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Discovering My Gayness

10/19/2007

We did not call it that back then. Gays were homos or queers
in those days. The best tag was merely homosexuals. I remember
being terrified when I started to think that I was queer.
I was 15 or so and I began slowly to realize I didn’t have the
same kind of attraction to girls that other guys had. A few
times I awoke in the middle of the night realizing I’d had
a wet dream and some fluids had gathered at the end of my penis.
I thought back about the dream, realizing that it was about
someone fondling my penis and even kissing it in some dreams.
I was horrified to remember that it had been a boy or a young
man doing that to me in my dream. I don’t ever remember having
a sexual dream about girls. When I was 16 I started doing yard work for a very nice man
who lived about 4 or 5 blocks from where my family lived.
My dad knew the guy and respected him and urged me to do work
for him when I was asked. So, I mowed grass around his lovely,
little house. I washed windows for him and raked the leaves
in autumn and shoveled his driveway in the winter. One winter he asked my dad if it would be okay if I house-sat
for him while he took a week’s vacation in Florida. I was
17 at the time. My dad thought I was mature enough and agreed.
The day before his departure, the man showed me all around
his house. It was really beautifully designed and very
comfortable. It had only two bedrooms, but they had wonderful,
large bathrooms with very large tubs and separate walk-in
showers. This was all stuff I hadn’t ever seen before. The
kitchen was really lovely and equipped as if for a professional
chef. The furnishings and accessories all over the house
had been carefully and tastefully chosen. The living room
was very cozy and there was also a comfortable den where
the gentleman kept his desk. It was lined with bookshelves
and had a couple of comfortable reading chairs. The basement
was fully finished and had a corner set up for exercising,
with floor pads and weight lifting equipment and a large,
heavy punching bag. I got the key and a page full of instructions which indicated
that I was free to use any part of the house and sleep in whichever
bedroom I wanted. A cleaning woman would be coming in the
morning of the day the gentleman returned from Florida
to get things all tidied up. He had warned her that I might
be a bit messy. I promised him that I would move in right after
I got back from school the next day. Believe me, I was very excited about it. I had never experienced
such an opportunity for privacy before and I looked forward
to it. I also had never been in such a pretty and comfortable
house. My first afternoon there I just wandered all over the house,
looking at everything and looking everywhere. I was fascinated
by everything I touched. The man had lovely, expensive
clothing and his underwear drawer was filled with silk
briefs and matching undershirts. Nearly all of it was black.
He kept neatly pressed pajamas in his closet. They were
also black and silk. When I browsed through his den, even looking in his desk
drawers, I found that everything was so impeccably neat
and highly organized. There were a number of personal photographs
around the room and one standing on a corner of his desk caught
my attention. It was a portrait photograph of a man about
30 years old and very handsome and beautifully groomed.
I thought it might be one of the gentleman’s sons. In one
corner it was signed: “Love, Martin.” It dawned on me that
none of the photographs seemed to be of his family; that
is, there was none of children and not a single photograph
included a woman. At that moment, no alarms were going off.
They began ringing when my fingers ran along the rows of
neatly shelved books. There were many of the usual things
like the classics and contemporary novels and works of
non-fiction and poetry. In one section of the shelves,
however, I found a series of about a dozen books that were
all on the subject of homosexuality. I can remember virtually
every title (I’ll explain why later!). Homosexuality: Disease or Way of Life A Gay Year ‒ A Novel Homosexuality in Ancient Greece Men without Women A Modern Philosophy of Sex A Way of Life A Secret Homosexual in a Small Town Goals and Desires of a Man We, Too, Must Love How to be Queer and Good A Proud Queen One by one, I removed each book from the shelf and thumbed
through them. Some had photographs and some had illustrations.
