As I stood in front of James’ house, waiting for him to make his way down from his bedroom, I reflected on our relationship, if one could call it that.

We fucked. On and off for fifteen years. He would text me and if time allowed, I would scamper over to his house, ring the doorbell, knock three times, and wait. We would kiss in his foyer. And goddamn that man can kiss. Aggressive, hot and fast, lots of tongue; I tremble just thinking about. That initial kiss would bring his penis to life and mine as well. Sometimes would unzip, pull out and engage in frontage, but mostly we would move to the bedroom with great haste and expediency.

Our sexual encounter generally had the same pattern. Kiss my way down his cock, give head, eat his ass, finger his ass as I gave head, move back to kissing, assume the position, bareback penetration, pump and pump and pump, ass to mouth, more head, more fucking, change positions, his orgasm generally in my ass, my orgasm after masturbating in my bed hours after I left.

For the most part I was just a cum dump to him and I didn’t really mind. His skills at fucking were decent but his cock size left something to be desired. I had other gay trysts in the same timeframe with men with far greater endowment, men that would make me cum hands free numerous times, but I always went back to him.

While I wouldn’t call it love, those emotions were adjacent.

James opened the door wide and greeted me with a tremendous smile. We had not been together or looked at each other in the eye for more than four years.

Oh my God, you look fantastic, and I did.

In those four years I lost eighty pounds of fat and gained back twenty in muscle. I got my eyes fixed back to twenty-twenty vision. Lens replacement, highly recommend. And got my teeth fixed. Fortunately, as I aged, I got better looking. According to some of the younger men that had daddy issues and wanted nothing more than to fuck me. Repeatedly. At 50 I had opportunity, at 60 I had more.

You always hear in the gay world that old men are out, and I can tell you that is not necessarily true. Sometimes you just must look a little harder, and sometimes you must be willing to engage in sodomy with men that may not be your first choice. But then sometimes you are so horny it doesn’t really matter who fucks you, if they get hard and last more than 3 or 4 minutes.

Girls back me up here!

Come in, come in, James cooed excitedly, leading me from the foyer to the living room without a touch or a kiss. He had cleaned up what had been a dreadfully decorated house, deep into decay and neglect. The first time I walked on his stained carpet, I nearly left. But refer to the horny comment and you can understand why I might stay.

Sitting on what appeared to be a brand-new couch was an extraordinary male specimen. Very tall, very muscular, dark as night, his teeth gleamed as he smiled, and I might have melted a little.

This is my husband, Damian.

As I took a step forward and got a better look at Damian, every alarm bell in my gay heart went off. I knew this man, not by Damian, but by Curtis. We had met at a gay clothing optional resort in Palm Springs a year back and fucked without pause for nearly four days straight. Sometimes in the resorts clothing optional maze, something in the blackout room in their funhouse, but more frequently in a hotel bed either in his room or mine. The man had been blessed with an enormous cock and being a size-queen, I knew how to enjoy it.

In the same instant I recognized him, he recognized me, his smile trembling just slightly and his eyes pleading not to give away our previous encounter.

So, I started in my most flippant, stereotypical gay voice, how did you two meet?

In Palm Springs, James exclaimed, moving past me and sitting at Damian/Curtis’ side.

Oh, do tell, darling?

Well, it was at a resort. I forget the name. The big one everyone knows.

Apparently not everyone forgot the name of CCBC in Cathedral City.

How gay, I purred.

Well, James blushed at the memory which I found amusing as he fucked more men in his lifetime than anyone could keep track off, although he did with a spreadsheet and very graphic depictions of what took place.

Jack. New guy. Meet online. Tall, handsome. Great blowjob. Nice ass. Need to fuck again.

Damian appeared nervous but remained calm and smiled without a break. This annoyed me, but I said nothing.

So, babe. What would you like to do?

This is a loaded question. I knew it, James knew it. Damian/Curtis probably knew it.

Should we go upstairs?

Marvelous idea. I completely agree. Damian?

Damian stood up, straightened his shirt, and smiled yet again.

Absolutely.

My sophomore year of college I received an invitation to join a frat, whose name I cannot mention due to an ongoing legal battle, and I gleefully accepted the invitation, and made plans to attend as requested.

