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Angrily separated from my wife now for several months and living alone, I had begun to make gay friends for the first time in my life. Up until this point living in a rather complete and very dark denial of my sexual orientation, I had many furtive sexual encounters with other boys growing up, but no gay friends per se. Why would I have wanted to have gay friends, after all, when they weren't like me? Flawed thinking, for sure, but deeply embraced to my core.
As far back as I can remember into childhood my erotic dreams always involved other fellows, and from the time I learned to masturbate at twelve and a half my sexual fantasies involved boys at least 99% of the time. Yet with all this evidence parading nightly before my mind's eye, I still chose to believe I was straight and just going through a phase that would soon pass.
Though I was over 30, I still looked younger and was often delightedly mistaken for a peer of my college age friends. I was slim and in good physical shape which made it far easier to get into mischief than was healthy for me, and I took advantage of this fortunate circumstance as often as I could in those days.
After his admission to his family that he was gay, Wes was clearly not terribly welcome or comfortable in his house. He would stop by my apartment to hang out some afternoons, and I was always glad to see him, even though we never repeated our one-time sexual experimentation. He liked to watch television or listen to music from my large collection, and ours grew into a very normal relationship almost like father and son. Without a thought, I'd hug him and pat his hair lovingly, or hold his hand briefly when we watched TV, but our clothes remained in place and our conversation was very tame.
One afternoon another boy tagged along to my place with Wes, and I swallowed hard and did a double take with my first glimpse. He was a stunningly beautiful boy, with wavy brown hair that spilled to touch his collar, and big deep bluish green eyes. He had handsome chiseled features and bright white teeth, and he smiled often showing attractive dimples on his cheeks. His arms and legs were long tan and slim, and his hands were beautiful and lithe. His movements were graceful, sitting on the sofa with his legs pulled up and his long arms wrapped around his knees. He wore mesh shorts and white Pumas with small socks, and his legs were tan and very smooth. Wes introduced him to me as his friend from school; his name was Gabriel. They both attended the local Catholic High School and had known each other for several years, since they had been young boys.
I was sort of surprised because Gabe seemed very much at ease being at my place from the very start, like visiting strange men's apartments was something he did all the time. He chattered easily with Wes, talking about school and sports without shyness. He would look over at me and smile and flip his long brown bangs out of his eyes. He was handsome and he knew it, and it was obvious to me that he had always been favored by adults because of the way he looked. He exuded the priceless self-confidence that comes from being praised and complimented one's whole life. He obviously expected to be liked, and it was easy to understand, because I found myself liking him immediately.
Besides his physical appearance, his speech patterns easily gave away his youth, because even though his voice was somewhat deep, I knew instantly that I'd have been able to guess that he was a teenager just from hearing him talk. He used a more slurred, rapid fire delivery, punctuated with comfortable laughter and laced with slang typical of his age group.
I gave the boys something to eat, and took a break from my work and sat with them to talk. I was careful not to ask questions that were none of my business. After all, we had just met and I had no idea if the new boy knew that either Wes or I was gay, and I didn't want to create an uncomfortable situation for anyone. I watched the two young men interact, and while they seemed quite comfortable with each other there were no overt clues offered as to their relationship to one another, though of course I wondered. Many gay men will assume that everyone they meet might be gay until proven otherwise, and I am among them!
Gabriel's mere presence was immediately intoxicating to me, and I found it more and more difficult to pull my eyes away from him as the hour wore on. He was an engaging fellow, with an easy smile and a disarming manner. If he had been a girl you would have certainly said he was beautiful. As a boy, he was something beyond cute: really handsome in an almost hypnotizing way. I found myself asking him little questions just to hear him talk and to win his eye contact. He looked directly at me when he answered, grinning and animated. His face glowed, and though I didn't touch it I could imagine that if I did I would have found it velvet soft. There was no sign that he was growing any whiskers yet, or that he had ever shaved at all, though I knew by this age he must shave at least occasionally.
I watched the side of his face lovingly as he talked, and I casually began to wonder what he would look like naked, how he would feel next to me and how willingly he would allow himself to be undressed. I silently admonished myself to behave, but before long my thoughts strayed back in this direction again. And still there was a nagging, intrusive feeling that I had seen him before, someplace, but I couldn't fathom where. From certain angles he looked especially familiar, like when he smiled and looked into the distance. I wracked my brain wondering where and if we had met before.
