Men Go Their Own Way Pt. 01

(This is a story which is going to explore quite a few non-consent themes and tropes, so please be warned. It's a fantasy, although some of it is from personal experience.)

I don't remember what I was thinking, the night I decided to join the Men's Group.

I wish I could remember. I'd go back and tell me not to.

***

I was bored and lonely at home, and since nobody else I knew was available to go for a drink, I decided to wander down to the community center, to pass the time between the end of work and dinner.

In the center, I scanned the noticeboard.

A sign said 'Men Go Their Own Way. 6.30pm. Room B.'

I had heard of those guys, but I had never met them face-to-face. I thought that the whole thing was vaguely comical, but it might be even more amusing if I met them. I went to Room B.

There were about twelve guys in the room, getting cups of coffee before we all sat in a circle. They were a variety of ages; the youngest looked about twenty, ten years younger than me; the oldest maybe sixty.

None of them looked particularly happy about going their own way, although one or two were quite good-looking. In fact, none of them were completely repulsive, which sort of surprised me.

We sat down in a circle, and a guy named Phil introduced himself as the leader. He was about forty, bespectacled and balding. I was sitting on his right.

'We're meeting here because we're men going their own way,' he said. 'I think we can all agree that modern society has handed all power to women. Women get special treatment in the workplace, they have more rights than men, they are always believed whenever they accuse a man of anything, and in reaction to that, the Men Go Their Own Way movement has arisen, to provide a space in which men can talk about things that are of interest to them, and we can finally do without women entirely.'

I sipped my coffee.

I was not greatly impressed with Phil. I thought about my last girlfriend, who I'd broken up with the previous year. We were still friendly; in fact, she'd invited me to her wedding. I wasn't yet sure if I was going to go, but Phil's little speech about how women had it better than men did not ring a bell inside me, that's for sure.

Every woman I knew had a story about how some man had, at some point, given her some sort of unwanted attention, ranging from annoying to frightening to traumatic.

No man I knew had similar stories.

Phil said that we would go around the group and introduce ourselves and explain why we were there, and he started with the guy on his left.

Well, the rest of the hour was mostly given over to each guy complaining at great length about the women in his life and women in general. I got so bored that I stopped being able to tell them apart. I was just waiting for my turn, and then I could go home and heat up some pizza, and have a glass of wine and forget about these guys.

I did get to know them later on, but... we'll get to that.

When it came to my turn, I introduced myself and then turned to Phil.

'Is it okay,' I said, 'if I ask the group a general question about sexual orientation?'

Phil frowned.

'Well,' he said, 'as long as nobody has to answer it.'

'Of course not,' I said. 'I was just wondering, of the group, and obviously you don't have to answer... how many of us here are straight? If you put up your hand if you are, and it's understood that not putting up your hand doesn't mean that you aren't.'

One by one, they began to put up their hands, until finally all of them, except me, had a hand raised.

'Right,' I said. 'I was just wondering, because I'm bisexual. I don't seem to have had the problems that you guys seem to have had with women. I get on with the women in my life, and if I want casual sex, I can always find it with a guy.'

There was a deafening silence.

Finally, the youngest-looking guy, who was scowling at me, said 'Then why are you even here?'

'I was just curious to see how you all go your own way,' I said. 'But you seem to be still kinda obsessed with women. I thought we would be talking about guy stuff.'

'What do you suggest?' said a guy in his forties, wearing a suit, who looked slightly less annoyed than most of the other guys. He was one of the best-looking, too.

'I don't know,' I said. 'Just as long we don't sit here spending our entire time bitching about women, that's all.'

'But they're the problem,' said the young guy.

'But the name of the group is "Men Go Their Own Way",' I said. 'Why don't we just go that way, then?'

The young guy opened his mouth to speak but Phil intervened.

'You've made an interesting point,' he said, 'and I think it's good to have a variety of different viewpoints in the group. I hope we'll all come back next Thursday but I'm afraid we have to call it quits for now, because the tae kwon do people need the room.'

We got up and put our empty coffee cups in the bin. I headed for the Gents. The coffee had been my sixth cup that day, and I had to pee.

I had finished and was washing my hands when the good-looking suit guy came out of one of the cubicles. He nodded at me.

'I thought you made a good point,' he said.

'Thanks,' I said.

'I don't really want to sit and talk about my ex-wife,' he said with a smile. 'But it's what everyone else seems to want to talk about.'

