Jimmy's First Alpha Read
For those of y'all who were asking about how to support me on socials - I'm RubMyButch on BlueSky, and I don't do a lot else. That, and you're already reading the blog - but if you want to support me by re-blue-sky-whatevering my posts, I would be most grateful. The audience for this has been agonizingly slow-growing.
This is a little bit of an experiment - I sent this text mostly in chunks to Jimmy, who was thoroughly involved in the evening's debauchery, telling him the story as I was making my notes. I'm going to leave a lot of the original format in; it makes it a little rougher to read, but it also gives some insight into the writing process. It jumps around. It skips and doubles back. I understand the craft of writing; what I have here is not even an entire rough draft, it's chunking of the notes, which are then used to write the text. But my point is, this is how my brain works. I think this is how a number of autistic people's brains work, just from reading I've done and conversations I've had. It skips. It doubles back. It runs two tracks at once, which occasionally merge into one, in a scene that I keep seeing with some cartoon cat and a railway car or something like that. See - random references pop up. And yes, I get it - that's what you do to get the ideas out, and then you go and ruthlessly prune and cut and rearrange, and that's how you make a tight slick story. And that's not what this is. This is a display of my process, a look at the pre-rough-draft stage, which I think is beautiful in its own chunks-on-paper way. It's kind of a cutaway view showing the anatomy of a post and how it happens.
I've always liked drawings better than paintings.
There's something about drawing - trying to capture the moment of light and shade and angle - that is transformed in the act of painting, into something designed to make an effect, rather than a capture of the moment.
The videos are still hot if you don't want to read it this way.
The end part was sent to a nun named Patty. Yeah, one of those nuns.
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Thank you again for introducing me to your friend. Y'all were awesome.
You are absolutely welcome. ![]()
I don't remember if I told you... but when I started doing these, it was just me sending chat messages to horny like-minded pervert friends of mine telling them about some hot thing that happened at a pool party or the bath house. And then it turned into what I started calling "Stoner Sex Thoughts" - because I was most of the time stoned while I was fucking, and I mostly get stoned again to get in the right frame of mind for writing about it the way I want. Many famous writers drink - I find that I don't get the creative drive from alcohol, but weed makes me both mouthy and creative as well as horny as fuck... so I go with it.
But, the thing is - I still type them out almost always in a chat window first. It's telling hot sexy gossip with a kinky friend who gets it. It brings out something in the telling. Most of the times it's a guy I've played with at least once or twice, so there's some understanding of what I mean and why I value the things I mention often. If this is too much text window for you, and you'd rather see the finished thing with the editing done and the layout and all that... I will bother another buddy with it next time. BUT, if it turns you on... and I hope it turns you on... you'll be the first to read it, and the first to see the video bits of what happened.
So.
I take a Lyft car.
I don't do this often, but I really do enjoy the ability to leave a party stoned and know that I'll be safe getting home. I have difficulty estimating when is the appropriate time to stop fucking and go home, and, well, you were there. The hottest stuff sometimes happens right at the end. Anyway. This Uber shows up, and it's NEON green outside with black trim and interior. Neat guy driving - we have a conversation that mostly wanders across how amazingly terrifying it is to be gay (me) and Latino (him) in Trump's America, and how many things Republicans are trying to screw up for America and the whole world. He drops me off, and I go up to the house. I've been here once before, at Troy's previous birthday party (So... now, you, as a fellow party-invitee, know who he is, in the other post: https://rubmybutch.blogspot.com/2024/07/so-when-youre-fuckin-sheep.html (and I try to get the embeds tucked in, so that I don't lose where I want to link)
I remember the house, and there's a disco light inside the front glass door with a sign pointing right, to go around to the gate. It's a spectacular house, on an amazing site; it looks out the back onto a green sward almost like a golf course, but it's just private lawn space for this little conclave. Kind of a pocket park, you might say. The kids can kick a ball around. Anyway, the house is higher than the pool, and then there's a stepped deck edged with big potted suculents and cacti, and then a set of sails hung on a big framework to block the neighbors seeing anything of the back of the house. Since I was here last, they have put in tall obscuring hedges, so now much less of the back of the property is no-go area. One of the things I love about gay guys who fuck in back yards - they generally follow the rules and the tribe will police the party. If you see somebody about to wander out of the wrong hedge, you stop them and explain. You help your drunk friend who wants to go out the front door and forgot to put clothes on. When I think about the extraordinary level of privilege that allows me to attend a party like this - it's heady stuff. And I know a lot of guys will scoff and think, "Heady stuff, yeah, right, hit the poppers again, queen," but seriously... we live (at least for the moment) in a society where, by following certain fairly simple rules, we get to have beautiful and, and this is important, PRIVATE experiences like this. That's one of the foundational concepts that the Right is taking aim at - and make no mistake, they are after Obergefell's marriage and Lawrence's private bedroom behavior before they're even done washing Roe's blood off their hands. But, for the time being, if you have sufficiently high fences and hedges, and you're not doing offensive things where a street view would offend the average citizen in your area... it's not the business of anyone out there, what's happening.
