I don't claim to speak for all cock suckers but what I'm about to reveal isn't going to come as a surprise to those who have given this subject any thought at all. Married cock suckers, in general have a guilt complex! That's right. If you think about it why would a normal, healthy, married man actively seek out men to "service"? Something is rotten in Denmark.
It all started a few weeks ago while I sat in a bar after a long day of searching through the want ads.
"How's it going?" said the clean headed muscle man who sat down next to me.
"Not the best," I said, looking up from the paper. "I've been slogging around town all morning, looking for a job."
Peter Grandon sat moodily in his dorm room staring at his literature textbook and studying for finals. He had read the same passage four times and he still couldn't tell what the paragraph meant. His mind was elsewhere.
As the family wagon pulled into a small truck stop in the middle of nowhere, Jack's father turned to him and his mother.
"Who else is hungry? "
They had been driving across state to visit family and were now heading back home again. The problem is that it's a long drive and Jacks iPod ran out of battery a long time ago.
One warm Saturday morning in June I decided on a shopping trip to Birmingham, a drive of around 60 miles. The journey, which I had made many times before, was pleasant and uneventful in the sunshine. On arrival I parked my car in the open-air public car park, threw my jacket into the boot and walked towards the road leading up to the shopping centre.
"I think we can dispense with these," he said, casting off his human visage. I followed suit, and we both took a few moments to stretch our wings, swish our tails and stamp our broad clawed feet, feeling the life pour back into our neglected bodies. We were the only two of our kind on Earth, and it was rare that we got an opportunity to relax into our native forms.
This actually happened to me tonight on my commute from work. Well, everything up to the characters getting off the bus, anyway. The rest is a fantasy. I wrote it all in a burst after getting home, so it might be a little rough, but maybe it has the immediacy of what was going through my mind. Your comments or private message are always welcome.
CHAPTER ONE: ORIENTATION
Wesley Bower looked around the campus, more than a little nervous. He was seeing his college campus for the first time since his visit, and now he was having second thoughts. Why did I pick a school so far from everyone I've ever known? he wondered, feeling disconsolate and alone. Well, no use having second thoughts, he decided, stretching his arms, turning to survey the people around him.
Michael trembled imperceptibly as he wheeled his Ford Explorer into the narrow parking space in front of Suite 208, snapped off the radio and killed the engine. This is it, he thought. Both hands gripped the wheel as he sorted through complex emotions. No fighting it any longer. He had come to take charge of his life, and for once, finally after his 42 years, he was intent on fulfilling his desires in the only way he knew possible. No more lies, no more facades. This had to be done.
Brian and I weren't best friends, but we shared a love for winter sports -- especially snowboarding. Our other friends bitched about the cold. Brian and I considered it a challenge, and we were always trying to out-do each other by buying the newest designs in winter sport clothing. I had jackets, pants, and underwear made of silk, wool, polar fleece, polypropylene, and just about every other thermal plastic you can name.