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Are people turned on by being choked?

Holy fuck are they!

There was a whole world out there that had never occurred to me, and soon I was falling down a total rabbit hole about sadism, masochism, choking, spitting, degradation and praise kinks…the list went on and on. And the more links I clicked, the more things I learned…the harder my cock grew against my zipper.

Apparently, the way I’d choked Andy, today and in high school, was incredibly dangerous and could cause serious damage to his windpipe. I was actually supposed to be squeezing, not pressing.

Not that I cared. Because I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to turn him on, I was threatening him. Paying him back for ruining my life. For taking the one girl I thought I really loved.

Of course now I knew that wasn’t true. Delia was a distant memory and I was more pissed about Andy taking her than I was about actually losing her.

I flicked open the button on my jeans and slid my hand inside my boxers, the zipper spreading on its own as I stroked absently over my cock, the thumb of my free hand still scrolling through an article about what happened to a man’s body when airflow is restricted during climax.

So maybe Andy’s hard-on had nothing at all to do with me, and everything to do with a kink I’d stumbled into by accident. Would he get hard for anyone who grabbed his throat?

I didn’t actually like the thought of that, so I brushed it aside. Not sure why it bothered me to think about it, but too close to release to fucking worry about it.

Dragging my fingers over my tip to gather the precum leaking there, I spread it down the length of my shaft, my eyes fluttering closed as my balls tightened against my body, pleasure ricocheting through my nerve endings as my mind shifted from reading about choking in general to thinking about my hand curled over Andy’s throat.

My orgasm exploded out of me, thick, hot strings of cum spraying up my chest as I grunted, my muscles constricting until the grip on my shaft became painful, but I held it a few moments more, understanding that thin line between pain and pleasure a hell of a lot more than I could have by just reading about it.

Reality crashed over me and I pulled my hand away from my dick, my chest heaving and my head swimming as I realized that I’d just jerked off thinking about Andy Simpson.

And I’d really fucking liked it.

I pulled my t-shirt off and used it to clean myself up, balling it up and tossing it to the floor as I opened a new tab on Google.

Do straight guys fantasize about other men?

According to the internet, it’s relatively common for straight men to occasionally think about sex with other men, and if I chose to ignore most of the bullshit Reddit posts on page one of the results, it seemed to be even more normal. So I felt a little better about myself after that.

Not that I had any feelings one way or another about it. It was just that I’d never considered being interested in men. And certainly not Andy fucking Simpson.

I mean, like most guys, I could freely admit that Ryan Reynolds and Keanu Reeves were perfect specimens of the male species. But I’d never jerked off thinking about either of them. Or any other guy.

Not before that night.

And I had no idea what that fucking meant.

I turned off my phone and blew out a sigh as I stared up at the ceiling, wondering why I was suddenly getting turned on by thoughts of choking this man. Maybe it wasn’t about him at all. Maybe it was just choking in general, and my subconscious pulled his face, and his throat, because he was the last person I’d put my hands on.

Which could explain his reaction to me as well. It was entirely possible that it really had nothing to do with me. It was just a physiological response to what was happening.

That made me feel a little better about the situation. Because while discovering I was gay, or bi, or whatever, probably wouldn’t bother me in the slightest…being gay for Andy Simpson was just too much to deal with.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to think about him again, to pull his image into my mind and really study how I might feel about him.

Yeah, he was an attractive guy. Nothing wrong with admitting that. He had a chiseled bone structure to his face that hardened out the long lashes, wide doe eyes, thick lips and porcelain-smooth skin.

He was thin, but I’d been pressed against his body enough times to know that it was firm, muscular more like a swimmer than like I was as a football player.

Fuck. My eyes flew open as I realized that this was probably a massive mistake. The more I thought about him, the more I stopped wanting to strangle him out of anger, and instead to do it because I now knew how his body would react against me.

Shit.

Was I attracted to Andy?

No.