On the outside I've never been weird in any way. I'm popular, with girls and guys. I have normal interests. I go to parties, get drunk, have fun, have normal relationships. I could have sex, normal sex, and enjoy it a normal amount.
But it is only when I think about rape that I really start to feel that heat like nothing else. A hollow aching inside me, yearning to be filled.
10. Sometime in late July, the first year.
My hair splayed out around me as the trickling flow of the stream lifted and carried it. Soothed by the water, my body warmed in the desert sun. I held Tom's hand and squeezed with love. We had been lying in the creek for nearly half an hour, letting our tired bodies come back to themselves after fucking so so hard.
I have always loved women. There is just something delightful about femininity and female-ness that has always resonated with me. Even as a child, I found it easier to make friends with girls than with boys. Oh, sure, I played on the sports teams, and engaged in the same kind of rough-and-tumble as the other boys, but females seemed to draw something deeper out of me, something thoughtful, and deeper than just scoring touchdowns, or hitting home runs.
You squeeze my hand tightly as we enter the room. We have both waited a long time for this day. It grew from just a playful phone sex topic to fantasizing and masturbating in private to planning the real thing. The bed is in the center of the room. She sits on her knees in the center of the bed blindfolded. I gave her very specific instructions before she arrived and I am pleased she followed them.
"I hate her," Joe muttered as he watched Natalie bounce through the crowded college courtyard. Two years, they had been together. Two years of wasted emotion, compromises, and plans. Hell, they hadn't really started making love until these last few months, and that's why he had thought she was the one. "'Let's save ourselves until we're sure,'" he grumbled.
One day, a classmate from my Asian Arts class stopped me just after class. He invited me to a party at his fraternity. I thought about it, and since I had no other invitation, I decided to go and have a little crazy fun while I was there. You know; you're only in college once.
Frat parties have not been on my list of 'must do' social events since my third semester.
I hate it when they keep moving stuff around. When it comes to things like fish or produce, I find better quality at the local health food chain store. But the produce department here seems to like to move things around from week to week, I guess to create a more seasonally appropriate display. But I'm a pragmatic man, and I like to find things in the same place.
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.
I hate labels. I don't consider myself gay. Hell, I don't even think of myself as bi, either. Slightly bent? Straight with a slight curve? Fuck if I know because I love sex with women. Really, I do, except I've had a dick or two inside my mouth, too. So, what does that make me? Before Todd, I never thought much about it. Best to think of myself as a horny bastard and leave it at that.
Did I have enough nerve?
After all, we were in my bedroom - just the two of us. We had reached a line. Do I cross it? It had taken a long time to get here as I stood at the foot of my bed with Brian holding a tube of lubrication in his hand he just found in my bedside table. He acted shocked. The question was he really shocked?