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Getting blow jobs while driving is dangerous, so pull over dammit. Before you do something to someone else, think first what it would be like if it were done to you. Opinions are like assholes, everybody has one. This is erotic fiction. It may not be read by anyone under the legal age in his/her community. It should not be read by anyone who is offended by the concept of male/male sex. It makes no representation of any actual persons living or dead. If you so choose, I can be reached at email@example.com. Flames will be attached to arrows and sent right back atcha. Other comments will be responded to as I can! Thanks for reading.
Names changed, scenarios and scenery altered. This journey is 40+ years in the making for me, and as such may well take a long time to tell. This story is a mixing of fact, and fiction. It's my hazy, (maybe idealized (at times)) journey through time.
I was born and raised in the suburbs west of Boston. Second son to my father and fourth child to my mother. I believe they may well have been better off naming me Enigma, but I was named Kort. My Sisters fault really, one of the two of them, that I'm sure of. I just can't recall which. What prompted a name of Danish origin I'll never know, especially in a mongrel Irish and French family such as my own. The Joes and the Marks, Daniels, Christophers, Roberts and Eddies, etc. All quite normal names one finds any and everywhere. But not I, No Sir! I had to be different. Mind you I don't harbor ill will toward my sister, but I wonder sometimes, why i had to be saddled with that name. Looks wise, I was a very average dark haired boy. Brown eyes and a ready smile. I loved music, fishing, sports and reading and anything mechanical or electronic. Music and books though, those were the things that really did it for me. Music I really can't explain beyond saying that when a song hit me I got lost in it, I still do. Books were my escape, my playground. I'm pretty sure I read every book in that house.
I remember all too well the single worst fear of my childhood... sleep. That tiny room, a sewing room off my parents bedroom, in that old house. A solitary sconce over the left side of my little bed. Not a dark drab room at all, very Norman Rockwell really. Wainscot below cheery wallpaper, big bright window framed in that rich dark old wood. Grandmothers home made quilts on the bed, Redsox and Bruins pennants and hats. Truly a delightful safe place in the light. I learned everything about terror there in that little room, when darkness fell.
Deep in the shadows that played across the walls, lurked something that felt so malicious, and I couldn't escape it. That shadowy figure that crept around the room when night fell. It was always there, stalking me, ready to pounce, the darkness it's playground, my fear it's power. I lay curled entirely under the covers, paralyzed by my fears, knowing that I'd not survive, I was going to die. My only hope of survival was light. I knew I was safe in the light. I remember working up the courage to fly up from under the covers to the switch on the sconce that held my salvation. Many nights I flew to that switch, from under the safety of those covers. I always survived, only to know that I'd have to do it again and again and again. To this day I don't sleep well in the dark of night, but I no longer harbor the conscious fear of whatever existed there in that little room, nor it's intent. .
I had this recurring dream at that same age, but to bring it to light without a properly set background would not do it's effects on me any justice. I would have to say we were, a typical 1970's family. Father worked hard running the business he built from nothing, was mild mannered, laid back almost. Fast with a smile and appreciative of a joke. Older than usual for a child my age, but I suppose not totally uncommon, he was I believe 52 years old when I was born. I can't begin to tell you how much I loved that man, but lets just say in my eyes he was everything any storybook father should be. Kind, caring, considerate, Interested in his son and in spending time with him. We went places and did things, I was never left behind. Mother was such a different sort, deeply caring but short tempered, overprotective and old fashioned, neurotic almost.
One of the things I remember most vividly was discipline. Father would talk to me, Mother would talk at me. Fathers face would cloud over and he'd sometimes raise his voice, mother would just backhand me then suggest that she could provide me with something to really cry about... Grandmother (Mother's Mother) was very much the original version of mother, but she never that I remember, laid a hand on me. Something about her was... scary. To this day I can't really describe it but I feared that woman as much as I loved her. I loved them all, but I most certainly did not like or respect them equally. Father had my love and respect, we were friends too. Mother had my love but I really didn't like her very much at that age. Grandmother well, I liked her and loved her in my own way, but I feared her also. As I think on this I recall things she did and more so I see them for what they were. She was manipulative and malicious. She was critical of father, but behind his back. I know that she disliked Father and I think, given her choice, she would rather have seen mother leave him. Sad really as she lived on my fathers dime, in our house. But she did this with a subtlety only the most cunning can muster. Forgive me my disapproving views, because I know much more than I'll put to paper.