When he drew up his leg onto the couch and wrapped his arm around his knee, I stared at the way his short-shorts hugged his butt crack and the seam gently and visibly pressed against and separated his balls, and the way the shorts splayed open around the leg hole to reveal that he was wearing blue boxers underneath. I found it hard to keep my eyes to myself, and I blushed as he caught my eye, obviously he saw me looking at his crotch and the soft bulge that lived there. Because he didn't seem to mind, I looked again this time imagining I had gained his permission, then met his eyes for a fraction of a second to see him blush back.
They stayed about an hour or so before Wes said they had to go, and I saw the boys to the door placing my hand on Gabe's back as they stood in the doorway. "Come back again, guys," I said. "It was nice meeting you Gabe," as I patted his shoulder good-bye
"Yah, same here," said Gabe, putting on his windbreaker. I looked after the two as they ambled off down the hall, and watched them till they turned the corner to the elevator lobby. Still haunted by his beauty, I returned to my work, though I was having a great deal of trouble getting my distracting visitors out of my mind. As I began typing my dreary reports my thoughts wandered and soon so did my hands, and I could not deny that I was getting aroused. My cock was getting hard and straining inside my trousers, and finally giving up to temptation, I closed my books and pushed my chair back, simultaneously unzipping my pants and freeing my stiffness, exposing it to the cool air in the room. Going over to my bed I pulled my pants the rest of the way down, where I lay on top of the blankets preparing for a session of bliss that every young man from the age of 13 onward looks forward to and enjoys in his moments of privacy. I closed my eyes and began to think of things erotic to me, and they came easily to mind.
In my private moments such as this one, I thought often of that time with Westy and how unexpected his advances were and how willing he had been to masturbate together with me, just a few weeks prior. I remembered how shamelessly he had undressed, thought of how beautiful his stiff, erect cock looked so close to my face as we had rubbed one another in the 69 position, his alabaster cock so close to my face, and how wonderful it had been when he spurted all over me as a result of my rubbing fist, and how I lad lapped up every drop of his spilled cum, marveling at its clean fresh taste, as he rubbed me to my own simultaneous orgasm that had exploded all over his hands and wrists. He had rubbed me expertly as only one guy can handle another. I remembered our quiet satisfying moans of passion during our love making, then his small giggle of relief after he had cum, admitting to me that this was his first time with another guy, and how happy he was that the other guy had been me.
In my mind's eye I replayed the scene easily from memory where it was etched, but in today's vision I looked up into the face, and saw not Wes—but this time Gabriel smiling back at me. I was startled. Fantasies are natural and unpredictable, after all, but I had never been one to fantasize about people who were unobtainable to me or about things that hadn't happened. Whether consciously or not, I chose to rarely go there, perhaps still wounded from my teenage lust for my straight friend Jack (whom I wrote about before in stories linked above) who teased and frustrated me but with whom I never consummated an encounter. I had always leaned instead on replaying the many illicit, secret experiences that had actually happened throughout my youth, those stories I have detailed for you in these pages.
But now my unconscious mind had invited Gabe into our masturbation fantasy, and I was too weak to argue and ask him to leave. So, I welcomed his visage, and in my lust-filled brain I allowed him to take over and make love to me, using his long fingers and soft mouth to handle my sex, letting his long dark hair fall forward across his face and against my skin we kissed and as his tongue explored my nakedness. It was Gabe's strong hands that were rubbing me closer and closer to orgasm that afternoon, and as I came I thrust my head back in ecstasy and whispered his name breathlessly.
I awoke some time later, still covered with my sticky cum, and at that moment I was grateful for living alone. My whole life I had practiced what most boys must do, cumming quickly then hurriedly cleaning up and covering themselves almost shamefully, lest sleep overcome us while compromised and have someone— mother, sister, or wife—discover our shame. But living alone now gave me the ability to enjoy sex without guilt for the first time in my life.
Basking in the afterglow of my self-pleasure, I remained haunted by the distinct thought that I knew Gabe from someplace, even though I could not place him anywhere in my experience. I had a strange familiar recollection of his face and long legs and arms, though I had no prior memory of his other key attributes I should have remembered—such as how he had moved, his voice or what his personality was like. Where had I seen him? In a play? In a magazine? He was as handsome as a model, I thought to myself with a smile.
And suddenly that singular thought took my breath away.
I rushed over to my magazine rack, and rifling through it I pulled out the clothing catalog from one of the area's largest store chains, a chain that was headquartered in our city that if I mentioned you would surely recognize. Rifling through the thick book I turned right to the young men's clothing section, and there he was! Yes, I had indeed seen Gabe before, many times before in fact. Here, he graced the pages of the glossy book I had ordered Christmas gifts from, and while I had never masturbated while looking at his photo, I had paused admiringly when I had come upon him for the first time, modeling pajamas on one page, and hiking shorts and jackets on another. His image was found throughout the book, though before this moment I had not noticed just how very many pictures had featured him before.
