The club was packed, just like it was every Saturday night. I was standing against the wall watching Jesse grind up against some shirtless twink, just like I did every time we went clubbing. Sweaty bodies approached me and asked me to dance, but I declined. It was my job to keep an eye on Jesse. Granted it was a self-appointed position, but it was important to me to watch out for him. My best friend, my soul mate, the love of my life.
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We had been married for three years when my wife and I took a vacation and traveled to stay with one of her childhood friends. He is quite openly and flagrantly gay and was living with a gay friend, Dan. They were not serious lovers, just two young gay guys who shared an apartment and enjoyed the gay party life together. They were both handsome, openly friendly young men who no doubt made quite a stir at some of the parties they went to.
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I first met James at a Christmas party my parents were throwing. He was the contractor they had hired to put together the new house they were building as an anniversary gift to each other. It would be a lot bigger than the two stories, three-bedroom house I had grown up in, which meant that there would be plenty of room for either me or my sister if we needed it, which wasn't something I was about to complain about, considering that at twenty four, I was about to run back home with my tail between my legs.
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We had know each other for two years before anything ever happened between us, but he never knew how I felt towards him. Our friendship was nothing to special just the occasional hanging out and text every day or so. My feeling for him had recently developed when he split with his girlfriend of four months. Now I had been bi since I could tell the difference between sex organs but it was a secret I kept mostly to myself.
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"Wash up, lazybones, and take those furs to Sir Charles," the tanner ordered. The day's chill turned his breath to a liquor-laden mist.
"Sir Charles, Father?" Tanners asked, confused.
The tanner rolled his eyes to the heavens. "Oh ye gods, why curse me with such a stupid boy?" He turned to the young man. "The banker, the one whose son you don't like. He's offered three gold for the lot."
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The name's Michael. I'm an Irish boy from nowhere in particular, and the bright-red ponytail I wear is more than enough proof of that. I dress well enough when I need to; my work wardrobe usually consists of black wingtips, tight-fitting black slacks that are a little loose around the knees to allow for bending, and a dark solid button-down. I'm a relatively fit guy; I bike to work every morning and jog in the evenings.
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There is something particularly humiliating about being arrested covered in cum, piss, and surrounded by big black men, especially when you were once a very well-off businessman with a simple insertion fetish. My whole private life had been exposed in a day, and it affected my professional life a great deal. My face was plastered all over the news for weeks. Obviously they weren't flashing my cum covered naked ass on the nightly news, but plenty of pictures surfaced on the Internet and were making their rounds. It was a huge scandal.
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I have always like the look of leather shorts that have a very short inseam. While looking through ebay one day, I came across some black leather shorts that looked quite sexy. They were square cut with a little v shaped notch at the sides of the hem. They were being sold by a manufacturer in Pakistan. I was a bit hesitant to order the shorts because the seller was in another country. The photographs of the shorts did look quite good and the description of the item convinced me to give it a try.
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Surrounded by beautiful people, anyone less than breathtaking tends to blend into the wall paper. They are gods who must not be crossed, and everyone else is stupid, boring and irritating. After a few months, when I got used to being ignored and unimportant in my life's passion as I'd been ignored and unimportant in everything else, beauty just became a part of the wallpaper. They were all alike, these beautiful models, each as stupid, boring and selfish as the last.
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It was always a fantasy of mine to model for an artist. I do not think I really cared where the artwork would go, be it for personal use or to be on display for the world to see. It wasn't the fame or glory that I cared about. There is something exciting about striking a pose for someone to examine you in all your glory and imperfection, capturing your details into another form. Clay, paint, photos, charcoal drawing, all of it excited me.
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