The dream was always the same, Father would die first, then Mother, and I would be left alone with Grandmother. I feared the loss of Father more than anything in the world. For me, the sun rose and set on this man. I had that dream as far back as I can remember (I clearly recall 1975 even now). It was through that dream I became resigned to being tormented. I never ever spoke to anyone of that dream. I carried it alone for 40 years. Father passed on when I was 17. Mother passed on when I was 21. Grandmother went to a retirement community and I struck out on my own. Some dreams do come true, unfortunately.
The Waking Hours
Our house only had one bathroom, very typical with sink commode and tub. It was there that I first discovered orgasm. Baths were something that I took on my own by then, showering never crossed my mind. I'd had baths forever and they were all I knew. The tub was fun time, I never really concerned myself with washing, that just happened anyways. I was always much more interested in playing with the toys in the tub. How it came to pass that I found myself soaped up head to toe sliding around on my belly in that warm, recently drained old porcelain tub I really don't know but it sure felt good. I remember it slowly building, a certain move this way or that amplifying it tenfold, and then it overcame me. Toes curled, body flexing yet my movements frozen as if time had stopped. A little frightened if I remember correctly, but I was immediately sure that what had happened was a good thing. This became routine for me, experiencing it as often as I could, as time allowed. I remember that first time, I had orgasm d while it was soft. Amazing really as I spent those times trying to reach that wonderful feeling as quickly as possible, before I got hard and couldn't...
I had finished my bath that night and commenced my playing, as I thought of it, soapy yet again all over my front side. I had come to find that I could get that feeling now even when it got hard, so that removed that rush from my time in the tub. I was quite content to spend as much as a few hours there. Never had I thought that someone would just barge in, no one ever had before. One of my sisters did though and I got marched downstairs to have my escapades revealed to my mother. By the time the yelling was done not only was I still naked, covered in soap and ashamed. But I was convinced that I was a horrible nasty person. Self esteem... what self esteem, I was shit.
I remember playing in the dusty dirt with Drew. Tonka toys and Matchbox cars strewn about, smiles on our faces. He was a gangly dark haired boy that I had met at the bus stop on day one of kindergarten. We hit it off and were fast friends. Our parents hit it off also and that just made the two of us closer. I don't think there was one childhood adventure we didn't share. We had fun, we shared, fought with each other. Hell, we were pretty much like brothers. When his family vacationed I went with, when my family vacationed he went with. Sleepovers and team sports, cub scouts... I recall thinking that he'd be with me forever. Oh, the dreams of youth...
That night on my bed, so long ago I have a hard time picturing it, when we touched each other. Shared that secret childhood discovery. I can still see your shyness, interest and desire. Our Innocence was such a wonderful thing. I'm glad we shared that discovery with each other, those touches. I remember being amazed that you shied away from me using my mouth on you, but willingly offered yourself for that most intimate of acts (how the fuck did YOU know about THAT?). I do have to laugh now at how quickly I gave up the idea when I couldn't find something to make us slippery. No one could have been more perfect than you for that discovery. We had trust and brotherhood, and I thought, something more. Your phone call a few days later pretty much shattered that glass house, I'm just glad we remained friendly as we drifted apart.
Another night, different house and people. Dan and I were getting ready to go to sleep. Him in his bed and myself on the floor. "Check this out" he said as he lifted the covers on his bed into a tent, not much above his body. I rose to my knees and peered down into darkness beneath his covers. "Feel This" he said, and I reached down there only to make contact with something I didn't understand right away. It only took me a few seconds to realize what it was and I pulled away quickly, scared, while asking him why he did that. 'I just wanted to" he replied with a small smile on his face. The moment passed and we talked on of other things. Time passed and you slipped off to sleep. I laid there wishing you would have tried to get me to do that again. Never did either of us mention that incident, like it never happened, and It never happened again.
