In a detailed educational tome I was reading on the subject of preparing for amusement by one’s most secret, private and sensitive toy, the instructions indicated that—for mild to moderate petting or stroking of the anal lips, deep and vigorous prostate punching or punishment, pubes-to-ass-ring bumping and scouring, even animalistic “Top-as-bull” impalement, a rinse of ½ litre of water should suffice. The intended submissive partner should lie on his or her left side, let the liquid just gurgle and slosh inside until it quiets, then finally expel and repeat. I prefer to repeat several times because I enjoy the feeling of being perfectly cleansed for long sessions, but for the the most common type of shag (which I’m told takes straight men about 15 mins), “less is more” and a couple or three squirts should do it. My prep procedure for anal play takes (most of the time, if in an ideal environment) about an hour because I also like to slather on, then massage in thoroughly, the most rich and luxurious emollients, both to show respect to my Top and ensure that our mutual plaything feels wondrous and inviting. I love to feel my anal flesh glide over a tightly engorged yet spongy glans, then clench down over the ridge of the corona and tighten my sphincters onto the shaft. And for me, it’s always best when, after I’ve rubbed a creamy or oily balm into my opening and the interior walls, I can take his entire organ, clear to the base on the first thrust, with no other lubricant except a drop or two of pre-cum. Ahhh! Heaven!
As an aside: I also learned from reading what a convenience it is to always carry a small bulb syringe or douche syringe in one’s backpack or pocketbook to be completely ready and prepared should someone’s eyes meet yours while you’re out and about. Naturally, it’s ideal to be invited home by someone who lives nearby, but as an alternative, I find the men’s changing rooms at both Neiman Marcus and Men’s Macy’s at the Beverly Center to be quite accommodating. In clubs that draw a youngish crowd it’s always adventuresome to try to navigate one’s way through a gyrating mass of flesh while sporting a well-placed hole between the glutes of one’s trousers. And the infractions one can enjoy in the back seat of a taxi, if the driver is both hot and cool and will pull over, shut off the meter, then watch the coupling. Sorry. I’ve drifted a bit…