TRUE FIRST TIME TALES

Jon's First Time Tale

 Rated: X  ages 21

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I grew up before there was internet, before there were home computers, before cable television, before VCRs. Even before PFLAG or LGA. If anyone so much as suspected you were a homosexual, you were entirely outcast by everyone - friends and family. There was no one to talk to about it, not even psychologists - they would have you committed to an insane asylum against your will and conduct electro-shock therapy on you. The true modern dark times for gays and lesbians.

II lived on the edge of a small rural town in the upper Midwest, surrounded by farms. It had a small downtown area, a grade school, a middle school, and a brand new high school. A few stores, a few other businesses, but it thrived off the three factories that made farming and industrial machines.

When I started becoming attracted to the other boys in high school, I not only hid that fact from even my closest friends and my family, I tried my best to hide it from myself. I dated a girl my senior year. Back then, you didn't have casual sex. Not if you were a good person, anyway. So, some heavy petting and talk of marriage. Susan never suspected. And I soon fell in love with her.

She certainly never suspected I was also in love with Eric. We'd been friends since grade school. He was just a normal guy, like I was pretending to be. We weren't best friends or anything of the sort, just friends around school and town. Neither of us were jocks or particularly athletic, though we both liked playing baseball with our friends. During high school, I had him in my gym class both freshman and junior year.

Eric was an early bloomer, like me. We were both taller than most of our friends, and we both had pubic hair and growing privates before most of the other boys. He had the nicest blue eyes and red hair. A few freckles, but not many. He was a bit lean, so was I, but we were both strong and capable, not wimps or any such thing. He had the cutest pink nipples. And his penis had this awesome, bulbous, pink head on it. Even his ballsack was pink. Along with his red pubes, it was just such an amazing sight. Nice tight ass, too. And not very hairy at all, just a bit on his lower legs and under his arms, and by graduation, just a hint between his nice pink nipples. He still didn't have a hint of facial hair. I thought he was just the bee's knees. I'd fantasize about him when I allowed myself to think of a boy instead of a girl when I masturbated.

As I said, we weren't really friends, but we lived fairly close to each other, and some of his friends were my friends, and some of my friends were his friends. We often played baseball or other sports together with our friends, or did other things around the neighborhood together with our other friends. We never did anything together, just the two of us, because we weren't friends with each other, we just had mutual friends..

But, oh, God, how I ached to be with him. All through high school. No one knew, of course. Not even Susan. Especially not her.

So I spent my formative teen years hiding my attraction to other boys as best as I could, even from myself. The only things to happen during high school, other than seeing a lot of naked boys in the showers, was hearing rumors. Like the one that Jerry Doyle had been caught under the school bleachers one summer vacation with his pants down and holding a boy face down on the ground beneath him with his pants down too. We'd all heard that one. He'd disappeared not long after that, the same summer. Jerry Doyle, not the kid. I didn't know who the kid was back then. I didn't find out why Jerry had vanished until many years later. And there were other rumors about Jerry Doyle cornholing other boys, too. And there was the one about Sam Winston cornholing his little brother more than once.

Cornholing was something that happened back then. It wasn't considered homosexual, just wrong and probably an indicator of a sick mind. From time to time, we'd hear a rumor that so-and-so were cornholing. It was more or less looked at as some kind of replacement for normal sexual activity between boys and girls during a time when sex between boys and girls was considered dirty and immoral. Only married couples had sexual relations with each other. Or bad kids. Or degenerates. But sometimes boys cornholed each other. I cannot tell you how many times I wished some boy would cornhole me, or I had the guts to cornhole some boy. Especially Eric! But then I'd be glad it hadn't happened, because Sam Winston never lived down that rumor about him and his brother, and ended up with no friends at all, and he killed himself by laying down in front of a train before we graduated high school. But that rumor was him doing it to his little brother, not just some other boy. Superlatively degenerate. I never did find out if those rumors were true. Later, I figured they probably were, because his little brother ran away not long after that. I don't think he was ever heard from again. That whole family was a bit weird.

Thoughts of cornholing Eric and being cornholed by him were my favorite secret fantasy. Seeing him in the showers after gym only fueled those fantasies. Eric was a big boy. His body was fairly average, but he slung a long sausage between his legs. Maybe the longest in our class junior year. All pink and thick and long, with a big, fleshy, bulbous pink head on it. And he had nice big balls, too. I liked him no matter. He could have had a tiny little prick and balls, I still would have thought he was the sexiest guy around. The idea of that monster entering my ass gave me shivers. And I so badly wanted to slide my average prick in between those soft, smooth, rounded, pale globes of his ass and into his most private opening.

