This might have been 1972 in San Francisco but out here in rural Averill Park it might as well have been 1930. There may have been gay guys my age around, but if there were they kept it to themselves like it did.
A couple of weeks ago my Mom let me take the car into the big city, which in our case was Albany, New York.
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He had hoped that by taking a long, hot shower that he would somehow be able to shake off, or at the very least reduce, that dreadful feeling of shame that had overcome him that night, but as was to be expected — it did not. He still felt dirty and had only found that feeling getting worse and worse by the second.
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I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn't just me boasting. That's what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I've heard both men say that, in the peach business, it's getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does that can mean the difference between a good season and a break-even or bad season.
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Walking through O'Hare airport in Chicago, I stopped short when I recognized my old friend Roger, whom I had not seen since our college days back in Oklahoma. Roger recognized me as well, as he smiled broadly and stuck out his hand. It had been almost 35 years since we had last seen each other and now we happened to meet by chance in an airport, both of us laying over for the night on business.
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It was a warm night, the breeze from the ocean offsetting the heat. The moon had risen full over the eastern Caribbean. After a long day of hiking and snorkeling, my wife had gone to bed. I wasn't sleepy, so around midnight, I walked from the condo up the dirt road to where it ended on the cliff. At some time in the past a bench had been set there, so one could enjoy the view. I sat down to take in the view.
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(Read my other stories to get to know about me and Joe and what I am all about. All my stories are very real and are totally true and did happen just like I have written them.)
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I am writing to tell you about my first threesome that happened between me and my friend Joe and a guy called Ken about two weeks ago.
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There was a time when I hated... everything. It was the year 3510 when I was dragged into this existence by my twin brother, Devon-literally. The asshole gripped my hands in our mother's womb and dragged me out with him. He's a black haired demon-god... not really, but I like to bother the fuck out of him with that little line all the time. Pisses him off.
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Note: Your comments or constructive criticism mean a lot to me. Feel free to leave me a private message if you'd like to share your thoughts, get updates on future chapters or receive a personalized photo of my cock.
Statement of veracity: This is a true story. Well, everything up to the break point. I'll leave it to you to guess which of these is the full true story.
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Warning: I write love stories with graphic sex. Sometimes the lovers are of the same gender. So if love offends you, you'd best move on. MJL
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As I sat in the unknown room, blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back, I was apprehensive, but not really scared. While it’s true there had been stories around for years about hazing stunts gone terribly wrong, resulting in serious injuries and even deaths, nothing like that had ever happened at my university. Also, the fraternity I was pledging was probably the last one where such a thing ever would happen.
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Hi, I'm Steve. I'm 41 years old and generally consider myself a kinky, but normal guy. I had met Michelle in a hotel bar in Houston. I was there on business attending a conference when we struck up a conversation. Though I was from St. Louis, I visited Houston often for clients. She was from Houston, which proved lucky for me.
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