The images of men engaged in romantic love making and sex
stirred me and caused my penis to become erect. That shot
fear through me. I had seen erotic photographs of men and
women in sexual encounters and they had not caused such
a reaction. I wouldn’t have used the term back then, but I began to wonder
if I was “wired” incorrectly. I picked out three of the most
erotic books and carried them to the master bedroom. I decided
I would sleep there. I sat the books on the night table next
to the bed. As I did, I realized that I did not know what order
they were in when they were on the shelves. I wondered if
their owner would remember and notice that I had seen them.
I went around the house, making sure all the doors and windows
were locked. I took the stairs to the basement to make sure
there was no way into it from the outside. There were some
windows, but they were secure. There were a couple of interior
doors that I assumed went into a furnace room and perhaps
into some big storage area. Indeed, I tried the first and
saw that it was a furnace room and it had no means of egress.
The other door led into a very large closet, the size of my
own bedroom at home. Items were neatly stored in uniform
and stacked cardboard storage boxes. On the visible end
of each was a neatly written list of its contents. My eyes
glanced over them. I noticed that one of the boxes was labeled: “Magazines
(personal).” It made me very curious. I took careful notice
of the manner in which it was stored and where in the stack
it stood. I removed the three or so boxes on top of it and then
slid it free. Kneeling on the floor, I removed the lid and
saw a stack of more than a dozen magazines. They were various
editions of the same magazine, simply called “Man.” I removed
the top one and flipped through it. My heart pounded. They
were photographs of naked men. Some were very erotic, showing
men in the act of masturbating. Others showed men kissing.
None of them overtly showed men in the act of sex, but they
certainly subtly insinuated that that is what was going
on. I sat on the concrete floor of the storage closet and
paged through each of the magazines. It was all nearly more
than I could bear. I kicked off my shoes and pulled away my
jeans and my under briefs. I masturbated in great excitement
as I turned page after page, hurrying past pages of text
to get to the next photos. I paused over one of an extremely
pretty young boy who was masturbating as two more mature
young men watched. An explosion tore into me. It was more
sensational than it had ever been before. The tingling
went to every part of my body and my ejaculation was entirely
more forceful than ever before. I was very careful to keep
the magazine unsullied. Exhaustion passed over me and I lay back on the concrete
floor and closed my eyes. I tried to bring into my mind the
images from the magazine. Instead I saw the faces and naked
bodies of other boys I knew and with whom I had showered after
basketball and football practice. I drifted into sleep.
I slept there, on the chilly concrete floor for an hour.
I awoke and realized quickly where I was. I sprung to my feet
in some fright. I carefully replaced the magazine and the
storage boxes, both in their earlier order and perfectly
arranged as they had been. I swept my jeans and briefs up
off the floor and headed out of the room, turning off the
light and shutting the door. I would be in this house for
eight days and I knew I would probably return to that closet
each day. When I got up to the kitchen and looked outside, I saw that
it was dark and it was snowing and the wind was blowing with
some gusto. I stood there, half naked and grabbed the phone.
I called my home. How strange a procedure that was in those
days. With the heavy receiver in one hand, I turned the stiff
dial with a finger of the other hand ‒ 889. My mother answered.
“Hi, mom! Everything is okay here. Looks like I’ll have
to shovel in the morning. Is everything okay there?” “Yes, just fine, son. Dad will do the shoveling here, so
don’t worry about it. Just be sure to get off to school on
time.” “I will. I brought my alarm clock.” “Okay! Do a good job, now. It’s quite a responsibility you’ve
been given. Do you want to walk over here for dinner?” “No, I have loads of homework and lots of food has been organized
here for me for each day. Your friend is a very organized
man.” “Oh, son, he is such a kind and wonderful gentleman. It is
important that you do a good job for him.” “I will. Goodnight, mom.” In truth I had no homework and I had no intention to eat. I
was far too excited for that. I strolled into the bedroom
and through it to the fabulous bathroom. I started the shower
and then got nosey about the big, broad medicine chest.
I began to snoop. It contained all the usual stuff, aspirin,
iodine, Band-Aids, Vaseline, and some grooming aids.
