Date: Mon, 31 Oct 2005 05:57:36 -0800
From: tball101@hotmail.com
Subject: My Life in The Closet Part 4: It raises its ugly head

This is a true story about my life and my ongoing struggle with my
sexuality. I'm writing this as part therapy and part outlet. I live a
closeted life and I have never shared any of this honestly with anyone.
There are graphic depictions of male homosexuality and heterosexual acts
contained in this story so if you don't like it, don't read it.

Being all too familiar with the titillating stories on Nifty, and in
contrast to the sexual explicitness of my previous installments, this
particular part of my story deals a lot with my straight years and more of
my internal struggles. Sorry if it's boring but I feel I have to get it out.

Everything's true, most of the names have been changed and geographical
details are murky because I don't want to be outed by this story. But if you
came from my hometown you should be able to figure it out. You might even be
able to guess who I am if you knew me. If that's the case, email me and I'll
give you a prize.

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"My Life in The Closet Part 4: It raises it's ugly head."

The last part of my story left off when I was around 20 and closed the
chapter on four years of my life, between the ages of 16 and 20, when I was
a young closeted sex addict, cruising the streets of my hometown looking for
cock, blowing anonymous men in cars by the side of the road, all the while,
outwardly living the life of a straight guy in his late teens.

During these years I estimate that I had oral sex, mostly giving but
sometimes receiving, with around 30 different men.

When I was 20, I left home to finish college away in the big town of Boston,
MA. For some reason, mainly fear of AIDS and complacency with my straight
relationships with girls, when I left home I totally, and successfully,
locked my urges away and never acted on them for a long time.

It's not like those urges were gone. They were still there and I jerked off
all the time to the thoughts of cock and the many memories of my encounters.
But they didn't seem to possess me like they had in the past. Honestly, I
thought I had them licked. No pun intended.

When I went to Boston, instead of using the opportunity to explore my gay
urges, the personality that I had adopted in my youth to avoid being accused
of being a "fag", was solidified. I was a "guys guy" who liked to party and
was definitely straight, having a normal active sex life and girlfriends.
Not a huge amount, mind you, I was never a "stud", but I had more than a lot
of guys.

This was the way I thought I had to be and, by extension of that thought,
became. This is a pattern that has locked me firmly in the closet throughout
my life. Later in life, even when I had the opportunity of a fresh start and
could have changed things, I compensated with this macho persona, terrified
of being thought of as gay.

Anyway, this is how people got to know me and as with many collegians, I
made many friends in school who are still close to me to this day.

Not surprisingly, a lot of guy friends. A tight knit group of around six of
us who had the same interests, dreams for the future and drinking habits. I
didn't realize it then, but I fell in love with a lot of these guys and had
friendships that were sometimes intense, bordering on infatuation, but
always cloaked in the guise of male bonding. One of these friends is still
my best friend, a guy who I love dearly and have had sexual fantasies and
dreamed about sharing my life with many, many times over the years.

But they didn't know about my secrets and I was damn sure that no one ever
would. I knew how they felt about gays and I was certainly not going to
expose myself as one.

As with any group of young eligible guys, there were girls who hung with us
too. I met my future wife in this tight knit group. She was like an honorary
member of the boys club.

She was cute but not beautiful, highly witty and very intelligent. In any
conversation she could give as good as she got, if not better. She was also
down to earth, without pretension and had as true a heart, as I ever knew.

I was attracted to her as a person more than I was sexually. But I thought
that she as a person was beautiful and I loved her.

I made many awkward and bravado filled pursuits to win her, which she always
rebuffed. But I knew deep down she loved me too and in one of the highlights
of my life, she surprised me one night and told me that she did.

The results of this declaration were immediate, wonderful, scary and life
changing.

We were already so known to each other that there was no "let's date" phase
of this relationship. In a very short time she had moved in with me and
things got very intense.

I never told her this, but she did go a little fast for me and early on
there were times when I almost broke it off. But she was she, and I really
did love her on so many levels that the whole relationship dripped with
importance and cosmic connection. I figured that when something like this
comes into your life, you shouldn't ditch it capriciously.

Besides that, I found love with a woman and it was the perfect cure for
being a cocksucker.

And the sex was pretty good too. We had a lot of it. My favorite activity
was eating her pussy and licking her to orgasm. My next favorite activities
were getting head and doing her doggie style. Back then, I never attached
any significance to why I liked these particular styles more than others,
but I have a few theories now. They represented my submissive, my gay and my
"dirty" tendencies.

