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Subject: Sixth Grade chapter 5 The next Saturday, I went over to Jimmy’s house and Mr. Morris was there. He said not to worry about him, that he had work to do, and for me to go ahead in the bedroom where Jimmy was waiting for me and have fun. I blushed and told him thanks. In the bedroom, Jimmy was naked and up on his knees. He was pushing something in his hole and it wasn’t his finger. I asked him what it was and he said it was a dildo. It looked like a dick with balls, it was made out of rubber and was about 6 inches long and thick, bigger than Jimmy’s. I asked him how he could take that big thing in his butt and he said “because it feels so damn good! Watch me.” So I did. He kept pushing the big dildo in and out of his butt with his left hand, hard and fast, moaning loud, and jacking off with his right hand. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and I was hard as a pipe. He kept doing it until he yelped and shot a huge load of cum down on the sheets. “Damn,” he cried, “that felt so fucking good!” By the time he calmed down, I was naked and up on the bed with him. He kissed me for the first time. I didn’t think boys did that to each other, but he kept doing it until he pushed his tongue in my mouth and started dancing it with mine. It did feel good and sexy and so I let him do it and really got into it. Then he went down on me and sucked me off twice, opening his mouth both times to show me the little pearl of pre-cum on his tongue before he tasted it. Pretty soon he was hard again, so I sucked him off, and he shot another big load of cum in my mouth for me to swallow. He said I wouldn’t believe how good it felt to have that dildo inside his butt and that it felt even better than a finger. He told me I should try it. I said, “I don’t know, that looks too big and thick for my little butt, it would hurt like hell.” He laughed again and said, “don’t worry, I have a smaller one just the right size for you.” So, I said “ok, but don’t hurt me.” He said he wouldn’t and went to escort izmit the desk and pulled out a smaller dildo. It looked to be about the same size as Jimmy’s dick, maybe a little smaller. He had me get up on my knees and use my hands to pull my cheeks apart. Then he started licking my hole like a maniac, making me laugh and squeal and beg him not to stop. My little dick was again throbbing hard, and sticking straight out. He told me not to touch it, so I didn’t, even though I really wanted to. Then he stopped licking my hole and did the same routine with lube, his little finger and then his index finger. It felt so good. I was totally awash in sexual pleasure. After a while, he finger fucked me harder and faster and it was ok, it didn’t hurt too bad because my hole was stretched out. Again, I thought I was going to cum, but he told me again not to touch my dick! Damn, I thought, why won’t he let me? He then told me to lie on my back and do my breathing exercise. He got on his knees took my feet and placed them up on his shoulders and pushed my thighs out wide. It felt strange. He put a pillow under my butt and then spread a lot of lube on my hole, which was by now not so tight because of the finger fucking. Then he pushed some lube inside me with his finger. I watched him carefully. He told me we would go slow and gentle, for me to keep the slow breathing up, and that I should say stop if it hurt. Then he put his index finger back in me and then added his middle finger. Ouch, that did hurt but I didn’t say stop. He worked his two fingers in an out and in all directions, and I loosened up and started liking the fuller feeling of the two fingers in my hole. The he pulled his fingers out, lubed up the dildo, and started pushing it inside me little by little. It felt huge and hurt, and I said stop. So he pulled it out, told me to keep breathing, lubed it some more and started pushing it back inside me slowly. This time he was able to push it deeper than the first izmit escort time until again I told him to stop. We kept doing this little by little until the dildo was all the way up my hole. It felt so huge but now it wasn’t hurting too much. He told me to put my feet and legs down on the bed and just lie there and let the dildo open my hole up more. After a few minutes, he spread my legs and started pulling the dildo out slowly and pushing it all the way back in; in, out, in, out, in out. I felt the dildo rubbing my prostate and yelled that it felt so good. He just smiled. He kept doing it and told me again not to touch my dick though I was dying to, I needed to cum badly. Jimmy pulled the dildo out and I yelled, “why did you do that, it feels so great!” He said because he had something better in mind. “Better, how could it be better,” I said. He said don’t worry he would show me and that I was going to love it even better than the dildo. I couldn’t imagine what would feel better but soon saw what he had in mind. Jimmy pulled me up on my knees, got behind me on his, lubed up his raging hard cock, and said he was going to fuck me. I was scared as hell and told him I didn’t want him to do it. He told me to stay calm and do my breathing thing. He said the dildo had opened my hole up wide enough that I could take his dick easy without hurting. I wasn’t so sure about that but said “ok, just go slow and don’t hurt me.” He laughed and said he had never hurt me very much and would not now. He then pushed the head of his dick inside my hole and stopped. Ouch! it hurt and felt bigger than the dildo had. He let his dick rest a little then pushed it in about half way and stopped again. I was taking it but it felt so big and I was afraid it would hurt. Finally, he pushed it all the way in and held it there. I yelped, was breathing very hard and trying not to say stop. He told me to calm down and then started pulling his dick out slowly and pushing it slowly back in, izmit kendi evi olan escort getting a rhythm going. After a few minutes, he told me he was going to fuck me harder but not to worry, and if it hurt too bad to tell him to stop. So he started fucking me faster and harder and I never said stop even though it did hurt. Soon I felt shooting electric waves of pleasure all through my body. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. My dick was raging hard but I didn’t touch it. Jimmy kept fucking me for a good 4 minutes, then he screamed “I’m cumming!” He pushed his dick all the way in and held it there while he moaned and twitched. I thought I felt his hot cum shooting up my butt but wasn’t sure. He pushed me down on my tummy and laid on top of me with his dick still in me. I was so proud of myself to let him fuck me and not be a baby and make him stop. I was glad I didn’t too, because it felt like nothing I had ever felt � it felt so good. His breathing then slowed down and he finally pulled out of me. Jimmy said, “Terry, now jack off.” I turned over on my back, grabbed my hard little dick with my fingers and thumb and started jacking off hard and fast. I could feel my orgasm creeping up on me and I could tell that it was going to be big. I started breathing hard and moaning and saying crazy stuff. I arched my back and pulled my butt up off the bed and then it happened. I came so big, and so strong. The orgasm exploded in my brain like a bomb, shooting wave after wave of intense pleasure through my body. It was a much bigger orgasm than I had ever had. And, for the first time, I looked down and watched as a little bit of white cum came out the end of my dick. Finally! Now I was a big boy like Jimmy, and naughty and sexy just like him. He bent down and licked my cum off my dick and then kissed me pushing my cum in my mouth with his tongue. It was perfect. We kissed a long time and then he took me in his arms and pulled me tight into his body. I was in heaven. Then, someone said “wow, that looked so sexy, you boys mind if I join you?” I saw Mr. Morris standing there with a big grin on his face, completely naked and with the longest and thickest dick I had ever seen standing straight up and throbbing. I gasped!

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Subject: A Young Surfer – Chapter 14 I keep thinking about that dirty rich guy and if I’ll ever see him again. I know if I want to I’ll have to hang on the main road tonight and wait for him to pull over and pick me up. His dog that sat on the back seat freaked me out last time. It was kind of disgusting and hot at the same time when it licked my ball sack when his master was fucking me. It’s that feeling you get when you see something shocking, but it slightly turns you on in a creepy way. I’m not into bestiality, at least I don’t think I am and would never have consented to it. That dog stuck it’s head underneath its master body as he fucked me and licked my balls. I didn’t see it, but I felt it, and its tongue was like freaking sandpaper. If I see him tonight, I’m going to suggest he pulls the car over and leave Chopper the dog inside and fucks me in the bushes. I think I’ll see tonight if he’s cruising. I’ll put the bait out and wait down the main road a few kilometres from the Golf Course. That way I can tease him and get him worked up in the car so by the time we get there he’ll tear my underwear off and fuck me long and hard. He fucked me so good last time. The way he positioned me over the centre console my ass cheeks were open perfectly and every stroke he took he hit my spot. My cock dripped cum almost immediately, and in the end, I had this super intense orgasm. It might have been the best fuck I’ve ever had so far. The hook for me is not what a man looks like because most of the time I don’t see them when I’m on my knees. It’s how they fuck me that keeps me hooked. I’m a cock junkie and this old guy even though he’s not very good looking and has that dog, he really knows how to fuck. Most men who have fucked me in toilet blocks or at the beach always seem like they’re in a hurry, but this guy fucks me like the way you fuck someone a week or two into a new relationship. He fucks to impress, takes his time and drives long deep strokes into me. He reaches around and plays with my cock and balls. My theory is the uglier they are, the better you need to fuck to get it regularly. I overheard some of the girls at the beach joke once about fucking this ugly guy with a big cock. “Just put a paper bag over his head,” one of them said. I thought to myself when I heard her say that `drop those little panties and get on your fuckin knees you dirty slut’ just like I do and you won’t have to look at him hahaha. Come to think of it I have to fuck one of those girls soon to avoid suspicion. I’m so not into pussy, that fishy pissy smell doesn’t do it for me. I find it amazing; I’ll take one of these scorching girls from the beach for a walk around the rocks, we’ll find a nice spot and make out. I’ll slip my hand under her dress and touch the outside of her panties. They usually gasp like I do when a man put his hand into my underwear. They are always wet. I push apart the side of their panties and slid my finger into their pussy. I’ll finger them for a while. Some times I’ll eat them then fuck them. My fingers are always smelly, usually how the boys find out. “Where have you been” they’d ask “just around the rocks with Cindi” they’d laugh and one of them would always want to smell my fingers. The guys at the beach know I’m casual and not into relationships, so it keeps me out of the conversation most of the time. I make sure they find out I’ve fucked one of them and it keeps me in the clear. I like this crew, they’re my friends, but they wouldn’t understand if they found out I’m a cock whore and take it in my ass. I can’t control it. It’s what I like — the control over a man’s pleasure and giving over my body to strangers for his pleasure. Geoff was the start of it. I was going crazy watching him walk past me almost every day in his speedo revealing the outline of his huge cock. I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t help myself. I fantasise about what his cock looked like and how big it was for what seemed like a year before he stopped me that day. That day changed my life. I sucked and swallowed a grown man’s cum. It turned on the switch for me. It’s been a year, but it feels like ten. I’ve had a kocaeli escort bayan lot of cock since then. I head over to Geoff’s not far from the beach. I have a key to the apartment, but I know he’s not home for hours. I want to flush out my ass, lube it and head out into the main road to see if I can trawl in my dog man. I like flushing, Geoff taught me to do a self-enema with water then push the head of a lube tube into my hole and squeeze in a fair amount. Men love that I’m good to go right away. I remember some guy gasping as he slid his finger between my ass crack and I swallowed it up. “Oh fuck you feel like my wife’s pussy used to feel like when we were dating” then minutes later he’d cum inside me. He called it my man pussy hahaha “Oh I love your man pussy, so tight yet wet, fuck you made me cum quickly. Sorry, I would have like to fuck you longer” he said “Me too,” I said with a smile. Standing on the main road hitchhiking I had a sense of excitement. Will he show? If not what if I get picked up by someone else? Either way, I thought this would be an adventure. About 40 minutes went by then I saw a familiar box-shaped large sedan car. It slowed, flashed its lights and I could see this dirty smile on the drivers face. He knew he’d scored. He pulled up to the curb; I looked in as I did last time and saw as I had previously seen. He was in the front driving of course and the dog; Chopper was sitting on the back seat. “Get in,” he said. I opened the door and slowly slid in all the while not to freak out Chopper the dog on the back seat. “How have you been my little friend? I’ve been thinking about you” “you have? I said “yes, of course, I liked our car session, Chopper did too” and he laughed as I blushed. “That freaked me out for days,” I said “I’ve never had a dog lick my balls, it was weird” Ha ha ha he kept laughing “Not many people have” I sat in silent embarrassment as he drove down the highway towards the Golf course. He looked down towards my lap. “Open your shorts” I unsnapped my button and opened my shorts. “Of fuck that’s hot! Pull down your underwear and take out your cock and balls. I raised slightly and slid both my shorts and underwear down. He didn’t know it yet, but I was lubed and ready. His hand reached over, and he cupped my balls and stroked my cock. “You are so sexy. Your little pubs feel like silk. I want to rub my face in your crotch and eat your ass” I have to admit he’s one of the few that care if I get off. Most guys see my tight round ass and fuck me until they cum. Very few even reach around and touch me. That’s cool I’m good with that, but I do like it when they care about me cumming too. This is going to be fun tonight. ” I want to take you back to that Golf course,” he said “Okay but we have to get out of the car and go somewhere. Chopper can’t come okay” I said, “Sure, sure, sure whatever you want.” We pulled up in the car park close to the bush track. I’ve walked this a few times to a few surf spots but never at night. I know the way to a small clearing off the main track we could go to. It was also close enough to see down a road. I started walking along the path as dog man was settling Copper before locking him in the car. I was excited now; this guy fucked me so well last time. We arrived at the clearing, and before I could even really look around, he said: “Get on your knees and take out my cock” I dropped to the ground and unzipped him. His cock was already hard and pressing against his white underwear. He had a small wet patch, and I knew he was ready. I pulled down his underwear, and he guided his big hard cock into my mouth. He grabbed the back of my head and thrust into my mouth. He’s rougher than I remember. I gagged and pulled back and grab his shaft and stroked his cock and he buried it back into my mouth. I could taste his cum and piss. It smelt like he had this underwear on for a few hours. The humanity filled my nose as I suck down hard on his cock. “I want to shoot in your ass. Standup, take off your shorts and face the tree. I did as he asked and removed my t-shirt too. I might need to scream into it and muffle my pain. He moved behind kocaeli sınırsız escort me. I was still standing, and we bent me slightly forward and started cheek fucking me. Pushing his cock between my cheeks and fucking the outside. “Oh fuck, I’m so horny, fuck…that feels great. Please fuck me Sir” I said “Sir,” he said and laughed “I will son, soon, very soon but first” He dropped down behind me opened my ass cheeks and pushed his face in. The prickles from his unshaven face sent a shock through me like a bolt of lightning. His tongue darted in and out of my hole. He took little nibbles around the outside which drove me crazy. “Please Sir fuck me” breathing heavily I repeated myself “Sir fuck me, please fuck me” he pulled his head out stood up and bent me further forward. “Hold onto the tree trunk he said” I grabbed it with both hands still holding my t-shirt and he drove his big cock into my ass. “Ohhhhhhhh ahhhhh” I lifted my t-shirt and screamed into it. The pain of his big cock stretching my hole was intense. He grabbed my hips and fucked me. He pounded me over and over, in and out pushing into me as his balls slapped against mine. I reached back around with one hand and rested it on his ass as if I was guiding him. He leant forward and started nibbling on my ear “You are a dirty little boy aren’t you” his voice was very authoritarian “Aren’t you” he said Yes Sir….I…am” I could hardly speak. “I am only dirty for you Sir” I panted out between gasping “Yes, you’re mine and don’t forget it,” he said “Yes Sir…yes” He slid both of his hands around the front of my chest and started flicking and squeezing my nipples sending sharp pain through my body. “Oh…that hurts…” I said. “You’ll get to love it,” he said. He was right. Sex has always been pain and pleasure for me except for the few times I fucked the girls at the beach. Taking a cock up my right ass has always been painful. The feeling of almost exploding and not being able to take it and at the same time having my man g spot hit. The pleasure of cumming several times without even touching my cock. “You are a little bitch,” Geoff said one day when I came on myself without my cock being touched. That was the first time it happened. Geoff had me on my back and a pillow under my lower back, my legs wide open and his big cock thrusting in and out of me. I said “I’m cumming” and he looked down to see me shoot on myself. We were both a bit shocked, but I know he loved it. My ugly dog man continued biting my ear and speaking dirty to me “I want to sniff your dirty underwear, I want to take them home” and “I want Chopper (his dog) to lick and fuck your hole after I’ve shot my load in it.” Dogman got quite dirty tonight. He wanted to share me with his friends as Geoff does at his parties sometimes. “I want to put you in my spare bedroom and let my friend fuck you one by one then gangbang your tight little hole,” he said “Yes Sir please do that, I’ll be good to your friends,” I said. I couldn’t help myself he was fucking me so good I’d agree to anything. Moments later I heard the crack of some twigs on the ground in the distance. Appearing in front of me was an older grey-headed man “You boys look like you’re having fun” Dogman didn’t miss a beat. He kept pounding me and said “I’m about to come, he’s all yours” I’m used to that now, but I still get a pang of rejection when I hear how easy I’m given away. I know I’m a cock whore, but at the moment when I’m getting pounded I become slightly attached to the guy who fucking me. The old man moved forward towards me; he was already stroking his cock. He grabbed my head and pushed me down onto it. “Yeah you suck him….oh, fuckkkk suck him you dirty boy,” said dog man “I’m cumming, oh…(very heavy panting) I’m…cumming…oh….hhhhhhhhh..oh fuck…ohhhhhhhhh” as he shot a huge load into me. He pulled out and shot a pulse onto my ass cheeks then pushed back into my hole. My ass and mouth was filled with beautiful big cocks. My hole was wet and stretched, and I was going wild. This night couldn’t get better. “Fuck I love slops,” said the old guy. I was in a freaking izmit anal yapan escort trance; dogman just fucked me stupid. My cock was dripping. I was so horny, and I wanted to keep going. I came off the old guy’s cock and let out a huge sigh “You can fuck me too Sir if you want” I said. The old guy looked down at my cock and said: “I want to suck that first” he dropped in front of me next to the tree and swallowed my dripping cock. Dogman zipped up kissed me on the ear and said “Next Thursday, here okay” “Okay” and he disappeared into the darkness of the path. Cum was running out of my hole and down my leg as the old man swallowed my cock. I looked up at the dark sky and silhouette of the trees and felt like I was floating. “I’m…I’m going to cum…I’m cumming now” As soon as I said that the old man clamped down harder on my cock and swallowed my load. I stroked the back of his head with one hand and held the tree trunk with the other as I looked back up to the clouds and let out a huge sigh. The old man came off my cock, stood up, wiped his mouth and said “Lay down here” I look at a flat area next to him and place my t-shirt on the ground and lay on top of it. He moved in front of me and said “spread your legs. Fuck yeah, you’re a hot little cunt” Here we go, another one who likes calling me names. I gave a half a smile and said “Come here” and lifted my legs so he could see my already pounded asshole. “Oh fuck, that’s the hottest,” he said kneeling in front of me. He took one hand and held my leg open and guided his cock into me with the other. “OMG, you sloppy little cunt. Fuckkkkkk that feels great…you’re a dirty little fag boy aren’t you” “Yes Sir” I said getting used to the position and the name calling. His cock was short but thick and filled my wet hole. “I’ve been coming here for years and never seen you before, ” he said driving his cock slowly in and out of me. “No Sir, this is my first time in the bushes. The other guy fucked me in his car last time” “Did he now, well your mine now” “Yes Sir” I said. “Can I cum inside you? I want to shoot in your hole, and you can clean my cock with your mouth” “Yes” I said panting as he took shorter stabs into my hole. “Ohhhh you like my cock don’t you” I nodded and moaned. This old man was good. I think this old guy had taken a pill because he fucked me for what seemed like 15 minutes — pounding me, telling me how dirty I am. My asshole was so stretched, but he was hitting my spot. I had cum drops on my stomach dripping into my belly button hole. I’m going to cum again. I said to myself with a hopeful thought. This old guy could fuck I thought. I breathed out a jumbled sentence and said “I’m cumming Sir, again” “Oh that’s so hot you dirty little boy” he said laying on top of me now “Let’s cum together” “ummm…yeeees Sir.” My legs were wide open, my asshole was dripping, and the old man was slamming me as hard and deep as his cock size would allow. The extra friction on my cock was driving me crazy “I’m cumming now….ohhhh Sir, I’m cumming” “Me tooooo” and immediately I could feel an immense pressure as he pumped his cum deep into me. I was shooting on my stomach and going crazy. He pulled out, lifted one leg over me and drove his cock into my mouth. Cum was everywhere, running out of my ass, down my chin then I got a shock. Instead of going down on my cock he opened my legs and buried his head between and started eating his cum out of my hole. This happened once before to me, but it still shocked me. I moved my body to help him get deeper, and he spent the next few minutes moaning and eating my ass. No one has asked me to do that, yet. It was a little uncomfortable cleaning up, but he came over to me gave me a hug and a kiss on the head and said “who would have thought one of the best fucks if my life would happen in the bushes if a Golf course” I was completely shocked again. It was amazing for me too but “I’ll be here Thursday, and I’ll bring a friend okay” “Yes sure Sir” “Bye” and he left. I cleaned myself as best as I could in the facilities of a small park next to the car park. In a daze, I walked home thinking about what just happened. Nifty needs your support, so this platform can remain as impressive as it is. If you enjoyed my story, please give a dollar or two. Thanks, Scott T. fty/donate.html All content in my stories is real and happened. Name and places have been changed. Scotty T – Send your feedback to oho

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Disclaimer: This is a mostly true story, with some of the action and events compressed or rearranged, and others omitted, in the interest of telling the story more simply. Names and locations have obviously been changed. Since this story involves sex between males of differing ages, if that sort of thing is not your cup of tea or if it is illegal to read such material due to your age or location, please check out now. Remember to donate to Nifty to keep this free resource available.

Catfishing

Chapter 1 – The Boredom Chat and Its Consequences

This story takes me back ten years ago. I was two years out of college, had just broken up with my long-time college girlfriend, and it was mid January, and I was laid up in bed with double pneumonia. Well, not quite laid up, exactly. I was past the feverish delerium and constant sleeping, and was on the mend. But I was still stuck inside, and cabin fever was hitting hard. I was playing with my new smart phone (I had waited a bit, wasn”t an early adopter), and decided to check out some chat apps to just have something to do. As part of the “Oregon Trail” generation, I had grown up having anonymous chats with people whenever I was bored. But of course the internet had moved away from chatrooms and BBS forums toward social media dominance, and those 90s era internet relics were going away. But, in the early days of smartphones, there were some chat room apps that were like the old days, and, like I said, I was really bored, and I decided to give it a whirl for shits and giggles.

I”ll say, too, that at that point in time I”d never really had any romantic sort of feelings for guys before (except that first time, but that”s a fucked up story for another day), but I had on occasion had fuckbuddy. But other than that, my romantic interests had always been girls. But, I was a veteran of cybersexing on gay chats. That was always fun, it was anonymous, harmless, and everyone enjoys a good fantasy every now and then. That”s what I thought I was in this chatroom to do. Enjoy a little fantasy and log out later and be done.

So, I log into this chat and am having a good time bantering about with some nerdy dudes who happen to be into dick. The banality of the chat in the main room is almost certainly of no interest to anyone. But, this one guy and I started cracking jokes back and forth, and before I knew it, he”d PM-ed me. We talked, he told me his name was Austin, and I told him mine was Dustin (not true), and we chatted about all sorts of stuff for the next four hours. There was some flirtation, but it wasn”t overtly sexual and certainly not the cybersex jackoff fantasy time I had gone in expecting. But I found myself genuinely enjoying conversation with this guy. On a whim, I asked him where he was from, and to my shock, he tells me he”s from a suburb on the northern side of the city that I live on the southern side of—maybe 30 minutes away from me. I started to tell him where I lived when he asked me my age; being honest, I told him I was 26.

Austin replied with, “Hah, I”m 16.”

All of the danger warnings went off in my head. I panicked. I had been causally sexually chit chatting with a minor all day long. My mind immediately went to Dateline episodes and mugshots. So, I made the decision to spin him a story, right there. I told him I was from metro Atlanta, and every time he asked for details about my life, I fudged a bit more. And, finally, I ended the conversation, telling him I needed to go get a shower (probably the first really true thing I”d told him in that last half hour). Satisfied that I had obscured any trail to the “real me” I did get up and get that shower, and I resolved to never talk to Austin again.

My resolve lasted until about 2 PM the next day, when boredom and, if I am being honest with myself, a desire to talk to this smart, funny, witty, nerdy guy who made me smile all day long the day before took over and I logged back in to the chat. He was there, presumably waiting for me, because I got a PM instantaneously that said “Hey! Are you feeling any better today?” And just like that, we were off to the races, and we chatted till I fell asleep that night.

The next day, I was feeling a little better, and decided I would try to go back to work the following day. So I told Austin I probably wouldn”t be able to log into the chat. He suggested that I download a messenger app like KIK or Nimbuzz (both of which he was on) so that we could keep in touch; we also exchanged email addresses (I gave him the fake one I used to register a chat app account with). I shouldn”t have agreed. I knew better. But I really liked this kid, and we had a lot of fun talking, and I convinced myself it was just mostly innocent, and he didn”t have a clue who I really was or where I was from or anything really about my life, so we could keep it on the mostly platonic level and just enjoy being friends.

I know, I was pulling all out all the stops to keep myself delusional.

I never admitted to myself that I was attracted to him. But the longer our friendship went on, the more I had to bury that. He was a kid, ten years younger than me. And, of course, because I had been so paranoid about talking to a 16 year old kid, the longer we talked the more details about my life he wanted to hear (just as he told me about his), so the more stuff I shuffled, exaggerated, downplayed, and outright invented. But at the end of the day, our flirty friendship and easy camaraderie became something that I looked forward to every day. We texted over the app all day long most days for the next two years. Then, Austin graduated from high school.

We had talked a lot about college; he didn”t feel like it was right for him, and I told him not to waste a bunch of money trying to figure it out. I tried to talk him into trade school, but he just wanted to get out and get a job, which he did. He also ended up moving in an apartment with a girl, to whom he had mentioned he was a little bit attracted to in the past. Being bi myself, I assumed he was too, and that maybe he was moving on. Part of me was relieved, and I thought that he would eventually get involved with this girl, and slowly leave me behind.

Well, that”s not what happened. She friendzoned him pretty hard, but pulled him into a peer group that was doing a lot of drugs, smoking, and drinking. Austin was getting fucked up on a regular basis, and when I told him that I really didn”t like him being stoned and drunk all the time, he quit talking to me. Again, part of me was relieved, because I thought maybe this was my out from the web of lies I”d told him, and was tired of; but another part of me, and, in truth, the greater part, was incredibly sad not to get to talk to him every day, like I had come to look forward to over the last couple of years. I enjoyed sharing in his triumphs and his tragedies.

A few weeks later he told me he was in a relationship with a guy he”d had a crush on in high school, who came out to him while they were hanging out together at a mutual friends” place, and this other guy confessed he”d always had a crush on Austin, too. I had my suspicions that this was meant to make me jealous, but, I encouraged it, despite the fact that it sounded like a happily-ever-after gay teen fantasy from the Nifty archives.

Austin quit doing drugs, but he kept up the binge drinking and smoking for the next couple of years, along with the pretense that he was in a relationship with this guy. He even pretended to be this guy and to chat with me about himself on occasion (though of course, I didn”t actually know that for sure at the time). I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was going on, and inventing more stuff about my own life at the same time, trying to give him every reason to think that I was not interested in him and that I had my own life, and just wanted to be friends. I thought this was working out spectacularly well, until he quit talking to me again. This time for about 2 months.

Then, one night close to midnight, I got an obvious drunk text from him on the app, where, through the misspellings and generally incoherent ramble, he confessed that he was in love with me and wanted to be with me. Of course, the truth was (even though I was lying to myself), I was in love with him, too. But, I now had years of lying to him about myself under my belt, and I couldn”t figure out how the hell to come clean and tell him the truth. So, I took the safest course and said, “You”re drunk, and I”m way too old for you anyway. I just want to be friends, ok? Text me in the morning when you”re over your hangover.”

I didn”t hear from him again for six months.

When I did, I got a frantic message from him. He had been to the doctor complaining of pain in his abdomen, and, after and abdominal scan, they had found a lump or mass in his lower abdomen, attached to his intestine. He was terrified, because they had prepared him for the possibility that it was cancer, and they scheduled him for surgery. At this point he was just shy of 20. The poor kid was beside himself, so I talked to him, tried to calm him down, and to be there for him. But, honestly, the thought of him having surgery and possibly cancer really got to me. I really cared about this kid that I”d met in a silly chat room 4 years before. Leading up to the surgery I was a wreck, but I never let him in on that. Every time he was nervous or depressed or morose, I kept encouraging him. I once again came really close to coming clean, because part of me really wanted to come see him at the hospital (he told me which one he was going to be at, and I knew it from all the times my grandpa had been there before he died). But, instead, I chickened out again, and did something that ended up having a lot more momentous impact than I would have imagined. I used the cloud storage from the fake email account I used to register the app I used to chat with him, and uploaded my huge collection of fantasy, scifi, and horror ebooks, and sent him the link. This way, he could have something to do while bored in recovery—other than chat with me.

“Thanks! Some of these are great. I hope I get to read them all. Thanks for being such a good friend to me. I love you,” he texted me that night before he went in for surgery.

“I love you too, buddy,” I texted back.

