As Hot As You Remember
Gay Erotica
By Donovan Lee
Copyright 2008 Donovan Lee
Donovan Lee’s stories first appeared in various gay magazines,
as well in two books from Alyson Books: Slow Grind and My First
Time 2. He combined most of those stories into the novel that
became
Getting Past Almost
, available separately. This collection
features thirteen new stories, followed by a two-chapter peak at
Getting Past Almost
. Visit Donovan Lee online (http://donovan-
lee.tripod.com).
To my beloved.
The Stories…
Tied Even Closer. A college dorm room takes friendship and
fantasy to unexpected levels.
A Night Out of Time. A ghostly encounter in the Big Easy.
When Derek Gets Back. Lonely, Jason fantasizes about his
lover.
Expected Visit, With Surprises. A friend stops by for a drink
and a swim, but the visit turns erotic.
Finding Sandy. Mr. Right is out there; I know, because I keep
seeing him.
In Line and Out of Hand. Three strangers cross paths during a
moment that almost goes in different directions.
Out in the Open (Zing’s Campground Adventure). A runner’s
encounter with a young man who is ready to come out in a big
way!
Sorting. Work at a New Orleans gym turns into foreplay.
Two Kinds of Action. A man cruises for sex but also finds
danger!
Waves of Heat. Quickie about an erotic walk on the beach.
Smoke Break. He wants me to go outside with him, but what
does he really have in mind?
Younger. Two gay men want to be young again, but is younger
always better?
I Will. A gay man’s erotic plans for the object of his obsession.
Getting Past Almost
. The first two chapters from Donovan Lee’s
novel, available separately, about a gay man’s search for
satisfaction and true love.
Tied Even Closer
I had a dreamy roommate during my last three years of college,
here in New Orleans, back in the late eighties. His name was
Eddie, and he grew up on a ranch, about fifty miles away from
Baton Rouge. Eddie and I are still friends to this day.
We had this tiny dorm room, with two study desks separating
our twin-sized beds, and a long row of windows. But we didn’t
have to worry about anyone seeing in late at night, since we were
on the third floor, facing one of the administration buildings. If there
were any administrators there, working late at night, there were
two nights when they might have gotten an eyeful.
Most nights were pretty tame, though, and the most they would
have seen were Eddie’s posters of various female country
singers, or models, or something. I can’t remember who they were
—just that they never interested me, for some reason. My side
faced away from the window, and my posters were limited to the
logos of a few pop singers.
He’s a little more suit and tie now, but back then, Eddie was just
a total cowboy! I don’t just mean the cowboy hat, the tight
Wrangler’s, and the “aw, shucks” grin. I mean he grew up on a
ranch and was heavy into rodeo and all that, not to mention playing
on baseball and football teams all through high school. He was
gorgeous, athletic, and way too charming! Sadly, though, Eddie
never would have dreamed of having sex with another guy, or so I
had thought during the first two years we shared a dorm room.
By my last year in college, I’d started coming out a little, and
Eddie was one of the first people I told.
It was right at the end of the fall semester, and he had just gotten
back from playing baseball with some of his friends. I let him know
that if he didn’t want to be roommates anymore, I’d understand, but
that it would be too hard to keep from him without lying to him
about where I’d been, what I’d been doing, who that guy was who
called, and so on. Besides, I was hoping to find a boyfriend, and
figured that boyfriend would sometimes call or drop by, but that we
wouldn’t make out there or anything.
Eddie sat on his bed, soaking all that in. He looked down, and
his hat kept me from seeing the expression on his face. Then he
finally looked up at me, his steel blue eyes meeting mine and his
handsome, chiseled features looking shocked. “I can’t believe
you’re saying this.”
“Well, I thought you should know.” I was keeping a safe distance,
sitting across the room in my twin-sized bed. Two study desks,
built into the wall, separated our beds, and I leaned forward
against the nearest of the wooden chairs that faced those desks.
“What made you think I didn’t know?”
“You did?”
“Hell, yeah! I’m not stupid! I see the guys you hang around, and I
see you checking them out.”
I choked a little, not knowing where the conversation was
heading, but afraid it wouldn’t be good. “You never said anything.”
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. And if you never
did, that was okay too.”
“So I shouldn’t have told you?”
He gestured toward the ceiling with his right hand, and his skin
flushed red. “You’re missing the point. Whether you told me or
didn’t tell me was up to you. I’d accept you either way. You’re my
best friend, and you were there for me when I broke up with Linda.”
“But why do you look so pissed?”
“But why do you look so pissed?”
“Because you think I would stop being your friend over who
you are. I know you, and I thought you knew me.”
“I’m sorry. I….”
“Well you should be,” he said, nodding. “Maybe next semester
you can get a boyfriend.”
I laughed at that comment, especially coming from such a
Southern boy in a cowboy hat. “I hope so.”
“Just make sure he has a sister or two, or at least some hot
chick for a cousin.”
“I’ll make a point of asking him about his family tree, before
asking him to dance.”
“Well, you do that!” Glancing at his watch, he changed our
conversation to a less controversial subject. “Wanna go get a
beer?”
“Okay.”
“Not a gay bar, though. I’m not ready for that yet.”
I chuckled. “Me either.”
***
We didn’t talk about relationships during our last few days
together that semester. When we came back from Christmas
break, we finally broached the subject again.
“Find a girlfriend?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “Find a boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
He adjusted the rim of the new black felt cowboy hat his dad had
bought him for Christmas. “Ah, well, there’s a whole semester left
for both of us, and we’re in New Orleans. There’s no shortage of
easy women or gay men!”
“Noticed that, have you?”
“That we’re in New Orleans?”
I shook my head. “The rest of it, dumb-ass!”
“There might even be some easy gay men.” He jumped up and
strolled over to my bed, where he slapped me on the knee. “Let’s
go get a beer.”
“Gay bar?”
Those steel blue eyes locked on me for a second before his grin
returned. “A quiet gay bar. One of the ones with the piano and all.
No leather and chains.”
I winked and said, “You sure know a lot about the gay scene.”
“You can’t pick up the bar rags and not read about it. What’s a
sling, anyway?”
“I thought you’d know. It involves bondage.”
He reached into his dresser for his wallet, then went to the sink
and mirror to glance at himself. Of course, he didn’t need to fix his
hair, since it was always buzz cut, and always covered by his hat.
“I’ve never done bondage. Linda wasn’t exactly kinky. We hardly
ever had normal sex, much less swinging off the chandeliers or
locked up in a dungeon! She never even went down on me!”
“Bummer. Well, a sling is kind of like a hammock, and you get
tied up.”
He chuckled a little, before throwing my tennis shoes at me and
motioning for me to put them on so we could go. “You like getting
tied up by men, Phil?”
“I’ve just started dating men, and there haven’t been any ropes
or chains involved. I have fooled around a little, though I’m not
going all the way until I meet the right one.”
“Tie those goody two shoes!”
While obliging him, I said, “Fuck you!”
“I’m not the right one. So, you’ve really never tied anyone up,
or been tied up?”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t. It might be fun. I just haven’t had the
chance. You really never have either?”
“No. That isn’t one of my fantasies.”
We went and had our beer, and he told me his fantasies, all of
which involved women, of course. Some involved several women,
as if one wasn’t too many already! I listened though, while the
piano player alternated between going totally spastic on the keys
and nearly putting himself to sleep. It was the middle of the day,
and there were just a few old men there, talking about past times
at past bars.
I felt very comfortable, just as I always felt comfortable around
Eddie.
***
A few weeks later, Eddie had a girlfriend, and I had a boyfriend.
Neither relationship lasted the semester, and we consoled each
other through the breakups, which actually happened three times
in Eddie’s case, before he finally gave up on her completely. I was
disappointed, really, because she was a total fag hag, and I liked
hanging around her. Instead, she and my ex-boyfriend moved in
together and set up their own drama.
The four of us had gone to a lot of clubs and parties together,
gay and straight. That stopped after the breakups. Eddie quit
going out, and just focused on his studies. I pretty much did the
same, though I would sometimes go to a gay bar and stare at the
pretty men. I wasn’t as buff or as handsome as most of the men I
found attractive, and certainly not in Eddie’s league.
Then one night, I finally convinced Eddie to go to a party with
me. It was mostly straight, so there were a lot of girls hitting on him,
but he acted kind of standoffish with them, saying stuff like, “I’m
here with a friend.” They would “humph!” and turn their nose up or
shake their cigarettes around, then walk away. His focus on me
surprised me, especially considering that we lived together and
saw each other all the time.
“I just don’t feel like girls, right now,” he informed me, as we went
back to the keg for refills. “Do you know what I mean?”
I flashed him a grin. “That’s a silly question to ask me!”
He slapped me on the chest, a little too hard, but I managed not
to flinch. “Oh yeah! You’re still gay, aren’t you?”
A few frat boys looked disapprovingly at us. “What’re you
looking at?” Eddie demanded, his words running together.
“Excuse my friend,” I told them, “he’s had a lot of beer.”
“Well maybe he’s had too much,” one of them informed me, as a
few more gathered around, in their matching T-shirts and matching
haircuts.
Eddie pointed at him. “Well maybe you need….”
Before Eddie could think of how to finish his slurred sentence, I
told the frat boy, “It’s cool. This party sucks anyway.”
“It sure does,” Eddie said, putting his arm around my shoulders
as I guided him toward the door. “Who invited those assholes,
anyway?”
“I think it was their party. This girl in my chem class called and
invited us.”
“Where is she?” he asked, as we walked out the door and
stumbled down the steps.
“She’s one of the many girls you blew off tonight.”
He slapped himself on the forehead. “Well, that was rude of
me.”
“I’ll apologize for you Monday.”
“And give her my number.”
“She already has it. It’s my number, too.”
“Oh yeah. Can we go home now?”
I held my hand open. “Yes. Keys.”
“I’m not drunk,” he insisted.
“No, you’re just in a beer-enhanced good mood. Keys.”
I drove us home in his over-sized pickup, and we went upstairs
to our dorm room. He stomped up all three flights of stairs. When
we got to the room, he pushed a rope off his bed.
“I noticed that earlier,” I told him. “When did you start keeping a
rope in your bed?”
“Oh, before you got back from class, I was practicing my lasso
work on the chairs. I have to get back good at it, since I’ll be
moving back to the ranch soon.”
I sat down on the chair closest to his bed, while he fitted a knot
in the rope then caught the other chair, nearly yanking it over. I
pulled the lasso up, off the back of the chair. He sat facing me, and
got quiet.
“Are you okay?”
“Me?” He tugged back on the rope and pulled the knot from it.
“You’re the only other person here.”
“Smart-ass! I was just thinking about that time we talked about
getting tied up. So, have you tried it yet?”
“No,” I said, wondering where this was going. “You?”
“No, but what would you do if I tied you up right now?”
That sounded amazing, but I didn’t believe it for a second.
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You don’t think I’d do it?” His blue eyes taunted me with their
fixed gaze.
“Not really.”
He went all Farmer Joe on me and started demonstrating knots,
knots that involved my hands tied together in my lap, with more
knots that attached me to the back of the chair. But he was careful
not to cut off circulation. “Can’t get loose, can you?”
“Neat trick, cowboy! Now how long are you gonna leave me
like this?”
He stood up, his well-pronounced box almost brushing
against my face. “Dude, I’ve gotta go piss, bad!”
“Yeah, well, untie me first.”
He patted my back as he walked by me. “I’ll be right back.
Don’t go anywhere.”
“Funny.”
He actually took a few minutes, but he had downed a lot of
beer, so that was understandable.
As he walked in, I asked him, “Are you gonna untie me now?”
He brushed past me and sat down facing me, his pants still
undone. I had seen Eddie naked or dressing countless times, and
cautiously admired his toned body and his thick, uncut organ. But I
had never seen it hard, and never knew him to not wear underwear
beneath his jeans. Both of those were the case this time.
After carefully removing his hat and placing it on his study desk,
he pushed his pants down to his feet and fell backwards. “Sleepy,”
he said, and mumbled something else before starting a light, fake
snore, which also faded.
His knees pressed against mine, and his massive erection
stuck straight up. He wasn’t showing it to me by accident, but why
was
he showing it to me?
Did he want me to go for it?
My heart pounded with fear, anticipation, and nervousness.
My mind raced.
What if he was just teasing me, mocking me?
But then he wouldn’t have a hard-on.
What if he had really passed out, and was dreaming of some
girl?
But it was already hard before he fell backwards, and since
when did he sleep in that position, or touch his knees against
mine?
He wanted me to go for it! But I was tied up. Still, there was
enough slack for me to lean foreword. And he was so close, I
could smell his cologne and the beer sweating out of his toned
body.
He knew how much slack to allow, and how to position himself!
He had planned this when he decided to tie me up! But I had to be
sure.
“Eddie?” I asked. “Eddie?”
Eddie didn’t answer.
I stared for a few more minutes at his overgrown and uncut
organ. I’d only seen a few uncut ones, and I had never seen one
that big, not even in magazines!
Shaking, I touched the nine-incher's fat head with my bound-
together hands, pushing back the foreskin.
He rose up his left hand from his side, and I started to jerk away
on his thick organ. But then he felt his own fat testes, which hung
so low that I had never asked why he wore loose-fitting boxers. He
wasn’t scratching them; he was touching them erotically. He
spread his legs and used his right hand to guide my head toward
his crotch, toward the smell of sweaty manhood. His touch scared
me at first. I wasn’t expecting him to touch me at all, the way he
was playing this. But it felt nice, and I had fantasized it many times
—him pushing my face onto that monster of his.
The fantasies never involved ropes; that was an extra surprise!
But it added to the intensity of the moment!
I pressed my tongue against the tip of Eddie’s member, gently.
But Eddie, obviously growing impatient, grabbed the back of my
scalp and began thrusting half the length of that monster dong in
and out of my mouth. Just as I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he
pushed me away and shot a load, onto his stomach. To my
disappointment, our encounter only lasted a few frantic seconds.
While I used my shoes to rub the semen into the brown and
black carpet, Eddie leaned forward and pulled his pants up. He
didn't speak until after all of that.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I must've passed out when I got back from
the bathroom. What were we talking about?”
“You untying me.”
“Oh, yeah.”
And he untied me, before falling asleep in his jeans.
We didn’t say anything about what had just happened. It was
okay, I guess. I mean, I knew that was the game we were playing.
Straight guys played that game with gay guys a lot, when they
needed some action. And a lot of people experimented during
high school or college. It didn’t mean they were gay. But I was gay,
and a part of me wasn’t just getting off. A part of me wanted us to
become lovers, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
I thought for sure we’d never have any kind of sexual encounter
again. He even seemed to make a point of not facing me
whenever either of us was changing or drying off. In fact, he would
whenever either of us was changing or drying off. In fact, he would
often already have his boxers on, instead of just a towel, when he
came back from the showers down the hall.
Other than those subtle changes, our friendship remained
strong. We were too busy getting ready for finals to go out partying
or to have really long, detailed talks like we’d often had before. So
it never really mattered that we had pulled away from each other a
little, or that there was something we wanted to talk about.
Finally, the night before graduation, he decided to talk about it.
We were going through our plans again, what we wanted to do
with our lives. I was going to stay in New Orleans, and he was
going to go back home to help run the local rodeo, as an equal
partner with his father.
We were both sitting on our own beds. The only distance, the
only open area, in our tiny dorm room was between us. To add to
it, we had filled up boxes, bags, and suitcases with our
belongings. The walls and the desks were now barren, and the
room looked strange, violated, as if we had taken away all that it
had been.
Despite the incredible heat and humidity of that May afternoon,
Eddie still wore his boots, tight jeans, and cowboy hat. At least he
was wearing a tank top, instead of a western shirt. It was really one
of those white under-shirt kinds, though, so it still gave him a
country look. I, on the other hand, was wearing the basic summer
gear—tank top, khaki shorts, and flip flops.
“I can’t leave it like this,” he told me.
“Leave what like what?” I asked.
“That night, considering what happened.”
Not sure how to respond, I looked around. “I thought you just
didn’t want to talk about it, that you wished it wouldn’t have
happened.”
He reached outward, at the air. “I made it happen. It was my
idea. But I went all chicken shit and tried to pretend it wasn’t
happening. And all of this time we’ve been pretending it didn’t
happen.”
“Okay. It happened.” I shrugged, pretending that the subject
didn’t upset me.
“Look, I’m not gay or anything, but I wanted to see what it was
like.”
“Now you know.” I realized that my voice sounded kind of bitter,
but I really didn’t see the point of bringing it up after all that
pretending. He was a straight cowboy, and I was just another gay
college guy with a crush on his roommate.
“Not really. I mean, you were great, but I rushed it, and I never
found out what it was like from your angle—I mean, what it was like
to reciprocate.”
“Well get the rope,” I dared him. There was no bitterness now.
The implication turned me on, and I could both see and feel my
erection stirring in my loose shorts.
He pointed at me. “Maybe I will.” Before I could respond, he
opened one of the boxes, dug around a little, then pulled out his
trusty rope, the one I remembered so fondly!
“Take off your clothes,” he told me.
I lifted my tank top halfway then dropped it back down, but kept
my hand on the bottom of it. “You’re serious?”
“Yes! Off, now!”
“You take yours off, too.”
He answered by complying, pulling off his hat and boots then
tossing his clothes on his bed. Then his boxers went down, and he
stood facing me, finally showing me his manhood again. It was
straight up, fully erect, and I wondered if he hid it some of those
other times because it was also erect then.
Naked and equally hard, I set my clothes on my desk. My dick is
about average length and certainly can’t compare to Eddie’s, but
he looked impressed. I guess it made him feel good that I would
get hard just from thinking about continuing our performance. Then
again, I got hard thinking about that all the time!
He walked closer, the rope in one hand. With the other hand, he
cautiously touched my stiff member, then the balls. When he
returned to the cock, he rubbed the tips of his callused fingers
across it. I could feel his nervousness, and I could tell that he
worried he might be doing it wrong somehow. But he was perfect!
I had no complaints!
I touched his firm chest, feeling the thick hair and his pointed
nipples. They were firm too. Everything about him was firm. Even
his scrotum felt firm, as I pulled those huge balls of his against his
thighs.
He almost seemed to want to kiss, but I wasn’t sure. Just when I
thought he was going to embrace me, he shoved me down on the
bed, on my back, then began tying my hands to the metal
bedposts.
“Okay,” I said, not sure what would happen next, but certainly
ready to find out.
After finishing with the knots, Eddie pressed down on my thighs
and sat between them, leaning over me. I liked the determination
of his touch, pressing me down with those strong, rough hands. My
thing got so hard it was twitching, and he smiled adoringly at that
activity, realizing he made it happen.
Almost instinctively, he took it into his mouth and started
sucking, still pressing down on my thighs. He took the shaft deep a
few times, then backed off and sucked a little harder. At first, just
the idea of it felt good, but then he started getting really good at
the sucking. His tongue flicked around my corona, as I moaned in
delight and surprise.
His hands moved from my thighs, one massaging my chest
while the other massaged my nads. If not for the rope, I would have
rubbed his muscular, arching back, and guided his face further
down on my cock. He didn’t need my guidance, though. He started
pumping my cock with his willing mouth, taking it all the way in.
Though he choked a little, he kept going, sucking harder.
I warned him just in time, and he barely lifted his mouth away
before my seed exploded onto my chest and his hands. It went
everywhere!
“You were great!” I told him, though that was obvious.
“Now we’re even,” he said, as he started to climb off the bed. “I’ll
untie you.”
“Not yet,” I said. “It was never about being even. I like taking care
of a guy as much as I like having a guy taking care of me. Maybe
even more, though I doubt I could do you better than you did me.”
“Dude, you did me perfect, that first time.”
“Then give me this last time. Leave the ropes on, and give me
what I want.”
“No problem!” He straddled my chest, ignoring the puddles of
semen. Those big, hairy orbs of his just naturally rolled onto my
mouth. I could smell his man-scent, strong against me, but not
repulsive in any way. I could feel the heat of his skin, feel the
weight of his muscular, athletic body, and look up at his contours.
Though I could barely breathe, I began licking his balls. His own
surprised moaning revealed that no one had ever done that for
him, and that he had never realized how good it would feel. Not
even trying to take either one into my mouth, I licked across and
between them as he began thrusting his body against me.
Then I asked him to push back his foreskin and gently place the
tip of his cock in my mouth, just a little, so I could give it the same
special attention. I licked teasingly at the huge, purplish head and
its slit, finding the underside and showing him how good I could
make that feel with just my tongue. He moaned and jerked slightly,
but didn’t start rushing or shoving it into my mouth.
But after I slowed down on the licking, I started sucking a little,
and he began thrusting ever so slightly, so that just a little of his fat,
uncut shaft went into my mouth, and I could feel the pushed-back
foreskin. It was like a slow dance, with gentle, romantic rhythms,
slowing rocking him backward and forward. But there wasn’t any
music playing, unless you counted the competing stereos on both
sides of our room. Someone had just turned them on, one playing
Cajun music and the other playing punk rock. It seemed odd,
distracting, at first, but then it just added to the bizarre fantasy of
our situation.
My arms began feeling heavy and strained, but I didn’t want to
stop, or to interrupt his dancing into my mouth. So I ignored the
pain, forgetting my arms and the strange blend of music, forgetting
that he would leave the next day, remembering only that this was
my only chance to pleasure him. As he pressed in deeper, I gladly
took more of his thick wand into my mouth, then darted against it
with my tongue as he pulled further out, almost completely out.
I licked more at the head, then across its underside as his
gentle bucking continued. I felt the smooth skin against my tongue,
the thick head finding its way to the back of my mouth as I clamped
down with my hungry appreciation of his sweetness.
Then his occasional moans turned into nearly shouting, and the
Then his occasional moans turned into nearly shouting, and the
people on both sides of us probably heard, despite the high
volume of their stereos. The warm stream of semen shot onto my
neck and my chest. It seemed as dreamlike as the rest of that
event.
He untied me while catching his breath, and then kissed me.
It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but one of appreciation and
satisfaction. Though I could tell he had never kissed a man, it was
a nice kiss that I will always remember.
“Thanks for giving me another chance,” he said, before sitting
down beside me.
“My pleasure,” I said, finally rubbing his back like I’d wanted to.
His muscles, firm but not tense, responded to my touch. His body
twitched lightly.
“That feels nice. You could do that all night.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really.”
To my disappointment, he got up, but it was just to turn out the
light. Then he climbed back into bed with me, and we held each
other all night. I don’t know if he slept any, but I didn’t. It wasn’t sex,
just a gentle, lingering embrace.
