of before, let alone explored.