After graduation, I went to work at a local factory. I had Dad's old car, a '49 Mercury, and it was reliable and very nice. I proposed to Susan within a few months. We were married almost a year after graduation. We bought a house, with all four of our parents' help. We moved in together and started a family.

I was happy. Being attracted to other men meant I wasn't fully happy, but I was married to a great gal, had a good job, had a decent car, owned a home, and had a baby girl.

In the meantime, Eric had also gotten married, and already had two boys. And was working at the same factory I was. Most of the town worked there. I still thought he was the best looking guy I knew. He was still a hot red-head with those stunning blue eyes, a few freckles, and a really nice ass. And I knew he was hung magnificently. He had a great smile, too. And a great laugh. Though he didn't laugh as often as he had back in high school. Rumor was he was having wife troubles.

When the factory retooled for a new product, Eric and I ended up on the same line, working just a few feet apart. We ended up talking more than we ever had back in our school days. We even became really good friends. It wasn't long at all before I learned that his wife wasn't exactly a stand-up gal.

We started getting beers together after work. Back then you could go into bars and have beers and other 'mild drinks' at 18, but no straight drinks or shots or other 'hard drinks' until you were 21. We became pretty good friends. We had each other over to our houses for cookouts and cards and such things as birthdays and some holidays, and we sometimes went up to the lake with our families. Going swimming with Eric... oh, Lord. Seeing him in bathing trunks, all wet... it was indescribable. And in high school I'd seen what made that that big bulge in the front of those wet trunks. Oh, how I wanted to see it again!

He was every bit as attractive and sexually stimulating as he'd been back in school. Even more so, really. He still lacked 'manly' body hair, as he was mostly smooth everywhere but his lower legs and under his arms, with just a sparse patch between his still pink nipples and an even sparser trail below his navel. Still had that big, white, straight smile and warm, rounded laugh. Though he didn't smile or laugh all that much anymore. He was mostly serious and even a bit moody. It was a challenge to get him light and smiling, but a challenge I took on willingly. I loved making him smile and laugh. A few beers usually got him more quiet and down, so it was easier when we were with our families, on the lake fishing, or in one of our back yards or the likes.

 Eric, though, was having more and more trouble with his wife, Ellen. By then it was no secret that she had been sleeping around with another guy. Harry was a successful business owner, running two stores his dad had given him for a wedding present. Harry's wife was a hag, who he'd probably married because her dad owned a few things too. He was older, a bit dashing, and rich. And for some reason, he wanted Ellen, Eric's wife. He got her, too. Considering Eric had red hair and Ellen had blond hair, and they both had blue eyes, their boys having black hair and brown eyes, like Harry, was a dead giveaway.

Just before we both turned 21, Eric and his wife had their third child. Sort of. Ellen's third child also had black hair, and his eyes went brown very quickly.

By then, Eric and I were each other's best friends. We lived close by each other, we worked together, we drive to work and back together every day, and we hung out with each other on weekends, sometimes with our families, sometimes just the two of us.

I loved it. Not only was I enjoying being around Eric, but I had total and complete cover for my secret thoughts and desires. My wife had no idea. Oh, I loved Susan, she was probably the best thing to ever happen to me. My daughter was too, for sure. I loved them with every bit of my being. But I also loved Eric.

When we turned 21 a few months after Eric's third child was born, we went to the local bar to have our first legal 'hard drinks' together on the following Saturday. We told our wives we'd be out late. We started at the local bar we liked, and after a couple drinks, we headed over to the next town where a large, popular bar with live bands and dancing girls was located. We were celebrating, after all.

We drank and listened to live music and watched the dancing girls. We got very drunk. Well, Eric did. I got fairly buzzed, I was driving.

Before midnight, Eric was depressed and moody and not having a good time at all. He hit rock bottom and just went through it. But at least he enjoyed the dancing girls. There was no mistaking his excitement at times when one of them were performing. The dress slacks of the time weren't exactly cut to hide a man's crotch, nor were they cut to accentuate it. And we all wore cotton boxers back then. So when a fellow was excited, it was pretty obvious. And it was pretty obvious that the dancing girls got him very excited each time they came out. And it was obvious he'd grown quite well down there. He'd been big in high school, anyway, and it made an impressive tent now.