He woke just a little after the sun rose, and he kissed me again,
a little longer this time. Then he got out of bed and we started
dressing.
There was no awkwardness or hiding. We didn’t talk about what
happened at first, but then he thanked me again for it.
“I don’t plan to ever do that again, but I just wanted to see what it
was like, and it had to be with you. I mean all of it, the rope, the
being with another guy. It had to be with you.”
I almost wanted to cry, or at least to hide my growing erection.
Instead, I thanked him and hugged him goodbye.
We’ve never lost touch since then, though there hasn’t been any
literal touching—beyond the expected and never hesitant hugs
whenever we see each other. He’s still a good friend.
Eddie says he’s never had another gay experience since then,
or even wanted to, and I believe him. It just makes me feel good
that I was the one he chose for his experimentation. It also makes
me feel good that he’s remained a good friend, always trusting me
not to reveal his secret dabbling.
When Eddie got married to a woman in his hometown, he
invited me and my boyfriend Neal, though I’d barely started dating
Neal at the time. And when Neal and I almost broke up, he was
there for us. He even brought his wife with him when Neal and I
had our commitment ceremony, and they treated us like family.
Eddie and his wife have three kids now, and we’re like uncles to
the kids. It’s all turned out pretty good, even if we had two nights of
strangeness.
A Night Out of Time
I hadn’t seen my Aunt Tess in several years before my first trip
to New Orleans. My family lived way over in Tupelo, Mississippi,
and she used to come see us when she could. But we’d never
been to see her. I would ask Mama or Daddy about it, and they’d
say something like “Maybe next summer” or “Maybe during
Christmas vacation.” But something always came up, and we
never made it to New Orleans.
My two older brothers and my little sister all wanted to go to New
Orleans too. Mama was born there, in the very house where her
mysterious and wonderful sister, my Aunt Tess, still lives. She
always had toys, jewelry, or chocolate for the kids. We especially
liked the chocolate coins, wrapped in foil, that she’d bring back
from Mardi Gras.
For Mama and Daddy, she’d bring something weird like cans of
smoked oysters, or tapes of some singer that Mama liked. I can’t
remember the singer’s name, but he played the accordion, which
drove Daddy nuts, so Mama would only play the tapes when he
wasn’t home. Other than disagreements over music, Mama and
Daddy got along better than most parents.
My brothers and I didn’t share in the same family spirit. Zeb is
five years older than me, and Mark John is just about seven years
older than me. They got on okay with each other, but weren’t too
happy about gaining a third wheel, much less gaining my little
sister, Jessica, who became known as “the brat.” Like many gay
boys with brothers, I was the one they called “the sissy.”
But when Aunt Tess was in town, the brat and I felt all kind of
special. Aunt Tess would sit down with us on the living room floor,
switch the TV off, and tell us all about her life as a traveling
magazine columnist for a New Orleans magazine.
Sometimes, she told us about the city itself, and didn’t spare
any details about how wild Mardi Gras and other attractions could
get. Of course, we were in our teens when she started telling us
those racier stories, and it was while my parents were away. To
the relief of Jessica and myself, Zeb and Mark John moved out as
soon as they were old enough—it was a little sooner than Zeb was
old enough, actually, but we didn’t care.
I had always preferred playing with Jessica and her dolls over
playing football or baseball with my brothers, who didn’t want me
around them or their friends anyway. Even as Jessi outgrew dolls, I
began to realize that I was more like my sister than like my
brothers in many ways, including the fact that I was attracted to
guys. We never really talked about that, but I sensed that Jessi
knew and didn’t care. My parents didn’t know, and would definitely
have cared, in a bad way; I gathered that much from the “queer”
and “faggot” remarks they made at some of the people on the TV
and the radio.
And Aunt Tess somehow knew. I mean, why else would she tell
two Mississippi teenagers stuff like she did? “They asked me to
cover Southern Decadence one time,” she informed us in her
thick, Southern Belle voice, gesturing about with her bony hands.
Gaudy rings encircled her fingers, and she was wearing one of
those white dresses you see on TV, when pretty debutantes are
sipping tea or champagne on the lawn of some Southern mansion.
You know the kind of white dress: cut a bit low, and sleeveless,
with a simple flower pattern and showing just a hint of stocking-
covered knees.
I was fifteen, and Jessi was only fourteen, on that day, that last
time Aunt Tess came to see us.
“What in the world is Southern Decadence?” Jessi asked, in
that slightly smart-ass tone that even the nicest red-haired
Mississippi girls like herself picked up around the age of fourteen
and toted around for a year or two, until it got too heavy, or until
they realized it scared the boys away.
Aunt Tess grinned like the dickens and touched her hands to her
overly made-up face, pretending to be embarrassed. But we had
long since discovered that nothing embarrassed that woman!
We were actually surprised that Mama and Daddy would let us
be alone with her, but after more than twenty years of raising kids,
they started getting out of the house whenever they could, and we
would have just been home alone if she hadn’t shown up when she
did. They were always going to Monday night bingo or square
dancing or something; I think it actually was bingo that time.
Aunt Tess told them, “Just run along. I’ll visit with y’all later on.”
They wouldn’t have gone anywhere if they had any idea just how
far Aunt Tess’ stories would go that time.
Answering Jessi’s question, she said, “Well, Southern
Decadence is a big gay party in New Orleans. It gets even wilder
than Mardi Gras, if you can imagine that!” We couldn’t, so she told
us. “Everywhere I went, there were gay men in the streets, some
wearing leather, some wearing dresses, some wearing hardly
nuttin’ at all. They were drunk as a skunk, and friendly as all get
out! Some were getting a little too friendly, and I kept the camera
put up during those times—well, for the most part. There were men
showing their talliwackers to each other, kissing each other, and
even sucking on each other’s things, right—”
She stopped talking and looked up at my parents, whose faces
were even redder than mine felt! The last thing I wanted was for
Aunt Tess’ story to stop. Before they walked in, my heart was
already pounding, and I was using both hands to cover the sudden,
throbbing bulge in my jeans.
“Have you unpacked your bags yet?” Daddy asked her,
practically spitting with anger.
“No,” she answered, her face covered over with dread.
“Good.” He pointed at the living room door. “You take them, and
you get out of here. I never want your perverted Louisiana ass in
my house again!”
She looked at Mama, who just shook her head in shame. Jessi
and I didn’t dare say anything. We had never seen Mama or
Daddy looking like that, like they wanted to kill somebody. Aunt
Tess started crying, but she got her stuff out of Zeb and Mark
John’s room then headed on out the door.
After that, I knew better than to ever ask about going to see Aunt
Tess. Like Mama’s Daddy, she became someone we never
talked about or mentioned, someone who never existed. Mama
even took her pictures of Aunt Tess off the wall in the kitchen. It
was like her side of the family had disappeared completely,
except for her mother and her grandparents. I guess they had died
before they had a chance to piss her off and get disowned. Lucky
them!
Mama and Daddy were real proud of my grades during my first
year of college. They insisted that, instead of going home for
spring break, I go someplace fun. That sounded good to me, but I
lied about exactly where I was going. Yes, it was the coast, but not
in Mississippi. I had gotten in contact with Aunt Tess and asked
her if I could come visit. I wanted to see New Orleans for myself,
and I wanted to see her.
I had been driving for hours when I finally reached New Orleans.
It was dark, and late on a Sunday night, but I still ran into a lot of
traffic. I also passed several bars and restaurants that appeared to
be not only open but also very busy. Looking at the digital clock in
my car, I couldn’t believe it was 3:30 in the morning!
Where I grew up, and even where I went to college, you were
lucky if you saw a cop or a security guard in the wee hours of a
Monday morning; forget about people still going out to eat or party!
So, this is New Orleans, I thought.
“And that is New Orleans,” I said aloud, watching two men
walking out of a bar, kissing and holding hands. Going with my
new trend of bravery, I pulled over to ask them for help with finding
my aunt’s house. I had gotten a little lost by then, not being used to
such a big city.
The two lovers looked nervous at first, as nervous as I felt, but I
guess something in my eyes made them trust me. It felt like there
was some sort of connection between us. Though they unlocked
their hands and glanced at each other, they listened to the address
and the directions I relayed. After discussing it a little with each
other, and disagreeing a little about the fastest way, they gave me
directions for the few remaining miles of my trip.
Both guys were totally hot, with tanned skin and the kind of
glossy, skin-tight, zip-up shirts that you only see at gay bars—
shirts that revealed tight abs, well-sculpted chests, and well-toned
biceps. Their nelly voices and effeminate gestures put me off a
little at first, but they were friendly as could be, and gorgeous as
could be, so I quickly overcame that prejudice.
They gave me easy directions, both having apparently lived in
New Orleans all their lives. I wanted to ask them more, like
New Orleans all their lives. I wanted to ask them more, like
questions about the bar, about being gay, and about their
relationship. But such questions would have to wait, and I figured
they wanted to get on home and be alone together; at least, I knew
I would be in a hurry to get alone with either of them!
As I drove on over to my aunt’s house, I imagined those beautiful
young lovers holding each other in a passionate embrace, and
wondered how it felt to touch another man that way. But a street
sign at a red light disrupted my fantasies.
When the light changed, I turned left, then left again at a donut
shop one of my gorgeous guides had mentioned. From there, I
soon reached my aunt’s street. Taking advantage of the many
streetlights, I watched the numbers carefully as they counted down
to her address. Then I found it!
I pulled up in the drive, behind a car that I assumed to be my
aunt’s. She always drove luxury cars, which is what that one looked
like. I really couldn’t see very well, though, because the three
nearest streetlights were burned out. I mean, it was the darkest
area I’d seen since reaching New Orleans!
Not wanting to wake up my aunt so early, I thought maybe I
should just take a nap in the car, or maybe even drive around a
little more, until daylight. But I saw someone walk out onto the
porch next door, setting a lit kerosene lamp down near the steps. I
thought, Great! He probably thinks I’m a prowler.
Right away, I noticed the man’s quiet, gentle approach; it
seemed like he was worried about scaring me or waking up the
neighborhood. But if he thought I was there to cause trouble,
wouldn’t he want to get everyone’s attention?
That question faded as I noticed other things about the quietly
approaching stranger. For one thing, he was just wearing a pair of
bluish white boxers and a white, V-neck undershirt. He looked
well-toned and muscular, like many of the farm boys and football
players back home—guys I had ogled and fantasized about, but
never dared touch. I wanted to touch this guy. A total stranger in
the dark of night who probably wanted to put me on notice…and I
wanted to touch him!
When he leaned into my window, I could see his bushy red
eyebrows and his red buzz cut. Freckles darted across a wide
nose and up to the most gentle, beautiful green eyes I had ever
seen. The hint of a morning beard graced his pale, well-sculpted
face, and I guessed he was around thirty, or maybe closer to thirty-
five.
His cologne, unfamiliar but enticing, filled the car with its
sweetness as he whispered to me. “Why are you out here?”
Stunned, I replied, “I’m sorry. My—”
He interrupted before I could explain. “Please come inside.
This is our only chance.”
“Our—?”
The expression on his beautiful face begged me to go along
with his forward invitation. It seemed okay somehow and, like I
said, I wanted to touch him. He whispered into my ear, “It’ll be
daylight before long. Please, I need to hold you.”
Now I know that I should have been totally freaked out, and I was
in a way. But I knew we both wanted the same thing, and I had all
that time to kill! So why not?
I pulled the keys from the ignition and shoved them into my
pocket, trying to control the shaking in my hands. He opened the
car door. I rolled up the window and got out. He pressed the lock
down and gently pushed the door shut behind me.
As he led me inside his home, I started to ask his name, but he
touched my lips to quiet me. I loved his touch, the feeling of his
fingertip on my lips. It sent ripples of warmth through my body and
felt strangely familiar. Since I had never dared act on my feelings
for men before, I couldn’t think of why that touch seemed familiar,
but I didn’t care. His fingers dropped from my face to the palm of
my left hand.
We held hands as he led me through the darkened house,
around furniture, through a hallway, and into what looked like a
bedroom. Even with my eyes trying to adjust, I could barely see,
and I was glad he knew his place so well.
“Can’t we turn on any lights?” I asked, as he stopped at a king-
sized bed and helped me sit down on a thick, velvety blanket.
“The power isn’t working,” he replied, stroking my hair.
“You didn’t pay the bill?”
“Not for a long time. I’m not even supposed to be here
anymore.”
I loved the way he caressed my hair, and my hands started
exploring the rippling muscles of his hard chest through that tight
undershirt of his, but he really was freaking me out at that point.
“What do you mean?”
When he kissed me on the lips, all my fears and questions
disappeared. I had kissed girls a bunch of times, but it never felt
anything like that! His thick lips sent passion and electricity into my
blood, and I felt my manhood tensing, rising.
We pushed and pulled our way out of our garments and laid
down, kissing and embracing. I reached down to feel the heat of
his organ, thick and fully erect. I had never touched anyone’s but
my own, and it felt great, but he pulled my hand back up to his
chest.
“There isn’t time,” he whispered. “I just need you to hold my
naked body against yours, so I can feel alive again.”
“Why wouldn’t you feel alive?”
Again, he silenced me with a kiss, and I squeezed his hard,
perfect body, letting his unusual cologne fill my nostrils, and letting
our bodies melt together.
That moment slowly faded as I felt big, strong arms shaking me,
but it wasn’t my aunt’s beautiful neighbor. It was a middle-aged
black man, wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and a hard hat.
The hard hat made me wonder more than anything else. Then I
wondered why I was lying on the floor. What had happened to the
bed, and the other furniture? The house looked torn up, and long
abandoned. The floors were dusty and stripped of carpeting, with
just a few patches of torn carpet caught in staples here and there.
The walls were barren, except for cobwebs. The morning shone
through a broken pane glass window, with a wasp flying against
the glass, trying to find its way back out.
The next things I wondered about were the most obvious things.
What had happened to the beautiful red-haired man who had
invited me to the bed that was no longer there?
Was the black man a mover, and had he moved everything out
from around me, and under me? I’m a heavy sleeper, but I would
have noticed if someone pulled a bed out from under me!
“I said wake up, son,” the black man insisted. “I can get you an
address for a homeless shelter later, but we’re gonna bulldoze this
place in about two seconds, and I damn sure don’t wanna be
inside when it happens. I don’t think you should be either.”
“Bulldoze? But—”
“Damn it!” he exclaimed, before yanking me up with his big
arms and quickly dragging me outside. I managed to regain my
footing as we got out the front door. “It’s clear now!” he shouted,
and I saw a large bulldozer coming our way. We ran down the
steps together.
As the bulldozer crashed through the “condemned” signs, into
the dilapidated building, my rescuer looked me sternly in the eyes.
“Look, buddy, those old abandoned houses aren’t safe. You’ve got
crack dealers and all kinds of other folk that would just as soon cut
your throat as look at you. Did you run away from home or
something? You don’t look like you’ve been on the streets long, or
ever.”
Before I could answer my muscular—and somewhat handsome
—rescuer, the house collapsed from the bulldozer’s continued
penetration, letting loose clouds of dust and debris. After all of that
settled, I gestured at my car. “That’s mine. Thanks for saving me,
but I’m not homeless. I just got mixed up. My aunt lives right there.”
He didn’t seem to believe me, but I went and knocked on my
aunt’s door. She had been making breakfast, with her favorite
morning news program turned up loud enough to drown out the
noise next door. After apologizing for the volume and turning it
back down, she hugged me and insisted on cooking extra.
Besides her hair turning white and the fact that I had never seen
her in a bathrobe before, she looked about the same as I
remembered.
When we sat down for the coffee, bacon, and French toast she
fixed me, I asked her about the house being torn down.
“It’s probably for the best,” she told me, while spreading apple
butter on her French toast. “People have been saying that house is
haunted for years, and no one has lived there very long since…
well, you know.”
“No I don’t.”
She dropped her knife on the table, her face stretching out in
She dropped her knife on the table, her face stretching out in
shock. “You’re a grown man, and your mother still never told you?”
“Never told me what?” This was too much! I hadn’t even caught
my breath, or decided if I would tell her about my weird
experience, or dream, or sleep walking, or whatever it was. And
now Aunt Tess was about to spill the beans about some dark
secret that my mother kept from me?
“My daddy used to go to that house all the time. He and the man
who lived there were good friends. Some folks starting saying
maybe they were more than friends.” She raised her eyebrows
suggestively.
“You mean your daddy—my grandpa—was gay?!”
“Oh, yes, it was more than just a rumor. Daddy’s friend was
named Reuben Berdeaux. He was a beautiful man, with strong
arms and red hair. And he wore the nicest cologne! I wish I would
have asked him what it was called and where he got it. I’ve never
been able to find it. In fact, I tried to find some for my first
husband.”
“Wait,” I said. She had just described the man I saw, the man I
held! “What happened to them?”
“One of Reuben’s kin caught them in Reuben’s bed together,
and shot them both in the head. Reuben died right away. Daddy
wasn’t all there after that, and died before we were grown, just a
few years before Mama passed on. Everybody knew all the sordid
details. It was a big trial, and a big scandal. That’s why your mama
can’t stand to see this neighborhood, or the rest of New Orleans,
and why she got out as quick as she could.”
“But you and Grandma stayed?”
“Yeah. Mama had health problems, and I took care of her, just
like she had to take care of Daddy during those awful final years of
his. She never stopped loving Daddy, and neither did I, but your
mother just couldn’t handle the thought of him being gay, or all the
stuff that happened because of what Reuben’s cousin did. It was a
lot for a sensitive child. I used to resent her for it, but I don’t no
more, and I hope you won’t neither.”
Catching my breath, I said, “I haven’t come out to my parents.” I
was glad to change the subject, even if it was another unpleasant
one.
We returned to our breakfast, but then Aunt Tess warned me,
“You might hold off a while on that, but you can tell me anything.
Anything!” She lowered her chin and winked at me. “The more
amorous, the better!”
I felt myself blushing, and tried to convince myself that Reuben’s
hair color was just a coincidence. A lot of people have red hair,
even a lot of dream people, and that had to be what my encounter
had been. Just a dream. I kept telling myself that, but never fully
convinced myself of it.
A few years later, I finally came out to my family. They reacted as
badly as I feared, except of course for Jessica. But the others are
starting to come around a little in their thinking, and I’ve even
convinced Mama to call her sister.
I live right down the road from Aunt Tess these days. A donut
shop replaced Reuben’s bulldozed home, and I often meet Aunt
Tess there for breakfast, sometimes bringing a date along—at her
insistence. But we never talk about what happened that strange
night when I first went to see her.
This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone my ghost story. I’m still
not sure what really happened. You can decide for yourself.
When Derek Gets Back
Jason sat in bed thinking of how long it would be before Derek
finally got back from his business trip. Two more nights! The
picture on the night stand was almost painful…Jason and Derek at
their commitment ceremony, in black tuxedos, sharing a kiss after
making a public statement of their long-lasting relationship. They
had already been together six years before the ceremony, and
now it was a total of twenty years.
Right after they got back from their twenty-year anniversary trip
to the Bahamas, Derek had to leave for Baton Rouge for nearly a
week! They had never been apart that long, but the anniversary trip
had taken up all of Jason’s vacation time for the year, so he
couldn’t join Derek.
Jason, now forty-three, looked much younger in the picture—or
at least he thought so. His dark brown hair had receded some in
the past few years, and his face was now thinner, with a more
pronounced jaw line and the hint of a few wrinkles. He had also
started wearing glasses for the first time in his life. Derek looked
exactly the same—his black hair still cut short, his pretty gray eyes
still not hidden by glasses, and his handsome face just as youthful
as ever.
Jason needed Derek there with him, not just a picture. He
needed Derek touching his chest, his abs, and his thighs.
Realizing his hands were taking Derek’s place, Jason leaned
back and felt himself, imagining Derek touching him, stroking his
naked body. Only Jason wasn’t really naked. He was wearing satin
boxers. Not for long. He pushed those down, letting his erect organ
slap his hand.
He didn’t want to focus there, though. Not yet. With both hands
on both thighs, he caressed himself, fingertips brushing against
his balls without lingering. Just hinting, teasing, the way Derek
would give him a massage. Then back up, grazing his pubes and
his navel, widening across the deep definition of his abs, tracing
their lines, pressing down much harder on his hairy chest, pinching
his nipples. Derek loved Jason’s hairy chest! Jason’s hands
helped him imagine Derek feeling that chest again.
“Yeah,” Jason whispered to Derek. It didn’t matter that Derek
wasn’t really there. He was there in Jason’s mind, leaning over
him, cupping his deltoids, his palms, his cock, his chin. Little
kisses landed on his forehead, on his lips, on his left nipple.
“Derek.”
A deeper kiss. Both callused hands now on Jason’s cock, the
imagined Derek worked it slowly, as slowly and admiringly as
when he would tighten a screw on a piece of antique furniture, or
when he would wax the hood on his sports car. Derek had many
passions, but Jason was his first passion, his main passion.
Jason got the most loving attention.
Before realizing how close he was, or how caught up in the
fantasy he had become, Jason felt the ejaculate shoot from his
cock and onto his stomach. Opening his eyes, he imagined he
saw Derek standing over him, fully dressed in a suit and tie. No, he
did see Derek standing over him, grinning sweetly.
“I guess I’m too late,” Derek said, before giving him a quick hello
kiss.
Embarrassed for a second, then just excited to see his lover,
Jason said, “You’re early, but I’m glad you’re here!”
Jason said, “You’re early, but I’m glad you’re here!”
Derek rubbed some of the jism across Jason’s chest. “Yeah, I
can see you’re overcome with joy. How about a shower?”
“Sounds perfect!”
While Derek got undressed, Jason started showering, soaping
off the semen and letting the water get just how Derek liked it—
almost too hot, but not quite. Entering the shower, Derek told him,
“We finished early, and I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you did.” Jason stepped aside enough for Derek to get
under the massaging showerhead. “I was fantasizing about you,
imagining you feeling my body.”
“You mean like this?” Derek began intuitively retracing Jason’s
fantasy, with the extra pleasure of warm, high-pressure water
hitting their bodies.
Jason rubbed soap onto Derek’s chest and across his muscular
body. He grabbed Derek’s butt as Derek finally began kissing
him. Derek’s thick erection pressed against him, sliding with the
lubrication of the soap, sliding into Jason’s ready hands. Jason
pulled on it as the water rinsed away the soap, but a few minutes
later, the water had more to rinse away. With Jason now behind
him, pressing his erection against Derek’s crack, Derek
ejaculated, collapsing backwards into Jason’s arms.