TV really was limited back then. Six or Seven channels, sports and news the average with my parents around. I was content with that. Afternoon TV with it's cartoons, Speed Racer, Felix the Cat. Early evenings before Dad took over the TV to see the news, Adam 12, Emergency, and Lost in Space... Lost in Space, God how I hated that Dr. Smith. Robot was so cheesy, but cool all the same. That boy though, god he really made my head spin. I remember watching the credits impatiently, Danger Will Robinson, so I could learn his real name, I had to know it. Billy... I still love redheads and freckles and pug noses.
We always ate together as a family back then, adults conversing, "children should be seen and not heard". The only talk I had ever heard on Homosexuality was centered around our kitchen table over dinner, never was it pleasant. I was just learning what those slurs from other children meant, when they called some other boy a fag. I just knew it wasn't something I wanted to be. Hushed talk from adults, of perverts and houses to be avoided. All of that, overtime, melded and became one thing in my mind. Homo equals child molesting pervert. I felt very much alone. All of this was at or before the age of 10. Back then no internet, no groups to turn to for help. The idea of ever admitting to the things I felt was beyond scary. Back then I was very much alone.
I can say only that my Idealized view of my life and family was perfect. I know they loved me and I loved them back. I know I overlooked so much that was less than ideal, but that’s what children do. They, we, I... see the best and ignore the rest. Looking back I see the failings within those walls, I see the fights between Mother and Father. The headaches and hassles of raising children, running a business, surviving. I see the turmoil in my fathers eyes as he sat and drank too much in the evenings. The strength of my Mother as she faced a death sentence and struggled on. I salute them for all their efforts, and I forgive them their shortcomings. I only wish that I could once again spend a carefree day fishing with Father, hell, I'd settle for a backhand from Mother with the same happiness. Why have I told you this? Because it's a part of everything for me. These people I've talked about have all influenced my life, in effect, I am what they have made me.
And so ends this entry, but a brief highlight of those first ten years of my life. I look back today at photo albums and see myself as I was back then. I'm amazed that I don't see in those pictures what I thought reeked from every pore: A scared gay kid. I see simply a smiling boy. I guess the Camera missed a lot.
I started writing this because I really need some clarity in my life. Putting it all down on paper seems to me to be a good way to look back upon things that have occurred in my life. Very much a chance to really examine the truths and falsehoods. I can sit here and tell a tale of things that happened, then I can look at it, dissect it, and throw away the bullshit. It's really a turning point in my life right now, and I know I need to make changes to survive it. For me to begin making changes I need to better understand my past, the things that have brought me to the place I'm at today. I had originally planned to try and walk chronologically through my life, but I don't think I can do that. I'm not good with structure.
So... I'm taking a diversion through things that niggle at me. This one is about a schoolmate in my high school years and the relationship we had. As I begin this chapter I'm listening to The Gaslight Anthem, "The `59 Sound". Some Frank Turner and Jimmy Barnes to follow.
Derek in Retrospect
I'd know him since we were little kids, played together at times, but something about Derek was always just a little bit disturbing. He was wild and reckless. I was a wild child too, but I always felt Derek went just a little too far in almost everything. He interested me, even captivated me at times, but he scared me.
Once when we were little I spent a day playing with him at his house. The place bordered a wooded area and it was dry that fall. I don't remember the incident exactly, it's very fuzzy, but he was playing with fire that day in the woods. I knew how dangerous it was and that it was going get us in some deep shit, he was unconcerned. It was a small dry wild grass patch amongst the trees where he set that fire, and it got away from us. I couldn't say if we just ran or if we tried to stomp it out and failed. He never stopped laughing and I barely avoided crying. It was that same day that he exposed himself to me tauntingly, and I can't recall any more than that.
Derek at 17
He was of Irish and Nordic ancestry. Very fair complexion with slightly redder, not quite fine, strawberry blond shoulder length hair parted down the center. Sparkling pale blue eyes with a depth of darker blue below . His face was oblong but not thin, with moderately full and extremely red lips, his nose classically Irish. I found myself so easily lost in that face.
He was and inch or two taller than my 5'9", slimmer, probably weighing in at about 160 lbs. His upper body was just a bit beyond average, enough so that you'd notice it but it didn’t scream out at you. He filled out the tight pair of Levi's, that was almost regulation uniform back in the mid 80's, in a way I'd never seen before. In all my years I have never seen the equal on another white man. I'm not talking package here. I'm talking about the ass of the gods. So perfectly round and, excuse the phrase.... perky. I could probably spend hours trying to describe, but I shan’t.
