Date: Mon, 22 Apr 2013 10:06:14 +0000
From: Dave <plower_power@hotmail.com>
Subject: The End of an Illusion

The End of an Illusion
By Plower Power

I knew I was done chasing pussy. As I lay back in a new friend's bed, with
a hand around my very hard penis and two lips pressed softly against mine,
I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of me. It had been a long
time coming.

Although I had dated women and liked them, my sexual experiences into my
mid-20s was limited, and not very satisfying. When I actually got lucky
enough to push my cock into a snatch, it always took me a long time to
orgasm, and sometimes just getting hard or staying hard with a girl was a
challenge. I was surprised, in fact, how much more a few girls seemed to
like sex than I did. I was, though, almost painfully shy around women. It
would have been so much easier if I'd simply relaxed around them.

At that time, I didn't connect the fantasies I'd begun having in my early
teens with my sexuality. I had slowly started imagining being with guys. I
knew that was wrong, but it was very exciting, and it helped get me off
when I masturbated, which was of course frequently when I was a teen.
Jerking off didn't slow down at all the much as I hit my 20s, either. And
when I did have sex with a girl, whether it was a make-out session, heavy
petting, or getting my dick into her pussy, I would think about doing
similar things with guys, telling myself later that it was just a harmless
way to spice up the fun I was supposed to be having. I didn't understand I
was trying to believe in an illusion.

There was a reason, I thought, why I would imagine being with a guy, and a
good reason why I liked doing that. It's because I'd been with a guy. I was
all of seven, and he was a neighborhood kid, nine, and he managed to get me
behind a hedge at the rear of his house, where we initially had a few "you
show me yours, I'll show you mine" episodes. At some point, when his
parents were gone one Saturday afternoon, he got me to take off my clothes
and taught me how good it felt for us to stroke each other as we lay on his
bed. We did that a few times, and then my friend moved away.

So maybe, if my early experiences hadn't been with a boy, I'd have liked
girls more. I did manage to what I did with that boy for several years. But
when I hit puberty, I began to remember what I had done, and I wanted to
try penis play with a guy again. Thoughts of girls, even though I knew I
was supposed to be with them, began to disappear.

Maybe, though, I'd have finally stopped fantasizing about guys if it hadn't
been for a chance encounter with a sign on building.

When it happened, I was working for a film production company in Beverly
Hills as a researcher, and one day my supervisor asked me to pick up some
reference material in mid-town Los Angeles. As I drove up to the building,
I noticed a sign over an old, Victorian home next door. It read,
"Gay-Lesbian Center."

This was a long time before the Internet, and my knowledge about gays and
gay life was limited pretty much to what I'd done as a child, and what I
imagined I could do. Yeah, I'd read a little porn and seen a few porno
films. Seeing that sign and that old house, though, set something off
inside me. I could feel my cock stir in my pants, not from conjuring up an
image of mutual masturbation with a hot guy. No, it was knowing that
walking into that building would very likely take me from my fantasy to a
reality I had never faced up to.

My car was parked on the street. All I had to do was get back in it after I
picked up my package of books and magazines. It was already late afternoon,
and I didn't have to go back to work. I could go home. Instead, I sat in my
car for a while. And then I got out and walked up the steps and into the
building. And everything did change.

Inside there was a comfortable lounge, and I was the only visitor in it.
There were lots of brochures and pamphlets about coming out and AIDS and
events planned by the center and a magazine for gay people, the Advocate,
which I'd never heard of, all of it in racks on the walls, or spread out on
tables, around which were some comfortable chairs.There was a good looking
guy and an attractive woman behind the front counter at the far end of the
room, and they both welcomed me, asking if it was my first visit, and if I
had any questions or wanted to speak with someone about any topic.

I was extremely nervous, but I managed to get out that yes, it was my first
visit. That brought an invitation to come back at 7 p.m. for a weekly gay
men's discussion group, and the guy wanted to know if I wanted to be on the
center's mailing list, which I declined.

Back at my car a little later, part of me swore I'd never go back to the
center. Part of me, including a still very stiff cock, wanted nothing more
than to return. I went home and jerked off three times that night, thinking
about meeting guys I could play with.

The next week, I showed up at the center a little before 7. I wasn't a bad
looking guy - masculine, a half-inch shorter than an even 6 feet, on the
thin side because I was fairly athletic from hiking, jogging and biking, my
hair a little long, which was the style in the 80s. In a way, there was a
meeting before the meeting, because there were about ten guys already in
the lounge, including very straight looking guys and effeminate guys. One
of those guys, Ron, who was straight looking, walked over to me and
introduced himself. He was dressed in slacks and a sports shirt, he was a
little taller than me and a little bulkier, and he seemed to be about my
age.

He asked me a few questions, kind of personal, but not exactly about
sex. He asked if I was gay – I said I wasn't sure – and if I had a
girlfriend – I didn't - or if I dated. Ascertaining that it was my first
visit to the group, he walked next to me into the meeting room, and sat
next to me in the circle of chairs which eventually held about 25 mostly
young men. Eventually the moderator had us introduce ourselves, and say
whatever we wanted to about ourselves, too. Before it was my turn, I heard
most of the guys admit they were gay and always had been gay. Some, like
me, said they were there out of curiosity, without saying more. Some
thought they were gay, even if they'd never had sex with a guy, or even
with a girl. I was nervous, but it was liberating to say what I felt.

