Date: Mon, 16 Aug 2010 16:53:31 -0400
From: bigmoh@post.com
Subject: 20-20_hindsight

20/20 HINDSIGHT


AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This is a true story, told to me by a correspondent and
written with his permission and with my gratitude for sharing
his story.  For reasons that will become obvious the names of
people and places have been changed as well as other details
that might identify the person whose experiences are
described.  I've taken the liberty of embellishing his story
here and there to enhance the story line and to further
protect the anonymity of the individuals in the story.  In a
very real sense, however, it is more than a mere story.
There are lessons to be gleaned from the events described.
I'll leave it to you, the reader, to deduce those lessons
while hoping they may influence your thinking ... and your
behavior.

       **********************************

      Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
      The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
                        --John Greenleaf Whittier

      **********************************



(1) GROWING UP IN A BUBBLE

My story begins in the early 1950's when I was a little boy.
Things were very, very different then.  Only late in life am
I able to look back and see clearly how blind I was for most
of my life.  Only now can I recognize how different my life
might have been.

I was the only child of a fervently religious couple.  The
church was the center of their lives as it was for nearly
everyone in our small, rural community.  My parents were fine
people.  They practiced the principles of their faith and did
not, as some do, behave differently in church on Sunday than
during the week.  Their every waking hour was woven with the
warp and weft of honesty and charity.  Prayer and obedience
to the church's doctrine supported them in rough times and
humbled them when fortune smiled on them.  They were
excellent parents.  I have no doubt that they loved me.  I
can't remember a spanking as a child but I have ample
memories of how, in countless ways, they emphasized proper
behavior so that I would mature into a respected member of
the community.  The community to them consisted of devout
Christians who made up the vast majority of the inhabitants
of our town.  And therein lay the seeds of what would become
a source of torment in my adulthood.

I'm grateful for many of the values my parents taught me:
honesty, self-reliance, compassion, and personal
responsibility.  They were proud of me when I did my best
even though others my age might have done better.  Because I
loved them and wanted them to be proud of me, I nearly always
tried to do more than was expected -- in school, at home, and
within our church's congregation.

In retrospect, however, there was a significant gap in what
they taught me; there was not a single word uttered about sex
or, for that matter, about procreation.  From a very early
age I was taught to never ... never! ... let my private parts
be seen by others.  As a child, I accepted that prohibition
without question.  I even followed their advice to go into a
stall in the rest room of the swimming pool to change into
and out of my swimming suit.  I was not teased about that
because most of the other boys did the same thing ... no
doubt because their parents gave them the same advice as my
parents had given me.  Needless to say, I never saw my father
or any other person naked until I was in junior high school.

The church my parents went to was very conservative; women
had to wear ankle length skirts and sleeves below the elbow.
Even Disney movies (other than cartoons) were not allowed.
Movies like Swiss Family Robinson and Old Yeller were deemed
not fit to watch.  That was my world.  Unlike today, the
cult-like atmosphere didn't seem unusual to a young boy
sheltered from the outside world.

It was in church that I first heard the word homosexual.  I
was about 12.  The preacher called homosexuals the tools of
Satan and child molesters.  When we got home, I asked my
mother what the preacher was talking about.  "What's a
homosexual?" I asked as she prepared the noon meal.

From the expression on her face, I knew I had upset her
greatly.  Her tone of voice confirmed my impression when she
said dismissively, "You don't need to know about such things
yet!"

I felt as though I had been chastised but it only increased
my curiosity.  I went to my room and got out my dictionary.
The definition didn't answer my question: `one whose sexual
inclination is toward those of the individual's own sex
rather than the opposite sex.'  The term, `sexual
inclination' in the definition was meaningless to me but I
knew that any reference to sex would explain my mother's
horrified reaction to my question.  But my curiosity was
unabated.  I knew virtually nothing about sex (only that it
was one of those words I wasn't allow to say) and I knew even
less about homosexuality.

As I entered puberty, neither my parents nor any other person
told me what to expect.  However, I knew from photos of
paintings and statues that my penis would get bigger and hair
would grow around it just as it would on my face.  So I was
somewhat prepared for my bodily changes.    `Prepared' is too
mild of a word.  I was quite eager to become a man and
extremely impatient for my genitals to fully develop.
Inevitably, of course, they did but that left me with an
intense curiosity about how other boys my age might also be
developing.  Was I ahead of or behind their emerging manhood?
Bulges in their trousers and even in their swim suits were an
imperfect indication.  Mind you, there was nothing sexual
about my interest in other boys' development; I merely wanted
to know if I was progressing normally.  Or so I thought at
the time.

Before I even knew about such a thing as masturbation, I
discovered it by just fooling around.  I was about 11 when I
had my first orgasm.  We had an old bathtub and I was just
playing around in the tub.  For some reason I pushed myself
up under the stream of water and let it fall on my penis. I
had a vague sense that it was naughty but it felt good!  My
penis hardened and it began to feel even better.  Before I
knew it, I experienced a thrilling sensation.  Because it
felt so good, I did it every night.  Subsequently, I
discovered I could produce the same sensation as I lay in bed
by rubbing my penis until it got hard.  It felt good so I
continued rubbing until the sensation I experienced in the
bathtub was repeated.  For a time, I had only dry orgasms.
Imagine my surprise when, soon after I turned 12, I found a
small pool of milky liquid on my stomach.  Without knowing
it, I had stumbled upon the practice of masturbation.  No one
had ever told me that it was wrong or dirty so I pleasured
myself more and more frequently -- always alone, of course,
because I knew nobody was allowed to see my private parts.
And I never asked my parents about it because somehow I made
the connection to sex and that was a subject not to be
discussed.

I was incredibly naïve.  The bubble I lived in didn't begin
to crack until my first year of junior high school.  I was an
excellent student academically but socially, I was a loner
who stayed to myself (what was called a dork back them but
would be called a nerd today).  That didn't bother me; as an
only child I was quite comfortable keeping myself occupied.
Other boys who were not as naïve as I was would make comments
that I didn't understand.  They mentioned something called
jacking off.  When I saw them use the up-and-down hand
movement I figured out what they were talking about.  It was
what I was doing.  I figured if they talked about it, they
must do it, too; it must be normal.  It was enjoyable, all
boys did it, and it didn't hurt anybody else; it had to be
all right.  With similar clues and guesswork, I deduced the
meaning of prick, cock, pussy, fuck, and queer -- none of
which I knew could be used in polite company.  I deduced that
fuck must refer to a man and woman making a baby.  Being a
loner, I had no friends close enough that I could ask to
confirm my suspicions.  When I first heard the word
cocksucker I thought that was about the grossest thing
imaginable and it couldn't possibly be literal.  Who would do
anything as disgusting as that?

The one class in which I did not do well was Phys Ed but I
looked forward to it.  There were about 50 of us guys in
seventh through-ninth grades who took PE at the same time.
We all showered at the same time in a huge open shower room
with shower heads along two facing walls.  At first, the
thought being naked in front of others was distressing; I
could almost hear my parents telling me not to let others see
my private parts.  But my hesitancy and embarrassment went
away quickly for two reasons.  First, none of the other boys
seems to be troubled by being naked together.  Second, it was
the first time in my life that I had seen naked bodies and it
afforded me the chance to compare myself to others.  I didn't
recognize at the time that there was more than curiosity to
my interest in other boys' bodies.

Because of the number of us, there were three or four guys
around each shower head.  A guy couldn't help but bump butts
or have his cock touch another guy's leg.  For the first few
weeks, I would recoil when I came in contact with another
boy.  Soon, however, it no longer bothered me.  By the middle
of the school year, I found myself "accidentally" bumping
butts with the others and even letting my penis brush against
them.  I rationalized that I was just a boy being a boy ...
"pushing the envelope" in today's parlance.  I failed to
recognize the significance of the enjoyment I derived from
it.  Toward the end of the school year, a few boys adopted a
new form of horseplay.  They would play grab-ass and would
even give a quick yank on the penis of an unsuspecting
classmate.  I was often the victim but I quickly learned not
to protest too much because it only encouraged more of the
same.  In fact, I started to enjoy it and even played their
game.  Bumping butts, getting grabbed, and grabbing was, I
thought, the only way to be accepted as "one of the guys.
Deep down, I knew it was wrong.  But deeper down (below a
conscious level as I now realize), I couldn't help myself.
At the time, I didn't consciously associate the horseplay as
sexual.  Perhaps it wasn't ... for the others.  But in
hindsight I can't help thinking that I enjoyed it in a way
that was different than my classmates.

Being a loner and a very good student, I was sometimes picked
on.  I had the need to fit in so I tried hard to be one of
the guys.  In retrospect, I wonder how much of that need was
triggered by being attracted to those boys ... and to one boy
in particular.  Greg was in the 9th grade and had the biggest
cock I had ever seen.  We had an old trough urinal between
the gym and the shower room.  It was probably 20 feet long
and guys just walked up to it to piss.  I used to follow Greg
to the urinal to watch him piss.  His cock was probably 8
inches soft and he had big balls that hung below that.
(Several years later when I was 18 and working in the same
place as my dad in a large machine shop, Greg's dad worked
there.  It was a very dirty place and men showered after
work.  I saw Greg's dad naked on many occasions and noticed
that the son was a lot like the dad.  Greg's dad also had a
huge cock.)  Greg would walk up to the urinal, lean in a
little, let his big cock hang down, and take a piss.  He
never touched it, not even to shake off the last drop or two
of piss.  I said he never touched it but that's not quite
right.  He caught me looking at his mammoth cock once.  He
grinned at me, stretched it out horizontally in my direction,
and immediately walked away.  I was humiliated that he caught
me looking but I was left to wonder why he pointed it at me.
After some thought, I concluded that he was simply proud of
his endowment and was showing off.  Now, decades later, I
wonder if he might have had another reason.  Was he teasing
me?  Was he implying that it was available to me at another,
more private place and time?  If I had not grown up in a
bubble, I might have tried to find out.