After drying off, they rushed to the bed, where they kissed each
other all over. Already excited again, Jason again pressed his
cock against Derek’s ass. Derek responded by moaning, and
then by reaching for the lube and rubbing it generously inside
himself. Jason helped, pushing a finger inside and getting Derek
ready. Derek stretched out, and not just in the obvious place.
Jason’s touch always made his body move around and outward,
especially when that touch happened below the waist. Jason loved
his lover’s hairy butt and could usually feel satisfied just gripping it
and lightly spanking it. But neither of them could feel easily
satisfied that night; they had wanted each other too long, and it
didn’t matter that they had both just climaxed.
Jason’s finger moved slowly, masterfully, while he used his other
hand to apply a condom onto his recharged cock.
“Now,” moaned Derek, “I need you now.”
Jason obliged him, climbing onto his hot body and smelling the
soap scent that lingered on his skin. He bit gently into Derek’s
shoulder blade while entering him, slowly. The slowness was
forced. Part of him wanted to pump away like mad, but a deeper
part of him wanted it to last all night.
Derek accepted him just as slowly, though Jason sensed that he
was just as conflicted between hurrying and stamina. Stamina won
out. Derek squeezed Jason into him, letting their bodies melt
together in slow motion, like clouds reluctantly changing shapes.
Sometimes, they would stop awhile, Derek turning to kiss him, or
both of them changing positions before Jason slowly made his
way back inside.
They made love that way until their bodies grew too tired, but
they were both close by that time. Jason sped up a little then
climaxed inside Derek. He then went down on Derek, who was
already so close that just a touch might have made him come.
Jason accepted the immediate flood.
After they finally caught their breaths, Jason kissed Derek and
told him that “It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back,” he whispered, and then fell asleep in
Jason’s welcoming arms.
Expected Visit, with Surprises
Just after college, I moved to a middle-class neighborhood in
New Orleans, not far from my job. I had a couple of gay friends
who lived within walking distance. James was right down the
block. Mitch lived a few blocks over, but I actually saw him more
often, because we worked together and carpooled. They were
both from New Orleans, unlike me, and we had all become friends
while I was in college there.
Mitch was the better looking of the two—not that James wasn’t
nice to look at. I just never saw either of them as possibly being
more than my friend. Mitch had dark skin, eyebrows that were thick
without being too bushy, sexy lips, a cleft chin, and beautiful green
eyes. His dad was white, but Mitch got his looks from his beautiful
Hispanic mother. Both parents were cool about him being gay,
and I liked his confidence and comfort about his sexuality. Coming
out had taken me much longer, and I still wasn’t out enough to start
looking for a boyfriend.
My first summer after buying my house there, the three of us
often met in my backyard, because of my swimming pool. New
Orleans can get way too hot and humid during the summer, but it’s
perfect weather for swimming. Mitch and James sometimes even
joked about us skinny-dipping in the pool, but I never took that
possibility seriously. I wasn’t as well-built as either of them, and I
also wasn’t totally secure about being naked with other gay men.
My few sexual encounters by that point had happened quickly and
in the dark, with guys I barely knew. But the idea of being naked
and unguarded around both of my two closest gay friends sounded
good, and I kept hoping I would eventually get up the nerve to take
them up on that suggestion.
One Saturday afternoon, that very thing happened with Mitch, in
a big way. I had just set out a pitcher of margaritas in a bucket of
ice, under a multi-colored umbrella that I pitched in the backyard.
But James called and said he couldn’t make it. Just as I walked
back out with two cups, I saw Mitch waiting for me in the backyard,
wearing a T-shirt and his usual baggy swim trunks.
Both at the same time, we said, “James can’t make it today.”
While we laughed at our timing, I poured Mitch a drink and
handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting down on one of three recliners that
faced the west side of the pool. It wasn’t a very big pool at all—just
ten feet long, four feet wide; in fact, it was less than seven feet
deep at the deep end. Still, it was nice for cooling off or lounging
around. And I liked that the backyard was all cement or pool.
Having grown up in apartments, I was never one for mowing lawns.
“I picked up some new CD’s,” I told Mitch, motioning at the CD
wallet that I had set on the little player I always took out back with
me. It was surprisingly loud for such a small box, and I probably
should have asked him to turn it down first before he put in a
collection of club mixes.
“I’ve been meaning to buy this one,” Mitch said, pushing play.
“It’s funny how you’ve got exactly what I want.” He cocked his head
and grinned while he said that.
I almost spat out my drink over what he said, and how he said it.
But I swallowed and asked, “Do I really?”
“Yeah.” The first song finally started, after a long introduction of
drum machines and sound bites. He tapped his fingers on the
drum machines and sound bites. He tapped his fingers on the
arms of his lounge chair. “So, do I have what you want?” After
pulling off his t-shirt, he stared at me, waiting for an answer.
I set my drink down on the cement and also pulled off my t-shirt.
Then I surprised us both by pushing my swim trunks down and
kicking them off. I surprised us both further by going along with his
unusually avert flirting. “I don’t know. Why don’t you come over here
and let me find out?”
Mitch did just that. He set his drink down, pushed his trunks
down, and stood over me. Despite the many times we swam
together, and all the times I had seen him with just a towel on, I had
never seen him completely naked before. His bulge had always
hinted at something big, and it didn’t exaggerate! Besides a nice,
low-hanging set of balls, he had an even bigger dick than I had
imagined…and I should admit that I had imagined it often.
It grew even bigger when I touched it, enjoying its warmth and
its texture.
The music seemed to get louder as the next song started.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Mitch taunted, as I
continued to toy with his organ.
“The answer is a definite yes,” I told him, not that it wasn’t
obvious by my grin or the fact that I was fondling him in broad
daylight.
His cock growing even more erect, he reached for my chin. I
pressed my face against his crotch as his fingers twirled around in
my hair. His ample bush tickled my face. The heat and humidity
intensified the masculine fragrance of his hairy crotch, making it
pungent but still seductive.
I nudged his fuzzy, egg-shaped balls with my lips before licking
my way up his shaft to the purple corona of the head. I gripped that
shaft in my fist, poking myself in the mouth with it. Mitch sighed, as
the head entered my mouth.
My tongue edged that huge, spongy helmet while I stroked his
balls in the palm of my hand. I brushed against the slit with the tip
of my tongue. Like me, he also seemed especially enthusiastic,
rubbing my shoulders passionately and groaning with delight.
I began sucking, my tongue still exploring the glans and the
ridge. Mitch pulled on my shoulders and begged me, “Please take
more of it!”
His action forced his shaft further into me, but then he let go, so I
could keep control. I backed off a little then began working my way
up and down it, slowly at first, gradually increasing in speed and
intensity, taking it into my mouth harder and faster. I wondered if
Mitch realized how much that moment meant to me, but I think my
performance made the point quite well. He also seemed
especially enthusiastic, rubbing my shoulders passionately and
moaning with delight.
But I didn’t want complete control. I liked the way he had pushed
it into my mouth, the way he had wanted me so bad. So I reached
for his hands and placed them back on my shoulders, pulling a
little as I did so.
He got the message and started lunging that glorious organ in
and out of my mouth, pressing his dense bush against my
sweating face. I sucked his cock and felt up his rock-hard glutes
while he moved his cock in and out to the beat of the dance music
that was playing way too loud.
It suddenly occurred to me that my neighbors could come over
and ask me to turn it down. They had done so before, and the side
gate was unlocked. Wouldn’t that freak them out? Normally, if I
thought something exciting was going to happen in the backyard, I
locked the gate, but it had never occurred to me that Mitch and I
would take interest in each other, much less that he would start
riding my face in the backyard, in the middle of the afternoon!
He kissed me and played with my chest while I finished myself
off. The nervousness and the intensity of the moment caused me
to ejaculate quickly. While Mitch certainly didn’t seem nervous, our
combined actions also got him there fairly quickly, and he pulled
out in time to shoot off onto the cement.
He kissed me and picked up my empty cup. After coming back
from refilling it, he kissed me again then handed me the cup. The
coldness of the iced drink shocked my hand, after touching his hot
skin. In fact, sweat covered both our bodies.
“I should have reminded you that the gate’s unlocked,” I told him,
touching his now-flaccid organ. It was still rather large, with semen
already drying on its fat knob, forming a crusty white glaze.
“I locked it,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Were you already planning to skinny dip
when you got here?”
“No, but that sounds like a good idea, after you finish your
drink.”
“But you were planning what just happened?”
“Oh, yeah, for a long time.”
“Really?” I asked. “I never noticed. I thought we were just
friends.”
“So did I, but I kept hoping we could have something more.”
We talked for a while, sitting together in my lounge chair, while I
finished my drink. Then we jumped into the pool, still naked.
Swimming together and splashing each other, we realized how
much attraction we had always enjoyed, along with the friendship.
At the deep end, Mitch pushed me up against the side of the pool
and began kissing me again, his gentle fingers supporting the
back of my neck while our lips pressed together. I could feel our
cocks stirring against each other.
“Why don’t I help you up?” Mitch asked.
Before I could ask what he meant, he lifted me up by the waist
and sat me down on the warm, wet ceramic tiles that surrounded
the pool. And speaking of surrounding, my thighs surrounded his
face. He smiled up at me then gave me something to smile about
by exploring my testes with his tongue while exploring my chest
with his hands.
I gasped and trembled from the pleasure he gave me, and from
the way he caressed my body so lovingly, so passionately. My dick
wasn’t nearly as big as Mitch’s, which embarrassed me on some
level, but he couldn’t have cared less about size, and he gave it the
same attention I gave his. It soon disappeared into his warm
mouth, and I looked up at the sunny sky, not believing the
unexpected, erotic, and fulfilling turns my Saturday afternoon had
taken.
After stopping him before he could make me climax, I helped
him out of the pool. Without speaking, we toweled off, turned off
the radio, and went inside, still naked.
“Should we get into bed?” he asked.
I didn’t hesitate before saying “Yes.”
When we fell onto my bed, he ran his fingers along my hairy
chest. I was on my back, and he was on his side, facing me. He
looked like he wanted to ask me something.
“What?” I asked, grabbing one of his hands and gently
caressing it, feeling its firmness, like the firmness of our organs.
Those stirred back up the second we got into bed together.
“What you did to me—for me—was perfect!”
“Thanks!”
“And I want to finish doing the same for you.”
That made me feel really good, and even more aroused. “Let
me have another taste of you first.”
I looked down at his hard member, jutting out from his bush,
bobbing and throbbing right in front of my eyes. Pushing him onto
his back as I turned my body where it would complete the 69
position, I planted my lips on the head of his dick. I didn’t lick or
suck at all. It was just a lingering peck of his pecker.
I lowered my mouth back onto it, and leaned forward, still not
sucking, but just seeing how much I could take in. Then I let it slide
completely into my mouth. Giving a delighted moan, he kissed my
thighs and began fondling me. While I continued to work on him,
his fingers glided across my shaft and massaged my nads.
Then he went for it! Grabbing the base of my dick, he kissed the
head then starting taking it into his mouth. Backing up a little, Mitch
started licking all over and under my throbbing corona.
Though keeping my manhood in hand, he also began licking my
nads, exploring them with his kisses, pushing them around with his
tongue. Then he traced the ridge of my cockhead with his tongue
before finally beginning to suck; I was doing the same, though
slowly now, so he wouldn’t climax before finishing me off.
I gradually lowered my tightened lips to the base of his shaft. It
choked me a little, considering I had never been with anyone that
big, but I tried not to grunt and gag too loudly. Fortunately, he didn’t
stop to ask if I was all right, because I really didn’t want any more
interruptions to his already skillful work. He stroked the lower part
of my shaft while he sucked and licked on the upper part.
My moans let him know what a great job he was doing, and his
did the same for me. I felt his testicles while I worked him in and
did the same for me. I felt his testicles while I worked him in and
out of my mouth. His hips bucked a bit and his breathing sped up,
so I backed away, quickly replacing my sucking with stroking. The
semen dripped into his wiry black hairs as his cock throbbed and
his body trembled.
Since he had just ejaculated a few minutes earlier, it didn’t really
shoot out very far, but a lot came out anyway. I, on the other hand,
came hard, just after pulling out of his mouth. It went all over my
stomach, and a little on my chest.
Mitch looked delighted with himself, and he certainly deserved
to be, but he also seemed happy that he decided to trust me and
reveal how attracted he was to me. Though it was nowhere near
night time, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
We woke a few hours later, and he told me all about the times
he had almost approached me about his feelings, but was always
afraid of ruining our friendship, or of being rejected. He assured
me, though, that he wasn’t expecting anything, other than a night in
my arms. I gave him that, gently caressing his muscular body, or
just holding him close, while we talked for hours and hours.
We finally got up, in the middle of the night, and wandered into
the kitchen. I made us sandwiches, which we ate while playing the
radio down low. He ate in tiny bites, and I loved watching his lips,
thinking about how those lips felt. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing. I just never realized how much I liked to see you…or
how much I liked just being around you.”
“Don’t make me blush.”
“After what happened in the backyard, I’d like to see you
blush.”
He took the last bite of his sandwich and winked at me. After
swallowing, he said, “You know I’m not usually that forward. It was
just building up for a long time.”
“I think we should keep it going,” I told him, before we went back
to bed together.
Finding Sandy
I’ve known I was gay all my life, but, until about twelve years ago,
I had never acted on it in any way, and I never even bothered to
read gay books, mostly thinking I would out myself by looking for
such books. I didn’t have internet access back then, so even gay
web sites were out of the question. Sure, I read the health
magazines for men, all of them featuring handsome male models
with perfect bodies that bulged through their skimpy clothes or
even their overly stylish dress clothes.
For that matter, I also read the men’s clothing catalogs that
knew their audience a little too well and always included some
shots of men who bulged through their skin-tight underwear,
making those underwear look more like paint than clothing. The
forms of their organs would shine right through, the perfect
outlines; sometimes, you could even make out the head, the shaft,
the two nuts squeezed against the fabric. It was so arousing that I
ordered all kinds of shit, just to keep getting the catalogs! I later
figured out that they keep sending the catalogs anyway, even if you
don’t order.
I never got up the courage to walk into a library or bookstore and
look for something gay. I don’t know why. New Orleans is a big
city, and I doubt anyone I knew would have seen me. And what if
they did? Were they going to have me arrested for reading about
myself, about my sexual orientation?
Countless fears swelled in my mind, though…fears like
bashings, my managers telling me they don’t want fags working for
a family company, my parents never speaking to me again, a tube
dripping something into my arm as I die from AIDS, or some
whacked-out religious group trying to exorcise the fag demons
from my twisted mind.
None of those fears ever came true, but they kept me from living
the life I saw for myself.
I would see guys at bars, at the mall, at the beach…
everywhere…who seemed to look at me with questions, and with
offers. I knew they wanted to meet me, just from the look in their
eyes. Or maybe they just wanted a chance encounter, which also
sounded inviting. Either way, I somehow knew that their glances
were intentional.
Those guys didn’t just happen to look my way. I know that
sounds arrogant, but I wasn’t stuck on myself; I was just aware of
my own longing, and increasingly aware of the longing I saw in
other men’s eyes…men who were obviously like me.
I had just turned twenty years old, and it was late in the summer
of ’91, as hot as you remember, when I saw Sandy walking along
the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, looking as hot as he looks today.
He was wearing a baggy pair of swim trunks, sun glasses, and
some silly purple flip flops, wandering through the crowds of beach
goers. I could tell from the lines around his eyes and from the hints
of gray in his thick black hair that he was probably in his late
thirties or early forties, but he looked even hotter than the guys who
were around my age.
I don’t know how, but I managed to get up enough nerve to say
“hi” to him, or at least I thought so. But as I walked by him, all I
actually managed was a nod.
A nod. I wanted to slap myself! Those bright blue eyes and
those rock hard abs all grabbed my attention, and I saw that same
those rock hard abs all grabbed my attention, and I saw that same
look on his face that I had seen with other men, that same longing.
But I couldn’t even say “hi”!
After that, I walked up and down the beach, hoping to see him
again, but with no luck. Even when the sun started going down and
the crowds dwindled to just a few clusters of drinking buddies with
umbrellas and ice chests, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I wandered
by the camp areas and the amusement park, but nothing. Nothing.
Looking out into the water, into the vastness of it, I felt alone and
empty.
The next day, I went to one of the malls after work. Just as I was
going down the escalator to leave, I went past Sandy. He was
going up the escalator beside me. Noticing me out of the corner of
his eye, he smiled playfully. This time, he was dressed up in a nice
suit and tie, with his pretty blond hair all slicked back.
I wanted to try going up the down escalator, but there were too
many people behind me, so I had to wait until I reached the
bottom. I also couldn’t run down, because of the people in front of
me.
Then when I reached the bottom, I ran into several families, all
with arm-loads of kids and shopping bags. I tried to get around the
strollers, the hand-holding preschoolers, and the impatient
husbands. It seemed like all of New Orleans stood in the three-foot
space between the down escalator and the up escalator!
Finally, I gave up and found the staircase. But I couldn’t find
Sandy. I looked everywhere, but again with no luck. I walked up
and down the aisles of electronics, bedding, and glassware. Then,
at the crystal vases, I saw him.
“I have one of those,” I told him, as stared into the large crystal
vase on the aisle’s end cap, surrounded by mirrors that helped
capture its spectrum of refracting colors.
He looked at me, and his big blue eyes grew even bigger. I
could tell he had wanted to see me again, as badly as I had
wanted to see him again. But then he tried to hide it, not wanting to
look desperate. “It’s nice, but I’m not a collector. Sometimes,
something just catches my eye.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He grinned at my teasing comment. “So, smart-ass, do you
have a name, or should I just keep thinking of you as the cute guy
on the beach?”
“Well, please do keep thinking of me that way, but my name’s
Sammy.”
I offered my hand, and he took it, squeezing gently with his warm
palm, but then he cocked his pretty head a little. “Sammy and
Sandy? No, that’s too cute, and confusing. Everyone would get us
mixed up.”
His forward, presumptuous comment made me laugh, and I let
go of his warm, firm grip. “I didn’t know we were a couple.”
“Well, we are picking out crystal. Actually, though, I might come
back for this tomorrow. I was just getting some shopping done
while I was in the neighborhood. I’m in sales, and I have dinner with
a client in a few minutes.”
My heart sank, sure he was blowing me off. “Yeah, okay. It was
nice talking to you. Sorry our names sound alike.”
He drummed the air in front of my chest, pretending to hit me,
while he grinned like crazy. “I’ll get over that eventually, but I won’t
get over you.”
That jolted me, and I was afraid my face was lighting up the
room more than the crystal was.
He went on with his confession. “I keep thinking about you. I
know we’ve never met, and we never even talked to each other,
but….” A salesman approached, and Sandy led me away as he
declined the salesman’s help.
After handing me a business card, Sandy said, “Please call me.
I’m sorry I can’t take you out now. But I’d like to, real soon.”
***
We finally managed to set up a time to meet, a few days after
our first talk, and we dated frequently for the next three weeks.
After a lot of one-night stands and failed relationships, it was
important to Sandy that we hold off on sex until we got to know
each other.
Well, that was okay with him, at forty, after a string of flings! But I
was twenty-one, and I had just come out. I wanted to do him the
first time I saw him! We kissed a little now and then, but so briefly
that it seemed more friendly than erotic.
One night, after a romantic movie and a romantic carriage ride,
he invited me to his house. I had seen it briefly a few times, but
always before dates—never after. Besides the modest
furnishings, he had a lot of drawings from a local artist he liked,
mostly of nude men kissing or embracing. We talked on the couch
for a long time, while I thought of embracing him like some of the
men in the pictures. Then he asked if I would like to spend the
night.
“Of course,” I said. At least I don’t blurt out the “YEAH!
FINALLY!” that my brain flashed in huge neon letters.
“The bedroom’s in there.” He pointed at one of two open
doorways. “Make yourself comfortable while I grab a shower.”
“Should I ask for pajamas?”
“I don’t wear pajamas…and you won’t need them.”
As he left, I stripped down to my underwear and slipped under
the blankets. I would have stripped completely before he left, but I
was somehow embarrassed about my erection. My body was in
too much of a hurry! After I got comfortable in the bed, watching for
him to walk back out into the still-lit living room, I pushed off my
underwear.
After what seemed like hours, though five minutes would
probably be accurate, Sandy walked out of the bathroom. He was
still towel-drying himself, and I thought I might catch a glimpse of
his cock, but he switched off the living room light.
As he walked into the room, he turned on a small lamp just
outside the bedroom door. “In case you need to get up during the
night,” he explained. I wasn’t worried about that; I just wanted to
see his naked body. It was as beautiful as I imagined, even in that
muted light, but he had wrapped the towel around his waist.
With a jerk, he pulled the covers off the bed, leaving me
exposed. “No fair!” I told him, my hands instinctively covering my
still-hard organ.
“Shy?” he asked. I couldn’t see him well enough to tell for sure,
but I imagined him smiling playfully.
“Look who’s talking.” I pointed at the towel, which he dropped as
he turned around, giving me a quick view of his firm butt.
Sandy flopped onto the bed beside me and kissed me, first on
the left cheek and then on my lips, fully and passionately. I touched
his chest; it was hairy and muscular, with hard nipples.
His cock rose slightly off his abdomen. I thought it might be soft
at first, the way it was flopped over there, even though it seemed
far too large to be soft. But on closer inspection, and with my eyes
adjusting better to the lamp light, I could see the space between it
and the hairy surface of his abs. I didn’t want to touch him there
yet. I just noticed that space, and ran my hand between it, amazed
by his levitation.
“Where are you going?” he asked, as I suddenly felt inspired to
stand beside the bed and look him over better, see every inch of
his beautiful body, lying there in waiting.
I was no longer on the bed, but merely leaning over it, leaning
over him. His silver-blue eyes looked off into the distance, as he
anticipated my touch. But he wasn’t distant at all. A smile folded
down his lower lip slightly, and his bright white teeth began to
show.
He reached for me, grabbed my arm and tugged me closer,
yearning to continue. “Lay back down with me,” he pleaded, and I
did, feeling the warmth of his hairy chest.
I pressed my body sideways against him as he continued to lie
on his back. Our erect members slid against each other, his cock
like a big lever that mine could push; then he pushed my lever.
My eyelids pulsed from the overwhelming pleasure, and I
struggled to keep them open so I could enjoy his beauty even while
feeling the ecstasy that stung and burned my blood. It seemed
strange that my eyes wanted to close, but I had never felt anything
so good. It felt blinding, like walking into a lighting store and
someone flipping every light on at the same time. I couldn’t believe
anything could feel so good, even though we were merely rubbing
against each other. We had barely even started our love-making.
