Gay for XXX

It was a sweltering summer morning and my wife had gone on a shopping trip with her sister; they were headed for an outlet mall about two hours north of here and would not return until early evening. I was prepared for a boring day until I saw a truck with painting supplies pull up in our driveway. I had forgotten that the painters were going to finish up our basement that morning, even though it was a Saturday. I watched Bob and Chris unload their supplies and approach the porch. They had been at the house all week but the only time I saw them was first thing in the morning; they arrived right before I went to work and were gone before I came home. That disappointed me greatly, as my marriage to a woman did nothing to quell my bisexual urges.
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The morning sun warmed the air and promised to become warmer still as the day wore on. It was 9 am on a Sunday in April.

That fifth week of the season we would take on the Viejas Chiefs. Widely regarded as one of the better teams in the league, they had a fearsome reputation for hitting, scoring a lot of runs and giving up few. They were expected to win at least their division if not the league championship.

Our team arrived on the field shortly before game time. We would occupy the bench along third base. For the time being we practiced. Infielders, including James, scooped out ground balls and threw them to first base. Those of us in the outfield played fly balls. Some were hit deep intentionally.
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Author’s note: This is quite a long saga of a very masculine young man coming to terms with his sexuality. If you just want to read about hard sex, then my advice is to jump to Part 2, where hopefully you may find it?

I dedicate this one to my Iowan Butterfly, a very special, warm person.

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Part 1 - England:

Barry was a young gay guy; eighteen years-old before he found what he really liked, twenty-one before he finally found what he needed. Irish by parentage, he was born and brought up in London, England. Physically he was a dark Celt, tall and slim, with black wavy hair, piercing light blue eyes and smooth pale skin. Barry had high cheekbones and a killer full lipped smile, which sadly he showed all too rarely.
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Phil and Dale slipped into the barn that they frequented for oral sex. It was at the edge of Phil’s family property. The sun shone warmly through the window near the roof of the barn, and a cool breeze blew through. It was one of those days where clothing becomes optional. Phil wore only a light t-shirt and jeans, his muscular arms and chest showing through. Only turning 21, he had a square jaw and bristle from his starting beard. At 19, Dale was a little on the thin side, with a younger boyish face.
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Moments after ringing the bell of an ordinary looking house in the suburbs, a well built man opened the door into another world. He stood 6″ taller than my 6′ & was finely muscled, with dark brown eyes that looked kindly at me while we made our introductions. The grip of his hand sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through my slim body as I thought of the massage to come.

He showed me to an adjoining room which was softly lit with low music filling the incense-laden air & a towel covered table in the centre. Erotic prints were tastefully placed on the plain walls & made my cock throb at scenes of obscenely huge erections being pumped, sucked or fucked in a variety of positions. He bade me undress while remaining clothed in a short robe of blue silk as he prepared the oils, working deftly as I placed everything on a chair in the corner. My cock stirred as I got a close look at the print there, which showed a large, dripping cock being sucked avidly by a wet mouth & as I turned round, I found him gazing appreciatively at the firm cheeks of my ass. We smiled into each other’s eyes & I willingly lay face down on the table as he spoke in gentle tones of how he loved to give such erotic treatment to men.
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Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a short, light piece I dashed off based on something that really happened to me. Real life, alas, didn’t go nearly as far as this story. KN

I never get a haircut until I absolutely have to. I don’t like waiting, or making small talk with some blonde with teased hair who’s only being nice to me because she’s hoping for a big tip.

But it was constantly falling in my face, and I could even feel it weighing down on my head. It was time to go.
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After the enormous feedback from readers on my earlier experience with the watchman next door, I knew I had to write about another experience I had many years ago. This one too gets me very hot and horny whenever I think about it.

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Like the previous incident, this one happened many years ago. It had been a long and tiring day. I had a lot of work in college and was on my way home when I decided to go to the barber shop near our house for a desperately needed haircut. It was around 8:30 pm when I got there, and they were getting ready to close. After much cajoling, one of the two barbers there said that he would give me a haircut and lock up shop, and told his friend that he could leave.
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The great General’s favourite son Prince Kasim, had been kidnapped, and was being held for ransom by a party of wild Mongol raiders. They had carried him off to an abandoned fort in the rocky hills at the edge of the great desert plains. There the Mongol’s leader had fucked the helpless young prince well, as the prince cried out for more. And he had then told Kasim that one of his raiders had a weapon as large as the famous barbarian Konan’s, and the man would fuck him as well as the barbarian could. But first Kasim had to agree to write the letter to his father begging for a large ransom to be paid for his release.
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“Rescue my son, and you can have your freedom,” the Moghul’s great general had said to me.

And now I clung to the top of the ruined wall that surrounded the rough cobbled yard in which the wiry Mongolian horsemen were holding him. The general’s son was one of many the general had, but Kasim had been made a prince as he was the most handsome and most intelligent. And all knew he was a favourite of the Great Moghul himself, as well as of his father, the Moghul’s great general.

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I don’t know what was so appealing about the entire experience. The anonymity of it? The smell of piss? The aroma of cum? The scent of mansweat, cocks, balls, armpits and asses? Perhaps the subtle movement of a strange hand across my ass, chest or expanding crotch? The stickiness of the concrete floor? That unspoken need and desire expressed in the eyes of men shuffling up and down the aisles shopping for a possible fuck, suck or stroking? The fear, or excitement, of possibly getting caught?

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