The lipstick, mascara and eyelash brush looked normal
enough, too, until I remembered there was no woman in the
house. There was also a small, women’s makeup kit and a tiny
bottle of perfume. I thought it odd, but the shower was pounding
on the floor behind me and the steam was beginning to rise.
I showered, giving special attention to my genitals. I
scrubbed my penis and massaged it quite lovingly with the
big bar of soap. I washed my hair with a delicious smelling
shampoo that was on the shelf. It had a clearly feminine
kind of aroma. When I had thoroughly dried myself off, I went straight
to the big bed and pulled back the bed covers and naked slid
between the sheets. My, they were soft and smooth. They
were satin, I thought, and a soft, creamy, ivory color.
They felt great. I reached for the book that had raised my
curiosity the most ‒ How to be Queer and Good! It began with a question: So you think you may be gay? It was
my first encounter with the word in that context. Gay? I
read on and quickly deduced that it was a synonym for queer
or homosexual. The book was a real “how-to manual” for men
or boys who were wondering if they were homosexuals ‒ if
they were attracted to men. It led with a chapter on how one determined one’s sexual
inclinations. Then, if one had determined such, there
followed a chapter on how to meet other men of the same inclination
and other chapters on how to prepare for one’s first sexual
experience and how to enjoy it the most. By the time I had finished reading the first chapter, I was
more than ever convinced that I was gay. I was nothing like
my three older brothers. They were each nearly infamous
for their dating in high school and the rather ratty way
they moved from one girl-friend to another. Here I was,
a senior, and I had had no girlfriends whatsoever. I had
gone to a couple of “girl asks boy” dances and hated them.
I asked a rather unpopular girl to the Junior Prom and I enjoyed
her company, but I hated holding her during our dances.
She remained a close friend of mine throughout my senior
year and we often worked through our homework together,
but we never touched or even hinted at anything other than
a platonic friendship. Today, these many decades later,
I know her to be lesbian and we have laughed together about
that prom and our friendship. I read on into the night and was intrigued with a chapter
on getting to know my own body and my own sexuality and erotic
sensitivities. It led me to fill the lovely, big bathtub
up with warm water and I added some beautifully scented
bath powders. When I slid into the tub, with the instructions
from the book in my mind, the wonderful aroma was very stimulating.
It smelled like springtime and I felt as though I was lying
in a thick bed of the most glorious flowers on earth. My finger was making little circles around my nipple. I
explored it carefully and stimulated it thoroughly. I
was lying back, with my head on the rim of the tub. I felt my
erection grow slowly and I massaged my nipple more firmly.
I allowed my hands to explore every part of my body that they
could reach. Eventually, I got a finger to my anal opening
and I again ran little circles around the opening with the
tip of one finger. I slipped the tip of one finger into the
canal and softly explored the area and paid keen attention
to the feelings that were stimulated there. I let myself imagine, as the book suggested, that a strong
powerful, slightly older man had slipped into the tub with
me. He kissed me forcefully and romantically for some time
and then sat up and had me wrap my legs around him. He looked
straight down on my cock and took it one of his hands and he
began to stroke it. My hand did the work, but my imagination
was working perfectly and it seemed that this lovely, strong
man was doing it for me. My climax was spectacular and my
ejaculate shot out with a fury. By the time I crawled from the tub and dried myself off, it
was past ten o’clock and clearly my bed time. I slipped into
my flannel pajamas and roamed to the kitchen, looking for
a snack. I turned the backyard light on and saw that the snow
was still coming down. There seemed to be a foot or more on
the ground already and the wind was blowing hard. I found some good cheese in the refrigerator and I also spotted
a bottle of white wine that had been opened and recorked.
No alcohol had ever before touched my lips, but I poured
a small amount of the wine into a water glass and sipped it
carefully. It was delightful. So was the cheese. I should have been ready for bed, but I wasn’t. My thoughts
kept returning to the storage room down below me. It was
a perfect night to explore it. Nothing was moving outside.