My hand remained intermingled with the thickest part of his
chest hairs, feeling his heart beat off to the side, enjoying the hint
of sweat from our bodies both emitting so much long-contained
heat. His abdomen twitched slightly, making me look to that flat
stomach, and to what touched the bottom of it.
stomach, and to what touched the bottom of it.
His organ still stood, pointing at my hand as it ran down his
chest, down his stomach. Again, I didn’t touch what I really wanted
to touch. I ran my hand beneath it, but this time letting the course,
thick hairs of his torso scratch me ever so teasingly. I moved in
slow motion, but I still reached the thick base of his member. It
pulsed against my fingers as he let out a moan of relief, as if he
were afraid I would never actually touch it, or afraid that he would
climax before I touched it.
No longer the one for waiting, he helped me clasp my hand
around the base, while he pushed down on the fat testes that lightly
kissed my knuckles. His body trembled, starting at his hips. The
ripple effect was a wave that shot through him, almost pulling him
out from under me, and away from my grasp.
I wouldn’t let him go.
Instead of moving that hand from the base, I used my other hand
to explore its impressive width and length. I felt his thick veins
through the tips of my fingers, which I slid around the hot, twitching
surface. He pushed me down on that surface, not shoving it into
my mouth, but just causing me to kiss it.
And I kissed passionately.
I pressed my lips gently against the large, shapely crown, which
stood out proudly, even more so than on most erect organs. With
each hurried kiss, I opened my mouth a little further, until part of
that crown found its way into my mouth. I couldn’t believe how
warm and sweet it was, how good it felt in my mouth! Though I had
imagined fellatio countless times, I never imagined the heat, the
texture, the taste. Now that I was finally experiencing it, I realized
that it was much more than I ever anticipated.
As I leaned further over him, I ran my tongue up and down his
shaft, from the base, which I still gripped firmly, to the tip of that
mighty crown of his. Suddenly, and without warning, I slammed my
mouth down on his cock, and he moaned with shock and delight. I
sucked it in and out of my mouth, hungrily, lovingly.
He gave me his warmth. I gave him mine. His hand rested on my
head, gently guiding me, as I slid up and down, as I pumped him
with my hungry mouth. I swirled my tongue around the head,
slowing down for a few minutes, but then I took it in completely, all
of it. I yearned so much for its length that I even stopped gripping it
with my hand, so I could drop my mouth all the way to the base,
feeling its thick hairs scraping against my face, before I continued
bobbing my head up and down.
When I slowed down again, I took it in all the way, but this time I
felt his testes squeezing up against my face, and I felt him pushing
me away. His release was beautiful to watch. It brought glistening
wetness to his perfect stomach. He didn’t moan or grunt when it
happened, but simply breathed in satisfied gasps while caressing
the side of my face, thanking me with his gentle touch.
With my eyes now better adjusted to the limited lighting, I looked
at his hands—hands with subtle veins, barely seen beneath tanned
skin, criss-crossing over knuckles and pointing at the light brown
patches of hair on each section of each finger, so light and so
sparse that only I would notice such a thing. But only I noticed a lot
of things about him. I realized that, even then.
After admitting to feeling exhausted by our love-making, I asked
if we could go to sleep. He pulled the covers over our bodies and
caressed my chest, kissing my hair and my forehead.
“That was wonderful,” he whispered to me. “Goodnight.”
We fell asleep, looking at each other, but woke less than an hour
later, touching each other.
My staff grew firm, straining against the sheets, which were too
tight against my body. We tugged on the sheets and the blankets,
knocking them off our still-naked bodies. My face grazed against
his hairy torso, hard nipples. Tongues, lips, pressed into the
firmness between his collar bone and his chest. He tasted of salt
and smelled only vaguely of the cologne he had put on at the
beginning of the evening, now more of natural, intense manhood.
His voice resonated inside his body. With my face pressed so
tightly against his chest, I could feel his words but couldn’t
understand them. I really didn’t need to. I thought I knew what he
was saying.
“Stop.”
No, that can’t be right, I told myself.
He pushed me away, gripping my face between his palms,
and repeated. “Stop.”
Yes, that was what he said, but it just didn’t seem like something
to say at that moment. “Why?” I asked, feeling tortured. I thought of
a million things I wanted to do, but stopping didn’t make the list. It
wasn’t even a contender.
“Let’s go outside.”
When he stood up beside the bed and tugged on my hand, I had
no choice but to tell him, “Okay.” For no apparent reason, he
wrapped back up in his towel, and I pulled on my snug-fitting
briefs, before following him out the bedroom.
He led me though his house to a fenced-in backyard. Vines
covered the fence, and a waterfall trickled near a large porch
swing. Kissing me on the neck then the cheek, he held my hand as
I sat down in front of him, falling into the swing. As I slowly pushed
the towel down his muscular legs, I discovered his manhood
again, in its fullness. In the dim moonlight, I couldn’t see it all that
well, but I could see that it was big and hard, and nearly poking my
forehead.
Bracing my bare feet in the grass, I swung backwards ever so
slightly, safe from his nakedness, safe from letting our skin touch.
“Come back,” he said, not as a command, but as a plea. He
wanted my mouth on it, and so did I, but I felt playful too. It wouldn’t
be a quickie, or some sort of dominance. We still had each other,
and the night was still ours.
I swung in a little closer, meeting his upward thrust. His thick
glans brushed against my mouth, my cheek, my ear.
I swung away, further this time. He moaned in delight, realizing
that I wasn’t turning him down but rather building up the intensity,
like when he told me to stop but then took me to the backyard to
have his way with me again.
Instead of thrusting again, he waited for me to draw closer, to
press my face against the thick bush that surrounded his
manhood. My eyes now fully adjusted to the moonlight, I looked up
and noticed the look of delighted anticipation on his handsome
face.
Then I looked back down to what was in my face. I kissed the
head, licked the shaft. My hand pressed against his tight abs,
which grew even tighter as he arched his back in ecstasy. I took
his manhood into my mouth, loosely, using my toes to swing me
away a little, but not enough that it fell from my mouth. He arched
and pushed in counter-movements, making sure I kept my lips
around the thickness of his shaft.
He touched the top of my head and toyed with my hair, but never
tried to control me, instead letting me swing into and way from his
pelvis. He whispered something again, and I was afraid he said
“stop,” but he said “don’t stop.”
And I didn’t.
We kept it slow. Though he could have shoved it in and out of
my mouth, or I could have swung at a faster pace, we took our time
with each other, enjoying the sound of the trickling waterfall and the
feel of each other’s heat. When the moment finally approached, he
pulled out, and let his wetness warm my chest.
After kissing me and thanking me, he pulled down my briefs
before dropping to his knees in the grass. Now he used his
outspread arms to swing me, but with my thing going into his
mouth. He swung me faster than I swung myself, sucked me harder
than I sucked him. But I certainly wasn’t complaining!
I would have been happy just getting him off again, just feeling
him inside my mouth, but he wanted to give me pleasure with his
wet lips and tongue, his pressure, his hunger, his yearning for me.
My head fell back over the top part of the swing’s seat, as I
looked up at the crescent moon and listened to the waterfall. In the
distance, I could hear cars, birds, alarms, and all the other sounds
of the city, but only for a moment. They faded back into nothing as
he overtook me with pleasure, as he forced me in and out of his
driving mouth.
Finally stopping the swing’s motions, he leaned back his head
and swallowed me to the bush. I was already close before that.
Even after the past few minutes, I still couldn’t have imagined how
it would feel, having every nerve ending on my cock stimulating at
the same time by a warm, constricting mouth. He enveloped me
with passion!
“Stop.” I said it that time, and just in time. My seed joined his on
my torso as he pushed me away. Then he pulled me back as he
climbed onto the swing with me, resting his head on my trembling
chest.
chest.
The night air eventually dried me off, as we sat talking,
sometimes lightly swinging, sometimes touching each other’s
faces or sneaking in kisses between words.
Then we noticed the sun coming up and remembered the world
around us again. Despite talking about everything for hours, we
suddenly grew quiet.
We went inside and dressed, looking awkwardly at the clock
and each other. I hated the idea of leaving. Of course, he called
me a few hours later, and we’re still together, all these years later.
In Line and Out of Hand
Roy:
I couldn’t believe how long the line was for the tiny, one-stall
bathroom at the crowded gay bar.
I couldn’t believe how packed the place was with young men in
tight jeans, many with tight T-shirts, tank tops, or no shirts at all.
I couldn’t believe how loud the music was, or how it made me
forget the world outside or my life in my home town, far away from
gay bars or gay anything.
But what I really couldn’t believe was the two guys making out,
next in line behind me. I wasn’t facing them, but with their groping,
cuddling, kissing, and fondling, they couldn’t help bumping into me
repeatedly. That might have offended me, normally, to have people
bumping into me without apologizing.
This time, though, it didn’t matter. With quick glances, I noticed
that they were both hot and young, maybe in their early twenties.
They both wore nothing but sandals and cargo shorts. Neither was
muscular, but they both had tight, tan bodies with shaved chests.
One had short black hair and needed to shave. The other one, who
was even cuter than his companion, had short blond hair and an
abundance of freckles; he also had piercings in his ears and one
eyebrow, but with small enough rings that they didn’t call too much
attention to themselves.
I had passed the blond before, when I was getting into line. I had
thought we’d made eye contact, but I figured I was kidding myself,
because he was way too young and cute for me. He had probably
been looking at his boyfriend, and then joined him in line, behind
me.
A hand bumped into my back again as it reached around his
partner’s body, up his back. Was he…? Was it my imagination, or
was he intentionally feeling up my body too?
Yes, he was touching my shoulders, rubbing my back.
I asked myself, should I turn around? Does his partner know
what’s going on? What does this mean?
I turned to see them both smiling at me.
“Hi,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I’d only fooled around
a little with guys, and never in public, and never with two at a time.
Fantasies rushed into my mind like the blood rushing into my cock.
The bathroom door opened.
The guy in front of me walked out the bathroom, and everyone in
line seemed to be staring at me, except for the two lovers. They
had fully returned their attention to each other, kissing
passionately.
Scared, I went into the bathroom alone and pulled the door shut.
When I finished and opened the door, they had already left.
***
Devlin:
I finally saw someone at the crowded bar who looked like my
type! Most of the guys there looked like me—shirtless twinks in
shorts. It was July in New Orleans, so it wasn’t like we’d be
dressed up. But, still, I felt like a total clone.
This guy stood out, though. I like older men—not ancient, just
seasoned. Older guys that go after blond twinks like me are easy
to find, of course, but certain ones have a look that turns me on.
to find, of course, but certain ones have a look that turns me on.
This guy had it: black hair (with a touch of gray), green eyes, a
muscular build. He looked nervous, though, like he had never been
in a gay bar. He also looked like he was waiting in line for the
bathroom.
I didn’t have to go, but I got in the long line, directly behind him.
As soon as I did that, some twink got in line behind me. The twink
and I probably looked like a couple, since we were both wearing
only sandals and tan cargo shorts, and we both had the same hair-
cut. With his short black hair and the cute little cleft on his chin
(which had gone unshaved for a day or two), he was definitely hot,
but not my type.
“How’s it going?” he shouted into my ear. The music was so
loud that you really couldn’t communicate any other way, unless
you happened to know sign language. He was doused in cologne,
which still smelled good. I had worried too much about sweating to
wear cologne; those two scents don’t tend to mix so well on me.
His lips nearly kissed my ear when he spoke, and I could feel his
heartbeat racing, like he’d just been on the dance floor.
“Great,” I answered into his ear. My face scraped against his
five o’clock shadow. Razor stubble wasn’t the only thing rough
about him. Something, some kind of intuition, told me that he might
be bad news, and that maybe I should hang onto my wallet.
Fortunately, it was buttoned up in a front pocket. Still, he was cute.
“You’re hot,” he screamed, touching my chest. I could feel the
beat of the dance music just as strongly as I could feel his warm
hand. I could also feel the effects of the hurricane I had just
downed.
“Thanks. So are you.”
He suddenly started kissing me. Caught up in the moment, I
didn’t resist. And he really was hot, I told myself, but not as hot as
the guy in front of me. Then the thought hit me. I could be as bold
as my new friend. I could play with both of those guys.
Twink boy was all over me, groping my chest and my cock,
making me accidentally bump into handsome man a few times. I
apologized, but doubted that he could hear me. I rubbed his back
to get his attention and tell him I was sorry for bumping him. Damn,
he had a nice, firm body! I kept rubbing.
He finally turned around. It looked like he was saying “Hi.” Twink
boy smiled, but it was a fake smile, and he obviously wasn’t into
older guys, or my idea of a three-way. I smiled too, and my smile
was real. But then handsome man noticed the bathroom door
opening, and he went on in, pulling the door shut behind himself.
Damn!
That’s when it really got weird. This Latino man broke into the
line and just kind of pushed twink boy out the exit. It looked like he
was saying something, but I couldn’t hear it. From his build, I
guessed he was a bouncer, and twinkie was in some sort of
trouble. Maybe twinkie was underage, or had walked on a tab.
Like I said before, there was something rough about him,
something I couldn’t quite trust.
So the guy I was after wasn’t interested, and the guy who was
after me got kicked out. Fuck it, I figured, then went to get a beer.
Another hurricane would have kicked my ass too hard, but a beer
sounded just right.
***
Paul:
I had never seen so many easy targets in my life! A whole bar
crammed full of young punks who would probably go home with
anyone who looked enough like themselves. They could have just
as well humped a damn mirror, but that would leave me out.
Since Katrina, the police department in New Orleans has been
even thinner than usual, so I knew they wouldn’t have time for
queers getting beat up and robbed by their tricks. Hell, most of
those guys wouldn’t report it to the police anyway. It is kind of
embarrassing. You suck a stranger’s cock, in your apartment or
your hotel room, and then he roughs you up and rips you off. Who
wants to tell anyone that?
So I’d get my rocks off, and get the cash or the drugs I needed. It
was a good deal. I never hurt them too bad, as long as they had
the good sense not to try to stop me.
This blond punk looked like a good victim, all starry eyed and
knocking down a tall glass of hurricane. No telling how many he’d
already had. I tried to approach him, but it was too hard to get to
him through the crowd. A few minutes later, I saw him in line for the
bathroom. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t just walk off.
I started putting my moves on him, knowing it wouldn’t take
much. He seemed into it, but then he started feeling up some old
guy in the line in front of him. The old guy turned around, and I
forced a smile. One at a time, I thought. Then again, maybe he had
more money than the blond kid. I’d just always gone for the young
ones, all trusting, reckless, and naïve. That was part of the turn-on.
They had no idea what they were doing, what they were getting
into.
This kid was hot, and I was going to enjoy having him take my
cock into his mouth, maybe even into his tight little ass, before I
had to get down to business. The bathroom door shut, with the old
guy inside, so hottie was all mine again.
So what was with this stocky Mexican guy, bumping into me?
Where the hell did he come from? That dude just swept me up and
yanked me outside with him. At first, I thought he was a bouncer,
but then I figured out the obvious.
“Hello, Paul,” he said, in a gruff voice. He had me in a hold, and I
could tell he’d learned that at a police academy. I’d been in trouble
before, but always charmed my way out of it.
The street wasn’t very crowded, so it didn’t take me long to
notice the uniformed cops rushing toward us, looking ready to pull
out their guns.
I tried to pull free of his grip, but he had me good. It was kind of
sexy, really, even though he was too old for me, and probably not
interested in sex. I asked him, “How do you know my name?”
“One of your past victims recognized you at the bar, and
emailed your picture to us from his cell phone. Doesn’t technology
suck?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve been looking for you for a long time,” said one of the
other cops, a butch-looking lady cop. “You’ve hurt a lot of people.”
“It’s a living.”
***
Roy sat down beside Devlin, who was sipping a beer and
looking bored. “What happened to your friend?” Roy shouted.
Devlin waved down the bartender, pointed at Roy, and pointed
at the beer bottle. The bartender nodded. Devlin leaned onto
Roy’s shoulder, enjoying the softness of his cotton shirt. “He’s not
my friend, and I’m not too sure what happened to him. That’s cool,
though. He was too young for me.” After paying for Roy’s beer,
Devlin added, “I’m into older guys.”
“Thanks for the beer, but I’m not that much older than you.”
“I just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago.”
Roy smiled and winced at the same time. “I’m not that much
older…than your father.”
They both laughed, and Devlin told him, “You have a cute
smile.”
Roy replied, “You have a cute everything. Want to get out of
here?”
After taking another sip, Devlin set down his beer and said,
“No, I’m enjoying my beer, and the good company.”
They finished that round of beers and talked over another one,
before deciding to walk around the French Quarter. Once outside,
they realized how good it felt not to shout every word. Soon, hours
had passed and the alcohol had worn off, but they still hadn’t
touched each other again.
“My hotel room is nearby,” Roy said. “Would you like to come
up?”
Devlin gave him a sweet smile. “I think you know the answer to
that.”
***
The hotel room was tiny, but they didn’t need much space. They
kissed passionately. Roy felt Devlin’s erection, pressing through
his cargo shorts, and helped him get those off as quickly as
possible, along with the sandals.
“Not fair,” said Devlin, unbuttoning Roy’s shirt to reveal a hairy
chest and an even hairier stomach. “You’re overdressed for this
party!” Devlin pushed the shirt down and licked Roy’s left nipple
party!” Devlin pushed the shirt down and licked Roy’s left nipple
while helping him take everything else off.
Roy’s erection was slightly longer than Devlin’s, and much
thicker, but both men liked all of what they saw. Sitting down on the
bed, with Devlin still standing in front of him, Roy took one smooth-
shaved testicle into his mouth, and then the other one.
Devlin moaned beneath his breath, running his fingers through
Roy’s hair and caressing his muscular shoulders. Roy licked his
way up Devlin’s shaft until the thick, purplish glans pressed against
his lips. Devlin moaned much louder as Roy gulped him down,
accepting Devlin’s cock completely inside his mouth. Roy
squeezed Devlin’s glutes while sucking his cock, and Devlin
guided one of Roy’s hands between those glutes.
“Do you have a condom?” Devlin asked, gently pulling back
from Roy’s embrace and his warm mouth.
Roy smiled up at him. “Yeah. I picked some up at the bar.
They’re in my front pocket.” Roy liked what Devlin was suggesting,
no matter which of them would top or bottom, but he also wanted
to keep sucking on Roy. He loved the taste of that hot, young
manmeat!
Devlin tore a condom from its package and unraveled it onto
Roy’s cock before turning away and sitting down in his lap. With
Devlin slowly lowering up and down, Roy managed to penetrate a
little at a time, never going too fast and never wanting control. He
loved feeling Devlin’s tight young body in his lap, enveloping his
cock.
“Your cock fits just right in me,” Devlin told him, squeezing it with
his buns as he lowered down on it again.
“That’s what I was thinking.” Roy caressed Devlin’s forehead,
careful not to pull on the gold ring in his eyebrow. He looked
deeply into Devlin’s beautiful blue eyes and then kissed him as
Devlin rose up again.
With their lips, tongues, and lower bodies already mingled
together, Roy began toying with Devlin’s cock again, wishing he
could suck it some more. He wanted more of its sweet taste in his
mouth! Taking just a little of the control away, Roy pushed Devlin
up off his cock. But in the same instant, Devlin’s cock slipped
between Roy’s moist lips.
“Mmmmmm,” Roy moaned as he tasted that sweetness again.
He took it all in, licking it up and down, and then let Devlin slide
back into his lap. After Devlin rode him a few more minutes, they
repeated the alternating motion, until Devlin soon felt that he was
getting fucked and sucked at the same time.
It seemed impossible, felt impossible.
It was too much, too good.
They both climaxed, and Devlin pushed Roy over, lying on top of
him. After catching their breath, they took turns in the shower,
letting the water cool down their sweating bodies.
They spent the rest of the night naked, quietly talking and
kissing, glad to finally be alone together.
Out in the Open (Zing’s Campground Adventure)
I had been running in decathlons and AIDS runs for several
years, so at thirty-one, I was in better shape than ever. The main
thing was staying that way, so I started jogging four days a week,
usually for a mile or two. Since I live in the middle of downtown
New Orleans, and I don’t like getting run over, I soon scouted out a
more peaceful area of the city.
This place where I go jogging all the time has a campground
area, with buildings that a lot of people rent for parties, family
reunions, or what-have-ya. I always go off the trail just a little bit to
this one wooded area that leads to a clearing, up on top of a hill.
It’s really peaceful and secluded, and I like to catch my breath
there, even if it means just lying down in the middle of nowhere.
That’s exactly what I was doing one humid but sunny May
afternoon, wearing just my tennis shoes and my jogging shorts,
lying on the grass in the sunshine. Despite all the bushes and trees
that surrounded most of the jogging trail, this one area was just
grass—my one secret place for relaxing.
I certainly didn’t expect to hear someone’s voice, much less
someone’s voice saying my name.
“Zing?”
I raised my upper body a little. “Yeah?”
Stepping out from the shade of the trees, Gabe approached me
from behind, wearing loafers, a white T-shirt with “Smith Family
Reunion” ironed onto the front, and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. I
had never noticed how cute that college boy was—killer dimples,
freckled face, short red hair, and a firm, muscular body. He was
kinda short, but who cares? Maybe I’d just never paid attention to
him before, since he was my friend. He was also my fellow runner
Rick’s casualty of the week and, therefore, probably someone with
self-destructive tastes. Rick went through the guys faster than he
could run; maybe Rick should be the one with the odd name of
“Zing.”
“That is your name, isn’t it?” Gabe asked, while I stood up to
greet him. “Zing?”
“That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m fast, and because Zing is easier to remember
than Xavier Nathaniel Harding, Jr.”
He grinned and touched at his brow, like a mosquito had landed
on it or something. “Yeah, I guess it would be. The Smiths are my
mom’s family,” Gabe said, indicating his T-shirt with a tap of his
chest. “Don’t tell anyone I was wearing this ugly-ass shirt!”
“Your secret’s safe with me! So, I heard you and Rick broke
up.”
“Yeah.” Gabe shrugged, trying to seem casual about the
break-up.
“And I noticed he was dating someone else.”
Gabe’s head jolted back a little, and he frowned. “I didn’t need
to know that. This has just been a sorry-ass day!”
“Would that have something to do with the Smith Family
Reunion?” I pointed at his shirt, and he tugged at the letters,
scowling a little. I also noticed that he seemed to really like the
word “ass.” That’s okay; I liked looking at his ass.
“Oh, yeah! Everyone is honoring me at this year’s reunion,
because I just graduated from college.”
because I just graduated from college.”
“Congratulations! But how is that bad?”
