Men Go Their Own Way

As always, I went back to the meetings.

There was one guy in the meetings who seldom looked at me and never spoke to me. He had been fairly frosty even at the first meeting, but after all the weeks that I'd been showing up, he was positively icy. I got the impression that he was disgusted by my very presence.

It was a shame, in a way, because in the normal course of things, he was my type: tall, muscled, handsome, rugged; maybe not too bright, but that didn't bother me. He was the kind of guy who would normally make me weak at the knees and dizzy. Yet, he clearly couldn't stand me.

His name was Ron. He sat opposite me at the meeting, occasionally glancing in my direction and making audible little sighs of impatience whenever I said anything. It so happened that, that night, I got really impatient with the general cluelessness of the whole group that I got going on my favourite topic: their obsession with women, when the whole point of the group was to be going our own way.

Finally, Ron had enough. He interrupted me.

'What would you know about women?' he sneered. 'You're a faggot.'

'Now, now,' Phil said.

'No, Phil, no, I've had enough,' Ron said. 'This was supposed to be a men's group, for men to go our own way. But this little poofter keeps turning up as if he belongs here. We should we listen to the opinion of someone who prefers cock to pussy?'

'I told you,' I said, 'I'm bisexual.'

'There's no such thing,' Ron said.

'There is,' I said patiently.

'It's impossible,' Ron said. 'You can't possibly like women and men equally.'

'I never said I liked them equally,' I said.

'Oh, so you are a poofter?'

'I'm attracted to men,' I said, 'but I wouldn't want to date one.'

'Why not?' said Ron, affecting outrage.

'Well,' I said, 'would you?'

'No,' he thundered, 'because I'm not a fucking queer. I don't want some other guy ramming his cock up my shitter. And I'll tell you what else: anyone who does want that, is not qualified to talk to me about women. Because he doesn't understand them.'

'I think I understand more than you do what it's like to have a man's cock inside me,' I said, smirking.

'Well,' Ron said, 'I don't give a shit what it's like to have a man's cock inside you! I put my cock where I want, and I don't give a shit!'

'Guys,' Phil said, 'this conversation is getting adversarial.'

'I don't give a fuck,' Ron barked. 'I'm tired of this poofy little girlboy telling us all about what women are like from the depths of his oh so deep knowledge. When the closest he's come to a woman is probably sniffing his sister's panties.'

'Now, Ron,' Phil said warningly.

'I don't have a sister,' I said.

'Well, whoever's, then.'

'I learned everything I know about women from tonguing out your mom,' I said.

'You fucking little prick!' Ron exploded.

'That's enough!' said Phil with sudden force.

There was a silence. Phil was a mild-mannered guy, a bit of an idiot, but he hated people making a scene. I knew I'd gone too far.

'I'm going to ask you both to go,' he said, 'and you can come back at the next meeting, when you've both calmed down.'

'I'm calm,' I said, which was almost completely true.

'Nevertheless, we can't have meetings breaking down like this,' he said. 'Out, please.'

I rose and picked up my jacket and bowed ironically. Ron, who was still fuming, strode for the exit. I strolled out with an apologetic nod of the head to Phil.

Outside, I decided to head for home, and started walking.

But then Ron emerged from the shadows.

'Well, you fucked up the meeting,' he said. 'Well done. I hope you're happy.'

'Only because you kept insulting me,' I said.

'Because you're a faggot,' he snarled.

'Yeah, yeah,' I said. 'That doesn't work on me.'

'You're a skinny little bitch boy who thinks he's a female,' Ron said.

'Hey, fuck off, man, come on,' I said, exasperated.

'No,' he said. 'I'll teach you some manners.'

'I'm going home.'

I started to walk faster.

'You think I don't know what you've been doing in this group?' Ron said. 'Oh, I know. You've been giving your mouth to all the little beta males, like the whore you are.'

'Your mom teach you that language?'

'You come in here,' he went on, half to himself, 'you shove your "sexuality" down our throats, and you think we're just going to put up with it? Who do you think you are?'

'I'm a bi man,' I said, and I started walking in a direction away from my flat, so as to tire him out. I was heading to the edge of the city, where it bordered onto the wooded hills.

'There's no such thing as bi,' he said.

'Why does it bother you so much?' I said. 'Why can't you accept that some guys like men as well as women?'

'Because it doesn't make any damn sense!' Ron said. 'You can't like both! End of!'

'And yet.'