The quiet, except for the muffled sound of the wind, was
elegant. The room down there was drawing me and I returned
to it. I let my eyes roam over the labels on the boxes. Tax Returns (1941 to present) Julian’s papers Grandfather Pearson’s letters Reference Manuals (various) Martin’s letters and photographs Family photographs Photographs (personal) Legal papers (real estate) Canceled checks (1940 to present) Toys (personal) Father’s and Mother’s important papers Degrees and certifications There were over thirty boxes and the labels went on and on.
Not many caught my attention. I was curious about the photographs
and, of course, about the toys. It was a man named Martin
who had signed the handsome photograph in the den and that
interested me, too. And, as you would suspect, I intended
to return to the magazine box several times during my stay.
I began with Martin’s letters and photographs. The box
was stuffed with them. I didn’t know how I could work my way
through them without leaving evidence that I had been doing
so. I took one of the envelopes that lay on the very top. It
was a letter that clearly had been processed through military
channels. It was postmarked in 1944. I slipped the letter
carefully from the envelope, noticing it was addressed
to the man in whose house I at that moment, except that it
carried the prefix “Mrs.” Instead of the more appropriate
“Mr.” I began reading. My dear love, I hope you are well and that everything is also well on the
homefront. I am currently in London on leave, getting a
little rest, but I will soon return to Scotland and we will
again commence our flights across the channel and into
the heart of Germany. How I miss you! How I long to touch you! I realized then why it had been addressed as if it were going
to a woman. The letters were probably all read my military
personal and censored where necessary. I am so anxious for this to be over so we can be together and
close again. I am not optimistic, however. The German are
proving to be substantial enemies and they will fight on
until there is not one of them left ‒ or, at least, until we
can nail the great bastard Feurer himself. When I do come home we will commence with those plans that
we have for far too long put off. I think more and more about
that little house in Ridgewood that you like so much and
I think we should try to buy it. We’ll talk the fellow into
selling. Elaine Smithson wrote to me. He has lost his lover. It appears
he was lost when his ship went down in the Pacific. Do give
him a call and try to console him. The inconsistencies in gender confused me. Call “Elaine”
and console “him” didn’t seem to make sense. Was it a simple
error in the pronoun or was it something else. It was something
else. I didn’t read further. I felt as if I was prying too deeply.
I lifted a few photos carefully. Many were of the man who
owned this house. In some he posed with a man I assumed was
Martin. I went as deep into the photographs as I dared and
did see something that caught my immediate attention.
It was a very wide photograph, but not very high. It was a
photograph of a nude. It seemed so professionally produced.
It was sharp and beautiful. I slipped it from the pile, trying
to note where it had been and how it had rested. I saw the stamp on the back of the photo first. “Martin Orsom
Photography, New York City.” It was professionally done.
I turned it over and examined it carefully. A man lay on his
side on a magnificent chaise lounge and faced the camera.
His head was propped up on his hand that was steadied by an
elbow and arm that rested on a cushion. The man looked decidedly
feminine in the photograph and his face looked as if it may
have been made-up. It was likely taken more than twenty
years ago. I studied the face of the nude. I became certain
it was my current employer and the master of this house.
He had a very handsome face and he looked so young and innocent
in the photograph. His penis was relaxed and comfortable
looking, but it was longer than one might have expected.
I really wanted to go through the entire box, all the way
to the bottom, but I didn’t dare. I return the photograph
from my hand to the exact spot that I had found it and then
I closed the box up and returned it to its place in the stack.
I began to run my eyes over the labels, looking for the one
marked “toys.” The phone rang. It startled me. Who would call at this hour? It was after eleven. I hurried
to the phone extension that was on the wall of this basement
level. I spoke softly and with a bit of scratchiness, trying
to sound as if I had just been awakened. I trembled as I spoke.