Throughout the catalog, the photographer had taken great care to change his hair and his makeup in the many pictures, putting a hat on his head then taking it away, causing him purposefully to look like several different boys in the various scenes, not the same boy in every one. Looking closely I found him dribbling a soccer ball in the sporting goods section, at a staged family cookout in the section advertising patio furniture. He wore a trim double breasted suit with a necktie on another page. But my absolute favorites were the photos of him shirtless, wearing swimming trunks in the sportswear section. In some of the photos he stood next to a tall older man who was doubtlessly supposed to be his father, and he posed with a playful looking blond curly haired younger boy in others. He wore loose trunks in most, but one photo I loved the most featured him in a navy Speedo-type suit, brief as could be, a white towel slung over his narrow shoulder, with his lightly muscled smooth hairless chest prominently in view, one of his erect brown nipples uncovered to see. I stared at the bulge in his tight suit, comparing it to the larger one in the man's suit, and the smaller one owned by the curly haired boy.
I imagined what the photo shooting sessions must have been like, with many clothes changes during a busy afternoon, perhaps dozens of outfits strewn about his dressing room, climbing in and out of denim trousers and button-up shirts. Breathless, I grabbed the Sunday newspaper from the chair where I had discarded it waiting for the trash to be collected, and flipping to the color supplements I found him there too, modeling, of all things boxer shorts and t-shirts. Sadly, he was not modeling the tight briefs on the same page; these were worn by an older, less attractive red headed boy who didn't interest me in the slightest.
My cock was fully hard again as I went back to flip through the pages of the catalog, and spreading the papers out on the bed I found myself almost involuntarily reaching inside my pants again to grasp my hard cock in my fist. Exposing it roughly, I looked at the handsome pictures of Gabriel in front of me, and as I turned pages he changed his clothes, just for me. I went through the pages in order—formal dress, school clothes, summer clothes, beachwear, athletic clothes, and then finally, as my orgasm exploded uncontrollably, thickly across the newspaper pages; underwear. I had imagined as I turned the pages that he had been undressing for my pleasure, and that the adoring eyes he turned towards his "father" in some those photos were instead aimed in my direction.
When I had finished, I found myself rather ashamed at what I had just done, in spite of myself. I didn't mean to think that way about a fellow I had just met, especially one who was friends with Westy and one whom I had no idea about his sexual orientation. Still, I was intoxicated. Models of any age are chosen for magazines because of the attractive way they look, using their sex appeal to sell. Though none of the photos of Gabe was in the least pornographic, it thrilled me to know that this boy obviously knew he had a good body and a handsome face, and that he was unashamed to show them off to perfect strangers in the pages of catalogs and newspapers that were found in tens of thousands of homes.
Picking up the phone, I called Wes as quickly as I could dial.
"Hullo" he answered.
"Wes," I said hurriedly, tripping over my words, not even bothering with pleasantries.. "Your friend Gabriel: is he a model?" I asked breathlessly.
Wes laughed . "Yeah," he answered "His mom makes him do it. He's kinda embarrassed about it though. How did you know?"
"I recognized him as the boy in the department store catalog", I said. "He is really handsome."
"I guess he is," answered Wes. "He's just my friend."
"Is he gay too?" I asked, skipping all pretenses.
"Sure," said Wes "I think so."
He THOUGHT so? Hell, if I had been Wes I would have made it my BUSINESS to know... If I went to school with him and had even suspected he'd accept, Gabe would have been invited to several sleep-overs at my house by that time. We would have looked at handy Playboys together for sure, and I would have asked him questions to gauge how horny a boy he was. If all had gone well, by the third such encounter he would have masturbated willingly with me, side by side. By the fourth time I would have masturbated him myself, and if the circumstances were right, I would have invited him to go to the seashore with me for a whole week where, every night, with the tacit blessings of my parents, we would have slept together in the same bed, and under the blankets would have undressed each other and made love with increasing intensity, night after night, until we were doing things so intimately together that no sane boy would ever, ever dare admit to it by the light of day. This was my dream, and I would not have been denied.
"Is he your boyfriend, then?" I asked.
"No, nothing like that, but I guess it would be cool if he was."
I stopped asking questions. If there were any more feelings here between Wes and Gabriel I realized I didn't want to know about them; it would only serve to make me feel guilty with what my brain was unconsciously planning next.
"Why don't you guys come back soon?" I said, as casually as I could.