During the third dancing-girl performance, he was entirely excited and got carried away. He stood up and handed dollar bills to the girls, his excitement obvious and nearly on full display. I told him we should leave, before he did or said something stupid. He didn't want to leave, but he finally agreed to once the performance was over. I'd driven, and I was too drunk to make it all the way back to our town. It was a hilly area, and the curvy road at night would be treacherous. There were no streetlights on roads back then, not outside of towns, and the road was narrow as well. Plus it had been raining and the roads were wet. Quite a few fatal accidents had happened on that road, and I wasn't drunk enough to risk it.

So we got a bottle to go, and I got us a room at a roadside motel just outside town. It was the kind of place men went with women to carry on. It was also the kind of place tourists stayed. I got us a double room and helped Eric stumble in and fall onto the bed. He was so drunk he could barely stand. He almost couldn't talk. But he did.

Of course, my head was filled with thoughts of getting him out of his clothes. I took his shoes off, then his jacket, and then his tie. I opened his shirt a bit as he complained about his whore of a wife..

"I should've divorced her the day she dropped that first black-haired bastard baby out of her cootch!"

"Oh, you love James," I told him.

He grumbled that he didn't, but we both knew that was a lie..

"You love all three of your kids," I told him.

He pushed my hands away from the buttons of his dress shirt and said, "They're not my kids! I know it. You know it. The whole fucking town knows it!"

Well, we did. I couldn't argue with that.

"Well, they're your kids now," I said, sitting next to him, trying not to think about how to get the rest of his clothes off him.

He was bummed entirely by then, and my sexual desires seemed petty and wrong..

"No, they are not," he said slowly and deliberately. Then he looked right into my face and said, "I told the bitch I'm leaving."

"Leaving her?" I asked, shocked.

Divorce was a dirty word back then.

"Leaving the whole fucking town," he said angrily. "You think it's easy to see people's looks at me? They all know. I'm a laughing stock."

He opened that bottle and got started. I joined him, but far less enthusiastically.

Well, in ways, he probably was a laughing stock. I'd heard a few people talking about him and his wife and their kids that clearly weren't his. And I'd heard Ellen had been seen with Harry a few times. They weren't exactly discrete, but they did try to hide it. They just didn't do a very good job of it. I imagined Ellen didn't want to be known as a whore. She didn't seem that type. I didn't see why she wasn't entirely happy with Eric.

"So what's her problem? You're a great guy, Eric. You're good looking, too. You make a good living. She has a nice home, her own car, and you give her everything she needs. Why does she do what she does?"

 He looked at me again with those big, blue eyes, all damp and red-rimmed, and said, "If I knew that, I might give a damn."

I had to ask. We were very good friends, so it seemed okay to ask.

"Do you, you know, do your husbandly duty?"

He laughed, then said, "Seems she likes her dick with a lot of money connected to it."

I hesitantly went on with, "So, she doesn't do her part?"

He laughed again, then looked very angry as he said, "I haven't gotten in her since she dropped that first black-haired bastard. You think I want Harry's second-hand pussy?"

"Ah. I see. So, if you wanted to, do you think she'd-"

He cut me off with, "I'd never want to!" He looked supremely angry, and I was about to drop the subject and change it to something else, but he went on with, "Besides, she doesn't exactly beg for it. I wouldn't give it to her if she did, anyway. Fucking whore."

I thought for a moment, then asked, "And you haven't cheated on her? At all?"

"No! Let her be the fucking cheater! This way I can say I never cheated on her. The divorce will be easier that way. I never so much as kissed another woman, let alone... anything else."

His firstborn was three years old now. He hadn't had relations in three years? Holy shit.

There wasn't anything I could say. I mean, what would you say?

II stood up and went to sit on the side of my bed, facing him, and kicked off my shoes, took of my jacket and tie, loosened my shirt, and still hadn't thought of anything to say. He'd laid out on his back on his bed with his arm over his eyes and his other over his stomach. We passed the bottle back and forth a few times without saying a word.