(2) FIRST INKLINGS

I was not very good in sports but I admired those that were
and wanted to associate with them.  As a result, I
volunteered to be the trainer and equipment manager for my
high school's football team.  I was usually treated like a
lackey by the team; they were the athletes and I was the guy
who did the menial work.  I got to see all the guys undress
to put on their uniforms and then undress to shower after
practice or a game.  I was grateful that none of them seemed
at all shy about being naked.  Nor, for that matter, were
they upset when I stood around and watched them.  I can still
see images of many of their athletic bodies (and, of course,
their cocks) in my mind today.  I remember one guy, Rusty,
who had a nice thick uncut cock that hung down from his red
pubic hair in front of a big, hairy ball sack.  He stands out
in my memory because he had an interesting way of getting
dressed.  He would put on his socks first, then his shirt,
then his underwear.  I knew I would get to see his cock
longer than the other guys.  I rationalized my special
interest in watching him by convincing myself it was just the
oddity of his red hair.  I assumed he wanted to show off and
to be more like one of the guys.  Looking back, I wonder.
Was he getting an exhibitionist's thrill?  Was he baiting any
other guy who might want more than a prolonged view?

Most of the work was taking care of the equipment but there
were times when I had to rub down the players' arms and often
their legs.  That was the best part of my duties: rubbing my
hands all over their muscles.  I recall one time with
particular clarity.  The captain of the team came to me in
the locker room after his shower.  He was naked.  He wanted
me to rub some "atomic balm" on his inner thigh just below
his penis.  He was a muscled god with a nice hanging cock.  I
told him to stretch out on the cot and went to get the balm
from the medicine cabinet.  When I returned, I saw him lying
on his back with his eyes closed.  His arms bulged with
muscles.  His thighs and calves were solid muscle.  His cock
lay across his right thigh.  I paused long enough to get a
very good look at his manhood, including his relatively large
balls in a wrinkled, hairy sack and the thicket of curly
black hair that formed a mound above his cock that tapered
into a finer but distinctive trail up to his navel.  His
nipples peeked out through abundant chest hair.  He was only
18 but had the most masculine body I had ever seen.  Now,
more than 50 years later, I can still recall the image as
though it were yesterday.

I was shaken out of my admiration for him when he opened his
eyes and said, "Come on, get to work, will ya?"

I started rubbing his inner thigh with balm but my eyes were
riveted to his crotch.  Soon, my hands got to within just a
couple of inches from his cock.  My nose was close enough to
his big dick that I could smell his maleness in spite of his
recent shower.  I moved back and looked at him and suggested
that he hold his cock back because if I got any atomic balm
on it by mistake it would be worse than Ben Gay.  He did.
Although I was disappointed that his hand was now covering
his cock, I began to feel strange as my hands rubbed the
inside of his thigh.  When I finished, I had a huge hard-on
and was glad I had to move some dirty towels to the washer
and could cover my crotch.  Why did I get hard?  I know now
but I didn't then.  The image of him lying naked on the cot
recurred to me often over the next several days.  I
rationalized that I was just admiring his physique and, I had
to admit, wishing that I was in as good a shape as he was.
The hard-on I sprouted was more difficult to rationalize
away.  So I conveniently forced myself to ignore it.

Although I was almost a non-entity to them, when they needed
a rub down, they appreciated my skill.  And I found the rub-
downs to be the highlight of my duties.  Nearly every evening
as I lay in bed masturbating, recalling those rub-downs
heightened my pleasure.  I deliberately chose not to wonder
why because that would lead to a conclusion I dared not face.


In college, I joined a fraternity.  I was surprised to find
the same kind of uncaring attitude toward nakedness as the
football team.  The living quarters were on the second floor
of the fraternity house.  Guys would frequently get naked in
their room and walk to the shower.  A few would wrap a towel
around themselves but most would just carry it, exposing
themselves to any who cared to look.  Being older and more
mature, their cocks were better developed.  I wondered anew
at my parents' strong admonition never to let others see your
private parts.  I also began to wonder if my extreme interest
in their naked bodies was abnormal.  But my increasingly
strong powers of rationalization kicked in.  I convinced
myself that it was just an example of what a high school
teacher had taught me.  The attention of any species,
including humans, is captured by the unusual.  It provides an
evolutionary advantage because any change in the familiar
environment might be a threat that must be noticed and
evaluated.  In my case, I concluded, having never seen a
naked body as a child and rarely in junior and senior high
school, the sight of one was unusual.  I was, therefore,
merely following survival instincts.  I irrationally extended
that reasoning to explain away why I always seemed to
visualize one of my friends naked when I jacked off.  But a
nagging thought persisted.  Why was I not equally intrigued
by fantasies of naked females?  I dismissed that kind of
thought by reasoning (conveniently) that I had never seen and
therefore could not recall the image of a naked female.

Life in the fraternity house was transformational in many
ways -- so completely different than the puritanical bubble I
inhabited as a boy.  The most relevant perhaps to the story I
now tell is that sometimes the guys would horse around and
pull down another guy's underwear, exposing each other's
cocks and ass.  The victim of this assault would berate the
attacker but his objections often lacked sincerity.  Could it
be, I wondered, that they enjoyed it?  Was it just innocent
playfulness or was there something more sinister behind
exposing somebody else or being exposed?  I decided that it
was horse-play and nothing more -- one of many ways to
challenge the boundaries imposed by the older generation.  As
I look back on those days with the perspective of many years,
I wonder if there might have been at least a few cases of
attraction between the hormone-saturated young men.

We lived two or three in a room at the fraternity house.  I
slept in the top bunk bed above Chad in the lower bunk and
across the room from Tom in a single bed.  Tom was an
extremely personable and handsome guy.  I had seen him naked
several times, including one morning when he woke up with a
woodie.  It was the first time I had seen another guy's hard-
on.  Although I caught just a brief glance, it fascinated me
and provided a number of jerk-off fantasies.  Was I bothered
that it was always another guy who dominated my fantasies?
No.  That would imply something that I could not accept and I
conveniently didn't worry about it.

One Saturday night, Chad had gone home for the weekend; Tom
was out on a date with an attractive girl.  I fell asleep
about midnight but was awakened around one in the morning by
Tom coming home.

"Are you sure it's all right?" I heard a female voice
whisper.  "I mean what if your room mate wakes up."

"He won't" Tom replied.  "As long as we're quiet.  He's a
very sound sleeper."

I watched them kiss and caress each other.  In the semi-
darkness it was possible to see their hands roaming all over
each other.  Tom was squeezing her ample breasts; she was
squeezing his ass cheeks.  They were rubbing their crotches
together.  Before long they were undressing each other
wordlessly and very quietly and not bothering to check on
whether or not I was asleep.  It was the first naked female I
had seen.  My dick was stiff and throbbing but I didn't dare
move to jerk off.  That might signal to them that I was awake
and watching.

I had seen Tom hard and now I was about to watch him use his
manhood.  He wanted her to suck his cock but she refused.
Perhaps she thought that was as disgusting as I did.  I
thought it was a little demeaning how he begged her to do it.
They fucked for 10-15 minutes before she said she couldn't
take it anymore.  He obviously didn't get to cum with her.
They dressed and left.  I seized the opportunity to jerk-off
and it was an awesome orgasm.  I lay awake for a very long
time thinking about what I had witnessed.  My imagination
took flight.  I developed a kind of fantasy where I would be
a guy in the house and hear another guy walk in.  I would
hear him complain about having blue balls or how he didn't
get any.  In my fantasy, I would turn into a beautiful woman
and go to him.  I would undress him and fondle his cock until
it was erect.  He would beg me to suck his cock just as Tom's
date had done.  In my first fantasy like this, I would refuse
as Tom's date had but would masturbate him until he came.  In
subsequent fantasies, however, I would yield to his begging
and take his cock into my mouth.  (That didn't seem as
disgusting as it once had.  After all, I was not actually
doing it.  I was imagining myself as a woman and it seemed
that's what women did to men although Tom's date had
refused.)  I would suck on his cock and listen to him moan.
I would let him cum in my mouth.  Through all of this, I
still did not come to terms with the fact that these thoughts
had to mean I was gay.

An hour later, as I was finally about to fall asleep, Tom
came home.  I watched him undress and lie down on his bed
wearing nothing but his briefs.  Almost immediately, he began
to fondle himself.  Even in the very dim light, I could see
that he was erect.  He glanced my way briefly, I suppose to
see whether I was asleep, and stripped off his briefs.  He
immediately began to stroke his cock.  My hard-on returned.
Within a very short time, he moaned and ejaculated.  Several
volleys of cum shot up to his neck and down his chest and
stomach.  Then he astounded me.  He repeatedly wiped up some
of the cum with his fingers and sucked it off.  He ate his
own cum!  I thought that was gross but it wasn't two days
before I tried it myself.  I didn't like the taste but
nevertheless tried it a few more times over the next two
weeks.  Not only did I become accustomed to the taste but
found that it added to the pleasure of masturbation.  Plus,
it solved the problem of what to do with the evidence.