'You can't give yourself to some guy and then have some woman give herself to you! It's cheating!'

'It's nature.'

We were off the street, by this point, walking in a path through the park with the trees on each side.

'You're unnatural!'

'Lots of animals form same-sex couples,' I said.

'Oh, you're an animal now. Not a human.'

'Just, fuck off, okay?' I was really annoyed at this point.

Ron shoved me. I stumbled backwards.

'You don't tell me what to do,' he said, staring at me.

'Fuck. Off,' I said, slowly and deliberately.

He shoved me again. I slapped him in the face.

He stared at me in shock.

And then we started to fight--or try to fight.

We were rubbish at it. For all his size and muscles, Ron had no training, and I only had some very basic self-defence stuff. We were slapping ineffectually at each other, but the occasional blow to the face landed and stung, and it just made us both more angry.

Then we were grappling, each trying to push the other one over, and I was weakening, and I was preparing to just let go and run like hell towards home.

Ron was leaning over, forcing me backwards, and staring down at me.

And then he seemed to pause, staring at me with a distant look.

'Had enough,' I spat. My lip was bruised and split. I was furious.

And then he grabbed me and pulled me in and kissed me.

I was so shocked that I did nothing for a moment.

And then I wrapped my arms around him and stuck my tongue in his mouth.

The fight had been so sudden and so visceral that it had made everything else go away. I wanted only for him to enfold me in his big arms and take me.

He pulled away and stared at me with a mixture of horror and desire.

'Oh god,' he panted. 'I've got to have you.'

'I want you,' I breathed.

And then my jacket was off, and he'd pulled my shirt and t-shirt over my head and had ripped open my jeans and I was kicking off my sneakers and he had pulled down my boxers, and suddenly, in seconds, I was stripped nude in the darkness, completely exposed on this path in a public park.

'Oh, fuck,' I gasped, as Ron turned me around and pushed me against a tree. I held onto it for dear life. He reached down and pulled off my socks, to complete my strip, so I was standing on the muddy path in bare feet, naked and shivering.

And then I heard him spit on his fingers and felt him rub it between my arse cheeks, and then I gasped with shock and sudden pain as he pushed his cock between my buttocks and forced himself inside me.

He grabbed my face and pulled my head back and began to pump into my rectum. I clung to the tree and made muffled whimpers. My stiff cock was rubbing against the bark, which was rough against my bare skin. Someone, anyone, could come along any minute and see huge Ron, fully clothed, fucking me, his skinny naked bitch-boi, against a tree. I would be seen in public, getting my ass fucked.

The police would be called. I would be arrested. My name would be in the papers. I would be The Guy Who Was Found Being Buggered Naked and Standing Up in a Park.

All of these thoughts passed through my head in a whirlwind, so that I hardly noticed that Ron was gasping as he came in me, because I was too busy squirting my semen all over the bark of the tree and making muffled squeals of arousal while doing so.

And then it was done, and we stood there for a moment, panting and stunned by what had happened. I felt the night air on my nude body and my chest rose and fell, and Ron clung tightly to my hips, his cock softening inside me.

He leaned his head forward and his face rested on the back of my head.

'Oh, god,' he whispered. 'I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay,' I panted. 'It's okay.'

'Thank you,' he said, and leaned down and nuzzled my bare neck. I sighed. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to himself.

Then his head jerked upwards.

'Someone's coming,' he muttered. 'Quick.'

He pulled out of me and leaned over and handed me my boxers and socks. I pulled them on, and in less than fifteen seconds, I was kneeling on the ground tieing my shoelaces, although my clothes were damp and dirty and my arsehole was still tingling.

Ron nudged me and I got up, and we walked forward.

'So I think basically we're in a good position,' he said in a reasonable voice. 'It all depends on what happens with the guys in Antwerp.'

'Yeah,' I said. A figure came around the corner, an old lady walking a small dog. We walked past her, talking made-up rubbish about non-existent jobs, and then Ron turned to see that she had gone, and he stopped and looked at me.

'Thanks,' he said, again, looking... actually, I'd never seen that expression on a man's face before. A mixture of sheepishness and gratitude.

'So all that,' I said, 'all that "faggot" stuff... that was just, what? Foreplay?'

He stared at the ground, then up at me once more.

'I'm just really fucking confused,' he said. 'I wanted you, but...'

'You had to be mean about it.'

'I'm so sorry.'

