Why It's Hell to Be a Bottom

Why It's Hell to Be a Bottom

Do a Google image search for bottom and this is what you get.

No matter what they say, every gay guy in the universe is willing to bottom out for the right person—or even the wrong person—but not me! I am what is known as a total top, so much so that I don't even enjoy my annual digital prostate exam! My butt is tighter than Pierce Brosnan's forehead. And why would I want to be a bottom anyway, even an occasional, recreational one? The guys I know who feel their evening might end with a penile plug spend the whole day dealing with that dramatic possibility. They have to run to the bathroom every five seconds to douche out their last meal and make sure their sphincter is cleaner than the Taj Mahal on visitors day. They never look totally convinced, so back to the loo they run for yet more of that infernal scrubbing until their orifice is as inhumanly free of debris as Miley Cyrus's hair. For these obsessive butt rinsers, bottoming becomes a full-time unpaid job, often one without any payoff or benefits! Sometimes they don't even end up getting fucked, and that's part of the pathos-drenched responsibility of being a bottom: You have to be constantly ready—an anal intern on 24-7 call—even if a schlong never pokes its way towards your tonsils. I'll stick with topping, honey. Rather than empty my tuchus all day, I'd rather accessorize someone else's.

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