I tried to imagine what it was like to be celibate for three years. I was gay, and still hadn't so much as touched another guy, so I sort of knew. But I had Susan, and we had a pretty active sex life together. I did love her. And our daughter. But I wanted to be with a man. Eric, mostly. There were others, too, that I found attractive, no doubts about that. But Eric... ever since our freshman year in high school. Seven years..

And there we were, drunk, in a motel room for the night, far from our wives. And him planning on leaving his. Leaving town, too.

"When are you planning on leaving?" I asked.

"End of summer. Just before Labor Day. Just before her birthday. Fucking whore."

"Does she know?"

"I only told her I wasn't going to stick around. Not with three kids that aren't mine and no desire to stick my dick into that used cunt of hers. I didn't tell her when or anything. I wasn't sure when I told her. I didn't decide until a couple of weeks ago. I got an offer for a decent job upstate. It starts the first of September."

That hurt.

I said, "I'm gonna miss you."

He slid his arm off his face and looked at me, and said, "I'm gonna miss you too, Jon. You're the only decent thing that ever happened to me after high school."

He'd been crying more. His eyes were very red-rimmed now, and still wet with tears.

I got up and sat on the edge of the bed next to him and put my hand on his arm laying across his stomach.

I said, "Eric, I wish we'd been friends back in school. We'd have made a great pair of best friends."

He smiled a little, which made me feel very good. Then he said, "Yeah, I think that would've been some great times. But we did have some great times anyway. Remember that game on Roosevelt Street? When I pitched a no-hitter?"

"Yup. Sometimes I think you should've gone pro."

He laughed. I did too. He wasn't that good, he'd just had a lucky day.

"Remember the homer you hit through the Parkinson's front bay window?"

We laughed really hard. Mister Parkinson had come out even before we'd had a chance to run off, yelling at us. All us boys had scattered like confetti in a hurricane.

We reminisced for a very long time. We sat on his bed talking and laughing at times, more serious at other times, passing that bottle back and forth. We were about halfway through it by then. He put his arm across my shoulders at one point, so I did the same. It was really something. We'd sort of done that a few times by then, but with our families around. Guys back then did that kind of thing. It wasn't considered unusual in any way for two friends of any age to sit with their arms around each other. It was something good friends did in complete innocence back then.

I wasn't doing it in complete innocence, however. I was erect and excited by it. I could feel his body warmth and the movement of his muscles in his shoulders and back. Sometimes I could almost lean closer and kiss his red lips. Almost. I so badly wanted to..

We talked and talked. We laughed at times, he nearly cried at other times.

He leaned in and we touched foreheads a few times as we shared special memories and laughs, or shared hard memories and tears. And we shared more of that bottle.

We talked about our first times with our girls. How special and wonderful and awesome they had been. His had been shortly before his wedding. They couldn't wait. They'd gone to a movie and then parked. They'd kissed and made out, and groped and petted. He got beneath her bra and felt her warm, soft breasts, and felt her nipples harden. We laughed at that, not even knowing a woman's nipples could get hard back then. She was beneath his shirt, rubbing his hard pecs and his hardening nipples.

"At least I knew mine could get stiff," he laughed. "It was so strange to feel hers get hard."

"Yeah. I thought a woman's nipples stayed soft, so that a baby could suckle, you know?"

"Yes, so did I? I sure knew mine could get hard."

We laughed. He went on, telling me how her hand slid down his front, to fondle his crotch and his erection. How she undid his slacks and reached in, and grabbed his erection.

"I slid my hand up under her skirt. It was so warm there! It was so amazing. I got my fingers around her panties and felt that hairy place, and all that warmth and wetness. It was so soft! But there was this little firm place, right up front. She loved it when I played around there. Oh, God, if only I'd lasted a little longer, you know? But I was barely eighteen and I'd never had a girl touch me down there like that."

"Didn't last long, huh?"

"Nope!" he laughed. "I think she got about four or five strokes in before I made a mess all over my shirt and my pants. Good thing I didn't have to walk her inside once I got her home!"

We laughed some more.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, suddenly seeming very serious.

He took another swig.

"Of course you can, Eric."

I took a drink too.

He held my eyes with his big blue ones, and made me promise to never tell anyone. I agreed. We sealed it with a drink from the quarter-full bottle.

"You remember Jerry Doyle? That big kid that lived over on Elm?"

"Sure. One of the biggest bullies in town until he disappeared. Once got caught with his pants down and holding a boy down, so rumor has it."