I barely slept that night, worrying about him.

izmit rus escort

Chapter 2 – Cancer Scares and Unexpected Surprises

I didn”t hear from him at all the next day. I knew that he was probably not up for chatting, and that almost certainly everything had gone fine with the surgery, but I was still worried. I imagined all the horrible things that could have gone wrong. Maybe he hadn”t made it, and I would never know what happened to him. I was unbelievably depressed.

The next day, I got a notification that someone had accessed the cloud storage drive with my ebooks. I as thrilled, since he was the only one with the link and if someone had accessed it, that meant he was ok. But when I logged into the account, I saw that it has not been accessed by Austin, but by someone with a different email address, whose name was Mark Davis. I didn”t know a Mark Davis, and I was instantly afraid someone had hacked my account. In the midst of my freaking out, I got a text from Austin.

“Hey, I”m doing good after surgery. IT WASN”T CANCER!!! But it is an infectious mass, and I got a drain tube hanging down by my balls for the next several days. Oh and thanks for the books! I went ahead and downloaded all the Elric novels to read!” he said.

There was a lot to process. I was, of course, elated to hear from him and that he didn”t have cancer. I mean, elated doesn”t even begin to cover it. But at the same time, he said he”d accessed my cloud drive, but I knew the only access had come from this Mark Davis.

I texted him back, “Thank God! I”m so happy that you”re going to be ok!” and of course we talked until he zonked out from his pain meds.

In the mean time, though, I did some internet stalking about Mark Davis. I searched the email address he used to access the drive. I found an old myspace page (with an incredibly young looking ginger kid, maybe 11 when the pic was taken) but it hadn”t had any updates in years. I found an account on a skateboarding and paintball forum registered to that email address, and saw that he was frequently buying and telling paintball guns on there. And then I hit facebook and searched his name and location where he told me he lived.

I found a profile for a Mark Davis, who was the right age, but his profile”s security settings were pretty well on lockdown. But, as luck would having it, his grandmother had tagged him in a post telling him to get well soon after his surgery. Bingo! This had to be him. I kept looking and saw a pic that had him tagged in it, from two years before, and it was obvious this was the same ginger kid from the myspace profile, just grown up. On a hunch, I did a reverse image search on the pics he sent me of himself a couple of years ago, and found out there were from some gay extreme sports jock”s tumblr blog. “Austin” had been catfishing me, too.

I wondered if I should confront him about it. But then, if I did, I”d have to tell him the truth, too. I had no idea how he”d react, and, honestly, at this point after so many years, I couldn”t imagine my life without him in it. So I decided to let us both continue our catfishing lies, and keep him as a friend. But, in the back of my mind, I knew I had fucked up when I told him that I loved him the night before he went under the knife. I knew it as soon as I hit SEND that I had crossed a line I shouldn”t have crossed, but, in the back of my mind my conscience was getting to me, and, if he hadn”t made it through sugery I didn”t want the last thing I told him to be a lie. I had lied to him quite enough.

After the cancer scare and as he got over the surgery, things between us seemed almost normal, although from then on, we used the “L” word when talking to each other; I was scrupulous about attaching the word “buddy” to anything, trying to make it clear that we were just close bros. He continued the pretense of “dating” Sean. At this time, his mom and step dad had split up, his mom was living with his grandmother, and he”d been staying there after his surgery until he was healed up. But, eventually, he moved back into his apartment with the girl who friendzoned him, with all the druggies and drunks that were there partying most nights of the week.

He texted me one night in absolute frustration.

“I can”t handle this anymore. None of this is fun anymore,” he said.

“Why not?” I texted him back, “I figured after a month with your mom and grandma you were ready to get back to being a party boi?”

He sent back a one word response, “Why?”

“Because you like that sort of thing, don”t you? I mean, that”s all you used to talk about was drinking and getting high with Jessica and her friends?”

“Do you realize that I quit doing all that months ago? After you told me you didn”t like me doing it? I even quit smoking because you didn”t like that either, ffs.”

I was stunned, I had no idea he had quit any of that, or that he”d done it for me.

“I didn”t realize that,” I texted back, “but what about Sean. I thought he was a partier too?”

“Fuck him, I”ve been over him for a while. I want you.” he said.

I again tried to downplay it, but I new the genie was out of the bottle now. A couple more months went by, his mom was back on her feet, had a good job again, and was renting an apartment closer to the city (which was closer to me, the real me). He got a new job 20 minutes from my house, and he got out of his lease that he co-signed with Jessica, and moved in with his mom. I drove by where he worked pretty regularly when I was out doing weekly necessary shopping. I wondered what it would be like to run into him, to see him pass by in a store. Of course, I would know who he was, but he wouldn”t know me at all. The thought made me really sad.

But things continued on this way for a number of months, until one day, I got another frantic text message from him. At this point I should mention that both of us (the real us) come from really conservative, religious families, which is why neither of us (either the real us, or the catfish persona us), were “out.” This was something else we”d bonded over. But, the frantic message I got was:

“FUCK FUCK FUCK my mom found my gay porn. FML”

I tried to calm him down, but it was no use. It turned into a huge fight, his mom went nuts, and he ended up at his grandmother”s house. His grandmother, it turns out, didn”t care if he liked pussy, cock, or tentacled monsters from HP Lovecraft”s nightmares. So she told him he could stay with her as long as he wanted. His newfound freedom in his grandmother”s house is, almost certainly, what lead to the next escalation in our relationship.

Chapter 3 – The Jig Is Up

In the months following his move to his grandmother”s, and after the old lady told his mom to shut up and back off, “Austin” who I now knew was really Mark, really opened up a lot more to me. Instead of a nightly “I love you,” I was getting “I love you” several times throughout the day. I wanted to be honest with him and tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him that I really did love him too, not just as a best friend (which by this time he had really become). I had started letting my own mask slip, and was telling him more about my actual life than ever. Of course, I had to dress it up with names changed to protect the innocent, and all that. But I was so conflicted the whole time.

That is, until one Saturday morning, I got a “Hey” text at 8:30.

“Hey bud,” I responded back, “what are you up to?”

“Jackin my dick and thinking about you fuckin my ass,” he said back.

We”d make flirty comments, but in the almost 6 years I”d known him at this point, this was a line that had never been crossed. I didn”t know what to say, and I don”t know what came over me, but I said, “Yeah man? You want it?”

“FUCK YES!” he said, “I”ve been wantin it for years.”

I decided, in for a penny, in for a pound, and said, “You wanna call me?” Instantly the incoming voice chat sound rang on my phone. In six years, this was the first time I”d heard his voice. And it was fuckin sexy.

“Hey baby, fuck I”ve wanted to do this for so long. I”m layin here strokin my cock wishing you were fuckin my ass hard and deep,” he said, breathing heavy, his voice husky.

“Stoke that fuckin cock for me babe,” I said, my hand already playing with my own throbbing erection, “I wanna eat your ass still you”re beggin me to fuck you”

“I”m beggin now, but I”d love you to put your tongue in my hole,” he replied.

“Fuck yeah, get that tight hole wet a loose for my cock, so I can slam it in you and breed you.”

“FUCK YES DUSTIN!” he cried out, “I”ve been wanting that since I met you.”

By this time I was leaking precum like a dripping faucet, and I could tell he was getting close.

“Yeah babe,” I said, “Gonna breed you good, fill you up with my cum.” I was breathing heavy and jackin my dick ninety miles per hour.

I could hear him on the other side of the line, panting, and then he said “Oh fuck, I”m CUMMING!” and I heard him grunt and wimper 4 or 5 times. That did it, and I shot so hard I got cum in my beard.

“FUCK!” I yelled and moaned at the same time.

“Omigod that was the best cum I”ve ever had,” he said.

We talked a little bit after that, and decided that we both enjoyed what we did. And for months, we jacked off talking to each other over the voice chat every night before bed, and usually on Saturday mornings, too.

At this point I confessed to him that I had been in love with him for a while, and that I had been dying it to myself. He said he knew, though he was glad I was telling him the truth. But, then he started acting weird. He would say things like “You deserve better” and “You don”t really know me” and he started to get distant with me again. I knew what the problem was. But after 6 years of lying to someone, how do you tell them the truth? I knew exactly what he was going through, because I had done the same thing to him, but I couldn”t tell him about that either.

We went almost a month without talking. I would message him, try to call, but he wouldn”t answer. I was devastated. I had fallen for him, hard, and just as I let myself admit that, he pulled away. I got angry. I knew it was stupid. I knew izmit escort why he was upset and doing this, because he was trapped in his catfishing lie. I was trapped in mine—I mean, he still thought I lived hours away in metro Atlanta, instead of right across town. Slowly the fucked-upness of this entire situation was weighing down on me. I couldn”t take it anymore. I decided to forget about him, about the whole situation, and move on with my life.

That also lasted exactly two weeks.

I was depressed. I missed talking with him every day. I missed him making me laugh. I missed all our bizarre inside jokes. I missed him most of all. But I was too proud and too fucked up and caught in the web of lies I”d spun over the last six goddam years to do anything about it. I was also afraid of what admitting my feelings for him would mean for me in the long run. I”d certainly be a pariah to my family and friends, not just over the fact that I was in love with another guy, but because this fucked up relationship started when he was a kid. I”d be labelled a pedo. I couldn”t deal with it.

But then, he called me. He was crying, not making any sense really. But finally he got out, “I have to be honest with you, I have to tell you the truth. My name”s not Austin.”

I didn”t know what else to say, so I said, “I know.”

I could hear his surprised reaction over the voice chat, “You know? How do you know?”

So I told him the whole story about how I figured out he was Mark Davis. When I was done he said, “Well, I”m sure you hate me now for catfishing you, so I”ll go and never bother you again.”

“Wait,” I said, “I don”t hate you, in fact, you have ever reason to hate me. My name”s not Dustin, it”s Ryan Bradley, and I have been doing the same to you, and I”m sorry. I”ve wished for years I could come clean and tell you the truth. I love you. I don”t live in Atlanta, I live maybe a half hour from you, across town. I”m sorry.”

“I can”t fucking believe this!” he yelled at me, “How could you? I mean, fuck, I”ve told you repeatedly how I felt, and all this fucking time you”ve been right here! All those nights I cried into my pillow wishing I was with you, you were right across fucking town? Fuck you!”

“Hey, wait up, you were lying to me, too. Just because figured it out because you fucked up and accessed my drive with your real account doesn”t mean that you didn”t keep up your lie too. And the only reason I didn”t confront you about it then was because I was afraid if I told you I knew, you”d disappear and I”d never talk to you again. I fuckin love you too, you know, and I didn”t want to risk not having you in my life at all. So I let it ride, hoping to keep you as a friend instead of losing you totally, because I can”t imagine my life without you in it!”

“I don”t know what to say,” he said, “I don”t know what to feel. I need some time to think about all of this.”

“Fine. Take all the time you need,” I said, and he hung up the call.

Chapter 4 – The Aftermath of Fish Stories

It was along time before we talked again. Months, I think. I had decided that I was never going to talk to Mark again, and it was time to move on with my life. I started dating women again, it was fun, nothing to write home about. At this point, I had crossed the 30 line; my younger brother was already married, and my younger sister was engaged, and my mom started asking when I was “going to find a nice girl and settle down.” I brought a few of the women I dated around, but, even though some of them weren”t vapid thots with at least one divorce and/or kids under their belt, after a few dates, there was nothing about them that stood out to me. Nothing that kept me engaged. Most of them I just let go gradually.

About this same time I had gotten a roommate. The guy was an acquaintance, a down on his luck Army vet who had done tours in Iraq and Afghanistan who had his life turned upside down when he got back from his second deployment and his wife had left him. I let him move in with me for a bit so he could get back on his feet. He was a nice guy, but I had been living alone for a long time, and I found the change in privacy requirements constricting. But, Rick and I became better friends, and we hung out a lot (mostly by necessity), and life went on.

I had just let go a single mom with a kid who was a total brat, because I couldn”t stand being around her child, when Mark got in touch with me again.

“Hey Ryan. I don”t want to not be friends with you, but I feel like I don”t really know you. Are you real? How much of what you told me was true?” he texted me.

“Mark, I know, I lied about a lot of stuff, and I told you why. But I”ll tell you anything you wanna know, just ask.”

We spent the next week texting back and forth, playing “ask me anything” with each other. It felt really go to finally be honest with him about my life, my family, my friends, all my frustrations and dreams. But, that”s also how I found out he was back living with his mom (who had reconciled with his step-dad and was back in his old house), he had gotten a new job, in a town an hour and a half away, and was dating this girl who was his co-worker. That stung, but, I understood. I was doing the same trying to forget him. And if we were just going to be friends, then fine. I could do friends. Friends was better than nothing, and I was prepared to live with that.

In the weeks after that conversation, we had achieved a new normal. We talked and cut up, even flirted a little, but not as much as before. Things were going fine until one night he said “I really miss jackin off with you.”

With the no more lies rule we”d established, I told him honestly, “I miss doing it with you, too.”

“You wanna?” he texted me, almost immediately.

“Definitely,” I said. The next moment the voice chat ring on the app was buzzing, and we were off.

I slept better that night than I had in months.

***

The phone sex that night broke the dam we”d erected between us. Our chats turned flirty and sexual into mostly sexual again. The sexual tension was building up tremendously, and I thought I was going to explode from my horniness every time we talked, and all the times I thought about him all day long. It turns out he was feeling the same way.

I was sitting at work doing my mindless, boring desk job, and I got a text from Mark that said, “So, when are you gonna fuck me?”

“What?” I texted back.

“Well we”ve been talking about it when her jerk off for a while, and I wanna know when you”re gonna do it for real?” he said.

I got an instant boner.

I texted him back and said “When do you want to?”

“I”m off tonight, why not now?”

I knew I couldn”t take him back to my place with Rick there, so I said “I”ll get a hotel room for the night.”

I texted Rick and told him I was gonna be late tonight, maybe not back in at all. “You go, stud! Been a while, so make her show you a good time!” I laughed. If he only knew.

A quick hotel app search showed an efficiency suite room on the east side of town where neither of us was too likely to run into anyone we knew was reasonably priced, so I booked it, texted Mark the address, and told him I”d meet him there when I got off work. It then occurred to me that I really probably shouldn”t show up to work in the same clothes I had on today, so on the way there I stopped and bought a new pair of khakis, a button up, some socks, underwear, deodorant, toothpaste, mouthwash, and a bottle of lube.

I had already checked in and was waiting for him to arrive. I couldn”t believe we were meeting up for the first time. I felt my heard pounding, blood rushing. I heard him knock on the door, and my already hard cock throbbed a little harder in my boot cut jeans. I opened the door and let him in, and I knew I loved this guy. His eyes were such a deep, sparkling blue, his skin pale, his hair strawberry blond, though his whiskers, barely longer than stubble, were a little darker. As soon as the door was shut, I grabbed him into a bear hug, and then kissed him.

The touch of our lips together was electric, magnetic. I wanted more, and I coaxed him to open his mouth, and slipped my tongue in. Soon we were tongue wrestling as our mouths were locked together on our way to the bed. I pushed him down on it, and was on top of him, making out with him as if my life depended on it.

Before I knew it, we were naked, and I was licking down his ginger furry chest, down to his thick cock. When I took him in my mouth, he shuddered and moaned, and when I began to suck him, he whimpered like a puppy. His dick was the perfect size for my mouth, I could go all the way down, burying my nose in his fire coloured pubes, and still be able to massage the base of his dick and his balls with my tongue. He was in utter ecstasy, running his hands through my hair and moaning my name.

After giving his cock and balls the royal treatment for at least 20 minutes, I flipped him over and got him up on his knees, spread his ass cheeks, and dove in face first into that ass. I licked him from his balls to the top of his ass crack and back, before zeroing in on his puckered hole.

“Hey, um, I haven”t had a shower since this morning, so I”m probably a little funky down here,” he said, and I slapped him right butt cheek and told him to shut up, and went back to eating his funky hole. The taste was incredible, I think it even made me harder than I was before. I started pushing my tongue into his pucker as it loosened, and then I reached down and started slowly stroking his dick. Now he was moaning louder than when I was blowing him. The incredibly sexy sounds he was making turned me on as much as the taste of his funky ass was. I loved the way the ginger fur around his hole matted with my spit, as I bathed it with my tongue.

“Come on babe, fuck me, please, fuck me!” Mark was almost yelling as my oral assault on his asshole mounted. I decided it was time (past time, really), and scrambled to the writing desk in the room where I”d left the bag of sundry items I”d picked up on the way to the hotel. Retrieving the lube from the bag, I started stroking some on my dick on my way back to the bed, before putting two lubed fingers into his hot chute. I pushed him down kocaeli escort a little lower and lined up his slick hole with my cock, and pushed.

Entering Mark”s ass was a sublime experience. I know I took it very slow for him, but, for me, it seemed as if time stopped, and I was momentarily in this eternity of warm, tight pleasure that existed between his ass ring and the head of my cock. He”s now slightly loosened, moist, slick hole began to suck my cock in, engulfing me entirely in his love canal. Soon my bush was up against his furry as cheeks, and he let out the softest “Oooooh” sound as we both reveled in the pleasure we were giving one another at last.
Soon, I began to pick up the pace and thrust into him, harder and harder, hammering away at his prostate on each thrust of my dick, which was harder now than it has been in ages. He was making animal noises, burying his face into a pillow, and moaning “Yes, God yes, fuck me!” over an over. I felt like a fucking stud.

I pushed my weight down on him, getting him on his stomach, my dick never leaving that velvety hole. I fucked him so hard I”m sure they could hear the slapping of flesh down in the lobby. By this time, he was drooling and moaning. I kept up until I couldn”t hold back anymore.

“Oooooh FUUUUUCK,” I yelled, as I flooded his guts with what seemed like a gallon of cum, and felt like it took an eternity to shoot.

Despite just having what was beyond a doubt the best orgasm of my life, I was still insatiable and wanted more. I rolled him over and saw his hard cock glistening with precum, gossamer strands of it still connecting his cock head to the sheet. I licked it up greedily, and then went all the way down on his cock, sucking him with wild abandon. When he came in my mouth, he had his fingers in my hair, and called out “YES YES OH FUCK RYAN OMIGOD YES!” His cum was fucking delicious, and I swallowed almost every drop.

I left a little to share with him when I moved up and kissed him, deeply, passionately, as we wrapped our arms around each other and drifted off to a wonderful, blissful sleep.

Little did I know it would be over 2 years before I saw him again.

Chapter 5 – Happily Ever After Only Happens In Fairy Tales

After that night we spent together, I was literally amazed. Hands down without a doubt the best sex I”d ever had in my entire life, and, I was insanely into Mark. I knew I was in love. And I didn”t know what the fuck to do about it. If I started dating him, my whole family would disown me, and I knew he was in the same situation. But fuck it, I loved him.

It turns out, while I was trying to figure out how to move forward, Mark was having a similar but worse freak out meltdown, and decided to ghost me for the next 18 months. Calls, texts, emails all went unanswered. I was crushed. Totally, completely crushed. After I climbed out of a 6 month depression, where I had fallen off the wagon and started drinking again, making everything in my life much, much worse, with the help of regular meetings and trying to forget him, I was working on rebuilding a life without my best friend who I was madly in love with.

About this time a friend of my mom”s introduced me to this great girl. She was 28, never been married, had a good job, no kids, was normal, sane, funny, and engaging. We went out on a blind date and I thought “If I was gonna marry a girl, I would marry this one.” We had a lot of good dates, and a year later, I asked her to marry me, and, despite the fact that she could have done way better, she said yes.

I decided this was it. My parents loved her, her parents thought I walked on water, and all of our friends were so happy for us. And I realized I was in love with Hannah, albeit not in the same way or with the same intensity I had been with Mark. It took a year for Hannah and her mom to plan the wedding, and I was blissfully ignorant of most of the decisions. I just wanted to show up and have a good time.

Three months before the wedding, I got a text from Mark.

He told me how sorry he was for ghosting me, and caught me up with what had been going on with him. He was totally freaked out by the experience we had in the hotel that night, and it scared him, so he ran away. He tried to forget me, and devoted all his time to the girl he was dating who worked with him, Carley. He had proposed and they were getting married in a couple of weeks.

“Well, good for you, man. If you”re happy, I”m happy for you. I”m engaged, too, btw.” I said.

“Oh. Well good for you too! I hope y”all are happy together,” he replied.

“Yeah, I”d invite you but that might be awkard, idk.”

“Yeah, same here. But hey, look, can we still be friends, and talk when we need to? I know I”ve been a fuckhead but I really miss just chatting with you, like we did all those years ago.”

“Yeah, Mark, I would like that. You were my best friend for so long, I totally miss it, and you.” I said, keeping to the “no more lies” rule we had established after we came clean with each other about the catfishing.

“Cool dude. Ryan, you”re an amazing guy, and I love you, dude.”

“I love you too, Mark. And honestly I probably always will.”

“Yeah. Same. I wish we could be together, but we both know we can”t. Things would be too crazy.”

“I know. I agree. Plus, Hannah and I have something special now, and I love her. I don”t want to hurt her.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. I just mean, if things had been different.”

“I know what you mean. I know all too well.”

***

So we both got married last year. We”d kept in touch, compared notes, bitched about wedding planning turning fiancés into crazy people. I was genuinely happy with Hannah, even though, as I told Mark, I knew a piece of my heart was always going to belong to him, no matter what I tried. But I resolved to be a grown up and not let that get in the way. I even got comfortable talking to Hannah about Mark, though she assumed he was a guy from my tabletop gaming group (whose membership she could never keep straight), and I let the assumption slide.

Mark and Carley got married 4 months before us, and as the date grew closer, I could tell that when Mark and I talked, he seemed unsettled. I had a feeling I was the cause, but I let myself believe he was just nervous, cold feet, that sort of thing. As I said in the beginning of this sordid tale, I am a master at self delusion.

He smiled and looked handsome as fuck in all their wedding photos (that I saw on facebook), and she looked beautiful, too. But, when they got home from the honeymoon, I realized the honeymoon was over. Over the next few months, I heard about what a disaster it had been, how all she wanted to do was stay in the resort and be pampered, and he wanted to go out and actually enjoy being in the Caribbean. I felt bad for him, especially since we were already planning our honeymoon trip, backpacking through Iceland, and were both incredibly excited about the trip.

Mark and Carley were still having troubles. Since they got back from their honeymoon she had become really controlling, always bossing him around. I had never met her, but she sounded like a real bitch. Hannah saw me texting him one night and asked what was up, and I said, “Oh, Mark is just venting about Carley again,” and then I told her about Mark”s wife”s latest antics. Hannah said “Damn, she sounds like a bitch. Tell him to grow a pair and lay down the law on her.” I laughed really hard, and realized this is one of the reasons I love her.

Months went by, our wedding came and went. It ended up being a gala circus with hundred of our friends and extended family members attending. The reception is a still a blur, along with the wedding night. We boarded our flight to Iceland the next day, and spent the next three weeks there, and enjoyed every minute of it, and our time together.

Mark and I continued to talk as soon as I got home, and I felt a little guilty that Hannah and I had had such a great time on our honeymoon, and that we got along so well together (and the sex was good), when he and Carley were clearly still having issues figuring things out. I hoped it was mostly due to them being so much younger and with less life experience, but part of me know, deep down, that it was almost certainly because Mark really wanted to be with me.

A few weeks after we”d gotten back, Hannah said she thought it was unhealthy that I hadn”t spent any time with my friends since we”d gotten back from Iceland, and told me she was going out with some girls from work on the following Thursday.

“You should call up one of your buddies to hang out, maybe Mark,” she suggested.

So, of course, I texted him. He said he could get off work early on Thursday and come by my place for a few hours. I knew Hannah wouldn”t be back till after 10, and she was supposed to text me when she was on her way home. So we had 4-5 hours of time together.

When Mark got to the house, I let him in and we kissed immediately, just like we had over two years before at the hotel. We got on the couch I immediately pulled down his pants. I couldn”t wait to get that fat, leaky cock back in my mouth. I sucked him for a while before he pulled me up to him and we made out again. I saw those beautiful, amazing blue eyes shrink wrapped with unshed tears. He wanted this, needed this. And fuck it, so did I.

We made love for three hours, and spent and hour in the shower, where I sucked him off again, before he got dressed and went home. When Hannah got in, I realized I probably still had cum breath, so I raced to the kitchen and chugged half a beer, before she came in and gave me a kiss.

“I hope you boys didn”t drink too many of those tonight, especially with Mark having to drive home.”

“Nah,” I said, “we didn”t. We just messed around here and hung out. It was nice.”

“Yeah?” Hannah said, “You need to spend time with your friends. Mark is like your bestie, its a shame y”all so rarely get together. You need to make an effort to see him more.”

I smiled and said, “Yes, ma”am.”

Epilogue

Mark and I haven”t managed to get together again yet. Work schedules and time away from the wives are hard to come by, as it turns out. But, we”re planning a “guy”s weekend” camping in the spring, before it gets too hot out down here. I can”t wait to spend a weekend in a cabin playing and making love with my best friend.

If you want to send comments, I”ll gladly read and respond to ail

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Subject: I’m Sorry I Hit Your Car, Sir I parked and hurried up to the door, rang the doorbell, and waited. After a little wait, he opened the door. He was a little older but not too much, taller than me, graying hair, broad shoulders. I said, “I’m sorry I hit your car, sir. Just please don’t call my dad. I’d get in a lot of trouble.” He was a little upset and looked out past me to his car parked along the neighborhood road in front of his house. I followed him out to it to look. I showed him how there wasn’t even a scratch or anything on it, just that the side mirror was nudged. It’s so great that they make them so they’ll swivel instead of getting broken off. He seemed relieved, maybe a little annoyed. I followed him back to the house. “Well, now. I don’t think there’s anything to get upset about here. But maybe your dad should know anyway. I bet he’d go easy on you this time,” he said. I told him that he wouldn’t and basically begged him not to contact my dad. I said that I wanted to do the right thing and tell him and then I saw that it wasn’t even anything and just didn’t want to get into trouble with my dad. “What would your dad do?” “Well, it’s a little embarrassing… but I still get spanked.” He had a strange look on his face. He was surprised. I looked young but he was obviously not familiar with guys my age still getting spanked. We were inside, sitting. I just kept pleading and apologizing. He was slowly asking me questions. I confirmed that I don’t get grounded or lose car privileges or anything like that. I confirmed that if he decided to, that I’d give him the number to call my dad and that I’d be in for a spanking when I got home. I confirmed that it would be a for-real spanking. I begged him please. I asked him if there was anything else we could do instead, any other way. He slowly, cautiously started to answer that, “well, maybe you should get a spanking… one way or another.” Then his eyes came back to meet mine. I got what he was thinking and helped him along, “Well, maybe you could just do it instead?” I explained that I didn’t want my dad to be disappointed about something like this, even though it wasn’t really anything, right? Finally, we got to it. He was gonna take me down to his basement and give me a spanking, and that would be izmit escort the end of it. We walked down the steps to a furnished basement with old furniture. I could tell that he didn’t know how to get started. I went ahead and stood next to this chair and leaned over it. He looked at me standing there with my butt sticking out. He stepped over next to me and held his hand against my butt. Without saying anything, he gave me one hard smack. His finger made almost a knocking noise against the wallet in my back pocket. My khakis were fairly thin, but they still shielded the impact. “How was that?” he asked. I told him that I couldn’t really feel it that much. He asked if my dad usually spanks me with my pants on. I told him never. He thought for a second or two and then said, “…well, then, you should, take those, down, then…” “Yes, sir,” I responded and undid my belt, unbuttoned my button, unzipped my zipper, opened the flaps of fabric, and pushed everything down my legs into a wrap around my ankles. I got back into bent-over position and felt him observe how my socks towered up my legs above the khakis, how the bottom of my button-up shirt hung down around my waist and draped over the curve of my butt, with just a hint of my underwear beneath. He stepped back a step and then stepped closer, reaching out his hand to pull up the curtain of my shirt and rest it on my back, revealing my butt now in just underwear. I felt his hand again at its place, flat fingers and palm. It glided along the lower edge and then rose up against the firm mounds of muscle. pat, pat, he gave two little gentle pats on my ass. I leaned over, sticking it out, clenching it in advance of his swat. SMACK! came his hand with a swing. I felt it and winced. He pulled back again and SMAKKKKK!! The second one felt stronger. I bounced. “Is that what it feels like… when your, dad? does it?” he asked. I could tell that he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right but also wanted to talk about it as it was happening. I helped him know that he was doing it right, and through conversing about it after each hit landed, he started asking about my underwear. His fingernails clawed at the elastic ridges of the waistband, and the pads of his fingertips slip inside, one time sliding along the hidden skin. yahya kaptan escort He asked me if my dad ever had me take them down too or maybe he just took them down himself off of me. I said, “he decides. So now you can decide.” With me still in position, bent over his chair with my back not quite flat and the bottom of my shirt pulled up and folded over to expose my ass, he held the waistband of my underwear and slid it all down my legs and past my knees to the floor. I looked ahead but I felt him looking at what was now on display. Then I felt his hand rub around before striking. SLAP! CRACK! PAP! The noises now has a sting, and his hand now did too. I felt my skin jiggle with each meeting and start to blush. He mentioned that his hand started to sting already. I mentioned that sometimes my dad will give his hand a break and use something else. We talked about that as he rubbed my red cheeks. He said that maybe he’d try giving me his belt. I told him it was up to him. He undid his belt and slid it out, and his pants fell to his ankles. They must’ve been pretty loose. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. He paused, standing next to me in a sweatshirt and some loose boxers that only reached midway down his thighs. “Is this okay?” he asked. I said it was up to him. He folded his belt over, and I heard the buckle jangle. He stepped up next to me and gave me a gentle swat with the flat, leather strap, just patting with it. Then he gave me a sting that shook through the air and snapped my skin. I stifled a moan between my lips, and he talked about the red rectangle that was already emerging on my rear end. His fingers examined it. He put the belt down and looked around the room. He grabbed a big remote control and held it, gently waving it behind me, never really smacking with it. Then he stopped, did something I couldn’t see behind me, and stood closer to me. Then I felt something stiff and smooth bang against my butt. It slid along, under the curve of my butt. As he patted me with it, he wasn’t swinging his arm like before, but was now rotating his hips to smack me with it. Then he stepped back, fumbling with his loose clothes. He told me to stand up, and when I did and faced him, I had my hands covering the front of me. gebze escort I was trying to cover the front of me, but there was no covering it, and I could tell that he could see it anyway. I was fully hard and had been for a while there. He stared. “I’m sorry, sir. Sometimes, it just happens.””Oh, well…. that’s alright. No need to try to hide it.” I think he had thought we were done but then we just stood there, facing each other. He asked if that was usually how it ended. I told him that sometimes my dad puts me in different positions for the last few spanks. He said that we should do that now too, and asked me to explain them. I said that sometimes I’d go over his lap. He sat down and adjusted his boxer shorts a little and waited for me. I explained the position as I draped myself over his lap and over the couch. My hardon was poking against his leg, and I asked if I could adjust it. I said sir. He let me move it so it wasn’t hurting me. He said he was getting warm, and I could see sweat stains under his armpits. He asked if it was alright if he took his shirt off. I told him it was up to him. He pulled it off, and I looked at his muscles and chest hair. Five more firm, slow slaps came down. As each did, I bucked against his leg. I felt my dick poking into him, and I thought I might also be feeling something poking my side. His hand stopped and rested on my ass, now confidently petting. He asked if that was it or maybe there was something else. I got up, stood in front of him. He was just in loose boxers. I leaned over his shoulder like I had leaned over his chair, and I stood there, waiting. I had to explain that he should reach around to spank me. As he did, and as each spank landed, I pushed against him. My hard dick poked him. It even slid into his armpit for a second on one. He held my body closer to him. As one firm SMACK! broke the air and bucked me into him, I came. With three firm jets and then a few more pulses, I shot all over his chest and shoulder. I leaned back and apologized. He looked at it. He said it was okay. “That’s alright son,” he said. “I think you’ve learned your lesson. Why don’t you pull your pants up and head out now? I’ve gotten something I need to do now.” I pulled up and just left him there, apologizing again and thanking him for agreeing to spank me. On the way out, I thought to myself how my plan worked, and how I couldn’t wait to tell my dad. Did you like this story? Have you read my others under Prolific Authors? Have you donated to Nifty? Email me about it.