Within moments of stepping onto campus on my first day, I realized my freedom to express myself in any way I wanted. So, I did. I dressed in a far more feminine and provocative manner than I ever dreamt. My senior year of high school I experimented a bit, but by the first day of freshman year I went all in.

Initially I didn’t really dress as in wearing women’s clothing. I didn’t feel transgender, but I didn’t always feel male. My best friend from High School followed me to the same college. We shared a room in an off-campus apartment, and she helped me find my groove.

For the most part I stayed in women’s jeans, simple blouses and flats. At 6’ I couldn’t really get away with heels, and I really didn’t get a rush by wearing heels. Panties did that. To this day I adore wearing panties. If you know, you know. Don’t judge.

The invitation to the frat came from someone Kimberly knew and trusted. The invite implicitly stated that I should dress they way I felt most comfortable. And I knew what that meant, so I did.

Forty minutes after arrival, and of course I was an hour late to event, the leader of the frat cornered me.

And I enjoyed being cornered by such a handsome man, equally as tall, muscular, blond surfer type.

I think you’ll fit in well here.

How’s that, sexy?

We need a girl like you.

Calling me a girl, when amongst my fellow homosexuals, did not titillate in any way, but the way he purred out the word, made my skin tingle in delight. I knew I would be on my knees sooner than later.

Little did I know.

The hazing of the straight pledges was immediate, quick and humiliating. To the pledges.

They were forced to do many minor things. Drinking too much, dumb games, and then, in the end, stripping naked. The junior and senior boys in the frat stepped forward and chose a naked pledge. They then stood in front of them. On command each frat boy unzipped his pants and pulled their hardening cocks free. The pledges were instructed to provide oral pleasure to each, and the first three pledges to make their frat boy cum, would automatically be in.

Immediately, three young men ran from the room, never to be seen or heard from again. The remaining starting sucking the cocks presented them.

Some appeared talented, seemingly this not being their first time. Some did not take to it and they too left without a word. In the end, five frat bros nut deep in the throats on their respective pledge. As promised, the first three were automatically in the frat. The two remaining cum stained pledges were to provide other services to other frat bros, but they too would eventually be admitted.

After watching this event I found myself in state of lust and desire. Some of the frat bros were quite handsome and well endowed. Ultimately, I would come to know them all very intimately, but as I stood there, aroused without any apparent outlet four young men approached me.

Would you like to go upstairs?

I nodded in agreement, gave full consent to whatever they wanted to do.

Over the next few hours, I found release of my sexual arousal. As the morning sun peaked across the eastern sky, as I did my walk of shame from the Frat House, I realized that I would greatly enjoy my semester.

James lay on the bed and I nestled between his legs, taking his cock into my mouth, working him into a frenzy then settling back, repeating the action much to his delight. I fingered his tight asshole, pushing an index past the second knuckle. He asked for a second finger and I obliged.

I raised me exposed ass, offering it to Damian/Curtis, as I had done many times in the Palm Springs hotel bed. His tongue flicked across my anus, delving and penetrated with great skill. He disengaged briefly and I felt his thick fingers apply a generous amount of lube to my anus.

He pressed his sizable tip against my pink opening, pressing gently as I accepted him into me. That first penetration always felt so satisfying, nearly the best part of being fucked. He continued to press into me until he had a little more than half of his length in me.

He waited.

Fuck me, I muttered, my mouth full of James’ cock.

And he did.

Damian/Curtis pressed the full length of his massive cock into me, and I thought I might pass out. It had been a while since I took nine inches. Once he realized I could take him, he began to plunger in and out, pulling his cock completely free of my pussy, before slamming it back into the hilt.

It took nine minutes for me to cum, another ten for Damian/Curtis, and fifteen more for James to fill my throat.

I excused myself, went into the bathroom, and sat on the toilet. As I shit out Damian/Curtis’ cum, I cut a fat long line of coke on James’ dirty counter. I had retrieved my purse before going in, as any girl might.

When I emerged, I found Damian/Curtis fucking James into submission. Suddenly feeling awkward about being the third, I dressed and quietly slipped away.

As I sat in my car, high and slightly laced in shame, I opened a gay hook up app on my phone. It didn’t take long.

A man about my age invited me over. For the remainder of the night, we did coke and fucked without mercy.

