This is a graphic story – so if you’re easily offended, my advice is just to fuck off right now while there’s still time.
Seriously. This could offend you or just completely reduce your opinion of me.
Or it might just make you laugh.
Or possibly it could do all of those things at the same time.
Still here?
Funny story. I mean, I think it’s funny. Others may disagree.
I once jerked off in the back of a station wagon, imagining one of my school bullies fucking me in dreamy soft focused lighting straight out of a Radley Metzger porno, though, of course that was years before I even knew who Radley Metzger was.
But this guy’s name was CENSORED, because, well, you’re about to find out.
And as my parents drove me to our local Meijer, I shot a load imagining CENSORED as some kind of sympathetic soul instead of the domineering asshat that he portrayed in my waking world at any given opportunity.
I don’t get off on being in cars or with my parents or in public… I was just very young, extremely horny, and had a relative amount of privacy.
I would probably have no memory of this, despite how outlandish it seems now, except that when arriving at our destination(s) I rounded a corner and walked directly into CENSORED’s chest – because he was taller than me at the time, so that’s where we connected.
Seriously.
I know why I blushed… I mean, my hand likely still smelled of the cum he’d wrangled out my teeny-bopper depths, but he blushed just as badly before we immediately headed in opposite directions and never once mentioned it to each other ever again.
So that was a long time ago.
But recently, Facebook decided we should be best buds – and I’m friends with a lot of people that were dicks to me in school.
I’m sure I was a dick to people too. School is like that.
And given the suggestion, and looking over his Facebook posts I saw that we seemed to have developed the same views on a lot of issues, (which I totally did not expect)…and so the friend request was sent even though I did not expect anything to come from it.
But as history apparently likes to repeat itself….
A few months ago I was jerking off again. Not to thoughts of CENSORED and not to Radley Metzger, because even though his films are hot, I respect them too much to beat off to them.
Don’t judge me. I know it’s wacky, but that’s not the point.
The point is…
that just as I was reaching the point of no return, a message flashed across my screen which read something like:
Friend Request to CENSORED Approved
And then I was most definitely thinking about CENSORED as I doused myself, again, years later.
And I’m still laughing about it now, and so I thought I’d share, because clearly I have no boundaries.
At least I wasn’t in a station wagon this time, which makes it slightly more classy, right?
He wandered into my life on the arm of my lover, set up shop for the night, & “borrowed” my property.
Most of that night was a game and honestly, a blur… but the kiss in the kitchen was real and brought everything into focus, if not into the light.
This night’s passion wasn’t meant for me, so the unexpected connection was many conflicting things: Excitement. Exhilaration. Shame. Damnation. None of which I was prepared for.
He ate my ass like a pro.
His cock was delicious, in my mouth and then deeper inside me.
He ravaged me while my lover looked on and I loved it but I felt somewhat guilty, which I may have loved even more… or perhaps my guilt prevented me from enjoying it completely?
It must seem strange that I cannot honestly tell the difference.
But certain key details of lust are maddeningly lost on me.
There are certainly hints and subtle gestures; implications and libidinous clues, suggestions of an elusive contradictory nature… pieces of a puzzle I wish only to solve so that I might grasp the meaning held within a finished and rapturious whole… and yet I’m somehow trapped within this self same labyrinth of intimations which feeds the fire while slaking my thirst, yet leaves me hungry just the same.
There was a danger there; a gamble… I was risking something sacred for the sake of something perverse, if only symbolically.
He hit all the right spots, but in a configuration hitherto unknown to me.
My deepest desires were completely inverted during this encounter and all the conversations that followed.
This isn’t my lover’s fantasy. It’s not even mine. It’s some mirror perverted version and yet at the root of it all… it is completely the same for me, which confuses even as it thrills.
In my mind I am smaller than I appear, and he ravages my lover in depths that I cannot reach, and I am finished far too soon, before I’m undressed, which has never happened (and never will happen) because that is not who I am.
“Yeah? You need my load again?” “My cock hits places his doesn’t?” “You craving it, boy?” “You craving it?”
My fantasies are mine and not my lover’s, and though this man says the words that I long to hear he is saying them into the wrong ears, because he cannot know that what he has seen and what he has interpreted as desire, is actually reality’s cruel deception.
A trick of fate that pollutes my existence, a caustic jocularity with an outlandish punchline that I have endured and sought to diminish through fantasy and honest communication; and yet it remains a vicious mockery of all that I wish I could be – a killing joke which has unknowingly to some, made fools and victims of us all.
On Brian’s July twenty-fourth forty-second birthday I’m wearing the “Allergic to Sunlight” shirt that I bought in late summer two-thousand to wear for my beloved Shawn (F)… I include his last initial because there were two Shawns of note that year.
I switch the E & A Trains on forty-second street…
“Strike that! Reverse it!”
I almost miss that transfer as I write about my Shawn R. experiences; I was wearing the same shirt the night that I met him in October two-thousand… before we were lovers, before we were friends, and before he recently fucked me again; bringing closure and revelations, inspiration and fascination with all that this act entailed and all that lay revealed in the aftermath.