And, believe me, I think seriously about the fact that I'm telling stories on a subculture that's flying under the radar. I'm not trying to draw the attention of the Fed. BUT... I feel like I'm documenting the last prom in Pompeii [aside - incidentally the title of a party I went to with a SUPER hot architect I hooked up with years before I met my husband. But the idea was amazing - togas, but with a late-eighties party city pack of stuff that all the outfits were decorated with - and then some people came with some 'after' looks that were awesomely horrific. And a ladder we climbed up to go to bed. He's the one who got the cockring study.] The thing is, whether or not the future goes horribly awry and we devolve into crony fascism, I want to have a record of this time, which for me is beautiful and sincere and impactful.
I use a kind of lazy trick to get the videos from my phone onto my computer where I can do the editing and make sure I've cut out faces if I said I would, and trim things to length so that some things get left out. I think I whispered to you some of the things that got left out. If I didn't, remind me next time. But you'll get this HUGE burst of text. Feel free to respond if you want to; let me know if there's something you'd rather not have published (like - if you tell a personal story aside that shouldn't be in the blog post. I totally get that. There's stuff I don't put in it of mine. I'm not on the clock. I try to be scrupulously honest in things like descriptions and whose noun got verbed by whose orifice... but if there's a portion that doesn't get written about, that's sacrosanct.
Mon 01:13
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I realize that I haven't even made it around the pool. I see the really cute boy I had so much fucking in Dan and Dave's garage [see also: Not So Lazy Susan] is manning the DJ booth. I go over and run my fingers over his shoulder, and he turns and gives me a hug, keeping one hand on a knob for a second before he lets it go and turns fully to embrace me. He's so sweet, and we hug for a second, but he's also got a job to do, so I continue on my path to at least make a lap of the pool. I haven't seen the Birthday Boy yet, and there are some friends I want to make sure I catch.
In the little hot tub, which is only tepid on this balmy summer night, there's a buddy that my Husband and I have hung out with at some nudist events, and I give him a hug, although it takes a few turns of his face before the little analytical engine in my brain catches enough screenshots to compare to his file... and I recognize who he is. It's been months since I've seen him, so I haven't seen his "today" look, if that makes sense - and he's wearing a ballcap, which is another confusing factor. And the other guy with us - is the partner of DJ boy. I remember that we talked at that prior party where I was so vigorously sodomizing his partner.
He's got this cute little mustache; he's kind of medium-bearish with black stubble on his chin and head. I ask if I can rub the back of his head; he tells me he can do anything I want to him. I rub his butch haircut as he rubs mine, and I tell him that's how I came up with RubMyButch - because of how much I love that velvet-run-backwards sensation of having someone stroke his hands or other body parts over my beard, my hair, my eyebrows. I mean, I love getting kissed - but somebody who gets in there and stims on my texture playground - that's some hot makeout mojo. This is the autistic fuckery I need. I tell him that my only real complaint so far, is that although I've seen and hugged a few friends making my way from the gate to the house to the deck to the bar, etc... nobody has sucked my dick yet. It's very sad. I lift and drop my plump but limped penis by way of example. He says he'd be happy to remedy this state of affairs if I'd like - and so I sit up on the little ledge around the hot tub, and he starts in.