"Oh, no rumor," he said seriously. "Mark Collins caught him like that. Under the old football field bleachers. He was gonna cornhole that kid, if he hadn't already."

I wondered what it was like. I'd often wanted it to happen to me. Especially with Eric.

"Mark said he ran out of there as fast as he could. Didn't know what Jerry or the kid did. Didn't recognize the kid. He said he looked like he was about ten."

"Kid rapist," I spat.

I was a homosexual, sure, but I was no little boy rapist.

"When I was eleven, me and Billy Gardner were out messing around one day. Over by the old Dawson place. In the barn. We were just messing around. You know? We, uh, well, we took turns cornholing each other."

Lucky! I thought to myself.

"It was just messing around. Being dumb kids. Trying sex things. We didn't even actually do it. I mean, you know, penetrate. Neither of us were big enough to actually... you know, get it in. So we messed around a bit, then we left. Later, on my way home, I went by that barn, it was on the shortcut between our houses, you know? And just as I got to the barn, out jumps Jerry."

I felt a chill run up my spine. He took the largest swig off the bottle so far. I joined him.

"Was on me and had me on the ground before I even knew he was there. Drug me right inside to the back of that old barn."

He took another swig. I did too.

"He was, what? Maybe sixteen? At most? Built like a twenty-year-old."

"Yeah. He was always a big kid."

"Yeah. Well..."

He took another swig.

"He handled little me like a toy. He told me he'd seen what me and Billy had done. He said he wanted his turn. Had me rolled over and yanked down my pants before I could even register what was going on."

"Oh," I said softly, though I was nearly screaming in horror inside.

"He was cornholing me before I could even think of what was happening, let alone before I could even try to get away."

Now, back then, homosexuality was just purely forbidden. But, well, a boy cornholing another boy was sort of looked at as a kind of... thing that happened. We'd all heard of boys being cornholed. Sometimes by force by older boys. We didn't connect it with homosexuality in any way. It was just something that some boys did to some boys, and some bullies did to some boys sometimes. It wasn't normal, by any means, but we'd all heard of it and feared it happening to us. Well, some of us didn't fear it as much as others.

Hell, in high school, I often wished some boy would cornhole me. But I was a homosexual and a deviant, and so it only seemed 'normal' for me to think that way. But I still hadn't thought of it as homosexual. I sure didn't want some bully to do it that way.

So hearing that Eric had been cornholed by Jerry Doyle wasn't as surprising as you might think. Oh, it was surprising, in that it had happened to someone I knew. Just not all that surprising that it had happened.

"Oh, sorry," I said, giving his shoulder a firm grip.

He shrugged, then said, "It wasn't that bad, to be honest. It hurt like hell, sure, but only at first. Mostly because I was scared as hell." He laughed and looked at me, and said, "He was a big kid, but he had a dick like a little kid."

I laughed, mostly because he didn't look so sad or anything, and almost had a sort of small smile.

"Honest, it wasn't much bigger than Billy's. Or mine. Not much, anyway. I saw when he was done and he let me get up and pull up my trousers. I was so scared. And it had kind of hurt. But, it had kind of... been kind of fun, too."

Wow!

"But, I kept going back."

"Back?"

"Yeah. I didn't stop using that shortcut. And I let him catch me. Quite a few times. Oh, I always pretended I hated it, and I pretended to fight him off, and I pretended it hurt, but I kept going back."

Holy shit.

"Until he got, well, kinda mean."

"Mean?" I asked. "It wasn't mean those times?"

"No. At first it was just him holding me down, getting my trousers down, and cornholing me for a few minutes. Until he was, you know, finished. But then he started hitting me. Until, eventually, it really hurt and he left bruises."

"Oh."

"I know this is shocking you."

"It's okay. It seems like you need to tell someone."

"I do. I really do."

"So go ahead. I'm here. Get it off your chest, my friend."

He took a long drink, then I did too. I waited.

"So, I was almost thirteen. I was, you know, developing. And, well, I sort of liked it. Almost two years of it."

He waited for me to be shocked. I was, but not in the way or as much as he probably expected. I only held his gaze and let him continue.

"It wasn't all that bad. Not until he started hitting me so much. Then I didn't like it anymore."

He still waited for me to object or be too shocked to let him continue. I didn't stop him or react in any way. I let him tell his story.