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Subject: Immigrant Chapter 13 This story is a sequel to the story, “Marooned” which is already on Nifty, and it is a work of fiction, and all the characters in it are fictitious. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is incidental and unintended. The story involves the relationship between an adult and a minor and may involve scenes of a sexual nature. There is no outright sex and any sexual activity is of a gentle and loving nature (if you’re looking for pornography – look elsewhere) but none-the-less it may offend some people and, if you are one of those people, or if it is not legal for you to read such things, please read no further. To those who are still here please enjoy. If you wish to provide feedback I can be contacted at lfa4321jonah@outlook (note, there was an error in this address printed with some earlier chapters. This is the correct one) and please bear in mind that you don’t pay to read these stories, but it does cost Nifty money to provide them. Please consider donating to Nifty fty/donate.html Immigrant By Jonah Chapter 13 Well Monday was indeed a school day and I unwrapped myself from Luke in time to eat the breakfast that Simon had prepared. Luke himself joined me in the shower. No there wasn’t any funny business. This is Luke we’re talking about. Even had he been inclined that way, which I don’t believe he was, nobody was in that sort of mood. We all missed Jonah too much. I suppose I could have enquired what Simon and Ben got up to when they were in bed together, but I didn’t. To be honest they were both gay, and they were both mature enough to know their own minds. Any interference from me would be misplaced. Anyway, neither gave the impression of being promiscuous enough to do anything inappropriate. I don’t know whether they actually loved each other, but they certainly respected each other, which was enough. Breakfast was followed by packing Peter and Luke off to school and loading Simon and Ben into the car. I dropped Ben, complete with the Professor’s letter, at Monica’s and Simon at the surgery. I arrived to find Glenys supervising a fullish waiting room. “Rob, can you go through to see Phil?” she said as soon as she saw me. I wandered down to Phil’s consulting room, knocked and entered. Phil was talking to a chap of about thirty with very little hair on top of his head but plenty about his cheek, jowls, chin and upper lip. His bushy eyebrows were the same golden colour as the rest of his topiary and they crowned a pair of blue eyes that made him look younger at first sight. “Ah Rob, come in. This is Brian Chase, he’s our consultant psychiatrist. Brian, Rob Rankine” “It’s guid to meet ye Rob,” said Brian in clear Glaswegian tones. “Brian will be doing the psychiatric assessment on Justin Dorridge for us. You’ve got Justin at eleven, and Brian would like to sit in if you’ve no objection. ” “I’ve certainly no objection, but is Mrs. Storey going to be co-operative?” “She’s a probationary foster parent, so she doesn’t have a choice,” replied Phil. “If she kicks up a fuss, Jenny Fuller will overrule her.” “Fair enough!” I said. “Good, well if you’d like to take Brian to your consulting room, he’d like to look at Justin’s case notes before eleven. meanwhile I’d better see some patients.” “Most certainly, come into the parlour Brian,” I said, leading the way. Brian and I spent some time discussing Justin’s notes and at half ten I took him to the kitchen for a tea break. escort Phil had just finished his break so we made ourselves comfortable. We returned to my room and I pressed the button. Mrs. Storey and Justin appeared after a minute. Come in Mrs. Storey,” I said. “Hello again Justin. This is doctor Chase, who is a consultant psychiatrist. He is going to do the psychiatric assessment on Justin that should have been done before he was placed with you. In view of his nightmares I think it’s important that we get it done. Before we do, I need to check that the physical damage is healing as it ought to. Justin, would you prefer your foster mum to leave before we examine you down there?” The boy nodded. “Would you mind Mrs. Storey? It won’t take long.” There was a knock on the door and Phil walked in. “Ah Joanne – I hoped I could catch you. I just need to have a word if you’ll come into my office.” They both left. Justin dropped his trousers and pants to the floor. I checked his penis, testes and anus. There was no new damage, which was something, but his anus was still not a lot healed. “OK, Justin,” I’m going to prescribe some tablets which I want you to take one of each morning with a meal. Keep taking them until they are all gone. You can pull your trousers up and take a seat.” He did that and Brian took over. “Justin, Doctor Rankine says you have been having nightmares. Can you tell me about them?” It was a good ten minutes before a very worried looking Mrs. Storey knocked on the door and came in. By that time Brian had made good progress with his report. I was surprised to learn that he had already done assessments on two of Justin’s brothers. Mrs. Storey however already knew that, because Phil had told her at the request of Jenny Fuller. All the other patients were straightforward by comparison and I was ready to wind up when Simon appeared. He didn’t see me immediately and headed straight for the kitchen. I sat down next to Glenys and looked up the draft for tomorrow’s diary sheet. Simon looked surprised when he returned with a cup of tea for himself and one for Glenys. “Sorry Rob,” he said. “I’d have made you one if I’d known. Have this one and I’ll make myself another.” “No it’s alright mate,” I told him. “I’ll go and get myself one. Glenys doesn’t like doctors messing up her paperwork anyway.” I did so and the three of us supped our tea until Phil joined us. “Is that it then Rob?” he said cheerfully. “Unless you’re swamped out and want me to see some of your patients,” I told him. “No, I’m done till the evening lot start arriving,” he told me. “You’d best get that young man home before Alice comes out and has him making tea for the rest of us.” “Was that a hint,” said Simon rising. “No it wasn’t,” said Phil. ” Finish your tea Simon, then Rob can have an early night.” For once we were back at the flat before Susan arrived with the rest of the clan. Monica arrived with Ben shortly afterwards. “I’m glad you’re here Rob,” she said. “It save’s me having to wait for you. Jonah’s sat up in bed officially now. The registrar says it won’t damage his pelvis and we don’t want him to develop bed sores. He should be out of bed for a bit tomorrow.” “Good,” I told her, “I was hoping he would be. Is that bruising going down any?” “I really couldn’t say, because I didn’t see what it was like before. He say’s you should read that though.” She handed me the air mail letter. I sat down and began to read. New Haven, Yale izmit escort bayan University 05/25/19 Dear Jonah I hope this finds you well. It was good to see you over Easter. It had been far too long. I recently heard news of another old pupil who has been in the news. The newspapers here, and I suspect there, have been full of the exploits of an Australian doctor called Rob Rankine, who was marooned after an air crash. He has been picked up by the Royal Navy and together with another survivor, an eleven year old boy, transported to the UK. As you know, I majored in history and, in days gone by, transportation was always regarded as a punishment, so I don’t know what Rob and his friend have done. I do know however, that they are now stranded in a strange country where they don’t know anybody. I’m seriously thinking of visiting the UK myself to see if I can help but, in the meantime is it possible that you can check to see that they are alright. Rob is a good friend and a very clever young man, whom I’m pretty sure you will like. The FCO, or Australia House may well help you to locate them. If they are unwilling, I can only suggest that you ask to speak to Sir Frank Tregarten at the FCO and mention my name. I hope that you can help with this, and need hardly say that you will have my undying grattitude. Yours Prof. E. S. Alves. I blinked. I looked away for a moment. I looked back and it still read the same. “Have you read this?” I asked Monica. “Young man, what do you take me for?” she said. I handed the letter back to her to read. She read it and handed it back again. “Well?” I said. “It only says what I already knew. People who deserve to have friends, usually have them.” “I’m going to have to write to the Professor,” I said. “If only to prevent him from having a wasted journey.” “As you wish Rob,” she replied, “but I don’t think he’d consider it wasted.” “Maybe not,” I said, ” but I think I’d like to write to him anyway.” Monica left in company with Susan and her two boys, so I set about arranging dinner – corned beef hash for five. Homework was next on the agenda. Even Ben had some. I was struggling with simple equations, I’m glad Simon hasn’t got as far as quadratics yet. Ben’s English Language was much easier. Peter and Luke had a social studies project to work on. The Professor would be at home with that. There was a ring of the doorbell and Simon went to answer it. He returned with two police officers, one uniformed and one in civvies. Tom Lake was the one in the suit and Jack Boone was the other. “Evening Rob, Evening boys,” said Tom. “I was going to ask you to pop down to West End Central Rob, but Bob Drage said you’d be baby-sitting, so I got Jack to fetch me down here. Forensics have been busy and I thought you’d like to see the outcome.” I held out my wrists and he laughed. “Don’t tempt me Rob. I’d throw away the key,” he said. He fished in his pocket and produced a small plastic bag. It contained a flattened lead pellet. “This is what gave him lead poisoning,” he said, “and you can see that the armour did its job. But the screen only flattened the bit that hit it – the front of the bullet. Any markings on the back are untouched and the striker on his pistol has left distinctive marks on the shell which forensic collected from the bank. The shell definitely came from the pistol that you had your foot on, but more importantly, it definitely fits this bullet. We can’t izmit sınırsız escort make the case that you handled the pistol because you didn’t. He fired it and nobody else has.” “You’re going the long way about saying that you’re not going to arrest me,” I said. “That’s right,” he replied. “we’re not going to do that. In fact we’re going to drink the tea that that young man is making, though I usually drink coffee if he doesn’t mind, then we’ll be out of your hair.” “With milk?” Simon asked. “Yes please,” said the inspector. “You’ve definitely been brought up properly you have. Oh….” That was in response to the look on Sergeant Boone’s face. “Simon is it?” he said. “Sir..” said Simon. “And you must be Peter.” “Yes Sir,” said Peter. The inspector nodded to himself then said, “I’m really pleased to meet both of you. I knew your father. He was in uniform when I was in traffic. He was a man whom everybody respected because he always respected everybody else. Even crims have said, he arrested them because it was his job, but he never, in all his life, failed to treat anybody with respect, and he earned the respect of everybody who knew him. If you boys grow up like that, and I’m sure you will, people will be proud to know you.” Simon handed him his coffee and the tea to Sergeant Boone. “How’s your case going Inspector?” I asked. “It’s always easier to nail a gang,” he said, “because you can play them against each other. A lone criminal can keep you chasing one phoney story after another for ever if he likes. You just have to wait for him to get tired of it, but if you have a gang in custody, they can’t have any secrets from you, because none of them knows what the others are telling you. We’d got confessions from two of them by the end of the next day, and the driver can try to hold out if he likes, but we don’t even need his confession because the others will stitch him up to try to save their own skins. We certainly don’t need your statements, though it will be better if their defense doesn’t know that we don’t want to produce them. They come up at the Old Bailey tomorrow morning so that should be a result.” Well the inspector’s promise to be out of our hair proved to be hollow. He was off duty and in no hurry to go anywhere. Jack was carrying a two way radio and said that he was contactable if needed, so they both joined me in partnering the boys at Monopoly. Simon said he didn’t need a partner, but that was before he discovered the inspector’s flair for the game. It was quite late, and several teas and coffees later, before the two officers departed. There was only really time to get the boys showered and into bed. As usual Luke climbed in with me. When I say as usual, there are two variations on this. The first is when Luke asks if he can sleep with me and I say yes. The second is when either he doesn’t ask, or I say No. In that instance he will go to bed in his own bed but will be in mine by midnight – often without my knowing he is there until much later. One of these nights I will try saying no after midnight, just to see how long it takes him. On this occasion I could see no point in saying no – as indeed there wasn’t. “Goodnight Luke.” TO BE CONTINUED. If you’ve enjoyed this story you’d probably enjoy other stories by the same author, also on Adult/Youth. “Marooned”, “Letter from America”, ” Stranger on a train” and “The Boston Tea Party” are all by this author, as is, “The Pen-Pals” (on Young Friends). You would also probably like “A Neglected Boy” by Jacob Lion. Pictures of some of the characters in this story can be found on Jacob’s bly/jonah-stories.html My thanks go to Jacob for his generosity and hard work in making this available.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Subject: Hunting for the bad men – Part 1 This is a story about my sexual awakening as a young boy, and how the seemingly quiet boys are the one to watch out for. Even now at 34 the same things get me hard, and that’s you – the guys driven by lust staring at a screen, reading this story slowly stroking their cocks. Watch out, I’m coming for you! When I was 8 years old my dad sat me down and told me about bad men, Bad men apparently went around actively looking for 8 year old blonde boys like me. When I asked why, my dad said they wanted to take me to a hiding place and do bad things with me like touch me in my private places or make me touch them in theirs. Well, I don’t think to this day I had ever been turned on more. I stopped hearing what my dad was saying, I felt my cheeks flush and remember my little cock pushing against the fabric of my shorts as scenario after scenario played out in my head. As soon as we had finished our chat I sneaked into my parents room and pocketed the tub of moisturizer off the dressing table. In the bathroom i pulled down my shorts and briefs, scooped up some of the thick cream and slowly rubbed it into my hairless cock and balls until they were slick and shiny. As I rubbed the head of my boy cock against my palm I decided I wasn’t going to wait for the bad men to find me, i would find them. I understood why my dad felt the need to have the talk, I have always been very independent. Some would say free spirit while others would probably say loner. I was always a happy child but got into trouble a lot for going off on adventures without telling anyone. Growing up in the warm climate of South east Australia, I was always outside and usually barefoot. I’d always hated izmit escort bayan shoes, clothes too! In fact, I spent most of the time naked until I was 7, I walked into the lounge with nothing on when mum and dad had friends over and was told I should start wearing clothes. From then on I was usually found in a T-shirt stained with mud and tree-sap and a pair of shorts. I spent all my time outdoors so always was tanned (although my parents joked it might be dirt…) and the sun turned my mop of blonde hair almost white and brought out the freckles across my nose. As most boys are, i was fascinated by my body but from talking to friends my sexual awakening happened very early – I can’t remember not having sexual thoughts and always about guys. The first experience was when I was 7, my mate Zac who was a couple of years older than me took me to a deserted Radio shack he had found. The roof had caved in and someone had stripped out all the good stuff. As you walked in across the rubble little skinks ran into hiding places. What we saw next blew my mind. There was life-sized graphic drawings all over the walls of men and women fucking and sucking each other in every position imaginable. I stood there open mouthed, staring at the pictures of men’s hairy cocks and heavy balls being worshipped, taking it all in, I could feel my boy cock growing in my briefs. I turned around and Zac was looking at me smirking, “cool huh?!”, I couldn’t answer. he just stood there smiling, his shorts were pulled down to his knees and his rigid cock was pointing at me. I was mesmerized. Before i knew it he had talked me out of my shorts and we stood facing each other looking at each others cocks. He asked me if i wanted to izmit eve gelen escort touch it to see how hard it was and i couldn’t resist. It was my first time touching another boys cock and I loved it. It felt so warm and hard but the skin was so soft. We stood there for a while touching and rubbing each others hard little cocks. I remember hearing what sounded like a footstep just outside so we pulled up our shorts and quickly stuffed our cocks into our underwear before scrambling through a window and running into the bush giggling. After dad and I had our little chat I though straight back to this moment, could the other person at the radio shack that day been one of those bad men who wanted to do naught things to me? maybe it was the same man who had drawn the pictures…., maybe he was watching Zac and I discovering each others bodies…, maybe he was touching himself while he watched. My head was in a spin. From then on I went out of my way to be wherever the bad men were and put myself into all kinds of situations no matter how risky or unsafe. When I was 10 my family was just checking into a hotel in Rome, after my dad picked up the keys we started walking to the room. We walked passed a large window into the pool area. It was empty apart from a shift looking guy in his late 30s dripping wet strutting by the pool. As i always did when looking at men my eyes went straight to his bulge. His light Blue Speedos wet from the pool were completely see-through! You could see everything! His big fat cock and balls and a thick bush of black pubes. I stood paralyzed in awe and lust and want. Open mouthed I stared at the man’s crotch, tracing the outline of his thick izmit otele gelen escort cock with my eyes. My gaze slowly started making it’s way up, hungrily taking everything in, the dark trail of hair that started at the waistband of his trunks lead me to a flat athletic stomach and up to his muscular manly chest, up again to his strong jaw with dark stubble then to his eyes. His eyes, were dark and seemed to sparkle, he was staring directly at me, watching me drink him in. I’d never been looked at like that before, so deeply and with such desire. I could feel my cheeks flushing pink and a tingling sensation in my shorts. My horrified parents grabbed our hands and marched us towards our rooms, I stole a glance backwards and he was just stood there, still watching me this time with a slight smile on his lips. I remember my mum telling my sister who was 15, there was no way she was going swimming while that creep was around. They didn’t think to say anything to me, being a boy and a quiet boy at that, but i had already done the math, I’d cracked the code, creep = bad man, I’d found my first bad man and the feeling was electric. Within 10 minutes of getting to the room i had dug out my trunks and stuffed them in my pocket, made up an excuse about going for an explore and was on my way to the pool – I wasn’t disappointed… That’s it for now, I wanted to test the water to see how it’s received, I would love to hear any comments or suggestions – and if you’re one of the bad men, then that goes double for you! 😉 I hope you like it because this is just the beginning of my adventures, in the following years I had experiences with Shopping Centre Santas, guys in parks, in swimming pools, on planes, in school and I did a lot of hitchhiking too in my early teens – shit that was fun! Anyway, I guess you get the idea, I was and still am an insatiable little slut on a mission. Also into chat role-play so if you have any scenarios you want to act out then that’s cool too – send messages to ail