Just as the sun started to rise on the eastern sky, I pulled into the driveway of my house. The tears came quickly, but without surprise. I noticed that James had sent me a text, wondering why I had left. The guy I hooked up with and asked if I could come back that night.

And I did.

Years ago, I met James on a gay hook up app. It wasn’t my first time on a gay app, nor the first time I had been with a man. I had made the random decision to try to live a normal life without really knowing what normal meant to me. I tried to be straight but it didn’t work.

Up late one night, browsing through a bunch of profiles, with plenty of dick pics I came across his. Fully dressed, smiling, very handsome; I sent a hello and he responded almost immediately. He did give me the hardcore hey wanna meet up and fuck pitch from the start, but when I reacted with hesitation, he changed his stance. We slowed down the gay app courtship from mere minutes to nearly a week.

Once the door closed at his house, the aggression came back and I wanted it. We kissed deeply on the foyer before he suggested we go upstairs to the bedroom. We stripped naked, jumped into bed. I kissed my way down his chest and stomach, took his cock into my mouth and gave a long blowjob. He finally asked if he could fuck me and I agreed without hesitation. I got into the doggy position, wiggled and waited for his uncovered cock to enter me. And when it did, I swooned. Literally swooned.

Over the preceding years I never really had a boyfriend. While I knew I was gay from the moment my balls dropped, probably earlier if I am being honest, I never really acted on it. Sure, I played grab assed with friends in the community pool, or just goofing around, but that wasn’t sexual. Not for them. By the time I hit 18 during my senior year (for legal purposes we are all 18 when these events take place.) I had never with a boy in any sexual way, but that changed the day after my 18th birthday when I blew a married man in the neighborhood. He had been badgered me years with his offhand remarks and casual innuendo, I gave in. It was fantastic and just reenforced what I already knew. He tried his best to sodomize me, but his penis wouldn’t cooperate and the tightness of my virgin anus didn’t help. I also knew with astonishing clarity that I held no attraction for females. At least sexual. I often admired them from afar, dreaming that one day I too could be a girl. But the thought of not having a penis, not having the opportunity to masturbate blocked any real ambition. From the gay pornographic magazines, I found in the dumpster behind my local 7Eleven…I should pause and mention all of these early transgressions occurred in the early 80s. Gay porn mags were on the rack next to the straight porn. Store owners simply tore off the covers to get credit from the publishers and threw the rest of the magazine away. Often, they just threw them away, and I knew exactly what day and time that occurred.

Before my senior year I hid my sexuality as best I could, especially in gym class but sometimes biology just gives you away. I learned to avert my eyes pretty quick, knowing the simplest glance would cause my cock to spring to life. And my barely secret life given the light of day.

I had learned to control my urges pretty well, buried deep in a teenager’s closet, but made two mistakes in the spring of my senior year, both of which actually turned out rather well.

The first one occurred when I told my best friend, Kimberly Logan, about my homosexuality. She immediately confessed that she knew and when pressed for details, admitted that I gave off a certain energy. Not a full-blown swish with a lisp, but enough to cause people to wonder. She said her girlfriends wondered as much as she did. And when I admitted my preference for the male form, she squealed in delight.

The second mistake took place in gym class, 6th period last class of the day, when my gaze lingered on Ethan Colburn a few seconds too long. All the girls loved Ethan Colburn. Classically handsome, charming, kind as they come; Ethan walked on water.

When his eyes caught mine, he just smiled as he stood up, completely naked, towel on his shoulder. I stared at his perfect, firm round ass as he walked. When he looked back over his should I did not avert my gaze. But I did dress quickly, racing out of the locker room and buried myself in the throng of students racing to get off campus and go home.

After a six-mile bus ride and a two mile walk to my home, I locked myself in my bedroom and masturbated to the sight of a naked Ethan Colburn.

The very next day, just before first bell rang out Ethan Colburn cornered me against a locker. Surprisingly, he didn’t have his usual entourage of hangers on with him.

Hey, he started, his eyes burning into me, his perfect lips curling into a perfect smile, his shining teeth twinkled in the early morning sun, I have to ask you something?

I leaned into his masculine space to see if he would recoil, but he did not. I said: Sure, anything.