Derek wasn't an out and out pretty boy, more a cross between classically handsome, boy next door, and pretty boy. I guess it matters not how I describe him to you, but what does count is how he affected me. It made my knees go wobbly just to see him. One of the very few people I have ever met that could leave me feeling close to creaming my jeans without even having time to get hard. I think you get the picture. If there’s ever been one guy that did that for you, then just substitute his image in here for the duration. Enough said!
My family had moved to a newer house in 1980 with a guesthouse out back. That became mine at 15, and it afforded me an incredible amount of freedom. Father had passed on when I was seventeen and I was in a sad state, drugs, booze and the lot. That's where this really starts.
Derek came over one evening at my request and as we sat talking, getting high and drinking beers, and I came out to him. I knew I could do that and have no real issues.
He didn't know that a close buddy of mine had told me of his games. How he'd visit a certain adult in the area who would happily ply young men with drugs and booze so he could get into their pants. He had tried to get my buddy to go along with him a few times, and I guess succeeded at least once. He took my admission in stride, reassuring me there was no problem with what I'd told him. Our conversation continued on, beer and joints flowed, music played, but with him now almost absentmindedly touching himself. Sometimes lifting his shirt a bit to pass his hand over his smooth tummy, or to reach up and tweak a nipple.
Later on his shirt came off as he told me he felt hot. Suppressing my laughter wasn't easy as I caught the game immediately and loved it. Here I was, hoping to get him into bed, and he turns the tables. Fucking priceless it was, and I played the game with him. I just continued talking and drinking and smoking, watching him get more and more bothered. Soon enough he began to unbutton his Levi’s and spread the waist down and apart while claiming how he felt “just so hot”.
It didn't take me long to act. I moved over to the couch and moved in next to him, looking into his eyes for that permission to proceed. Resting my head on his tummy, I began to tease him with my hand. That lasted all of about 30 seconds before he was moving me aside so his pants could come off. There’s just no easy way to get pants that tight off while seated. I did the same, quickly dropping my t-shirt and pants to the floor, and both of us returned to the couch in socks and tighty whities.
Same position assumed as before, I began to use my mouth along with my hands. I enjoyed teasing him, tonging him from neck to navel and back again, all the while softly caressing his cock through the white fabric. He was quite surprisingly gentle, as he used both his hands to guide my head lower, not forcing but suggesting. As I reached that area I used a hand to expose him, tucking the briefs under his balls. His cock was slightly longer than mine but not as thick, smooth and of the same complexion as the rest of him. The head purplish and nicely proportioned. Very very straight and hard, yet so soft, The pubic patch above that was slightly more blond in color than his hair, neither fine nor coarse. Hos balls were large, pinkish, and pretty smooth.
He continued to guide my head down, closer to his cock. I happily spent some time licking it and nipping at the tip, exploring the slit and corona. I dipped down and mouthed his balls for a while and he left me to do as I wished. I used my tongue to explore as much of him as I could in that position. I can't say his smell was intoxicating, but it was clean and fresh. After a time I moved back to that sweet meat, and his hands returned again to my head, running through my hair and down to the back of my neck in an appreciative manner, but always guiding my movements. He liked a slow full rhythm, rising to the head and sinking to the base, the pattern never changing. His hips rose and fell opposite my motion as he fucked my mouth beautifully. I masturbated myself as he worked me, not managing to keep any type of rhythm for myself,as I was so lost in servicing him.
He had really good holding power as it took quite a long time to bring him off. The point came very quietly as his balls pulled up even more tightly and he moaned just a bit more. He attempted to signal me to pull off with changed hand movements on my head but he wasn't very insistent about it and I didn't want to. I brought myself off quickly after him, as I continued to gently work his softening cock.
Rather abruptly he got up and wandered to my bathroom where he washed himself in the sink. He came back and dressed quickly, claiming a need to be home before his parents became upset, then headed out. This was my first encounter of this nature with him, but it was a long way from the last.