“Yes! Hello!” “Oh, my boy, it’s your father. Sorry to awaken you but I thought
you ought to know something.” “Yes, what is it?” “There will be no school tomorrow. They’ve already announced
the closing. We’re having quite a blizzard out there ‒ the
worst in years. Are you okay over there?” “Yes, yes, father. Just fine. Everything is fine. I guess
I’ll have some rough shoveling to do tomorrow. Will you
need some help shoveling?” “Oh, don’t worry about me my boy. Your brother Ames is going
to come over and help me clear the snow away. He said he can
walk over with no problem. There won’t be any cars moving
about for a while. Seems like an adventure when it snows
like this.” “It sure does. I suppose basketball practice is off for
tomorrow afternoon then, too.” “Yes. The radio said all school activities have been canceled
in the entire county. No classes and no sports or after-school
activities.” “Okay. Goodnight father.” “Good night, son. Sleep well” I hung the phone up and my trembling slowly ceased. I felt
an enormous sense of excitement. I could read the books
in quiet and peace. I could go through more of the boxes.
I wished another boy or a young man was with me. That would
have made it so wonderful. How would the love-making go?
I knew instinctively. He would penetrate me. That is what
I wanted. I wanted someone strong and forceful to push himself
up inside me. I grew suddenly very tired. I turned the light off in the
closet and closed the door. I headed for the comfortable
bed. I turned off all the lights and slipped between the
sheets. I fantasized about Devin Reilly who had been the
center on our basketball team last year. He was at the University
now. What a handsome boy he was. He was much taller than I
and he had reddish hair and some freckles on his face. I had
seen him naked in the locker-room a few times. He was an Adonis
and I had to find some kind of covering to conceal the erection
he caused. I imagined that Devin was curled up with me. He was behind
me and he was pushing himself into me. I didn’t know how one
really did this. It seems it would hurt so much, but I imagined
it didn’t and that Devin pumped wildly inside me and he came
with a great, hot explosion. I fell gently into a deep, deep
sleep with Devin still inside me. I awoke early and I felt all bound up with frustration. I
was even a bit frenzied. I was ready to break into the real
me. I desperately wanted a boy or a man to caress and make
love to me. I lay in bed thinking about every single male
I knew. Who might be queer also? Who? Then I remembered some of the guys on the football team saying
awful things about Rodney Wells. They called him a queer.
They ostracized him from any of their gatherings even though
he was a star on the team. Rodney could run like the wind and
he could catch any football thrown near him. He was being
recruited by colleges all over America. I lay there and
thought hard and long about Rodney. Like I, he also never
dated. He didn’t even ask a girl to the prom. After practice,
he always went to the shower-room last, after everyone
else had finished up. Rodney Wells! Well, I’ll be damned. I think he is. He was
comfortable on the phone and talked freely with me. He was
bored sick that nothing was moving around. He and his father
had already shoveled their walk and driveway. I told him
about the house I was taking care of and that I hadn’t even
started to shovel. He was only four blocks away. He offered
to come over to help. “Great, Rodney. That would be swell. I’ll show you around
the house. It’s really a neat place.” I was shoveling the sidewalk in front of the house when Rodney
arrived with his shovel in hand. I had already finished
the driveway. It was a great snow storm and it had me pumped.
It couldn’t have been more beautiful outside. Rodney was
strong and the snow flew off his shovel furiously. We were
done in no time. I invited him in. I didn’t know how, but I was determined
to find out if he was queer. I found a can of hot chocolate
in the kitchen and I made a couple of big mugs of it for us.
While the water was heating, I showed him around the house.
I had tidied everything up. Rodney loved the place. He was
talking very comfortably with me. Around other guys he
was always very shy and always on guard. We were sitting in the kitchen, sipping on our hot chocolates.
Rodney was in a great mood and he chattered about sports
and some of our teachers and about how great it was to be closed
down for a day. I watched him carefully and I saw him looking
intently at me a couple of times. “Rodney, I want to tell you something. I feel terrible about
those stupid asses at school who call you queer. They’re
jerks!” He went silent. He looked right into my eyes. His were soft,
remarkable eyes that just seemed to fit his head so perfectly.
