The View From The Bottom

Warning: the following material is rated 'L' and contains material not suitable for exactly those people who disregard warnings like this one.

Here we sat, two women enjoying a late night meal at one of the many ubiquitous Las Vegas sushi venues. This particular establishment boasted an incredible view of the strip just a few miles away, no doubt, part of the draw, for the fish here was fresh but not just-caught fresh, and the portions were adequate but nothing to praise. Certainly not for the price, anyway.

The clientele was quite a bit more funky than typical; it was a favorite hangout for big-name poker players, the cast of Cirque, and a few other Vegas celebrates. Tables were close enough to hear each other's conversations and join in, if desired. To our left were two boys on a first date- whatever that meant. They were from the same small town back in Kansas but had met online while both just happened to be in Vegas. They both were named Thor... Thor Hanson Zach, and Thor Hanson Issac. Mmmm... bop?

Thor #1 had colorful sleeve tattoos up and down his arms, neck, and who knows where else. Thor #2 looked like an out-of-place wanna-be yuppie. Both were here to play poker, but beyond that was a mystery. Well, they were both quite gay, but that seemed normal here, despite the high numbers of breeders here for a quirky date.

I was here with - let's call her Amanda Huginkiss - who was very proud to be known as a regular here. The hostess was petite and obviously of two races, but it was not obvious to me which two. My ability to differentiate between South American races wasn't very good (not having met many) and what blending of races I had seen come from migrating around the world from America, through Europe, and on into Asia. Coming from the other direction was a completely new experience. Further, my judgement was thrown off being in a Japanese environment. Was she part pacific islander or part Mexican? It was impossible for me to tell. She was lesbian, however... you can't fake the affection she was giving to Amanda, nor the unease Amanda had in returning it.

So there we were, on the surface, two lesbians enjoying some raw Hawaiian Kingfish. Of course digging deeper revealed another story! Amanda was anything but a woman! I mean, she was, but her mind was more male than most men! Her body was also producing more testosterone for her age (40) than most men. Oh, she had a vagina, but that's where the similarities with a woman ended.

I of course, was anything but a woman. I mean, I am... my mind is more female than most women, but my body still bears an elongated clitoral organ- a birth defect from being born a male.

As it were, we and the Thors were on center stage, surrounded by normals, putting on a show with erudite conversation and charming humor.

It was our third date.

The third date... I knew what that meant. It was no coincidence we were where we were... I was the trophy girl, put on display for approval, being wined and dined at arguably a very chic and trendy locale.

The third date is put up or shut up time, and I'd been there many times before. Okay, not really, but I've heard lots of boys talk about it. And girls, too. Giving it up on the first date is too soon for often they don't respect you in the morning, but if you don't give it up by the third date, they lose interest.

At least, that was the conventional wisdom last time anyone cared to share any of it with me, which was in my early 30s. Granted, many of my friends have no problem with sex on a first encounter... sex is after all, just sex... so the third date was initially proposed to me as a way to not seem so prudish among consenting adults.

The fact of the matter was that even as a boy, I never had sex on a first date or even a one-night stand; I just wasn't wired that way. Well, there was that one time, in Hampstead, north London, at the birthday party in a cute home off of Finchley road. It was my 30th birthday, but it wasn't my birthday party, it was my office mate's bash and I was fresh off the boat from America. If our birthdays weren't enough reason to celebrate, there was also some European-wide talent show called Eurovision going on, and we were each encouraged to come as (and bringing food from) our favorite country.

Eager to show off my cleverness, I came as Belgium, bringing of course, Belgian beer, and "American Peanuts Coated in Fine Belgian Chocolate" I swear, that's what the package said... food labeling was incredibly precise over there, and I, like the candy, was a nutty American wearing a Belgian costume. Here, that kind of humor goes unappreciated, but there, I won second best costume!

I had yet to discover the vast amounts of alcohol Londoners could consume and still be sober. I had only previously been to a pub twice, each time, drunker than I had ever been. Stumbling home was kinda fun, and I was always amazed at how sober everyone always seemed compared to me.

What I also didn't know, was that the game being played that night amounted to a bizarre set of drinking rules which slightly favored the winning country and which also severely pommeled the country getting second place. That year, Belgium finished second.

