Sex never felt right to dr34m, not that it wasn't good, but he just didn't understand what got everyone so excited about it. To him, it's fine- just fine. Not great or earth-shattering or anything. And he likes women, genuinely, he's never doubted his attraction to them. He thinks they're pretty, and he doesn't regret any of the times he's slept with one, but he just can't shake the feeling that he's missing out on something, that sex is supposed to be better. When he eventually recognises his attraction to men, it stirs up a hope in him. Perhaps thats what he's missing. When he brings a guy home from the bar, he thinks that maybe that will be it—his epiphany, his earth-shattering moment—but, really, it doesn't feel any different than sleeping with girls. If anything, it’s more draining. He’s so new to it and yet expected to take charge and control the situation, to top. There isn't even any discussion about it. He is big and broad and tall, so, obviously, he tops. After that lacklustre encounter, he goes back to girls; he's more used to it so he just accepts the mediocre one-night stands.

Until one night he's at another bar and the opportunity presents itself in the form of a guy inviting him back to his place. The man is about dr34m’s size, if not a little smaller, and dr34m can hardly contain the swirl of butterflies he feels when he boxes him in against the wall of the dingy bar. It feels good to be caged between his arms. For once, dr34m actually feels a rush of excitement travel down his spine. So, he giddily follows the stranger home. But, as things get heated, the other pushes a bottle of lube into his hands, and instantly his excitement drains. Of course, he’s a top. Just because this guy is more dominant, it doesn't change the fact that this is how people see him. This is his role. As he pushes in and the man beneath him writhes, he finds himself thinking, not for the first time, that he doesn't like this. In fact, he distinctly doesn't like this. He doesn't like taking charge; he doesn't like having to think about what happens next. He doesn't like having someone under him expecting so much of him. He doesn't like this; he doesn't like topping. His movements stutter as that thought infiltrates his brain. He doesn't like topping. It feels shameful to admit it, even if it's just to himself.

After that night, he doesn't really do much with this new information. But it's always there in the back of his mind. He thinks about it more than he would like to admit. Pondering what it would be like to be on the receiving end for once. To be treated like those girls he brings home. He thinks about it so much that he starts to crave it. When he jerks off, he imagines it, a large man hovering over him, making him feel small, and telling him how good he’s doing. That image is enough to get him off most nights; he barely even has to touch himself. But he still doesn't do anything about this desire. It would be ridiculous anyway, a man well over six feet tall with a broad and sturdy body like his looking for someone to fuck him into the mattress. It is never going to happen.

Eventually, he grows curious enough to explore himself a bit alone. He feels dirty doing it, even in the privacy of his own room, but it's the only thing he can think of to satisfy that craving. He feels exposed like this, laying on top of his bedsheets, on his back, legs spread wide, with one arm reaching down between them. The position makes him blush, and he tries not to think about the way it causes a wave of arousal to swirl in his tummy. The first finger feels weird, intrusive even, and it has dr34m questioning if this is really something that he wants after all. But he presses on through the discomfort, cringing at the stretch that a second finger brings. He lets himself adjust for a moment and then pumps them in and out slowly, acutely aware of the stinging starting to dissipate.

Soon enough, it starts to be replaced with a strange needy but pleasurable feeling. He surprises himself, letting out small sounds out of his own volition, the pleasure building a bit along with that needy feeling. It isn't enough. dr34m whines as he speeds up his hand and pushes in deeper. He feels good, so fucking good, but it’s like theres something just out of his reach. He shifts his hips up, changing his position a bit, and suddenly he feels a white-hot pleasure for just a moment. He gasps and desperately tries to replicate that motion. He moves his hips again and curls his fingers a bit, and just like that, he feels it and lets out an embarrassingly loud sound as his body vibrates. It's unlike anything he's felt, and if he wasn't so lost in trying to hit that spot over and over again, he would be mortified by the breathy moans and whimpers he's letting out.

He comes within a minute of finding that spot. He's sweaty, sticky, and hot, breathing heavily in his empty room. And he’s never felt more satisfied in his life.

He makes a Grindr profile soon after. And maybe it's a bad idea. Ok, it's definitely a bad idea. It’s stupid and irresponsible, but he’s horny, and he wants to get fucked. No, he needs it. Fingering himself only makes him realise how much he needs it. He mentions his preference in his bio and hopes that he gets a response. It doesn't take long before he has men messaging him, and he doesn't waste any time in picking one. He briefly considers if this would make him a slut, but he hardly has it in him to care. He arranges the hookup for later that day. He’s finally going to get fucked.