“Because I was thinking of coming out to some of my relatives,
at least my parents. I’ve never come out to anyone who isn’t gay.
But then I heard from one of my cousins that her sister Lisa was
the only relative not to get an invitation to the reunion, because she
recently came out as a dyke.”
“Yeah,” I said, “some people are like that. Maybe you just
shouldn’t tell them, if they’re going to be assholes about it. At least
wait until after you get all your graduation presents!”
He laughed at my latter statement then told me, “Yeah, but I’d
like to get up in front of the whole damn group and say, ‘Guess
what everybody? I’m gay!’ But they’re all holy roller, holier than
thou, and all that bullshit! My dad’s a preacher, and my mom just
as well be one! Dude, I just had to get away from those people for
a while. I couldn’t even bring myself to telling them that I’m planning
on moving to West Hollywood!”
“Good luck with that one!”
“For real! You wouldn’t believe how tense I am! My shoulders
are all knotted up again, and I just had a massage yesterday!”
Not really thinking about how sexual it might look to anyone who
happened upon us, I grabbed his shoulders, and felt the incredible
amount of tension in them. Besides, I had never seen anyone else
there. “You’re right,” I told him. “You need to get rid of some
tension.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think a massage will do it this time.”
“Oh, really? And what would?”
“Well, a blowjob, but not here.”
“Why not here?”
He shook his head and sliced the air with his right hand. “Dude,
there’s no fucking way I would pull my dick out here. Would you?”
I reached down to my fly. “Yeah, it’s safe here.”
“I’d like to see you do it.” Gabe’s taunting grin made me want to
play, even more than I already wanted it.
“Okay,” I said, pulling my cock out through the slit in my shorts. It
was completely erect, from the fantasy aspect of our situation, and
because he was looking so damn hot!
“Damn, that must be at least seven inches!” he exclaimed,
suddenly looking less worried about getting caught.
“At least,” I agreed. Actually, it’s a quarter inch under seven, if
we’re going to be honest. But it felt good hearing him say that, and
I was glad to play along with the fantasy talk. “You take yours out.”
“Well, I’m not as big,” he said, with a sheepish grin. He was
right. It also wasn’t hard when he pulled it out. It was kind of small,
and completely soft. But looking at my big organ stabbing out of
my shorts inspired him.
He gave his a few yanks, and it stirred. Then a few more, and it
grew a little more. I grabbed his shoulders and started kissing him.
Our lips and tongues smashed against each other. Then I could
feel it really growing!
I pushed him back a little, so I could get a full view. Once hard, it
was still average length, but unusually thick, with a fat, beautiful
head.
“It looks good to me,” I assured him, then proved it by dropping
to my knees.
Obviously over his fear, he started undulating his hips as I
kissed his pulsing cock and forced his shorts down the rest of the
way. He also had beautiful testes, round and shaved. Gabe
caressed his cock as I began licking those tasty orbs, breathing in
the perfection of his masculine scent. One of my favorite things
about being an athlete was the smell of male bodies, the flood of
testosterone hitting my senses! It was amazing I’d never done
anything like that in a locker room, but even I had never thought I’d
suddenly act out this way in the great outdoors!
Sliding my hands around his waist, I pulled him closer. I
squeezed his thick cock, then ran my tongue up and down the
underside of it.
I accepted his organ into my mouth, taking it to the base, while I
squeezed his smooth glutes. He had very little body hair, as I
discovered when I tossed off his shirt. Other than his bushy armpits
and his downy, muscular legs, he was either shaved or naturally
hairless. My hands moved up and down that firm, hairless chest,
touching his bare, pointed nipples.
Though I tend to close my eyes during sex, I kept them open so I
could watch that fat shaft move in and out of my lips as he moved
his butt back and forth. I ran my fingernails along his tight six-pack
abs. He moaned desperately but then suddenly pulled out and
pulled me up, kissing me. I thought he was going to climax, but he
just wanted to slow things down.
“I want you inside me when it happens,” he told me. Saying “it”
that way made his climax sound like a major event, and I wanted to
make sure it was.
“Believe me, I want to, but I don’t have a condom.”
He picked his pants up from the ground, got out his wallet, and
pulled a familiar-looking package from it. “I just happened to put
this in my wallet this morning,” he said. “Maybe I was being over-
confident, but…” He grinned slyly while handing me the rubber.
“Thanks,” I said, tearing it open. “And you weren’t being over-
confident. Looking like you do, I’m sure you never have any trouble
finding action.”
His coy grin made him look even hotter! “I do okay, but this is my
first time having sex outdoors.”
“Mine too. We’ll make sure it’s memorable for both of us!” After
pushing my shorts down, I rolled the clear-blue latex onto my
erection, wishing I had some lube, but glad just to have protection.
I was crazy enough to have public sex, but smart enough to be
safe about it.
Actually, I didn’t need lubricant. He was surprisingly accepting,
as he bent over in front of me and offered himself. I poked the
head against the entry, not really trying to push it in, just giving him
a chance to get used to having it there.
But then he pushed back against it, and I could tell he’d done
this many times before. Of course, he only said that he’d never
done it outside, not that he’d never done it. I started to push in a
little further, but he was pushing against me, riding up and down
half the length of my manhood. He was no passive bottom! He
wanted my cock, and he took it!
He moaned and told me, “Now THAT is what I’ve been
needing!”
“Me too!” Still, it wasn’t quite going in all the way, so I thrust my
hips forward as he pushed back. Now I felt some resistance.
Apparently, his other experiences weren’t with someone who was
as well hung as me. He reached back, gripping my firm thighs, but
I stopped pushing for a moment, lightly stroking his chest instead. I
could tell that he needed to get used to having it that far in before it
went the rest of the way.
“I guess you know I have a thing for athletes,” he admitted. “Rick
always insisted I go to all his events, but I wanted to go anyway.
I’ve always liked watching you and Rick, and the other guys.”
“I like having you watch me,” I admitted, before thrusting further
in, all the way this time. I had noticed the stares before, but always
thought they were just because I was with Rick. Gabe was a hottie,
and Rick was stupid to let him go.
Gabe gasped a little, surprised by how the full length felt inside
him, but then he quickly adjusted to it and started riding up and
down the whole thing. I kept rubbing his muscular shoulders, which
were now free of their former tension. Neither of us could have
been more content, and we slowed down to enjoy each other even
more. But then he started masturbating, as I toyed with his nipples.
When I drew to the absolute edge of climax, I could feel Gabe’s
body racking with the same pleasure. I knew we would both shoot
at the same time, intensifying our pleasure. He told me to go
harder and faster, and I did. Then I felt the fullness of our
encounter, unloading again and again. My eyes squeezed shut for
a few seconds from the almost unbearably good feeling.
“Oh, God!” he exclaimed, and I looked down over his shoulder to
watch as he let go of his rod.
It shot anyway, even without his continued yanking. It shot way in
front of him, and I looked up just enough to see shoes, several
pairs of them, a few dozen pairs of them, all on feet, all on bodies,
all of which were people wearing “Smith Family Reunion” T-shirts!
There were people of all ages and sizes in those T-shirts. Three of
them fainted. One or two of them laughed, and asked, “What the
hell?” But most of them just gazed in shocked, speechless horror.
Gabe straightened up, still one with me, and made an
announcement to his family: “Guess what everybody? I’m gay!”
Sorting
Jacob, the forty-year-old owner and general manager of the gym
where I worked in New Orleans, didn’t look like he ever used any
of his own equipment. Anyone could see that his boney body
needed some meat, even through the wrinkled dress shirts and
pleated pants that always made him look totally out of place and
strangely intimidating. Despite overly red cheeks, inhumanly pale
skin, a lot of random hair loss on his scalp, and a slightly crooked
nose, he probably could have been nice looking. But he just didn’t
take care of himself.
Jacob even told me that he hated working out, which seemed
especially hypocritical, since he owned a business that relied on
convincing people of a need to work out. Actually, he inherited the
business from his father and treated it as a burden, but you would
still think he’d put his equipment to use.
Fortunately, he had hired Anthony and me as trainers and
assistant managers. We were both in great shape, especially
Anthony. Still, I seemed to work more heavily with training, while
Anthony worked a lot more in the retail area, where we offered
work-out clothes, protein shakes, and a lot of other products
related to the fitness industry. But one Saturday, Jacob gave both
of us an assignment that involved merchandising.
It was almost closing time, and the last lingering guys and girls
were finally leaving the locker room. Anthony was helping
someone renew a membership when Jacob pulled me off to the
side, in front of the clothing area.
In his gruff whisper, Jacob started telling me about the work that
he needed us to come in and do the next morning at 8, several
hours before we opened. Sunday was the only day we opened
late, because Jacob didn’t want people going to the gym during
church time. Of course, he didn’t mind making us work during that
time, since we had both told him we weren’t interested in going to
church. (He had invited us several times each.)
“We need to get all of those clothes into the store room, with the
ones that are already strewn around in there, and sort through
them,” he told me, rubbing at his overgrown eyebrows. “I want
everything inventoried, so we can have a big sale, and start getting
more people in here, before that fancy gym opens up down the
road. That’s just the first of our new improvements, to help us put
them out of business before they open.”
“I hear they’re going to have wet and dry saunas, and
everything,” I told Jacob. “Are we getting all of that?”
His cheeks turned even redder than usual, and he glared
accusingly at me, as if I had made some blasphemous comment
that could send me straight to hell. “By no means! You could fill a
book with the stories that go around about men getting it on with
each other at gyms, especially in gym saunas. I’m not having
sodomy on my premises. I’ll close down before I let faggots in
here!”
I wasn’t out at the time, so I didn’t dare respond, especially
since he probably would have fired me on the spot. But I wanted to
respond, and I wanted to tell him to stick his homophobic diatribe
up his skinny, self-righteous ass before he sat down on his pew.
***
***
I arrived bright and early, fifteen minutes before 8, to find
Anthony already hard at work, bringing handfuls of skimpy outfits to
the store room. He always showed up early and worked hard. We
joked about forgetting to bring coffee, while I began helping him.
Anthony had strongly pronounced cheekbones that pressed
against his deeply tanned skin. They were among the more
noticeable features of a slightly ordinary, but certainly not bad-
looking face. His hair was thick and coal-black, looping carefully
around his ears and hanging ever so slightly over the collar of his
bluish-green polo shirt. His tightly fitting khaki shorts accentuated
muscular thighs. His chest and arms were well toned without being
overly stocky; he obviously did a lot of swimming and biking,
besides the work-outs that we did together at the gym.
I wanted to touch his thighs. That’s kind of crazy, because of
where we were at the time…the store room…at work! Forcing my
eyes to pull away from Anthony’s body and back to the task at
hand, I realized that the store room looked much worse than ever
before. We’re talking boxes everywhere, not to mention a lot of
loose clothes and shoes with no label or anything.
And speaking of boxes, Anthony had a nice one. We had never
hung out together outside work, and I had no idea if he was gay or
what. There was this girl Mindy who called him a lot, and who
always asked for his guidance when she was working out, but she
could have been a sister or a fag hag. You never know. They
certainly didn’t seem like they were in love or anything.
Personally, I’d never told anyone I was gay. I was just starting to
realize it myself. After a long series of one-night stands, I started
figuring out that this might not be experimenting. It might be a
permanent pattern. I wasn’t even thinking relationship, but I was
thinking that maybe I kept having sex with men because I really,
really, really liked having sex with men, and not just because I was
going through a phase.
And gay men are easy to meet when you work in a gym in New
Orleans. A lot of them flirted with me, and I met up with a few of
them after work. But I was careful not to let my boss or Anthony
see what was going on, or so I thought.
“Can you believe this shit?” I asked Anthony, as he pulled down
yet another box from the first shelf on the first wall. There were
three walls to go, with between five and ten shelves per wall. Aside
from the many boxes, there were also a lot of sweats and
clearance items just stacked here and there. Some weren’t really
stacked so much as pushed together in a colorful pile.
Anthony looked at me, making notes on my clip board and
tapping the side of the shopping basket I was using for sorting.
“It’s not so bad,” he said, in his deep, sexy voice. “But it’s probably
keeping you from one of your dates.”
“What dates?”
“The ones you’re always setting up with the pretty boys who flirt
with you when you spot them or train them.”
I tried to look like I didn’t know what he wasn’t talking about, and
I’m sure I at least looked shocked that he would come right and
say such a thing. He was usually kind of quiet. Now he was getting
all blunt and outspoken. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked
him, after catching my breath.
“Give me a break, dude. You’re like the gay magnet of Jacob’s
Gym. If Jacob wasn’t so clueless, he’d probably notice it and fire
your cute ass. He’s like a total ‘phobe.”
I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. “I kind of got
that idea. Wait, did you just compliment my ass?” I looked behind
myself, realizing that my position over the shopping cart had me
sticking my butt out, and that my tight blue jeans called even more
attention to it.
He laughed, those big cheekbones of his stretching his face.
“I’m sorry if that was improper of me, but I was just noticing what
everyone else keeps checking out.”
“So…you’re checking me out?”
He tossed his head in a cocky gesture. “Maybe a little.”
“Then you’re…homosexual?”
“Maybe a little of that too. At least Mindy thinks I am. She says
that’s why I want to just be friends.”
“Then y’all aren’t…?”
He waived away the rest of the question. “No, not really. I mean
we’ve dated, and we’ve kissed some, but it just didn’t feel right.
We’ve been buddies all our lives, and she’s had some serious
relationships. But not me.”
“Me either.”
“If we weren’t locked up in here, maybe we could fool around a
little.”
I chuckled at his statement, trying not to sound as interested as I
actually was. “Oh really? And what would that involve?”
“Maybe a kiss, for starters.”
“Are you a decent kisser?” I asked, standing up straight while he
set down the stack of sweatpants he was sorting and sashayed
much closer to me.
“See for yourself,” he said, before planting his firm lips on mine.
At first, I felt like laughing at the awkwardness and
inappropriateness of our situation. Then I felt like pushing him
away and telling him that we shouldn’t risk any fooling around at
work. Still, we kept kissing, and our tongues began pressing
against each other. I ran my fingers across his cheekbones and
into his hair.
Anthony’s hands stole to my waist, and he pulled my body
closer, more tightly, to his, as I finally felt of those firm, beautiful
thighs! Perfection! A rush of cologne, danger, and excitement
surged through my body. I could feel my arousal as his erection
rubbed against me through our clothes. I moved my hand up to
explore his cock. Beneath the fabric of his khakis, it felt long, hard.
We needed to stop, but I wanted to see it, just a peek. We’ll
continue later, I thought, but I have to see it now.
While his fingers went gliding across my chest and shoulders, I
unzipped his pants and reached inside, but his boxers and the
bottom of his shirt were in the way. He moaned at my exploration,
my desire.
“Not here,” he said, backing away and grinning. I could swear he
was even blushing a little! “We’ll get together later.”
I felt embarrassed, and hid my face in my hands. “You’re right.
This is crazy, but…” I turned around and started sorting through the
clothes in the shopping cart again.
“But what?” he asked, rubbing my shoulders. His touch felt
great!
“But I’ll go crazy if you don’t at least let me see it, just for a
second!”
“Then we can get back to work?” He grinned slyly while pulling
up the bottom of his shirt with his right hand.
“Yes. It will give me something to work for, an employee
incentive.”
We laughed at my joke, and he pulled down his shorts, then his
boxers. Again pulling up the bottom of his shirt, he allowed me a
good look at the uncut organ that bounced up! It was big and thick,
with shaved balls hanging nicely around it. Despite the shaved
balls, though, a shiny plume of pubic hair flowered at the base of
his member, which had to be eight or nine inches long!
“Satisfied?” he asked, grinning proudly at the beautiful member
he displayed.
“Almost. Show me the head.”
“Okay.” Pushing back the foreskin, he revealed a thick, purple
glans, already glistening with pre-ejaculate. But then he quickly
pulled his boxers and his shorts back up.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Anything for a good work environment.” He winked at me then
kissed me on the cheek. “I can’t wait to see yours!”
“I can’t wait to touch yours!”
“I can’t wait for anything,” he said. We began kissing again, and
I knew exactly what he meant. We had gone too far to put on the
brakes! But someone else put them on for us!
I jerked away from him as I heard the lock on the back door
turning.
Along with a burst of sunlight from the alley, we saw Jacob, our
boss. I had never seen him dressed so casually before. He looked
less intimidating than usual that day, wearing his jeans and his “I
love Jesus” T-shirt in place of his usual wrinkled dress shirt.
“Hey, fellows!” he exclaimed, stepping between us. “How far
have you gotten?”
“Oh…further than expected,” Anthony told him, glancing over at
me. “It should just be a couple more hours.”
“Well, I got home from church and felt bad about not helping you
boys. And my wife doesn’t need any help watching the kids.”
I’m not usually one to turn down help, but I really wanted to get
back to what had almost happened. “We’re fine, Jacob,” I insisted.
back to what had almost happened. “We’re fine, Jacob,” I insisted.
“Go spend the day with your family.”
He held up his little hands. “No, I think y’all need me to show y’all
how it’s done.”
We tried desperately not to laugh, and had to turn away from
him a few times. With Jacob’s help, and without the distractions
that Jacob had stopped, we finished the work in just two hours.
***
As soon as we left there, Anthony and I headed over to my
apartment to finish where we’d left off. It took about two seconds to
get him to the bedroom, where he quickly began kissing me.
“Let’s see,” said Anthony, pulling on my shirt. “This goes on the
floor.” He pulled it over my head and tossed it down. “So do
these,” he added, undressing me the rest of the way.
“What about this?” I asked, going for his clothes.
“Same place.”
We were soon fully naked, fully erect, and on the bed, kissing
like we’d wanted to kiss for the past couple of hours. Then my lips
made my way down his body, to that big cock he had revealed to
me before. It tasted great in my mouth, and I loved stroking his
shaved testes while I sucked him.
He pushed on my hand; at first I thought he was pushing it away,
but he was pushing it further back, so it brushed against his butt. I
gripped it and explored it, touching his opening while still sucking
intently. He moaned with delight.
“I want you inside me,” he said.
He lifted my head up, letting his organ fall from my mouth. I
pulled myself up and kissed him on the lips while fumbling for a
condom. After he put it on me, I lubricated him and myself with the
gel from my nightstand drawer. I had kept it there for a while,
hoping to get lucky, but I hadn’t expected anyone who looked like
Anthony.
He returned to the same position, lying on his back, but I lifted
him up by his thighs and slid part of my body underneath him. With
his muscular legs up in the air, I could not only massage them but
also begin to enter him. Though he acted experienced, he was
extremely tight and resistant. At first, it seemed like I couldn’t go in,
but I did, and we moaned together.
We kissed for a long time, the rest of our bodies still, before I
penetrated him further. That happened a few times before I finally
entered him completely. I retreated a little, but only so I could
return, again and again, slowly, passionately.
“This is perfect,” he said, the only thing he’d said since telling
me what he wanted.
“Yes, it is.”
***
After hearing from our friend Mindy that the owner of the new
gym was openly gay, Anthony and I decided to apply for
management positions there. We both got the jobs, and soon put
Jacob’s Gym out of business. Jacob sold the gym—which he
never really liked anyway—and went to seminary to become a
preacher.
The people who bought Jacob’s Gym sold the work-out
equipment to us then converted the place into a gay bar. Anthony
and I go there all the time; we’ve been together since that day in
the store room, three years ago. Sometimes, while we’re on the
dance floor together, we look over at the door that leads to what
used to be Jacob’s store room. We both grin, knowing that the
other is wondering what might go on in there.
Two Kinds of Action
There’s a certain park in New Orleans where some action goes
on now and then, late at night. It’s mostly action of a good kind, but
occasionally it’s a bad kind. One night, I found both. It was late—
about two in the morning, actually, and I had just left my favorite
gay bar.
In the summer of ’98, there were some gay bashings at the park.
Everyone said to stay away, but I had just broken up with boyfriend
number, number…. Well, it’s not really important which number he
was, or what his name was.
So, I was frustrated, tense, and feeling a bit reckless. I had also
had a few cocksucker shots too many, which is always the case
when you’ve had a few of those. But the shot boy was this tight-
bod twink without a shirt on, and he kept smiling when asking if I
wanted another shot, so….
After striking out with the shot boy and every other good-looking
guy at the bar, I was wandering around in the dark in New Orleans
at a dangerous place and a dangerous time. For some reason,
that kind of added to the excitement, especially when I actually saw
someone.
I was walking out of the bathroom when I saw a tall man wearing
sweats and an oversized, extremely loose-fitting jacket, walking
around a park bench. At first, I thought maybe he was out for a
late-night jog and needed a break. But he kept looking my way.
Part of me asked, what if he has a knife in the jacket, or a gun?
Hell, he could have fit a pipe in it! And it wasn’t like bashers only
use baseball bats, though that’s what had happened to a friend of
mine, and he nearly died. You would think that would teach me. But
I wasn’t interested in lessons from bigots and killers. If I wanted to
cruise a park at a ridiculous hour, then damn it, I would!
I walked closer, and he casually strolled around me, as if
investigating me. His nose and his hair and the thickness of his
eyelashes made him look Hispanic, though his skin was barely
darker than mine, if it was darker at all.
Despite the looseness of his clothing, I could tell that he was
probably well built. Better yet, his cock bounced around in his
sweats as he walked. The bathroom’s outside lights gave me that
special vision. And I do mean special! It looked big!
Catching me looking, he gripped it with one hand and smiled
suggestively. I walked behind the restroom, into the darkness, and
he followed me.
He began touching me, not where I expected, but on the chest
and the back. His touch seemed strange somehow, like he wasn’t
sure what to do, or like he was afraid on some level. Stranger still,
it felt like he was checking me for weapons or something, like at
the airport. I thought, maybe he’s the basher, or maybe he thinks
I’m the basher.
This guy was nervous, and he had probably never been with a
guy before! I couldn’t see his face well enough to make out his
expression, but I could feel the nervousness in our contact, and in
his gasping.
“It’s okay,” I told him, but he didn’t reply. He never spoke at all,
and I wondered if maybe he was mute, or just scared someone
would hear us.
I reached for his cock, and could feel its firmness through his
sweat pants. He was completely erect already. I started to lift my
hand higher, so I could feel his upper body, but he caught my hand
in his—forcefully, almost violently. He pushed my hand back down
then started to walk away.
“Wait,” I said. “Let me touch it some more.”
He hesitated, but he didn’t push my hand away when I reached
for it again. He kept looking around, almost in a panic. Still, he let
me push down his sweat pants. His uncut member, surrounded by
a thick bush, stood against my hand, throbbing at my caress,
releasing drops of pre-ejaculate. It was even bigger than I thought!