(3) OPPORTUNITIES DECLINED

I managed to get through college as a virgin.  Over the
course of my high school and college career, I dated many
women but nothing ever happened.  There might have been
opportunities and I could have scored with a little effort
but I chose not to try.  One opportunity stands out in
particular.  I had a summer job before my sophomore year in
college.  My boss was Mormon.  He was a great guy and I
learned a lot from him.  He invited me to attend a Saturday
evening pot luck dinner at his church and suggested that I
take a young woman that his family knew well.  I thought that
was safe enough; after all, Mormons are very religious.  What
I didn't fully realize is that Mormons must have sex quite a
bit to have such large families.  My boss must have put in a
good word for me because when I phoned the young woman she
was very agreeable to going to the pot luck supper with me.
I picked her up in my car and she immediately sat very close
to me with her arm around me.  It made me very uncomfortable
that she would be so immediately familiar when we had only
just met.  My discomfort grew during the evening which
included dancing.  As we danced, she clung to me as though we
were long-time lovers.  Especially during a slow waltz, she
would press her breasts into my chest and lay her head on my
shoulder.

When we got in the car to take her home she snuggled up to me
again.  We got to her house and she wanted to sit in the car
and talk for a while.  Within a few minutes, she leaned over
to kiss me and at the same time put her hand on my thigh.  By
the time we broke the kiss, her hand had inched up and was
resting directly over my crotch.  She moved one of my hands
to her breast and started massaging my cock through my
trousers.  Most guys would find that tremendously arousing
and think they had an easy piece of ass.  But I was scared
shitless.  We were parked in the driveway of her house.  Her
parents were no doubt inside the house.  What would they
think if they caught some stranger fucking their daughter in
the driveway?  I wasn't sure what to do and put up with her
advances for too long.  Her fondling me was giving me a
boner.  I surely didn't want to fuck her right there outside
her house.  At least that was what I thought at the time was
the reason for being frightened.  It never occurred to me --
nor for many years afterwards -- that the idea of fucking a
girl was what triggered the fright as much as the possibility
of being caught.

I withdrew my hand from her breast and pushed her hand away
from my crotch, saying, "We'd better not.  What if your
parents catch us?"

"It's quite all right," she said.  "My parents have never
bothered me before."

I was stunned and blurted out, "You mean you've done this
before?"

"Sure," she said with a disgusting tone of pride.  "I like
you and I'm horny.  I want you to fuck me.  Don't try to tell
me that you don't want to fuck me."

"Well, I don't!" I exclaimed emphatically as I started to get
out of the car, planning on walking around to open the
passenger door for her.

She pulled me back into a kiss.  Her tongue probed into my
mouth.  I quickly broke it off.

"Okay," she huffed.  "If you won't fuck me, let me give you a
blow job.  If I can't have your cock in my pussy, let me have
it in my mouth."

Her begging for sex made me half sick and half furious.  I
wrestled free from her grasp and got out of the car.  I
opened her door and she got out scowling at me.  "You're a
goddam wimp," she hissed before she stomped toward the front
door of her house.

I caught myself before shouting after her, "And you're a
slut!"

That experience soured me on women for a long time.  Where I
was previously indifferent to them, my attitude became
palpable dislike.

There was one exception to my dislike of women.  In my senior
year of college, I befriended Judy, a classmate and the only
female in an advanced physics course.  We became good friends
and often studied together.  Early one evening, I stopped by
her apartment to compare lecture notes, which was not
unusual.   She invited me in where I found five other female
students and a female professor having what I perceived to be
a hen party.  They had been drinking wine all afternoon and
several of them were quite tipsy, including my friend.  There
was laughter among the women as they looked at me.  I didn't
know but that they suspected I was Judy's lover coming by for
some love-making.  I said I would come back another time but
she said the "party" was winding up and urged me to stay.
Within about five minutes, it was just the two of us.  Judy
was probably the drunkest of them all; I had never seen her
like that nor had I thought that she would ever drink to
excess.  She asked me to help her to the bed room to lie
down.  I guided her as she stumbled to her bedroom and fell
into her bed.

I sat on the edge of the bed wondering whether I should leave
her in a drunken stupor or if there was any more help I might
provide.  When she unbuttoned the front of her blouse, I
decided it was time for me to leave.  I was shocked when she
pulled me down beside her, gave me a silly smile, and placed
one of my hands on her breast.  I thought to myself, here I
am: a red blooded 21 year old male in bed with a very
attractive female who has just placed my hand on her big tits
and who seems to be asking me to have sex with her.  But I
was scared -- scared of what sexual relations would do to our
friendship and, I suppose, subconsciously scared of intimacy
with a woman.  I lay there with my hand inside her blouse
just resting on her big tit while she babbled on about how
much she wanted this to happen.  After about 20 minutes she
fell asleep.  I removed my hand and left.  Our friendship was
never the same again and we drifted away from doing things
together after that.

Partly as a result of that experience, I started to question
my sexuality.  Not in the sense of heterosexuality versus
homosexuality but just that I was one of those rare people
who did not like sex.  I was meant to be alone.  The feeling
would trouble me for years and no doubt contributed to my
being a loner.  I was yet to realize that it is very
important to find someone to confide in -- someone that you
trust with even your innermost thoughts because you cannot
always do everything alone.

Years passed and I made excuses to anyone untactful enough to
ask why I was not interested in women.  I claimed to be more
intent on making sure that my career was on track.  The ugly
truth, which I refused to acknowledge at the time, was that I
was more attracted to men.  It was men that consistently
fueled my masturbation fantasies.  It was men -- or at least
some men -- in the office or on the street that drew my
attention.  At rare times, I faced the implications of that
but instinctively launched into a denial that I might be
homosexual.  It became increasingly easy to convince myself
that I was not a queer.

Many people tried to set me up with women.  My mother, in
particular, questioned me on when was I going to get married.
"A man your age ought to be married," she said.

My response, "I will when the time is right ... when I find
the right woman." did not stop her from nagging me about not
getting married.

There's no question that I was a lonely person, especially at
night when I went to bed.  I needed a companion to talk to,
to have fun with, to just be by my side.  I also needed to
touch and to be touched.  That, more than my parents' nagging
or my friends' insensitive questions, built my resolve to
marry.  I wanted someone to share my life with.  I wanted to
have children.  I wanted to fit in to society.  I even
convinced myself that marriage would overcome what I finally
admitted to myself was an abnormal attraction to men.
However, I was still too shy to date women.

I started going to porno films to see what it was like to
have sex.  I had seen many of them while in college and seen
guys tent up while watching them.  I had even been with a
group of guys to strip clubs where women stripped naked.  I
watched my friends try to put their nose or their tongue in a
pussy and watched naked women sit on a guy's crotch while his
cock tented.  Actually, while interesting at first, this
became boring to me after a while.  Even then I did not
realize -- or would not admit to myself -- that I paid more
attention to the bulging fabric in the guys' pants than to
the gyrating woman who pretended to grind her pussy into his
crotch with her tits dangling in his face.

At 32, I was very lonely.  And depressed.

I had lived most of my life in houses with guns and I used to
go duck hunting with my dad.  I had a fully camouflaged
shotgun in my apartment.  One evening, I was very depressed
about being alone and cried myself to sleep sitting on the
floor with my back to the wall in the living room.  The next
day, I did not go to work and moped all day.  It crossed my
mind to commit suicide but I knew that it was a coward's way
out.  As a solution, it was far worse than the problem.  I
knew I would not do it but it crossed my mind and that scared
me.  I went to see a preacher in a neighboring town.  (I was
ashamed to let my local preacher know about my mental state.)
When I met him in his office, I had already decided not to
say anything about my attraction to men.  I knew what advice
he would give me: "Pray, my son.  Pray to be cured."
Instead, I talked only of my depression, my shyness in
meeting women, and my compelling need for companionship.
Surprisingly, he gave me very useful advice on combating
depression and on meeting women.  I hadn't mentioned my one
fleeting thought of suicide but his help convincingly
dissuaded me from ever thinking about it again.

Some time later, on a Saturday night, I went to a porn
theater that was showing three films.  One of the three was a
lesbian film.  I remember specifically thinking that it was
really boring to watch women rub pussies against each other.
Why was I bored when other men in the dingy theater seemed so
intently interested?  I rationalized that I preferred the
heterosexual sex between a man and a woman.  Wasn't that the
"normal" way to feel?  The other two films had both men and
women.  I watched most closely when a woman would suck off a
guy.  These were the days before the AIDS epidemic, so there
were all kinds of barebacking going on.  Most of the time, a
guy would shoot his load on the woman's stomach so we could
see the "money shot."  I liked seeing those more than the
lengthy scenes of fucking the woman's pussy or ass.  A
cumming cock was far more interesting.

Only now, many years later, can I explain why it didn't
bother me to be more interested in cocks than pussies.  At
that time, my fear of being queer was so strong that I
unconsciously suppressed any thoughts of being a sexual
deviant.  When the possibility arose in my mind, I had a
finely honed skill of rationalization to explain away my
interest in men and their genitalia.  That skill silenced the
dark thoughts of being queer and made me comfortable.



(4) CONFORMANCE AND DISAPPOINTMENT

My good friend at work decided that I should meet his wife's
best friend, Shirley.  I was (and still am) a good cook so I
fixed dinner for the four of us.  Shirley was no beauty queen
but was reasonably good looking.  During dinner she was
effusive in her praise for the meal as were my friend from
work and his wife.  Shirley also complimented me on my house,
especially the panoramic view from the balcony that looked
out over acres of a National Forest.  She even said she
admired my sports car she saw as they arrived.  Somehow,
however, her comments seemed more like flattery than sincere
admiration.  She was pleasant enough but I was not impressed
with her and I was certainly not attracted to her.  I was
more attracted to my friend's wife who had a thoroughly
engaging personality and was stunningly beautiful.  Perhaps
my attraction to her was because my friend had told me
previously -- when he was trying to persuade me to marry--
how much he and his wife fucked and how much she enjoyed
sucking his cock.  I frequently tried to visualize them
having sex.  If I had been honest with myself at the time,
I'd have realized that it was the image of my friend's cock
that excited me more than his wife's naked body.