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Subject: Do As You’re Told – Chapter Thirty One Do As You’re Told Chapter Thirty-One: Tell Me If you need permission to read this story (from a master, husband, partner, lodger, boss, next door neighbour, gardener) please obtain it first. This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places and events is unintentional. This story is exclusively for entertainment purposes so please enjoy in safe and legal manner. WEDNESDAY 3RD APRIL 2019 (continued.) Ever since he’d caught sight of Arthur – and Adam – in their underwear that morning, Cameron had been horny as hell. His first notion was to pop off to the boy’s toilet for a fast wank, but there was perks to having a teacher as a secret lover. Thus Cameron had assistance in mind to find release. Cameron had departed the cafeteria with Ben supposedly to look at the pictures he’d taken of the divine duo; however, he had no intention of really going with him to the computer room. Not that Cameron wasn’t interested in seeing what pictures the talented photographer had taken but he figured he’d see them when the underground yearbook launched in a few weeks. Instead Cameron got as far as the first floor, mumbled something about the library: “…go to the library…. study… see you later….” Cameron went to go see Vincent. Ben didn’t seem convinced by the lie but he wasn’t bothered about it. Cameron thought Ben seemed vague and preoccupied but Cameron had things on his mind too. Actually, being seventeen he only had one thing on his mind – sex, cum and a tight hole. (That is actually three things.) “Hi, babe,” Cameron said once the classroom door was closed and locked. “Babe?” Vincent said with a doubtful grin. “Just thought I’d try it,” Cameron confessed. “I like it,” Vincent confessed. Vincent was pleased to see Cameron in a flirtatious context. It had been a few weeks since Vincent had admitted to reuniting with Charlie but Cameron had been remarkably understanding about it. Vincent had since told Charlie about Cameron and that too had gone ok. Vincent kept waiting for the sword of Damocles to drop. With that in mind, he was about to push his luck. “I’ve been thinking…” Vincent said. “About what?” Cameron asked – stopping in his tracks. Despite his intentions for a quickie, Cameron hadn’t really accounted for verbal foreplay with Vincent and was now trapped in a conversation. Hiding his disappointment, Cameron had sat on Vincent’s desk and leaned over to kiss the teacher, biting his teacher’s lip before parting and allowing the man to talk. “Charlie likes to watch,” Vincent said and then waited for Cameron to respond. “You dirty fucker,” Cameron said cheerfully. Vincent laughed uncertainly – Cameron seemed genuinely amused and intrigued but Vincent still felt nervous. “You know about him and he knows about you…” Vincent said. “He knows that a seventeen year old school boy owns your ass?” Cameron asked. “I didn’t use those exact words,” admitted Vincent. “You want to screw around while he watches?” asked Cameron. “Maybe. I guess so,” Vincent admitted. “And he’d be into that?” Cameron enquired. “I think he would,” Vincent replied – looking more hopefully at his young lover. “Can I meet him?” asked Cameron. “When?” asked Vincent. “What’s he doing right now?” Cameron teased and when Vincent just laughed, he added facetiously; “This is why god invented Skype.” “You want me to Skype Charlie?” Vincent asked. Cameron nodded enthusiastically. When Vincent looked doubtful, Cameron slide from the desk where he’d been sitting and instead sat on Vincent’s lap. Cameron kissed Vincent’s neck and worked his way to Vincent’s lips while loosening the teachers tie. By the time their mouths were locked and tongues were engaged in vigorous interplay, the shirt was open far enough for Cameron to slide his hand inside and cop a feel at a nipple. Vincent wriggled as Cameron pinched his nipple and the kiss was broken with a breathless rush. “I’ll see if he can clear half an hour on his schedule” Vincent said cheekily. Vincent called Charlie and a few minutes later a man in his mid-late twenties with messy straw coloured filled the screen. “I’ve got a day off today; I was just at the gym… what’s this about?” Charlie asked. Cameron was already checking out the top half of the first boy Vincent had ever fell in love with. Cameron could see why; Charlie was topless with fair skin, a handsome face with firm jaw that hadn’t been shaved for a few days and eyes that looked like he was laughing. “I thought you might want to meet Cameron?” Vincent said – making it sound like a question. “You thought?” prompted Cameron. “Oh, right. Cameron asked so I…” Vincent started to say. “Obeyed,” finished Charlie; “I like your style.” Charlie was smiling and Cameron stepped into view of the camera, tilting his head into the frame that was centred on Vincent. Charlie didn’t say anything at first, then: “So you’re the bossy boy whose been satisfying Vincent here,” Charlie said. “I do my best,” Cameron replied modestly. “Let’s see more of you then,” Charlie suggested. “You want to see more of me?” Cameron enquired with surprise. “I’m already shirtless. Vincent already had his shirt half open…” Charlie left the sentence unfinished. Vincent was reluctant to cede power to Charlie but he was also reluctant to let Charlie think he was afraid to play along; besides, wasn’t this exactly what he’d planned? Vincent had said Charlie liked to watch so Cameron would give Charlie something worth watching. Cameron turned Vincent’s laptop around so it took in an empty space at the front of the room and then he stepped into that space and began to strip. Charlie was enjoying watching the seventeen year old boy stripping on his laptop; he had been unconvinced by the seductive power of teenagers and by the notion that Vincent could be so stupid to have fallen for the boy. But seeing Cameron, Charlie began to understand – the capture of youth, the reminder of who they were eight or nine years ago; it was enthralling to watch the gangly lad undress. The school uniform fell away, items were haphazardly discarded, and in the background the classroom loomed like a set from a cheap porno. Cameron was very thin and his long arms and fair skin made him look six foot tall rather than a few inches under it. Shirtless, Cameron swung his hips while opening his trousers and dropping them down long legs. When the boy got down to his underwear, Charlie expected him to stop and was surprised when Cameron so brazenly slipped them off to fully expose himself to the camera. Charlie didn’t know Cameron, nor vice versa, but there was an eagerness to please looming on screen. Charlie hadn’t noticed that his hand had slipped to his crotch and was rubbing his dick trough his shorts, which was the only item of clothing Charlie was wearing. Charlie spread his legs and wriggled his bare feet against the carpet. “I think I need some audience participation,” said Cameron who was now rubbing his dick and engorging it with youthful effortlessness. A second later, Vincent was on Charlie’s screen too; tie missing and shirt still half unbuttoned. “Are you giving the orders now or am I?” Cameron asked. Charlie smirked at the brazen admission of their mutual penchant to dominate and the subtle admission that he had already allowed Charlie into the driving seat. “As long as it’s you or I telling him what to do, I don’t mind who gives the orders,” Charlie replied. “You and me,” muttered Vincent; lamenting the hypercorrection. “You don’t mind if we take turns, do you Vincent?” Charlie continued – not hearing or ignoring Vincent’s comment. “I’m open to anything,” Vincent replied. Both Cameron and Charlie made mental note to test that declaration – both delighted with the notion of filling as many open orifices at once as possible. “Cameron, be a good lad and take your teachers clothes off,” Charlie said. Charlie watched the show with interest – the tall and long-limbed seventeen year old working his way around the twenty-six year old to unbutton and unfasten and remove and pull down until Vincent was reduced to a pair of tight boxers. Vincent was baring his back to the camera when the boxers were yanked down and his bare bum was brought into view. Charlie loved the sight of the naked pair on the screen. It was especially stimulating because Cameron was hard and facing both Vincent and the camera; he was partially obscured by Vincent but it was clear they were both nude. Cameron took advantage of the pause in proceedings to take a hold of Vincent’s flaccid penis and fondling it until it began to expand. “How long do you lovers have?” Charlie asked. “Fifteen minutes,” said Vincent and he sounded a little worried. Fifteen minutes would not leave them long to get dressed and for Cameron to make a discreet exit afterwards – Vincent’s class would be queuing up outside in twenty minutes. “Ok,” said Charlie; “Vincent, on your knees and make the boy happy.” All three of them intuited that there was no time for fucking today. Before Vincent could obey, Cameron turned so they were face to face but in profile to the camera; their respective semi-erections almost pointing towards each other except they were both still drooping slightly. But not for long. Vincent dropped to his knees and took Cameron’s cock in his mouth. Charlie felt a wet spot on his shorts as he continued to rub his own hard-on while watching Vincent’s head bobbing up and down on the seventeen year olds naked crotch. The schoolboy had a decent sized cock – the long but not too girthy pole slid in and out of Vincent’s mouth. The m�nage � deux taking place was a beautiful vision; Vincent clearly older, more mature and adult sucking the teenage cock of his tall but boyish lover. Cameron moaned with pleasure as he humped Vincent’s face. Charlie finally freed his cock and slid his shorts to his ankles and then slipped his bare feet out. Charlie watched the adult-youth sex play with fascination and a hint of jealousy. He wasn’t a teenager anymore (searching for the next fuck wherever he could find it), he wanted a mature relationship and it was hard to rationalise that with watching the man he wanted getting sucked off by boy eight years younger. But it was fucking exciting to watch. Charlie ignored his reservations and jerked faster while watching the teacher and pupil in the classroom – naked, hard and horny. Cameron found his hands sliding to the back of Vincent’s head and Vincent grabbed Cameron’s bare buttocks and gave them a squeeze. It was while Cameron’s cock was buried deep in Vincent’s face that the urge to orgasm came to him strong and sudden. It was a testament to Vincent’s skills as a cock sucker and his haste not to be caught phallating a teenager that Cameron was already ready to burst his balls. If they had more time, Cameron would have eased his cock back and allowed it to recover – tease out the experience, make it last, make Vincent crave the taste of his spunk. But they didn’t have time to dick around (pun intended) so just as he was about to cum, Cameron pulled his cock out of Vincent’s mouth and he gave it a series of yanks to finish himself off and cum in Vincent’s face. Shots of cum sullied Vincent’s nose and mouth, dribbles streaking down his cheek like seminal tears. Charlie had watched with interest and fascination as Cameron face-fucked Vincent and then pumped his cock to climax. Charlie had been stroking his own cock while watching the show and was himself close to cumming. His breathing or the motion of his shoulder in the frame of the screen must have given him away because Cameron looked at the screen and grinned. “You got to see mine…” Cameron said. Charlie lifted the laptop from his lap and set it aside; Charlie jerked his exposed his cock while Vincent and Cameron watched from the other side of the connection. Charlie made himself comfortable and then sat cross-legged in the frame of the camera, with his hard-on sticking straight up from his groin. Charlie stroked his cock with long pulls and then spat in his hand to lube his palm and fingers to concentrate on the head of his cock. Charlie loved the sensitive jolts of pleasure afforded by good head-work, his fingers dancing around the ridge of the knob and then up and down the frenulum until his cock quivered from stimulation. escort bayan The only thing that would have been better would have been a hot mouth or a tight ass – maybe next time. Aiding Charlie visually was the sight of Vincent and Cameron whose full-frontal exposure was very stimulating. Cameron added to the scene by reaching over and taking Vincent’s dick in his hand and leisurely stroking it. The boy had a soft grip that kept Vincent hard without taking him anywhere near climax. Charlie leaned back as his pace quickened and a moment later he shot his cum over his abdomen, pumping for nearly a minute after climax to get ever last drop of cum from his cock and balls. Charlie’s finger played distractedly with the pools of cum in his lap before he recomposed himself and directed his attention back to the classroom. Cameron had just let go of Vincent’s dick so it bobbed up and down with his tight scrotum suspended underneath and looking like a lethal weapon ready to go off. Cameron’s dick was softening but still chubby and extended post-climax. “What do you think Cameron, have we got enough time for Vincent to get off too?” asked Charlie – including Cameron in the domination game. “We can’t leave him with blue balls all afternoon,” replied Cameron. “Go on, Vincent. Give it a little wank,” said Charlie; “If you ask nicely, I’m sure your star pupil will play with your ass while you do it.” Vincent closed his eyes as he faced Charlie on screen and felt Cameron slide up beside him to caress his bum. Vincent held his cock in a tight grip as he began to pump it, rolling his balls in his other hand at the same time. Vincent was thinking many things as he jerked off – the time imperative because he still needed to get dressed before his first class of the afternoon began; the exciting possibilities presented by Cameron and Charlie getting on so well; the pleasure of making Cameron cum and the taste of it still on his lips; a mental reminder to wipe the cum off his face before letting his class in; the fear that that class would smell the sex that was currently filling his nostrils; the feeling of fingers circling his hole like water down a plug hole… Cameron’s finger went around and around and deeper and deeper; sliding inside to find the sweet spot, Vincent felt his sphincter tighten around Cameron’s finger. Cameron’s finger was gentle but precise and Vincent bit his lip as he got closer to cumming. Vincent half expected Cameron to ease off on his pleasure techniques to stave off his orgasm, but blissfully Vincent was allowed to cum with no teasing or delay. Charlie watched from his laptop as an arc of cum shot forth and vanished out of view. Cameron re-emerged from his place behind Vincent just in time to see cum had covered Vincent’s hand. Vincent was treated to a few finger sucks from Cameron who took his hand to sook the jizz from his digits. Cameron made “mmm” noises as he tasted Vincent’s spunk and Charlie watched with great interest that the boy was so forthcoming and agreeable. “I need to get dressed,” Vincent declared and there was no move to stop him. “Go commando, Vincent. Give your underwear to Cameron,” instructed Charlie. Cameron grinned at the camera as he took the underwear that was warm and musky from a half-day’s use. Charlie grinned back and wondered if Cameron was aware at all that he was still totally naked online to a man he’d never met face to face. To add to the scenario, Cameron put on Vincent’s underwear and then too began to redress, locating the missing pieces of his uniform that remained scattered across the floor. He put his own underwear in his bag, underneath his history homework. “It was really great to meet you,” said Cameron to Charlie. Charlie had thoroughly enjoyed his role as voyeur – watching both the naked antics and the scramble to restore respectability before the lunch hour ended. “It was nice to meet you too,” agreed Charlie. Something in Charlie’s voice made Vincent look up and test his friend’s face for… what? What was he looking for? Vincent didn’t need to wait long to hear what was on Charlie’s mind. “We should all meet up sometime,” Charlie said. “We’ll talk later,” Vincent suggested. “Ok. Maybe wipe the cum off your chin, Vincent,” Charlie said as the laptop was closed and the connection broken. “I think you should leave it there,” joked Cameron. MEANWHILE After talking to Arthur, Robin was left by himself and didn’t want to spend the rest of the lunch hour all alone so he decided to see what Ben and Cameron were up to. Robin took the stairs two at a time as he headed for the computer room where he guessed Ben would be sequestered. When Robin poked his head in he was surprised to find Ben alone. “Didn’t Cameron come with you?” Robin asked, closing the door behind him. “He only made it as far as the first floor,” Ben replied breezily; “He mumbled something about the library.” “Oh. Ok,” Robin replied. Robin knew quite nicely that Cameron was probably on his knees in Mr Wilson’s classroom or perhaps it was the teacher who was on his knees. Despite knowing Cameron was carrying on with a teacher, he knew remarkably little about the dynamics of the relationship. “Yea, I didn’t believe him either,” Ben said with a smirk. Robin smiled at Ben’s observation skills but could hardly tell him that Cameron was meeting Mr Wilson – Ben didn’t know Cameron was fucking a teacher so Robin said no more. “How’d your talk with Arthur go?” Ben asked. “He came over specifically to talk to you, right? About Adam, I’m guessing.” “Why would you think that?” Robin asked, stalling for time. Ben gave him a look that said: are you stupid? “Adam’s been running around school in his underoos all day,” Ben said. “He modelled for my Art class and you saw the photos I’ve taken. And the way you ran off that night…” They had covered most of this last week when Ben had admitted his feelings and Robin hadn’t reciprocated. To make things worse, Ben thought Robin only had eyes for Adam. He might be right. They were both still trying to figure out where to go from there. “I thought Adam might need a friend… that he might be in trouble, that’s all,” Robin explained. “And is he in trouble?” Ben asked. “It’s not my place to talk about other people’s issues. The last time we talked, I didn’t want to tell you that Adam… Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Robin admitted. They fell into the kind of silence that preceded not good things. “Robin, we haven’t talked about us since last week. Since I said that I love you,” Ben said. “You said we needed time to think and figure things out,” Robin pointed out. Robin waited for ‘the talk’ (aka not good things) but a seeming non-sequitur followed: “Do you want to tell me what you and Adam talked about… or didn’t talk about… when you saw my pictures of him?” probed Ben with earnestness that bordered on naivet�. “A long time ago…” Robin said. Robin paused and thought: There’s no such thing as a long time ago. “…Adam and I were friends. I don’t know what we are now but I offered to help him and he said no,” Robin relived the sting of Adam’s rejection as he thought about that night. Robin tried to remind himself of what he had told Arthur – that Adam’s scornful rejection was a mask for deeper pain – so the sting subsided. Ben disconnected his camera from the computer and packed it away, then logged off and turned to give Robin his full attention. “Arthur wants you to help him anyway?” Ben inferred. “Arthur thinks the same as you. That me and Adam are something we’re not,” Robin said but was not wholly convincing. “But what might you be? What do you want to be?” Ben asked. Robin shook his head, ran his hands over his face and through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. He was tied of admitting that he didn’t know anymore. He’s a seventeen year old boy, things shouldn’t be this hard. “Remember I said we need to figure out where to go from here?” Ben asked. Robin nodded. “Well I think we’ve reached the end of the road,” Ben said. “Whether it’s in spite or because of what’s going on with Adam; it would be a mistake to not accept that whatever was going on between us is over. Right?” Ben sounded calm and it was obvious he had thought a lot about it. He had been gearing himself up to breaking up. “I’m sorry,” Robin said simply. “It’s alright, Robin. Not many people are lucky enough fall in love at first sight and marry their high school sweetheart. Life isn’t a Disney movie. We didn’t work out and that’s ok,” Ben assured him. “What’s wrong with us? What’s wrong with me?” Robin corrected himself. “You’re such a great guy. I feel like I’m the one throwing it all away and for what?” Robin looked at Ben with supplication – he was really asking rather than being rhetorical. Ben might have been the one to call it quits but it was Robin’s doubts and apparent feelings for someone else that had really ended things. “I don’t know about you, but I’m looking for the right person. Aren’t we all?” Ben asked, hoping he was giving the right answer. “It’s just kind of scary trying to find someone to love.” Robin smiled sadly because he wanted Ben to meet the right person. Someone who deserved him and he loved him. Robin replied: “And instead of making that happen, we’re sitting here pining for people we can’t have?” “Oh, Robin… you can have anyone, especially Adam, any time you want,” Ben replied. “It’s obvious… you just need to ask.” Robin averted his eyes and shuffled uncomfortably. “He’s dating someone, actually,” Robin admitted almost as an aside. “I suppose I wanted you to know that because I don’t want you to think we’re breaking up just so I can move on with him.” Ben wanted Robin to be happy and if he was right – that Robin coveted feelings for Adam – then he had to make sure Robin knew it was ok to move on. “Whatever will be will be,” Ben said. “I really never deserved you, did I?” Robin asked – hoping Ben would take the question as rhetorical; “We’re breaking up and you’re talking to me about another boy.” Ben shrugged – there was no point holding on to something that was over so he might as well help Robin move on. Ben was upset about the break-up but his brave face would last the school day. “A glad heart makes a cheerful face but by sorrow of heart, the spirit is crushed,” Ben sermoned from Proverbs. “You deserve a glad heart, Ben. Instead of a broken one,” Robin bemoaned. “I know we’re broken now,” Ben admitted. “I’ve made lots of mistakes, Ben,” Robin said softly. “I’m sorry for all of them… but especially this one.” Ben stood up and lifted his bag. “I have to go now, Robin,” said Ben tenderly; “but I won’t let that come between us.” Was that Ben’s version of “we can still be friends?” wondered Robin. Robin sat for a little while after Ben left but the bell rang to signal the end of lunch and he had no choice but to move on… and also to go to his next class. LATER “Are you ok?” Arthur asked. Adam hadn’t had long to compose himself after his encounter with Micah. What Micah did! Adam had only been left with five minutes in which to clean himself up, wipe cum from his ass and wash himself in a tiny toilet sink with only handtowels to dry himself. He made time to vomit for a second time. Adam had been afraid he stank so he sprayed himself with Lynx before leaving to toilets and heading to fifth period. “Yea. I’m just dying for this day to end,” Adam replied. “Any problems with Voldermort or he-who-must-not-be-named or Anonymous? Whatever it is you call him?” Arthur asked while they waited for the classroom door to open. “Nope,” Adam replied with barely a glance at his friend – he didn’t know how to look at him. Arthur caught it, he was very intuitive, and responded immediately. “Did something happen?” Arthur asked in a voice filled with concern. Arthur touched Adam’s arm gently and Adam pulled away like he had been shocked. “No!” Adam replied firmly. He looked to see if anyone was watching or listening in but for the first time all day the boy in is briefs and the boy in his boxers were being given no close attention. There was passing attention – Adam saw a couple of fourth year boys check him out from ankle to nipple – but no acute interest. “Adam, tell me,” Arthur asked firmly. “Nothing!” Adam replied through gritted teeth. He just wanted to be left kocaeli escort bayan alone. “Adam…” “What?” Adam snapped. “I thought you were having a good time. It’s all been a bit of a jape for you…” Adam started to say as he looked his friend up and down. “Don’t you fucking dare,” warned Arthur angrily without raising his voice. Art was never angry. But then, Adam never took things out on Arthur. It put Adam instantly in his place, silencing him more quickly than yelling would have. “I did this for you,” Arthur reminded him as he indicated his own state of undress. Adam swallowed guiltily. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault that he felt like shit after Micah… “I did this so you wouldn’t be alone. So you would feel supported; so don’t you fucking dare throw it back in my face. I’m not Robin…” that barb hit the mark; “…and we’re too good friends for you to treat me like shit the way you’ve treated him.” Adam fell silent and he knew he had been admonished for more than just trying to push Arthur away. “I’ll tell you later, ok?” Adam promised and there must have been a glint of tear in his eye or a edge to his voice because Arthur instantly softened to his affable and lovable self. “I really do appreciate you doing this too.” Arthur sighed and smiled – his face relaxing back into its goofy default. “You kidding? I dunno if I can go back to wearing my normal uniform,” Arthur declared; “Though I think my balls are sweating more than normal, it’s not just Arlene’s undies that are getting moist… oh, hi sir.” Vincent had just opened the door to find the two underwear-only schoolboys deep in conversation that he really didn’t want any more details on. “Come on in,” said Mr Wilson. The rest of the class soon followed. Adam sat and felt his asshole throbbing. Before his encounter with Micah the worst that paranoia had done to him was make him feel like everyone was watching him and that wasn’t paranoia – everyone was watching him. All he had was a pair of tight black briefs on as he went from class to class so of course everyone was watching him. No, paranoia made Adam worry people could see cum stains on his underwear. Micah’s cum at the ass or his own cum stains on the front. He didn’t look to check – he’d checked in the toilets and they’d seemed fine. The English lesson was a welcome distraction – exams were closing in and lessons now had a serious, haste-filled mood to them. The next two weeks were the Easter holidays followed by only one more week of school before the exam timetable commenced. There was so much to learn or revise, to pin down or retread; Adam was quietly confident he would pass though Arthur was less self-assured. It was as the class let out that events took a troubling again. Arthur had left to go chat up Arlene and Mr Wilson was distracted in the corridor by Carlos who seemed suddenly filled with questions, but why? Adam was at the threshold of the room – about to leave the class but still out of earshot when it happened. Mr Wilson had his back to the classroom, Carlos was looking in; he grinned a second before it happened. Adam felt hands on his briefs and a sharp tug. Adam knew an instant before it happened what was going to happen. He expected his ass to spill out and his cock to flop into view but instead he felt tension on his groin and was (literally) lifted off his feet. Adam lifted his hands to grab the top of the doorframe to which he was launched by the aggressive wedgie which was now burdening the seams of his underwear. Adam dropped back to the ground and turned to see Stephen Wyle – the biggest nutter in the school. Even at the height of his powers, when he acted with impunity, he never opposed Stephen. “Problem?” growled Stephen. Adam had heard stitches in his briefs pop and his balls hurt where the underwear rode up. The briefs were up to his belly button and his balls had humiliatingly spilled out the side of the briefs. His ass cheeks had been exposed too and the seconds it took to fix himself felt long; what if someone saw him. Luckily only Stephen and Carlos were watching but both were suppressing laughter of ridicule. Adam said nothing as he tugged the legs and waistband of his underwear so they covered his pubes again and he looked respectable again. Well, as respectable as he had before. “Carlos said he’d promised you a wedgie. I told him to do it, to do as he’s told but he chickened out,” Stephen explained. Adam felt like he had been hit. His ears picking up on the clause in the middle of his explanation: do as he’s told. “Are you…” Adam began to ask – was it possible Stephen was Mr Anonymous? “Are you and Micah… associates?” Adam had never really given much time or thought to figuring out who Mr Anonymous is. Someone as awful, brutal and cruel as Stephen would explain a lot. “What, that poof? No,” replied Stephen emphatically. “Then why?” Adam asked, brushing off the suspicion that a moment ago had seemed to make so much sense; “Why did you do this?” Stephen looked scornfully at Adam as he fixed his briefs; “You used to understand why people like us do what we do. Why we choose hurt the weak.” “I’m not weak,” Adam scoffed and meant it. It was easy to mean it when it didn’t count. Adam wished he’s said it and meant it when Micah had been around. “You were a bully once too. You chose victims the same way I do. It’s not just about exploiting weakness,” Stephen said, growing quieter so Mr Wilson wouldn’t hear and so moving closer to whisper in Adam’s ear: “It’s about choosing the ones who won’t tell.” It was ironic that it should be a bully – as Adam was once a bully – who should show Adam the truth. The truth was like a light bulb and Adam knew there was no way out. Stephen was right – bullies do choose people who they think are weak. It helps when the victim perceives their own weakness and fears it – a lisp, a harelip, too short or too fat, being gay – but people who seem strong can be victims too if the bully realises they won’t speak up or speak out. That was the trap. That was how Adam had become trapped. His bravado and ego had been armour as long as he was the one to wield evil and wit – but when he lost those things he became prey. Adam had the same choice he’d had since the beginning – obey, comply, do as he was told; or… Adam knew what he had to do. He had to do what all victims must in the end. He had to tell. MEANWHILE Micah could hardly wait for Mr Jones’ class to clear out; the instant the last student left, Micah marched in. He gave a cursory glance over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before reaching into his bag. Rhys looked up briefly but had adopted a policy of passive-aggressive offhandedness when it came to Micah. The boy was already too big for his boots, no need to make him think they were equals. Rhys’ desk was covered with jotters and he sat marking the latest homework offerings from his S4 class. Micah retrieved the dildo he had been carrying since lunchtime, put it triumphantly on Rhys’ desk and grinned at it with satisfaction. “I didn’t even clean it after I pulled it out his ass,” Micah boasted. “Fucksake…” said Rhys in a sotto voice, lifting the dildo to inspect the jotter it had sat on for lube stains (or worse, ass juice or cum); “This is someone’s homework.” Micah just laughed. “What do you want Micah? A pat on the back? A Blue Peter badge?” Rhys asked sarcastically. “How about doggie style on the…” “No,” interjected Rhys. “I fucked Adam again. Didn’t take long… I was a little bit excited,” Micah revealed. “Don’t worry, Micah. Eleven point seven percent of British men report premature ejaculation at some point…” Rhys teased him. “Whatever. I’m ready to go again, are you going to help me out?” Micah asked. “I’ve got work to do,” Rhys replied. “I sucked you off earlier,” Micah reminded him. You owe me. That’s what Micah was trying to say. “Here,” Rhys replied and handed Micah the dildo; “Go help yourself out.” Micah actually liked the idea of fucking himself with the same dildo he’d used on Adam. “I’ll send you the video of me barebacking Adam,” Micah said as he turned to leave. “I look forward to it,” Rhys replied with a mean smile. Micah returned to the storeroom he had occupied earlier in the day and locked the door behind him. He’d be more comfortable at home, on his bed, spread-eagled with the dildo inside but there was an ambience to the storeroom. The room held a memory of Micah’s dominion over Adam and it made him so hard that his cock ached. Micah literally couldn’t wait to use the dildo on himself, inspired by the memory of his control over Adam. It still had some of his own cum on it from when he’s pushed his spunk-sludge back inside Adam. Micah wanted to re-watch the video in situ too but that would wait and he didn’t want to risk a sex video being overheard. Micah loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt; slipping off his shoes and then dropping his trousers and underwear with fevered lust. Micah was hot and horny, indulging in carnal pleasure with single minded intention. Micah pulled his feet free from his trousers and underwear, sat on the table at the back of the storeroom – the one he had bent Adam over just a few hours ago – and tugged on his penis to bring it to a rock hard erection. Micah pondered the control he had excerpted over Adam. Adam’s fear of exposure was a powerful motivator – the threat of reveal, the threat of humiliation – and Micah contemplated whether that played a part in his decision to return here. He had locked the door but the potential to be caught remained; Unlike Adam, Micah felt no fear over this – it was a thrill. Micah pulled the dildo from his bag and set it trembling with a twist of the base. He stopped jerking off long enough to trickle lube onto the vibrating phallus. At home, Micah would have loosened himself up with a couple of fingers first, but he was excited to feel what would happen if he went straight for the dildo. Micah pressed the head of the pulsating sex toy against his hole and pushed, then pushed a little bit more. Slowly, his sphincter yielded to the nine inch cock facsimile. Micah moaned but not too loud – despite his subconscious thrill at the notion of being caught, he knew that actually being caught would be a real buzz kill. Micah gripped his own cock again and stroked it with slightly slippery fingers. He was leaning all the way back on the table, his legs wide and dangling over the edge. Micah spent several minutes sliding only the head of the dildo in and then out again, feeling it pop as the hole stretched and closed. “Shit,” Micah muttered to himself. Micah’s mind imagined Adam inside him; that might be an exciting change of pace. Fucking Adam had been great but future demonstrations of domination would require new ideas. Making Adam fuck him was an exciting possibility. Of course, Micah was a fool – confusing domination with abuse. Adam’s lack of consent was something that totally escaped Micah’s plans and if he did think of it, he couldn’t think for long. Micah pushed the dildo in a little bit deeper on his next insertion and didn’t pull it all the way out on the withdrawal. Micah could feel the fake head – which was thicker than the shaft – stretch his hole as he pulled back. He pushed it deeper again and continued to push deeper each time until the dildo was as deep as he could comfortably manage. Micah lay back and thought of Adam as he plundered his own hole with the dildo that had already filled Adam ass. Micah recalled the sensations that had fought to overwhelm his cock as he fucked Adam. Memory and sensation competed to bring about a second climax of the day. Micah pinched one of his nipples, stroked his belly, tugged his balls and returned his hand to the base of the dildo. Micah turned up the vibration of the dildo so it rumbled inside him, shuddering against his prostate and causing his cock to leak pre-cum; a trickle of pre-seminal fluid poured forth like a threat of premature ejaculate. Micah was planning a third masturbation when he got home anyway, but he wanted this to last a little bit longer. Controlling his own body the same way he had controlled Adam was a thrilling enterprise. Micah could feel sweat put a sheen on his body and his thighs were wet with perspiration and excitement. Micah let go of his cock and it kocaeli escort slapped against his belly; he stroked the inside of his thighs and he pulled and pushed the dildo once again. He continued in this manner, moving his hand from his thighs to his nipples, until his cock threatened to blow without even being touched. Micah was ready at last to cum and took a grip of his cock to bring about the climax he deserved. He closed his eyes and thought of Adam fucking him – surrender the top spot to his favourite toy was a nice thought. Would it even be surrender when he was still in control? Besides it would be a treat for Adam to squeeze inside his hole, wouldn’t it? Micah enjoyed sex and reassured himself that Adam would enjoy fucking him too. Micah’s hand blurred as he jerked off and fucked his hole until the orgasm shot cum over his head. He’s leave the dick splash where it landed. The next shots of cum landed on his chest and stomach and the dildo inside him was surprisingly distracting to the real thing within his grip. Micah pulled the dildo out while squeezing the last drops of cum from his cock and then he closed his eyes to enjoy the euphoria in peace. His hand absentmindedly played with the cum on his chest and eventually Micah opened his eyes and withdrew a towel from his bag to mop himself up with. When he stood up, his legs were wobbly – had Adam’s legs wobbled? Or trembled, maybe? Micah sneered at Adam’s refusal to play his part – as if he had a choice. Micah redressed and packed away his utilities – this time he did clean the dildo before putting it in his bag. He grinned to himself as he opened the door just far enough to peek out – the coast was clear. He left the door ajar to let the smell of sex out but passed nobody as he left the building. Micah felt awesome and would regale himself with this memory and the video of having sex with Adam once he got home. He was positively addicted to the part he had to play in Rhys’ campaign – he still didn’t fully understand what Rhys was up to but that mattered less and less. No-one was really getting hurt by his machinations – he always made sure Adam had a good time and got his end away before they wrapped things up. All’s well that ends well, right? AND ANOTHER THING “I’m so glad I wore clean boxers today,” admitted Arthur jokingly. Adam had caught Arthur up right after being wedgied by Stephen – who had timed the attack so poorly that no bugger except Carlos had seen it – so if he had been seeking to embarrass Adam in front of others, it had been a failed enterprise. Adam and Arthur had finally attended their last class of the day, still sitting in briefs and boxers. Adam had not gotten used to sitting topless in his classes; sitting with his legs and thighs exposed and only a scant midriff offering to protect his modesty. He found it hard to share Arthur’s affable perspective on the day. Even in their final class, student remained enthralled but Adam was genuinely affected by the praise he – and Arthur – were offered. Whatever humiliating designs had motivated Micah and Mr Anonymous, Adam and Arthur had done real good; they had inspired people to think about their bodies and the bodies of other in less judgmental ways. Sure, Adam and Arthur were objectified, but there was an understanding that what they represented was not a demonstration of pride but of modesty. Their sacrifice of modesty had allowed people to recognise that all bodies were normal. Adam had to admit he was glad that Arthur had been by his side through it all. He always was. Adam knew he would have made it through the day without Arthur half-naked beside him, but it had been a comfort to have him holding his hand. Metaphorically. Knowing that Arthur had offered support and kinship without question, contract or condition told Adam all he needed to know about friendship and love. After their last class and with school finally concluded for the day, Adam collected his clothes from the Home Economics room, much to the delight of the third year class of thirteen and fourteen year olds packing up to leave the room. He had half expected Micah to have moved or hidden his clothes so it was a pleasant surprise to find them untouched. Arthur had waited for him and together they headed for the boys changing room. “I really need a shower,” Adam said sullenly. “Are you ok?” Arthur asked. Arthur had tried asking before and had his head bitten off but that was then and this was now. Adam gave him a half puzzled look – after the way he had reacted a few hours ago, he wouldn’t have blamed Arthur if he didn’t ask again. Adam had expected to be the one to bring the conversation about – he hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Now it came to it, he didn’t know what to say. “Not really, no,” said Adam – his voice had cracked and he could feel hot tears in the corner of his eyes. His eyes hurt from the impending tears. His ass hurt. His heart hurt. Arthur was a few paces away and watched Adam in silence – waiting patiently. Instinctively Arthur knew that Adam needed time to talk, not rushed or pushed to say what he was going to say. Adam turned away and walked towards the showers. He stripped his briefs and discarded them with sullied contempt – the dregs of Micah’s cum was on the seat of the underwear. Or he imagined it was. What Micah did! Adam turned the water on and stepped under the tepid shower – it took seconds to heat up and Adam faced the wall while the cascade of water washed him clean. Adam became aware of Arthur joining him – standing a few shower heads away. It hurt Arthur to know Adam was in pain but he endured it with stoic silence, offering Adam the time he needed to compose himself. Adam had admitted some of what had happened to him but there had been something missing and whatever that something was burdened Adam like the weight of the world. Adam would talk when he was ready and he was very nearly ready. Arthur suddenly saw Adam’s shoulders lift and fall. His friend was trembling, tears joining the flow from the shower over his head and the sobs were loud enough to be heard over the rush of water. Arthur took a few steps and stood behind his best friend and turned the water off so the rushing sound was replaced with deafening silence. They were naked and no barriers remained to Adam’s confession. Arthur put his hands on Adam’s shoulders; so gentle for such a big lad. Adam turned so they were face to face and Arthur continued to hold Adam’s shoulders. “Tell me,” said Arthur. “I was raped.” The words were so quiet and small that they emerged broken squeaking. No-one could have mistaken the way Adam’s face crumpled as the words escaped. Arthur’s hands dropped. Adam had expected to see disgust or pity but Arthur’s face registered only shock and his eyes were filled with kindness and sympathy and heartbreak for his friend. And tears, Adam had never seen his friend look so hurt – Arthur was crying for him. Raped. In the weeks since Micah had last had sex with him, Adam had used many words – violated, abused, molested, what Micah did – but never called it what it was. It had been comfort to not call it what it was, a protection from the horror of being that kind of victim. Raped. Arthur put his arms around Adam and pulled him close. The embrace was as warm as the water and it was intimate but not sexual – though they were naked. Adam sobbed quietly into Arthur’s shoulder, finally unburdened by the secret he had carried – the one piece he’d held back from his last confession. Now that he had started, Adam didn’t know if he could stop – he felt despair and desperation overwhelm him until the weeping exhausted him. Would Arthur understand why he had pushed Robin away? Would Robin understand? “I pushed Robin away because of this. Because he wanted to help but I felt like a failure,” Adam felt the need to explain. “He forgives you. Trust me. He’ll understand,” Arthur replied. Arthur swept and hand over Adam’s cheek, wiping away tears and water. “And Shiro. What will he think of me to know I was weak enough to let this happen to me?” Adam pleaded. “This is not your fault, Adam,” Arthur said carefully and clearly; “This is not your fault.” Adam felt his wet chest beating against Arthur’s, their wet penises touching and wet hands clutching wet backs. Adam pulled away and could barely look Arthur in the eye, shame still haunting him. “What would people think if they saw us like that?” Adam asked. Arthur shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “Always worried what others will think of you,” Arthur said and he’d said it before. “They’d think we were gay, probably. But you are gay, so they’d be right. And I’m not, so they’d be wrong.” “I don’t want to come out in my last days of school, Art. I don’t want that. Or this. Or any of this,” Adam admitted helplessly. Arthur felt the courage he had shown so far – the brave face that Adam needed right now – begin to slip. Adam’s fear and vulnerability and doubt were breaking his heart. “It doesn’t matter what people think of you, Adam. Except me. I’m your best friend and what I think of you matters…” Arthur said. He was right. Adam had hidden his sexuality because he was proud and vain and scared. He had hidden his rape out of shame and fear and because he didn’t want Arthur to pity him or see him as a victim. “I still love you, Adam. You’re still my best friend and nothing will change that,” Arthur told him and it was exactly what he needed to hear; “What happened to you doesn’t change that. You’ll still be loved by Shiro and Robin. And your dad. And by no-one more than me.” That made Adam cry too and he felt ashamed of his tears. Big boys don’t cry, right? Arthur said “I love you” with such ease that Adam was jealous. Adam stood under the water for a long time – long enough saturate the taint of Micah’s touch. Raped. When they exited the shower they did so in silence. They dried off and dressed in silence too. “I don’t know what to do now,” Adam confessed. He felt drained. There couldn’t be any more emotions or tears left, could there? “I know you’re scared, Adam,” Arthur replied; “Fear grows strong in you… like a cancer.” Adam held his head in his hands. This was too hard. Adam couldn’t do this. “Telling me was only the beginning,” Arthur told him. “I can’t do it again. Robin or my dad or Shiro or a teacher or the police…” Adam said and tears immediately returned; “I can’t go through this again.” “You can…” Arthur said simply. He was not argumentative or critical – Arthur knew how hard it had been for Adam to admit his rape and how hard it would be each and every time. “It won’t stop until you do,” Arthur added. “You didn’t ask who did it,” Adam observed as he wiped his red-raw eyes. “Would you tell me if I did?” Art asked quietly, controlling the anger he felt for the rapist that wouldn’t have any balls if he ever found out who it was. Adam shook his head. That was why Arthur hadn’t asked; to ask would have put Adam in the position of hiding or running or lying again. Arthur wanted Adam to know he had made progress, not push him back on old habits. “Adam, if you tell me… I will kill him,” Arthur promised with fists bound so tight his hands shook. That was why Adam didn’t tell him; because he loved Arthur too much and he couldn’t let his friend become something awful. Not for him. “Come here,” Arthur said from across the changing room and when Adam didn’t move he added; “C’mere, I said.” Adam slowly crossed the room and Arthur put firm hands on his shoulders and then tilted his head until their foreheads touched. Arthur embraced Adam but said nothing more – he didn’t need to: I’ll be there for you. Whatever you need. I love you. You’ll get through this. “I love you too, you know,” Adam said with a tremble. “Quite right too,” Arthur replied. Adam chuckled for one second. Then he nodded and took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay,” Adam finally agreed. “You will be,” Arthur replied. Tune in next week for The Downfall of Micah Dinberg; I know – it’s about fucking time, right? Many thanks to all my correspondents for getting in touch, staying in touch or just saying hi. If you fancy emailing me: encomiums@ If you love the stories Nifty has to offer, remember to donate: http://donate./donate.html Visit my blogspot – pot – for updates including chapter synopses and excerpts. If you are enjoying this story, I have also written: School Exhibitionism fty//gay/highschool/school-exhibitionism The Symposium – http://www.//gay/authoritarian/the-symposium/ The Embarrassment of Riches fty//gay/highschool/the-embarrassment-of-riches/