Derek had issues, serious ones at that. His family's religious background played a prominent role in him constantly refusing to acknowledge his preferences. He always used the drink and drugs as a cover, as plausible deny-ability. While I tended to gravitate to pot and LSD, he moved into cocaine. It was with him that I first freebased, but that just wasn't my thing. I don't know how we managed it, but neither of us really got into any major trouble with the drugs.
We fell into what is probably best described as a routine. Always high, always drinking, always fucking. He was a serious bottom, partially because he really liked it, but I think also because it was the position others had put him in. Over time he told me of people he had been with, and I knew how those people were. I always felt bad that he had gone there, but the most I could do was try to care about him as much as he would allow.
For him there was little cuddling, and positively no kissing. He just didn't go there. He wasn't “Gay”, nor “Bi”, labels just weren't allowed. At times it bothered me, and I regret having felt that he'd be better admitting it all to himself. I know I pressured him at times, but he always shrugged it off. It was a selfish thing on my part, thinking that if he could just admit it to me we could go further. And so we continued to play his game. Score tied, extra innings.
Myself, well I think I was mostly an average 17 year old at the time. 5'10”. Thick black hair slicked back. Dark brown eyes with a slightly darker complexion. Fu Manchu, tight jeans and a leather jacket, strap boots and my motorcycle completed my ensemble. I was built like a brick shithouse. I'm pretty sure this was one of the reasons he and I got on so well. I wasn't the guy, at least on the outside, that would ever be called a fag. I used to actually have a good laugh meeting people, far more often than not I was told “I can't believe your gay”. Ah well. I had my walls too.
We both saw other people on a regular basis. I really didn't date much, Boston was an easy place to hook up if you knew how. I had met another boy, Matt was his name. Blond, cute and very effeminate. While I wasn't very good at coping with that part of him we got along well in bed and “dated” for some time. Matt was sort of an outspoken queen, stupidly so at times. We had come back to my place one evening and Derek showed up soon after. Matt being the way he was didn't read the warning signals Derek was giving off.
I had gone into the bathroom to take care of a nature call and while pissing heard a pretty serious crash. I went back out to find Matt on the floor holding his face and Derek standing over him. It seems Matt had made advances and Derek said “No” in his own way. Matt didn't stay long in my life, he was a user of people and very self involved. Derek was still there though, and comfortable companionship with benefits on the side was a pretty good deal.
An evening with Derek always followed a pattern. Meet, do some activity that wasn't sexual in nature, maybe go out for food or to visit with friends at one local hangout or another. It didn't really matter what, but it was always something. It was a good time too and we both enjoyed it. Derek had a great, though slightly evil sense of humor and he was liked by most. We always went to my place afterward, and there, it was music or TV while we drank and got high and shot the shit.
We almost never got seriously fucked up, it was mostly a sociable thing now. And of course his deny-ability safety net. Since that first meeting with him things had become much easier where sex was concerned. I always let him lead into things and then took over. He need only do something as simple as unsnap the top button of his jeans or show me some skin and we were off. Once he had decided it was time he was not shy about it at all. It wasn't OK to do as I may have wished, prior to the invitation, but the invitation always came, and I wasn't one to decline.
Sex for us always began with a sixty nine, with me moving to rimming him as he sucked me. I loved it as did he. That boy seriously dug having his ass played with and I loved doing it. Me, well I love getting blown and D was one fuck of a cocksucker. He almost always sucked me till I came, then relaxed more as I continued to rim him. At that age I had a recovery rate that was well under 10 minutes and always ended up fucking him. Again deny ability played into it all, doggy style was the theme for fucking. It didn't vary, and it didn't bother me. He just didn't want the intimacy of eye contact. I always took him slowly, teasing his hole with the tip of my fat cock. Pushing in enough to half bury the head then slipping back to just the tip. Sometimes I moved back and rimmed him more, other times he'd reach back with a hand and encourage me to enter him faster. We always played bareback with each other, not the smartest thing but we were young and disease just wasn't on our minds.
We'd spend hours some times just fucking, me sliding my cock slowly in and out of that fine creamy ass of his. I loved to watch how he gripped me as I slid in and out, I loved his moans and purrs. I loved to watch his hair sway forward and back, hanging loosely down the sides of his face, as we rocked together. Sometimes he was contrary to my strokes, sometimes he rocked with me, he always participated. I enjoyed touching him so much, running my hands up his sides or around to his chest as I lowered myself on his back. I knew he liked it too.