Shirley called me the next day to meet her for dinner, her
treat.  I agreed mostly because she was the best friend of my
good friend's wife.  I thought there was no harm done to meet
her for dinner although she lived 100 miles away.  After that
dinner, she started calling me all the time.  Every day.  I
started avoiding the telephone (no caller ID back then).  She
would call me at work, which was particularly bothersome.
After about two weeks of this, I called her and said I would
meet her at a restaurant close to her house.  After work, I
drove the 100 miles to her city for dinner.  The purpose of
my trip was to tell her that I didn't think it was going to
work.  When I broke the news to her over desert, she was
clearly disappointed but not, as I had feared, angry.  She
tried to change my mind but I resisted her arguments.  I left
feeling very relieved.

For a couple of weeks, I was happy not having to deal with an
obsessive woman.  I hit a difficult time at work with a lot
of stress and mounting problems with a project that was
seriously behind schedule.   I worked all Saturday with
little improvement in the progress of the project.  I went
home exhausted and feeling the pressure.  After a light
dinner, I got very lonely.  To take my mind off work, I went
to a porn film and got very horny.  I really wanted sex --
more than solitary masturbation.  While I would
subconsciously prefer a man, the stigma of a homosexual
relationship was so strong at the time that I never seriously
considered how to find a male partner.  Then, in probably one
of the weakest moment of my life, I rationalized (there's
that word again) that I could do no better than the woman
that my friends introduced to me.  Shirley liked me a lot and
I'm sure she would want me.

This woman, who I did not love, became my wife.  My new wife
was happy.  My mother and father were happy.  All her
brothers and sisters were happy.  My friends were happy.
Everyone was happy but me.  Sure, I had a companion and was
no longer lonely.  I had real sex whenever I wanted it
instead of friendless masturbation.  I had gained the
acceptance and respect of family, colleagues and society but
I was not happy.

I was a virgin at 33 on my honeymoon.  I certainly knew what
to do; porno films had taught me how to have sex.  At first,
I was a sexaholic.  I had my cock in her pussy every
opportunity I could get.  Not wanting to get her pregnant so
early in the marriage, I wore condoms every time we had sex.
I wanted her to suck my dick but she refused.  I was eating
her pussy (and not enjoying it) but did it so she would
reciprocate.  When she wouldn't suck my dick, I quit eating
her pussy. That was soon after the honeymoon.

After a few months I was no longer lust starved.  It became
more and more difficult for me to have sex.  Since I was
never really attracted to her, I couldn't get hard
spontaneously.  I had to masturbate during foreplay to get an
erection.  Fortunately, she never asked why.  It didn't help
that I found her pussy to be loose.  While my cock is not
huge, about 6 inches, it is thick.  Still, it felt loose in
her pussy.

Strangely, we never talked about previous sexual experiences.
I was grateful for that.  I did not want to volunteer the
information that I was a virgin when we got married.  She may
very well have had experiences that she didn't want to
reveal.

After a couple of years, sex was very sparing.  Although I
continued to masturbate frequently, it was becoming
increasingly difficult to achieve an erection so I could fuck
her.  I got to the point that if she wanted sex (which was
not that often) I would masturbate her and not even put my
dick in her.  She thought that was strange but allowed me to
do it so she could climax now and again.

After about five years, we decided to have children.  I
dreaded the thought of having to have sex consistently for a
long period of time until my sperm impregnated her.  I read
quite a bit about the menstrual cycle and when she might be
fertile so as to strategically fuck her to maximize the
potential for her to get pregnant.  For both children, a
daughter and then a son, I only fucked her five times before
she became pregnant.

I doted on the children.  Still do.  They became my life.
Despite the fact that my marriage is a sham and I have never
loved Shirley, my children are a joy.



(5) EPIPHANY

A sexless marriage suited me fine and Shirley seemed equally
content.  Whether she masturbated herself I don't know but my
sex life consisted of frequent masturbations accompanied by
fantasies that always involved men.  I would occasionally
entertain the possibility that I was gay (the term having
recently replaced homosexual and the more derogatory terms of
queer and fag).  But I habitually dismissed those thoughts
because of the lingering and potent sigma of same-sex
inclinations or relationships.

I had been promoted several times at work and one promotion
required relocation to the East Coast.  Shirley welcomed the
news, mostly because of the substantial increase in salary,
although my daughter and son resisted because of the need to
change schools and assimilate into a new circle of friends.
It didn't take long for them all to adapt to the new
environment.

I rode the train between where I lived on Long Island and
downtown Manhattan.  I shared the ride most mornings with a
man who I worked with, David Templeton.  We got to be good
friends on the train and we worked well together.  We talked
about everything.  I can't remember whether there were any
subjects we didn't discuss.  Except sex.  All of our
conversations were perfectly clean -- often controversial but
never anything that could not be said in front of most
people.

One Saturday, I went to the office early to take care of some
paper work.   David arrived about an hour later.  We were the
only two in the office.  It was mid-morning when I heard
another person arrive.  Moments later, David introduced me to
his friend, Mike.  Nothing strange about that.  About an hour
later, David's friend Mike came into my office and started
talking to me.  As it was Saturday, I was not too keen on
conversation.  I just wanted to finish and get out of there
but I thought I should be polite to David's friend.  Mike was
quite the talker and I was about to break off the
conversation when he caught my attention with a surprising
comment.  He said that I had awakened him when I called David
on a recent morning.  I hope I didn't show my surprise but as
much as David and I had talked about, he had never mentioned
a room mate.  He then said that David was in a bad mood at
the moment because he, Mike, had not done the laundry and
they had to share a towel when they got out of the shower.
My imagination leaped into overdrive.  "They" got out of the
shower!  As I considered the implications of what Mike had
said so casually, I had an image of David and Mike naked in
the shower together and drying each other off.  Might that
mean they were more than room mates?  If so, it would explain
why David had never mentioned Mike.

Just after noon, Mike came into my office again, accompanied
by an older couple.  He introduced them to me using the
phrase, "David's parents and my in-law parents," and added
that they had come to the office to pick up David and Mike to
take them to lunch and an afternoon matinee of a play they
wanted to see.

I was stunned.  I sat in my office for probably 30 minutes
without breathing much.  Here was this man, David, with whom
I was very impressed as a co-worker, a very straight acting
man, who was gay.  Realizing that what I assumed was a
"normal" man was gay challenged all my concepts of what
"normal" is.  Could gay be normal?  Why not?

All the rationalizing in my life to that moment came crashing
down.  I thought about my own experiences: looking at Greg's
cock while in junior high school, all the naked football
jocks in high school (especially the thigh and cock of the
nude hunk I gave a liniment treatment), my fraternity brother
fucking the girl and my paying more attention to his big dick
rather than the girl, watching all the porn films with women
sucking guys' cocks but mostly interested in the guys' cocks.

All my mental defenses shattered.  I was left with only one
unpleasant but inevitable conclusion: I was gay.  I had been
for a long time.  But suddenly, I felt that was okay.  If
David could be gay, there was no reason I couldn't be.  It
was as if the smothering blankets of homophobia had been
lifted away and I could breathe fresh air.  My thoughts
turned to my respectably straight life.  It was a charade!  I
had been an imposter, a fake, a liar even to myself.

Finally coming out to myself was painful and traumatic but
eased somewhat by the fact that my good friend, David, a very
straight-appearing and religious man and not the stereotype
of a queer, was gay.  Moreover, he seemed, as far as I could
tell, comfortable with being gay.  True, he did not reveal
the fact to me in our many conversations but it was obvious
that he was happy with his gay partner since Mike had
mentioned they had lived together for five years.

I could no longer concentrate on my work so left the office.
Being in New York, I decided to go to Greenwich Village
because I had heard that was where there were many gay men.
I took the subway to that area and saw several male couples
holding hands.  I recall thinking: There are a lot of men
like me; maybe I'm not abnormal or deviant.  The only
difference between me and the men I saw holding hands was
that they were open about their homosexuality.  I envied them
... both for their honesty and for the fact that they had
found a companion to love.

A random thought crossed my mind: my straight friends got
erections while watching nude women dance.  I had pondered
that many times since but now, for the first time, I was
honest with myself.  I recognized that it was not the naked
women dancers but what was poorly concealed beneath the
fabric of my friends' trousers.  Might there be, here in
Greenwich Village, a porn theater that catered to gay men?  I
worked up the nerve to ask a couple of guys who were holding
hands if there were nude male dancers anywhere around,
telling them I was from out of town.  They told me about a
theater on 42nd Street just off Times Square.

I decided to go there.  No, to be more accurate, I felt
compelled to go there.  I found the place with no difficulty
and as I approached the entrance I was surprised that my cock
was beginning to harden in anticipation of what I was about
to see.  Having newly recognized and accepted what I was, I
was eager to see a show specifically targeted to my
interests.  I bought my ticket and walked in filled with
anticipation ... and the uneasy feeling that someone I knew
might see me there.  My tension subsided when I found the
theater was dark, making it less likely to be recognized.