Not being a big drinker myself, I was totally out of myself, drunker than I had ever been and far away from home, even my London home, with no idea how to get there (I had not yet learned how easy it is to get from point A to B in London). Doubly intoxicating.

Now there was this incredibly charming, large gay man there with two Ph.Ds, one in literature and one in Symphonic Music Composition. Albert and I got along great because, well, I could follow his conversations, but I didn't realize he was gay. Sheltered, thy name was I. It wasn't until his large frame completely blocked the tiny door to the restroom I was in that I realized what was going on. I had not yet had time to explore being a woman in this country and already I was being pursued like one! I was not prepared for this, and panicked. Luckily, someone else needed to use the loo, and when Albert turned around to see who was there, I fled through the just opened crack between his body and the wall and found myself running into the arms of another woman who had also been showing me affections that night. It's awful, I can't remember her name, though I know it's in in a journal written while living abroad (teehee, a broad). I think her name was Elizabeth.

I had been avoiding her all night because she was married... I was, after all, a man of conviction and morals. Strong as they were, however, Albert was stronger and I remember praying I wouldn't go to Hell as I was sitting there snogging Elizabeth. Her marriage was awful; she was Turkish and he was an asshole. His culture was that of treating women solely as child rearers with none of the affection that Western women demand from their lovers. I did feel sorry for her, for I understood the longing within her.

I had just moments earlier learned that snogging was kissing and shagging was sex. She wanted to go back to my place and shag. I knew I could give her a night she'd always remember and I wanted so much to give her some happiness. So, still in denial about my sexuality, and with I don't know how many shots of I don't know what in my system, I said yes, and we went back to my place to commit adultery. Well, she was committing adultery. I was just an accessory.

The morning came with lots of remorse from her. I anticipated that, having been there before, and talked her through it all like the girlfriend she didn't have. There was no way on Allah's brown Earth she could ever tell her husband, and she finally realized this to be true. Then she left and I never saw her again... didn't even have a way to contact her; she was a friend of a friend at the party and no one I knew knew her.

I was thinking of that night in London as this large woman was pursuing me. She reminded me of Albert; big, strong, manly, smart, and way into me from the the first moment we met. I was almost as drunk from her affections as I was from alcohol in that little Hampstead flat.

I first met Amanda during a break in the World Series Ladies Championship. She pulled my arm in the sea of people and turned me around just to tell me how beautiful she thought I was. There was an incredible depth to her eyes as she told me how brave she thought I was, and that she admired me for being there and for being myself among all those women.

I was dumbfounded. No stranger had ever said those words to me before and she said them with such conviction, desire, and honesty, I nearly collapsed!

That night, we got to know each other over drinks at the Rio. She was a massage therapist, working the WSOP and making great contacts. She was quite the woman!

Our second date was over lunch before she went to work, again, at the casino. She was totally not my type, but she was an amazing woman. I began to question my type. After all, my current 'types' had not gotten me very far! I myself was also not the same person I was when my 'types' were my types. I decided on that second date, "so what if she's two of me... so what if she's not my type... let's see where this goes!"

And so here we were... our third date. It was impossible for her to understand my apprehension. Sure, I knew how to please a woman... but as a man... which by all accounts, I no longer was. She had no clue I was a virgin when it came having sex with a woman as a woman. Sure, there were women in the past who enjoyed fantasizing with me as their female lover, but it always ended the same way. That's the reason why those relationships ended... ultimately they wanted me to be the man I was desperately trying not to be.

But Amanda did not see me as a man, nor I gathered, did she have any desire to be penetrated by one... she was a 'top' and liked being in charge. I kind of liked her being in charge. I guess that meant I was her bottom. Still, I was nervous, and the two bottles of sake we'd gone through hadn't yet given me the courage to go back to her place, so we ordered another bottle and teased the dynamic duo to our left.

A double shot of something- I don't know what- arrived with the Sake. It tasted exquisite! The conversation had turned philosophical and as we finished the third bottle, I knew it was showtime. We paid our bill and left to her place. I should not have been driving.