He kept looking around, but he also moaned just a little, enough
to let me know that he wanted me to keep going. I got on my knees
and started feeling his thing with both hands, also feeling his balls.
They weren’t all that big, in comparison to his organ, but certainly
weren’t bad at all. I carefully avoided reaching above his waistline.
But I kept wondering why he had stopped me when I did reach
above his waistline. I told myself it was just because he was
nervous. Or maybe he had a beer belly and was self-conscious
about it. Or maybe he was just scared to death of who else might
be at the park. I told myself a lot of things, for the next few seconds,
but then I focused on something more entertaining.
I pressed my tongue against the tip and licked inside his
foreskin. I could feel his body tremble. He pushed back the
foreskin, and I took the head into my mouth, sucking lightly, feeling
it pulsate in my mouth. My hands stole to his firm ass, and the
action caused him to jump a bit, but he didn’t object.
My lips parted and accepted more of his thick manhood into my
mouth. I gripped his ass as firmly as he had gripped my hand
earlier. He couldn’t fully suppress his moans of delight as I licked
and sucked him. Still, he kept as quiet as possible, even as he
began rocking his body a little, to better feed me his passion.
A noise in the bushes made him jump, jerking away. But it didn’t
matter. I had already taken him all the way. When he pulled himself
from my mouth and my grip, I felt his warm semen splashing my
face. If anything, the danger had added to the intensity of our sex.
That was true for me, and I could tell it was for him, too.
Still, he didn’t stick around to thank me. He jerked on his cock
and smudged away any remaining semen before yanking his
foreskin back into place and yanking his sweats back up. Then he
took off into the bushes.
Never a word! “Thank you” would have been nice, even if he
couldn’t give me his name or number! It really didn’t bother me,
though. It wasn’t like I was hoping for a white picket fence and
matching towels, with a winter home in Palm Springs! I went for
him, knowing full well what I was looking for, and what he was
looking for.
Or so I thought.
I went to the restroom, hoping no one would be in there,
because there was the certain something that I needed to wash
from my face. The first sink had a half-way decent mirror, but the
faucet barely let out a trickle of water, and there wasn’t any soap in
the dispenser.
Fortunately, there was another sink. The mirror was shattered,
but I figured I could double-check my face in the good mirror
before leaving. And also fortunately, there wasn’t anyone in there,
though I thought I heard footsteps outside and decided I should
hurry if I didn’t want whoever it was to see me with that certain
glisten on my cheek!
I ran the supposedly “hot” water for a few seconds before
realizing it probably wouldn’t actually get hot. So I started washing
my face with the really cold water, just as I heard the footsteps
echoing inside the open hallway that led to the bathroom.
Someone walked in, past me, then stopped. As I washed the
soap off my face, I tried to see him in the broken mirror, but
couldn’t make out anything. He turned the corner to where the
toilets were, before I could even see his face.
I reached into the paper towel dispenser, before noticing that
there weren’t any paper towels. They were all wadded up in the
trash, except for the ones on the floor. It didn’t matter, though,
because the cool water on my face helped sober me up and even
helped calm the growing fear inside me.
What if this guy was the basher? What if he was the same guy
as before, who now felt guilty about what we did and wanted to
punish me for it? I had read articles about bashers often being
repressed homosexuals. What if I had just had sex with someone
who was planning to kill me? What a way to go, but really, I
suddenly decided I wasn’t interested in putting my life in danger.
But it was already in danger. I put it there.
Shaking the water from my hands, I started to walk out.
The stranger walked past me again, then turned and looked at
me. It was a different guy. And he was okay looking, in a
manufactured way. Real closely shaved, with too much hair-gel,
and—from the way his hair looked thicker in the front—probably a
toupee. His shirt and even his jeans looked freshly ironed.
He grinned and asked if I knew what time it was.
Looking at my watch, I said, “Almost 2:30.” I really wasn’t into
him, and I really wasn’t hoping for a second encounter, but I could
tell he was checking me out, especially my crotch. It was obvious,
a little too obvious. How did he know I was gay, just because I was
washing my face in the park in the wee hours of the morning?
“What are you into?” he asked, touching his jeans, just above
“What are you into?” he asked, touching his jeans, just above
the crotch, then letting his fingers slip across his rather noticeable
bulge.
“Late nights, apparently. Excuse me. I should get home.”
“What’s your hurry?”
He grabbed at my chest. I pulled away and started to rush past
him, but he pushed me against the tiled wall, hard. The pain in my
arm shot through me. If I hadn’t sobered up enough already, that
did it. “Hey!” I exclaimed. “Get off me!”
“I asked, what’s your hurry, faggot?” He pulled a leather
container from his jeans, which explained part of the bulge. He
snapped it open to reveal a switchblade, which he also opened.
“You had time for that other guy. You probably don’t even know his
name.”
“Well, no. Why do you care about that?”
“I don’t,” he whispered, waiving the switchblade around. “He’s
just another faggot to me.”
“Look, I don’t have any money. I blew it all on drinks.”
“I don’t want money. I want to do this city a favor and get rid of
the filth that’s all over it.”
In the corner of my eye, I noticed the man from before, also
carrying a weapon. It was a gun, pointed at my attacker’s head.
“Let’s start the cleanup with you! Drop the knife!”
Several uniformed police officers rushed in around my
handsome hero, and my attacker dropped the knife as he shot his
hands up into the air.
“Read him his rights,” my hero said to one of the cops. Then
he led me outside.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, when we reached the bench
where I had first seen him.
“Yeah. Just shaken.”
“I’ll need to get a statement from you.”
“Sure! Whatever you want! You just saved my life! That was
the second time I was glad you showed up.”
His raised eyebrows warned me to keep it to a whisper, which
he also did. “As you probably guessed, I’m with the police
department. I was working undercover, to catch that basher. I’ve
never…I had never even thought about doing anything like that. But
I got caught up in the moment, and you wanted to. It just happened.
Please don’t let anyone find out.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Who would believe me?” I
asked.
“Well, there are gay cops on the force, though I never thought of
myself as one of them. It was fun, though.”
“Yeah, it was. You don’t report me, and I won’t report you. I don’t
think your colleagues would be too thrilled about me having sex in
the park, no matter who it was with!”
“No shit!” That was the first time I saw him smile, and I noticed
that he had cute dimples to accent an already gorgeous face. The
dimples and the smile soon went away, though, as he got serious.
“Well, hey, you shouldn’t come out here so late at night. I’m sure
that dickhead wasn’t the only person around who likes bashing
gays.”
I pushed my hands into my pockets as the other cops escorted
the basher away. “Yeah, you’re right.”
I never saw that cop again, and this is the first time I’ve ever told
anyone that story. I still go to that park sometimes, though, hoping
I’ll run into him. But I’m a lot more careful than I was back then, in
every way. Sometimes I fantasize about him, coming to my rescue.
It’s girlish of me, I know, but it’s a great fantasy, and I’ll never forget
the one time it was real!
Waves of Heat
The night is hot.
You walk along the beach with me, gripping my hand.
The gulf’s waves throw sand and sea shells onto our bare feet.
A local band plays at a local club nearby, but the drums and the
guitar amplifier’s feedback pale to the sound of the waves.
There’s no one here but you and me.
You lead me up the shore a little, where the water no longer
nibbles at our feet. We don’t try to lie down in the wet sand or to
drop to our knees. You simply push the swim trunks down my
otherwise naked body and replace those trunks with your face.
Your hands gripping my butt, pulling me into you like the moon
pulls the waves onto the shore, pulling me into you like waves of
heat. Your mouth accepts my cock, already hard, already
anticipating the warmth and force of your sucking.
I slide into you like the music into the air and the waves onto the
shore and the need I feel to know your heat again. I grip your
muscular shoulders and moan and swear and pull away at the
moment of release. My semen falls to the sand and your lips rise
to my lips, kissing me and giving me back my breath as the sweat
of our bodies mingles.
Smoke Break
I felt guilty about ordering before our special guest arrived. We
could have just kept nibbling on saltine crackers, drinking our
beers, and listening to the jazz band that was playing at L. G.’s that
night. Six of my officemates from the New Orleans branch of our
company had joined me, and we were at the big round table we
often claimed during happy hour.
“Barry insisted that we go ahead and order,” said Kate, still
holding her cell phone. It rarely left her hands anyway, but she had
just talked to Barry Gallahad, an executive and co-founder from our
original branch in a small Florida town.
The company had started there with video games, but had
branched out with books, CD’s, and even adventure tours in the
New Orleans and Atlanta branches. I had been working there for
almost a year, but had taken the day off to go see my parents on
their anniversary. Anniversary or not, I never missed happy hour
with the gang.
“Did he really break his leg getting into a kayak?” I asked Kate.
She pursed her lips. Kate always wore way too much lipstick,
and way too much make-up in general, covering the natural beauty
of her ebony skin. “If he did, remember that it’s
his
company.”
“And
our
kayak,” Eugene added. Unlike the rest of our mostly
youthful workplace, Eugene was more than pushing retirement
age. What little hair he had left was still red, but I always figured he
dyed it. In fact, he was almost as old as the elderly black man on
the stage, playing the hell out of a trumpet solo. They were, in fact,
lovers. I kept telling myself that if boring old Eugene could find the
right man, so could I.
Kate nudged Eugene. “Don’t worry. He isn’t going to sue us—
not that we have any money to take.” The rest of the table laughed
at that comment, more because it was true than because it was
funny.
I looked around at the crowd in L. G.’s. It was as mixed as the
menu, which ranged from hamburgers to seafood to Mexican, and
a few strange blends in between. The crowd was young and old, in
suits or shorts. Our gang never dressed up, not even Eugene. We
lived in T-shirts and blue jeans.
The music from the stage never drowned out the conversation,
but it also never faded into the background. As Caleb finished his
solo, the rest of the band started playing again, kicking into a
rowdy jam, heavy in percussion.
My dad had taught me a love for jazz at an early age, as well as
for any music that reflected his African American background.
Though I looked more like my white mother, I shared most of
Dad’s interests. Obviously, though, I didn’t share his interest in
women. To be fair, he only showed interest in one woman.
Dad also taught me about good cooking, something I always
found at L. G.’s. The handsome waiter set an empty plate down in
front of me, and then set a full bowl down on the plate. Shrimp
jambalaya! The rice, in thick tomato sauce, looked perfectly
seasoned with peppers and sassafras. The smell filled my nostrils
and my mind as the waiter set down fried oysters, a taco salad,
and hamburgers around the table. Another waiter brought out
frosty mugs of cold beer to replace our nearly depleted supply. But
one thing remained missing—Barry.
And then he walked in…or hobbled in. Even wearing a cast on
his leg, walking with crutches, and looking somewhere between
annoyed and embarrassed, he still struck me as incredibly cute!
annoyed and embarrassed, he still struck me as incredibly cute!
Unlike the rest of us, he wore a designer shirt and tie. He even
wore slacks, though most of the left leg had been cut off for the
cast. Looking that good costs money, especially with water-skiing
accidents!
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, a smile making its way to his ruggedly
square jaw. He had beautiful blue eyes and sandy blond hair. I
usually preferred darker men, but something about him caught my
eye.
I adjusted my wire-rim glasses, trying to stop myself from
staring. “I’d say you have a good excuse. How bad is it?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be skiing again in no time. You must be
Teague.” He came over and shook my hand. Nice firm grip. I
pulled out the wooden chair beside me, glad no one else had sat
there.
“Nice to meet you, Barry,” I said, as he leaned the crutches
against the table and I helped him sit down. “I wouldn’t guess that
an accountant would go for the adventure tour.”
He ordered a beer, then told me, “I’m branching out. I even took
in the swamp tours. Go ahead and eat. I’m not hungry. I’ve been
stuffing myself since I got to New Orleans.”
“How else are you branching out?” asked Gena, the youngest
and most flirty member of our group. She was already eying him.
“Well, I helped write our new online game,” he replied.
“Warlock Dagger Call Seven?” I asked. “I play that all the
time.”
Barry took a generous swig from his dark beer. “Really?
What’s your screen name?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Kate said it for me. “New Orleans Bear Cub 2.0.” Then she
giggled, of course, because it’s a goofy screen name. The bitch! I
love her, by the way.
“I
so
kicked your ass last week,” Barry bragged. Did he wink at
me after he said that? It looked like a wink.
“You are
not
Southern Warlock Gentleman!” I said.
He was.
The conversation went on that way for a while. Soon, the food
and the beers were gone. We ordered another round of beers,
and a much mellower jazz band took the stage. Several couples
took to the dance floor, including Eugene and his partner,
embracing each other sweetly.
Barry smiled and whispered to me, “You don’t see that where I
come from.”
“Dancing?” I asked.
“Not interracially, or with two men.” He sipped his beer then
looked away, not appearing angry, but as if he thought he might
have said something wrong.
“Does any of that bother you?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, watching them dance. “I like seeing people be
themselves.” He returned his gaze to the rest of our group. “Hey,
listen, y’all, I have to catch a flight home, but it was real nice
meeting all of you.”
Before I knew it, Barry was gone.
***
Over the next few months, we played each other online at least
once a week, and sometimes e-mailed or text-messaged each
other. But we didn’t see each other again until the day he arrived in
a small, rented truck, ready to prepare our books for tax season.
During our internet conversations, I had never managed to ask
him if he was gay, or if he would be interested in me. I got both
answers that night.
“I could use a smoke break,” Barry told me, using his blue eyes
to motion toward the back door of the office. Barry was way too
cute in his shirt and tie, and I wondered if he’d caught me checking
him out. Unlike the night we met, we were alone, late into the night.
His cast was gone, and my co-workers were gone. It was just the
two of us.
He cocked his head. “Wanna join me?”
“I don’t smoke,” I replied, but then wished I’d simply said yes. I
didn’t want a break from him.
“That’s okay. You can keep me company.” He got out of his
chair and playfully tapped my chest.
“Yeah. I’d like a few minutes off.”
When we walked into the dark alley, we could hear cars and see
lights from the nearby businesses, but we were still way away from
other people.
Barry tapped my chest again, but this time he kept his hand
there. “I can barely see you,” he said, “but I can still feel you staring
at me.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, embarrassed.
“Don’t be. By the way, I don’t smoke either.” His hand subtly
dropped down, feeling my abs through my shirt, then finding my
belt and tugging on it. His other hand found my zipper and pulled it
down.
I couldn’t say anything else. I was too shocked, too excited, and
too lost in the moment. It was actually cold that night, but I don’t
think that’s why I was shaking. I’d wanted Barry from the first time
I’d seen him, but never guessed he’d wanted me, much less that
he would make such bold moves on me.
Barry pulled my cock out, fully hard, and I realized he had gone
to his knees. His warm mouth fell upon my shaft and took it all the
way in as he grabbed my butt. I gasped for breath.
Barry’s mouth felt better than any other guy’s mouth I’d ever felt
—warm, tight, and in constant motion. He gobbled me up like he’d
die without my dick in his mouth. I still couldn’t catch my breath.
“Wait,” I said, wanting a turn on his cock.
But he didn’t wait; he licked and sucked until I got so close that I
knew I couldn’t hold back any longer. I pulled back, and he
watched proudly at the spray of semen he had provoked.
I started to reach for his zipper, but he said that “We’d better get
back to work,” just as casually as if he had really smoked a
cigarette.
“Uhhhh…okay,” I said, spent, confused, cold, and totally content.
He was serious about getting back to work, and kept me
focused on just that until we finished, more than an hour later.
When he started to say goodnight, I finally got up my nerve to
make the first move this time. We shook hands, and I didn’t let go.
I told him, “I’m sure you have a hotel room, but I’d like you to
come home with me instead.”
A smile came to his handsome face. “I didn’t bother booking a
room. To be honest, I was hoping to spend the night with you. I’ve
been hoping that for a long time.”
Too flattered and stunned to respond, I pulled his hand and led
him to the front door of the office, to the quiet street. “Then it’s
settled,” I told him. “We’re actually in walking distance from my
apartment.”
He pointed to a small red truck. “I’d rather take my rental, so I
don’t have to come back in the morning.”
I agreed, and we soon arrived at my apartment. Turning on the
light with one hand, I grabbed his belt with the other. “Let’s see
what you wouldn’t show me before.” He unbuckled his belt while I
unzipped his pants. Between the two of us, he was completely
naked within seconds, while I remained fully clothed.
Barry had an average build, but definitely an above-average
cock! It was thick and sinewy, standing tall at about nine inches.
The shaft parted a tuft of reddish blond hair, which also graced
part of his low-hanging sack. I touched his left thigh and then rose
up to feel the warmth of his silky testes.
Before Barry could unbutton my shirt, I pushed his hands back
and dropped to my knees, pushing him against the front door. I
tried to deep throat him, but it was too big, and I choked a little.
Easing back, I focused on the thick head and started sucking
harder.
“Yeah…yeah,” was all he could say.
I managed to take in a little more, still sucking. Then I let it fall
from my mouth so I could lick on those beautiful balls of his. Soon I
licked my way back up his shaft and took the head back into my
mouth. After a little more of that sweet sucking, I led him into the
bedroom, where I finally undressed.
He looked at me approvingly and at my small bed. “What
happens now?” he asked, with an innocent grin.
“Now you make love to me—if that’s all right.”
“What do you think?”
I grinned back at him and found a condom to roll onto his cock.
The condom almost seemed too small, but I stretched it over the
full length of his oversized organ. He gave me playful little kisses
while I rubbed lubricant onto the latex. Those kisses soon became
more serious and passionate, our tongues pressing against each
more serious and passionate, our tongues pressing against each
other.
Despite his length, he started entering me before I even knew
what was happening. While we kissed and embraced, my butt was
just over his lap. He entered slowly, focusing more on our kisses
than on what was starting further down. We nibbled at each other’s
necks as he pressed up higher, deeper into me.
It hurt a little, but he kept thrusting upward. After I relaxed, I
started wanting more, so I raised and lowered myself onto him. He
gave that control completely over to me and started masturbating
me slowly while I rode up and down.
I couldn’t believe I had such a big cock inside me! Realizing I
would come soon, I started to tell him to stop jerking me off. But it
was too late. I shot onto my chest and his. Then I leaned back and
let him take back control, let him buck up into me until he shot his
load. After we caught our breaths, we washed up together then
went back to bed, where we slept peacefully in each other’s arms.
***
The next morning, I made him a big breakfast, with sausage,
eggs, French toast, and some blackberry jam I’d picked up at the
corner market before he woke up. He was still shirtless, and his
hair was a mess, but he looked perfect to me.
“I could get used to this, especially if I ever decide to move to
New Orleans,” he said, as we enjoyed the meal together in my
cozy little kitchen.
“I think you should.”
“Don’t rule it out.” He winked at me, and I’m sure it was a wink
that time. But then his blue eyes had a distant look. “I forgot to tell
you. I have the beta version of Warlock Dagger Call Eight on my
laptop. We could play, if you don’t mind starting your day in the
dungeon.”
I shot him a fake look of anger. “You are
so
on!”
Younger
Murphy sat down beside Ed in the loud, jam-packed, smoky
dance club. He hated the music’s high-decibel volume, but loved
the scenery. He and Ed always sat at the bar itself, so they could
flirt with the handsome young bartenders, and so they could watch
the other gay men push their way toward the dance floor. Most of
the patrons were younger than Murphy and Ed; in fact, many of
them were younger than the grandchildren of the two elderly men.
When Murphy’s wife had passed away, four years earlier, his
youngest son had just graduated from college. They had three
sons and two daughters, and loved all five children dearly. Murphy
also loved his wife, Catherine, dearly and never regretted marrying
her. Still, he always knew that there was something else he
wanted, something even his beloved Catherine couldn’t give him.
Murphy longed for another man to make love to him. And what
was more, he wanted the other man to embrace him while they
made love…embrace him both forcefully and gently, in a manly
way. As Murphy imagined it—and he imagined it countless times
over the years—the lovemaking actually started out like the
wrestling from his college years. For some reason, though, they
wouldn’t have clothes on when they started wrestling. The
erections that he had noticed on one of his college opponents
could freely penetrate him, with no shorts to get in the way.
Anthony was the young man’s name, Anthony Fields. Murphy
barely knew him, but lusted after him.
That fantasy played out in Murphy’s head again and again, even
though nothing of the sort ever happened. One of Murphy’s college
roommates had flirted with him a little, but Murphy never dared
reciprocate the flirting, afraid it was just a joke. Surely none of the
other men he knew at his Baton Rouge college ever had the
desires he had, or so he told himself. Looking back, he knew that
some of them probably did…maybe even horny young Anthony
Fields.
After Catherine died, Murphy saw no reason to stay in the big
house where they had raised five children. And since those
children had all moved off to various cities around the country, he
also saw no reason to stay in Baton Rouge. He had just retired,
with a sizable retirement fund, and the house sold for a small
fortune. So he moved to New Orleans, where he knew no one.
His kids and grandkids thought it was a strange move, but he
said that he needed to start completely fresh, and they accepted
that. But he really liked the idea that it was a completely new place,
and one where an unimaginable number of men lived openly gay
lives. He had seen the pictures of gay celebrations and events,
with men freely expressing their homosexuality. He wasn’t sure if
he saw himself as completely homosexual, but he knew that he
belonged with those men.
So, Murphy, at 71, sat beside his 68-year-old and divorced
buddy, night after night, watching the twinks go by them. And at 71,
Murphy still had not made love with another man.
“That one’s cute,” said Ed, subtly pointing through his thick silver
hair at a twenty-ish imp on the dance floor. Ed was wearing a
green and blue polo shirt; Murphy thought the colors suited him…
likable and vibrant.
“Too nelly.” Murphy lit a cigarette and pretended to ignore the
young man who seemed to be writhing his way out of the T-shirt
young man who seemed to be writhing his way out of the T-shirt
and jeans that squeezed his nicely proportioned body. Murphy had
an extensive catalog of reasons to not approach the other men at
the bar, but he really just feared rejection, just as Ed feared
rejection. They rarely talked to anyone but the bartenders and each
other, and it was even rarer still for anyone to approach them. Ed
had once told him, “It’s pretty bad when the twinks think we’re too
old to even qualify as potential sugar daddies.”
“How do you know he’s too nelly?” Ed asked, nudging at
Murphy’s arm with strong but boney knuckles. “I’ve never seen him
before.”
After taking a drag from his cigarette and ordering them both
another beer, Murphy formulated a response. “I’ve never seen him
before either, but they’re all too nelly, or too unstable, too tattooed,
too pierced, or too something. Haven’t you been paying
attention?”
