I am 24 years old. Starting from about seven or eight years ago, I often read erotic novels online. At first, I read ordinary stories between men and women, but later gradually came into contact with themes like incest and abuse. But the more I read, the less stimulating it felt.
About five years ago, I started reading gay novels, mainly attracted by the detailed descriptions of intercourse in them. Before that, I had always been repelled by homosexuality and thought it disgusting. But strangely, I really liked looking at men's penises, and thought it awkward when two men kissed, but as soon as I saw an erect sex organ, I would feel inexplicably excited.
I remember it was a dating website. After reading a few related stories, I became increasingly eager to experience that feeling myself—to take a man's penis in my mouth, give him oral sex, hope he would cum in my mouth, or penetrate my anus. Even though I had never truly experienced it before. So, I mustered the courage and contacted someone who had left their details on the site.
It was around the Spring Festival of 2000. The other person was from Northeast China, staying at a famous hotel in Beijing at the time. I went to the lobby to find him and honestly explained my situation. He seemed very approachable and quickly invited me to his room. I wasn't really sure what would happen next, feeling both nervous and excited.
After following him into the room, I discovered another person sleeping inside. He started to hug me. To be honest, the feeling of being held by a man made me very uncomfortable. He tried to kiss me, but I dodged and clearly told him I couldn't accept kissing. Probably because it was my first time, he completely went along with me and didn't force anything.
We took off our clothes. For the first time, I finally saw with my own eyes and held another man's penis in my hand. At that moment, I was so excited I felt a bit dizzy. Strangely, my own penis wasn't fully hard, just continuously secreting clear fluid. I started giving him oral sex. When I tasted his secretions, a wave of nausea surged in my heart, but my body grew even more excited.
After a while, he took the initiative to come over and offer me oral sex. I was actually reluctant to let go of his penis, but I obediently let him do it. While he was giving me oral, his fingers began touching my anus. That feeling was extremely stimulating. Even now, I'm not sure if the anus can truly bring pleasure, but at the time, it definitely made my heart race.
At this moment, the other man wakes up. He is very handsome and has a large penis. Without even much greeting, he presses my head down toward his penis. I am more than willing and immediately obediently take it into my mouth.
From entering the door to this moment, my body and mind were in extreme excitement, and that excitement kept rising. But when I identified the smell of the fluid secreted from their penises, a sense of disgust still surfaced, and there was a voice in my heart wanting to stop all this. But I did not stop.
The person giving me a blowjob started slowly inserting a finger into my anus. One finger. I didn’t feel comfortable, and I was embarrassed too—there could be feces inside. But inside I became more and more aroused, with a faint feeling of wanting to be dominated.
After a while, he pressed his penis against my anus. He was very gentle, and his size wasn't particularly large, but it was still hard for me to take. I experienced the kind of tearing feeling described in novels. Pain began to overshadow the stimulation, and excitement gradually faded. Finally, reason prevailed, and the penis in my mouth also started to feel less appealing.
I started trying to block the penis attempting to enter. At that moment, the two men switched positions. Seeing the larger penis that had been lingering at my anal entrance earlier, the excitement once again took over.
But this time the penis trying to enter was bigger and more urgent. While I was earnestly sucking the one in front of me, the one behind suddenly thrust in forcefully. The real tearing sensation made my whole body go rigid; the pain drowned out everything, and I even forgot to dodge and push away. They probably sensed my pain and began to slow down, comforting me that they would take it slowly.
After a few minutes, the pain in my anus lessened somewhat. I had originally decided to stop there, but the penis behind me began to move slowly, and the pain instead became less obvious.
I decided to continue again because, looking back, I saw a man staring down at my anus. Although I couldn't see his penis, I could sense the image—myself with my butt up, being entered. These imaginations brought immense excitement once more. I turned my head back, continued licking and sucking the penis in front of me, even tried licking his testicles, but lacked the courage to go further.
The penis behind moved little by little. My penis slowly recovered from the state of weakness after being hit by pain and began to harden, with fluid continuously seeping out and dripping directly onto the bedsheet. I had never seen my own body become like this before.
The man behind began stroking my penis and jerking me off. The excitement surged to its peak again. While I was sucking, I felt the fullness of being penetrated, and in my mind I imagined the scene at that very moment, almost reaching orgasm.
At that moment, he made a mistake. Probably too excited, or about to cum, he kept saying my anus was too tight, telling me to relax, and then sped up the rhythm and intensity of his thrusting. The sound of our bodies colliding against my buttocks made me dizzy with excitement, I was really close.
But the next second, his penis suddenly pulled out, then tried hard to thrust back in. The pain made me almost jump up, and the excitement instantly faded. His penis suddenly became small and soft, lying against my thigh and leaking nonstop. I used my hand to block them and lay on my side on the bed. They kept apologizing, but I could no longer hear them.