“I don’t care if you’re queer, Rodney. As a matter of fact,
who gives a rip? It’s your own business and most people don’t
understand that a queer doesn’t have much choice about
the whole matter anyway.” “Thanks, Dexter. I’m not really queer, though. I’ve never
done it, you know. Never! Will you keep a secret, though?”
“Sure!” “I think about it! Damn it, I do. I try to think about it with
girls and it doesn’t work. Don’t get scared, but I think
about it with guys like you. I think about fucking guys.
It’s terrible isn’t it?” “I’m not scared, Rodney, and it’s not terrible!. I think
about it too, with guys like you.” “You kidding me? Are you making fun of me?” “Look, Rodney. I’ve never done it either. But I want to.
I want to try! We’ve got this place all to ourselves.” “Oh, Jesus, I’m pretty shook up! I never dreamed you were
‒ you know ‒ that you liked guys, too.” “I do. I get excited when I think about some guys. I never
get excited about girls. I’m excited right now.” “You are?” “Sure! You want to see?” Rodney was pale. He didn’t know what to say. He was sitting
next to me at the kitchen table. Our hot chocolate was going
to be very cold before we’d touch it again. I slid my left
arm over so that it lightly touched his right arm. He began
breathing pretty rapidly. “Yeh! I’d like to see you. Could I?” I got up from the table and reached back and took his hand.
I tugged him up and out of the chair and led him through the
dining room and living room and down the hallway to the master
bedroom. I held his hand very tenderly. When we got to the
center of the bedroom, I dropped his hand and turned around
to face him. I pulled off my sweater and undid the buttons
of my shirt and slid it off. I just let it drop by my feet. I
undid my belt and unfastened my jeans. I pulled them down
and stepped out of them. Rodney‘s heart was beating rapidly.
He was making little tiny moaning sounds. His eyes were
fixed on mine. I slipped my thumbs inside my briefs and I lowered them and
let them drop to my feet. Rodney’s eyes shifted downward
and they fastened on my erection. I felt it pulsing. He whispered
to me. “Can I take my clothes off?” “Sure! That’s the idea.” He slowly peeled his clothing away and then we were standing
there together, naked and looking at one another. His cock
was hard, too. It looked like it was a bit larger than mine
‒ thicker anyway. “I never done it before, ” Rodney said softly, “and I don’t
know where to begin.” I stepped over to the bed and pulled back the bed covers that
I had so carefully put in place. I opened the bed slowly,
but precisely. Then I slid between the sheets. “I think, if you’d slip in here with me, we’ll figure something
out. I think I’d like to start by licking your cock.” He moaned and stepped quickly to the bed and slid in beside
me. I wanted to kiss him, but I thought that might frighten
him. He lay on his back, uncovered, and his cock stood straight
up. I slid down to it and touched it tenderly with my tongue.
He moaned more loudly. “I think I’m going to blast off, ” he said. “Dang it! I don’t
want to.” “Hold on if you can.” I took his cock into my mouth. It felt like the most wonderful
thing I had ever done. I was going to figure out how to suck
him and move my mouth along his shaft. Before I could begin,
I could feel the warm liquid shooting up into my mouth. He
tried to pull away, but my hands went to his cock quickly
and held him in place. I took all of his ejaculate in and loved
the taste of it and let it slide down my throat. He moaned
softly as I gently sucked on his diminishing penis. “I’m so sorry Dexter. I know what you wanted me to do. I’m
so sorry.” “Don’t be sorry. It was great. And, we don’t have to hurry.
Want to suck on me?” “Could I?” “God, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” I laid back and Rodney went down on me and took my cock into
his mouth. I had ejaculated twice during the last evening
and I had more resilience built up that Rodney had. I last
for a good two minutes and enjoyed every second of it. Rodney
very softly sucked on me, licked me some and moved his mouth
over my cock, sliding back and forth. I warned him before
I came. “I going to come, Rodney, watch out.” He didn’t flinch. He joyfully took me all in and tried to
get more. I had to call him off. He was tickling me like crazy.