"Yah, we will, "Wes promised. "G'night."
I had a hard time sleeping, and I compulsively masturbated again thinking of that slim handsome kid. I switched roles in my fantasy and imagined witching Gabe and Wes having sex together, but found the image too guilt-provoking and switched back to the memorized vision of Gabe from the catalog, imaging that it was me playing the role of the father in those family scenes, watching him changing between photos, and by late in the photo session, tired of going behind the screen to change his clothes, Gabe undressing right in front of me, showing his nakedness without shame as I smiled back at him, admiring his body. My cock squirted a fountain of semen skyward with this last vision, and exhausted I fell off immediately to sleep.
A week or so later I was working at home in the afternoon and my phone rang. It was Wes.
"Hey, Brad!" he called. "Sorry to bother you, but can you come pick Gabriel and me up at school?" It was about five o'clock and the last bus had already left for the day. The boys had stayed after working on some project, and when the dallied too long they found the halls empty and only the janitor still walking the halls of the building.
"Sure," I replied, involuntarily excited by thought of seeing Gabe again. As fast as I could walk without seeming anxious, I went to my car and then drove to the Catholic High School where I saw the boys standing out front on the curb.
"Thanks Brad!" said Wes, opening the passenger side front door as I pulled up. He tipped the seat forward and tall, slim Gabriel folded his body easily into the back seat behind me. It was mid-winter and it was already nearly dark as we pulled out of the school lot. Both boys were wearing their Catholic School uniforms: plain gray trousers, white long sleeved button-up shirts and blue blazers. They looked so handsome, right in the peak of the bloom of late adolescence, balanced just perfectly between childhood and adulthood; they were old enough to make choices for themselves but not too old to still take foolish experimental risks.
We drove along in the gathering darkness, back towards the residential outskirts of town where we lived, and made small talk along the way. In the back seat Gabriel was very quiet, responding only when spoken to. Wes chattered happily as was his nature. But slowly, quietly, stealthily, and I might suggest nearly involuntarily, my left hand slipped behind my seat, reaching back with my fingers till I just touched Gabe's shoe where it rested on the floor behind me. With that first touch, my heart jumped into my throat, as I half prepared for him to say "Hey, whatta think you're doing? That's my foot y'know", or at very least move his foot away. But he did neither. Slowly I allowed my hand to move along his foot, first touching his sock, and then with a start his bare ankle, as he was wearing very short athletic socks that must have been barely visible above his shoe. I realized that with that he MUST have felt my touch and recognized what I was doing, and he still wasn't stopping me, and my penis grew suddenly hard with the exciting realization that he might want me too.
I let my hand slip under his trouser cuff, and gently, very gently, I felt the wispy hairs on his smooth shin. There could be no possible doubt now that he knew what I had in mind, as there was very little subtle about what I was doing.
Wes prattled on, clearly not expecting any comments in response from me, and for this I was grateful. I continued to feel Gabe's naked leg, and then with a start of excitement I felt a fingertip touch my hand. I paused- fearing he was about to push my hand away. I steeled myself for the rejection, hoping that he was just going to make me stop petting him without embarrassing me in front of Wes, and without calling attention to my lustful indiscretion.
But he didn't push my hand away. Instead he pushed his fingers between mine, wrapping up my outstretched digits in an interwoven handclasp, welcoming my touch. In amazement, I kept perfectly still, driving on in a trance, amazed that this was happening, wishing that we would never arrive at our destination.
"Where do you live, Gabe?" I asked to the unseen body behind me in the dark, my voice quivering unexpectedly to me; I knew it was choked with lust.
"You can leave me at Wes's house", he answered. I am probably going to sleep over there."
My brain greeted that news with both excitement and with involuntary sadness. Maybe he and Wes were lovers after all. And if they were, suddenly I didn't want to know about it. We pulled up to the curb at Wes's house, and the boys bounded out of the car, offering their thanks to me for driving them home. Gabe had released my hand with a little squeeze, and I realized that despite myself I was fully aroused and erect, and I remained that way the rest of the way home. I barely got in the door before I unzipped my trousers, plopped down and masturbated right there on my living room sofa. Gabriel had allowed me to hold his hand and touch his bare leg. I was in heaven. In some ways I was 18 again myself, giddy what might happen next, contriving the next steps in a secret and forbidden romance. My sperm leapt out of my turgid cock, splattering hard into the palm of my free hand filling it with three, four full thick squirts. I hadn't felt this horny in so long, and I smiled when pulled my jockey shorts back up, discovering only then how much sticky pre-cum had leaked into them while I had been in the car. If I ever needed proof that I was gay, there it was, the involuntary acts of my body betraying me, showing me how deeply and unconsciously I craved the immoral sexual connection that my religion and my upbringing had taught me was so forbidden, evil and wrong.
