Your erotic stories

Most weekends I go down to Hong Kong – I've got a "Fuck Buddy" there who's also into piss play. He's a very hot flight attendant and Asian like me. We're not exclusive – both of us play with others and I'm also in a long term relationship back home (Australia).

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I remember the first time I ever thought of being of receiving anal. It was 1973 and I was laying in bed with my girlfriend at the time. We had just had sex and I asked her about having anal sex. She laughed and asked me how I would feel about having someone shove a big cock up my ass. I told her that I didn't think that anyone would be interested in fucking my ass and she blurted out that Roy probably would.

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I made it through the week, not an inconsequential accomplishment in that strange year so long ago. 

I made it through Saturday, too. I wrote a little and did laundry and got some physical activity to try to take the edge off the tension I felt rising within me. I was horny and on a whim, I called up the web site of the Washington Blade, the local gay paper. I scanned the ads, and thought back to how things had been when i was just entering middle age.

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I didn't know if it was the unseasonal heat or the heavy work we'd done that day or Jake's scary stories or Miguel's empty bed that kept me awake in the dormitory that night, but I had nervous energy to spare. I would doze, but I'd wake up with a start and look over at Miguel's bed, the emptiness of it now explained, and then I'd check all of the other beds to see in guys were there. And sometimes they weren't, and then I'd speculate.

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I was meeting close friends John and Ryan at the club. They were bringing Mark, a friend of John's from university who'd recently moved to the city. That might sound like they were trying to hook us up but I'd never needed their help. They knew I'd end the evening with him anyway, as long as he was reasonably good-looking. He was better, but much too controlled for my tastes. The green-hazel eyes were calm and probing, all at the same time, the mouth with its thin upper lip and full lower lip didn't get a lot of exercise as if he thought through every thing before he spoke, not a single blond strand out of place.

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The sky started clouding over as I found the cafe called 'Chances Are' down on Santa Monica Boulevard and pulled in. In 1974, I was nineteen, and had found a man in a swinger's ad magazine, and was here to meet him.

Inside, it was different than any other restaurant I frequented. The clientele was all men, not a woman in sight. I felt a shiver of guilt and fear as I waded into these unknown waters, looking around for a man in a black suede jacket with a large red book. That would be Gary. 

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You knew you wanted this. How warm his breath feels, coming in ragged gasps against the back of your neck. How strong his hands are, one twisted up and fisted in your hair, exposing your throat... how sweet his tongue feels against your skin as he's tasting the sweat glimmering in the moonlight. How blissfully forceful he is, giving you exactly what you need... exactly what you crave. He's all around you.

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Moodily I stared out the train window. The day before Christmas Eve. On the platform of the Boston station, couples reunited, kissing and hugging. Mothers cried and clung to fresh boys in uniform as they headed off to basic training. The war had changed things; the place was somber and not decorated much for Christmas this year.

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It was a Wednesday night, which was two for one rental night at the local adult video store. I picked out a couple of European titles from my favorite director. His films usually featured exotic locales, stunning eastern European babes, and lots of anal. I brought the empty cases up to the till, and the clerk moved over to the drawer where the actual DVDs were stored and retrieved them. I completed the transaction in the usual fashion; minimal words, averted gaze, the slightest tinge of embarrassment for being in the shop in the first place. 

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Three months after I qualified as a sports physiotherapist/masseur, I started my own practice at home until I could find work with a sports club or association. I was enjoying a quiet coffee in the café and reading the daily paper when my mobile phone rang. A man's voice enquired about the possibility of getting a massage.

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