He could be judged by the sounds he made, while not loud, he was definitely communicative. Inevitably climax happened, and I'd shoot my load while pressed as deeply inside him as I could get, growling and groaning. He sometimes brought himself off while we fucked but usually he preferred me to suck him to conclusion after I had finished fucking, and I loved doing that for him. Always he had those hands in use on my head, gently controlling his pleasure. That was a turn on like no other. Something about making Derek cum, me being that pleasure for him, was intoxicating.
One Small Step...
For a change Derek actually got pretty wasted. Rarely did either of us get close to so fucked up that we couldn't have driven home, this was one of those evenings though. For the first time things weren't the same. Instead of rolling to his knees, he lay back and pulled me to him. I lay by his side licking and nuzzling around his neck and chest. His legs spread and he again urged me to move in between. For the first time I got to watch his face as I rimmed him. Eyes mostly closed, head laid back on my pillow with his hair swept back exposing so much of his face. He made sweet fuck faces as I worked him, fucking him with my tongue. Soon I raised myself up to my knees and moved into him, face to face for the first time. This time he kept his eyes on me, not really betraying any emotion, just watching. I pressed into him and stopped, held myself because I was so excited I almost came just from that one movement alone. He waited patiently and I calmed myself, never once taking his eyes from mine. When I regained control I started rocking onto him, sometimes turning my head to lick and kiss his legs on either side of my head, and still he watched but with a much more relaxed and comfortable expression on his face. Gone was the emotionless facade.
I moved myself in tighter to him, my thighs further up his sides, his ass pressed tightly to me, him so much more exposed. And as I fucked him I moved my upper body further and further down to meet his, all the while still looking into each others eyes. I licked at his throat, tasted him, playing up to his ears and back to his chin. At some point I used my face to brush his, cheek to cheek, nose to nose, and eventually lip to lip. Another first as we kissed while I fucked him. He wasn't at all hesitant. I drew myself back and pulled him up with me so that he was sitting there upright with me. Then I came deep inside him, fighting desperately to not lose that eye contact. It was an incredibly powerful orgasm, soul draining really, but I stayed with him, slowly collapsing into him and us back into the mattress as it faded. We stayed like that for a long time, and then drifted off to sleep for a bit.
It wasn't long before we woke, maybe 30 minutes or so, still pressed together, soft and sticky. He awoke as I repositioned myself along side. We kissed for a while longer, then he closed his eyes and spoke to me. “I want us to try this, to be together”. And I laughed at him...
“No... Shit Derek, you won't even admit this conversation ever happened in the morning.” I laughed out, literally.
It was in the same manner you might try to say something after hearing an incredibly funny joke. I wasn't trying to be mean, at the time I was so sure that there was just no way in hell. I settled back into him and we, or maybe just I, drifted back off to sleep. He was still there the next morning.
We never talked about it really, we went back to the routine. It had changed for us though, just a little bit. Derek was more distant, not extremely so, but enough to notice sometimes. Me, well I sometimes felt a touch of guilt when he was around. He started to bring “girlfriends” around with him, some wildly beautiful girls, all of them very sweet people and I felt bad for them, knowing how things would be. I didn't fully understand it, I should have, but I didn't.
One Giant Leap
After Mother passed away I moved to an apartment not too far away. This was 3 years after our first encounter mentioned here earlier. I hadn't really seen Derek in a while then. I'd turned 21, I was off learning to live life. I had a new guy in my life, a poor choice really, but it satisfied me at the time. Financially I was in good shape, so I spent most of my time on the road. I traveled, had fun, followed interests. Sometimes I was home, but not too often.
On one of those occasions I was in the living room of my apartment puttering around with something, maybe watching TV, I don't recall. The apartment was a first floor place with a small deck right out front. My new boyfriend was there with me at the time. I had stopped really paying attention to whatever it was that I was doing and had just sat looking out the patio door. People walked by, cars passed. None of it really striking me in any particular way, until I recognized a face. I quickly got up and made my way out and stopped Derek and invited him to visit. He agreed to come by then we both went on about our business.
