“I’m not sure I can endure any more” he said, as I swivelled my index finger around inside his arse.

I stopped moving my hand. Endure? Endure???

During sex, I have had a few things said to me, in the heat of the moment:

• Like ‘I can’t take this any longer’ as I teasingly ran my thumb along the length of his cock;

• I’ve been asked to ‘slow down, I don’t want to come yet!’ whilst I eagerly sucked his glans;

• I’ve even been told ‘oh god, please, I need to come – now!’ as I gripped the base of his shaft and controlled the timing of his orgasm.

But I have never had someone use the word ‘endure’ with regard to something I was doing to them sexually.

Until now.

I removed his cock from my mouth and looked up at him. He seemed distant. The fact that he was no longer grinding his arse against my finger seemed poignant. I pulled my finger out of his arsehole, kissed his pelvis gently and asked him if he was ok.

“Yeah, I’m fine” he said, somewhat insincerely. “I just couldn’t take any more”.

I felt awful. Was my finger action really that bad? He had seemed to like it up until then; becoming rock hard when I stroked him with my lubed-up fingers around his cock and perineum. And when I licked him up and down his shaft and teased his arsehole with my fingertip, he had pushed himself onto my finger furiously; my finger not so much penetrating him, as him forcing himself down onto it.

“Was it really that bad?” I asked him worriedly, feeling that yes, it probably was.

“No, it wasn’t. Just, that, well, I couldn’t endure it any longer”.

Again, with that word. My god, my technique must be dreadful. How come the other two guys I had done it to, spurted in buckets? Fuck, maybe I was out of practise.

“If you had to endure it, it must have been awful. I’m so sorry – I wanted it to be pleasurable. Please, tell me, how can I improve?” I gave his cock a gentle stroke and smiled at him enthusiastically.

He gave his cock a little tug and then pulled it away from my hand. I noticed him begin to soften. Oh god, I must be crap in bed.

“Well”, he began, “it was just that at some point the pain overtook the pleasure. So it became uncomfortable. That’s all.”

Oh god, I am crap in bed. “I’m really sorry. I thought you were enjoying it. I wish --- you had told me you weren’t. I thought you liked me playing with your arse.”

“I did”, he said, sitting up. “But I’m not gay or anything.”

Gay? Gay??? Oh great, I’m in bed with a homophobe. Typical. Just my luck.

“What does being gay have to do with anything?” I asked, confrontationally.

He shifted awkwardly in the bed. “Well, you know --- the arse thing. It doesn’t make me gay.”

“I never said it did.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m not like that.”

“I never thought you were,” I said, all my male-on-male fantasies involving him, evaporating instantly. “Anyway, what does having a finger stuck up your bum have to do with being gay?”

“It’s gay to have had something in your arse. But I’m not like that.”

“Does that make me gay then?” I asked him, belligerently.

He looked at me confused.

“I’ve had a cock stuck up my arse, and that’s a lot bigger than a finger, so by your theory I must be very gay” I continued.

He sat there and looked at me for a moment, clearly shocked by my reasoning and shook his head. “No. It’s different. I am a guy; you’re a girl - it doesn't count.”

Oh great, I thought, I'm with a guy that is not only narrow-minded, ignorant and homophobic, but hypocritical and sexist too. How the hell did I end up in bed with him?

How sad that he must be so insecure about his sexuality that he has to question his enjoyment of anal pleasures. How awful that he felt he had to reassure himself - and me - that this act was solely heterosexual: what a head fuck that must be. And how pathetic. No wonder he went soft.

I looked at him lying there, remnants of lube and my saliva drying on his now soft cock and felt a mixture of pity and annoyance; if he had been a more open-minded man I might have bothered to enter into a philosophical argument about sexuality, the male g-spot and anal pleasure.

But when he was in such denial about his own - clearly obvious - desires in this department, it seemed pointless to debate it any further: men like him need work and time and with his being a homophobe, it made it seem like a fruitless task for me, so I decided I wasn't going to see him again.

Even though he was a superb pussy eater.