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Subject: No Plot, Just Filth Part Four Please give a few bucks to Nifty. No Plot, Just Filth Part Four Boy: Alexander Here is a brief tale of an interesting boy, interesting sexually, yes, but more interesting in that out of our two encounters he may have said a total of half a dozen full sentences; the quietest boy I ever knew. His name was Alexander and he was an acquaintance of Roberto, not a close friend mind you but friendly enough that he found out about what a visit to my place could lead to. I had seen Alexander from afar with Roberto and his girlfriend once or twice outside the “A-1 Market,” he wasn’t easy to miss; one reason, he was taller than Tommy. Alexander could best be described as long limbed with big bones that had yet to flesh out; his knees were large knots sticking far out of his shorts. I found out that he was only thirteen but he was already several inches taller than I was, six feet with more to grow. I remember when I knew that Alexander knew about Roberto and his visits. Alexander wouldn’t look you in the eye if you were just a person on the street; he was preoccupied with his own thoughts and purposes. Even when you knew him he didn’t make eye contact half of the time. But, when he did, Alexander had an intensity that was off putting; when attending to something he was focused on he was right there one hundred percent. Roberto, his girlfriend and Alexander were at the “A-1 Market,” probably getting cigarettes for Roberto’s girlfriend who, like certain teens generation after generation, thinks smoking an outward gesture of maturity, toughness, and cool. I was on the opposite side of the street heading home and gave a quick wave to Roberto when he saw me, a friendly acknowledgment nothing more. What I noticed this time was Alexander looking straight towards me. His gaze was unwavering and he had a half serious look on his face. His head turned as I walked past and I had to look away first. I knew why without it being said, he was considering the fact that there was a man in the neighborhood who would, and did, suck his friend’s cock. It wasn’t anything romantic, far from it; it was simply an assessment of facts. Our first of two encounters began in an odd way. I was heading home from work when I noticed Alexander and Roberto’s girlfriend outside near the “A-1,” but no Roberto. They were friendly enough to talk to each other without Roberto being around and I had a feeling that there might have been an attraction on Alexander’s part given her reputation as “sexually adventurous” to put it euphemistically. izmit escort About the time I neared, Roberto’s girlfriend headed off. I decided to talk to Alexander who was sitting on the edge of a low cinder block wall; he had ordered some sort of snack cake and was just finishing up. Now, Dear Reader, I am going to be honest about my motives. The excuse I had to talk to Alexander was that Roberto had left a jacket at my place but that wasn’t why I was interested in talking to him. It was impossible, if you had an interest in checking out other guys, not to notice that Alexander had a significant male endowment. His usual attire was either worn-thin trousers or, more often than not in warm weather, a long pair of denim shorts in which could be seen, hanging off to the left in the cheap fabric, a substantial prominence. I was interested in getting a closer look. Alexander watched me approach with a direct, unwavering gaze. “Hey, you’re Roberto’s friend, right?” The teen nodded slightly, his eyes steady. “Roberto forgot something yesterday and I need to get it back to him. You’re not going to see him later are you?” A pause. “Maybe.” “Could you could tell him he left his red jacket over at my place?” Another pause. Still no break in the boy’s steady look. “Yeah, sure.” “Thanks, uhh … what’s your name?” “Alexander.” “Really, my name is Alex too,” I said with delight at such fortuitous coincidence. “I know.” I gave a full up and down to my namesake on the wall before me. Alexander unflinchingly gave a slim smile at my obvious attention. “Hey, maybe, if you are going to see Roberto later, you could come over and pick it up for him? He might need it for school tomorrow.” “I guess.” “I’m heading home now if you want to come.” Alexander got up and we headed the half block towards my apartment. “I saw you talking to Roberto’s girlfriend; you got a girl too, Alexander?” “Naw.” “You’re kidding. I thought a handsome guy like you would have two at least!” Alexander smiled, at the compliment but also at my approach. We headed up the stairs. I decided on making a more immediate advance. “No girlfriend, huh? That can leave a guy hard up,” I stated leadingly with a commiserating sympathetic tone. I paused before the door to get my keys. I looked at Alexander’s face for a hint of interest; he betrayed none but didn’t turn away. I unlocked the door and we went in. Ostensibly heading for the jacket and with my back to the teen, I casually asked, “Have you ever considered other ways to have fun … you know …?” I turned around. yahya kaptan escort I looked directly at Alexander, he looked right back. The moment of truth. “Do you want to?” After a pause, the one word reply, “Okay.” “Come on over here.” I sat on the edge of the chair and motioned the teen close. The dirty denim bulge met me at eye level. I reached slowly and gently put my hand to fabric. It was warm. I looked up at Alexander. I pressed slightly and there was movement. We both smiled. My caressing hand elicited more movement, a throbbing swelling I could both see and feel. The bell end pressed round in the blue cloth. I went for the snap, unzipped the boy, and slid his shorts down below his knees. Most of his swelling cock hung out of the fly of his rumpled boxers. Alexander’s cock was a vision. Long, yes, but at the end of its four inch hanging length the head took a slight twist to the left, this put the ring of the boy’s foreskin, the type that doesn’t completely cover the tip, aslant at a jaunty angle. This gave the cock a half-ready quality in a relaxed state. I report this here, Dear Reader, as I wish I had had more time to study this icon of Priapus but it was not to be. Alas, Alexander came to my apartment but twice, however, the mental picture of his magnificent cock lives in my memory and this journal. I had to try to stuff the fattening cock back through the open fly before I could tug his boxers down. As soon as I did Alexander’s cock immediately finished inflating to its impressive length, jutting forward nearly eight veiny inches, bowing slightly downward in a weighty arc; the boy might’ve been named Rasputin rather than Alexander if you get my drift. His foreskin had pulled back halted by the prominent thick rim. I peeled it to reveal a massive red glans surrounded by a near purple-grey corona. Small white flecks of smegma became small clumps as I retracted Alexander’s foreskin fully. I went down without any sort of preliminaries. The teen gasped audibly. “Ahh! Ummff …” Some don’t like the fermented taste, or especially, gummy texture of smegma. I do, mainly because I sucked a number of older, uncut boys when I was a very young teen and I associate the yeasty taste with my season of rapidly burgeoning pubertal lust. Alexander’s generously proportioned meatball filled my mouth. I savored the salty taste, sucking the glans and rolling my tongue around the ridged corona, causing the boy to writhe in the torments of overwhelming sexual sensation. I changed things up. Opening my gebze escort throat, I slid the stout head back and down in a series of longer and longer slides. “Oh! Oh! Ohh!” I don’t blame the boy huffing and puffing as his snakehead was squeezed tight. I could see the teen’s stomach tightening trying to hold on during what was undoubtedly his first deep throat blow job. I’ll admit here that I didn’t quite get all of it down as the mid girth was quite an expansive oval. The finish, unfortunately, wouldn’t be far off and I wanted to be sure to taste his load. I slid back, all except for the last few inches and grabbed for his full, wrinkled nutsack. It was up and nearly in firing position. “Oh, jeez!” I bobbed and sucked. A final full swelling and the timeless exultant words of peak male ecstasy… “I’m … I’m coming!” I held still, jaw open, the fat cock on my tongue. There was a burst of thick cream. Another. The teen-rich taste filled my mouth. Full spurts came forth, seemingly endless, slowing slowly. I swallowed repeatedly to avoid spilling the robust seed. I waited, relishing the boy’s manhood in while Alexander softened somewhat. It wasn’t more than a half a dozen heartbeats before the teen got fidgety. “Um …” I knew from experience that some boys want to bolt as soon as their lust has been satisfied and Alexander was one of those boys. Fear of being “queer” or fear of being caught or embarrassment were usually the motives to leave in a hurried rush. For Alexander it was probably the latter. I let his juicy organ slide free of my lips. It glistened, distended and drooping before the teen grabbed for his boxers. Bending over, Alexander unintentionally knocked his forehead against mine in his haste to pull up his underwear. The gangly boy nearly toppled before he caught his balance in two backward steps, shorts still at his ankles, fingers caught in the elastic hem at his thighs, cock and balls swinging. “Sorry!” I rubbed my head. “I’m real sorry!” “Don’t worry about it, it was an accident.” Alexander shoved his genitals into his boxers and had his shorts up and zipped in no time. “I gotta go,” the teen said nervously, “I just remembered I gotta be somewhere now.” “Okay, Alexander. Don’t worry, you’ve got time,” I answered trying to calm the boy. “Yeah, uh … No! I gotta go.” He went towards the door and I got to my feet. “Let me show you out.” “No, you don’t have to.” He fumbled at the knob for an awkward moment before getting the door open wide enough to exit. The light shone on Alexander for an instant before making his getaway like a character in a Warner Brothers cartoon. “I gotta go.” And he was gone. I laughed on my way to close the door fully. Alexander, of course, forgot the jacket. Who can blame him? Copyright 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
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Subject: Windows and Doors, Gay Adult-Youth Windows and Doors �2017 MCVT April 09, 2019 Boy bootstraps himself into a better life in a number of ways. Nifty won’t go obsolete with your fty/donate.html Adult content; 100% fiction, Mb, MM, pros, frot, first, self-realization. =============================================================== Texarkana, 1953 I was just old enough to remember, but remember I do. For years I relived the memory of seeing my two older brothers screaming and running away, leaving me completely alone to find the face of a man staring into our shabby bedroom. He was coming through the window, had the screen off, pulling it away. They ran to the bathroom, banging on the door hollering for our mother to come out of the shower. “Hey there.” I remember him smiling at me. His teeth were chipped and broken. My mother yelled for me and we all ran barefoot from the house to a neighbor’s porch. No 9-1-1 back then and we probably didn’t have a phone. That’s all I remember about that night except the fear of seeing a man at the window, coming in. That house was built on the side of a slope. He’d brought a ladder. Memphis, 1954 No fright here, much stillness. I was put in the attic of a house in a tired group of older houses, the downstairs was crowded with my brothers and a new sister. There was a wooden box with some pillows, blankets – that was my bed. I liked it, the winters were snowy and I was always warm. There was a round window that didn’t open, but I could see into all the other houses in the lavender skies of dusk in December. Calm people living peaceful lives. My illnesses were undefined but lengthy. Separated from my brothers, I wasn’t afraid to be alone. Never knew what made me sick, but I began puking blood occasionally in a little metal bucket, I was sick often and stayed in that little bed in the dark for days. I was weak and quiet, imagining the kennel of dalmatians that lived aside our back yard running through the woods with me. Whitehaven, 1957 We moved into a model home in an unfinished subdivision way outside of Memphis. Long, wide, sandy block with only a few houses. Seems the developer ran out of money before people ran that far out of the city to buy his houses. It was so far out, we had to attend a religious school for a semester and even prayed to a graven image. Rode my bike for miles along the highways during the summer. No one to bother us boys as we explored wide fields and strips of woodlands. Two twin beds and me on a cot in the corner of the room, the windows in our bedroom were high — I couldn’t see out of them even if I stood on my cot. They striped the outside wall over my bed. Being the youngest and smallest of the boys, I was the target of their jokes and tricks. They scared me by telling me about snakes and rabid dogs. Can’t tell you why, but I woke up one night. Maybe there were sounds — I may have been worried about a snake in the house. I lay on my bed and heard shuffling and scuffling, then I smelled something, Vee-Oh-Five. A popular hair oil at the time. My father used it, but he wasn’t home. Laying in my bed, I watched a small circle of light dance across the closet doors, around my brother’s model airplanes and I heard whispering. There were men at the window looking into our bedroom with a flashlight. The light went to my brothers, then it stopped. I saw the light flashing through another window in my mother’s room and around the hallway. Couldn’t wait and I was so frightened, I peed the bed. Caught hell and a whooping the next morning. She didn’t believe me. She called me a lazy fool — more trouble than I was worth. Almeda-Genoa Road, 1960 Always on the outskirts of a town, near railroad tracks or freeway, we moved into a clapboard house in a mixed enclave of immigrants from the bayous and countryside. Greeks, Germans — all manner of folk lived there. Blacks were close by on the other side of an old fence that was rotted and falling; heralding coming change. Hispanics were abundant, cathedral and school close by; I learned Street Spanish quickly. All our neighbors had a gaggle of kids. The streets were full of bike troupes in the heat of summer and even in the spring rains. Behind our house was a chain-link fence butting up to a large vacant lot. A convenience store sat catty-corner behind our back yard. I shared a room with my younger sis, she was still in a crib. My bed was by the windows on the corner of the house, I was kept away from her by a row of chairs covered with a blanket — spent most of my days with earaches and throat problems — I was still the puny one. A runt who read everything. At that time, sodas came in glass bottles that were stored in wooden crates. Each bottle carried a nickel deposit and the crates had value, I don’t remember how much. The convenience store stacked the crates of empty bottles behind their store for the vendor to pick up in the early morning. A crate of bottles was worth a dollar-twenty – good money when gas was twenty-five cents a gallon. A gang of teens decided to steal a bunch of the crates of bottles and sell them elsewhere. The sounds of tinkling glass woke me one night, I watched the boys fill the trunk of an old gray Studebaker long after the store closed. That happened several times through the summer. One night, I heard the teens stealing crates of empty bottles and woke up to watch them. Though it was dark, there was enough light to see them moving about and I thought it was fun to hear them cuss and joke around. The police sneaked up on them. The guys dropped their crates of bottles creating a big racket of breaking glass. Two of the guys jumped the chain-link fence and ran through our yard. They had to pass through the narrow space by my window. One of them stopped and looked toward the screen next to my bed, I froze, hoping they’d think I was asleep. “Maybe they got something…” One whispered as his face came close. “Those crackers?” The other said and pulled him along. For a moment, the attic fan sucked the smell of their sweat across me and back out into the humid night. Garden Villas, 1962 We moved up to a house with a smaller yard, but bigger garage. Important thing to have in those days — the cement was cool if we hosed it down and a lot of kids played there in the heat of midday. My brothers rebuilt auto parts and started street racing in a red ’57 Chevy. Sometimes I hid in the trunk to get into the races. The drag races were loud, smelled awful and there was plenty of music and kids like me sneaking around the coolers full of cold Schlitz. Because brother had a car, we had freedom and because I was small, brother used me to get next to the girls he wanted to fuck. I was so adorable, the girls said. I was still a ratty-looking skinny runt but he scored. I had to get lost while true love struggled to orgasm on the back seat. That brother also did something strange and very secret. In the classified section of the newspaper, he took out an ad, “Will do anything legal for money.” (These were common ads that showed up occasionally under the “Miscellaneous” column in print newspapers.) He had the phone number for one of his friends listed following that brief post. Brother got work, never really found out how much, but seems like several older women wanted his services in a cow town where alcoholism was rife, and there were no blue pills available yet. He was the good-looking one. One afternoon he asked me if I’d like to work, I could keep half the money. “How much?” “Twenty-five for the job. Twelve-fifty for you.” “Mowing?” I wondered how big the yard was — that was a lot of money. “Easier than that. Guy wants a kid to stand still for a few minutes. Want the money or not?” Stand still? Had to wonder about that, but I knew he had no conscience, “C’mon, easy money.” He grinned and humped against the steering wheel a few times. He wanted me to have sex with someone? “I’m no whore!” “This guy doesn’t want to fuck, just a rub. You were going to do it yourself anyway.” “Pimp.” I gave him a skunk-eye. “Pimp with car keys. Sell what you got sissy-boy.” … Several days later he picked me up after school and told me he had a “no-fuck” date for me. “Twenty-five for letting him rub on you. Don’t have to get naked, you’ll be outside. He has a couple of rules.” “Yeah?” I asked, thinking $12.50 after I paid him – I’d be in high cotton. “First, you got to have a pair of your dirty briefs in your right, front pocket. He wants to come up behind you, so you can’t see his face and he wants to — well, all he wants to do is, um, kind of hug you and rub himself against your butt – through your jeans, till he squirts. He likes to talk when he’s rubbing but you can’t say anything. Then he’ll leave.” “No fucking?” I asked. “No fucking.” He was grinning, I wasn’t sure why. “Ten minutes to be still, shut up and a pair of my dirty underpants?” I checked. “Right.” “You gonna be there?” “I’ll take you over and park down the street. The guys said this john is quick because wants you outside.” … The air was heavy and sticky on that Thursday afternoon along the Gulf Coast when pimp-bro took me down an alley in a seedy part of town. Old mismatched clapboard houses, and an oyster shell road lined with weeds, over-turned trashcans and a few loose cats greeted us. He stopped behind an ancient wooden garage that faced the alley where a tall mulberry tree shaded the spot and a big old gardenia bush grew near its base. Nervously, I wiped beads of sweat off my upper lip and brow. “He said to face the back of that garage and look down at the ground like you dropped something near that bush. Get the money first. I’ll be back when I see him coming out of the alley.” “Why aren’t you doing this?” “I’m too big.” He looked away, “Remember the rules – no talking, no looking at him, give him your briefs and let him rub. But get that money first.” I got out of the car feeling very vulnerable. Twelve-fifty seemed like a miniscule amount in that moment, but I had the wad of underwear in my pocket, I saw myself crossing the stage for my diploma. I’d be able to afford the cost of graduation with this much money, robe rental and maybe a yearbook. My hands tensed into fists as I approached the garage. My brother’s old Ford rumbled away as I faced the garage, and then started looking on the ground, moving the dirt with the toe of my sneaker and waited, feeling more alone by the moment. I turned to walk down the alley to see a car approaching with only the driver. Quickly, I turned back to the garage, waiting for the mysterious Mr. Funds-for-Rub. Taking a deep breath, I entered into the world of whoredom. He turned the engine off of his pale blue Olds gliding close, I stared into the chips of paint peeling from the old wooden garage door. The car door opened and after only a second, shut. My heart was beating faster and I broke out in a full-body sweat when I heard his shoes on the oyster shell chips as he approached me. “Waiting for a date?” A soft voice said. “Yeah. Twenty-five.” I answered, with as much bravado as I could. He reached around me showing me the cash — two twenties. Whores don’t make change, do they? Probably not. I grabbed it all and tucked it into the change pocket of my jeans and handed him the wadded underwear, hoping he wouldn’t mind the few light skids. “Ah! Is this yours?” He asked as looked over my underwear. “Yep.” I heard him sniff. “Are you a virgin?” Crapola, what’s that about? I remembered to keep my mouth shut. “Hmmm. Bet you’re a good little virgin.” He asked, still sniffing. He continued and moved closer behind me slipping his right hand around me, placing it on the zipper of my jeans. “I bet you do this at night.” His fingers felt along my rod, then lower — he was inspecting my size. I blushed. “Think of a nice, hard cock pushing up your hole? God, that must make you hot. Betcha think about a hard, dripping cock, like mine…” I felt his hips behind me, rubbing and pushing into my butt. This was getting a little too close, and I was sweating hard. “Lean against the door, bitch.” With my hands on the garage door, I leaned forward and prepared myself for the worst. But his hand continued rubbing me harder and the welt of the seam inside my jeans was chafing my balls. His hips thrust against me and I felt his erection, somewhat blunted by his trousers and my jeans. He kept sniffing the dirty cotton briefs. “You like that? Want some meat? I bet you’re saving your sweet pussy for a big hard dick. Hard to wait when you’re young… Bet you’ve tried to make it with a girl, but you couldn’t get it up for her like you could with me.” He kept whispering weird stuff, stroking along my torso and his hands went between my legs. I focused on keeping myself standing and lifted my hands to steady myself against the door as his thrusts were stronger. His hand kept working my rod, which wasn’t afraid of anything at that moment. He pulled me against him hard. “God, I know you want my cum up your tight little ass. Got your fingers are up your hole every night? Huh? You got me so hot thinking about you fingering your ass till you hit it off.” Then he shut up but starting slamming his big shaft hard against me — he felt huge. His hand dropped my dirty underwear and came to my chest squeezing and pinching my nipples, but not quite enough to hurt. It felt electric, but I kept quiet waiting for some more aggressive moves so I could run if I had to. “I can smell you. I can smell your musk. Your dick is so hard. Bet you want it all the way…” He stopped and I felt him breathing hard on my neck. His hunching against my butt slowed. “Ugh, ugh, ugh.” He was ejaculating, but still holding me close and grunting in my ear. I shivered with strange feelings. We were both sweating from the stimulation and the humidity. Then, his breath became jerky and he pulled my hips tight against his groin. “Filthy little slut.” Was the last thing he said. … As quickly as he came, he left, taking my stinking briefs. With the slightest movement I could make, I saw him drive away in a light blue Oldsmobile sedan, chrome bumpers and trim glinting in the bright sunlight — big whitewalls spun slowly as he left. Maybe it was from guilt, the filthy suggestions or fear of the police driving down the alley – I felt shaky and somewhat empty. But he was gone and that was relief. On wobbly legs, I walked down the alley looking for my brother. He drove up behind me leaned over to open the car door. “Get the money?” “Don’t you care if I’m okay?” I snapped. “Did you get the money? I’m almost out of gas.” “Jerk.” I wasn’t about to let him know I got fifteen bucks extra. “Go to the station, I’ll get you three dollars’ worth out of your cut.” … Brother, being the local king of crap as well as the tsar of testosterone, was being an ass for the the weekend because our cousins from Vidor came into town. Saturday night, they all went out to roll queers for drinking money. I stayed in the car not wanting to get hit or thrown around. Mostly, I just smiled and went along with their drinking and smoking. They went with the girls, and I had to get lost again, so I drank all I could of their beer while they screwed. That continued through our last summer together. I got used by the man several more times. He liked me and was more aroused each time we met. Being smarter than brother, I upped my price and thrust back against his dick — still fully clothed, still sweaty and bought new underwear so my mom wouldn’t notice the losses. The oldest brother went into military service, pimp-bro got a girl pregnant. Had to marry her or leave town — he married. I got his room at the front of the house. After he left, girls came to the window asking for him. “He’s married now.” “What are you doing, honey?” I closed the window and let her see me lock it. … When the private-first class brother came home on leave, my two brothers put a scheme together. Seems pimp-bro got my john’s license plate number and knew he drove a baby-blue Oldsmobile with whitewalls. They usually rolled queers when they didn’t have enough to go drinking. That night, they were going to check on some hot spots to see if they could find him – he’d have cash on him. I couldn’t go and possibly ruin my profitable liaisons if he recognized me. I was in bed when I heard them come in, knocking furniture over and trying to stumble to bed. They were giggling a lot and talking stupid. Knowing if our parents awoke there’d be a big fight, I told them to hold it down or go back out and sleep in the car. I smelled beer and pussy on my brothers. “Saw your boyfriend tonight.” Pimp-bro sneered. “His name’s Sibley or Shively, something like that. He won’t need you next Thursday.” My brothers had rolled him and left him and another boy in the alley. Surprisingly, he tossed an old, empty brown leather wallet at me. It was the wallet of the man he’d robbed; my john’s wallet. “Hmmm.” I took it and went in my bedroom and hid it under my mattress. … Sunday afternoon, I took the wallet and went to the bus stop examining the contents of the wallet for where I might go. Not only would I graduate from high school, I dreamed about college. In the wallet, there wasn’t a driver’s license, probably stolen; licenses were only paper and without pictures at that time. A couple of credit cards for local department stores. Social security card and four business cards. “Silverson’s Bakery” it read with a north side address. Ritzy area. That afternoon, I rode the bus and walked past the bakery several times. The trunk end of his pale blue Oldsmobile was sticking out behind the building. “Yep. Sweet set-up he has going.” I thought as I waited at the bus stop across the street. “I bet Mr. Silverson needs to hire a filthy little slut for the next four years.” It crossed my mind that I could pressure him by saying I’d tell his wife. … Went around the back of the building — he’d left the back door open. Walked in and heard the radio playing upstairs. “Mr. Silverson,” I called out with false bravado — I had no idea what would pan out. “Come up.” He called back. When I stood in the doorway, “Who are you?” I noticed his lip was swollen and his face bruised. I went to him and gave him his wallet. “I found this.” “Do you work around the Silver Dollar Cafe?” He took the wallet and stared at me. “No. I found it near a bus stop. I live over there.” I lied — he looked in his wallet and shook his head. We were both being cagey, half-knowing the truth and half-knowing what we’d do about it. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, “Odd coincidence — you look like someone….” “Got to be careful, mister — lots of rough trade out there…” I looked around his office. Big, wooden desk and an adding machine, several notebooks open on the desk — comfy chair, leather loveseat, bookshelf filled with books and a lamp with a green glass shade. Seemed upscale to me. “What do you want? I don’t have any cash.” He didn’t look so scary, but like a tired man with a busted lip and swollen eyes. He didn’t have a wedding ring, so I thought for a moment, “I want a job.” I neared his chair. “What can you do?” We talked for a while, and I kept pushing for work kocaeli escort and left with a job cleaning and stocking the bakery after school three days a week — even got a shirt with “Silverson’s Bakery” over the pocket. … Yeah, I worked hard my last semester, even tossed a few bucks to my mom, but not much. I was saving for graduation, then I’d have to leave. Began scouting around for a room to rent near the campus and found some students from India who said they’d take me in for a while. They looked at me with pity, but it didn’t reduce my part of the rent. I’d have to get my high school diploma by mail. The small staff working in the bakery liked me, and I liked that job. An old African-American man drove the truck, sometimes I went out with him to pick up the racks and bring the back for the next morning — that work went quick so we stopped for a five-cent ice cream some days. One evening, before I left for home, Mr. Silverson called me upstairs as he closed his books for the day. Behind his office was a small room with a cot and a Kelvinator, a hot plate and a small bathroom. “You live here?” “I have a home in River Oaks, sometimes I stay late.” I suspected he used that small room for something else, but kept my mouth shut. “Going to air-condition and do some repairs in the bakery. You’ll get a two-week vacation.” “Oh.” I was counting on that money to help me get a car and move in with the Indian guys. “Going to disappoint your girlfriend?” He smiled. Staring at him, I didn’t have a girlfriend. “Nah, I want to go to college — getting a room with some students, work my way through.” He seemed surprised that I mentioned college. We talked through that afternoon about university I considered — it was a small, underfunded but historic college educating minority and foreign students. The military was always an option, though I doubted I could get in — I only stood five-foot-three. He told me that the old African-American driver was retiring and if I wanted the driver’s job, I had to get a driver’s license and surprisingly, if I wanted to go to school during the days, he’d rent the little room behind the office to me. “Looks like we need some security. Kids are selling pot in the alleyway.” He glanced out the window. “Neighborhood’s going downhill.” That took a big load off me, and I moved in immediately after I graduated. When he saw me with two brown, paper bags of everything I owned, he followed me to the little room and sat on the bed. “You seem more motivated than a lot of the boys…” He took my hand as he sat on the bed. “Why didn’t you blackmail me down that Sunday you brought my wallet?” “Who’s going to believe me?” I looked him in the eye — “A hillbilly who didn’t even own a wallet. The fuzz would never fall for that.” He thought about it, then stood and left. … Mr. Silverson brought the Houston Press every day and left it for me to read. In the classified section was a small ad for a business college. I asked Mr. Silverson about it — they had a two-year certificate program. We called and they sent out a big brown envelope with all their classes listed. One interested me, “Computing.” I wanted to learn about computers. Mr. Silverson kept track of all the business trends and said that was a good idea. He offered to help me with a loan as long as I stayed to work with him. If I got good grades and a good job, I could pay him back at a hundred a month. Since I had no other connections for a job and didn’t want to work construction or pumping gas, I agreed. We started a game when I began classes at the business school. With an imaginary hundred dollars, we bought stocks. Everyday I’d make a note of which one of us made money and if either of us had lost money. One week I lost half of my money, but my other stocks had covered that loss. We had a good time with that game and talked stocks and bonds, all kinds of investments. Mr. Silverson had been left a lot of money in a portfolio. He explained about treasury bonds and securities to me as I studied double-entry bookkeeping, loans and interest rates. Though it sounds boring, it was all new to me. … During the fall of the year, I was invited to Mr. Silverson’s house for a holiday party with the staff of the bakery — what a layout! A huge, white-columned, two-story colonial stood under tall oaks near Buffalo Bayou. Pool in the back yard and two groundskeepers who kept the azaleas, redwoods and dogwoods in order — an herb garden and a greenhouse. A catering company served a dinner of things with French names, I guessed. It was delicious! Then, to our surprise, he took pictures of everyone with his Polaroid and handed them out. Riding home with the lead baker and her husband, I heard them talk about Mr. Silverson and how peculiar he was. Wasn’t sure if it was an insult to me when they said he’d never married, never dated, “Never seen that man around a woman.” She said and glanced in the rearview mirror. Sure, I knew he liked boys — but he’d never hurt me. As I stepped over the threshold of the back door of the bakery, I knew it. I knew I was queer as Mr. Silverson — I was a sissy-boy. In that moment, I crossed the threshold in my mind into a new world I knew nothing about but sure I’d never fit into the world of men who married women, had children and families. Despondency hit hard. It all made sense — I knew I was only acting like my brothers, I wasn’t like them. No thrill in the idea of kissing and touching a woman. While I wanked, I’d trained myself to think of outer space, not the warm touch of a body. I’d avoided boys all my life, though I’d studied them. One hidden crush in each grade. Had to keep that top secret. It was probably my brothers’ reputation for violence that had kept me safe all those years — they knew but never said, or did they know? Didn’t make any difference now, but I faced another challenge. I had no clue where to start, how to flirt or attract a man I found appealing. Then I wondered if a hick could actually find a partner among the handsome, well-groomed men I saw on the pictures in magazines. I saw a steep learning curve rise in front of me. … In the newspaper I noticed an article about some kind of “gay cancer” spreading in New York. Though the article was short, it mentioned bath houses and bars. When I came upstairs after work, Mr. Silverson was finishing up his accounts for the day, ready to make his deposit on his way home. I brought out the newspaper with the article. “Did you see this?” I pointed to a photo of a man lying on a hospital bed. He glanced and looked back at his work. “I’m sure they’re saying `the wages of sin’ about that.” Then, looking at my face, “Do you feel sick?” I grinned, “No — but…” Really didn’t know how to broach the subject, “Are you a queer?” He smiled, “Never get a man to admit that in this town.” With that he went on with his work. What did that mean? I was sweating and stood there immobile as I thought about it. Finally, he looked around at me. “Let’s go to your room, seems you need a discussion.” “Need a discussion” meant someone had done something really stupid in the bakery. I’d only heard it a few times, and he was discrete with his corrections with me and my co-workers. He never yelled but explained the situation and asked us to make better decisions or slow down. I washed my face and hands while he went down to lock the shop. When he returned, he brought a chair, and sat it by the bed in front of me. “Queers get killed around here. Don’t ask anyone that unless you’re in the right place.” “Sorry.” “Don’t be sorry. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” He took my hand. “Yes, I’m queer, and always have been. Does that bother you?” “No.” Couldn’t bring myself to say any more. “Why did you ask?” Silence. “Are you asking because you’re gay?” I nodded, looking at the floor. “You and the boys I buy for a little fun — I need a little… Well, I’m a gay man, yes, and I have preferences in the kind of men I like. Same as other men who like blondes or Latinas… Do you understand?” “You like boys?” “I like young men, around fifteen, sixteen — seventeen… Playing with boys is illegal — the police would be worse than the guys that roll us.” He lifted my chin, looking into my eyes. “When did you realize you were gay?” Tears filled my eyes. “After your holiday party — Helga and her husband were talking in the car on the way home.” He nodded, “I’m sure they know after all these years, but she won’t lose her job by saying anything.” He moved to the bed beside me, “How are you doing in school.” “Good. I like the computer.” “How much longer do you have to go? About a year or so?” “Yes, I’ll get my certificates in June next year. Why?” “I’m going to sell the bakery and my home. Before I get any older, I want to live where I can be who I am — it’ll get me killed here, but not in Frisco.” Looking into his eyes, I smiled, “San Francisco? Great!” We talked for a long time about San Francisco and the gay and lesbian citizens, their protests and fighting for the right to be legal. Yeah, homosexuals wouldn’t be illegal for being who they were — though it sounds silly now, men could get hassled by the cops if they held hands in public. “And the bath houses — I visited there during the Summer of Love and it was absolutely wonderful. I’m not going to die here in this hell hole — I’m going to live my life with gusto.” Then he looked at me, “And you’re going to be a CPA with your own office.” “I was thinking of getting on with the IRS. I like tax work.” “Really? Have you ever paid taxes before?” “Never made enough, but I will!” The next day I came in from school to find a large brown envelope on my bed, “Night Reading.” Peeking inside I saw a several magazines and a quarter-page newsprint publication. Never saw any kind of print material for gay men. Wow! … Nate, Mr. Silverson, began bringing dinner occasionally after he made his bank deposit. He told me about when he went to UT in Austin — brought another student home with him one weekend and his parents blew a gasket seeing him with a freshman who was fully out. From that point on, he had to be more than discrete. He’d dated a few women, but it never worked out — said dating was more for the family than himself. He had several sisters who married and gave them grandchildren. Nate had visited bathhouses in Dallas and Austin, but always had to come back to manage the bakery for his family. He did well, the bakery had an excellent reputation. We opened at four in the morning and worked a sixteen-hour day often, though I was only part-time, I was recruited to work overtime during the holidays. That year, during the week before New Year’s, he told me he didn’t want me to work downstairs — another man sat in his office with him. His accountant. Nate told me to help him with the quarterly report and the tax slips for the employees, Nate and the business. The accountant had no slack about him and we got on the desk and began. He was orderly and I began to understand why he started where he did, building the information to fill in the forms. By about midnight, we had the forms ready. Instead of a detailed explanation, he’d mention the line number on the form that would need that specific figure. As we worked toward Nate’s income, I was floored with the amounts he earned from his portfolio. He kept the bakery for all the deductions. I needed a bakery if I had a portfolio! “If you don’t mind my asking, how much did you just earn for getting all this in order?” I asked. “It’s complicated, but I’ve earned what I’m worth to keep Nate out of an audit.” He winked, “When changes in tax law come up, I review them through the summer and adjust my techniques. If you read them closely, they’re mostly designed to guard the wealth of the rich. Lots of loopholes for people in real estate and business.” He winked at me and smiled, “Nate said you’re interested in going into tax work.” “Yep. I was thinking about the rush before April fifteenth, doing the 1040s for people.” “I’ll tell Nate to let you come work with me for a while. Ten-forties are quick and bring in cash. I like dealing in cash.” He handed me a card and left. “That might work out after Nate leaves.” I thought and was very grateful I hadn’t tried to shake him down when I found his wallet. He was helping me forward. … As the months passed, Nate was gone often and I took on the role of closing the books and making the deposits for the day — damn, we bought a lot of butter and flour. Fruit fillings and cream cheese were expensive, but I didn’t linger on those costs. I tried cruising around the Silver Dollar Café — lot of guys hung around there and it was the epicenter of the Montrose Area — a small gay and lesbian center had opened there in an old house. Though some parts of the city were liberal, there were always guys like my brothers hanging around. Went in some of the bars and felt uncomfortable about the dangers entering and leaving. I didn’t want anyone to recognize they guy that drove for Silverson’s Bakery either. Started working on my resume and with help from the business school, I sent it out to some of the accounting and bookkeeping services around town and began looking for a small apartment. By this time there were several good computerized programs and I was proficient with two of them. Nate’s accountant called me in for an interview and I got in as a tax assistant and assigned to a team of three people who did nothing but talk tax law changes and ways to get around them. The bakery and my only home were sold. New owners were keeping on the same staff, but they didn’t want a roomer in the building. I was concerned about moving from a manual laborer into the world of finance. Figured little by little, I’d get clothes that looked like the guys in the accounting office, till then, the weather was hot enough for slacks, short-sleeved shirt and a tie and wait for suits to come on sale at Foley’s. Found a garage apartment near the accounting office and put a deposit down on it. Quiet, secluded with a kitchenette and a shower — furnished with clean, but worn furniture. Two rooms, and at ninety dollars a month, I’d be able to afford a car later. Heavy melancholia came as I packed what I had, leaving my first real home, I thought about my life. Brothers were married now, and my little sis was starting high school. They didn’t contact me much, I suspected my parents were still having problems, and I was sure I never wanted anything like them around me again. A dark thought hit — I had no idea how full-fledged adults act in a relationship. Maybe I’d have to take Nate’s path and buy a little pleasure every Thursday afternoon. Must have been midnight when I heard keys jangle and the door open downstairs. What was Nate doing here so late? I got up and pulled on my jeans, rinsed my face and went into the office. He was shuffling through some papers and put them in his briefcase. I’d only see him once or maybe twice before he left. “Thanks, Nate. I’m going to miss you and the bakery and this little room.” He turned slowly and thought for a few moments. “It’s been good. You’re a good man — helped me with a lot of things. Find yourself someone to love while you’re young.” He took me in his arms and squeezed. “You can have it all, just be careful.” He kissed my forehead and moved to back away. Didn’t let him, simply being embraced felt so good — never had that before. Maybe it was wrong, but I looked up to his face, “I really want to know — I really want to…” The words were stuck inside my throat. He looked down, “What?” I whispered what I wanted, looking away. We both stood very still for a long time. “Me?” He chuckled and kissed my forehead again. I nodded. “Will you wait for Saturday? We’ll go to Galveston. Leave a note for the staff, I’ll be by at ten.” … Thought I was going to die before Saturday came. My graduation from business college wasn’t this anxiety-provoking. I was excited. Got a haircut and cleaned up Friday night and left notes for the staff to run the route without me. Nate had a big Mercedes with a sunroof. He pulled up and honked. I jumped downstairs with a brown paper bag with my towel and my cut offs. “Shoulda asked your ol’ skinflint boss for a raise.” “He was paying for my education. I have to pay him back, even though I saw he used my tuition for a tax deduction under `employee training.'” “Be discrete and you’ll go far.” He winked, “I don’t expect you to pay me anything — just maybe help another kid along when you’re rolling in bucks of your own.” We stayed at a small place — a row of separate cottages near the beach and went to the Galvez for lunch. Really nice. Thought I might feel out of place, but kids and families in their bathing clothes ran through the lobby and all over making a racket. We walked along the seawall back to our cabin. Inside I asked if we were going to surf. He popped a cassette into his player and Mancini filled the room. “Hope not. Too much crude oil on the beach. Let’s relax for a while.” Taking me in his arms, we swayed to the music and he gently pulled me against him. “I’m more than just an old perv in a back alley — and this is going to be special for both of us.” He lifted my chin and kissed me the way my brothers did with the girls they got drunk. His kisses made me drunk — that kiss made my head empty and when my tongue got the technique down, I didn’t want to stop. “Slow down.” He whispered and put my hands on his rear. “I’m telling you what I want.” I was already breathing hard. In the mirror behind him I saw my face was brilliant red with eagerness. “I want…” “Slow down, we’re going to work up to it.” His fingers went to my shirt and he unbuttoned, then to my jeans where he slipped his hands into my briefs. I was mesmerized and stood still, it felt so good to feel him rub my skin, pressing our erections together. Then, he brought my hands to his shirt, and put my fingers on the buttons. Grateful, I was so grateful he was patiently showing me how to make love. This wasn’t the frantic, brutal sex my brothers had, but a gentle, slow back-and-forth. I took a deep breath trying to steady myself for this build-up but I wasn’t sure if my dick would wait. Between the kissing and the undressing, I was straining to cum. He wouldn’t let me but kept pinching my nipples and squeezing my package. As soon as the hot water of the shower hit my skin, standing next to a naked man covered with dark hair in the most interesting pattern across his wide shoulders — it happened. He only smiled, “How long have you been waiting, boy?” “All my life.” I smiled and blushed, then kissed him again. His hands reached around me and he washed my cleft, roughly, and told me he was going to put his cock inside me as he slipped a finger inside. I gasped; he quietly reassured me that this was what I `really wanted.’ He was slow, and in the soapy water, he continued with another finger, telling me all the while how good it would feel and that I’d cum like I never had before. I doubted that was possible, but he tickled something deep inside me and I looked into his eyes. For the first time I felt a man stroke along my body, caresses — I was being caressed and kissed and the feel darıca escort of his hand on my rod was amazing. He had to pinch my dick often to keep me from cumming again and again. After another urgent blast, he gave up, holding me against him, kissing me, chuckling. In my embarrassment, I went into being playful and enjoyed his playground thick with dark, curly hair. He had a lot more than me, but it was his balls that fascinated me, so big and red, leading up to a thick, veined erection and shiny dark purplish knob adorning it like a royal scepter. He was beautiful — I doubted I’d ever be like him, but he let me kiss and lick, and the first taste of a man on my tongue was heaven — I couldn’t taste or smell him enough. He held my head and I looked up at him as I licked and sucked, enjoying the delicate taste of the heavy stream of sex juice he was making for me. Turning me over, I thought he might cuddle next to me, but he didn’t. His eyes were on mine as his head lowered, and he kissed my nipple lightly. A bolt of lightning shot through me from my chest. Had to suck in a quick breath — then he continued kissing, and suddenly began sucking hard on my nipple while his hand went to my other. Twisting, almost pinching, then he turned back, “I’m telling you what I want.” He laid back and brought my lips to his chest, skin moist in the cool, dark air. The air conditioner hummed as I hummed and sucked, looking up at his responses. He liked me to bite, harder than I would have wanted, but I nipped and nibbled till his hand came to my head. “Suck my cock.” Sucking gently at first, he grasped the base of his erection and held it for me, swirling it in my mouth a little, moaning, “More.” He found my hand and put it on his nuts and patted my fingers telling me what he wanted. Maybe I got carried away with my fingers, I continued sucking and licking along his shaft, and my fingertips were obsessed with the big orbs. His musk rose around my face and I was so aroused feeling him twitch and hearing him groan. Wasn’t long before I felt his hands in my hair and his hips jerking. Glancing upward, he was holding his lower lip behind his front teeth and shoving my face into his groin. I gagged and sputtered but he didn’t let go. At first, I thought I’d bit the inside of my cheek, there was a salty taste in my mouth. When I realized it was his cum, I sucked harder. When he relaxed his hand, I started sucking and didn’t stop. I wanted all I could get. … His fingers stroked my face, over my eyes. “Let’s rest. We have more later.” The Tijuana Brass played while he rested. I couldn’t stop touching him. He was dozing so I laid there inhaling his smell and knew that this was the only kind of love I wanted. We went out for dinner – shrimp sandwiches with fries on the seawall. On the way back to the cottage, he brought a bottle of rum. We drank several rum `n cokes and he turned the news off. He put his toiletry case by the bed and we showered. I was trembling, he was smiling. On the bed he took me in his arms and we kissed, then he reached over and found a small tube of petroleum jelly. As he rubbed it on my hole, he explained what he was going to do. Mixed feeling churned inside me, there was pain and feeling uncomfortable with one finger, but he looked into my eyes, “Do you want me to stop?” “No.” He looked into my eyes as three fingers began tugging in and out my hole. I think tears ran down my cheeks. “Yes, yes. It gets better.” He whispered and kissed my tears. More lube and more tears for a few more moments. Then he told me it was time. He gently laid my on my back and bent my knees, I watched him rub his erection with grease and he put it at my hole, looking into my eyes. “Hold your knees back and press against my dick.” He said softly as he neared. Looking down, it was hard to imagine his whole, erect cock inside me. My breathing became faster. He stopped. “You’ve got to relax and push back.” Between the lube and his determination, it only took a second. My eyes were wide and my jaw fell open. He chuckled, waiting. Grabbing the headboard over me, he slowly slid inside, I was consumed with new sensations, it wasn’t feeling like I thought it would. Every stroke he went deeper, and a deep plane of satisfaction formed inside me feeling filled with a hot, smooth cock. I lifted my knees and suddenly I felt it. That tingle he’d teased me with in the shower. My god, the feeling of satisfaction and that incredible rub. I looked down to see my dick straining, skin hot and so tight. My balls tightened and I grimaced with a cum I could feel coursing up through the deepest parts of me and spread sparks like hot pinpricks all over my skin. When I felt my own cum hit my face, Nate began pumping into me like a madman, he was so hard it hurt, but I didn’t say anything — I wanted all of it. All of him. Just a few strokes later, his body tensed above me and he went rigid, shoved a few more times and one last push. His cum was dripping out my hole as he pulled back a little. I didn’t want him to leave my ass and looked up with dreamy eyes. He smiled and lowered himself onto my chest. I grabbed him and hugged him and reveled in the smell of his sweat. Mixed extremes of pain and amazement rushed through me for the next moments, and it satisfied me in a discomfiting way. When is gift dripped out my ass, I smiled — that’s what I really wanted to know. Had problems keeping my knees underneath my hips as I walked to the bath. He washed me and him, giving me a kiss every now and then. Then he kissed my hand and told me to be gentle with him. We had a few more drinks, and I was breathing hard while he teased me, telling me how much he’d like to stay, but he couldn’t. Frisco offered him freedom. Finally, after a hot session of stroking, he handed me the tube of petroleum jelly. It took several awkward attempts and for the first time in my life, I felt a tight hole gripping my cock and I thought I’d died, gone to heaven. He’d look up at me and smiled as he grasped my rod with his ass. Tears streamed for a moment with the incredible onrush of pleasure — overwhelmed, I cried, and pumped into his hot channel like a man on his last mission. Couldn’t have lasted longer than a few moments, and I knew I needed more of this. It was the touch of his skin, his sweat, his smell, and that incredible, heart-pounding release that I was immediately addicted to. Not so sure about love, but I was fully and completely in lust. He took me in his arms and told me I had to be more careful than other men, “As long as we’re considered evil, and as long as you live in the bible belt, you’ve got to keep it hidden. You’ll be beaten or worse. Be discrete but find someone to love.” Our last shower together was quiet and we dressed quickly and left. Before we left, he kissed me in the cottage and I wondered if my liaisons would always be in shabby rooms or alleyways. … Every Sunday night we called long distance. Nate was opening a candy shop near the Castro District, and had bought an historic Victorian house on a steep hillside. Looked nice in the photos he sent. My brothers, by comparison to my clients at the accounting firm, were only nickel and dime hustlers. I was discrete about my work and gained a number of widows and cranky folks that the other tax team didn’t want to deal with. I kept on task learning more every year, and my rates increased. Bought an old house in the Heights, ancient and cavernous with pecan trees and beveled glass in the door. Needed a lot of work, but I figured in five years, I’d have the remodeling completed and the house in fine shape. Had three bedrooms and a bathtub up on feet big enough for several people to bathe at the same time. The first thing I did was to erect a six-foot cedar fence around the edge and I got a dog. No one coming to look in my windows ever again. … Nate and I called, and from the sound of what he said, I became concerned that he would get AIDS, he was sowing a lot of oats and probably a lot of weed as well. Photos showed he’d gained weight, his hair thinned, but he was still the man I’d met in his office that Sunday afternoon. He was happier, and very busy making San Francisco his own. For me, things were slower. I worked up the courage to visit the GLBT Center on a weekend and found a few nice folks there. Felt strange to meet my high-school art teacher there. Though he’d had thousands of students he remembered me. I waited for him to recognize me; he kept glancing. During a break in the program, he approached me and asked. Blushing, I admitted I was his student — he came back later, “You’re the one who won the key.” He’d mounted and submitted one of my pieces of artwork to a competition and I’d won. “Yeah, still got that little gold key.” I said. That started a conversation that went on into the Silver Dollar Café. He was white-haired now, still wore it in a flat-top and still drinking heavily. Maybe that was an opportunity, but one I didn’t chance — he was a top-notch bitch when he was hung over — I remembered my Monday morning classes with him. … There was a rustle in the accounting office — something that didn’t happen often. The owner, that same guy that hired me, took on a partner. That means he sold half of the business — he was divorcing his wife of many years. Lots of divorces going on at that time, but he was a philanderer and openly sexual in the office. Didn’t know they were “swingers” but they had frequented the private parties for years. You know I kept my head down and the work moving through — though I was curious. He was incredibly tanned, muscled and so damn charming. I fell in a very silent and reserved way. We kept our trysts inside the fence, inside the house and it didn’t take long for me to come to detest him. He still acted like a boss, but what irked me was that he actually expected that I wash his clothes, cook and serve dinner and he was brutal in bed. He insulted me often. Got myself into a sticky situation — he was still my boss, and now he honked at the gate every Tuesday night for his boy-fuck. How could I make him leave without losing my job? I was stuck, wanting to keep my job for the incredible paycheck, and that routine taught me that I was better with no lover than a jerk. On that Sunday night when I spoke with Nate, I poured it out to him. He wasn’t upset at all. “I knew that old goat had it in him.” He advised me about what to do: Distraction; give him a new toy. Now this was probably the shadiest, nastiest thing I’d ever done in my life, but I invited my younger sister to my office — take her out to lunch. I’d bailed her out of jail twice for prostitution and knew she was looking for the depot for the gravy train. Being an audacious red-headed, heavy-breasted trick, I figured my boss would give her some attention. I invited her to come on Tuesday and made her wait for me till the boss walked through. Sure enough, he took the bait and had to find out who this woman was. She was pale, with a huge mane of red curls and wore a “trolling” blouse open almost to her navel. Quickly, I asked if he’d like to join us for lunch — “New place with avocado sandwiches on home-made bread and fruit smoothies.” He didn’t even hear me. “Sure.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he whispered me he may be late tonight… They deserved each other — two hungry piranhas in a small tank. I left and went back to the office alone and didn’t see anything of my boss till next week when he slipped a piece of paper on my desk from the health clinic. Came up positive for the clap and I only shook my head — this probably wasn’t his first time. “Really sorry about that — you didn’t use a condom?” I wondered how much my sister would shake him down for if she told him she needed an abortion… He didn’t come over again, occasionally he called and I grew the balls to tell him I was busy. “Found the woman of my dreams.” I figured that would obfuscate things enough for him not to call again. Nate laughed when I told him, “But I’m alone again. Really sucks.” “Get into the gym — get into the bars.” “Things haven’t changed as much here as they have there. You know what it’s like.” The next week a package arrived with a vibrating dildo and some other toys I’d never seen before. Was Nate saying I was a total wash-out?” … During the holidays, Nate visited. Almost ten years since I’d seen him — but meeting him at the airport, I looked enough like family to embrace him. He was entering his fifties, me, my thirties, but I’d taken up jogging — I could do that without much comment. Often went to Memorial Park and took the long trail. Nate had grown a beard, had an earring and sported a few extra pounds, but looked great to me. Looked like a present, he arrived in a lavender cashmere sweater and navy slacks. His white-haired chest clearly visible in the V-neck of the sweater. Couldn’t wait to get him home. I needed his affection among other things. He offered me poppers, “Please, don’t make me any hornier.” I wanted all the feelings I’d had before, but he was a slower lover now, and I was much more appreciative. We went out a few times, to his old haunts, then tried a few new ones. Yeah, I looked like his kid when we entered the spa. He showed me how a swing worked and I thought I would die with pleasure. We went to the bookstore for the gloryholes. Had to walk out — too much like people at windows. I had reservations at the Galvez and walked through the lobby with him, got our keys and went upstairs. We went out that night for dinner and to a gay bar that opened on the main street. I felt safe enough in the holiday rush though the weather was gray. Don’t remember much of our conversations through that weekend, but I do remember I told him I missed him when he left. He suggested we meet for Mardi Gras, “Sounds like fun.” Didn’t thin February would ever come, and I boarded the plane noticing how many other party-goers were riding with me. Sat beside a nice guy who filled me in on all the best places to go and things to do — talked non-stop. I suspected amphetamines but didn’t say anything. Parades, music, it was a riot for hours at night. Yeah, I got drunk and not sure if I can remember, but I have a faint recollection of sloppy sex and giggling in a room with several other men. Kinda goofy behavior for me and I let loose for a while — even danced naked for Nate while he stroked his rod with a rental-boy. I flew home and felt empty without Nate by my side. I was socially and emotionally stunted — stuck somewhere between the love ballads of the sixties and the unknowing boy who worked in a bakery. When I got home, I left a message on his phone, “When you get it of your system, call me.” … A few more years passed and I built my courage as well as my shoulders thinking I’d increase my odds of finding a guy. Also began building my portfolio, I made my plans to move into a Friendswood or Pearland — small towns that were being engulfed by the city. Bought a condo leasing it out to cover the payments. I’d have enough to retire in comfort in the condo, maybe keep a few clients… That was a while away and I hoped I wouldn’t be alone. At least I had my dog — but he didn’t like jogging with me. Every year I attended the tax update conference and became the tax team leader at work as the old timers retired and moved on. Had a group of seven well-trained accountants working on the newest programs to get our work in and out in record time — still December to April we were swamped. As was my custom, I had a small lunch catered for my team and the part-timers who’d come in to get all the returns out. I announced the high-producers and gave them all the stats and how many delayed returns we’d have to finish up and congratulated everyone. Seemed to make everyone happy after so many long days. As I stayed to clean the lunch room, someone came in behind me. I hoped it wasn’t my supervisor with a complaint. “I love you.” “Nate?” I turned slowly to see a gaunt face and bald head without an earring. “Finally came to your senses.” I grabbed his hand and shook it. “You look great,” He smiled weakly, “Need some help…” Looking around, I gave him my keys, “Blue Audi parked out back — let’s talk at home.” I wanted to kiss him but waited. You know what I thought — AIDS and my stomach clenched painfully. Told my team I wouldn’t be in the next day when I texted a ride-share. Nate had dinner cooking when I came in — even set the table with candles. Putting on a CD of the London Symphony, I took him in my arms and swayed, kissing his cheek and enjoying the smell of him. “Are you okay?” “Later.” Had a fine dinner of salad and chicken breast, asparagus and French bread. Kind of a light meal compared to what he usually ate. “Are you on a diet?” “Yep. Seems like pastries and chocolate take a toll on your body.” He chuckled. “Those pastries kept me from starving.” I winked. “Probably fed a lot of people from the stale pastries — they went to a group home for men with mental illnesses. Used to be several blocks over from here. Probably shut down now.” “So you came for the hurricane season, or are you looking to move back?” “Not sure yet. I have several appointments next week.” … As we sat together on the couch, I asked him, “What happened? Not saying you look like death warmed over, but — how bad is it?” Expecting he’d admit to AIDS, I was surprised. He’d fallen, hurt his back in his condo. Had several surgeries and a rod installed. He could walk and move about though was somewhat limited. Then he admitted the worse, “Got addicted to the pain killers and went out on the street when the doctor cut me off. I’m going over to Methodist and see if they’ll take me into a program for it.” “Are you using now?” “Yes.” He heaved a very heavy sigh. “I knew you wouldn’t have any here so if you don’t mind me staying for a few days…” Didn’t want to hear all about his pancreas and liver and the abuse he’d given them through the years. Didn’t want to hear about the Hep N or the other issues he was dealing with, but here he was, a little worse for the wear and holding me gently, speaking softly. I stayed quiet as he explained how he’d bought and used; I knew the danger he put himself in buying on the streets. “The supervisor at the candy store told me to get out of town for a while and gave me the name of a doctor at Methodist Medical. I called him and got an appointment to go in for an exam to see if I qualify for something like chelation therapy — experimental program.” As he readied for bed, I looked up the program at Methodist. Seems it was an intensive program with counseling and medical treatments, and noted it was in-patient, so he’d be in the hospital with a number of other people for a while. “Have you read about the program?” I asked when he came to bed. He pulled out a brochure, “They sent me this.” I read through it — though it was brightly colored and touted some positive outcomes, it stated clearly that there may be the need for on-going treatments and counseling was an imperative for inclusion in the program. Leaning my head on his shoulder, “What time do you have to be there tomorrow?” “Nine.” “I’ll drop you off if you let me stay for a while. I’m gölcük escort going to beg they give you methadone.” “I wouldn’t want a junkie in the house either.” “Got enough for tomorrow morning?” “Hope so.” He was almost asleep when I kissed his cheek and wondered what would happen next. … The next morning I encouraged him to take a change of clothes, “You may have to do the treadmill.” We were met in a small, sleek office where Nate went back immediately, starting a series of blood tests and examinations. While he was in the back, I asked to speak with the nurse, “Mr. Silverson still needs his medications — can you give him something to help with that?” She told me that Nate would be going into a detox before he could enter the program. “Methadone?” “Probably.” I could only agree. He stayed for thirty days in detox. Visiting nightly, I noticed that he was in mixed company, the only common denominator was their bitching and whining, uncontrolled behaviors. Drug sick and pissed, they wandered around until a nurse took them to their room for an injection. Nate and I sat side-by-side watching that and attended a twelve-step program for an hour. Through the month, Nate’s color came back and he began asking me to bring him food and snacks — all sugary. “The nurse says you have to curb the sugar — so sugar-free okay?” He agreed but didn’t like the idea. Grumbled and whined and I held firm. Nate had to go to group therapy in detox but in the next part of his therapy, he’d have to be with a counselor one-on-one. It didn’t seem to bother him, not even when he asked me to join him one afternoon. The counselor spoke mostly about “lifestyle changes,” the program used a holistic approach that involved almost every part of his life. They were pouring the money on these first guinea pigs to fine-tune their therapy. I wondered if they were on the right track. Nate looked better, but he was seemed tired. Two months in-patient, then two months at home, Nate slowly improved. Leased his home in Frisco to a couple. All his clothes were too large for him now, and sometimes he seemed a shadow walking down the hallway, but his old zip was coming back. He smiled often and we had a sauna and hot tub installed outside. Instead of quietly lurking along the edges, I attended the Pride Parade and Festival with him. We had to stop and rest often, it was a steaming hot day, the crepe paper drooped and dripped bright colors along the floats. The impact of the societal changes was evident, I was able to feel the arm of a male friend around my waist in public. We were both smiling, and he kissed me right in front of a crowd of hundreds. Of course, they didn’t look twice, but it was a thrill for me. I decided early on that if he wanted to get off the drugs, it would be entirely his job. Didn’t steer him away from a few old friends in the beer garden when he saw them and stopped to talk. Didn’t take his arm when he went behind a few of the tents to see what was going on. Nope. I let him make all those decisions for himself. We toured the booths and got a seat for the music and speeches. He fell asleep, so I brought the car around and took him home. He’d come a long way with his health and went to bed immediately when we were home. That’s when I began thinking. Being around Nate relaxed me to have the courage to be more of who I am. Did I need his protective wing over me? I was more than that, or was I? Either way, even with my lack of any great role model for being a spouse, I decided to ask Nate to marry me, I loved him, and wanted him with me. It wasn’t a lust-driven relationship I wanted, but a steady, stick-together-through-it-all kind. He’d pulled me through my hard times, and well, I’d helped him where I could. Yeah, it crossed my mind that I was asking when he wasn’t doing so well with his health, but he could turn me down and move on. Thinking further, I decided to ask him to give us six months or a year to see if things worked out. We could marry in another state and have a wedding in the back yard. Yes, with the dog, but he was my pal though all the empty times, and now it seemed, Nate’s best friend. On my computer that night, I heard Nate taking all his pills, then taking the dog out for a while. He came back in with a fistful of irises and long vines of honeysuckle. He put them in an antique glass pitcher the way only a gay man comfortable with himself could. Beautiful, graceful, with a spontaneous, subtle joy. “I’m going down to Brownsville for a few days.” He said softly. “Brownsville? Why?” “Got to get some surgery — going in for a full lift.” He pinched the loose skin on his face. “You look great. Distinguished, and noble.” That last descriptor was a lie, but “Don’t go.” In the back of my mind I saw him wheedling more pain-killers from some plastic surgeon in Mexico. Maybe staying down there longer and getting into trouble or causing more health problems. “I think there’s a real popular guy in town. Saw his ad in Out Smart. Why don’t you give him a call tomorrow? If you get an infection or something happens down there, I won’t be with you to help.” Glancing at me, “You won’t come?” I went to the doctor’s website, “If you stay here for your surgery, I’ll be right beside you all the way.” We both knew what the other was thinking. He wanted one last dance with his devils and it could be his last dance. He leaned over my ear, “Go blue tonight?” “Sounds good.” Opiates and methadone do a number on a man’s equipment. … In bed, I immediately began sucking his nipples and running my fingertips through the damp hair on his chest. “Nate, have you ever thought about a permanent partner?” Silence. I sucked a deep breath, “I’d like to marry you, we can have an engagement to see if it works out…” Listening to his heartbeat I heard it speed for a few beats. Silence. “Did you hear me?” “Yes.” I waited for a long time, when he finally spoke I was shocked at what he said. When he was a young man, he kept expecting to wake up with two different colored eyes. There was a boy in his school who had a brown eye and a blue eye. That boy kept his head down, the other kids taunted him saying he had an `evil eye.’ The boy was shunned and bullies were harsh. “When I was old enough to know better, I wasn’t worried about my eye color and having to keep my head down, but I knew there was something different inside me, something that didn’t sit right. Thank god for puberty — I was horny all the time when I was around the boys at school, but they were hard, too. I dreamed about boys and, I’ll admit it now, even my dad. He was my idol, my ideal. Handsome and strong — he’d come home from the bakery coated in flour and smelling all-male. He loved me when I was small. Then, he and mom sat me down when I was about fourteen and told me I’d go to hell for all my interest in boys. They tried to scare me, but it didn’t work. Being gay hurt me, not because I’m gay, because it separated me from my dad. I really needed him. Instead, he taught me the bakery and put me to work. That part was okay, but I wanted a man and suddenly my dad was distant, and I believe he told the others at the bakery to let me work alone. After a few failed dates with women, I gave up and he seldom spoke with me again. He didn’t know any more than I did about being gay. I was as alone as you were when I graduated and left for college, but I had money and a sex-drive that wouldn’t stop. Free, white and twenty-one without any self-discipline, but I’m paying the piper now.” Never knew that much about him, and it made sense — he was born into tougher times than me for homosexuals. I turned away from him, “Make love with me the way you wanted your dad to make love to you when you were a kid. He turned and grabbed me against him. With one hand, he grabbed my shaft, the other went to my hole. He gently fingered me telling me it wouldn’t hurt. “I’d never hurt my boy.” Playing his glans along my cleft, he told me how perfect I was, and that what he would give me would make me complete and perfectly his. So slowly he entered me, gently and lovingly, and that lasted about thirty strokes. I pushed back against him needing to fill me and that incredible satisfaction. I grabbed his hand and shoved it up and down my dick. So ready to be emptied and filled at the same time. He plowed into me deeply, as deep as he could before As we lay sweating, his dick popped out of my ass. My cum hit my chin. He met me in the shower, “Did you really ask me to marry you?” “Yeah. We’ll get engaged first and marry in Colorado next year.” “Don’t know if I’m marriage material.” He gave me a quick kiss. “You may be sorry.” “Is that a `yes?'” “Gotta think about it.” … It must have read like a financial report, but I wrote out all my feelings and all my fears about being gay and meeting Nate. That was on the advice from my counselor. I went to the GLBT center and started going to counseling. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only kid in the world to feel so odd inside myself, then to be perplexed about where my life would take me. Seems that when the full meaning of being homosexual in our nation at the time overwhelmed many children and it turned out bad for them. But I’d been given safe haven, alone and working, but a safe place for finding out who I was carving a place out for myself. Times were changing, I was one of the lucky ones to be able to find a place, make a home for myself and a dog. It was little room above the bakery and education that turned my corner and someone who believed in me enough to finish my schooling and start in a profession. “Sell what you got sissy.” I remembered. I might have had to resort to that again at the very time the epidemic hit if not for Nate. Carefully, I wrote out what I expected from a partner and a marriage and how I would cope with our differences and how would I handle arguments? With brochures stuck inside my composition book where I kept all my writing, I went home and told Nate I was seeing a counselor and why, “I’ve never seen how adults handle all the personal things between them — good intentions aren’t enough. Don’t know how to argue or fight without being insulting.” “Got the same problem. Maybe we should both get whistles and call a time out, like in football.” He replied as he flipped through the sports channels. “How angry will you be if I go back to the drugs?” He asked, nonchalantly. Had to think about that, “Not sure. Are you planning to?” “Not right now, but there may be some stressors, or something comes up.” “How do I handle it?” He opened his wallet and showed me a phone number, “This is my sponsor — the meetings… I go while you’re at work. Call him — he’ll come over and help me out if I haven’t already called him.” “Why do you go while I’m at work?” “Maybe I’m vain, you know, I don’t want you to think I can’t control it.” “If the meetings help you manage — I’m all for it.” “What would you do if I ran into some kind of problem?” I asked. “Ask what’s wrong — try to fix it, but I think you need some testosterone — you’re always so mousey.” “Mousey?” What the hell! He wanted me to appear more assertive in public. I’ll admit I was shy and reticent — way quieter in comparison, but that was my way. “Mr. Mousey asked you to marry him, not become his endocrinologist. How many men have you asked to marry you?” He grinned, “Touché.” Seems that conversation opened up a lot of topics like, who didn’t clean the hot tub, and who had to pick up after the dog, maybe needing more room in the bath. It was a beautiful old house, but it had its idiosyncrasies. I’ll admit the pantry was larger than the bathroom — but there was an outhouse when the old Victorian was first built. He had a lot of complaints, but they were small and mostly about the house, but he didn’t complain about the bed or the bedroom. The rest wasn’t important, only inconvenient. “So, we’re engaged?” “Let me think about it.” … Life rocked along with dinners — Nate was a great cook, loved to eat. He seemed to forget about his diet those nights. Kept all of his appointments, though never shared the results of his blood tests. He seemed happy, and I noticed that the further away from the drugs, the more of himself opened up. Nate contacted his sisters and asked them to send photos from their childhoods and began scrapbooking. What a mess — bits of paper and glitter, and all kids of crud littered the kitchen table where he assembled page after page of his memories. Instead of screaming when he just walked away, I got the hand-held vacuum and cleaned it up after him. He did great laundry though. Since I wasn’t getting any answers, I got a strip of paper and measured his left ring finger, went to the jeweler and bought him an engagement ring. When I showed him, that I was ready for an engagement he accused me of pressuring him. “Check the year on the calendar, boy. We don’t have forever. You told me to find someone to love, and I keep trying to get a commitment that he’ll stay.” Out of the blue, one night the issue was resolved. I was thinking in traditional, customary terms — there were other ways. During a dinner with Nate’s sponsor and a young man new to sobriety, I mentioned that Nate was stalling on making a decision. “Buy an MG or a truck?” His sponsor chuckled. “Making a commitment to a relationship. He won’t make a decision.” The young man spoke up explaining that his parents had a contract instead of a marriage, and they renewed it every year on January first. “It was a hoot! They brought up all their complaints and argued until they got it all worked out. My sister and I laughed so hard during their contract renewal — Mom was always hollering `control issue’ at Dad, and he countered with `manipulation!’ It was the highlight of the year to hear them. I wanted a contract with them too, but they said one in the house was enough.” Though I was thinking about dumping all my consternation about Nate’s delays on my counselor, I brought it up later. Again, no comment, so I went online and looked at contracts, especially the contracts with an `escape clause.’ “I’m just an old dog and always will be.” He told me when I showed him the contract. It was then I realized that he may not feel worth a partner. After some discussion, he saw a relationship as one person dressing down the other with judgements and insults as often as possible. Then, again, maybe he was afraid of hurting or burdening me as he aged. I asked. “It’s getting stuck with one fuck. Boring.” Maybe that was his old mind-set talking, he went to meetings and events, and was home every night. Drugs and booze were out and it didn’t seem to bother him. Maybe he was sneaking around but I doubted that. Taking a big chance, “I know I can’t ask you for fidelity, spread your seed, farmer Nate. That’s part of who you are — part of the man I love.” He grunted and looked away. Sex was incredibly quiet and rich that night. … That next year, was busy with his sisters visiting, yeah. Seems they’d calmed down and the work GLBT activists were doing made a difference. They were a noisy bunch at times and filled the old house with laughter and music. They liked me, or if they didn’t, they said nothing, but I think they were glad to see Nate happy and fairly healthy. Alcoholism and extreme religiosity had decimated my family. The one red-headed sister met a man and parlayed his wealth into a house and a small business, though only part of it was legit. I invited her to visit, she always had a reason not to come. No loss. Nate and I settled into a comfortable life, he occasionally brought up the contract I’d showed him. “But you didn’t sign it — we’re not held to any commitment — still free, white and twenty-one as far as I’m concerned.” I told him in my mousiest voice. I thought I heard him say, “I signed it in my mind.” He was a touchy old fart about his freedom, so I said nothing. This was as close as I’d get to marriage, and I accepted it and loved him through all his bull and the escapades with scuba diving and the beach at Padre Island. Stepping back, my marriage hadn’t turned out like my parent’s — it was better. Nate, despite all his goofy scrapbooking was fun after dinner with friends, and we now had three dogs he’d trained to dance and actually heel. He was active at his twelve-step program and became a sponsor himself. No, he didn’t go back to the drugs or the anonymous sex, that I knew of — but I don’t think so. God, it was good to come home to find him pottering with the garden hose, watering the herbs. Good to wake up with someone next to me with a, well, half-hard shaft and smelling like my favorite musk. All that gave me all I needed and the good outweighed the little spats. I found out that sometimes when he felt low, he’d try to bait me into anger — I didn’t fall for it. It only meant he wanted reassurance for his masculinity; a play to shore his ego. Ten years of work and we moved to Pearland to get out of the smog. Made a bundle on that old house and set us up in a place without stairs or steps, but it was better; cozier. Through those years, I’d become more assertive, stronger inside myself beside Nate. Another education on taking care of an aging partner, and it was difficult but still good. In some ways better. … My partner, husband and spouse, (but don’t call him that,) began a scrapbook on our lives together. Goofy picture from my high school yearbook, and me at the holiday dinners when I worked at the bakery. Funny looking kid — and the distinguished Nate Silverson. Plenty of photos from Frisco, and a few from me at the accounting office. All in all, it reflected our lives, and it could never show the deep, unnamed currents of shame that constantly battered our psyches through those early years. We weren’t without family. Two of Nate’s nephews came to stay with us. One still in college, the other looking for work. Suddenly, we lived in Twinkcity. They were gorgeous, and so open about their sexuality — not gay, but undecided. Couldn’t figure that out, but they couldn’t either yet. Things had really changed since I was young and I enjoyed their company. We flew to Florida, San Diego, Cancun and anywhere with a beach — on Nate’s insistence. Yeah, I’d come in and find them napping on the bed and it didn’t smell like scrapbook paste, oh well. Fortunately, one of them stayed with us while he finished school and afterward, grabbing a big place in our hearts for those years. He was a quiet kid that I liked, studied Physics — applied to work for NASA before he started on his Masters. He was a joy to us. … Nate passed with his family around him, all the guys he sponsored, family of Helga, the baker came along with a lot of people I didn’t know. We had a buffet catered and he passed while we toasted his generosity and love. Kind of an oblique love I got from him and it was the best he could offer. How could I not appreciate that? Products of our times, partly, and our natures and all our dreams, our resources. He’d done well, and so had I. Human nature dictates constant needs and wants, always something else, and I wanted more, but got more than I thought I could have with few trade-offs. Now, I had his nephew, the Physicist to help along the way Nate had helped me; a pleasure to help him. Enough of life, there’s a young, naked man in my hot tub telling me to bring the sun screen. I’ll look at his skin, the way he smiles, and the corners of his eyes and see hints of my Nate again. Fin. Windows