Reason completely took over. I felt this was something I shouldn't do and should leave immediately.
I slowly got up and told them I really couldn't continue. They understood and suggested we all take a shower. I couldn't refuse, so I took a symbolic shower. They tried to give me oral again, briefly stirring a bit of excitement, but by then I just felt disgusted and wanted to leave as soon as possible.
After exchanging a few words, I left the room where I had first experienced another sexual role.
After leaving the hotel, I drove, constantly spitting out the window. I don't usually have this habit, but I just felt I couldn't get rid of the taste of that secretion in my mouth, wishing I could wash myself thoroughly.
This was my first time. Although not truly completed, I've experienced everything there is to experience—excitement, disgust, pain, pleasure, and that strange feeling of being dominated.
After that experience, my world quietly changed.
In the next few days, I kept replaying every detail of the room: the dizziness when I held the first penis, the sensation of my mouth being filled, the shame and excitement when fingers went in, the tearing sensation when I was truly penetrated, and the self-disgust when reason finally returned. These memories stayed in my mind like brands; they would suddenly flash up while I was working during the day, and at night when I lay in bed, they were even harder to shake off.
I started browsing related websites more often, reading more texts describing sexual encounters between men. Scenes I used to find disgusting could now easily get me hard. I tried exploring my back hole with my own fingers, experiencing that feeling of being filled and stretched. At first, it was just one finger, then slowly two. The sound of the shower covered up my suppressed gasps.
About a month later, I went on that dating site again. This time my target was clearer. I found a man who looked clean and about my age, and arranged to meet at another hotel.
The second experience was much smoother than the first. The partner was patient, using ample lubrication, first fully stretching with fingers before slowly entering. Pain was still present but not as tearing as the first time. When he was fully inside, I could clearly feel the shape and warmth of that thing within me. He began slow thrusts, pleasure gradually overriding discomfort. For the first time, I ejaculated while being penetrated, semen spurting onto my lower abdomen, the climax so intense my legs trembled.
Since then, I intermittently met several different men. Some only did oral sex, and some went all the way to the end. Each time brought back different sensations: some were very skilled and could make me climax both front and back at the same time; some were too impatient, making me just want it to end quickly. I gradually understood that what I was truly obsessed with was not being “loved,” but the feeling of being entered by a powerful sex organ and being used.
Once, the other person came in my mouth. The salty, fishy taste made me nauseous for days, yet I kept reliving it afterward. Another time, when the other person entered from behind and held me tightly, whispering some dirty words, I actually got extra excited because of those words.
Five years have passed. I am already twenty-four. On the surface, I still look like an ordinary office worker, interacting normally with coworkers and occasionally dating women. But only I know that what can truly get me fully excited is still a man's body, especially that hard, hot penis.
Sometimes at night, I lie in bed and recall that hotel room during the Spring Festival—two men, my kneeling position, the pain and pleasure of being entered, and myself fleeing in panic. That unfinished experience became the starting point for all my subsequent explorations.
I know this path is not understood by most people, and even I sometimes feel ashamed. But once desire is ignited, it's hard to completely extinguish. It hides in the gaps of daily life, in sudden flashbacks of memory, making my heart race and my lower body heat up.
Perhaps one day, I will truly accept this part of myself. Perhaps I won't.
But at least I had personally experienced the scenes described in the novel and knew they were not entirely fantasy. And that hotel room during that Spring Festival would forever remain deep in my memory—both a beginning and, in a sense, an ending.
After that hotel room during the Spring Festival, my life appeared unchanged on the surface.
During the day, I go to work as usual, eat and chat with colleagues; at night, I occasionally play ball with friends. But only I know clearly that there's an extra door in my mind, and it's already open. Whenever it's late and quiet, or when I suddenly space out at work, the scene from that room automatically plays: two men's bodies, my own kneeling position, the taste of my mouth being filled, the tearing sensation of my back hole being forcibly stretched open. Every time I recall it, my lower body heats up, secretions slowly seep out, wetting my underwear.
I started searching more purposefully.
Profile pictures and self-introductions on dating sites became daily entertainment. I learned to tell which people were just chatting and which really wanted to meet. Three ground rules also gradually became clear: no kissing (at least not at the beginning), condoms must be used, and plenty of lubrication beforehand. These rules were like a thin protective film, allowing me to keep a bit of control while excited.
The second meeting was over a month later. The other person was in his early thirties, appearing clean and speaking gently. We met at a business hotel in Chaoyang District. This time, I wasn't as nervous as the first, my hands and feet cold; instead, I felt a clear sense of anticipation.