I was on my computer a few days later when an instant message popped up in the corner of my screen. "Hey" it simply said, and the nickname shown was not anyone that I knew.
"Hey" I answered back. "Who is this?"
"Gabriel" the blinking window replied.
All thoughts of work and responsibility vanished at that moment, disappearing more quickly than the light from a shattered bulb.
We chatted there on line for over an hour. As most of us would agree, Intimate texting is so much easier than either talking live or even on the telephone, and people (including your author) will admit to telling things in a texting conversation that they wouldn't dream of admitting face to face.
I learned that Gabe was indeed gay, and was very sure of it. His parents did not know but he said his mom suspected. Gabe told me that he had known he was gay since he was very small, younger than six. I could identify with that, for sure, because like many other gay men I have ever met, had I known the word for it, I would have known I was gay by kindergarten too. Only for Gabe it was a circumstance that was seemingly completely personally acceptable, where for me it was a bloody battle that I was still fighting to the death.
Wes had told Gabe that he was gay, and had shared that I was also, and that I was cool and would understand their situation. Gabe told me that when I had picked them up at school, they had been late and missed the bus because they had been making out together in the backstage area of the auditorium, standing holding one another in the darkness and kissing each other deeply for an unknown period of time, but probably more than an hour. They had felt each other, fumbling through their clothes, but had been afraid to go further, and hoped that they would be able to experiment more by spending that night together at Wes's. But that idea had been immediately squashed by Wes's father who intuitively sensed what was going on and demanded that Gabe go home, then drove him there immediately himself when he perceived that the boys were stalling.
As hot as it was for me talking to Gabriel, he seemed very cool about talking to me. He obviously wasn't trolling for sex or looking for money or anything else—other than being understood. I sensed inside him the same loneliness that had lived deeply inside me as a teenager, the haunting feeling of isolation and the scary sensation of being grown and nearly ready to leave the nest but filled with the fear of being defective and unlovable. This feeling was underscored by his family's immersion in the Catholic Church, including the fact that he had attended Catholic school his whole life, including spending the past few years isolated in an all-boys Catholic High School.
Gabe claimed to be comfortable with the idea that he was gay, but the thread of his conversation pointed towards his insecurity. He was clearly interested in the circumstances of my life, and the choices I had made that had brought me to this point. I was painfully aware that he was talking to me as a mentor, while my lust-addled brain only wanted to seduce him. That realization was very painful to me. Any objective thoughts for his well being were being increasingly crowded out by my desire to make love to him, to have him nakedly surrender to me.
I asked Gabe about his experience as a clothing model, and he seemed very embarrassed about it. All he would say is that his mother had pushed it, and he went along and it had helped put some money into his college bank account. He had a portfolio book filled with studio photos of him going back to when he was ten years old, and when I asked if I could see it he deferred, wondering why in the world I was interested. It was clear that he just didn't want to talk about it, so I let the subject drop.
The boys called one Friday at dinnertime and Wes asked me if I would be interested in taking them downtown to the waterfront district where all the shops are and where young people gathered every weekend evening. It was unseasonably warm that late winter day and they figured there would be a good crowd there, tired of the cold and anticipating the Spring. I readily agreed; my thoughts turning immediately to how hot it would be to see Gabe again, wondering if because it was warm if he'd be wearing shorts.
We drove into the city together and to my delight Gabe was indeed wearing shorts, just like the mesh ones he had on in my favorite picture in the catalog. As we had expected the sidewalks were choked with people enjoying the unexpected warm weather, and we walked side by side at the slow pace of the mob, our hands bumping together occasionally as we walked along. With one such bump, I allowed my little finger to wrap ever so slightly around Gabe's little finger, and I was elated when he gripped my finger back in return. With the next step we were holding hands, though our hands were hidden from view by the press of the crowd that surrounded us. I felt a sudden excitement I had never experienced before, as never before had I displayed affection for another guy in public before, even though this was hardly out in the open, hidden by all the bodies that pressed around us.
We went into a movie house that was playing a foreign film, it was one of those places where the movies played continually and people came and went as they pleased. We sat down in the dark theater, Gabe sitting between Wes and me, his bare knees and thighs visible in the dim flickering light of the projection. As soon as we sat, I casually tossed my sweatshirt over his right leg, and within a few minutes I moved my hand underneath to place it on his bare thigh. He didn't resist, in fact he spread his legs slightly, moving his knee outward so that it touched against mine.
