A gay story: The Gay Submissive: My Struggles Why do people give sexual control of themselves to others?
*Buzz**buzz**buzz*
I woke to the vibrating sound of my phone. It was my husband, Sam. Ashamed, I ignored it. How could I tell him that I was in another man’s bed? How could I tell him that I was having an affair with my ex-husband, Raghu?
Raghu and I were university friends who bonded over our closeted homosexuality. Friendship turned into love, ushering in wedlock. One of my earliest fond memories of being married to him was quite silly. Flat on his back, he used to lower his pants and expose his belly. I would unsheathe my penis and start masturbating to him. The gush of semen would fill the crater of a navel he had. Raghu would smile and make me kiss his wet navel. He would reward me by telling me that I was a good doggy.
Being sexually submissive was in my nature. However, constantly having sex and obeying Raghu took a toll on me. What started out as innocent fun, like nibbling chocolate syrup from my nipples or slurping whipped cream from my penis-pole, soon became too demanding for me. I wanted a long-term, conservative marriage while he pushed the boundaries of being liberal.
Ultimately, we de-coupled. I separated from him and eventually mustered up the courage to file for divorce. Raghu complied smoothly, not before making a bold statement. That he would make sure I would be back in his bed. That I would keep coming back to him as many times as he wanted. My sexual control was in his hands, I had grossly failed to see it back then. So much so that I thought I would actually be able to move on after a second marriage.
Yet, here I was in Raghu’s bed, in his naked embrace for the umpteenth time like he had predicted. Why couldn’t I move on from him and devote myself fully to Sam? Why was I willing to have sex with Raghu whenever he summoned me?
Maybe because, despite his sexually manipulative history, he was a champion lovemaker in bed. The way his pelvis effortlessly attached onto my hips made my body dance. It made me clutch the bedsheets and moan every time. Even last night he ejaculated potently inside my anal cavity.
Psychosexually, I was conflicted. I even proposed to Raghu that I would even divorce Sam so that he could marry me once again. But Raghu being himself laughed off my suggestion. It was way more fun for him to sexually claim another man’s husband in bed. He feasted on my cowardice, bedding me as he willed.
Fast forward to right now, he was still asleep. Raghu was like a big brown bear in stature, snoring and scratching his belly unknowingly. I managed to crawl out of the snuggled unison of our naked, sweaty bodies. Raghu’s bachelor pad was an odd abode. Chaos and order coexisted in harmony. While the bedroom was a pig sty post-sex, his little library next door was immaculate. He had books ranging from governmental policymaking and extrajudicial treaties to curing STDs contracted through homosexual intercourse. I quite liked the book he had on ancient Babylonia and how male suitors wooed each other back then.
When he wasn’t making love to other men, Raghu loved channeling his radical, pro-homosexual ideas through online forums. Being a righteous keyboard warrior against heterosexual dogs gave him purpose in life. Plus, these forums were a great place for Raghu to pick up gay men. He would make love to them at home and discard them like a piece of meat immediately afterwards. I wish I could be one of them.
Alas, I was still firmly in his grasp after all these years. I hope he wakes up soon so that I can ask his permission to go see my husband. Oh Sam, I don’t deserve you!
However, there was no time to sob. Raghu had a strict policy I had to follow. Whenever I crossed the threshold of his house, I would need to cook and clean properly. It was the least I could do for being bedded according to him. So I got to work, straightening his filthy house before he woke up. The dress code for the house was underwear only, another progressive policy set by Raghu. In my beige underwear, I cleaned the floors and picked up every trace of condom wrappers and shrimp bits I could find. The humid kitchen awaited me next. I hope I could whip up something proper to satisfy his enormous post-sex appetite. I sincerely hope….