David was one of the regulars at my favorite bar. He was one of many people I saw there on a fairly regular basis; we'd occasionally chat about sports or movies or our favorite types of booze. He was a couple years older than me (I was 26 at the time) and, even though I'd never had any sort of sexual or romantic encounters with another guy before, I couldn't help but notice that he was attractive.
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Alex was desperate to get off the farm, but it was the only thing he knew, the only trade he had. How he longed to escape to the city, but what would he do there, he wondered.
At twenty three he still looked eighteen with his clear blue eyes and shiny blond hair and freckled nose.
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The wife was gone to her sister's for the weekend. I got up late and was shaving in the bathroom mirror when I noticed a reflection in the closet mirrored door. Someone was looking in my bedroom window. I couldn't make out who it was. I only saw the shape of the head. I continued to shave and moved into a different position so I could have a better view. It was a guy. He didn't move. He just stood still and peeked through the blinds.
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I had resigned myself to another frustrating night alone without relief. It had been two weeks since I had last been allowed an orgasm, and the need was deep in my groin.
This was not the first time that a significant period of time had passed without contact from my master, but this was the longest he had gone without coming to me, and he had been very specific that I could not masturbate and cum until he told me I could.
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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.
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Some times, we go places we didn't intend to go, but are happy to get there when we do. That is certainly true with the way my wife and I developed sexually. We married after she graduated from college. I was two years ahead of her. I graduated and moved about 30 minutes away to my first job. We saw each other each weekend and also during the week. Sex was a priority then. I really liked sex with her. We would spend a lot of time naked. I liked that.
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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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