'It's fine,' I said, thinking about how intoxicating our brief, sizzling fuck had been, how excited and scared I'd been to have my clothes plucked off and be fucked up against a tree by this hunk of prime rib.

He looked up at me hopefully.

'Just,' I said, '... don't do it again. Ever. Be who you are.'

He nodded. We stood there for a moment.

'Give me your number,' I said. 'If you want to talk about stuff, talk to me. Just don't trash-talk guys like me.'

He nodded and gave me a phone number. I entered it on my phone.

Then we looked at each other again, and to my surprise, he hugged me.

'You're a good guy,' he said.

'Thanks,' I said. I was not going to return the compliment, because he wasn't one. Yet.

We disengaged.

'Bye,' he said, and turned and walked off.

I turned and headed for home.

***

After that, I had had enough of the MGTOW group.

Or so I thought.

But we'll get to that later.

I went on the apps, and I found myself being chatted up by an older guy, about sixty, whose pictures showed that he was the kind of grey-haired, muscular stud that could make me melt.

'What are you into,' he typed.

'This and that,' I said. 'I like receiving anal. A little BDSM here and there.'

'Mmmm.'

'I like to be confined. I like to be tested and pushed to my limits.'

'I can do that for you.'

'Oh yeah?'

'I have a dungeon. It's quite well-equipped. I would be happy to host you.'

'Interesting.'

'You're not one of those bicurious guys who just wants to talk and then doesn't arrange a meeting, are you?'

I laughed to myself at that.

'I hate those guys,' I said.

'Good. What do you say?'

'Sure.'

***

So we arranged to meet.

He gave me quite strict instructions. I was, he said, to lose five pounds; apparently I wasn't svelte enough for him. I was to shave my body hair, including my groin and crotch and ass crack. I was to be clean inside and out. And I also had to be willing to sign a release form, saying that I didn't object to video of me being posted on the internet, on the understanding that my identity would be obscured.

I consented to all this, after he posted me a link to his videos of treating other men, and some women, in his dungeon. He was a good cameraman and you saw enough of people's faces to be able to read their emotions, but not enough that you could have recognised them. They were all wearing broad black sleep masks, anyway.

I showed up at his house at 6pm in the evening. He answered the door in a t-shirt and running shorts and smiled at me. He was bearded, with brushed-back silver hair, and fit-looking.

'Are you ready to have a bit of a workout?' he said.

'I don't know,' I said, smiling nervously, 'am I?'

'Don't worry,' he said. 'All the rules apply.'

The truth was that I had never really done BDSM, beyond a little blindfolding and spanking, and I was truly nervous. But we arranged a safeword: 'orange', hardly the kind of thing I was likely to say in the normal course of arousal.

Then I followed him down his basement steps into the dungeon.

It was warm but not hot, and there was a variety of pieces of equipment, few of which I recognised directly. There was a door to another room, which he didn't go near.

'All right,' he said softly, and stepped up to me, took my face in his hands and kissed me hard on the mouth.

I made a small sigh and opened my lips, and he thrust his tongue inside. Already he was claiming possession of me.

I didn't move to touch him. I sensed he didn't want me to, not yet.

Then, to my surprise, he stepped back and took off his t-shirt and pulled down his shorts. He was naked, I was fully clothed.

He had the longest cock I had ever seen. I stared at it.

It was a power move: he could afford to get naked at this stage because he knew that I knew I couldn't touch him. He smiled at me and grabbed me and kissed me again, grinding his cock into my groin.

Then he lifted my t-shirt and I raised my arms and he pulled it off me. Then he knelt and unlaced my sneakers, and took them off with my socks, then he opened my jeans and pulled them down. I stepped out of them.

He stood up and went behind me, and then I felt him grab my wrists and pull them behind me. The cuffs went on.

I was very exposed. He came around me again and looked me up and down, then he twisted one of my nipples, hard. I gasped.

He grabbed both of them and twisted them. I gasped with pain. I don't like having my nipples twisted, it does nothing for me sexually, but it certainly put me in my place as regards the power balance.

'Do you like that,' he said.

'No,' I panted.

'Do you want me to stop?'

'Yes.'

'Do you think I care?'

'No.'

I eyed him as he stood before me, looking me up and down, and then he seemed to think that it was time to move on, because he leaned over, picked up his shorts and put them back on. Then he went behind me again.

And this time, I felt the broad sleep mask slip over my forehead and descend over my eyes, the padded interior forcing them shut. I made a slight whimper.