When she would give me head, not as often as I liked by the way, my mind
would almost always switch us around and I would fantasize about sucking
cock again. During the hundreds of times she was slobbering on my dick, deep
throating my cock and swallowing my cum, I would wistfully think to myself
that I probably would never suck cock again. Oh well, I didn't need to. I
had her now.

After a few years of struggling to make ends meet after college, we decided
to move away from our families and move to the West Coast in order to pursue
our careers.

Los Angeles can be a big scary city and our early years there together we
the best of our relationship. We were alone together and really needed each
other.

There was a lot in LA: a lot of glamour, a lot of glitz and a lot of gays.
The gay sections of town became quickly apparent to me.  How could you miss
them? Everywhere you turned there were hot guys with great bodies walking
around openly being so "gay".

Los Angeles was(and is) more tolerant and had a huge gay population compared
to back East and everyone seemed to accept it.

At work there were a lot of gay guys and things were so much more open.
People talked about it so much more than back home. Girls speculating about
who was gay and who wasn't, was constant office banter. Despite these
distractions, I held it together stayed on the "straight and narrow".

Back then I was in my physical prime. I was in the best shape of my life and
I was picking up sexual vibes from both sexes all over the place. But I was
committed to my relationship and determined to stay true. I did.

I once worked very closely with a guy who was openly gay and very cute. I
found myself talking to him a lot about the gay world and I'm positive he
knew I was curious. Me, the veteran of many a cock in my mouth, playing
innocent with this guy. He was so cute. He had a wiry muscular body a really
great ass and always wore clothes to show himself off.

We became very friendly but our project ended and we weren't working
together anymore. He invited me out to lunch to talk about another project.
During lunch, he told me I looked good and asked if I was working out and I
got a panicky buzz. When we were done eating he asked if I wanted to go and
check out his place. He was pretty insistent and after all, it was right
around the corner. I told him no and went home. This was the height of my
resistance.

I didn't need this in my life. I loved my girlfriend and I didn't want to
fuck it up. And if I did something with him, he could tell our mutual
acquaintances and people might find out.

But he was so cute. And I wanted to suck his cock like the wanton cocksucker
I had been years before. I wanted his mushroom head in my mouth. I wanted to
feel bulging veins with my tongue. I wanted to have him blow a load in my
mouth. I wanted to kiss him. Maybe we could fall in love and I'd get the
courage to break up with my girlfriend and tell everyone, "I'm gay! I like
to have sex with men and I'm proud!"

That wasn't meant to be.

What was meant to be was this: after around eight years of strictly hetero
and mostly monogamous sex I was bored. I was horny for cock again and it was
all around me. My urges had raised their ugly head and I increasingly
fixated on getting a cock back in my mouth.

So one night when my girlfriend was working late, I made up my mind to go to
a gay bar I had seen on Santa Monica Blvd, in West Hollywood. There are a
lot of gay bars in this area and I don't know why I picked this particular
place but it always seemed to catch my attention when I drove by. It was
called the Gold Coast.

Just as nervous as I was the first time I walked up to my first car to suck
a dick, I cautiously parked my car and made my way into the bar as fast as I
could so I wouldn't get spotted by anyone who knew me.

The place was hopping. It was filled with all kinds of guys. My heart was
pounding out of my chest and I immediately started drinking to relax myself.

Looking around I saw guys of all descriptions. I checked to see if anyone
would make eye contact with me. Nothing. So I decided to circulate and see
who was around.

By the pool table, a large muscular black dude with a huge Village People
moustache saw me and made a beeline to talk to me.

He was very friendly, but also very "gay" and I wasn't attracted to him. I
told him I was going to keep moving and he told me to make sure that I saw
him before I left. I said sure.

Walking by the back of the bar, two straight looking frat types were playing
pool and their observing friend caught my eye.  He signaled me to come over
to him.

He was Latino and a little smaller than me and I could tell a bit
effeminate. Normally that turned me off, but he was truly gorgeous. He had
beautiful dark eyes, dark hair and a sweet little body.

I walked over and said hello. He told me his name was Jorge. After a short
conversation, I quickly told him that I was new to all this and was a bit
nervous. I know this sounds funny for a guy who had no problem sucking
anybody's cock on the side of the road but this was different and it had
been a long time.

