I should probably come with a waiver.

This started out as a series of texts sent to a friend after a particularly hot night chasing tail at the baths. I ended up with a lot more thinking as it went on, and it kind of got... well, you know. 

I felt so fucking dominant last night. The guys I fucked, and the guys who watched me fucking them... making men kneel and suck my cock until they gagged and half-puked in front of everyone, then spit the slime they've gagged up into my hand, and I explain to this sweet obedient boy, that those guys who say you can't possibly fuck a guy with just spit, don't know shit about spit and where to get it, and how to use it for fucking; this stuff is like human J-lube!  And I reach two fingers into the bottom's throat and gag him and make him spit even more of it into my palm and lube up my cock some more, then wipe it on his ass and then give it several resounding smacks. I love when the guys standing around jerking their dicks are halfway between turned on and uncomfortable; some of them definitely had that look that says "Oh, that's a little, um, I SAY, did he just make that other man say 'I'm a cocksucking faggot' with his throat full of cock? I'm not sure whether to be turned on or disgusted. My cock says YES, but my mind says he's using the language of oppression and hatred, even if he is using it in a performative fantasy-based experience aimed at integrating difficult experiences into an eventually healing erotic psychodrama." (in my fantasy version, everybody's inner voices are both really horny, and very well-read and up to date on interpersonal power dynamics and the therapeutic use of role-play) It's still a little, um, it pushes some buttons with some people. Some very conflicted buttons. 

One of the guys I had the most fun with (encounter-time wise, and fucking-in-front-of-people wise) was this beautiful dark-skinned man - I'm betting he gets called Black, but I wasn't sure looking at him if his heritage was African or Middle Eastern. Short waved dark hair, beautiful thick lashes, dusky caramel skin... it doesn't matter which continent he's from, he's beautiful. Anyway. As I was watching him gag on my cock, and he had his phone camera running, close in on his face, as I made him say "I'm a cocksucking faggot" with my cock aaalllll the way in his mouth, which was of course a bunch of gibberish coming out, WHICH I mocked him for AS he said it, and I helped him along with the rhythm by shoving his head up and  down on my dick, kind of moving his head like a puppet as he made muffled garbled sounds around the head of my dick... I was thinking about the guys who want race play. And I've got a few of them. And it makes me REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE. And it also makes me REALLY HARD. And I think, I can put myself in the thin sad flip-flops of that guy who was standing there masturbating with the self-hating look on his face. It's just that with "faggot," I'm violating a different space, and in this case, one that I feel like I have my own key to. I have no power in a racial space. Or rather, no equitable power that isn't deliberately handed to me by someone who owns that key. It still makes my brain hurt. 

It also makes me think about the nature of consent in public sex in a sexual space like a bath house. I mean, I negotiate consent with guys I fuck, and especially with guys I hit or verbally abuse. I check in. I talk about limits and what's OK. Are you a naughty boy, or a filthy cocksucking faggot? You will name your terms, and they'll be the terms I call you by. Or, you can give me an acceptable range, and I'll improvise and you can adjust it as we go. I love dirty talk, and I'm GOOD at it, ironically, despite being often not very good at social conversation - it's a combination of creative writing and performance art. It's stroking, teasing, fondling, and hitting people with words. Even in front of an audience... ESPECIALLY in front of an audience, I make a point of negotiating consent, of checking in, of making sure my partner is OK and in the good hot place, because the people watching and jerking their dicks need to incorporate that consent shit as part of the hot part and get used to it, because that's the difference between being a Dom top and being an asshole. I think about how it was when condoms were so important in porn and in real life before PrEP, and I remember how hard they tried to eroticize condom use in some studios, and I feel like I owe them an apology for not realizing how crucial that was, and how it probably helped me still be negative. 

Anyway, I get it; the fantasy doesn't have a part where the rapist pulls the duct tape off your mouth and asks you about your hard limits... but that's the difference between a BDSM sex scene and a violent crime. Sometimes, it's physical negotiation - like, you arch your back and present your asshole, that's consent to get fucked in the ass. But I'll still ask, when I get to the part where I know it hurts him, and I can see on his face that it hurts him... I'll ask "Does that hurt you?" and if he tells me yes, and he looks like the right kind of guy, I'll ask, "Can I keep doing it? Does it turn you on as much as it does me?" If he says it doesn't hurt, I'll tell him, "I respect what you're saying; if it changes, you know how to tap out." ANYHOW... Sorry, got off track... I have negotiated consent with the guy I'm fucking/hitting/degrading. He's told me what kind of language is OK. I literally met him fifteen minutes before, but I know he's my cocksucking faggot boy for the evening; we worked it out in just a few quick sentences back and forth. "Can I hit you? Any hard limits on where? How spicy do you like your dirty talk? You want encouraging and kind, or degrading and mean? How long since your last meal?" But, I haven't had any negotiation with the guys who are watching. In most of these situations, walking up and watching is a kind of consent, but at the same time, they can walk up and watch, and not expect to get touched without consent... but then I can come out and make this beautiful man demean himself in front of everyone, and Mr. Flip Flops didn't consent to seeing that bit. 

He didn't sign up for verbal violence, or the appearance of verbal violence. If he doesn't know we're playing, it looks like I'm a bullying asshole and I'm physically abusing this guy and mocking him while I do it. With a putative Black man's skull gripped firmly in both my undeniably white hands so I can shove it down hard on my cock, there's no way to avoid the implications of racism - it's baked in to the situation, especially in the South, even without me saying a single word. But saying "Mmmmf a KGfsmfkggg Fgggttt" in an namby-pamby voice as I bounce his head up and down... isn't making me seem like a nice guy. And the man I was playing with, he and I both had an AMAZING time, and he shows up in another of these little rambles later on. I'll probably play with him again if I run into him again, and we'll probably do more twisted freaky fun stuff, because we both get into it. It makes me think about marit ayin, the concept in Jewish law (and no, I'm not Jewish, also not circumcised, but I lived in a Jewish house for some time, and know a lot of the brachot in Hebrew) where you can't do something that's actually OK but LOOKS LIKE a thing which is *NOT OK*, because people will see you doing it, and think it's OK to do the bad thing. I want guys to watch me check in with my bottom, and think that it's sexy to get consent before you do the really weird stuff. Ask before you hit somebody; ask again before you switch from the hand to the belt, kind of thing. But - I want people to see the whole performance, including those parts; I want them to watch the credits and read the fine print in the program, because if you come in halfway through the show, it's a whole different story. You miss the part where we all agree that we're going to the land of Make Believe Hot Fantasy Fuck, and we're all in on the game. 

I think I should probably come with a waiver.