I definitely should not have been texting while driving, but I wanted someone to know where I was going, so I texted Bradly, "It's on with the Lesbian!" He replied something, I can't recall, and by this time, I was having a hard enough time just driving. With earbud on, I call him and he tells me that he's in Primm, on his way home early... I thought that was proper, and armed with this new knowledge that he was going to be at the house, though still an hour and a half away, I thought it most wise to cut the trip to Amanda's short by stopping at mine. Plus, I already had blueberry beer (which she loved, and Bradly and I cared not for) it seemed like providence. Especially since I couldn't find the grocery store. I should not have been driving.

I wasn't going to make it to her house anyway. I barely knew where I was and I was just a block away from home! Plus, we lived in a gated community, with a guard, with machines that photograph license plates. Even if my gut was wrong and she turned out to be a thief, (which I had insurance for) there was someone watching my back. And, even if she turned out to be a murderer, there was going to be a big strong man there to save me if only I would scream. I felt safe.

Everyone says that Vegas is a dark city, that a girl needs to be careful in, but I've lived much more exposed in much darker cities, and have been victim of many crimes. My danger radar had gotten pretty good, if just from experience alone! No, Amanda was a good person with a good heart. My fears dissolved away as we entered the house and walked back to my room.

Thinking ahead, I suggested we play some music. Loudly. I had earlier been playing the top 100 songs of the 80s, and much to my surprise, she saw this and thought it was just dandy. Not my first choice, but it was a night of not my first choices, so I went with it. God, I didn't even know about sex, gays, or lesbians when I imprinted on this music and now here I was listening to this music again, so far from where I was then.

We both freshen up, her first, then me. I come in the room and shut the door.

"You play piano?" she asks hopefully.

"I try," I said, trying to be humble.

She paused the music. "Play something."

I played for her a groovy little boogie-woogie song. It was one of the few songs I could play totally shit-faced simply because I listened to repeatedly it in 4 second segments, at half-speed for nearly a month. It was a hard song to learn, but quite impressive to play.

She was impressed. "Play another!"

I played for her a song I wrote about addiction; drugs, women, life. She listened with interest and I found myself singing the words, something I don't normally do.

Smoke a-risin', swirls around.
Suck it up, take it down.
Smoke a-risin', blue air breathin,
Keeps me alive since you leavin'.

Wonder what I'm takin' baby,
Wonder what I'm thinkin'
but it's plain to see,
I'm not the man I used to be.

Intense giggles as she hears the final line of the chorus. She pulls me to the bed and starts rubbing my arms. She was good; it was nearly orgasmic.

"You're very tense! Have you ever had a deep tissue massage before?"

"I don't think so," comes my slightly-nervous reply.

"Do you have any lotion?"

"On the counter in a pink bottle, labelled 'Pink' ... in the bathroom."

While leaving the room, she tells me to lie on my back. I roll over, seconds later she turns on the music again, at sits on my rear, straddling me, both of us facing South. The combination of thick foam mattress bedding and her weight nearly immobilized me. I tested this theory by moving my limbs to see if I could get any leverage. Her thick legs squeezed shut, trapping mine. No leverage there! I played possum.

She pulled my dress off my shoulders, leaving it lying loose around my waist. I did not anticipate feeling so helpless, yet, there I was, unable to move, unable to change the course of events about to take place. Well, that's the fun of being a bottom, so I just went with it and let her do her thing. I didn't have much choice!

I couldn't remember the last time I was topped; it had been nearly a decade. Curiously enough, it was by another woman with masculine tendencies. Gay masculine tendencies. Her friends found it amusing that for a time, the only gay man they knew trapped in a woman's body was dating the only lesbian they knew trapped inside a man. We were just beginning to play with sex back then, exploring all sorts of kinky.

It's easy to top someone, but it takes training to be a good top. Being a bottom is easy too, especially if you don't know what to do, however, it's also easy to be a good bottom with a good a top, for in most ways, you simply can't help yourself. All a bottom has to do is submit and provide feedback.

It had been a long time indeed since I was topped, but I knew where the night was headed, and it was just a matter of time.

What was in it for me? I had not had human contact for years. No-one to hold, no-one to cuddle with, no-one to lie next to, no-one to feel, no-one to love. Amanada was promising all of these things and all I had to do was wear her out being her toy for that to happen.

I didn't care what she planned to do, there are only so many things can be done to the body, right? I had learned to channel both pleasure and pain, so what was the worse could happen?