In the dark I felt his thigh, and he put his hand on top of mine. Deftly, I moved my hand up his thigh, savoring the softness of his skin, moving it up, up, until I felt the edge of his mesh shorts. Then, allowing my little finger to slip under the hem, I realized with a rush that my hand was no more than six inches away from his cock in the darkness. Moving up just a little more, I realized than my fingertips had already slipped unhindered into the leg opening of his boxer shorts. Gabe squeezed my hand and I pushed just a little deeper and gasped quietly to myself as I felt the softness of his balls, touching against my fingertips for the first time.
My own cock swelled in my jeans, and my eyes were fixed on the movie that played on the screen in front of us though I didn't see it at all. Moving my fingers I felt the fluffy fringe of his soft pubic hair that rode above his cock, and with that Gabe shifted his position to make my access to his most private area easier. I reached inside and held his cock for the first time, finding it long and semi-hard, pointing down his leg. It was beautifully new and smooth, circumcised, spongy-plump and perfect. I could cup my hand completely around his cock and balls inside his shorts, and it was quite a handful. His silky hair down there was soft and short, his balls wrinkly soft, his cockhead velvet. Skillfully rubbing the top of his cockhead gently with my thumb I marveled to feel him grow; thickening and lengthening, now sticking out the end of his boxers, me pushing up the hem of his shorts and allowing it to poke nakedly down his leg under the dangerously tentative cover of my tossed sweatshirt.
I refused to allow the sharp guilt that gnawed at my mind to intrude on my excitement. After all, I reasoned, if Gabe wanted to do this, who was I to stop him, even if we were inches away from where Wes sat too. I wondered briefly what Wes would think or do if he only knew what was happening right next to him, how angry and hurt he'd be to know that I was making the moves on his cute boyfriend shamelessly right under his nose. But I dismissed those thoughts immediately and rather easily, reasoning that Gabriel was just as responsible as I was for what was happening, and further that maybe Wes wouldn't mind anyway because it was all in fun and experimentation, after all. He might even think it was hot and want to join in, if he knew.
I continued to stroke Gabriel's warm, naked penis, as skillfully as I knew how, stopping now and again to squeeze it and cup his balls. But after a while his cock began to soften under my touch and shrink back into his shorts. The movie we had walked into half way through had ended, and people started to rise and file out of the theater, and Wes stood and motioned that we should go. As we stood, the tossed sweatshirt fell to the floor uncovering my hand wrapped in Gabe's hand, and even though it was only a split second, I knew that Wes had seen.
Wes was notably silent all the way home, where normally he chattered non- stop, this evening he didn't say a word. I was afraid to ask, but I did anyway "What's wrong Wes?"
"Nothing," he answered somewhat quietly. "I'm just not feeling real well now. That's all."
I didn't ask any more. I suspected his sadness was related to what he had seen, and I would have been correct. I was ashamed that I craved Gabe so much, and I was intoxicated that he seemed to want me back.
Gabe and I texted again a night or two later. As soon as I saw him online my heart jumped in spite of myself.
Gabe: Hi Brad
Brad: Hey little dude, what's happening?
Gabe: Not much. Can you tell me did you ever hook up with Wes? I mean before?
That was certainly straight forward. I was taken aback, but decided that honesty was the best policy.
Brad: Yes, once.
Gabe: What happened?
Brad: It was only one time. Only once we cuddled and undressed and jerked each other off in my bed. It was really fun, but we haven't done it again.
I noticed that I felt the need to assure him three times in a single sentience that I wasn't having an ongoing relationship with Wes. I still felt a little guilty that it had happened, but I'll admit it was really exciting stuff and that I still like to think of it when I jerked off sometimes these days. The recalled vision of seeing Westy's alabaster cock spurt its sperm inches from my face made me come nearly immediately, every time.
Gabe: That's what he said happened.
There was a long pause... the kind of pause in texting that makes one wonder what the other person is doing or thinking, or who else he is talking to simultaneously and wonder if he is going to come back to talk to you again at all. After a minute I couldn't take the tension any longer.
Brad: Does that make you upset? Wes said it was OK to do it and we have known each other a long time. We never did it before, and I don't think it would happen again.
Again, I needed to assure him. I don't know why... maybe I was afraid he'd think I was a whore or that I was a threat to him and his boyfriend. After a minute he answered back.
Gabe: Sure, I like him and everything but I think I might even love him and he doesn't know what he wants. I don't want sex all the time.
Brad: He is your first boyfriend, and you are his first. This is confusing for both of you.