Entering the room, he was very considerate. He let me shower first, and he showered too. After coming out, he wasn't in a hurry to do anything. He just sat on the edge of the bed talking to me, but his hand naturally rested on my thigh. I leaned over and grasped his penis. It was already half-hard, heavier than the two I encountered the first time. I lowered my head and took it in my mouth. The taste of the secretions still made me frown slightly, but it wasn't as strong as to make me want to vomit. His fingers gently pressed against the back of my head, not forcefully, just guiding.
When he used his fingers coated with lubricant to probe into my back hole, I had already learned to relax. One finger, two fingers, slowly expanding. The pain turned into a bearable feeling of fullness. When he truly entered, I could clearly feel that thing stretching open my inner walls inch by inch until it was completely inside. He stopped and asked if he could move. I nodded.
After the slow thrusting began, pleasure gradually overcame discomfort. My own penis was painfully hard, the tip continuously secreting clear fluid. He reached out to help me stroke, the stimulation from both front and back quickly made me cum, semen spraying on my abdomen and the bedsheet. During orgasm, the rear hole involuntarily contracted, he gasped lowly and also came in the condom.
That time, I didn't flee in panic. Afterwards, we lay side by side, and he even asked if I wanted to go again. I shook my head and said, next time. When I walked out of the hotel, the lingering taste was still in my mouth, but I didn't frantically try to spit it out anymore.
Since then, the frequency gradually increased. Sometimes once a month, sometimes once every two weeks. The partners changed several times. Some only liked oral sex, some insisted on the full thing; some were very skilled and could make me climax both front and back at the same time; some were too rough, leaving me awkward for days afterward when walking. I gradually figured out my own preferences: I liked the feeling of fullness when being penetrated, liked watching my partner take off the condom after ejaculating into it and seeing the milky fluid inside; occasionally I would also accept unprotected oral sex, but the times they came in my mouth could be counted on one hand, because the taste always left me conflicted.
Once, the other person was a fitness trainer with a great physique. When he entered from behind, one hand tightly covered my mouth, the other hand gripped my penis and stroked it quickly. I was thrust so hard I could barely stay kneeling, my vision going white. The orgasm came urgently and violently, semen shooting directly into his palm. He chuckled lowly, smeared the fluid on my chest, and continued thrusting until he finished too. After that, I kept getting hard suddenly at night for three days straight, my mind filled with the force of him covering my mouth.
Another time, the other person brought someone else. I was initially hesitant, but when I saw two erect penises at the same time, excitement overrode reason. I knelt on the bed, taking turns giving them oral, while one of them slowly entered me from behind. The scent and body heat of the two men enveloped me, giving me the illusion of being completely used. That night, I came twice; the second time was almost forced out by the thrusting from behind. Afterwards, I lay in bed listening to them washing up in the bathroom and suddenly felt very calm.
Of course, there were also unpleasant experiences. Some tried to enter without a condom midway, and when I firmly refused, they turned hostile; some acted as cold as strangers afterward, making me briefly feel self-loathing. In those moments, I would shut myself at home, repeatedly asking myself why I did these things. But desire doesn't disappear just because of doubt. Within a few days, my fingers would still explore the back hole, and the websites would still be opened.
By the time I was twenty-three, I had become able to face this part of myself more calmly. On the surface, I still dated women normally, and even had brief relationships. But what truly excited me completely, what made me cum a lot and far, was always the bodies of men. Sometimes, halfway through getting intimate with a girl, the image of some man’s penis would suddenly flash through my mind, and my desire would quickly turn in another direction.
I began trying more advanced玩法. Someone lightly tied my wrists with rope and entered from behind; someone made me wear specific underwear,只露出后穴; someone liked to say very dirty things while doing it, and those words actually made me harder. I discovered I had a隐秘的迷恋 for the feeling of 'being used'—not pain, but that sense of失控感 from being filled by a powerful sexual organ, completely dominated by the other's rhythm.
Of course, the rules still apply. No kissing (unless there's a special feeling), must use lubrication, try to use condoms. These bottom lines allow me to retain a bit of myself while sinking.
Sometimes in the dead of night, I think of that hotel room during the Spring Festival. The first pain, the first nausea, the first excitement and escape. That experience was like a seed, slowly sprouting and growing over the next five years, bringing me to where I am now. I no longer hate myself as intensely as I did back then, but I can't say I've fully accepted it either. It has just become a part of me, hidden in the cracks of daily life, surfacing at a sudden touch or memory.
On a certain summer night when I was twenty-four, I walked out of a hotel again. My body still held the afterglow of being entered, and my back passage was slightly swollen. The night wind blew on my face, and I stood by the roadside, lit a cigarette (actually I rarely smoke), and stared blankly at the passing vehicles.
The phone vibrated once. It was a message from that person just now: 'See you next time?'
I stared at the screen for a long time, and finally replied: 'We'll see.'