We stayed in bed for the rest of the afternoon. I put my arms
around him and held him. He buried his face in my chest. We
talked only occasionally. “I’m so happy, ” he said, “to find someone else like me.
I’ve been very lonely.” “Me, too, ” I said. It was nearing four o’clock in the afternoon when I suggested
filling the tub and taking a bath together. He loved the
idea. We each took a shower and then crawled into the hot
water in the big tub. There was plenty of room for both of
us. We sat on the side of our legs and looked at each other.
Very slowly our faces moved closer and closer and finally
our lips were so close that we could feel the heat of each
other’s breathes. I made the first move and kissed him very
gently, leaving my lips against his for the longest time.
He did not back away. We parted and look at each other and
smiled together. He moved his lips against mine this time
and I allowed my lips to separate just slightly. It was enough
that I could slide my tongue out and touch his lips. Within moments we were in each other’s arms and we were kissing
passionately and enjoying it immensely. We kissed for
what seemed like long, long minutes. Eventually he pulled
away and nearly choked as he tried to talk and express his
desire. “I want to fuck you now! How can we do it?” I rose up to my feet quickly, without saying anything. I
had a firm erection again. He followed me, also erect. I
threw him a big towel and grabbed one for myself. We toweled
off. I reached into the medicine cabinet and grabbed a jar
of the Vaseline and strode quickly to the bedroom. He crawled
quickly in behind me. I handed him the lubricant and turned
by back to him, still laying on my side. “I read in a book last night that it’s good to use lots of that
on your cock.” I was very excited and talking very loudly.
“Rub some around my hole, too. The book said you can’t use
too much.” It felt so wonderful when I felt his fingers pass over my
anal opening. He rubbed some of the Vaseline on me and I told
him to push a little bit inside. I thought I would faint with
excitement when I felt his finger move inside me. He pushed
it in deeper and deeper. “That feels wonderful, ” I said to him, almost breathlessly.
He began to stroke me with his finger and it felt good. A second
finger joined in and then a third. He picked up the pace and
started stroking rapidly. It felt wonderful, but I wanted
him. “Please get inside me. Fuck me, Rodney! Please!” He was well lubricated and his cock slid into me comfortably
and he began to move pretty wildly. “Take your time at first, ” I advised as if I was experienced,
“and maybe you’ll last longer. If feels so damned good that
I don’t want it to end too quickly.” It did end pretty quickly, though, because he was really
pumped. It came hotly inside me and I felt all the juices
running out of me as his cock got smaller. I didn’t have any
kind of orgasm as the book said I would, but it had still been
wonderful. We lay in bed together until somewhat after
five. It had grown dark outside. He said he had to get home
or his parents would start worrying. He took a quick shower,
dressed and was ready to hurry out the door. I called to him.
“Wait! You can’t just run out the door like that.” He looked at me quizzically and I moved to him and put my mouth
against his and kissed him gently. He pecked back. “Thanks, ” I said. “If there’s still no school tomorrow,
I hope you’ll come over.” He smiled broadly and turned and ran down the side walk and
bounded across the street. I closed the door and leaned
back against it. I was naked and happy. I had had my first
gay encounter and I would never forget it. That is pretty much the end of my story; however, I’ll just
tell you briefly that the week went on wonderfully. I read
every single one of those books I found in the den. There
was no school again on my second day there and Rodney spent
nearly the entire day. At the end of the week he asked his
parents if he could spend the night at my place (they thinking
he meant my home) and they were delighted that he was finally
making friends. We enjoyed the whole night in bed together.
He got much better at controlling himself and I did get to
experience some great orgasms. In the toys box we found
lots of wonderful sex toys and the two of us practiced with
them and enjoyed some of them immensely. I lost nearly 15
pounds during the week because I barely ate anything because
I was so excited about all the sex. Rodney and I remained
close, close friends through this last year in high school.
We went off in different directions for college and we each
met other guys and, unfortunately, we never got back together
again. A lot of years have gone by since Rodney first banged me.
I’m an old man now, but I’ll always remember that dear, wonderful
guy.

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