He's good. Oh, my, GOD he's good. I pull his head forward so I can rock my hips and drive my cock into his throat. He just keeps swallowing. After some time, he splutters out drool and mucus as he gags, but stays on me until he taps off. I explain, about how he has the three options: tap out, throw up, pass out... and the only option is that some guys don't puke in the body's last-ditch effort to clear the airway, and some guys do, and it's something over which he will have little control. I explain very clearly how I want him to tap out. The whole time I'm talking, he's suckling my cock in the back of his mouth, looking up at me and nodding in agreement, but with his throat full.
I make him take my dick out of his mouth and confirm that he's aware that the risk of death from drowning in this situation is not negligible. He confirms his consent, and I make sure I back up enough that if he DOES pass out, I can ensure he falls forward onto me instead of into the water. Kids... needless to say, this is risky and honestly dances on the Mendoza Diagonal of hot and stupid. Do not do this.)
Yes. I'm not denying that the fact that I make him acknowledge out loud in front of other people, that he realizes the risk of death in this situation is a thing, to me, is crazy hot. I'm not saying that I'm ever careless about the risks. I'm saying, that with another experienced player, you can take precautions in a way that makes it roller-coaster scary. The risk of death is there. You work close to the bull. But you don't ever, ever not be fully connected and aware doing it. And holy fuck, he just keeps going. I stand up, so that I'm on the sitting ledge where he's kneeling between my feet, with my feet under water but my knees above the pool edge; again, I've got leverage enough to pull him backwards onto me. But he holds until he gags repeatedly and taps, again and again. Some guy I don't know walks by and stops slack-jawed to watch. I forget exactly which words he used, but he tells me he's never seen the like. I tell him, I love being that for guys. Someone who's a first for something like that. I like giving guys novel experiences. Again... that needle cuts deep in the groove. But he just keeps going... I'm alternating between holding my hands on the back of his head, and holding one on the back of his neck and one under his jaw, thrusting it forward to open his throat more. I cuss and struggle, "Come on, cocksucker, open that fucking throat" and he obligingly gasps and gags and splutters and splorches. I'm slimy halfway down my thighs. I'm in heaven. And I start to ejaculate. It goes in his throat... it comes out his nose. I bark out a single Ha! of laughter, just out of sheer surprised delight. It's one of a couple of Alaskan Fire Dragon moments for the night. I laugh about it in a slightly more human-sounding voice, and explain about the Dirty Sanchez list [see also: Substitute Player Part 1]. More than a couple of guys have gathered to watch now, because it's one of those noisy, flashy things... and as we're just kind of hanging out, and talking about how fun this whole thing is, and what fun it is being a kinky sex pig... he's still fondling my nuts, kissing them, trying to get them into his mouth (the normal one plays along; the hydrocele one resists...) and he goes back and forth sucking my cock.
I never got really soft, and I feel it start building up again, hardening and filling back out, and realize that I want to get off again in his throat. It kind of takes me by surprise, because I usually want some down time - but yeah, it's still going on Round One, but a repeat. I pound hard. I hold my dick and wag it back and forth, and make him say aAaaaahhhhh... because I see it in straight deepthroat porn, but rarely in gay deepthroat porn. I hadn't tried it before. It feels fucking awesome, but it also makes him make this kind of hilarious and somewhat humiliating gargling warble. Hot... unusual... AND awkward?? RIGHT in my wheelhouse. So he makes that noise for me for a while. And I fuck some more. And the second round starts. That fast on the heels of the first, it's not as intense, but it does give me the shakes for a minute, and then my whole body kind of relaxes. I sit down, letting myself melt in the warm water. Okay. That... well, we're gonna call that one, and two. Hot damn. I haven't made it around the pool yet.
Sorry. I got sidetracked looking at the sparkler. That isn't yet. It's still daylight.