At the time, there was a male porn film going on.  I went
down to the third row and walked by two men as I moved toward
the center of the row.  Almost immediately after I sat down
and began watching the film, my cock was in full erection.
The film was not only extraordinarily arousing, it was also
instructive.  I learned more about the techniques of man-to-
man sex than I ever dreamed of.

After the third sex scene, the film stopped right where it
was.  Colored lights came on and music started to play.  A
man on a loud speaker said it was time for the "Bijou Boys".
A man wearing shoes, socks, shorts, and a shirt came out on
stage and started to dance seductively.  Although he was
fully clothed, I found him his expert and artistic dancing to
be sexy as hell.  Never before in my life would I have
thought that.   He took off his shoes, one at a time.  He
took off his shirt.  He took off his pants.  He danced for a
minute or two in his underwear.  His smooth, muscular body
oozed testosterone and, without thinking, I began to fondle
myself.  He took off his underwear revealing a thong.  He
danced for another minute.  Then he took of his thong and let
his cock out.  The audience cheered.

I was still hard and I could feel the moisture of my precum
soaking through my briefs.  He danced for a couple of minutes
naked while touching himself.  By the time the music ended
and he danced off the stage, he was semi-erect.  Another guy
immediately came out on the stage.  He was more muscular and
had thick hair on his chest and legs.  But not his pubes
which seemed to have been neatly trimmed.  It occurred to me
that without a thick pubic bush, it emphasized the length of
his cock.   His performance was even more arousing.

Meanwhile, the first guy came down off the stage into the
seating area.  He started up the aisle on the left side of
the theater and approached the each of the guys in the first
and second rows.  He was wearing only socks and if you put
one dollar in his sock you could touch any part of his body
but his cock.  That was two dollars.  I watched the nude man
move from man to man in each of the rows.  When he got to my
row, the two men to my left each gave him two dollars and
were touching his ass, stomach, cock, and balls.  There must
have been many more men give him the two dollar fee because
he was fully erect when he moved toward me.  I motioned for
him to go away.  I really, really wanted to touch his erect
penis but I could not make myself do it.

The second guy finished his act and left the stage to do the
same thing, going from man to man in the audience.  The
third, and final dancer, was a black man.  He was the best
dancer and I was anxiously looking forward to seeing him
naked.  He teased us by showing us his ass and then his pubic
hair.  He stripped down facing away from the audience with
his legs together so we couldn't see his cock dangling
between his legs.  Then he opened his legs wide and bent over
so we could not only see his ass but his cock and balls
between his legs from behind.  He turned around and his
erection was probably eight inches or more.  When he started
toward me a few minutes later, I was ready to put two dollars
in his socks.  Hell, at that point I'd have put twenty in his
sock.  I rubbed up and down his legs and touched his chest
and played with his nipples.  I put both my hands on his ass
and kneaded his ass checks.  It felt great.  While doing that
I was looking straight at his thick erection that was only
about three inches in front of my face.  He pulled up his
cock and showed me his low-hanging balls.  The implied
invitation was irresistible.  I put one hand on his balls and
I wrapped the other hand around his cock.  It was the first
time in my life that I had another man's penis in my hands
and I was very careful with his big balls.  My heart was
pounding.  My cock was begging for relief as it had been rock
hard for more than an hour.  I then placed both hands on his
cock.  At the second that I touched it, I came in my pants!
Without stroking it I had creamed my jeans!

As they say, some things don't take a rocket scientist to
determine.  To me, that instant of cumming in my pants when I
touched the erect man's penis was the final confirmation that
I was gay.

I got home late that night and did not sleep.



(6) SPIRALING DOWN

While many things in my life became very clear to me, I was
deeply troubled.  As a religious person, I could not be gay.
The two things were completely incompatible.  I could not
practice my religion with a clear conscience and
simultaneously pursue the type of companionship that I had
just discovered I wanted and needed.  Would I have to choose
one and reject the other?  My religion was part of my being
... but so, I now knew, was my homosexuality.  That was a
dilemma without a solution..  I was torn; I felt as if I was
being drawn and quartered.  At the same time, I knew I would
have to make the choice.  I vacillated between the two
desirable but unacceptable options as I struggled to resolve
my problem.  I was falling into a deep depression.

Knowing that I was gay, I decided never to have sex with my
wife again.  Not that it was very different from our lives
together; sex between us was no more than once a month anyway
and that was masturbating her to orgasm.  As far as she was
concerned, I had erectile dysfunction (This was in the days
before Viagra.).  I adopted a new tactic.  When I thought she
would ask me to masturbate her, I pretended to be asleep.
Moments later, I would feel the bed shaking, which ended only
when she moaned softly as she climaxed.  Once, I didn't
anticipate her asking to be masturbated.  I replied, very
untactfully, "Do it yourself.  You've done it to yourself
often enough."  For the next week, our relationship was
chilly, which was only slightly different than our accustomed
habits of polite civility.  She never asked me to masturbate
her again.   I haven't kissed her or touched her pussy for
years.  To the outside world, however, we were a model
family.  One may ask (as I did myself) why our marriage
endured with a total lack of physical intimacy.  The answer
is simple: our children first and our circle of friends
second.  Neither Shirley nor I wanted to disrupt our
children's lives by separation or divorce.  Neither of us
wanted to disappoint family and friends or to give up our
social life.  I'm quite sure, too, that my wife tolerated the
situation because she enjoyed the very comfortable life style
that my significant salary made possible.

Over the next nine years without resolving my dilemma, I was
celibate.  I attended church regularly at first but the
preacher's occasional tirades about the mortal sin of
homosexuality offended me.  I stopped going to church
although I never lost my faith in God.   I was angry.  I knew
for certain that I had always been attracted to men and not
to women.  It was not learned.  I was angry with God for my
"condition."  I was angry with the bigots who persecuted
gays, including those that occupied a pulpit.  I was even
angry with myself for not realizing sooner that I was gay.  I
felt like I needed to punish myself.

I started being less decisive, allowing people to tell me
what to do.  After all, I was a faggot.  On the other hand, I
was very successful my business and had a staff to direct.  I
had always been jovial but I became detached, despondent, and
very unhappy.  People noticed that very quickly.  I gradually
lost friends and the loyalty of my staff at work   That
exacerbated my depression.  I started to gain weight.  In
fact, I gained 70 pounds over the nine years.

Approximately every six months, I would get horny enough that
I would go to a bathhouse.  However, I would go to the room
with a video where I spent the evening watching male porn and
jacking off.  Always with my door closed and locked, I never
ventured out to any of the wet areas, sling pits, dark rooms,
glory holes, or whatever they might have.  Perhaps I should
have.  I might have opened a crack in the shell that kept me
isolated and very lonely.



(7) TURNING POINT

An article in the newspaper was the trigger to turning my
life around.  It described the establishment of a LGBT center
on the campus of a local university.  While it mentioned the
objections of opponents to the idea, it also pointed out that
lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and transsexuals in the student
body could receive counseling.  Although I was not a student
at the university and not even near the age of its students,
I thought it might be worth while to visit and see if they
could give me any advice.

I entered the center in the Student Union Building, not at
all sure I would find the help I knew I needed but
maintaining my hope that I would.  A very pleasant young man
(too young to be a college student, I thought) greeted me.  I
shouldn't have been but I was surprised at how "normal" he
looked and acted.  I introduced myself using a fictitious
name.  "How can I help you, sir?" he asked.

The "sir" was polite but made me feel as old as I was.  "Just
curious," I said noncommittally, not yet sure whether I
should divulge the reason for my visit.  "I read about the
center in the paper and wondered what you do here."

In a pleasant and articulate way (and not the least
condescending), he explained the services the center offered
to LGBT students.  He then showed me some of the literature
he had available.  One ("The Christian Gay") caught my eye
and I asked if I could have a copy of the small brochure.
Just then, a young woman entered the center.  It turns out
that Alan, my cordial host, had finished his duty time at the
center and the young woman was there to relieve him.

Alan handed me off to the new volunteer but I said to him,
"You've been very kind and helpful.  In return, I'd like to
take you to lunch.  That is, if you have the time."

"That's not necessary, sir," he protested.  Then it dawned on
me.  He may have suspected that I was trolling for young
flesh.  I assured him that my purpose was nothing more than
repaying his hospitality and continuing our conversation;
there was absolutely no ulterior motive.  Finally he agreed
by saying, "Okay.  One conversation" (emphasizing those two
words).

Over lunch in a nearby restaurant on Broadway that he
recommended, my admiration for his intelligence and empathy
grew to the point where I confessed the real reason for my
visit.  I even told him the essential facts of my background,
my marriage, my belated acceptance of being gay, and my
depression.  He listened attentively as I poured out my
story, sometimes fighting back my tears.  "So that's my sad
tale," I concluded.  "Thanks for putting up with it so
patiently."

"Listen, Larry -- if that's your real name," (Alan was as
perceptive as he was intelligent.)  "I don't have a class
until three.  If you have the time, we can walk back to
campus.  There's a small office in the center where we can
talk in private.  Actually, I'm not supposed to do this.
What I mean is that the university funding restricts our
contacts to students only.  But I think there might be more
you want to say and I think I can suggest some advice ... or
at least I hope I can."

The next hour or so was the most valuable period in my life.
Alan listened more than he spoke and when he spoke it was
usually a question -- a question that directed my thinking
and took me in directions I'd not have thought about before.
Just before parting, I said, "I can't thank you enough for
your time and your help.  You have a gift, young man, you
know just what to say and what not to say to help a sick old
man."

"Thanks," he blushed.  "I guess I leaned it from my Dad.
He's a psychiatrist.  All I did today was follow his example
when he helped me through problems I faced growing up."