Gabe: I guess. So can I come see you?
My heart leapt once again. That was unexpected. So I answered quickly, lest he change his mind.
Brad: Sure—what's up?
Gabe: Nothing, I want to be with you too. I want you maybe to do with me what you did with Wes. I want to see what it is like.
My heart hammered a tattoo in my neck in a long line right below my ear; I didn't expect that. I swallowed hard.
Brad: Are you sure? I mean is that what you want?
Gabe: I think so. Do you not like me?
Brad: God—I adore you. But will this make you confused more?
Gabe: I don't think so. Can I come now? I have my mom's car.
My cock had gone from fully soft to rock hard in thirty seconds' time. I couldn't believe this was happening. I told him I'd be waiting for him and we logged off. Reaching into my trousers I found my cock leaking pre-cum all over my shorts. If my brain felt any moral conflict over the current situation, it hadn't bothered to inform my dick. My heart continued to hammer as I rushed around to clean up the place, make the bed and get washed up before he arrived.
I saw his car pull into the lot from my window, and a minute or two later my door buzzer sounded. I buzzed him in, and just a minute later I found us standing face to face in my doorway.
"Hi" he blushed, and I beckoned him past me into the living room.
Turning to face him, I stretched my arms out and wrapping my arms around his back I held him tightly. He held me in return, and I buried my face in his sweet smelling hair.
"You sure about this?", I asked, and he tipped his face up and said,
His tongue was still pressed against the back of his teeth from that single syllable he had uttered and our lips were already touching together. His mouth tasted so good, so sweet and fresh as we touched our mouths together in a kiss that lasted a long time. I cupped his face in both of my hands and he closed his big blue-green eyes, I marveled at the small patches of whiskers that I could see so up close on his chin and thinly along his jaw line on both sides. The rest of his face was still smooth with velvet, and it was clear that he had never even needed to shave most of his cheeks yet or even underneath his chin.
"Take me" he begged, and I led him to my bedroom, laid him back on the bed, and slowly methodically began to undress him. I unlaced each of his Pumas, tossing them aside, the peeled off his small athletic socks. His feet were beautiful and young and clean and hot and embossed with the lined pattern of the inside of his socks. I was not going to rush this, because I did not know if this would ever happen again and I wanted to remember every burning moment of it.
I pulled his shirt up in the front and kissed his smooth, warm stomach as it rose and fell in time with his breathing. I could tell he was excited by how fast he was breathing, and looking as closely as I could I could just make out the slightest hint of pale wispy fuzz that trailed below his perfect, shallow navel, beneath his waistband and down into his mesh shorts. Raising his arms I pulled his polo shirt over his head, and I saw live, in front of me that bare, tan torso that I had masturbated so lovingly too from the color department store catalog so many times, except this time he was not a photo on a page; he was right in front of me, warm skin smelling like the clean cotton shirt that had covered it until just a short moment ago. I licked his nipples and underneath them and tasted how clean and delicious he was. Raising his arm, I saw the small tuft of brown fur that grew there, and putting my face close, I inhaled deeply his boy smell, so pure and musky, so natural and deep and warm. I allowed my tongue to touch that spot, I licked him all over there.
He gasped a couple of small breaths and I looked into his face to see his cheeks flushed and his eyes closed. I reached up towards his mouth again and prepared to kiss him deeply again, but he surprised me, turning his head and gently pushing my face away.
"No" he whispered. "If I kiss you more I am afraid I will fall in love with you. Please no."
I'll admit surprise, as that had never happened to me before, and I so wanted to kiss him, but if he didn't want to, I was not going to press the issue. Instead, I kissed down his neck, down the center of his chest, down the center of his flat stomach and used my tongue to lick inside his navel. He moaned, and hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts he raised his butt off the bed and with one motion he pushed down his mesh shorts and boxers, revealing his beautiful dick, which I saw for the first time, circumcised and fully erect as it lay stiff on his belly. I was beautifully sculpted and normal sized, maybe six inches or a little more, but he was so slim that on his body it looked larger than life.
Turning my attention there, I lowered my face near it and inhaled deeply. I smelled his heat, amazed that this prize was so close to my mouth. A small droplet of moisture had appeared on the end of his penis, and putting my hand to my mouth, I filled my palm with warm saliva that I smeared on his erect cock, coating it from top to bottom, while with my other hand I reached below his balls and cradled them in my hand, gently lifting them in their loose sack so they were nestled together in my grasp. With my tongue I licked his balls while rubbing his shaft slowly, slowly, pulling it forward so that it stuck straight out from his loins, rubbing tip to base, top to bottom, end to end, watching him writhe with delight in front of me, his eyes closed, his head tipped back, breathing in short gasps in through his mouth and out through his nose, his head tossing back and forth, slightly, from side to side.