I think you’re a fag. His smile did not break, but my heart did. Just a little. I had been threatened before by insecure guys that took exception to my smart mouth and, apparently, my gay vibe. Being a big, tall muscular guy usually provided enough to get anyone to back down. Are you a fag?

I hesitated. The way he said fag didn’t come across as a slur. It felt more like an invitation.

I am, I said softly, but with firm conviction. I knew my own truth, even then. I’m a fag.

Good. Ethan moved in a way that I thought he might kiss me. Most of the kids had made it into their classrooms and both he and I would be late for first period. So am I. We should hang out.

Yeah? When?

Today, after school. My parents are never around.

That afternoon, on Ethan Colburn’s bed I lost my virginity. He took his time, showed me what to do and not to do, although I had a fairly good idea based on dumpster diving for gay porn mags that were just thrown out when the new month’s copies came in. Certain articles proved very helpful.

Ethan Colburn and I were lovers, what might now call fuck buddies. He introduced me to a few of his like-minded friends and a good time was had by all. He also introduced me to cocaine, which would prove problematic for the next few decades.

For the rest of that school year and through the summer, Ethan Colburn and I were inseparable. And no one knew other than Kimberly. And my mother.

My divorced, swing-shift working mother caught me blowing Ethan Colburn on the living room couch. She came home early from work for whatever reason, calmly walked past Ethan and I, and went into her bedroom. Neither Ethan nor I realized what had happened, and I continued until he painted my throat with his cum.

After he left, my mother surprised me by walking out of her bedroom. We had a talk, she stated she knew about my homosexuality and hoped that I used good judgement. Not wanting to know more about what she meant, I went to bed. Over the next few months, I opened up more and more about men friends and she did about her own. We entered a weird girlfriend’s space, but that worked much better than single, swing-shift working, wildly sexual divorced mother and increasingly expressive and active gay son.

That summer Ethan Colburn went off to college and I fell into a deep despair. My cocaine usage increased, I started going to the parks for anonymous sex, and sold my ass to older men.

James sent me a text if I wanted to come over, hang out. I knew what hang out means, all gay men do. I showered and prepped myself. Standing at the mirror I gave myself the once over. Not ugly, not overly handsome although some men thought so, I had put on a few pounds but still appeared fit. My erections needed a little help, but I had enough Viagra to keep me hard for weeks on end. Not that I needed to be that hard. James always topped, and I let him. The man knows how to fuck.

I sent a text back stating I would be there in thirty minutes. As I locked my door, with my leather clutch filled with poppers, lube, condoms that I hoped wouldn’t be used, cocaine, and breath mints. James responded that he was looking forward to hanging out and that he had a friend that wanted to hang out with us. I wasn’t surprised. James and I had a number of threesomes with his friends. I only wondered what friend it would be this time, so I asked.

My husband, he replied. My romantic heart deflated just a little, but my lust did not.

I made it to his house in twenty.

she says,
I can’t, I’m married

I smile turn the page
there’s another chapter,
another verse

she tries to order
with an expired driver’s license
Salt Lake City
that’s not allowed

still

we talk endless
god & love
& make believe realities

sex is just sex
fucking is fucking
forever & forever
amen

darkness collapses
across treetops
& high rise apartment buildings

she says, I’m married
but doesn’t say can’t

I ask about tomorrow
& who would know
& we are alone
here in the garden

we trade secrets, stories,
intimate reposes spread
across a whiskey inspired song

she says,
it’s late, I have work stuff to do

I smile serene, plaintively
without memory or cost

I walk her to the elevator,
push for her floor,
not my own

she says,
what floor are you?
I say,
same as you.

her smile bright,
revealing,
eyes hooded & promising

she takes my hand,
leads me to her door

I say,
goodnight
she says,
not yet
as she unsnaps my pants

as sky dances dark
demons wait in corners
lit by broken candles

it’s all tits & ass
& take out chicken
finger licking
licking, licking

she watches me
from behind
hooded brown eyes
waiting for a final
option,
a last question,
an offered destination

she says anything
but
fuck
but she wants
nothing more
than to 
fuck

we leave a bar
just as last call
rings out
from a bartender
named Stan

she asks
What room?
& I say 
eight-two-one

& five minutes
later a knock
sounds

we kiss
for the first time

she tastes the last
of my whiskey
& I taste
the last winking
taste
of a collective reality