After I have run out of energy, he's still kind of gently mouthing my cock, balls, thighs... like, he's not trying to rev the engine, but he's keeping it running in case I'm not done yet. And, to be fair - it worked like four minutes ago, so, definitely worth trying. I enjoy the sensations until I'm at a point where I need to get up. Once I do, I remark that what I need now, is to piss - and I don't remember where, in this particular back yard, that corner is. If you haven't gone to a gay pool party (especially a BEAR gay pool party), there will generally be a designated spot where guys piss outside, so that they're not going into the house wet. Sometimes it's a urinal, either single or trough-style; other times it's just a spot on the fence where the grass never grows. It almost always reeks. It's very... manly smelling. Like a fox's locker. (and if you know the author on that phrase, you and I have had good times with Mr. Pratchett. )
One of the guys points to a metal-fenced area with a light and a stock-tank set up as a gang urinal. It's plumbed, a long shallow trough-style urinal like you find in rodeo bathrooms with a proper drain. There's a LOT of guys pissing. My furry friend who has just Hoovered my penis twice shows me the way. He explains that if I'm interested, he's thirsty. He smiles, raising an eyebrow. Um, yes, please. We stand out of the way of the stock trough so that we're not blocking the path, and he kneels down. I have to talk for a second... because getting that stream to start, needs a kind of involuntary muscle relaxation, and I have to distract my busy mind to let the body take over.
I tell him that what I always visualize in these situations, is something like the Eagle or the Door... a seedy bar where you can smell the piss no matter how often they mop, because it's not just going in the urinals here, it gets on the floor and almost certainly the walls. The ceiling wouldn't surprise me. But that smell, that masculine reek, permeates this tiny little fenced back yard, and... and yup, there it goes. The piss starts to flow. He swallows. I push forward, and I get it lined up so that he swallows my soft-but-tumescent cock, and I just keep pissing, right down his neck, depositing a big full bladder right into his stomach. I pull back and spray some over his face, his chest, his belly... and then put it back in his mouth and piss some more.
I haven't been documenting ass smackings, but there have been more than a couple. I have several conversations about managing spanking intensity; I have always want to be a top that someone can explore a kink with. So I give a couple of "give me a four out of ten" kind of spankings. I get to redden some really sweet cheeks. I've got my paddle with me, but the hand gets more use; I make one brilliant handprint on a guy who walks by, and show it to some guys I'm talking with, explaining that he and I have some history, and I don't just randomly beat strangers.
Mon 03:16
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You sent
OK.... so actually that's the load I blew watching the video of you and me and Mister Bridgerwood with the exposure blown out.
And thinking... you don't want your face in video.
And imagining, if it makes you face yourself (ha) differently, and think about whether you want your face in it.
I'm calling the post Jimmy's First Alpha Read. I like going meta with this stuff. Especially... and I need to write up that bit, too... when you told me you can get off to the blog, and that conversation.
[Backfill: I run into Jimmy as I work my way through the crowd. He's always beautiful, but he's looking particularly sexy this evening. His pale skin practically glows under the party lights. We hug, and he tells me how much he enjoyed the posts I've written that he figured in - [see also: A Very Beary Bar Crawl, Racy] He says he can get off just reading the descriptions, although he enjoys the videos as well. This sentence kind of makes my night. Then, later, he kind of makes it all over again. But for now, that's what I missed in the first round of exposition.]
Mon 10:17
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Heh heh... I wish I'd had about two more hours... I always feel like when I have to just block in notes at the end, it feels kind of rushed and uncertain. It gets cleaned up a lot, obviously. And things like playing with Cid's pussy will get inserted (hah!) in the correct part of the narrative. So you see a moderately rough version, although a lot of the language will show up in the same paragraphs in the final.
Mon 11:18
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I'm going through the fifty-minute video... I won't post an hour of just the noise of me going around a party, but you do hear some things like, "Oh, are you ready to go again?" "Yeah... this guy right here is about to suck my dick...." so there's some hot stuff that kind of illustrates (or, provides a soundtrack for) the text. I like some of those - it give you like the auditory version of a peeping Tom experience. And I find sex noises very erotic.
Mon 13:59
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Let me know if you want to keep reading as I flesh out more of the evening.
You sent
The part with you and Brock is going to be fun.
Thu 23:08
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Hey! I know the text-dump can be kind of overwhelming.
You sent
What I really need to know... are you OK with me posting that hot video where you gag on my hand. Or, if not the exposure-adjusted version, are you OK wiht the original version where it's pretty dark?
10:25
Jimmy: I’m good with whatever
Post away
You sent: OK. Thank you. I just didn't want to show your face, if you wanted it hidden. 😉
Jimmy:😈😜
- The couple with the Asian guy and the white-beareded dude who barfs
- The enthusiastic Latino who wants to be the center of all the attention
- Jimmy and his friend Brock.
- Cleaning up; Troy being human.
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