Later that day he stopped by and we did get to visit some. I introduced him to my new boyfriend when he came in, and man was there some tension there. Derek had this thing about him, he was really quick to let you know where you stood with him. It was posturing and he did it all the time. My new boyfriend, who was a very sweet timid guy, was admirably just as quick to stand up to Derek. I was a bit surprised really, Derek was no slouch and you knew it just looking at him.
I ended up having to step between the two of them as the confrontation got more heated, neither of them willing to back down. I had to explain that Derek was a friend and I don't just not deal with my friends over a relationship. Derek I had to put into a chair, I then explained to him that no one threatened my boyfriend, and that if push came to shove I'd put my boy first and put him through the door if necessary. Things mellowed after that but the tension didn't dissolve. Soon enough D went on his way and I went on with my day.
Some time later that summer Derek found his way to my place again. He was looking for a fast fuck and I was willing to give it to him. But I just wasn't willing to go with the old routines that day, so I took control and put him on his back on the couch. I told him to just shut the fuck up as he began to protest, then dropped my clothes. I went and grabbed some lube and told him as I came back to the couch that I had a surprise for him. I reached down with a lube coated hand and started to grease his cock then I straddled him. Eyes locked for the second time in our lives, I started to lower myself down on him, and he rose to meet me. I had never bottomed before, never had any interest in it, but I wanted him in me that day. It took some work to get him in too, and I don't think he'd topped much at all if ever. He was almost desperately trying to buck into me even before he'd even gotten the head into me. I had to slow him both with words and my hands, but we made it there finally. I accepted him into me and got past the pain. I was pretty sure by that time, that I was his first in this way, but he did great. I was no bottom, fuck I didn't even see myself as versatile in those days, but I sure enjoyed it. I'd never even imagined what it would be like to feel another person buried in me, moving in and out. I got off big time on it, knowing that I was providing that pleasure for him. He really fucked me well I'll tell ya. When we were done we were both covered in sweat and cum. I got a hug and a small kiss after we had cleaned up and dressed again. Then he was off, out the door, back to his life and I back to mine.
That was the last time I ever saw Derek. Soon after that last encounter, I moved away.
I have a million excuses in my head, ways to explain it all away but I can't do that. I think I know now, that he'd have tried. Maybe we could have made a go of it, we might have failed, but we didn't get to try. My insensitivity cost us that chance and I regret it deeply. Worse yet I'm left to wonder how badly I hurt him, and I know now that I did. I came across him on Myspace the other day. A picture of him and another of those stunningly beautiful women he could always land, on a beach together. The caption read “The woman I'm going to marry”. Twenty years later and he's still not changed. I've struggled over contacting him, I want to, I feel as if I'd just bring more pain.
To Andrew and Damon, In my minds eye I see us playing together as only children can. Now long separated, I still think fondly of you. You both taught me of beauty, trust, and so many other things. I dearly hope we'll cross paths again in this life.
Andy and Robert, you taught me of acceptance when I was so sadly sure that there was none. From you I also learned forgiveness. They are far greater gifts than I could ever have imagined.
Tim, Donald... People pass into and out of each others lives, briefly you were in mine. For that short time you were my world, even if I wasn't yours. I believe that distorts my perceptions of you, actually I know it does, but I can live with that. A lifetime later I still think of you both and wish it could have been different. Scribbled on that wall in a special place you left me hope, "Times Change". Yes, they do, but the tears shed were real, as was the emotion behind them. That little bit of your heart left there on that wall, and those tears so long ago evaporated, keeps me from hating you. I miss who we once were.
C... My Brother. Perhaps the oddest addition to my life, most treasured. I've loved you since I first set eyes on you. Of all the straight boys to cross my path and take a piece of my soul, you alone remain. I'm blessed to have you, doubly blessed now that were coming even closer together after so many years. I'll always be there for you too.
John Boy, Although a many a mile separates us, you are as near to me and as dear to my heart as anyone ever was.
Derek, I'm so sorry...
To all the restless souls who shall remain unnamed here only because the list is too long, think not yourselves any less important... I am forever changed.
14 March 2011
Somewhere out under the big sky.