Earlier that day, I was giving a lecture, a lesson, really, on the basic appeals of sushi. I was uneasy having to give them to my sushi waitress, but she just was not getting the idea of why one would want hot slices of eel on top of cold pieces of crab, avocado, and cucumber.

It was a make-shift sushi bar off the main entrance to the WSOP. Yay, Rio, thanks for trying, but next time, hire some actual sushi chefs who know how to prepare the cuisine instead of Chinese wok-cookers! I was giving the waitress some reasoning why the chef was being a butthead. Apparently, all he knew about being a sushi chef was to be temperamental!

"You know how here in America, our food is based on taste?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said, half-listening, half-wondering where this was going. I didn't care, I was tired of cold eel and if a two minute course in food appreciation got me warm eel, well, it was worth it.

"Well, in Japan," I made up as I went along, "they have more appreciation for food than just taste. There's how the food looks, for starters. Don't you think this colorful display of fresh fish is closer to art than food?"

"Uh..."

"What about compared to a #2 at McDonald's? Which is more like art?"

"Oh, sushi, for sure!"

"Right, they actually learn the art of presentation- making the food look more attractive- and as opposed to McDonald's, serve it that way."

"Yeah, the pictures always look better than the real thing at McDonald's!"

I was getting through.

"Indeed! Well, one aspect of that is color- see how the color palette is grouped like a rainbow here?"

"Oh, I never noticed that before!"

"And see how this pile of pickled ginger looks like a rose?"

"Oh! And the green stuff looks like leaves."

"Yes... and that's just one way the food is presented to be more appealing, by turning on the eyes. But in the mouth, there are even more ways!" God, I hoped I wasn't boring her. The place was dead, what else did she have to do?

"But what is there besides taste?" she asked innocently. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, there's what's called 'mouth feel,' how the food feels in your mouth. There are gritty things, slimy things, wet things, dry things, crunchy things, soft things, hard things, chewy things... and more!"

"Yeah, I can't stand peas because of how they feel. I mean, the taste is alright, but the way they feel in my mouth, like, gag me!"

"Yes, " I continued, "well, one thing you can do is mix together these sensations in one mouthful for quite enjoyable effects! Take a Snickers bar, it's what? Chewy, soft, hard, sticky..." I was running out of words.

"I think I get it," she saved me.

"Well, another type of mouth feel is mixing temperatures in the same bite- warm and cold, ice and hot, etc. Very interesting mouth sensations when you do this."

"And that's why you want the eel warm over the cold California roll?"

"Yeah, you should try it sometime!"

"Oh, I don't like raw fish."

I thought about telling her that the eel and crab was in fact, cooked fish, and that cucumbers and avocado, though raw, weren't fish, but then thought the better of it. For now, she was just going to have to consider sushi and sashimi the same thing.

My mind was inexorably drawn to this early conversation minutes into the massage. Amanda wasn't playing fair. She was mixing pleasure and pain in an agonizingly seductive way... I was totally caught off guard!

Oh at first, it was your standard Swedish massage and it felt good, and then with no warning, she'd lay into a pressure point which would have blasted me to the ceiling, if only I could move.

First soothing pleasure, then fiery pain, then a nexus of firing neuron activity as the body dissipated the endorphins before she'd start up again. She was a good top, no doubt about it, but I was slowly getting back into a bottoming groove, giving her feedback of both pleasure and pain in what was already an extremely erotic scene, even though everything was still PG-13.

Then, like the artful sushi chef combines different mouth-feel sensations in one simultaneous bite, she started combining body-feels into one agonizingly blissful moment. First came the gentle tickling along with the soothing rubbing of muscles, then, painful pressure-point work mixed with intense tickling. I had never been tickled while in pain before... five minutes into the session and I was losing control already. She was good!

Like an experienced jujitsu fighter, she would encourage my limbs to go where she wanted them, either with a sharp elbow point or with a delicate finger flick, and then should would pin the limb there, in a place where I had no leverage to move it further. I had never been this immobilized without rope or bindings before. She was good!

Once she had me where she wanted me, then she played me like a musical instrument. Rubbing, tickling, pressing - I swear that was cold... where'd she get ice? - talking, biting, pinching, stretching, twisting... I began to lose control of my breathing.

