I'd fallen away from bumming somewhat during the 90s. I was a young man, I'd taken to sleeping with girls (like a *****) and most of the bumming required box office fees which I couldn't then afford.
However, I felt lucky to have won first prize in a "Win a Night Of Bumming With Prince Naseem Hamed" competition. I didn't really know much about him, but he phoned me up and assured me it would be worth my while.
"Get your lickle arse down t'Sheffield and I'll bum it into next week," he enthused, "trust me, La il laha il Allah, I'm a wikkid bummer. I bum the best, man, masha Allah, come and get bummed by Nazzy."
Well, by these words I had no choice but to be fully erect. I got a taxi all the way down there, not heeding the expense, and couldn't wait to be on the receiving end of a solid pounding. No ****.
I finally got to meet him, and the experience wasn't quite what I expected. He just had his hands down for most of it, almost like he was expecting me to walk right onto his chopper, and only made the occasional thrust, like he thought he could make me cum with one ****. He did bum hard - he fractured my pelvis - but it was inconsistent.
Even stranger, when I was face fucking him, every time my glistening shaft missed his mouth and landed on his chin, he'd fall straight on the floor. To his credit, he'd get straight back up and continue the bumming, but it wasn't what I'd hoped for.
Eventually I started to get rough with him, mauling him in bed, at one point getting so ***ually aggressive that I slammed him face-first into the bed post.
I spoke about it years later to friends, and I never really could get to the bottom of it. Friends from the UK insisted that he was a truly great bummer in his prime, and he'd shown signs of slipping when it came time to bum me. However, American pals were adamant that I had the greatest asshole he'd ever tried to bum, and had exposed his deficiencies. Like I say, I didn't really know much about him, so I was never sure what the real story was.
I offered to bum him again, but his heart didn't seem in it any more. The last thing I heard, he'd given a hand shandy to an Argentinean and then retired from the bumming game.
Over the years, I looked back and reflected upon how we can never truly know anyone, perhaps not even ourselves. Mostly though, I reflected upon my prolapsed anus.
However, I felt lucky to have won first prize in a "Win a Night Of Bumming With Prince Naseem Hamed" competition. I didn't really know much about him, but he phoned me up and assured me it would be worth my while.
"Get your lickle arse down t'Sheffield and I'll bum it into next week," he enthused, "trust me, La il laha il Allah, I'm a wikkid bummer. I bum the best, man, masha Allah, come and get bummed by Nazzy."
Well, by these words I had no choice but to be fully erect. I got a taxi all the way down there, not heeding the expense, and couldn't wait to be on the receiving end of a solid pounding. No ****.
I finally got to meet him, and the experience wasn't quite what I expected. He just had his hands down for most of it, almost like he was expecting me to walk right onto his chopper, and only made the occasional thrust, like he thought he could make me cum with one ****. He did bum hard - he fractured my pelvis - but it was inconsistent.
Even stranger, when I was face fucking him, every time my glistening shaft missed his mouth and landed on his chin, he'd fall straight on the floor. To his credit, he'd get straight back up and continue the bumming, but it wasn't what I'd hoped for.
Eventually I started to get rough with him, mauling him in bed, at one point getting so ***ually aggressive that I slammed him face-first into the bed post.
I spoke about it years later to friends, and I never really could get to the bottom of it. Friends from the UK insisted that he was a truly great bummer in his prime, and he'd shown signs of slipping when it came time to bum me. However, American pals were adamant that I had the greatest asshole he'd ever tried to bum, and had exposed his deficiencies. Like I say, I didn't really know much about him, so I was never sure what the real story was.
I offered to bum him again, but his heart didn't seem in it any more. The last thing I heard, he'd given a hand shandy to an Argentinean and then retired from the bumming game.
Over the years, I looked back and reflected upon how we can never truly know anyone, perhaps not even ourselves. Mostly though, I reflected upon my prolapsed anus.
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