The next-to-the-last weekend had now descended for the gang at Spirit Lake before summer ended and we scattered again to our respective colleges and “whatever” activities. Giddiness was high, which is saying something for the group of friends from the affluent Atlanta uptown district of Buckhead, but we’d been on the other edge of giddy every weekend we’d come down to the lake.
Somehow I think we all knew this would be the last summer we’d gather at my
“Gentlemen,” the commanding voice came from behind them just as they reached the door to the hallway. Turning, they looked at their professor. He motioned them back into the room. “Close the door.”
They did as they were told and then approached his desk. He sat behind it, his fingers steepled in front of his face as his blue eyes regarded them. No emotion crossed his face.
“Sit down,” he said. Once they were seated, he continued. “I won’t beat
I had only heard about The Cavern, on and off through the years in chat rooms. The stories were of a place a guy could go for stress relief by other guys. Between the continuing curiosity and a terrible state of horniness, my time to find out had finally arrived.
From the street, it looked innocent enough, just a simple sign with an inward swinging door. As I entered, I noticed how dark it was. The only light was from small candles on each bar-room table. If I hadn’t had my sunglasses on,
On the morning of my 30th birthday, I ran through the hospital doors to the desk, found out Dad’s room number, and rushed to him. He was sitting up in the bed, not looking too much the worse for wear, actually.
I peppered him with worried questions, but he tut-tutted the whole thing. “Just bad stomach. Something I ate.”
But after a few minutes, the doctor beckoned me into the hallway. “He’s right; it was not a heart attack, not yet. But he’s 60, and your
This story’s a sequel to Copenhagen Couple and Meetings with Mark. It’s not necessary to read those stories first, but some things will make better sense if you do.
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At the age of 20 and after my first experiences with male sex I acknowledged to myself that I was bisexual. But I wasn’t going to be open about the fact that I liked to be with men. Sadly, bisexual men are often despised by both gay and straight guys, and even by some women.
However in the beginning the main
This is a true story. It is the story of a young man who was sheltered, unsophisticated about the world and not sure of himself. He came to Memphis from the countryside of Arkansas with no real experiences. It is about me. Growing up, I knew no real want. My parents were gainfully employed and made good money. I was the middle of five kids and did not get much attention. So, I was always trying to figure out my true identity. I had gone to a small local college and remained fairly sheltered. No
“Micah.”
I groaned slightly at the sound.
“Micah, wake up,” a voice sang to me.
I groaned again, louder this time.
“Micah, babe, you can’t stay asleep all day,” the sing-song voice chided me, “you have to wake up now.”
“It’s Sunday,” I mumbled in protest.
“Exactly! It’s your one day off this week, and you’re wasting it by sleeping! Come on, it’s pracatically noon already.”
Through one
I don’t know how it started. I don’t know when it started. I only know when I realized that I wasn’t like all the other boys. This is the true story of my first sexual encounter.
Before the budget cuts, my high school used to stage an elaborate outdoor theatrical production each spring. A professional set designer would be hired and long nights and weekends would be spent by the students and their dads to get the whole thing built.
Rehearsals would start in February and run
It’s been a long time coming. I finally was able to write my next story. This story is courtesy of my two best sexual friends, DC and RU. Thanks for everything. Feedback ALWAYS welcome.
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The shower is a big one, with lots of jets and spray everywhere. Plenty of steam, too. I lean him up against the wall, legs and arms spread out, like I’m ready to frisk him. He’s facing the wall, showing me his magnificent backside.
His body is trim and strong. There is power in his
We broke up for a lot of reasons, Angela and I, as people always do. It was the laundry that triggered it. We must have squabbled over the laundry at least a dozen times before, but for whatever reason, this time the proverbial camel collapsed under the pressure. I’d been putting through load after load, trying to get through it all before she got home from work, hoping she’d appreciate coming home to a tidier living space.
I was even starting dinner as she walked into the basement