Ed grinned. “In the three years I’ve known you—”
“Four.” The repetitious dance music started getting louder,
which meant that it was ten o’clock, but they were sitting close
enough to each other for conversation, and correction. They knew
each other well from their frequent meetings at the bar, even
though they never went anywhere else together. They had never
even seen each other’s car or apartment.
“Four? Really?”
“Yeah.” Murphy sipped his beer, and watched a bevy of frat
boys glide by.
“Time flies when you’re a tired old queen.”
Murphy raised his beer bottle, and his eyebrows. “Speak for
yourself.”
“I was speaking for both of us.”
“Bitch.”
“And now you’re the one who’s speaking for both of us.” Ed
smiled in his usual charming manner, revealing a perfect set of
shiny white teeth, and then tossed back what looked like nearly
half of his beer. “In the…four…years I’ve known you, you’ve
managed to avoid every fellow who’s caught your eye.”
“That’s because I never catch their….” Murphy stopped when he
noticed the motivation of their debate, hanging between them, an
arm on each man’s shoulders. He seemed to appear suddenly,
almost magically. Though his hair looked black from a distance—
through the smoke and the sometimes annoying lighting system
that the D.J.’s loved to play with—it was actually a deep red color.
His eyes looked almost silver.
“So, are you guys a couple?” he asked, smiling like he knew the
answer. His voice was deep and assertive, not nelly at all.
“No, we’re just friends,” Ed replied, before Murphy could. Ed had
kind, gentle eyes and an equally kind and friendly voice, but
something about the way he blurted that statement somehow hurt
Murphy. Then again, Murphy would have said the same thing, if not
for Ed saying it first.
“Really?” their young friend asked, his hands pressing firmly on
their biceps. Something about his touch felt warm and tingly to
Murphy, but Murphy figured it was just sexual attraction. The kid
was certainly attractive—muscles, looks, the works!
“We’re not each other’s types,” Murphy added, though he didn’t
quite believe that. He had never experienced sex or dating with a
man, so he really wasn’t sure about a type, other than someone
who could wrestle, and they were both way too old for that. At least
Ed could boast of occasional dates and sexual encounters with
men, years earlier, so Ed probably was the best one to talk about
types.
“That’s true,” Ed replied. There, thought Murphy, he confirmed it.
Still, he sometimes thought Ed might have a crush on him.
“Don’t tell me,” the twink said, a smile flaunting his deep dimples
and sweet little freckles, “you’re into younger guys.”
“Much,” said Murphy, grabbing his beer and smiling about his
weakness for youth.
“As young as me?” the twink asked, pulling his hands away and
standing back a little. Several guys brushed past him, coming
between them.
“Excuse me,” Ed interrupted, “I have to hit the boys’ room.” Ed
got up, and Murphy could swear his face looked a little red. Was
he mad, jealous?
When Murphy turned back to the young man, he was gone.
Murphy decided he should go after Ed and make sure he wasn’t
upset about anything. The crowd had swollen a great deal, and it
took Murphy a long time to even reach the bathroom.
He hated pushing, even though it seemed to be the only way to
make it through the endless barrage of clubbers. Then again, he
really didn’t mind brushing up against their hard bodies, and he
could swear one of them felt him off as he pushed by. It must have
been an accident, he told himself, but he could feel the erection in
his faded old jeans, responding to that caress.
He looked all over the bathroom for Ed; there weren’t any stalls
for the toilets or the urinals, so he even looked there, but the backs
of heads obviously belonged to young men. Then he suddenly
noticed something about himself. His chest seemed a little too
wide for the old Hawaiian shirt that he loved to wear to the club.
His arms looked a little wider, firmer. As he raised his hands, he
noticed something missing…wrinkles. He forced himself to a
mirror, almost knocking over two drag queens. They both
shrieked, “Mary, please!” Murphy gazed in shock and wonder at
his image.
“As young as me?” he asked, looking at the handsome blond
man in his senior year of college. No wrinkles surrounded his thick
lips or his green eyes. The cleft on his chin looked more subtle,
less like a crater. His eyebrows didn’t point up at their centers,
instead making nice little semi-circles over his eyes. His ears
looked smaller and didn’t spring out of his scattered white hair.
And his hair wasn’t white or scattered at all; it was thick and full.
“Looks good,” said the young man beside him. Clad in a white
V-neck undershirt and tan slacks, he had close-cropped brown
hair and a charming smile. Even among all the other eye candy
there, he stood out as incredibly cute! He looked the same age as
Murphy was looking, about twenty-two or twenty-three. His body
was lean and robust, with a nice chest that filled in the V-neck
undershirt. But those pants, and his loafers…they looked more like
Murphy’s style than what a club kid would wear.
Oh well, thought Murphy, lose yourself in the fantasy, because
this can’t really be happening anyway. Just as well make the most
of it.
“Very kind of you,” Murphy told the young man. “By the way, did
you see an older fellow here?”
“Late twenties?”
Murphy grimaced at the thought of someone seeing “late
twenties” as “older” than anything. “Ah…older as in white hair.”
“You mean Ed, one of the old guys who sits at the bar?”
Murphy found that phrasing offensive for some reason, though at
least his young admirer didn’t say “old geezer” or “old fart.” Then
he reminded himself that this couldn’t be happening anyway, so he
should just calm down and enjoy the ride. “Yes…Ed. He was just in
here. Do you know him?”
“He hits on me sometimes. He’s all right, but not what I’m
looking for. He went home.”
“Oh,” Murphy replied, but then couldn’t resist the bait. “So,
what are you looking for?”
“Actually, I think I just found it. Wanna go back to my place?”
Murphy could feel his jaw dropping, even as the drag queens he
had pushed out of the way returned the favor by brushing him away
from the mirror. “Don’t worry,” one of them said while adjusting a
huge wig, “you’re naturally pretty. Some of us girls have to work at
it.”
Murphy and his young friend both laughed, and Murphy
apologized to the drag queens for being rude, but then the young
man pulled at his arm and said, “Let’s go!”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“Only with your eyes…and that bulge in your jeans.”
Murphy looked down at that bulge and felt his face redden. “I
don’t even know your name.”
“It’s…Walter.”
“Why’d you pause?”
“Why are you pausing? Let’s go!”
Walter seemed to be in too much of a hurry, but Murphy wasn’t
sure how long the fantasy would last or how soon he would
suddenly wake up at the bar, so he agreed to follow Walter home,
to an apartment a few miles away.
The apartment was sparsely decorated, except for a surprising
amount of family photographs on the wall. “I come from a big
family,” Walter said, when he noticed Murphy’s attention on the
mostly black and white pictures. “And I love photography.”
mostly black and white pictures. “And I love photography.”
“Hm,” said Murphy. “I have a big family too…I mean, I’m also
from a big family.”
“Well, there’s the bedroom.” Walter pointed at an open
doorway, and at the queen-sized bed in the half-lit room.
As they walked together into the bedroom, Murphy asked, “So
what do you think about wrestling?”
“I don’t watch sports, if I watch TV at all. I’m more of a reader.”
“I didn’t mean watching sports. I meant playing.”
“Oh,” Walter smiled in amusement as he opened a dresser
drawer and grabbed a couple of condom packets. “I thought we
were going to fuck.”
“We are. I just wondered if we could wrestle…naked…as
foreplay.” Murphy touched Walter’s chest while Walter took off his
clothes. It was hairy and firm. And his abs…they were as tight as
those on the best looking of the guys at the club. In fact, Walter
was even better looking than any of them! “I know it sounds weird,
but this is my first time with a guy, and I’ve always had that fantasy
about my first time.”
Obviously interested and flattered, Walter pushed down his
slacks and underwear. “Sounds fun!” He was completely erect. His
cock stood thick, firm, and proud from a nice tuft of black hair, and
his balls hung low. “Take your clothes off already!”
“Put the condom on,” Murphy said, more as a request than a
demand. He peeled off his clothes, to reveal his own erection,
surrounded by blond hairs and thick firm thighs. Murphy caught
himself looking at his own legs, no longer thin and spindly, but now
strong and sinewy.
“Already?” Walter asked, while also admiring Murphy’s athletic
build.
“Yeah, I don’t want to stop when we get into…the right position.”
“Well, use some of this.” Walter grabbed a tube of lubricant from
the drawer that had the condoms, and Murphy wondered what else
might be in that drawer. Walter applied the condom while Murphy
applied the strange-feeling liquid.
They didn’t need to worry about their erections going down. As
they wrestled, they became even more aroused, cocks rubbing
against each other’s bodies and throbbing with mad desire.
Murphy only feigned resistance when Walter’s arms came from
behind, around Murphy’s arms and neck, keeping him from getting
away. Murphy only wanted one thing, and getting away wasn’t it!
The foreplay was over.
Walter entered slowly, arching Murphy’s back to make his
entrance even gentler. He kissed Murphy’s hair, and they moaned
quietly. Then he went in further, keeping Murphy in the same hold.
Again and again their bodies jerked together as he entered further
and further. It was even better than Murphy had hoped. Then
Walter’s body began to shake; he let go of Murphy and slowly
pulled out his spent cock.
“That was great!” Murphy told him, as Walter turned him around,
still wearing the filled-up condom.
“It isn’t over yet,” Walter assured him. He kissed Murphy firmly,
pleasantly, on the lips, then began kissing his way down Murphy’s
body. And Murphy hoped he would…. Yes, he would. Catherine
had never gone down on Murphy. No one had, until that moment.
The moment didn’t last, though. Murphy had already felt close to
coming while Walter was inside him, and now….
He pushed Walter’s face back as he shot his seed. Instead of
dribbling out like when he masturbated, it shot all over his chest in
thick, glistening streams. Walter kissed him some more, with deep
tongue kisses, and then told him he was welcome to use the
shower.
When Murphy returned from the shower, his gait became slightly
less confident and steady. He looked down at his naked body, and
it was the naked body he usually saw, instead of that of the young
man he became for a few fleeting hours. He saw another old man
lying in Walter’s bed, and deep down, he had known it along.
“Ed.” Murphy sat down beside Ed and realized he was crying
quietly.
“Walter’s my middle name.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
Stifling his tears, Ed told him the truth. “I saw your Hawaiian shirt
hanging out of the trashcan at the bar. You had it on before. I had
already tossed my shirt in one of the other trash cans before, so
you wouldn’t recognize me. I had an undershirt on already.”
“Then,” Murphy said, gesturing in confusion, “you made this
happen?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking how you would never look at me the
way you look at all those young guys, and then that one kid
appeared. After I asked you what I thought about him, he came up
and started talking to us. This weird feeling just washed over me,
like something was happening to me. I guess it happened slowly
enough, and the place was crowded enough, that no one saw me
changing. I wondered if the same thing had happened to you, and
then you showed up.”
“So do you think that kid was some kind of genie, or Cupid or
somebody? Or did that just happen because you wanted it to? Or
were we just drunk, and hallucinating?”
Ed shrugged. “I don’t know. We saw what we wanted to see,
and needed to see. I’m just glad that it led where it did.”
“Me too. I’ve been looking for someone all this time, and you
were right beside me.”
“I still am,” Ed told him.
Murphy leaned over and kissed Ed’s lips. They were no less
sweet than a few minutes before.
Murphy and Ed spent the night together and made love again
the next morning. A few weeks later, they moved in together. They
never saw the strange young man with the dark red hair again, and
they eventually stopped looking for him or wondering what
happened to them that night. They were too busy enjoying each
other.
I Will
I will fall into the bed with you, staring at your flaccid cock. I will
kiss your nipples, and then your neck, and then your thick, red lips.
No response yet. It will take time, and work. You’re not easy.
“A hard day at work,” you’ll say.
“I’ll show you hard,” I’ll reply, and you’ll grin, conspiring, daring,
nudging.
I will take your dick completely into my mouth, tasting its
sweetness and warmth, feeling it stir against my tongue as the
aroma of your skin fills my nostrils. Even as I let it drop from my
mouth, I will feel it hardening, reaching up. It will bend upward as it
expands.
I imagine it that way: an upward curve that displays a light ridge
under the corona, begging to be licked. But I won’t lick it yet. I will
only want to admire you in your fullness, and to prove to you—as
much as to myself—that I can inspire such a reaction with a single
swoop down on you.
You will touch my face, silently begging me to take you back into
my mouth. I will comply, with a wink and a jump onto you. Now fully
hard, you will taste sweet in my plunging mouth and delve across
my tongue. You will clench my shoulders, massage them, and
clench them again, while making a sound like you just tasted your
favorite food or just heard the DJ say he was going to play your
favorite song next.
That song will play in your mind and that taste will fill your mouth,
like your sounds and your taste fill me. I will suck you that way all
night if you let me.
And you will let me.
You will shoot a glistening stream of ejaculate onto your
stomach and chest and need a shower, and I will wait, watching as
you dab the towel against the firmness of your muscled arms and
legs, against the tightness of your stomach and chest, against the
hairiness above your contented genitals.
I will replace the towel and cast it across the room. I will lick you
until you become erect again, suck you until you become flaccid
again.
Finally wanting more, wanting to satisfy my own yearning
member, I will move around in the light of you, move around in the
light and dark of you, reshape your body with my presence inside
it. I will expand the night and day of you, the universe of you, the
universe I will explore while nibbling your shoulder with my
exhausted and hungry mouth.
I will wrestle you and win you and lose myself in you, lose
myself to you, satisfy myself by satisfying you.
You will reach back, clench my back, and tell me not to stop.
And I won’t.
Getting Past Almost
. Chapter 1. At the Party.
If you’re a gay man who lives in New Orleans, you’ve probably
been to one of those parties where middle-aged queens sip beer,
wine, or mixed drinks while belaboring how wild they were “back in
the day.” Then again, I guess you don’t really need to live in New
Orleans for that. You just need to be gay and middle-aged. Still, I
think we Big Easy folks have a much stronger claim to how wild we
were “back in the day.”
Those of you who have visited know just what I’m talking about.
A lot more goes on here than jazz, gumbo, and iced tea. For those
of you who haven’t visited, you’ll see what I mean before long.
While at one of those drink-and-confess gatherings, I managed
to gently push my way through the crowd, into a kitchen with too
many plants, too many pots and pans, too many examples of “I
Love Lucy” memorabilia, and way too many guys who loved
cologne. I really wouldn’t have been there at all, if not for my lover
insisting that I get out of the house and stop doting over him all the
time.
Trying not to let the cologne smells or the growing onslaught of
cigarette smoke choke me, I began discussing my wayward bent
with an infamous drag queen known for near about twenty years as
“Jenny Talia.” Yes, it’s an odd name, but it’s catchier than her real-
life moniker: “Melton Jones, taxidermist.”
Outside drag, Jenny looked much older, and a little too bony,
with an excess of freckles and pockmarks marring his black skin.
But in drag, she looked young and fabulous! Her red dress with the
gold trim and the oversized hat would have looked ridiculous on
any woman, and probably on most other drag queens. But Jenny
walked with a regal grace that made her outfits look like they were
made for her. I call Jenny “she” because Melton is all woman when
in drag, and I forget that she is really all man underneath.
All man or not, Jenny wouldn’t have lasted two seconds in my
redneck hometown, but I guess that’s why we became friends.
People who would threaten the facade of perfection and uniformity
in my little Everytown USA won my vote from the get go and
reminded me of why I moved to New Orleans. And a drag queen
taxidermist! You can’t get much more original than that. There’s
nothing quite like the sight of Melton slamming a bobcat pelt down
on a table and stretching it out, while talking about the new dress
he bought.
Jenny motioned her fingers about, displaying fake, over-sized
fingernails. “Honey, it sounds like you were just out of control
before you met Peter.”
I smiled coyly as she lit a cigarette. “You don’t know the half of
it.”
“I’ve got time,” she replied, raising a painted-on eyebrow. “It isn’t
like I got a date or nothing. Not yet, anyway.” She smiled at a
handsome gym bunny, making himself a drink beside us, but then
she asked the obvious question. “Where is Peter, anyhow?”
“At home. The chemo.” My voice and my face both dropped. I
didn’t need to make a complete sentence.
Everyone hated talking about my lover’s illness, especially me.
Any mention of it made me think of that day when I was talking to
Peter’s mother on the phone. He had told her about his doctor’s
Peter’s mother on the phone. He had told her about his doctor’s
appointment and why he finally made it, and she was hoping that
he had already come home. I had just gotten back from work, so I
was also waiting and worrying. Amid my failing attempts at giving
Peter’s mother the courage I couldn’t find, I heard our front door
open. Peter stood in the doorway of our home, toying with his
blond hair, unable to speak. He couldn’t even make eye contact
with me.
I dropped the phone.
He stammered out the words. “It’s a tumor.”
He was just thirty-seven! The thought of cancer had never
occurred to me. In fact, I had no idea what was causing his
headaches, other than too many parties. I just knew that it scared
me.
Then I remembered the phone. “I think I just hung up on your
mom. You’d better call her back and tell her.”
As he walked inside, I handed him the phone. As he dialed the
number, I sat beside him on the couch and held his shaking hand.
But I’ll save the sad stuff for much later. Let’s go back to the
party.
As the gym bunny walked outside with his drink, an old queen
stepped between Jenny and me. He was one of those guys that I
would see at gay bars, no matter which one I went to or what time I
went. Having finally given up on dying his gray hair blond, the short,
smiling gentleman looked somewhat charming in his leisure suit.
Touching my chest, he asked, “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Donovan Lee,” I answered, before taking the last sip of my first
drink.
He swung his hands outward, like a conductor of story telling.
“You’re the guy who got naked on that balcony then fell off!” After
that rather loud proclamation, which attracted the attention of
everyone around us, he stirred his drink absently.
“New Years? That wasn’t me. It was Denver Berdeaux.”
He nodded slightly, considering my words and chewing on the
straw he had just used for stirring his drink. “That’s right,” he said,
stretching out the word “right.” Looking around, he asked, “So,
what ever happened to Denver?”
Jenny cut in: “He died, honey.”
The old queen flinched, as if Jenny had slapped him. “Really?
When?”
Jenny sighed. “When he fell off the balcony.”
Considering that the situation involved someone’s death, I
forced myself not to laugh. As cruel as that sounds, I somehow
wanted to laugh about death, or at death. Maybe I was just going
crazy from the pressure of seeing Peter sick for so long.
Despite the sad news, I was afraid our slightly confused and
highly vocal friend was about to ask if I had ever been naked on a
balcony. The answer would have been yes. Fortunately, he
escaped the awkward conversation by spotting someone else he
knew and elbowing his way through the crowd to greet him.
“I wish Peter could have been here,” said Jenny. She took a
drag from her cigarette, smudging her lipstick with her fingers.
“Everyone misses him.”
“I know. We’ve had a lot of support from the community, and
from Peter’s family. It’s helped. And he really appreciated that
stew you dropped by.”
“Good. I’ve got more in the freezer. It’ll cure whatever…well….”
She held her hand over her mouth, to keep from saying “ails you.”
The very mention of illness around Peter or me seemed about as
appropriate as a discussion of the Kama Sutra in a convent. Then
again, what do those nuns talk about all day?
I fixed myself another drink in the crowded kitchen then led
Jenny outside, where we sat down on some patio furniture, letting
an overgrown mimosa nudge us gently with its thin green limbs.
Sitting with Jenny in the backyard, listening to the canon of disco
anthems, made me think of another party, the one where I met
Peter. That really got me in the mood for a tell-all.
I set my drink under the plastic chair where I was sitting and held
up my open hands. “Okay. No more cancer talk. I’m gonna spill the
beans on my ‘back in the day.’”
“Oh!?” She tossed her cigarette butt onto the ground and smiled
brightly. “All the details? First time? First love?”
Laughing at her enthusiasm, I replied, “You’ve got it. But we’ll
have to go further back than my life in New Orleans, back to about
five years before I met Peter.”
Jenny crossed her arms. “Well, like I said, I don’t have no date.
And it isn’t like I have any more stuffing to do, unless….”
She looked over at the gym bunny, leaning against the fence by
himself, with his tank top and tight blue jeans revealing all the
appropriate bulges. As I began sharing my tales, we watched him
out of the corners of our eyes, slowly moving through a series of
poses, as if someone were taking his picture. Not surprisingly,
another young man soon approached him. Both of them looked
eighteen.
Eighteen! Seeing their anxious body language brought back
memories even more quickly than I could share those memories
with Jenny.
Getting Past Almost
. Chapter 2. 1982.
1982 seems like another world now, even more than it seems
like another time. We were eighteen, and Darren's family had just
moved from Kentucky to my hometown, which was near New
Orleans but nothing like it. We were both seniors in high school,
and we rode the bus home together, day after sexually frustrated
day.
Eighteen, age of consent. Of course, until then, I’d never had
anything to consent to. Then Darren came along.
Darren wasn't popular in high school, mostly because he was
obnoxious and used tall tales to get attention. But I enjoyed his
company. I also enjoyed his sandy blond hair and his bright blue
eyes, but I didn't tell him that during the first few weeks we knew
each other. Up until then, I had never actually had sex with another
guy. There were a few occasions with one of my buddies or
another where we had pretended to be asleep while we felt each
other off through our underwear, but that was about it.
I wasn’t that popular in high school either. I wasn’t rich, I was
terrible in sports, and I didn’t lead any groups of farmers or
religious proselytizers. Other than all of that, you really couldn’t get
noticed without doing drugs or getting arrested. Drugs were never
a part of my life. As far as getting arrested goes, I certainly had
plenty of fantasies about being in jail with a bunch of sexually
deprived (or is that depraved?) men, letting them handle my young
body like some toy, but I probably wouldn’t have lasted one day in
jail. Besides, I really wasn’t the rebellious type. I was just quietly
and secretly gay.
Darren wasn’t quiet, but I still didn’t know if he was gay. I was in
higher level classes than he was, so we never saw each other
during any class but P.E. You would think I’d see him in the
showers there, but I avoided the showers, for fear that I would
check out all the other guys, especially Darren. Instead of
showering after our workout or games, I would quickly strip to my
underwear then put my regular clothes back on, waiting until I got
home for a shower.
During recess, Darren and I would wander around the school
grounds, talking about our favorite songs, movies, and TV shows,
or really nothing at all. He seemed evasive when I mentioned girls,
but that wasn’t a subject I brought up much anyway, since I didn’t
want anyone to notice that I had no sexual interest in girls.