"So, I stopped taking that shortcut. But, well, he wasn't going to have that. So, one day, he found me walking along the woods trail on the other side of the farm. As far from that old barn as I could get and still make the walk to Billy's as short as possible. Well, he found me, pounced, and had his way. Boy, he left me bleeding and bruised that time."

"God damn," I sighed after taking another swig.

The bottle was nearly gone by now, and Eric took it and finished it off. He tossed it over his shoulder. I heard it hit the carpet with a dull thud and then roll against something hard and stop. Those sounds, to this day, bring back that night with crystal clarity.

"So, I tried other ways, but, he'd find me. I was thirteen and becoming a man, and I didn't mind the cornholing part, but I hated the violence and the pain. And the humiliation. Damn, how much he loved making me feel like a worm. He called me all kinds of things as he used my asshole like a pussy and my back as a punching bag."

He was crying again. Hard. Tears rolling down his cheeks. It was pure instinct to keep my arm over his shoulder and squeeze him tightly.

"One summer day, after eighth grade had ended, I was walking to Billy's. By then I'd learned to sneak around well and hadn't been caught in months. It was mostly safe to go by that old barn now, because the police patrolled it pretty often after those kids had started messing around there. So I was just passing behind it, along the wall of it, when he came pouncing out and grabbed me. I was bigger by then, but still a lot smaller than him. I tried to fight him off, but he was bigger and stronger and I didn't have much of a chance. He drug me into the barn and behind a stable wall and fell on top of me. I tell you, I begged him not to. I even told him I'd lay still and let him do it if he'd just not hit me."

He rubbed his hands together, wringing them tightly.

"But, I guess he liked the violent part of it too much. He actually ripped my trousers getting them down. Then he shoved into me so hard it felt like he ripped me. Then he punched and hit me and rode me... until he was done."

I waited, knowing there was more to come. What, I had no idea.

"While he'd been using me, my hand had gotten deep into the remains of the old hay and the dirt, and I felt something hard down there. It felt like a steel bar."

I sort of knew what was coming.

"When he got off of me, I didn't even think. I just rolled over and swung whatever it was at him, with everything I had."

He waited a bit more, so I waited too, arm over his shaking shoulder.

"He fell to the side, and I jumped up and held that old steel rod between us. His head was bleeding and he was holding the side of it and cursing me. He tried to stand up, but he couldn't. I guess I really knocked the sense out of him. I told him if he stood up, I'd whack him so hard with that steel rod I hoped I'd kill him. He saw I was serious, so he dropped onto his ass and sat there holding his head, blood pouring down the side of his face. I told him if he ever touched me again, he'd better kill me, because I'd sure kill him if I got the chance. Then I told him I'd tell everyone what he'd done to me, too. He laughed and said I wouldn't dare. Then I told him I knew about Clyde. And that I'd tell the cops everything I knew. And I told him I was gonna keep my torn up pants and his blood on 'em, and I wiped the steel bar on them, getting his blood all over them."

He shook all over, then looked up at me and said, "I never saw him around again. Sometimes I wonder what happened to him, but I didn't really give a fuck. So long as he was gone."

"Clyde?" I asked.

"I saw how scared he was of Jerry. We saw him downtown a few days before that. Clyde ran the other way. He was all sweaty and scared. He wouldn't tell me what was going on, but I knew what he was afraid of."

"Holy shit, Eric!" I said.

"Yeah, I know. But, the thing is... I really didn't mind it. Not the cornholing. I actually liked it. Until he started hitting me."

I didn't know what to say! All I could think of was...

"So what? You were confused."

"I was. I really was. I was thirteen by then, and becoming a man. If you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. I guess. Developing."

"Yes. And sex was, well, I was thinking about sex all the time. Like all boys that age."

"Yeah."

"And, damn it, I liked it. Part of it."

I'd always thought that I would. Not the beating, of course. But I'd always suspected I'd like being cornholed. Properly.

"I'm willing to bet a lot of guys like it. I mean, it goes on all the time. Well, maybe not all the time, but we both heard all the rumors, and we know it went on. Still does, likely."

"Yes, between homosexuals."

"Well, others, too. I mean, boys will be boys. Look at you and Billy that day before Jerry came along."

He laughed a little. Sort of. Then he looked at me again, and said, "To be honest, that wasn't the first time we'd done that."

How lucky could a guy be?

"I'm not a homosexual. I enjoy pussy. Women. I loved Ellen. Until she whored herself out. But..."