He sweetly and seductively suggested that I give him a kiss.  I did. I
remember his thick pouty lips feeling so soft and the kiss was really
sensual. I got hard as a rock.

One of his frat buddies came over and asked who I was. Jorge explained my
"virgin" situation and the frat boy looked at the bulge in my pants and said
whatever I was looking for I was ready for it. They both rubbed my bulge
with their hands and I almost jumped out of my skin. It was so hot. I felt
like an object and I liked it. I needed to have sex and I needed it now.

Jorge and I kissed some more and started to feel each other up. He was
openly rubbing my crotch and I started to rub his. He felt like he was ready
too.

I couldn't believe I was doing this in a gay bar. I was on the verge of my
first cock in years and I was in a hurry.

I asked him if he had a place to go to and he said we could go to his place,
but he looked worried and said he didn't want to leave his friends.

He went over and talked to the frat boy for a few seconds, came back and
said let's go.

On the drive over to his place he was all over me, kissing and blowing in my
ear and rubbing my dick through my pants.

We got to his place and we immediately started to strip each other. He was
on his knees really fast and loved sucking my dick. I have a nice six inch
dick that has a great mushroom head that he mentioned how nice it was.

But I wanted something too. I stood him up and undid his fly. His uncut cock
popped out and was somewhat flaccid. Apparently, he was nervous and I did
the best I could to get him to relax. His cock started to grow in my mouth
but he stopped me and said we should go to bed. I was all for it.

He told me to get naked and wait for him. I was lying on the bed naked with
a hard on expectantly waiting for my beautiful Jorge. He came in immediately
started sucking my cock. It was so hot and I was in heaven. I pulled him up
to me and we started making out. I was going crazy with cock lust and I
needed to suck his dick.

As I made my way down to his cock I noticed a lot of discolorations on his
legs. I stopped dead in my tracks.

Jorge was HIV positive and had full blown AIDS. It was like I was hit by
lightning, a truck, and the wrath of God all at the same time.

He asked me how I knew. I could tell by his Karposi's, symptoms I had
studied and been paranoid about after my four years of promiscuity. Since
then I had been tested and was negative, but I knew all about it.

To this day I regret my reaction. I was furious with Jorge that he didn't
tell me and put me at risk. I'll never forget how upset he was and how he
cried.  I left in a panic of flying clothes and told him he should never do
that again. I've often wondered what became of Jorge and how I reacted that
night. I wish I could have been more compassionate about the pain he was in,
but I reacted with only fear.

Over the weekend I was sick with the ramifications of what I had so
foolishly done. I couldn't have sex with my girlfriend until I knew I was
negative and I couldn't be sure of that for at least six months.

I had to tell her what happened. I did.

The hurt and pain I caused my soul mate, my life partner, my eventual wife
will be with me forever. Out of sheer love for me, we stayed together. She
stood by my side during my HIV testing (I was negative) and endured the
humiliation of couples counseling and sitting in a room with a therapist as
I recounted how this was an isolated aberration, an activity that I had
never, ever engaged in before. As far as I know, to this day, she still
thinks that's the truth.

Against all odds, our relationship endured for another six years, some of
which were wonderful. We eventually got married and our wedding day was one
of the happiest in my life.

But we couldn't overcome what had happened. Even though I was absolutely
scared straight, things were never truly the same. I suspected that she
would freak if I told her of my true past, so I never opened up.
There was a gulf between us that widen a little more each day.

After being together for twelve years, she had an affair with a co-worker
and left me. I was devastated at her betrayal(funny huh?) but I knew we were
on borrowed time ever since "the incident".

Ironically, to my friends and family, she was the bitch that cheated on me
and to protect my secret, I stood by as she became the clear-cut culprit in
our marital disaster afraid to admit the true role I played.

At this point in my life I was heart broken. I wasn't gay, I wasn't
straight, I was lost.

My secret life had ruined my real life. I was all fucked up.

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This story was really hard to write and I imagine, really hard for some of
you to read. I have been attempting to chronicle my experiences as I felt
them with all the titillation, irrational drives and risky behaviors that
the gay lifestyle has introduced in my life. This is true. It's not pretty
and I'm not proud of a lot of what I did, but it's real and I'm still trying
to make sense of it.

If you'd like to read more about my closeted life, email me at
tball101@hotmail.com I'd love to hear what you thought.