I never saw Alan again but the debt I owe him is
immeasurable.  Perhaps, however, he connected the dots and
knew the donor who gave a sizable contribution to the LGBT
center.  With Alan and others like him on campus, who knows
how many troubled young men and women will be helped?

After too long of a period, I regained most of my personality
but was still unhappy.  I was yet to resolve the conflict of
religion and homosexuality.  I was yet to achieve the
satisfaction of companionship and love with a man.



(8) ELATION

Seven years ago, I was attending a going away party one
evening for a co-worker.  About 30 of us went to a bar to
have a couple of drinks a send off our co-worker on a happy
note.  For some reason, I watched this couple in the corner,
a man and a woman, passionately kissing each other.  This
made me quite sad because their kissing was evidence of a
physical and emotional bond, something that I had not had
with my wife in years.

I left the party after about an hour and a half and for the
first time stopped by a gay bar where I knew there were gay
men dancing.  Archaic obscenity codes prohibited total nudity
of performers and patrons where alcohol was served.
Therefore, the entertainment was delicious young men
stripping down to underwear and thongs and dancing in front
of a very appreciative audience of other men.  There were no
women in this bar, which suited me fine.  I had a drink and
nursed it a while.  I had been there maybe 45 minutes when I
was approached by two men.  I was 52 at the time and neither
of these men were yet 40 years old.  One was Hispanic and one
was white.  The Hispanic was a real hunk and did most of the
talking.  The white guy was also quite handsome and was a big
flirt.  The white guy was quite ruggedly handsome and filled
out his jeans, leaving no doubt that he was amply endowed.
As they talked to me, one would put his hand on my shoulder
and another would touch my leg.  When the hand on my leg
inched upward and contacted my crotch, I freaked out.
Although I had recently accepted my homosexuality and might
under other circumstances welcomed exploring their impressive
bodies, their brazen assault on me was too much for me to
cope with.  I was disgusted and scared.   I was so upset that
I don't even remember what I said but it caused quite a
scene; most of the patrons in the bar were looking at me.
The two men who hassled me left, laughing.

I was thoroughly embarrassed.  And angry.  I was about to
finish my drink and leave when a man sat on the bar stool
next to mine.  "I want to apologize to you.  I saw what those
two were doing.  I should have stepped in to stop to it.  I'm
sorry."

"Put a stop to what?" I asked, thinking in my ignorance that
I had been subjected to a normal occurrence in a gay bar.

"They're a couple of idiots.  They came on to you as some
kind of malicious joke to see your reaction.  I saw them do
it once before and later brag about it.  I should have told
them to get lost as soon as I saw them doing it again.
Please forgive me."

After some small talk, he offered to buy me a drink.  I
accepted on the condition that I would get the next one.  We
talked about trivial stuff for about five minutes,  His
friendly manner both settled me down and won my admiration
for his character.  Suddently he said, "Where's my manners?
I didn't introduce myself.  I'm John."

"Pleased to meet you, John.  I'm Charles but my friends call
me Chuck."  Without thinking, I had given him my real name
although only the first name.  But it didn't seem to matter
to me.  He was so friendly and cordial; I knew I could trust
him.

Two drinks later, the bar got crowded.  John offered his seat
to another patron and stood next to me.  I swiveled around
away from the bar to face him and we continued our
conversation.  There was nothing not to like about John.  I
guessed him to be somewhat younger than I was and in far
better shape -- quite handsome as a mater of fact.  He was
extremely personable -- the kind of individual you find
extremely easy to talk to.  He was obviously considerate
since he apologized for not intervening when I was accosted
and for giving up his seat to another patron.  It would be
ridiculous to say it was love at first sight but accurate to
say that I took an immediate liking to him.

I very briefly entertained the suspicion that he was only
trying to pick me up and get me to bed with him but there had
been, in the hour or more of conversation, no convincing
proof that was the case.  If he was trying to pick me up,
however, two things were certain.  One, he was a very smooth
operator.  Two, I would be very much interested in following
him wherever he took me for whatever he wanted to do with or
to me.

I was sitting at the bar on the bar stool with my legs open.
He was standing in front of me in between my knees.  In one
of the big surprises of my life, he all of a sudden leaned
into me and gently kissed me.  This was my first kiss from a
man.  I was stunned at the audacity of his impulsive action
but I did not pull back.  I welcomed it.  This may sound
incredible but that spontaneous kiss surpassed any human
contact I had had in my life.  It was the most incredible
feeling I had ever had.  It was the spark that ignited a
firestorm of affection.

He immediately pulled away and said, "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't
have done that.  You must think I'm a fool now."

"Not at all," I said sincerely.  "You surprised me but it was
a pleasant surprise ... a very pleasant surprise.  Don't
hesitate to do it again."

His next kiss, not to exaggerate, lasted several minutes.
Our tongues probed each others' mouths furiously.  My heart
was racing.  My mind was reeling.  My spirit soared.  It was
pure ecstasy.  By the time we stopped to breathe every nerve
ending in my body was on edge.  I was tingling through and
through.  We continued to kiss off and on for the next 15
minutes without saying much.

He broke off the kissing marathon and said, "As much as I'm
enjoying myself, Chuck, I have to go take a piss although
it'll be difficult until my hard-on goes down."

While he was gone, my mind was racing.  I really thought
kissing him was the best feeling I'd ever had.  I felt alive.
Kissing my wife was never kissing (except, perhaps for the
first few weeks after we married) -- just a peck that did
nothing for me.  But I had just french kissed a man with
everything that I had.  My cock was fully erect and trying to
push its way through the cloth of my pants.  Of course, it
didn't help that John had laid his hand over my crotch and
had ever so gently fondled me while we kissed.

When he returned, he resumed his position and returned his
hand to my crotch.  "Oh," he remarked.  You've adjusted
yourself.  More comfortable now?"

"Yes," I grinned.  "My briefs were sort of binding up on me."

"That's why I prefer boxers," he said as he continued to
squeeze my cock.

Whatever possessed me, I don't know -- probably raging lust.
The words just came out.  "I can unzip my fly and pull down
my briefs so you don't have to feel through the fabric."

He chuckled and said, "Not here."

He asked me to go home with him and I didn't hesitate a
moment.  I followed him home and got out of my car.  He led
me into his house.  After I walked in, he locked the door and
immediately pulled me into his arms for a long, spine-
tingling kiss.  I was mesmerized as he took my hand and led
me to his bedroom.  He took off my shoes and socks, my shirt,
unbuckled my pants, took off my pants, brushed my erect cock
in my underwear and then had me lay down on his bed.  I was
more than willing to let him take the lead.  What did I know
about gay sex beyond the contrived scenes in porno movies?

I watched him as he stripped off his clothes.  More
accurately, I could say that my eyes were riveted to him as
he removed each article of clothing.  He stripped off his
clothes normally but slowly without a hint of trying to do a
strip tease.  Still, the effect was incredibly seductive.  My
cock pulsed when he took off his boxers to reveal a massively
thick cock.  I gasped; I couldn't help it.  He grinned, no
doubt flattered and amused at my unconscious reaction.

He stripped off my briefs as I lay passively under his total
control and intoxicated with an overwhelming sense of
happiness.  The happiness instantly became ecstasy as he
immediately deep throated my cock with one gulp.  I almost
fainted.  I have no idea how long he sucked on my cock
because all sense of time was obscured by the thrilling
sensations emanating from my cock.

John got on top of me and started rubbing our cocks together
as we kissed.  I totally surrendered to this and felt like my
entire body was one singular nerve ending.  When he started
to kiss my cheeks and suck on my ears, I was amazed at how
erotic it felt.  He kissed down my chest, sucking on my
nipples (yet another erogenous zone I didn't know was so
powerful), down my hairy chest to my cock where he pumped my
erection with his hand.  He then discovered I was uncut which
he had not yet noticed since I was so fully erect that my
foreskin was completely retracted.  He seemed to delight in
repeatedly pushing my foreskin up over the helmet of my and
back down.  The effect on me was overwhelming.  It brought me
to the brink of orgasm but I wanted the intense feeling to go
on forever so I asked him to stop until my cock calmed down a
bit.

Still taking the lead, he maneuvered into a 69 position,
offering his manhood to me.  Eagerly but somewhat nervously,
I wrapped a hand around his erection.  I can't describe the
effect it had on me.  Holding another man's stiff manhood for
the first time in my life (disregarding the Bijou Boy) gave
me pleasure that was akin to an orgasm.  The thrill was
overpowering.  Driven by lust, I licked his cockhead and
gently took his cock and slowly rubbed it across my forehead
and face, taking in the man-musk that I remembered from those
oh so many years ago when I was just a couple of inches away
from the football jock's cock.  Only this time, I was able to
hold it and begin to lick his long, thick shaft.  I licked up
and down the shaft and ran my tongue around his glans.  His
piss slit had some glistening precum bubbling out and I
eagerly licked it off.  I'd eaten my own cum but this was
infinitely better -- sweet nectar form another man.  Sucking
cock that I once thought was disgusting was now irresistibly
desirable.  I made love to his big cock.  I inhaled the smell
and felt for his large testicles.  One at a time, I placed
each one in my mouth and sucked on it carefully, licking it
with my tongue.

John started to moan and I began my first attempt at seeing
how far I could get his penis into my mouth before I started
to gag.  Since it was my first time, I only got a few inches
into my mouth before I had to take some air and keep from
chocking.  Much later I heard men say deep throating a big
dick takes practice.  I got plenty of practice that night.
By the end of the evening, I was able to take him all the way
to his balls.  No question -- it was the perseverance of
lust.