'Well, if that is all anyone else wants to talk about, I'm not coming back.'

'That'd be a pity,' he said.

He hesitated, and then said 'Can I ask you a personal question?'

'Sure.'

'Are you seeing anyone at the moment?'

'No.'

He nodded, and stared at the floor, and cleared his throat.

'I was wondering,' he said, and paused.

'Do you want to go for a drink with me,' I said.

'Would that be something you'd like to do?' he said.

'Sure,' I said, 'but just a drink. I need my dinner soon.'

'Great,' he said, and smiled.

I thought, Fantastic teeth.

***

Over a beer in a nearby bar, we chatted about life and... stuff.

He asked me how long I'd known I was bisexual. I told him I'd figured it out in my teens, but had seldom acted on it until my twenties.

He tentatively asked me about my first sexual encounter with a man, and I told him the truth: I'd met a guy online, he'd come around to my flat and had fucked me.

'So you're a... a bottom, right?' he said.

'Pretty much,' I said.

'With women, too?'

'Not as much as I'd like to be. But sure.'

'What's it like?'

'What's what like,' I said, feeling provocative. He glanced around and leaned forward.

'You know,' he said. 'Taking it.'

'Like giving yourself to someone.'

'Like women do,' he said. 'Being vulnerable.'

'I suppose.'

'Isn't it dirty?'

'Doesn't have to be,' I said. 'I like to wash myself out beforehand.'

'Ah,' he said, nodding.

I regarded him steadily.

'You're gonna tell me you're bicurious,' I said.

'Well,' he said, 'what if I am?'

'Nothing wrong with it,' I said. 'But you'd be surprised how many guys say they're bicurious, but talking about it is the only sex they'll have. I've had so many conversations online where the guy tells me everything he wants to do to me, but then that's it. I'm sitting there mentally planning times and availability, but he's jerking off, and when he's done, it never happens.'

'That must be frustrating.'

'Very.'

'Out of curiosity,' he said, 'would you have... me?'

'Sure,' I said, smiling.

'I wouldn't just talk about it,' he said.

'I hope not.'

'Can I have your number,' he said.

I scribbled it on a piece of paper and gave it to him.

'I'll call you,' he said. 'Maybe.'

'I just met you,' I said. 'This is crazy.'

He looked puzzled, then he laughed.

'My daughter loves that song,' he said.

***

Daniel was his name.

He did call me.

We arranged to meet in my flat, on a Saturday afternoon. I got up, breakfasted, shaved, cleaned myself inside out, and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

Presently the buzzer rang, and I let him in. He knocked on my door and I opened it.

He was in casual weekend gear, but he was a tall, solid man, who could knock me flat.

He looked at me as the door closed behind him, then he leaned down and we kissed.

He put his hands on my ass and squeezed it, then raised them to my t-shirt, which he lifted. I raised my arms and he pulled it over my head, and off.

I love being stripped.

He must have sensed that, because then he stepped back and looked at me, and I could see how much he wanted me.

He reached forward, opened my belt and my waistband of my jeans, and pulled them open. I shucked them down my legs and kicked them off. Now I was just in my boxers.

I stared at him.

He reached forward and, with one stroke, whipped my boxers down my hips, stripping me nude. I gasped.

'You're gorgeous,' he said.

'Thanks,' I said.

'Show me the bedroom.'

I took his hand and led him to my bedroom, giving him a good view of my naked arse, then when we were inside I turned and sat on the bed.

He stood before me, and took out his cock. I looked up at him and he pushed it at my face.

Obediently, I opened my mouth and let him in.

He was still fully clothed. I sensed he wasn't going to be undressing. He had got his naked little bi boi to strip off, and now I was to service him.

I am not great at blowjobs, but in his case it didn't seem to matter. He was rock hard. After a while he pulled it out of my mouth and put one hand on top of my head, holding me in place, and jerked off rapidly with his other hand. I looked up at him, my mouth slightly open, waiting.

I knew what was going to happen. His breathing got faster and he was panting and then he let out a sigh, and he came in gushes right over my face. I closed my eyes.

I heard him coming down, and kept my eyes shut because his cum was all over my eyelids. Then I heard the sound of a cloth wiping something, and then his fly zipping up.

'Thanks,' he said briefly, and I heard the bedroom door open and his footsteps going down the hall and then the front door of my flat opening and closing.