Putting my phone away, I hailed a taxi home. On the way, I closed my eyes, but the scenes from earlier kept replaying in my mind: me being pinned on the bed, legs spread, that thing thrusting in and out. My lower body felt warm again.
I know there will be many more nights like this.
Once desire is ignited, it is difficult to truly extinguish. It finds another way to live on—in memory, in the body, in the fingers that open the dating app next time.
And that hotel room from that Spring Festival would always remain there—as a starting point, and as a certain kind of origin that could never be returned to.
I'm no longer in a hurry to spit out the taste in my mouth, but I'm not yet ready to accept it as a normal part of daily life.
And so, conflicted, she continued forward.
After the age of twenty-four, life passed both peacefully and secretly.
During the day, I am an ordinary office worker, writing proposals, attending meetings, discussing project progress with colleagues. At night, returning to my rented one-bedroom apartment, I sometimes open the computer and click into those familiar websites. Profile picture, age, body stats, a simple 'Are you free tonight?' become another kind of daily routine. If I match with a suitable person, we go to a hotel; if not, I take care of it myself. Fingers, lube, my own kneeling position in the mirror become the most private ritual.
Once, the other person was a man nearly ten years older than me. He was very patient, taking almost half an hour to fully enter. Throughout, he kept asking softly if I was comfortable, his warm palm pressed against my back. That orgasm came long and slow; when I ejaculated, I heard myself make a sound I'd never made before. Afterward, he didn't get up immediately but held me from behind, his breath on the back of my neck. I didn't push him away. Those few minutes of silence made my heart burn more than any intense thrusting.
In the taxi home, I stared at the neon lights outside the window and suddenly felt a little dazed. It turned out that besides the physical pleasure of being filled, there was something else that would simultaneously appear — a brief illusion, almost as if I were being cherished. I quickly suppressed that thought. What I wanted had never been feelings, only the body.
But her body remembered that feeling.
After that, I would subconsciously choose partners who looked gentle and not impatient. Some would kiss my shoulder blades before entering; some would help wipe my body clean after ejaculation. These small actions made the self-disgust afterward come a little more slowly. Of course, there were also the opposite situations. Once, halfway through, the other person took off the condom and wanted to go straight in. I immediately shoved him away hard, put on my clothes, and left. That night I took a very long shower, turning the water to the hottest setting, as if I could completely wash away the feeling from just now.
Desire and boundaries thus coexisted.
In the summer of my twenty-fifth year, I moved once, switching to an apartment closer to the company. The new environment briefly made me wonder, "Should I rein myself in a bit?" The result was that it happened even more often. The convenient location meant it was easier to go straight to a hotel after work, and then appear in the office the next morning as if nothing had happened. Sometimes coworkers would ask if I was dating someone, because I seemed to be in a good mood. I would just smile, neither denying nor admitting it.
What truly made me stop and think was an accident.
After the other party ejaculated into the condom, the condom slipped off during withdrawal, and some semen remained inside. I didn't pay much attention at the time and cleaned myself very thoroughly after returning home. However, in the following days, I repeatedly checked my body and even bought relevant tests from the pharmacy. The result was negative—a false alarm. During those days, I hardly opened the dating app. Reason told me that risks always existed, and I was just using rules to create an illusion of safety for myself.
The cooling-off period lasted about two weeks.
Two weeks later, on a Friday night, I still clicked open that familiar interface. The moment the screen lit up, that familiar surge of excitement returned. I told myself: just look, no need to make an appointment. In the end, at one in the morning, I was still standing in the hallway of some hotel.
That time, the other person was very skilled, causing me almost no noticeable pain. When he entered from behind, one hand reached around to grasp my penis, stroking in rhythm with his thrusts. I came quickly, my rear hole spasming and contracting, which made him speed up too, finally panting lowly as he came into the condom. Afterwards, I lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling, suddenly very calm.
No intense self-loathing, nor any particular satisfaction. Just calmness.
It was as if this had already become part of life, like overtime, like late-night takeout—there, but no longer something that needed to be fiercely fought against or indulged in every time.
When I walked out of the hotel, the night wind was a bit chilly. I turned up my collar and hailed a taxi. The driver didn't speak, and neither did I. The city flowed by outside the window, lights connecting into stretches.
After getting home, I showered, changed into clean clothes, and lay down on my own bed. My body still retained a faint sensation of being entered; it wasn’t uncomfortable, just a reminder of what had happened a few hours earlier.
I closed my eyes.
That hotel room from that Spring Festival reappeared in my mind—the first pain, the first nausea, the first escape. Looking back now, the emotions aren't as sharp as they once were. It's just a starting point, a starting point I cannot deny.
The phone vibrated once on the bedside table. I didn't look at it.
I still have to work tomorrow.
Desire remains, rules remain, contradictions remain. And so, moving forward.
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