Then we broke into smaller groups and just talked. And talked. About first
times and coming out and what it felt like to be with a guy and how
difficult it was to be with a woman. And when it was over, Ron had given me
his phone number, and I'd nervously given him mine. He said he'd see me
next week at the meeting. He called me early the next night, though and
invited me over to his apartment in the Echo Park area.

"Don't worry, Dave," he said, "I'm not going to rape you. We're not going
to do anything you don't want to do. There's a reason you were at the
meeting last night. Come over for dinner and a beer and we'll sit on the
couch and watch t.v. and maybe talk some more. Come on!"

It took a lot of willpower not to masturbate before going to see Ron in his
little apartment off Baxter St. I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and
Ron was, too. He looked even better out of the more formal clothes he'd
worn to the meeting. He made us pasta with homemade meatballs. We had ice
cream for dessert and then watched t.v. for a while, sitting close together
on the couch. I was so hard it almost hurt, but I was also scared. Ron
finally turned to me and said, "Well?"

"Well what?" I answered. Ron leaned over and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Are you ready?" With that, he turned me sideways and said, "Let's start
with this," and he began slowly massaging my shoulders and neck. It felt
great, and no words were exchanged for a few minutes. When he stopped, I
asked Ron if I could massage him.

"Not now, baby," he said. His word of endearment made my cock twitch in my
jeans. "Let me take care of you tonight. Here, lift your arms."

"I don't know," I said, still very nervous. Fantasy was one thing. The
massage felt great. Taking off some clothes made me feel a little
inhibited.

"It's OK, remember, I don't bike." His mouth was on my neck and then he
whispered into my ear, "Come on, Dave." I did as he wanted, and he tugged
my t-shirt over my shoulders and dropped it on the floor. I couldn't help
shivering a little, but not from the cold; it was from the unknown.

Ron drew me to him, and he gently kissed me on my cheek, and licked my
neck, and kissed my ears. Then he was bending down, helping take my shoes
off. Then he was at my jeans, unsnapping and unzipping them, and tugging
them off. I helped by lifting my ass off the couch, the same way, I noted,
that girls had helped me on occasion take off their panties, even as others
resisted that (usually to my relief), even if I had already gotten to third
base with them. My pants joined my shirt, and Ron's fingers were soon
gently touching my very erect shaft through my briefs. He wasn't
masturbating me, he was just touching me.

"I see you're enjoying this," he said, smiling and looking straight into my
eyes.

"Yeah."

"Isn't this better than fighting to get into a chick's pants," he said to
me, as much a statement of fact than a question. I wasn't sure what he
meant, though. Was I like a chick that he'd just had to "fight" with a
little? He went on, though, "Isn't it nice to bone up because you want to,
instead of having to? Hey, I've been there, you know." He was right. And I
didn't have to imagine anything, either, this time. What I'd wanted was
right there, in front of me.

I thought I was going to cream in my briefs from the gentle touching Ron
was doing. He was back kissing my neck and ears, too, and his other hand
was slowly exploring my inner thighs, and traveling up to softly tweak my
nipples. He stopped playing with my cock, though, long enough to tug my
briefs down and off me. I felt good, almost proud, to be naked for someone
I realized I was starting to like a lot.

"Hey, this isn't fair," I said. "I want you to be like me."

"OK," Ron said. "Let's go to the bedroom, but in a minute." He moved his
lips to mine. and we kissed, softly. It was electric, from my toes and
through my cock and onto my head. Then Ron was holding me close and his
tongue was trying to get into my mouth. And I was kissing him back, my arms
around him, pulling him as close and as tight as he was pulling me. Kissing
him like that, kissing a male, liberated me from any remaining misgivings I
might have had, misgivings like worrying if I was doing something wrong, or
if I'd have a difficult time coming, like I did with girls.

We finally stood up and putting his hand on my cock, he pulled me toward
the other room. Once there, as we sat on the edge of his big bed, I helped
strip Ron down, and there was my first close encounter with a beautiful,
naked man, and his beautiful, naked penis, a penis a little bigger, in
length and girth, than mine.

Ron had my lay on my back. Sitting next to me, his right hand clamped
around my cock, he leaned over for a another kiss, a brief one. He hand
started a slow, gentle rhythm on my shaft, and I knew I wouldn't last
long. Ron knew it too. "Let me know when you're ready to come, baby," he
said. There was that word again. Baby.

"Oh, fuck!" I said. "I'm almost there."

"Tell me when you're really close."

"Oh, fuck!" I repeated. "Now!"

My eyes were closed, so I didn't see Ron lean over again, but I felt his
warm mouth engulf my cock, his hand still closed around the base of my
cock, just as the first powerful, orgasmic spam hit me. Damn, I was coming,
and I was coming inside a guy's mouth! It was as intense come as I'd ever
experienced, and I felt my butt lift off the bed, as I humped and pumped
into Ron's eager mouth and hand.

I spewed my load in a long series of spasms. Ron kept me inside him until I
was spent. I pulled my deflating cock out of his mouth.

Ron lay next to me now. I looked down his beautiful body, his bare chest
and bare legs. I thought his hard cock looked like it was waiting for my
touch. I reached for it and started to masturbate my new friend, as he
turned toward me and we kissed. Soon I started in ernest jacking Ron off to
what I hoped would be as good a come as I'd had just enjoyed. Neither of us
would be disappointed.

There was, I knew, no turning back for me. That night, as my cock began,
amazingly, to stir again, my illusion, no, my delusion about sex, was
over. I knew I was done chasing pussy forever.

--

Comments or questions: plower_power@hotmail.com