Chapter 1 — Sometimes, I Want to Fuck Too

It wasn’t that long ago. By then, Sarah Park and I had pretty much tried every position and act we could think of.

We hadn’t done anything extreme, but since Daniel was just as much of a pervert as I was, the more time passed, the more we craved something fresher, something new.

We had this small dildo we used to play with, and he loved tormenting me with it.

It wasn’t insanely large, and the vibration wasn’t bad at all—so much so that I often felt pleasure more easily from it than from his cock, mouth, or hands. Sometimes even more.

But one day, curiosity hit me hard. I had plenty of gay friends and had watched countless hardcore Western pornos.

If men could clearly feel sexual and psychological pleasure through anal stimulation, why weren’t we trying it? That sudden question led me to blurt it out straight that very night.

“I want to try something.”

“What?”

“I want to stick that dildo up your ass.”

I wasn’t joking. I said it in bold, capitalized letters. He froze, speechless.

For a second, I worried I’d come on too strong, so I let out a soft “Aaah~” and started coaxing him with cutesy, fake baby talk I never used.

“Men can feel it there, you know. Just once. Let’s try it just once.”

“No way! I’m not gay!”

“Hey, only gay guys do anal? There are straight men who enjoy it too!”

“Yeah, but… I don’t want to.”

“But women do anal too, right? You see it in porn. Why can’t men?”

“It’s weird!”

He finally raised his voice. “No! It’ll hurt! It’s gross! It’s weird!” he shouted.

“If it hurts, I’ll pull it out right away. I promise, seriously!”

“But… why do we have to do this?”

“No, no—just once. I’ll put it in and take it right back out. Just once. That’s all.”

Who would’ve thought I’d be the one saying “put it in and pull it out”? Maybe I had a bit more male hormone in me than usual—but as I kept repeating those words to persuade him, even that moment of persuasion became a kind of foreplay for me.

Realizing he couldn’t win against my stubbornness, he finally gave in. “Fine. But only once.”

After showering, we lay side by side on the bed. He glared at me like he wanted to kill me—eyes full of hatred—as I gripped the dildo tightly in both hands, staring at him with wide, eager eyes. Then, with the deepest, most resigned sigh a human could make, he got into a prone position.

“No, no—you need to do the cat pose.”

“What’s that?”

“You know, when I ride you from behind? Like that.”

Trying to ease his tension, I spoke in a deliberately sultry voice.

Normally, he’d have smirked. This time, he lifted his hips without a trace of humor, raising his upper body slightly.

Ah, the strange thrill of that moment! Seeing a man with a full-grown cock sprawled before me, openly exposing his anus—it stirred something indescribable inside me.

Whether it was tension from awkwardness, something twisted, or just unfamiliarity, I didn’t know—but my heart began pounding wildly.

“I’ll go slow. Gently.”

I poured a generous amount of pre-prepared lube down the crease between his plump ass cheeks. He flinched and twitched his hips.

Once the clear, sticky liquid had thoroughly soaked his hole, I carefully brought the dildo close.

“It already feels like it’s gonna hurt.”

“Stop whining. I haven’t even put it in yet.”

I said firmly, slowly applying pressure. He let out a sharp “Ah!” and began groaning.

Then, I experienced something astonishing. His anus suddenly acted like a black hole, sucking the dildo in with intense force.

Ah, so this is why men love anal so much.

I thought quietly to myself.

“Does it hurt?”

I asked after about half of the 15cm-long dildo had slipped inside. When he didn’t answer, I gently started a piston motion. And then—another shock!

“Mm… c-can you go a little harder?”

To my surprise, he was asking for more.

I smiled faintly and increased the speed and strength. His cries of “Ah! Ah!” gradually shifted from pain to excitement.

We stopped talking entirely. I focused on thrusting while he lost himself in sensation—and at the same time, I reached around with my other hand to stroke his cock, wanting to give him even greater pleasure.

“Ugh… stop, stop…”

When I touched his rock-hard dick, he whimpered almost tearfully. I didn’t stop. I kept going, wrist straining, barely flexing the biceps I hardly had, determined to push forward.

“Ahh!”

Suddenly, he screamed, springing forward like a released coil. Startled by his abrupt reaction, I quickly pulled out the slick, dripping dildo, terrified I might have hurt him. I inspected it fast—no blood. Instead, thick droplets of what looked like lube—or something else—dripped heavily from its tip.

“Why? Are you okay?”

“Ahh… huff… huff…”

He kept making strange, unidentifiable sounds. For the first time, guilt crashed over me like a wave, and I pulled him tightly into my arms.

“I’m scared.”

“What? Scared of what? Did it hurt a lot? I’m sorry…”

“No… that’s not it…”

“What is it? Tell me. It’s okay.”

“It felt… too good. That’s why I’m scared.”

After that, I never brought it up again. For days, he complained to me about feeling confused about his identity, like his sense of self was crumbling.

Eventually, we stopped seeing each other for various other reasons. Since then, I’ve made the same request—just once—to every man I’ve dated.

And so far, every single one has said no.