I was able to extend the pleasure of his sucking on my cock
for longer than I thought I could because I kept pulling back
before I came.  He let me do that until my sucking on him
aroused him so fully that he did not stop sucking on me when
I pulled back.  I flooded his mouth with my cum.  It was
without any doubt the most intense and satisfying orgasm I
had ever had.  He then moved to kiss me and he started
feeding me my own cum as we mixed our saliva and my cum
between each other.

He lay back and opened his legs wide to give me access to his
large, curved cock.  I was determined to make him feel as
good as he had made me feel.  Although it was my first
cocksucking experience, I had thought about it for so long
that I made sure he did not feel any teeth.  I tongued his
shaft and licked around his glans while using my hands to
pinch his nipples.  He was starting to moan and squirm.  His
breathing became intense and I was hoping he was about to
give me a mouthful of ball juice.  He erupted largely in my
mouth but some of his cum shot on my forehead and over one of
my eyes.  I caught most of his cum in my mouth and coated my
tongue with it, savoring the taste.  I cleaned out his
urethra with my tongue and used his now deflating penis to
wash my face with the cum that I had not swallowed.  For a
short while I just lay between his legs with the dickhead and
part of his shaft in my mouth and my chin snuggled up into
his balls.

I had never felt so alive.

We cuddled, kissed, and talked for a long time.  I opened up
to him and told him I was married with children.  He didn't
seem to be too surprised.  I also confessed that I was a
virgin at gay sex.  That surprised him and he complimented me
on how well I had performed.  I guess all those porno movies
combined with the unleashing of my true self contributed to
my skill that I deemed adequate at best.

It was now well past midnight but I was still very hungry for
this man. I asked him if we could do an encore.  To my great
delight, he was more than willing.

We resumed our 69 position. I got hard again just looking at
his big ball sac hanging in front of my face and started
jerking his shaft as I sucked on the head of his cock.  I
started licking up and down on his balls and stroking the
base of his hardening cock

Meanwhile, he was fingering my hole and stuck one finger into
me and touched my prostate.  For the next half hour, I sucked
and licked his cock and balls as he opened my ass.  He had
some lube which he was working into my ass and used his
fingers to open me up.  I had never been fucked but knew what
he was doing.  He was planning to fuck me.  I wanted him to
fuck me.  I wanted him inside me.  I wanted his sperm inside
my bowels.  I gave no thought to how his thick cock would fit
into my ass hole.

When he could stand my sucking on his cock no longer, he
moved me onto my back and threw my legs apart.  He was rock
hard.  To me, one of the most erotic sights is a fully erect
man moving his cock into position to fuck.  He was gentle
inserting his cock in my hole but I lost my breath when the
head of his cock sunk into my sphincter.  He had such a thick
cock that I didn't think at that instant that I could take it
But was determined to have him inside me.  I concealed my
pain.  He was holding my legs back and watched my face
carefully for signs of discomfort.  He did an incredible job
of slow penetration.

The pain did not go away once he was fully in but when he
started to pump I encouraged him to continue.  I wanted to
feel completely filled.  It wasn't until he was fucking me
with a good rhythm that I got accustomed to it and started to
enjoy it.  He fucked me for at least 10 minutes before he to
me that he was going to cum in my ass.  Again, being my first
time, I didn't think there was any other way (except in porno
movies that always got a close of up cum shooting out.  I
took my heels and placed them on his ass to maximize his deep
penetration.  He yelled as he came and filled my ass and I
shouted, "YES!".

We spent almost three hours pleasuring each other.  He ate
his cum out of my ass, which I initially thought was gross
but soon discovered that it was very erotic and pleasing.
About five in the morning, he rolled over on me and went to
sleep.

I was too hyper to sleep.  I lay there slowing coming out of
my sexual stupor and relishing the feel of our naked bodies
pressed tightly together.  Then I remembered that I had to
get home.  Reluctantly, I woke him, thanked him for the best
night of my entire life, and said that I wanted to stay but
had to get home.  Sleepily, he told me he had enjoyed my
visit.  I left and went home to climb into my own bed.  It
was almost six on a Saturday morning when I arrived home and
my wife was asleep.  I got in bed and was never found out.
At that time, my wife and I still slept together, although we
no longer had sex.  Our marriage was a sham.  We maintained
the illusion of a happily married couple among our friends
and our children but it was a deception.  Living together was
only toleration of each other for economic convenience.  It
was no surprise to her, therefore, that the following night I
went to the guest bedroom to sleep by myself.  My move didn't
even draw a comment from her and we both seemed happy with
the separate sleeping arrangements.



(9) TRANSFORMATION

For the next two days, I could hardly get my mind off my
first gay sex.  On the one hand, I couldn't deny it was a
glorious experience, surpassing by far my enjoyment of sex
during the first few weeks of my marriage.  On the other
hand, I was bothered by having not only admitted to myself
that I was gay but allowing myself to engage in homosexual
activities.  And enjoying it!  I had a most uncomfortable
feeling that I had betrayed my upbringing, my marriage vows
(It made no difference that we had not had sex for over 11
years.), and my religious faith.  It was a chaotic conflict
of euphoria and guilt that obsessed me.

I called John a couple of days later and told him I needed to
talk to him.  There was a sense of urgency in my voice and
John agreed to get together.  When I told him I was feeling
very guilty about having sex with him because I was married
he laughed.  He thought I was going to tell him that I was
HIV positive and my urgent phone call worried him because we
fucked bareback as well as sucked each other off.

As we talked, he said, "You're the first virgin I've ever
fucked."

"No," I said.  "I'm not a virgin if I've had sex with my wife
... although not for a very long time."

He chuckled and said, "Okay.  Let's say a virgin gay.  You
don't know anything about gay life.  For example, I know many
married men who are either gay or bisexual but they enjoy gay
sex on the side."

"I find that to be incredible," I said.  "But, at the same
time, it's reassuring because I thought I was the only odd-
ball in the world."

"No, Chuck.  You're not alone.  As I said, I know plenty of
men like you."

I immediately wondered how many.  And how many he had had sex
with.  But I thought it best not to inquire about his past
sex partners.  Instead, I impulsively said, "Even though I'm
married, I'm available any time you would be willing to get
together again."

He cocked his eyebrows, flashed a little grin, and said, "Are
you available Friday night?"

We had another wonderful evening of sex.  But we also talked
quite a bit.  It was more him answering my questions and his
offering advice.  He let me know that there is no such thing
as a typical homosexual or bisexual male.  He said any man
that I might meet might be homosexual or bisexual.  He told
me about several websites that I might be interested in
taking a look at and that I should do some Internet research.
He said that I would find that men sometimes have limited
tastes.  For example, he told me that he only liked
unattached gay men or unmarried men.  That made me frown; he
preferred unmarried men.  I didn't fit that description.

We never saw each other again but John had a huge impact on
my life.  Not only did he provide me with my first gay
experience but he also gave me very valuable instruction on
the diversity of gay life style and, significantly, how to go
about finding gay men.  He told me I would not be comfortable
with all of it or might not be comfortable with any of it but
that there is no set of characteristics that apply uniformly.

I vowed to never have sex with another man in the New York
City area again.  I'm sure it would have been easy to do so
but, at least for the foreseeable future, I wanted to stay in
the closet to my family, friends, and business associates.
By cruising the Internet I met many men online with whom I
struck up long email conversations over a period of time.  I
learned a lot about others like me.  It was comforting to
know that there were, in fact, many men like me but I still
craved an emotional and physical bonding with a man.

My business required that I travel extensively and I was gone
for several days per week.  I had been doing this for years
and it had certainly gotten old.  There was no longer any
glamour in the travel and I was incredibly bored in the
evenings, alone in hotel rooms.  My life was in a rut.  I was
going through the motions but not really happy at all with my
life.  My wife became demanding, which started to get on my
nerves when I was home.  Most of the time I would ignore her
because it was so much easier than engaging in a conversation
that would end up being argumentative.   I did, however,
spend as much of my time as possible with the kids.  We had
and still have a wonderful relationship.  When my wife and I
got married, she said that opposites attract because we had
such different interests.  After 20 years, I knew that's not
true.  We like different foods and different movies.  She
liked to stay at home; I liked to travel (or did for a long
time until it got tedious).  I woke up to the fact that that
my being gay was not the only problem.  We had nothing in
common except the kids and we had opposing opinions about how
to relate to them.  While my life was not perfect with her, I
felt guilty because I was cheating her out of a life,
possibly a fulfilling life with someone else with interests
more like hers.  But there were the children to consider and
it was important to make sure that they had a secure, loving
environment.  I would do nothing to change that regardless of
what I had to sacrifice.  Good or bad.

My business trips opened up new opportunities for me.  Bored
in a hotel room, I visited the gay bars in whatever city I
visited.  As a result, I had sex with a number of men.  Don't
get me wrong.  I enjoyed it for the sex but it did not meet
all my needs.  I wished that I could share my life with a man
in a committed relationship, someone to love who loved me.

Going from a man who questioned his ability to enjoy sex to
one who enjoyed every second of a sexual experience with
another man was a long journey.  I once thought that I did
not enjoy sex with a woman because I was one of those rare
animals in nature that was asexual.  Until I had the epiphany
of learning that my co-worker David was gay and reaffirmed
when I had my first gay sex with John.  Previously, it had
never occurred to me I might enjoy sex with a man because I
did not enjoy sex with a woman.  The experience with John
changed all that.  I became a seeker of the carnal pleasures
of man-to-man sex.  How opposite can things be?