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

This is primarily a love story; sex will occur sporadically, not in every other paragraph.

Love will never abide by religion or by law. Love can be punished, but it cannot be cured. Love is the ultimate anarchist. The term “sin” is meaningless in love”s language, as is the term “underage”.

If you disagree with this statement, go find another story to read.

If some law says you should not be here at all, it”s your own choice to stay or go away.

If you should happen to like my story, please tell me: ota

And please remember: fty/donate.html

 

 

 

 

THE SOUND OF HIS FOOTSTEPS

Magnus Winter

 

 

 

CHAPTER 10

 

→ Sander → → Diary 2018

I am really and truly fed up with being categorized, defined, interpreted on such flimsy basis as age, post code, religion, gender.

I”ve done exactly the same myself, placed people in boxes for the most marginal of reasons: Looks, dress, language. And now I wonder who taught me this. Is it an innate mechanism to recognize members of your own species, or is it a cultural phenomenon we”ve developed to defend class distinction and discrimination? How useful, how functional are our rigid definitions to our society? Why does it matter if I am male or female or both? Do I need to be either gay or straight? What kind of a symphony comes from only one instrument?

And where do the criteria come from? Even more important, why are these criteria so bloody difficult to change? Is it just that those who want our money find it opportune to separate Lego for boys and Lego for girls? Or does nature decide the percentage of male midwives or female firemen?

I”ve had sex in one form or another with several people, coincidentally they”ve all been men. If I had been a woman, that would have put me in category “Tramp” or “Whore”. If my partners had been women, I would have been one hell of a guy. Since I”m placed in category “Gay”, it seems inevitable to put me in subcategory “Promiscuous”. Or “Irresponsible”. Or plain “Sinful”.

I fell in love with a sixteen year old. Correction, fifteen year old. So I qualify for category “Dirty Old Man”. Or “Child Molester”. Or “Pedo”.

Call me what you like, I can”t be bothered to defend myself. If it”s that important, put me in whatever category you want. I don”t give a fuck about you anyway.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Oslo 1987

 

The gallery was in deep shit. Vera was broke. Sander, who was suffering from a strange kind of embarrassment from suddenly having so much more money than he was used to, decided to help out. His mother”s lawyer, who now had become his lawyer, advised heavily against it, but fuck it, for the first time in his life he could afford not to turn every dime. He had his lawyer set up a partnership agreement with Vera and invested quite a neat sum in the business. He also payed off her creditors and her debts, it didn”t set him back that much. He recognized his actions for what they were: Selfishness rather than altruism. He needed to have one foot in this alternative environment, in this subculture. Not necessarily to participate in every shenanigan. More vicariously, really. Listen to their escapades, observe their behavior, let himself be entertained and forget about the stranglehold he felt life had on him.

But there is a season for everything. What at first had seemed so fascinating, so excitingly lawless, soon took the form of repetition. Too many times of too much of everything.

One afternoon at a vernissage party, Sander stood pissing in the toilet when the unpleasant Anders came in and without another word scooted over, knelt down and opened his mouth under the jet. Sander pushed him away, caught off guard by a sudden discomfort. Anders got up, closed in behind Sander”s back and grabbed his dick. Hoarse voice in Sander”s ear:

“I want your piss in my ass.”

At another time, in other circumstances, Sander would have laughed it off and let it pass. But a sudden rage took hold of his brain. He turned like an explosion, pissed all over the floor before he could stop, and knocked Anders hard against the sink with two blows from his fists. Intending to hurt him, wanting to see something break. Anders swore and doubled up and left in as much of a hurry as he could muster. Sander cleaned the floor, and stood washing his hands for a long time, snorting at himself in the mirror.

When he came out of the bathroom, the tension in the gallery was heavy and thick, someone had obviously painted a rather unfavorable picture of him out there. He felt no need to explain or correct anything, just glowered back at them and shrugged. He sought out Vera, kissed the air next to her cheeks three times and said good-by. She looked at him almost as if he were a child in need of help.

“Don”t worry about it. I think Anders deserved that one.”

 

“Maybe. But I didn”t.”

He kicked the door shut when he left.

 

 

Oslo, August 21, 1989

“Funny, it wasn”t at all as bad as I thought it would be. I did get a bit of a scolding, but after I had explained myself, they were actually quite nice.”

They”re sitting outside the train station, two cappuccinos in front of them at the small caf� table. Thomas has just arrived from Hamar.

“So you”re not a suspect?”

 

“I think I was at first. Now they”re looking for someone else. Something to do with timing. Dad was never in the picture, as far as I could gather.”

 

“So tell me. What did they say?”

 

“Well, initially a lot of harsh lip about me not having reported it when I found her, and the way I had wasted police time by hiding from them. So I told them the whole story. The officer who interrogated me seemed quite nice and well-meaning, and you know, I never learn. I”ve spent such a big part of my life being afraid of people, expecting to be yelled at or beaten up, so when someone smiles and seems nice, I”m all defenseless. Make bad choices.”

He laughs and shakes his head. Looks up with an expression difficult to read. Sander”s stomach churns: Am I one of those bad choices? It feels like a door is about to shut in his face. But then Thomas breaks into his thoughts.

“So I let everything pour out. I even told them I had burned my diaries and the clothes I was wearing that day. Totally like a movie, right? I”ve no idea how I could react so completely irrationally. Well. After that, it was mostly questions. What I”d seen, who I”d seen, had I brought flowers? All the little details. But flowers? Why should I bring flowers?”

 

“Why on earth did you burn your diaries?”

Thomas lights a cigarette and his fingers run lightly across the scar at the back of his head. Ah, these memories that cut through Sander”s heart.

“Oh, you know. They were full of shit. I only wrote in them when I was on edge. In love or desperate or full of hate. And lately there was a lot of hate and a lot of bullshit about wanting to strangle her if she didn”t leave us alone and all that. Even a lot of details of how I would kill her. You know, when you”re really pushed enough, there”s a lot of shit that needs to get out. And that”s what my diaries were for. Just like the one my mum found that time in Troms�.”

 

“What was that about the flowers?”

 

“Yes, I wondered about that, too. And I asked. They only told me someone had seen a person with a wrapped bouquet ring the doorbell, but no one in her entrance had received flowers, and there weren”t any in her apartment, and no one saw anything more of that person. So I guess it was someone who had gotten the wrong address, or it could have been the murderer. Will you listen to that: the murderer. It sounds just ridiculous and unreal. And who else but me and dad had any reason to kill her? I mean, I guess a lot of people could have wanted to, but doing it? I can”t think of any.”

Sander”s brain is spinning. Oh, I can think of someone, Thomas.

“There could be a lot you don”t know about her. You haven”t seen that much of her these last years, have you?”

Thomas inhales and blows smoke out through his nose. Empties his cup. Moves his chair a little.

“No. Not until she came south last year. I went to Troms� once after I had come back from Sweden, I had some sort of idea I could make her understand that I was still her Thomas, and I hadn”t given up God even though I had left the church …well, left it, I was expelled. But she wouldn”t listen. Threw me out. Literally. And that was that. Oh, it hurt a bit, but I had grown stronger and more resilient to all the shitty things she did to me. Oh, and the door to your house was painted red!”

Sander aches to touch him, to hold him. Smell the skin in the crock of his neck. Erase his traumas, make everything right again. The distance between them is insufferable.

“That was my doing. Before I left.”

 

“Oh.” He swallows. ” Know what? I couldn”t bear to be even near the house the last two years in high school.”

He fiddles with his empty cup, then puts it down upside down on the saucer.

“But we were talking about mum. She started writing letters, that was just before she moved to Hamar. Very confused letters, half sermon and half assault. They got worse and worse, like she was completely psychotic. I showed them to dad, but he just shrugged and said that she had finally gone over the edge, and good riddance. By the way, I think I”ll change my last name to Braathen. That was my name until I was six.”

 

“That will surely please your father. He seemed like a nice guy to me.”

 

“He is. Did you pay? Can we go to your place now?”

They go by tram. Together, shoulder to shoulder, jeans clad thighs touching. Happiness. Euphoria.

 

Sander euphoria continues: Cooking with Thomas in the kitchen, setting a table for two, sitting opposite him during the meal, small talk about nothing, one foot touching his under the table. Little things that he rarely had experienced with Thomas. Drowning in his eyes, smelling his tobacco, and that distinct scent of his body and his deodorant. Sander reaches out across the table and lets his index finger stroke Thomas” thumb. Just to make sure he is there. Make sure he is real.

“Can you stay for a while?”

Thomas stares thoughtfully down on Sander”s finger. His voice sounds distant when he answers.

“A while? I have to go up and fix everything at work, I just can”t shirk it any longer. They”ve been very understanding up till now, but that won”t go on forever. I can stay until tomorrow. If it”s OK with you?”

 

“OK with me? Are you kidding?”

Thomas draws his hand back and rises. Leaves the table, walks through the open double doors into the living room and over to the balcony door. Sander sits watching him. Something falls into place inside him. This is as it should be: Thomas moving about in these rooms, like a reincarnated dream. Like all his dearest wishes have materialized.

But suddenly a demon changes gear in his mind. What if Thomas doesn”t want to go where he wants? Maybe his wishes, his plans are completely different?

Sander gets up and follows him. Touches his arm lightly.

“I”m sorry. I didn”t mean to push you into anything.”

Thomas opens the balcony door and goes outside. Lifts his arms and stretches his body.

“You don”t. It”s just … I”m a little frightened … No, not frightened. Hesitant? Careful, I don”t know.”

He looks at Sander with a small frown.

“God, I have so thought about ataköy escort you, fantasized about you, dreamt of you, you”ve no idea. There”s such an intensity in all my memories of you, of us. And an alarm-bell goes off in my head. What if that”s all it is? Memories? Fantasies?”

Sander closes in on him, behind his back. Sighs.

“Well, if that”s the case … I mean, what does your heart say, not your head?”

 

“My heart?” Thomas laughs. ” My God, Sveen, Sir, if I had listened to my heart, I”d have thrown myself at you and dragged you to bed three nights ago.”