I had plenty of friends who were girls, but never had nor wanted
a girlfriend. That just didn’t appeal to me, even though I thought
back then that I would eventually have to get married and have
children; that was what everyone did, after all, whether they liked it
or not. Quite often, they didn’t like it. Many of the marriages I saw
resulted from unplanned pregnancies or some desire for wealth or
social acceptance. But my parents were very happily married and
loved each other deeply; I wanted a relationship like that. I assured
myself that the right girl would come along eventually, and I would
outgrow my adolescent desires for my own sex. And it wasn’t
anything more than desire. I hadn’t experienced a crush with a guy,
or fallen in love with a guy, but I sure liked to look at guys.
So, if Darren wanted to hang around me, I certainly didn’t mind
looking at him. And I really enjoyed his friendship. Eventually, we
started hanging together outside school or the school bus.
The first time I visited Darren, we went for a walk in the woods
behind his house. I can't remember exactly what led to it, but we
behind his house. I can't remember exactly what led to it, but we
had started play wrestling, and we were soon on the ground
together. I was a little bit taller than he was, but neither of us was
stocky back then, so we were about evenly matched. The pressure
of his slender body against mine turned me all the way on, and I
could feel the erection rising inside my tight jeans.
Out of breath, we backed away from each other a little bit, but
stayed on the ground.
“Good thing we stopped,” I told him, between gasps for air. “I
would've beaten you.”
He laughed at my playful cockiness then shocked the hell out of
me with his reply: “Maybe you'll beat me next time, and I'll have to
suck your dick.”
“What?” I asked, in delighted amazement.
“You heard me.” He looked at his watch. “I have to head home.
Do you ever go fishing in that lake by your house?”
“Yeah. I have a boat.”
“Maybe I could spend the night Friday. We'll go fishing, and
whatever.”
“That'll work,” I replied, using one of the favorite expressions of
our senior class. I especially wanted to find out what he meant by
“whatever,” and if he really meant what he said about sucking my
dick. I had kind of hoped Darren might be gay, but that was the
first clue he had given me. And what a clue! I spent the next four
days fantasizing about wrestling with him, winning, and plunging
my cock into his mouth.
***
Finally, Friday night arrived. To make things even better, my
parents were out of town. It got dark while we were out in my boat,
fishing on the lake. Though I wanted to, I never got up the nerve to
mention the comment that had so preoccupied me from the
second Darren made it. Fortunately, Darren brought us back to the
subject in his usual blunt fashion.
“Man, I woke up with a boner this morning,” he informed me, with
pride in his voice. “We're talking big-time hard.”
“I know how that goes.” I could barely make out his features from
the other side of the boat, but I could still see that he had his
fishing rod in one hand and his other rod in the other hand. Well, I
couldn't really see clearly enough to tell if he had actually pulled out
his thing, but his hand was definitely moving around in his crotch
area.
“I took care of it, but now it's getting hard again. I'm gonna
have ta jerk off later, if you don’t mind.”
“No, that's cool,” I said, speculating about what he wanted me
to say.
“I figured it would be. You probably even wanna watch.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. He knew he was turning me on, and he was
enjoying it. “I wanna watch, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll let you, if you’ll answer one question.”
“Sure!” There may have been too much enthusiasm in my
voice, but I didn’t care.
“Have you ever fagged off?”
I couldn't help but laugh at his question. I had never heard
anyone use that term before. “I don't know. What does that mean?”
“You know, get it on with another guy.”
“Not really. There’ve been a few times when I thought someone
wanted to. We touched each other a little, but nothing happened.” I
felt a slight tug on my line but ignored it, not really caring about fish
at the time. The nibbling stopped, and I asked him the question I
had often wanted to ask. “Have you done anything with another
guy?”
“Yeah.” He pulled his line in then cast it back out. “There was this
one guy in Kentucky; I caught him jacking off in this clubhouse we
had. I asked why he liked to play with hisself, and he went
‘Because it feels good.’”
“I heard that,” I told Darren, using another of our favorite
expressions.
“So I asked him if he'd let me jerk him off the rest of the way, and
he went ‘okay.’ It was fun, but that was the only time it happened.
He avoided me after that, like I’d done something bad to him or
something. Hey, I've got a bite!”
That damn fish interrupted our moment! My attempts at guiding
the conversation back from Darren's catch to Darren's cock all
failed until after we went to bed on my queen-sized mattress.
Instead of jerking off like he had mentioned, he simply crashed on
the other side of the bed and asked me to turn out the light.
I reached over and turned it off, waiting for him to say or do
something. Just as I was about to give up and go to sleep, Darren
whispered my name in the pitch darkness. Before I could respond,
he asked the question I had been hoping for: “Do you wanna fag
off?”
“Sure!”
We both pulled off our underwear and started feeling each
other's cocks—both of which were so hard that they twitched with
excitement. Darren's cut dick was as long as mine and almost as
wide. Instead of simply capping off his dick, the head itself must
have taken up nearly two inches of his length. The head was hot
and rubbery, slightly moist at the slit from a drop of pre-ejaculate
that I massaged down the underside of his cock.
We didn't kiss at all, but he changed his position, and I suddenly
felt his lips on my manhood. All of my fantasies gave way to an
even better reality. The heat and wetness of his mouth made me
want to orgasm that second. He didn't try to take all seven inches,
but he worked the head and part of the staff frantically: sucking,
licking, and making “mmm” noises. Occasionally, his teeth got in
the way, but I told him about it, and he quickly learned to pull his
lips in over them.
Since I had never been with anyone and had never felt the
unique pleasure of someone’s lips against my genitalia, the pure
excitement caused me to reach climax in very little time. My balls
contracted suddenly, like they did whenever I was masturbating.
This time, however, one of them seemed to go up inside my body.
Before I had a chance to warn him, my seed erupted into his busy
mouth. He spat it out onto the carpet then laid down beside me.
I apologized for not pulling out in time, but he wasn't really upset
about it. He said that he just wanted to go back out in the boat, and
that he didn't “want to fag off anymore tonight.”
***
I kept hoping “tonight” wouldn't mean “ever,” and it certainly
didn't. He hardly ever expected me to suck him off, probably
because I wasn't very good at it back then. But he loved to suck
me off in my bedroom, in the woods, and even underwater.
That's right, underwater. We would often swim together in the
lake, taking an inner tube along. Sometimes, while I hung off one
side of the tube, Darren would pull my cut-off jeans down. Then
he'd go under and suck my happy organ for a few minutes at a
time, between coming up for air and joking about how we could do
that in broad daylight without anyone seeing us.
Getting sucked off underwater feels different, because of the
extra pleasure of air bubbles dancing around your bouncing balls,
and because of the relaxing weightlessness of being in water. It
feels like getting a blow job on Cloud Nine. As you might guess, a
fish nibbled on my erect organ one time, but that scared me more
than it hurt me.
Of course, we didn’t have sex every time we saw each other
outside school. Often, we would just play video games, watch a
movie, or generally hang out together. Darren became my best
friend in the traditional sense of that term; the sex was just an extra
bonus.
I tried to ignore the threats to that friendship, when we would
walk down the hall together or around the grassy area near the
front entrance of our high school. I tried not to hear the comments.
“Those guys must be faggots or something.”
“They spend way too much time together. It ain’t natural.”
“My dad said all faggots should be shot, or thrown in a pit and
stoned to death!”
“Look, it’s our first two AIDS victims!”
That last one got a good laugh. I’d been hearing about AIDS on
the TV, but didn’t really understand it. I just knew it sounded scary,
some kind of “gay cancer,” as they called it. And I knew that most
people hated anyone who got it. Like I wasn’t unpopular enough,
the last thing I needed was some disease that made everyone
hate me even more, just before it killed me. But I wasn’t too
worried about it. After all, I didn’t see myself as gay, or AIDS as
something that affected people in the Deep South. It was the gay
disease in San Francisco and New York City.
disease in San Francisco and New York City.
And Darren and I were just best friends.
***
Despite our close friendship, Darren and I weren't in love by any
means. We both refused to think of ourselves as gay or as lovers,
and that was fine with both of us. Between all those sessions with
him, I also began fooling around with Lucas, another neighbor and
fellow eighteen-year-old. Though not breathtakingly handsome, he
still looked good with his flattop haircut, thin nose, bluish green
eyes, jagged forehead, and cute little cleft chin.
It started one day when we were in his bedroom, looking at
some girlie magazines he had found in his dad’s dresser. We
didn’t expect either of his parents in for a few hours, so getting
caught didn’t occur to us. I kept noticing that he had to adjust his
package every few minutes, because his erection was becoming
painful in his tight black jeans. The pictures of nude women
honestly did nothing for me, but seeing Lucas touch himself did.
“Man, my dick is so hard it hurts,” he finally admitted,
emphasizing the word “hurts” in a way that made it sound more
painful. He shook his head, as if disbelieving that he could tell me
anything about his penis.
“Mine’s hard, too,” I said, touching the erection that pressed
against my own thigh.
Nodding slightly, he added, “If you weren’t here, I might do
something about my boner.”
I looked toward the bedroom door. “Should I leave?”
Jerking his hand from his crotch, he smiled then shook his head
again. “I didn’t mean that. I just mean, I know it’s wrong to jack off.”
“Is it less wrong if you’re alone?”
The startled look in his eyes suggested that my question made
no sense to him. “Well, then I wouldn’t be a fag, which is worse
than jacking off, or even killing someone.”
I assumed that he had gained that insight from his parents, his
church, or our classmates…if not a weird blend of all three. Rolling
my eyes, I asked him, “Do you really believe that?”
Flustered, he looked down at his button fly and the bulge that
was throbbing there. “I don’t know. I just know I want to beat my
meat. I’ll go in the bathroom if you want me to.”
“Please don’t,” I said, blocking his body as he started to walk
away. I halfway wondered if Darren would feel jealous, but it wasn’t
like we were boyfriends or anything—just best friends. Back then, I
strictly saw gay as something I liked to do and as something that
some other people might be, not as something I was. The idea of
being committed to another guy hadn’t yet occurred to me. I was
thinking one thing: I wanted sex with Lucas. “Let’s both jack off in
here. I promise, it’s nothing like murder.
Though my dick is going to kill me if it gets any harder!”
“Mine too.” Grinning slyly, he unfastened his button fly and
reached into his briefs to reveal a surprising sight. Lucas had one
of those cocks with a severe bend to the left. Holding that hooked
and hardened member, he stood there uncertainly, like he wanted
me to start first.
I also pulled mine out. I started jerking on it, but I did so while
going to my knees.
Wide-eyed, he asked, “Is that the best position?”
“It is for sucking your cock.” I grabbed the backs of his legs, and
looked up at my stunned, wide-eyed friend. “Will you let me?”
“No! That’s sick!” After saying what he probably thought he
should say, he then said what he obviously wanted to say: “Well, I
kind of wonder what it would feel like.”
“What if I sucked you off just a little, then you can stop me if you
don’t like it, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
He closed his eyes, and I assumed he was fantasizing about
one of the girls from school, or one from his dad’s porn collection.
It really didn’t matter to me who he pretended I was, as long as I
could have sex with him.
Waving his arms outward, he relented with a half-hearted
“Okay.” His reluctance quickly faded. As soon as I started sucking
him off, he started rubbing all over my shoulders and telling me that
he couldn’t wait for a turn on my cock.
Darren’s penis had tasted slightly bitter the few times that I
sucked it. But Lucas had a sweet, salty taste, and I worked gently,
careful not to bite him. In fact, I was too gentle to get him off.
However, I quickly figured out how to suck harder and how to take
in more of it. Lucas gave me lots of guidance. I loved the hot taste
of his skin against my tongue and the feel of his frizzy pubic hairs
against my face.
***
I worried that my third encounter with Lucas would be my last.
The second time was fun, just jacking each other off in my
bedroom. The third time started out the same way as that one, with
our hands somehow finding their way to each other’s crotches,
and with our shorts somehow finding their way to the floor.
But then he started acting like he wanted to go down on me. We
were standing in my bedroom. My mother had just left to run
several errands, and my father wasn’t due in from work for a few
more hours, so the idea of an interruption never occurred to us.
We only seemed aware of ourselves and each other. I watched
myself in the mirror of my dresser, seeing my look of satisfaction
as Lucas leaned down and briefly ran his tongue along my
dickhead and my balls.
In the same instant that I gasped with excitement, I thought I
heard talking, and laughing, but decided it was just paranoia and
guilt. I wanted him to suck me. I could confront those nagging
feelings some other time.
“Please suck it,” I said, as he brushed his face against my
crotch.
He sat down in front of me, toying with my organ. “I should have
told you the first time, but I promised not to. I’ve sucked off a
couple of guys. I just can’t tell you more than that. I would feel guilty
afterwards, but then I wanted to do it again. So I went back. It
happened a few times.”
“Back where?” I asked, hoping that maybe there was some gay
oasis in the middle of our redneck swampland of a town.
“I can’t tell you. I promised.” Despite his playful positioning in
front of my crotch, he looked intently serious. “No one is supposed
to know about it.”
“It’s cool,” I said, touching his bristly hair, guiding him toward my
cock. I figured he would tell me eventually, but he never did. Darren
obviously didn’t know about the place or the people either, or he
would have bragged to me about what he did there. Darren wasn’t
really all that discrete. Sometimes I worried about getting caught
with him.
Getting caught. I wondered why I was thinking about all of that
when I was about to get sucked. How could anything else matter?
But something else did matter.
We heard a loud knock at the back door, which was near my
bedroom. The knocking felt like a sledgehammer against my
chest. Lucas fell over then grabbed his shorts and underwear,
putting them back on while whispering “Shit!” every few seconds. I
suddenly noticed that the curtains weren’t closed all the way, so I
pulled them shut. Lucas gave me a glance that expressed the fear
we both felt.
We went to the back door, where several kids from our school
bus were waiting. They were all seventeen or eighteen, wearing
shorts with T-shirts or tank tops.
One of the girls asked, “What took y’all so long?”
“We had the stereo cranked up,” I replied.
“Oh,” she said, tilting her head about as if it were on a spring.
“Well, we just swung by to see if you wanted to go to a party we’re
throwing together. Lucas can come too. We were heading over to
his house next.”
Relieved, I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure. When it is it?”
“Out at the levee, tonight at ten.”
“I’ll be there,” said Lucas.
Two of the girls huddled slightly while looking Lucas up and
down.
“Me too,” I said.
“Cool,” said one of the guys.
Then they left.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do that anymore,” Lucas told me, leaning
against the back door. “I mean it feels good, but if anyone found
out….” His eyes bulged slightly, finishing the sentence with a look
of dread.
“We’ll be more careful,” I assured him, holding up my hands.
“Let’s go back inside.”
“Let’s go back inside.”
He sighed. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see ya at the party.”
***
I ran into Lucas at that outdoor, off-road party. He seemed
standoffish at first, but quickly became comfortable as we began
drinking. The crowd mostly consisted of the one that had waited
for us by the back door, and I kept wondering if they had seen the
very view that I had been enjoying in the mirror. They never said
anything to us about it. As it turned out, they had said it to a lot of
other people, but that wouldn’t affect us until later.
Nearly screaming at me over a random collection of rock and
country tunes played on car stereos, Lucas abruptly told me that he
had to leave. Then he gave me an invitation with his eyes and a
jerk of his face that told me to wait a few seconds then go after
him.
I followed Lucas in my car, past the truck stop and back into
town. We pulled off behind the shopping center, and he opened
my passenger door.
“Pull down your pants,” he commanded, as he sat down and
jerked the door shut.
I did what he said, nearly hitting the horn in the process.
He went down on me, quickly, hungrily, up and down, like a
jackhammer, making me writhe in the pleasure of his action, and
making me climax in very little time. I tried to warn him, but he
accepted my seed into his mouth. Then he opened his door and
spat it out into the alley.
“I hate unfinished business.” He slapped me on the chest then
strolled back to his car.
Dumbfounded, I said, “Okay, bye.”
As he drove away, I sat there with my pants down, wondering if
he would always be so fickle and impulsive, wondering if the
people at the party would turn against us. I had focused so much
on Lucas that I hadn’t thought about it until then. Hardly anyone had
talked to me. When I started talking to a group of girls from my
history class, they had excused themselves to go pee.
Pulling up my pants, I asked myself, “What have we done?”
***
Lucas and I had never hung out together at school. He was too
busy with his football workouts and his football buddies, and he
often went for tutoring during recess, hiring one of the smart girls
from the yearbook staff. That gave him good social standing, while
I probably would’ve hurt his social standing.
As it turned out, I had already done just that. Darren was absent
during recess one day, and I was walking around alone. Of all the
people who would least likely talk to me, the head cheerleader
walked up and said, “I hear you’ve been getting it on with a
member of the football team.”
“What?” I asked the bleached blonde cheerleader, who was
standing with one hand on her hips and chewing gum.
“No one will say which one it is, but I think we all know. Like you
couldn’t settle with your little loser friend Darren, you have to start
pulling decent people into your sick lifestyle.”
“My what?”
“You heard me. Satan, get thee behind me!” As bizarre as that
exchange sounded, her voice reflected nothing but passion,
sincerity, and indignation. It apparently all made sense to her. It just
didn’t make sense to me. I wasn’t Satan, I didn’t know what she
meant by “lifestyle,” and I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.
Fortunately, no one else seemed to hear us or notice us, and
Lucas never mentioned the rumors, so I figured the cheerleader
had just heard it from someone who saw us that day, if they even
saw us. I kept reassuring myself that everything was okay, that I
could keep having my encounters with Darren and Lucas, and then
one day move on to a serious relationship with a girl. Graduation
was coming soon, and everything would be all right. For a while,
the rumors faded, probably thanks to the fact that no one would
believe a football player was gay. So it seemed that everything
was all right after all.
So it seemed.
***
With football season over, Lucas started having more free time,
and he even started visiting me more often. I didn’t dare make any
sexual advances, because he always avoided the subject of sex
and even seemed to pull away if I patted him on the back. Thanks
to the rumors and the almost getting caught, that part of our
friendship was obviously over, but it looked like the rest of our
friendship would continue.
We slowly became closer friends, and, as it turned out, he
hadn’t lost interest in out sexual encounters after all. Sometimes,
he would slightly broach the subject, or look at my adult magazine
stash with me. The magazines were all man/woman, but I focused
on the men; I had found the little prizes under an overpass,
obviously left by someone else who was sneaking around and
interested in sex. I kept going back, hoping to find more, or to find
whoever left them, but that never happened. When I told Lucas
about it, he just laughed and told me that I shouldn’t mess around
with strangers.
“Who am I supposed to mess around with?” I asked.
“Maybe someone you know. A good friend.”
Not sure whether he meant himself or Darren, and not sure if he
knew that my friendship with Darren included sex, I asked, “Which
good friend would that be?”
He smiled coyly then said he had to get home and start on his
homework. After a ridiculous series of handshakes that we
sometimes used, he left, and I stood wondering if maybe
something would happen again soon. Darren had gotten an after-
school job, so I wasn’t seeing him as often. Once you get used to
having your needs met, it’s rough to suddenly cut back, or to settle
with just jacking off.
But sex or not, I enjoyed hanging around both of those guys, and
kept hoping that the rumors wouldn’t come back. I remained
blissfully unaware that they had spread all over town. The people
who first heard them didn’t believe it, except for the head
cheerleader, but everyone kept hearing it again and again, and
more people started believing it.
We were too busy with school and each other to notice, and
Lucas certainly never mentioned the gossip. I never brought it up,
fearing it would scare him away from me, just when it seemed he
was drawing closer.
***
Lucas almost instigated sex on one occasion. It was cold
outside that day, thanks to a late cold spell. Right after he walked
into my bedroom, he pushed his hands down his pants to adjust
himself. I ordinarily wouldn’t have thought anything of the gesture,
but he left his hand there for a moment.
“Man, my fingers are cold!” he exclaimed. “But I kind of like the
way they feel on my dick.”
Without warning, he pushed one of his hands down the front of
my pants. My penis hardened immediately at his touch, without any
regard to the cold or the surprise.
Then we heard my mom’s car in the drive.
Lucas withdrew his hand and nudged me playfully on the chest.
“We’ll continue this some other time,” he said.
But it would be a while, and it would be a totally new experience.
***
Not surprisingly, having two different partners led to a more
complicated situation. A few weeks after that “cold hands” game
with Lucas, he and I were hanging out together in the woods when
Darren came along and decided to make a move. As usual, he
didn't bother with subtlety. We were talking about school and about
Darren’s job when Darren started grabbing our crotches.
“What's going on?” asked Lucas, looking even more shocked
than I felt.
“You think no one knows what y'all do together,” he told Lucas.
“But y'all forgot to close the curtains one time.”
I knew which time he meant. That was in November, during a
late hot spell. Now it was early May. During that time, the rumor
had been spreading in sudden bounds, like the green of the grass,
the trees, and the Spanish moss.
Lucas looked at me with an almost angry glance, and whispered
Lucas looked at me with an almost angry glance, and whispered
to me, “We’ll deal with this later.” But then he looked back to
Darren. “Y'all are messing around too?” he asked, not jealously,
but in an amused tone.
Darren momentarily jerked around at the cawing of a blackbird
but then proudly announced, “I suck Donovan's big one all the
time.”
Lucas and I both laughed at that statement while Darren started
unzipping Lucas’ fly and reaching in to pull out Lucas’ organ.
“It's bent!” Darren exclaimed, as the erect hook escaped Lucas’
jeans. But that didn't seem to bother him too much; he leaned right
over and started sucking that bent thing. His blond hair bounced
around as his head bobbed up and down against Lucas’ fly.
Wanting in on the action, I pulled down my pants and started
yanking on my already hard organ. After a few minutes, Darren
switched to my cock, then back to Lucas’. Darren didn't pull his
out; he said he just wanted to see us both shoot our loads at the
same time. Before long, we did just that, finishing the job with our
hands and sending streams of semen onto the twigs and leaves
that surrounded our shoes.
After we zipped up, Lucas said that he had to go. Then he
leaned against my ear and whispered, “That was the last time.”
He just as well have slapped me or punched me or told me
that he hated me.
“What’s wrong?” asked Darren, obviously seeing the hurt in
my face.
“Nothing,” I said, as I watched Lucas walk away.
***
As the rumors about Lucas and me grew, he began avoiding
Darren and me. In fact, I rarely saw Darren either. Just after high
school graduation, Darren moved away for a college in Kentucky,
and Lucas accepted a football scholarship in Baton Rouge. My
hometown became increasingly un-welcoming, and I felt
increasingly guilty about my sexual orientation. I soon decided to
start over somewhere else, without the gay part. Of course, that
wouldn't last too long.
Before moving away for good, I would eventually return for a
time to the place where I had experienced my first “fag off,” and I
would continue the tradition with new “fag off” buddies. I never saw
Lucas or Darren again after that first time I moved away to New
Orleans, but I'll never forget our encounters, or our friendship.