I sat naked on my bed, my face covered in his semen, feeling rather like a cheap whore. But there was nothing else to be done.

I wiped my eyes as best I could, then headed for the shower.

***

I went back to the group the following week. Again, I'm not sure why.

This time, I felt slightly less unwelcome. Phil opened the discussion by talking about how we had been talking about more positive approaches to going your own way, and then invited me to talk a little more about my experiences as a bi man.

So I did.

I talked about how I'd been attracted to guys since I was young but had suppressed it for years, and only admitted it to myself in my teens. At 19 I'd had a couple of experiences, mostly making out with guys, and then at 20 I'd had my first sexual experience with a guy I'd met online.

The other men listened, and while some frowned, others seemed genuinely interested. The younger guy was frowning but he also leaned forward and listened intently.

'But what do guys do in bed?' he asked.

'What do you think we do?' I said.

'Butt sex.'

I laughed.

'Well, yeah, you can do that. I happen to like it, but plenty of guys don't. Some guys prefer using just hands or mouths. Or toys.'

'But you prefer anal sex?' said an older guy.

'Yes,' I said, blushing.

'Giving or receiving?'

'You don't have to answer that,' Phil said.

'It's fine,' I said. 'Receiving, actually.'

'Isn't it dirty?' said the younger guy.

'Not if you wash yourself inside, which I do,' I said.

'Isn't it rather... effeminate?' said the older guy.

'Believe me,' I said, 'there's nothing more masculine than two guys having sex.'

He nodded thoughtfully.

Later, as we were getting ready to leave, the younger guy came up to me.

'Listen,' he said, 'about last week... sorry if I was a bit short with ya.'

'It's fine,' I said.

'It's just ignorance,' he said. 'We're not taught this stuff. You're the first gay or bi guy I've ever met.'

'Well, we were all there once,' I said.

'Listen,' he said, '... would you be interested in going for a beer sometime? I'm kinda curious.'

I smiled.

'Are you,' I said.

***

Well, we did go for a beer.

It became two beers, then four. Then it was late night.

His name, it turned out, was Pete. Pete and I were in another bar; darker, noisier, more crowded, more strangers. He had been telling me all about his unsatisfactory love life and he was now quite drunk.

'It's so much easier to talk about this to a guy who...' he said, and searched for the word.

'Is a good listener?' I said.

'Nah,' he said. 'Who isn't competing with me.'

'How do you know I'm not competing with you?' I said. 'I told you, I'm not gay, I'm bi.'

'Yeah, but you could have whatever guy you want. You don't have to have a girl.'

'I don't think I could have any guy I want,' I said. 'I'm not such a catch.'

'Hey, don't be down on yourself,' he said. 'You're a beautiful guy. You are.'

'Thanks,' I said.

And then he was kissing me on the lips and sticking his tongue in my mouth.

We got an Uber back to my place, and Pete rode all the way sitting next to in the back with his hand resting on my crotch, stroking my cock through the fabric of my jeans.

We ran up the stairs and as soon as we were in the door he was shoving me against the wall and taking my jacket off me and kissing me again. I wasn't sure how long he would last before either passing out or thinking better of this, so I went along with it.

Soon he was ripping open my jeans and taking them down, and I kicked off my shoes. He was undressing too. I took off my shirt and was in only my boxers and socks. I ran to the bedroom and he followed, in his jeans, minus his shirt.

We were rolling on the bed, and he took off my socks and took out his cock and then peeled my boxers off me.

'You've got a great arse,' he panted.

'Thanks.'

'I'm gonna fuck you.'

'O-okay,' I gasped, and he got behind me, and his cock stabbed between my buttocks. I lunged for the side table and grabbed the lube and handed it to him.

'Here,' I said.

'Thanks,' he muttered and I heard him squeezing some out, and then his lubed cock was parting my buttocks and he was pulling me into him and pressing at me.

I moaned, because it was quite painful--he hadn't made any effort to open me up. But there was something arousing about how eager he was.

He pulled my naked body into his partially-clothed one, and then he was up inside me and I was whimpering as he pumped into me. He put his hands on my face and squeezed it, and I'm a sucker for that. I like to feel like someone's using me.

'You're so fuckin' hot,' he panted in my ear.

'Oh god,' I whimpered.

'You feel me inside you?'

'Yeah, you're inside me, you're fucking my ass, you're fucking my ass, oh god...'