It all comes down to breathing... if you can maintain your breath, you can endure anything life brings you. I learned this ancient trick trough yoga lessons, and hallucinagenic drug exploration, but I had not planned on putting it into practice tonight. I lost breath control and now I was utterly helpless for she was able to make me inhale sharply and exhale - deep or shallow - with skillful precision. She was damn good!

I started to have an out of body experience- there's just so much the mind can take, and the night's mix of chemicals and endorphins had pushed me to my limit. Besides, as she was in control of my body now, my mind was free to do other things. This is a high I've only known through bottoming.

I left my body, desperately seeking sanctuary from the sensations it was filled with. My mind slowly filled the room, and I seeped out the window a bit, up into the tree outside my window. I slowly climbed up the tree, as would an ant, but by the time I had reached the top, I was able to fly and I was jumping from branch to branch, enjoying the feeling of what seemed like weightlessness.

WHACK!

New waves of pain rushed through my body as I felt the sharp slap of heavy, braided leather on my back. A belt? Where did she get a belt? I was going to have to pay more attention to what people wear! The next morning I would learn she was wearing a pink, six-inch wide braided monstrosity of a belt. I don't know how I missed it before!

WHACK!

Dissapating the energy from the belt took quite a bit of work, and I evenutally found my mind had an easier time leaving my body again. Again, I slowly filled the room, then the the hallway, now the living room. I could just begin to feel the kitchen when suddenly I heard my roommate's bedroom door slam shut!

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IS HE DOING HOME!" I screamed without a voice. It had only been 40 minutes - max - and said he was an hour and a half away!

My mind, desperate to find a voice, collapsed back into my body. I was shocked to find myself breathing unconrollably, each inhalation and exhaling breath accompanied by a indiscrete moan... in my day, I was a pretty good bottom, too.

Today, however, I was completely mortified to find out Amanda, after returning from getting the lotion, left the door open! Now with purpose, my mind struggled to regain control of breath. "Shut the door" was all I could muster, replacing the exhaling moan with those three words over and over. It was a start.

"Looks like your roommate is home early," she tosses out casually, as if one often comes home to find their roommate in the throws of simulateous agony and ecstacy.

She uses her leg to shut to shut the door and my leg moves instantly when released. While her attention is distracted I summon my senses. More slamming. Shit, he really sounds pissed. Careless Whisper is on the radio... a quiet song given the circumstances... where was the heavy metal when you need it?

And just like that, a wonderous night turns sour, the bitter for the sweet. I felt awful but at the same time, numb. I prayed it was all just an hallucination.

"Buy the ticket, take ride," Hunter S. Thompson reminds me and I recall all of the trips gone bad, when you push your body just one step too far and now have withstand the roller-coaster decent into a hellish emotional place reserved for all those who have exprienced too much enlightenment too soon. A sort of decompression chamber, necessary to prevent the spiritual bends, as it were.

She turns her attention on me again, and having already learned my buttons, she quickly overrides my emotional centers, reducing me to a writhing, squirming chunk of flesh, probably not unlike the fish we were eating before it was killed, flapping around the boat, like me, desperately trying to breathe. This time, I'm having a harder time controlling my breath, but I'm managing, now very much conscious of the noises my body is producing.

Sensing the shift in control, she sticks her finger in my mouth. Now moistened, she thrusts it in my rear. I'm reduced to puddy again. It has been far, far too long since I've had that kind of stimulation and now, it's simply too much! I no longer have the strength to fight, nor the will to try.

Buy the ticket, take the ride.

Base, animal instincts take over. I go in and out of conciousness. She orgasms... then again... then again. I'm no longer aware of my surroundings... there is just her. She smells like man.

Finally she's had her fill. She holds me, I'm still shivering. She's concerned I didn't orgasm, despite the marathon tantric session. I tell her that is a pleasure I fear I'll never know again, and simply ask that she hold me.

"You really are a girl, aren't you?"

I don't reply. I finally have what I was looking for... human affection. I was being held, I felt loved. Oh, I knew it was just a one-time thing, I knew it wasn't real... but still, it felt like love. I lie there, still a bundle of emotions: joy, shame, fear, happiness, sadness, longing, love, delusion. I begin to cry, I can't help myself, and we fall asleep as the light from the first rays of dawn slowly fill the room.