I took my time and made love to him as slowly as I could endure. Rubbing his cock with my left hand, I cupped his balls with the other and raised them high; using my tongue I liked the soft place underneath, just between his scrotum and anus, and found it as clean and tasty as the rest of him had been. I let his balls together fall into my open mouth and sucked them gently, deeply, while I slowly masturbated his erect cock where it thrust a scant inch in front of my eyes. Then I sucked his stiff shaft deep into my mouth, all the way to the base, and released it again. I allowed it to slide from tip to base again and again, moving my whole head and neck back and forth in the process so my teeth would not scrape his sensitive parts. I alternated sucking, then removing my hot mouth and rubbing his hot slick cock for a while before I couldn't resist and again swallowed it into my throat. He began to thrash on the bed like a fish tossed in the bottom of a rowboat, and I felt the muscle at the root of his cock start to contract than spasm against my lips and suddenly his cockhead swelled and as I watched from an inch away, ejected a squirt of clear liquid followed by six or more shots of thick, hot, bubbly white jizz, covering my lips, hands and his tummy. He moaned and grabbed my head roughly on either side and held my face close to his groin as I felt him spasm three, four more times, and then he was done. I allowed his wet cock to slip inside my mouth and with the gentlest licking I tasted swallowed every drop of his delicious, creamy but tangy sperm that remained there, feeling his penis jerk softly a few more times as I did.
The room was silent except for our heavy breathing. I looked up and saw that his face was red and flushed and was damp with his sweat.
"That was so fucking good", he said breathlessly.
I was still fully clothed, and I wanted my own release so badly. But he did not offer, and sitting up, still naked, he smiled. "Thank you." He said. "I wanted to do that. I wanted to know how you made Wes feel. Now I know."
His sperm still glistened thickly in great droplets all over his chest, and I couldn't stand it any longer, I unzipped my own pants and laying beside him, I coated my hands amply with his remaining bubbly white sperm and seizing my own cock I began to rub it roughly myself, devouring the lewd sticky slurping sounds it made. I rubbed for dear life, putting my face near his belly and using my tongue I licked up every remaining drop I could reach of his young tasty jizz, and with the next swallow I knew that I was a goner. Rubbing with wild abandon, I cupped my free hand over the top of my own cock just in time and caught three or four thick fountains of my blasting cum, till my palm overflowed and the spunk spilled out onto my hip and onto the blankets.
Gabe laughed and grabbed a handful of tissues and handed them to me. "Let's get in the shower real quick he said. And so we did, soaping each other from head to toe, him even allowing my soapy finger to slip once up his asshole eliciting a moan, taking turns washing each other, wet fingers exploring each other's normally private areas till we were both fully erect again. I tried to kiss him and he again refused. "I mean it." He told me. "I don't want to fall in love with you."
After he had dressed left, I found one of the tissues he had used to clean up his spunk, and like a trophy I saved it, pressed between the pages of the catalog where Gabe the teenaged model smiled forever back at me wearing his skintight navy blue Speedo.
After that night I never saw him again. I am certain that Wes and he discussed their mutual affairs with me, and perhaps they both decided that they were better off without the confusion of an older man meddling in their relationship. Gabe and I instant-messaged a few times, but they were mostly short innocuous conversations. As for Wes, I never talked to him again at all until he called me sobbing from the military school where his father had sent him in the fall, ostensibly to straighten him out and separate him from Gabriel for good.
That was sixteen years ago. And imagine my surprise when I looked on Facebook some months ago, and found both of them. We are all three linked as "friends" now, but to date my conversations with Wes have been brief. In our last one I said "I assume you are gay" and he replied "You shouldn't assume anything".
Still-handsome Gabe "friended" me as well, but has never replied to any of the messages I have sent him. They are both still attractive and youthful looking, and both describe themselves as "single". As all three of us shared a strict Catholic upbringing, I wonder if either of them ever came to terms with their homosexuality, or if, like me, they have wrestled it into a choke hold that for me, at least, has seemingly ended in a draw.
As for me, I am both still intoxicated and ashamed of my lack of control then, especially that I was unable to keep my hands off of Wes's boyfriend and that I allowed my lust steamroll over my conscience. I know that Gabriel told Wes about our escapade, and I wish I could have been friends to Wes and to Gabe without having had sex with both of them. But I admit it still thrills me that they both were so willing to experiment with me back then.