'I'm going to turn on the camera now,' he said, 'all right?'

'I can't stop you,' I said tensely.

There was a pause. Then he slapped me on the ass, through the fabric of my boxers. I gasped.

He did it again. And again. And again. It stung. But I stood there and took it.

Then he pulled them down at the back, exposing my buttocks, and did it again, harder. This time, it really stung, plus he was now claiming more ownership of me by exposing me.

He grabbed my shoulders and made me turn around, giving the camera a view of all sides of me. My genitals were still barely covered, but that was all.

'You know everyone can see you,' he said.

'Yes...'

'Everyone can see the bitch-boy in the dungeon with his master, ready to be used. You want to be used?'

'Yes...'

There was a pause, and then I felt something sharp and metal gently push at my skin.

I sensed it was a knife, although from the way the pain vanished as soon as he took it away I could tell must be a pretty blunt one, not capable of easily piercing my skin.

Still, I stood there trembling gently for a few moments as he prodded my body all over with it: my belly, my chest, my shoulders, my neck, my thighs, my buttocks. It was a pure power move. If I made a false move or jerked suddenly, I could get cut. It was intoxicating. I felt light-headed.

'People want to see you naked,' he said. 'Do you want them to see you like that?'

'Oh...' I panted, 'no... please...'

'You realise that you can't stop me from stripping you? That if you become naked that means that we have to go a lot further?'

'Please, no,' I whimpered.

'I don't think you have a choice,' he said, and he firmly dragged my boxers off me and down my thighs, so that I was finally naked. He took them away from my feet.

I stood there, blindfolded and cuffed, and breathed steadily, awaiting his next move.

He uncuffed me but then raised my arms up and I felt them being cuffed again to a rope hanging from the ceiling.

'Oh, god...' I said.

'Now you need some more pain, I think,' he said, and I felt the first stroke of the whip.

It wasn't really all that painful, just a brief sting, but it was humiliating to be naked and blindfolded and dangling helplessly from a rope while an older man whipped my buttocks and belly and groin. The groin especially stung, and I would make shaky whimpers and twist on my rope every time he struck me there.

After a long time, my body was blazing and I was damp with sweat. He stopped whipping me and I hung there, blind, breathing heavily.

And then it hit me: cold water. He must have flung a bucket at me.

It wasn't icy cold, but the shock took my breath away, and I made shuddering moans as I twirled on the rope.

And then his hands were stroking me, inside furry, warm gloves, massaging me, drying me. My tingling body was soothed and I sighed.

Then there was a pause, and then I felt the sting of the whip on my bare buttocks again, and I gasped.

We went around like that a couple more times, until I was begging him to let me down. He uncoupled my hands from the rope and I sighed as my arms came down.

He took me by my arm and led me slowly across the room.

'I won't let you bump into anything, don't worry,' he said.

'Thanks,' I panted.

'Stop,' he said. 'Stand there.'

He let go of me, and I stood there, aching slightly, feeling very alive.

'Put your hands out,' he said, 'and bend over slightly.'

I did so, and I touched what felt like a leather-covered padded bench.

'Get on,' he said. 'Face to your left.'

I carefully felt it until I knew where it was, then I lifted my leg and got onto it.

It was indeed some kind of bench, and he took my hands and cuffed them one by one to metal bars, so that my arms were stretched out before me and to either side. Then he raised my ankles and cuffed each one to metal bars behind me. I was securely in place, shackled on my belly on the padded bench. I couldn't see and I couldn't get off. He manoeuvred me and my cock and balls fell into a gap in the bench so that they dangled underneath it.

'Now,' he said, 'your reward.'

'What are you going to do to me,' I said, dry-mouthed.

'You thirsty?'

'Yes.'

Water was tipped into my mouth and I swallowed.

'I think you know,' came his voice.

Then I heard a click, and the whirr of a motor.

'Oh god,' I moaned.

I felt him smearing lube over my asshole, and then sliding some of it inside me. I gasped.

I had never been subjected to a fucking machine before. I felt a thrill of nervousness. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

I felt the slick rubbery tip of the dildo nudging me, and I whimpered. It was poking my arse almost mischievously. Fortunately it wasn't moving back and forth too far, or too fast.

He moved my hips so I was at the right angle, and then he turned off the machine and moved it so that it was pressed lightly against my arsehole. Then he turned it on again.