 

“Which you sort of did. In a very puritan way. And do you know what, I”m really happy that you just wanted what you wanted then, and I can”t tell you how much it meant to me just to be there with you and the music. Because I know what you”re talking about. Something about expectations and reality and disappointments, right? Believe me, I”m just as ambivalent as you are. Just as afraid of losing something instead of finding something.”

Sander puts his arms around him from behind and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“But it feels so right. Just this. To hold you and feel you”re here. I don”t need more than this.”

Thomas covers Sander”s hands with his, leans back against him, his cheek to Sander”s neck. The stay like this until the streetlamps light up.

They lie down on Sander”s bed, on top of the sheets, fully clothed. With his arms around Sander and his nose hidden in the nape of Sander”s neck, Thomas starts to sing, softly, almost inaudibly:

“Day after day, alone on a hill …”

 

 

Oslo 1988

 

Within a year after Sander had injected fresh capital, the gallery actually boomed. From a somewhat obscure place you had to know about to find, it became a significant part of the city”s culture, a gallery to be reckoned with. The press covered the events without having to be beseeched, and they suddenly had a waiting-list of artists who wanted to exhibit.

Strangely, it seemed like the gallery”s success reduced the pack of hangers-on around Vera. She herself had also changed. As Sander, she now put more work than play into their venture. Almost overnight her appearance also changed: Gone was the flamethrower, and from the ashes a new and subdued Vera emerged: Short black hair, simple, but stylish clothing, a minimum of make-up. Sander felt bad about this, wondered if he was the reason everything seemed to change so much, that his influence reduced Vera more than helped her to shine, that his conformity and middle class attitudes were contagious. Vera saw this differently.

“Point one: There”s a time and a place for everything. Point two: Don”t be so conceited that you think everything has to do with you. Point three: It was high time to get rid of all those free-loaders anyway.”

Then the rumor spread that Anders had killed himself, and Sander felt even worse. He couldn”t reconcile himself with his behavior towards the guy, how he had despised him, ignored him, rejected him. Had his contemptuous attitude, and others” as well, been part of what had made Anders go over the edge? He was turning this over and over in his mind as he sat in the gallery, staring at a huge canvas with a gloomy, industrial landscape, when Vera and Theo came in, returning from Anders” funeral. He tried to put his thoughts into words. Theo cut him short.

“Ever heard of autoerotic asphyxiation? Tough shit, but Anders was just out of luck. To put it bluntly, he jerked him self off in every sense of the word. It had nothing to do with either you or me.”

Whether this was the case or not didn”t help Sander much. He continued to fall into his familiar dark hole of regrets and depression. He still did his jobs to the best of his abilities, but without any zest. His private life turned more and more into a hermit”s life, he built a castle for himself, fortified his isolation with books and films.

It started to irritate him whenever he had to speak to people, and he became noticeably short and annoyed in his interaction with others. Alone at night, however, he would have long conversations with his ghosts: Thomas, Jakob, his mother.

He sank deeper and deeper, oblivious to the questioning looks and head-shaking sighs from his associates. Until one day he had a sudden awakening.

He was walking down the street, past the newly hung Christmas decorations and vulgar shop windows, carrying on a complicated argument with Thomas in his head, when he noticed people staring at him and walking in wide circles past him. It dawned on him that he was shouting out loud what he thought he was only thinking. Embarrassed and sheepish, he hurried back to his apartment.

He felt exposed. He felt as if he at once had seen himself clearly. What had he become? What was the matter with him, that he got so self-absorbed, so obsessed with his own misery? His compulsion to change reality for dreams? And did it improve his life in any way? And his fog started to clear.

All right, his mother was gone. So was his brother. And so was his one love, for all that was worth. But Sander, he admitted to himself, you do have friends, and you do still have family, if you want them. They might even want you and need you if you let them. It all depends on you.

Distress grew in him. What a stupid situation he had put himself in. Emptiness, loneliness, and now Christmas coming on and rubbing it in. God, he felt so poor. So utterly useless. He had to do something.

 

 

The phone rang for a long time. Sander was about to give up when the small click came.

“Eva?” She said her name as a question.

 

“Hi. It”s Sander. Um … I wondered … What are your plans for Christmas?”

Shrill laughter ending in a hiccup. He felt almost offended. She found her words before he could do anything about it.

“Sorry, I didn”t mean to laugh at you. This was just so out of the blue. You”re not the one who communicates the most, you know, and then suddenly … Why do you want to know?”

 

“Well, I just had this urge to spend the holidays with someone other than myself. I mean, would you all like to come here for Christmas?”

 

“Thank you, but no. We”ll stay here. Johannes will be here with his new girlfriend, and Isak of course is here. But thanks anyway.”

 

“OK, it was just an impulse. I know I”m no good at keeping in touch. Not that it”s an excuse, but it”s been a difficult year.”

Laughter again, this time ending in a snort.

“Do you ever have anything else?”

 

“Point taken. Well, as I said, it was just an idea.”

 

“Why don”t you come here then? We could play at being a family, you know, without anyone dying first.”

 

“Do you mean it? Wouldn”t that be intrusive? I really would like that, if it”s all right.”

 

“Of course it”s all right. Christmas Eve, then?”

 

“Thanks. What do you want for Christmas?”

 

“I want … I want you to bring a bottle of Aquavit and leave your unapproachability at home. Wear a smile, for once. For the boys, if not for me. They think you”ve changed too much.”

 

“Oh God. I”m sorry. I”ll do my best. Deal, then?”

 

“Deal. Oh, by the way, Isak wants one of those boxes that you hook up to the TV and play stupid games with. I can”t afford one right now, but I guess you can?”

 

It was almost like Christmas in the old days. Jakob had brought their family traditions to his new family, and Eva, having no particular traditions herself to keep up, had happily adapted. So it was all there: The snacks he remembered. Rakfisk on crisp bread, the Norwegian heritage from his father, then the Dutch treats: black caviar on toast, bowls of chopped onions, wedges of lemon, sour cream, marinated shrimps and bitterballen with pale French mustard. As a child Sander had suffered through the one teaspoon of caviar and the one slice of fermented fish it had been his duty to consume, but now he could eat caviar with a ladle.

The turkey had been substituted by a goose, as Eva loudly declared she was not going to eat turkey leftovers for a week, but the apple stuffing and the sprouts and the glazed little potatoes were exactly as his mother would have made them. Eva had even made real Dutch Hangop for dessert, and there were speculaas with the coffee. Sander”s soul was thawing.

 

Later he helped Eva clear up in the kitchen. Johannes and Hedda, as she was called, had disappeared to somewhere, Isak was in the livingroom with his new Nintendo box. Sander rinsed plates and Eva stacked the dishwasher.

“This is the best I”ve felt in a long, long time. Thanks for having me.”

Eva straightened, both hands to the small of her back.

“She”s pregnant.”

Sander gaped. “Jesus, Eva! How do you know?”

“I can tell. Women can tell these things. But it”s not Johannes” baby.”

Sander was speechless. This was way too heavy. He was sure she jumped to conclusions. He sat down with a thud and continued to gape. Eva examined the ceiling.

“Problem is, should I bring it up, or wait until he tells me?”

She sat down opposite him, elbows on the table. Squinted at him, as if he could help her solve her dilemma. But what on earth could he say?

“Let it go, Eva. You can”t know this. And technically Johannes is an adult, so strictly speaking it”s not your business, is it?”

 

“Bullshit! It”s so my business! Everything concerning the boys is my business. You don”t have kids, you”ve no right to an opinion here.”

 

“Well, excuse me! But why do you say Johannes is not the father?”

 

“They haven”t been together that long. She”s at least two, maybe three months pregnant.”

 

“You”re right about one thing. I can”t have an opinion about this.”

She opened the fridge, hauled out a bottle of Soave and held it up as a question. Sander nodded. She took two glasses and headed with the bottle into the livingroom. Isak was absorbed in his game, didn”t even look up. Sander and Eva sat in silence, sipping the cool wine. Suddenly she got up, punched the air three times with her fist.

“Oh my God, how I miss Jakob right now!”

She disappeared from the room.

Oh well, she would be back, he guessed. Sander didn”t want to interrupt Isak, so he rose , took his glass with him and slouched about in the room. The feeling of belonging that he had felt earlier had vanished, now he was on the outside of things again, feeling lonely and superfluous. In this room with no bookshelves, in this house with no brother. No one who needed him.

He put on his coat and went outside. Snow had fallen while they ate, almost ten inches. He found a shovel in the car port, started to clear the driveway. It felt good to do physical work, concentrate on simple movements, feel his body function. Satisfy some inner need by making clean and straight banks.

No one outside, not a single car passed. Lights in every window, shadows passing behind the panes. Christmas Eve in Suburbia. He leaned on the shovel and lost himself in thought. He jumped from the loud sound of a door banging inside the house. Suddenly the front door was thrown open, and Johannes came running out, his coat in his hand, struggling to get it on as he ran for the street. He stumbled ahead, deaf and blind to his surroundings. Sander watched his back fade down the street.

When Sander a while later entered the house again, Eva was sitting with her wine and a rather closed expression on her face. Isak was still into his game, as if nothing merter escort had happened. He felt more of an intruder than ever. Sat down at the far end of the couch.

“It”s been snowing.” His voice sounded forced, unnatural.

Isak looked up for a moment then. Eva twirled a lock of her hair around her finger and sniffed at her wine.

“I was right!” she abruptly said, looking at Sander and emptying her wine glass in two greedy gulps. “But then again, you were right as well. Oh, fuck it!”

Isak lifted his head again, shocked face. Obviously not used to hearing his mother swear. Sander felt a knot in his chest, like he had to say something, or do something, but he didn”t know what. Silence felt like a load, or like a punishment.

“Where”s the girl?” he finally said.

 

“In Isak”s room”, she sighed. “Crying crocodile tears. Such a bizarre show.”

She poured herself another glass, glanced at Sander”s glass that was still half full. Drank half of her wine and sighed again. Then she rose, stroked her cheeks, then her hips and thighs with the palm of her hands.

“I had better fix this. One way or another.” Then she was gone.

Sander remained seated, leaning forward and staring at the floor. Tried to overcome the feeling of embarrassment and helplessness that almost paralyzed him. Closed his eyes, and an involuntary moan escaped him. Then he felt something nudge his shoulder.

Isak had crept all the way close to him, looking at him with a strange and conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

“Christmas, eh?”

That was enough to ease the pressure. Sander leaned back, Isak moved in as close as he could get, and shoulder to shoulder they sat quietly together, feeling united, feeling close. Such a rare experience. So peaceful. And then a bolt of lightning in Sander”s brain: He was too close. Much too close. What was going on here? Panic soared through him, he jumped up and moved to the middle of the room. Stood with his back to Isak, trying to lay his quills, but dangerous thoughts filled him. Isak? Isak? It can”t be! But the thoughts took hold and blood rushed to his head. And worse, to his groin. He had to get out of this. He made a huge number out of looking at his watch.

“Oh shit! Will you call me a taxi?”

 

“Suppose so. Why? What”s the hurry?”

Isak”s voice sounded different. Full of questions, disappointment, anxiety, contempt? Vulnerability? He couldn”t tell. He ought to turn around.

“Actually there”s no hurry. Things just got too weird for me.”

 

“Tell me about it! Mum is so going to fuck this up. She doesn”t get it all!”

 

“Seems to me she has gotten most of it, wouldn”t you say?”

Something indulgent, almost grown-up, in that young face.

“Not you as well! Come on, you of all people should have seen this. Mum thinks they”re sweethearts, but they”re not. They”re just friends. Don”t tell me you haven”t got on to the fact that Johannes is … well, he”s just like you?”

Sander”s brain went empty. Everything started spinning, and he sank down in Eva”s chair.

“What?”

 

“Why what? I”ve always known you”re gay.”

 

“That”s not why I reacted. But Johannes? I mean, if you know, how come Eva doesn”t know? I don”t understand a thing of this!”

 

“Mum”s been impossible since Dad died. He hasn”t told her because he didn”t want to add to the troubles in her head, I think. He talked to Grandma about it.” And unexpectedly he burst out weeping. “Hell! Everyone just dies and dies! It”s not fair!” he screamed as tears flowed down his cheeks.

Sander”s discomfort couldn”t grow any larger. He had no idea what to do, how to handle this. Finally he got up, came over and touched Isak”s shoulder.

“I know”, was all he could come up with.

Isak gripped his hand and pulled him down, wrapped both arms around Sander”s neck and wailed against his shoulder. Sander found himself in the most awkward position, both physically and mentally, forward bent, shyly self-conscious, incapable. The smell of Isak, that slightly tart and musky smell of boy, hit his nostrils. Oh God, he”s so young. Younger than all of them, his brain shouted. He couldn”t do this, he couldn”t have him this close. He broke free, pushed Isak back. Cold sweat on his brow.

Isak withdrew. Defiant, almost angry. “Well, forgive me!”

Sander felt like a traitor, a coward, a wreck.

“No, I”m the one who should ask your forgiveness. But … you reminded me so much of someone I used to know. Someone it hurts to remember.”

He shouldn”t have said that. If only he could take it back, but it was too late. Isak looked up, sniffed and dried his cheeks with his sleeve.

“Is that why you”re always so distant? And so sad all the time?”

Think fast! Get out of this, Sander! Say something, for fucks sake! But Isak wasn”t going to let this go.

“Is that why you don”t have a boyfriend? Is that why we never see you anymore? Is that why you”re so afraid of hugs?”

 

“Isak, please stop.”

 

“Why? Why does everyone think that I”m just a dumb little kid who doesn”t understand anything? But just be like that, you too.”

Eva was back in the room. “So tell me what it is that you understand better than the rest of us.”

Sander was about to answer, but Isak beat him to it.

“For one thing I understand that you are totally at sea. I just hope you get to shore some time.”

Sander expected an explosion. Eva”s face went through several stages of emotions, then she hurried across the floor and wrapped Isak in her arms.

“Oh shit,” she whispered. “I have been a terrible mother. I”m so sorry.”

Sander saw how Isak was torn between pleasure and embarrassment, between adult and child, between wanting to stay in the embrace and wanting out of it.

“Don”t. You”re OK. I mean it.”

Eva shook her head.

“No, I”m not OK. Not at all. And now I”m nearly worn out from everything, and I don”t want to think anymore. I”ll talk to you tomorrow, Isak. For real. And Sander, I apologize. This wasn”t what I invited you for.”

Sander waved her apology aside. She held on:

“I”m going to bed. Isak, Hedda is in your bed, can you please crash on the sofa just for tonight? And please tell Johannes whenever he returns that I”m really, truly sorry.”

She left them there, to cope with the awkwardness between them that she had interrupted. But they were both to shy to go any further with it, and Sander again asked Isak to call for a taxi. He did. As they stood by the front door waiting, Isak suddenly grabbed his coated arm and put his cheek to it.

“Uncle Sander. It”s not me you need to be afraid of, you know.” Then he disappeared. Sander heard a final “Merry Christmas” called out from inside.

 

The taxi skidded and slid through the snowy lanes. Suddenly Sander was aware of a dark, sunken creature heading towards them.

“Stop! Stop the car!”

He rolled the window down, put his head out. The creature reached the car.

“Feel better, Johannes? Anything I can do?”

Johannes grimaced. Hoisted his shoulders up to his ears and rocked back and forth.

“Nah”, he drawled. “It”s just too silly. Nothing you can do anything about.”

Sander regarded him closely, looking for something that could tell him what to say to help him, how to do the right thing. He finally took a chance:

“I”d like it if you came to see me before you go back to uni. There”s so much I”d like to talk to you about. Will you please do that? And bring Hedda if you like?”

Johannes kept on rocking. “We”ll see.” Then he turned and trudged on.

 

However, Johannes did come by three days later. Alone. Came in without a word and flopped down in the middle of Sander”s sofa. Sander stood hesitantly by and watched him, waiting for some kind of sign.

“Can I have a drink? Something with alcohol in it?”

Sander fetched glasses and red wine. Leafed through his record collection, found an old favorite from his Troms� days, Joy Division”s Closer, put it on fairly low so as not to disturb their talk, if Johannes should eventually feel like it. Johannes finished almost all his wine, then leaned back, and with no further prompting started to unburden his heart.

He told Sander about Bergen, about his studies, and then about how he”d befriended and later fallen head over heels in love with a fellow student. A guy who kept him on a string, pushed him off for a long time for later to allow him access to his body and his skin, mainly letting him suck him off, and never reciprocating, and then rejecting him again. And then he”d thrown his net over Hedda, Johannes” closest friend, perhaps mostly to manifest his power over Johannes. He had used them both, Johannes for sucking, Hedda for fucking. And Hedda had fallen for him big time, and got pregnant. And then he had left both of them high and dry.

He told about how he and Hedda had gone from a brief spell of hostility to an even closer friendship.

He told Sander about the trouble he had with his mother, about the years after his father died and how he had undergone the unwelcome situation of being almost like a replacement for his father, how he felt compelled to grow up, take responsibility for both her and Isak while he was still only a teenager. About how alone he had felt. And how hard it was for him to speak with his mother about this. About anything.

And about his grandmother, Sander”s mother, who had been the only person he could talk to about all the things that bothered him, about his grief for his father, about his feelings, his fears. About sex. How she had listened to him, never uttered a critical word, just hugged him and allowed him to pour out all his difficulties. And like Isak had done, once he started talking about his grandmother, tears started to roll down his cheeks. He kept on weeping, softly and quietly, and it got too much for Sander. He gave in and cried with him. And there they sat, on each side of the coffee table, on each side of the generations, on each side of sorrow and love, and cried.

In the end they looked at each other and started laughing. Sniffing, snuffling and laughing. And then there was more music, more wine, and more memories. Along with some good advice and well-wishing. Until Johannes more or less collapsed on the couch and fell asleep.

D�j� vu: A sleeping boy on his sofa. A hurt and confused foal of a boy with red eyes behind closed lids. Sander sat watching him, full of regrets because he felt so useless, so unable to help. So unable to understand why everybody seemed to have to go through so many purgatories, endure so many wounds, and lose so many battles.

 

 

Prague, September 6, 1988

 

Sunny start of autumn. Warm day, early noon and all the time in the world. Wandering through the streets, looking at the fantastic buildings, feeling the atmosphere. Sit in the old marketplace, coffee and Slivovice, sadly tasting more of solvents than plums. Accidentally pass open church doors and slip inside to listen to a harp recital. They sit there in semi-darkness, close together, shrouded in fleeting and brittle tones, like pearls in a spider”s web. Sander understands why the harp at one time or another had been elevated to become the most celestial of all instruments. His hand finds Thomas” hand, squeezes it softly. If he ever should start believing in heaven, this is what it should be like.

The sun blinds them when they come out from the church, both of them in some sort of sacred reverberation. Jackets off, they saunter in their shirtsleeves over the bridge and bahçeşehir escort down along the banks towards the Kampa. They let themselves be cajoled into taking a boat trip on the river, complete with white wine in plastic cups and a guide who is incomprehensible in three languages.

Afterwards, up the hills to the castle, through the courtyard, past the cathedral and into the short, narrow street with the little pastel houses, The Golden Street. They stop outside the house where Kafka lived, Sander falls into a daze. The small house touches something profound deep inside him, and he lets the whole vessel of congested emotions overflow through his body, like an avalanche of happiness and a landslide of anxiety.

“Do you think Kafka was right?”

 

“I have no idea what you”re talking about.”

 

“For instance that we”re all caught in this inexplicable stream of events, that life is just an absurd chaos with no possibilities of escape or retreat?”

Thomas squints against the sun and hums. Giggles.

“Want me to write an essay about it?”

 

“Don”t mock me. I mean, he sat here, right here, and wrote some of his difficult, difficult stuff. Sick and pessimistic and misunderstood. And sometimes I feel so related to him in a way, that life does what it pleases to me, and I just have to tag along without being able to influence or control it. At the mercy of something incomprehensible and inevitable, you see?”

 

“I never read Kafka. And honestly, from what you”re saying, I don”t think I want to.”

 

“Aw, forget it. It”s just words anyway. Pretentious bullshit.

Sander spreads his hands, lifts his shoulders and puts on a vacant face and quotes in broken English:

“Eez from Barthelona. I know nooothing …”

Thomas laughs and comes closer.

“Difference between you and me in a nutshell. I felt like I was in a fairytale, you dipped into black nihilism.”

He pulls Sander”s earlobes and kisses his nose. And suddenly Sander”s world is all sunshine and laughter again.

“Why are your ears pierced when you never wear earrings? Oh, let”s go find a nice place to eat!”

 

Darkness and evening fog seeps over them. Over the Charles Bridge the bronze saints pop up, one by one through the fog, like enigmatic creatures from a ghost story. Sander has slung an arm loosely across Thomas” shoulder, full, a little drunk, and content, no charging expectations, no agenda.

At the large crucifix, Thomas slips out from under Sander”s arm and goes over to the statue. Leans against the plinth and reaches out for Sander.

“Wanna hear how I met my father again?”

Sander takes his hand and leans in beside him. Close, but still feels a mile off.

“I”d been at a job interview in Hamar, and was going back to Oslo. I had to wait for the train, and I was a bit excited from the interview and the prospects of a job, so I walked into the men”s room and stood at the urinal. You know. I noticed someone entering and coming up to the other end, and then there was this waiting and tension, right? And you never look at faces first, you know, you just sneak a look down and to the side, you know all this. I remember getting a glimpse of cock, and I just thought wow! because it was a spectacular one. So I looked up, and there he was. I recognized him at once. He looked up too, but obviously didn”t know who I was.

He lets go of Sander”s hand, straightens his back and pushes his shoulders back.

“Not that strange, actually, he hadn”t seen me since I was six or something. Anyway, there he was. And it just slipped out of me: “Dad?” Oh, you should have seen him when it dawned on him who he was cruising. I”ve never seen wilder eyes, or a faster zip-up, or a more hectic escape. I had to sprint after him to catch up with him. He was really, really disturbed, just wanted to get me out of his hair, but I wouldn”t let that happen, he just couldn”t leave me now. So I more or less forced him into the caf� with me and tried to calm him down.”

 

“I can so imagine what it must have been like for him. But you, then? Weren”t you equally embarrassed?”

 

“I wasn”t. Weird, maybe, but my only concern was that this was my dad, and I wasn”t going to lose him again”

 

“Like Dante in the seventh circle of hell. Messer Brunetto, are you here?”

 

“What”s with you today, Sveen? Literary coma?”

 

“Sorry. But dear me, weren”t you at all shocked to find him in there?”

Thomas shrugs, turns around and gazes down into the murky waters, almost hidden in the fog. Pulls out his cigarettes and lights one. The flame from his lighter bathes his face in orange.

“I should have been, shouldn”t I? But you know, it was more like something fell into place. Surprised, yes, but not in a bad way. Like getting an unexpected gift or something. Like sharing something. A joint venture, I don”t know.”

He leans forward on his elbows, crosses his feet, looks relaxed and at ease.

“The only thing that bothered me later was the thought of how close we had come to having sex. And admitting he had made me horny as hell before I knew it was him. That was a hard one to digest, pardon the pun.”

 

“I can”t believe this. It sounds like a joke. Or the plot of one of those really trite porn movies. Ooh, Daddy! Please, Daddy! Fill me up, Daddy!”

Thomas straightens and leans against the crucifix again. Scrutinizes Sander with a strange gleam in his eyes and a smirk.

“I know. Can you imagine? Some movie! He”s really hung, you know. God, why am I telling you this?”

Before Sander can think of an answer, he pulls him in and kisses him, hungrily and wet, his tongue deep into Sander”s mouth. He grinds his hips against Sander and whispers:

“It”s time now. You and me. Isn”t it?”

 

Back at the hotel, up in their room, and there”s the big bed. Sander is attacked by a sudden paralyzing fear. The pace is forced, now there is an objective, a program to the sequence of events. Something to perform, something to live up to, something beyond his control. Something that really counts. And something that could go very wrong.

Thomas senses his quandaries and takes the rudder, softens him and thaws him with his hands and his lips, slowly and carefully steals into Sander”s anxiety. But Sander still burns with something frightening, something ominous, and some of it has to come out.

“I”m getting old, Thomas. My body isn”t what it used to be. You”ll be disappointed.”

Thomas shuts his mouth with his own. With his lips stuck to Sander”s, he starts to undress. Sander can”t see what he is doing, he just feels the movements: How he toes off his socks, loosens his pants and twists out of them, pulls his underwear down, and at last gets rid of his shirt. Now he”s naked and warm, tightly wrapped to fully dressed Sander. Sander tries to make seven years disappear into the kiss, his hands find skin, firm and silky, his fingers wander over the shoulders, down the back, over the buttocks and thighs. He tears himself loose from Thomas” lips, he must see. See Thomas. His Thomas.

Thomas sits down on the bed, leans back and supports himself on his hands, his gorgeous erection like a king”s scepter in front of him. Sander is for a moment transported back in time, to the room where it all began, to the innocence and the purity, and a sting of longing surges through him, so sharp he almost loses his grounds.

“Take off your clothes.” Thomas” voice is warm and full of air.

Sander lets his resistance go. It”s too late to back out, too late to worry about measuring up or not. The only thing to do is to present himself for what he is, here and now. No coy strip-tease, he undresses as he would were he alone, folding his clothes, putting them aside. And now he”s naked and exposed, feeling shy and looking helplessly at Thomas. Thomas” beautiful cock is as hard as ever, and Sander feels his own begin to stir.

With a nod Thomas commands him hither. He”s the stronger of them now, Sander is the yielding one. Thomas takes hold of him and lays him down, then his wonderful and longed-for body covers Sander”s. He rubs his cock against Sanders groin, lifts himself up on his elbows and a small, breathless groan escapes him. But Sander is again attacked by this smarting fear, and now that corrosive shame from the park falls like a load on him. His erection withers. He wants to die. Thomas rolls halfway off him, lifts his upper body.

“What”s wrong? Is it something I did?”

Sander pulls him down again, hides his face against his neck.

“No! No! It”s something in me. Oh, it”s so stupid! And I”ve longed for this all these years, to feel you like this again.”

Thomas is about to let go of him, but Sander holds on to him.

“Thomas, listen. A few years ago, when I lived in Holland, someone did something to me that … that I didn”t want to happen. And the worst part of it is it was in many ways my own fault. It was a terrible, terrible experience. And since then I”ve had … well, a difficult relationship with my body. It feels so dirty, so shameful, I can”t explain it. Ugly.”

Thomas lifts his head, stares into Sander”s eyes for a long time.

“You”re not dirty. You”re not ugly. You”re still the most handsome man I”ve ever seen.”

 

“Oh God. I wish I could believe that! Oh, please, make me forget everything!”

Thomas puts his cheek to Sander”s and whispers in his ear:

“I”ll tell you a secret. I”ve been in love with you since 1982.”

His hands. His skin. His lips and his tongue. The divine marriage between taste and smell. Thomas lets his tongue roam Sander”s mouth, puts his fingers in Sander”s ears, and Sander”s head is filled with the echo of his pounding blood and the sweet song of tongues and spit: If you stop now, I”ll die. If you don”t stop now, I”ll die. Sander is sold now. Thomas can do with him what he wants, tie him up, cut him, strangle him. Annihilate him.

“Thomas. Please take me. I want you in me.”

Thomas lifts his head, bores his eyes into Sander”s.

“I don”t have condoms.”

 

“I want you bare.”

 

“Sure?”

 

“But be gentle. I need to be loved, not just fucked.”

Thomas takes his time, does everything softly, reassuringly and warm. He”s not sixteen anymore, shoots through Sander”s brain. The sudden thought scares him, he pushes it away. Thomas makes love like a man now, like someone who knows what he”s doing. He seduces Sander out of his anxiety. The sharp pain when he finally penetrates lasts a mere moment, now he takes them on a slow ride upwards, like a breeze growing into a storm, soft and hard, tender and merciless at the same time.

He”s about to pull out, but Sander grabs his ass cheeks and holds him in an iron grip as deep into him as he can get, hangs on to Thomas” lips and bores his tongue as far in as it goes. Thomas sends a shivering moan into Sander”s mouth and Sander feels the cock inside him throb and pulsate. He explodes, sent into space with the speed of light, and yet all time and movement stands still.

Panting breath subsides, body sinks into the cotton of the afterglow. Thomas moves as if to pull his cock out. Sander holds him still.

“Don”t. Stay in there. Forever.”

 

Later. Wrapped in each other”s arms, skin glowing against skin. Sander brain is going in lazy circles. This is my first naked and whole night with him. And now he”s a grown-up man. With all of what”s inside him he wants to rest in this satisfaction, this happiness, let it embrace him, let this peace without boundaries envelop him and stop all thoughts. But at the edge of his mind this unwelcome and disturbing feeling cuts through his peace: He”s a man. And I want the sixteen-year-old back …

 

(To be continued)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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