His cock was pounding into my ass so hard that my whole body was jerking as he did so. He was bending me backwards. One of his hands grabbed my cock and pulled on it. I sensed that he resented that I wasn't a girl he could do this to, so he was doing it extra-hard to compensate.

Not that I cared, because the pressure of his cock up my arse, and the vigour with which he'd stripped and overpowered me, was doing what it always does. I was making incoherent moans and gasps, and I felt it happening, and then my cock was flooded with warmth and spurting cum I had no idea where. (It ended up on my bedroom floor, I later found out.)

I made high, girlish cries as that happened, and he made a shuddering gasp and then I felt him cum inside my rectum, his semen flooding me, warm and moist.

I love that feeling; the supreme intimacy of having another man inside me, knowing he's just experienced ecstasy from penetrating me.

Then we lay there, panting, sweating, for a long moment.

Then, he withdrew his softening cock from my arse, and let go of my face.

I blinked and rolled onto my back, rather dizzy from the buggering he'd just given me.

Pete was sitting up on the side of the bed, looking rather dazed himself, and he looked down at me and looked away.

'Okay,' he said, half to himself, 'okay... Um.'

'It's all right,' I murmured, and reached out to touch him.

'No,' he said abruptly. 'Um. This didn't happen.'

He was facing half away from me. I sensed that if I tried to be tender, or to make him feel that it was normal, things might get nasty.

I withdrew my hand.

'This didn't happen,' he said more firmly. 'Sorry. I don't do this.'

'Okay,' I said quietly.

'I've gotta go,' he said, and stood up, shoving his cock back into his jeans. He went out to the hall.

I listened to him getting dressed and then leaving the flat. The door slammed behind him.

So I had turned another. Except that he'd never admit it.

I sighed, got off the bed and walked to the bathroom, to clean myself up.

***

I showed up at the next meeting, mainly in order to show Pete that I wasn't scared of him or his homophobia. He avoided my eye the entire time.

This time, I arrived in a mood where I was too pissed off to speak. It was the usual round of complaints about women, ill-informed bitching about feminism, nostalgic bullshit about the better times when gender roles were 'understood'. Only two men were less inclined to speak up than before, Daniel, who seemed vaguely uneasy that I was there, and Pete, who was definitely uneasy that I was there.

I knew why, of course. I was their guilty secret: the queer guy that they'd been with out of curiosity.

One guy, in what I estimated was his mid-forties, was particularly eloquent about the grand old days when women knew how to be treated by a man.

His name was Bryan, and he had a very expensive suit, and a neat haircut and very good skin. The smell of wealth came off him. He was full of stuff about 'ladies' and 'gentlemen' and 'the nuclear family'. He used the word 'woke' a lot, with a faint sneer.

I couldn't help it, I had to say something.

'It's all very well being nostalgic,' I said, 'but we can't go back to the past. We have to live in the present.'

'How do you know?' he said, seeming to notice me for the first time. 'I can say with complete confidence that the women who have gone out with me get first-class treatment. I have never been anything less than a perfect gentleman. But now, it's like if you insist on paying for everything, you're insulting them. I mean, it's madness.'

He spread his hands and looked around the group, expecting to be agreed with. Phil nodded, frowning. One or two of the others agreed.

'Because it's not a transaction,' I said. 'You're treating it like if you take a woman out for dinner and you're nice to her, she pays you back in sex. If she wants to pay for her half of the meal, that's her wish, and that means she owes you nothing.'

'But when I take a woman out for a meal,' Bryan said with immense self-satisfaction, 'I can make her want to spend the night with me.'

'So what are you doing here?' I said. 'Why aren't you out wining and dining?'

'What are you doing here?' he shot back. 'Why aren't you at a... gay bar, or something?'

'With the greatest respect,' I said, politely inclining my head, 'we're not talking about me. Answer the question.'

Bryan paused, and sighed.

'What can I say?' he said. 'They've changed. They've introduced all these rules. The young women these days aren't like the ones in my time.'

Ah, I thought. That's it. Bryan doesn't like the fact that he's got older, and he doesn't want to date women his own age. And the younger ones don't want him, because they see him for who he is.

I decided not to say anything.

Afterwards, as we were leaving the building, there was a tap on my shoulder.

I turned, and it was Bryan. Oh ho, I thought, beginning to feel like a pattern was forming.