Now I think of my sex life as beginning the night that I
first had sex with John.  In that regard, I have only about
an eight year history.  Being so "young" sexually, I have a
huge appetite for sex.  I've learned that I most enjoy
bottoming.  I delight in satisfying men orally and hearing
them moan with pleasure.  (That's really quite unexpected for
a man who heads up a large firm and is responsible for making
things happen.)

Since I like people, it didn't make any difference to me what
age or race these men were just as long as we found each
other interesting after an initial meeting that did not
involve sex.

Over this period, I learned more about myself.  I started to
understand why I tipped male waiters more than women, worked
very well with women because I was not intimidated by them,
and spent a lot of time just crotch watching.  I allowed
myself more time to look at men and I come to appreciate just
how good looking some men are.  In the past, I had kept these
bottled up and hidden even from myself.  Most significantly,
I found peace with my religious faith.  After considerable
thought, research, and introspection, I came to the
conclusion that religion and faith are not the same.  One can
be righteous and have an abiding faith in a Supreme Being
without obligatory conformance to the dogma of a particular
denomination.  God made us all.  God loves us all ... even
gays.



(10) BLISS

I started working on a contract that had me going to Atlanta
frequently, sometimes for longer than several days a week.
In fact, I spent most of my time in Atlanta, which was enough
that it made sense to have an apartment there as opposed to
staying in hotels.  This gave me a great opportunity to bring
men in to a relaxed atmosphere where I could entertain them.
I am a good cook and I like to entertain.  I know that guys
like to eat and so I was able to have a number of men visit
me.  One such occasion changed my life.

Jeremy and I had been frequent email buddies and had
developed a rapport.  He contacted me online to say he was
interested in meeting with me.  He was looking for an
educated bottom for companionship.  The opportunity arose
about two weeks later.  He indicated he would be in Atlanta
and would like to meet.  I made dinner for him and he arrived
bringing wine.  We enjoyed each other's company greatly and
ended up sitting on the couch together as we finished the
second bottle of wine.  I found out he was very similar to
me.  He, too, was married and had two children, both older
than mine.  He was living with his wife for the kids' sake
and he was not out to his family.  And his sex life with his
wife was non-existent, too.

Unexpectedly, he leaned over and kissed me.  He was a
passionate kisser and I was thinking that this would likely
lead to sex so I stopped.  I explained that it was my custom
to know more about a guy before taking them to bed.  He
seemed disappointed but said (whether he meant it or not)
that he understood and respected me for my caution.

He left around midnight and I realized I wished he hadn't
left.  After all, I reminded myself, we had had a long
relationship by email and knew a lot about each other.  That
he graciously accepted my hesitancy to have sex on the first
"date" was a testament to his consideration of my quirk.

There had only been two men that I had actually slept with
through the night, one since John.  I called Jeremy the next
day and asked if he wanted to get together again if he ever
came back to Atlanta.  He said he was coming back the
following week and I invited him back to the apartment and
offered to make him dinner again.  He said we would go out
this time and I would be his guest.  After dinner, we came
back to the apartment and drank more wine.  We ended up in
bed.  The sex was incredible and he enjoyed how passionate I
was.  I devoured his cock and he almost came in my mouth too
early because he really wanted to fuck.  I enjoyed sucking
his admirable cock but I really wanted him to fuck me.
Jeremy's cock was about average in length -- just over six
inches -- but very thick.  He was probably a little thicker
than John was but not nearly as long.  He enjoyed playing
with my cock and that just made me lustier.  He lubricated my
uncut cock with baby oil and played with my cock and balls
until I exploded in his hands.  I was like a bitch in heat
and sat on his cock, facing him.  While I often have
difficulty coming a second time, I did get hard while riding
his cock and he stroked me as I faced him.  Later, he fucked
me face to face pushing my legs back over my head until he
finally shot a load in my ass.

We repeated that scene every other week or so for about a two
months.  Then he called me one day and asked if I could meet
him for breakfast in New York.  He suggested a location not
too far from my office and I met him there.  During the
conversation, I thanked him for choosing a location close to
my office and then he surprised me by telling me he lived
only a couple of blocks away.  He also told me that he worked
in Atlanta two days a week and wanted us to be together when
he was in town.  That started a four-year romance in which we
were together about half the time.  A typical week would be
arriving in Atlanta about the same time on Sunday evening
where we would have sex at least twice.  He would either fuck
me twice or I would suck him off one of the times.  We both
got tested for HIV and after six months, we started having
bareback sex.

These were blissful years.  He, too, was a good cook.  We
took turns cooking for each other.  We fell in love.  I can
remember having a hot bath ready for him one evening, with
incense in the bathroom and champagne.  Another time, I took
the petals from a dozen roses and covered the bed with them
and we had sex in a "rose bed."  He liked to go to plays,
museums, and orchestra performances.  I loved those things,
none of which my wife was interested in.

We saw Brokeback Mountain together and I later purchased the
video.  We watched it again one night with him lying on my
back with his cock in my ass for the entire movie.  For his
birthday one year, he wanted to go to a bathhouse since he
had never been to one.  We went separately and met in the
steam room where I went down on him.  Later we spent time in
the Jacuzzi and then went to my apartment where we fucked.
It was all so sexy and we loved it.

One day, he told me his wife, who was a college professor,
got a teaching fellowship in London and was going to be gone
for two years.  She had not consulted with him or their two
children, both grown.  Jeremy was surprised that she would do
this and she left about three months later.  He invited me to
his home where he made a wonderful dinner and we had sex in
his apartment where I spent the night.  We were together now
even more, at his place when we were both in New York and at
my apartment in Atlanta when we were both in Atlanta.  (My
wife no longer questioned my not being home after the first
few snide comments like "You'd better not bring your
girlfriend into this house!")

I told him everything.  I told him about being so very lonely
and not feeling love.  I told him about feeling cheated in my
life for not realizing my sexuality until so late.  I posed
the question: what if I had known I was gay earlier in my
life.  Answering my own question, I said I would never have
gotten married.  He let me talk and listened closely.  He
said that everything happens for a reason.  He said that he
could tell I was a very loving father who did everything for
his children.  I was meant to have those children so if I had
known I was gay, they would never have existed.  He said that
I was very successful at my business and I was healthy.  Life
is not fair but it had been far more fair to me that to many.
He said that he had felt that way, too, but realized that his
greatest blessing was his children.  And now we had each
other.

Since that discussion, I've never really allowed myself to
think about what might have been if I had not been as naive
as I was in recognizing that I am gay.

The following summer, Jeremy told me his wife invited him to
come as a guest speaker at the university where she taught.
He went to London for about two months and it was the longest
period in my life.  I missed him deeply.  It was more than
the sex, much, much more.  I really enjoyed being with him.
While the sex was wonderful, cuddling with him at night met
my need for male companionship and love.  He liked to sleep
holding me in his arms.  I really enjoyed the touching and
the warmth of his naked body next to mine.  I also liked the
feel of his penis lying next to my ass.  There were many
times in the night where the proximity of his penis to my ass
aroused him and he would gently rock back and forth until he
was hard and inside me.  He would cum inside me and we would
go back to sleep.  I also liked waking him up by sucking him
off.  We couldn't get enough of each other sexually as well
as being great companions.

When he came back from London, he brought commitment rings.
I cried.

The next nine months were the happiest of my life.  My
children were doing well and we were getting along very well.
I often listened to him talk to his children on the phone
when we were together and he listened to me as I talked with
mine.  It was so exhilarating to be doing these things with
someone knowing everything about me.  I loved him.  I loved
the companionship.  And I really loved the sex.  Whenever he
fucked me and I had not cum, he would suck me off.  I
continued to wake him up with his morning blow job.

He told me in April that he was going back to London in June.
The night before he left on his second trip that we had sex
twice.  The next morning, I gave him his morning blow job.
When I was finished, he was in tears.  I assumed it was
because he was leaving that day.  We kissed; I showered and
left for work.  He typically would call me when he left the
apartment.  He called me from the Atlanta airport and again
from New York as he waited for the transatlantic flight.  He
said he would call me from London in a few days.

That was three years ago.  I've never heard from him again.



EPILOG

I tenaciously tried to find him, to contact him, to find out
if he was all right, to regain the love we had for each
other.  I spent many nights worrying.  And crying.  When I
called his office in New York, they told me he had resigned
suddenly and told me (truthfully or not) they had no idea
where he was.  I went by his apartment building and asked the
doorman if Jeremy Fisher was at home.  He said the Fishers
moved out some time ago and left no forwarding address.  I
went by his church; they had no word.  I thought about
contacting his children but I didn't do that for fear there
might be some questions about who I was and why I wanted to
find their father.  I don't know if I would cause that kind
of problem but I couldn't risk anything that might out him.
Why did he do it?  What happened?  I really don't know.  It
took me 18 months to get back to some type of regular
schedule.

Since Jeremy, I have had sex with two men, one time each.
I'm not sure if there ever will be another.  I still look at
all the guys.  To me, men are far more handsome than a woman
is pretty.  I often think of having sex with particularly
handsome men.  I'm not there yet but at my age I'll soon be
left with no more than thinking and fantasizing ... and
remembering my time with Jeremy.

I'm working a lot more from New York now and there is no
reason to go out of town as much.  True to my paranoia, I
don't have sex in this city.  I am lonely, to be sure, but I
remember what Jeremy said about the blessings that I have.
As Alfred, Lord Tennyson wrote, "'Tis better to have loved
and lost than to have never loved at all."  I firmly believe
that's true.  Painful but true.