He looked like he could cry again.

"But... if given the chance, if sometime a man tried, I'd let him do it to me. If I could be sure he didn't get like Jerry and want to hit me too."

Immediately, I wanted to make that offer! But I didn't dare.

"Does that make me a homosexual?" he asked, obviously afraid of the answer.

"No," I said firmly. "Not if you like women."

"I do! I love women! But... there's this part of me... some deep part of me... that wants that... wants a man to... use me like a man uses a woman."

I wished we had another bottle!

I wished I had the guts to make that happen!

"I'm some kind of degenerate."

"No, you're not!"

If he was a degenerate for liking women but enjoying being cornholed, then what was I?

"I won't blame you if you want to call off our friendship. I don't know why I even told you this. Or why I even told you about Jerry. I'm too drunk, I guess. And too stupid for my own good."

He was so angry! And that hurt to see. I loved the idiot. Was I the real idiot?

He needed support, and I wanted to give it to him, so I hugged him even tighter, and told him, "I'm not gonna do that. We're friends. I'll keep your secret. It's safe with me."

He leaned against me and actually cried. I held him as he let out what had to be the darkest and most horrible feelings a man can have. I even had tears in my eyes.

I do not to this day have any recollection of how, only of the fact.

We were kissing.

Somehow, at some time, we'd cried, face to face, and ended up with our lips pressed together, while tears ran down our faces.

The tears stopped quickly as we kissed more passionately and faster. As our hands began removing clothing. As our breaths, laden with whiskey, grew faster.

As we both worked on each other's slacks, he whispered, "Please don't hurt me."

"I won't! I'll always love you, Eric."

In that moment, I knew what he wanted to happen, as surely as if he'd told me directly.

Our eyes met. He looked so vulnerable. So hurt. So scared.

"I'll never hurt you," I said sincerely.

He smiled, and that melted me inside, all the way down to my soul.

He pressed his lips against mine again. I closed my eyes and moved by touch and feel, until our clothes were gone and he lay on his stomach, his legs spread, his face buried in the pillow.

His round, firm, pale cheeks quivered as I placed my hands on them. They were so warm and soft, but still so firm, too. So smooth.

I straddled his body, my erection nearly splitting with anticipation, drops of fluid leaking onto the crack between his cheeks.

I spread his cheeks, saw that pink pucker between them. It shrunk and expanded, over and over, as if beckoning me in.

I placed the hard head of my erection against it, and gently and slowly began pushing against it.

I'd never entered my wife that way. It was something we'd never even discussed. It seemed dirty, with a woman. But it was purest ecstasy as my swollen head infiltrated him.

It was tight, with only my personal lubrication easing the passage, but I wasn't particularly well endowed, and he'd been used, harshly, many times. I worried it might hurt him, so I moved very slowly and gently. When he pushed his hips and ass upward, I knew when I could apply a bit more pressure.

His moans relieved me of much of my concerns. He truly did enjoy it. He encouraged me with words, like, "Go ahead," and, "More."

I felt his velvety ring give way to my head. Then I felt his warm insides embrace my throbbing head. Then that warm, snug, velvety ring slid down the sides of my shaft. Eventually, I was all the way inside of him. I lay down on top of him, but held much of my weight on my elbows.

"Does it hurt?" I asked softly in his ear.

"Yes. But it's okay. It's fine. Don't stop. Please."

"Don't let me hurt you."

"I won't."

So slowly, and so gently, I began withdrawing. I pulled back as far as I could without pulling out, then waited, then slowly re-inserted my entire length. Until my body pressed against his body again.

He sighed a soft, "Ohhh," and wiggled beneath me.

He was hot inside, and velvety, and tight. Much tighter than my wife, even when I took her virginity on our wedding night.

Slowly and gently, I fucked Eric, as I'd always dreamed of doing. It was as good as I'd dreamed!

His only actual words, other than moans and groans and sighs, were, "Why do I like this so much?"

"Why do I?" I asked in return.

"Do you?" he asked, looking over his shoulder as much as he could manage.

I met his eyes, and said, "Yes, I do, Eric. I do."

He smiled. I nuzzled his neck and moved my arms to hold his shoulders.

I was gentle and slow, even though the urge to move faster and harder was very strong.

But I kept it to a slow pace and used gentle movements.

His groans and moans were rewarding and stimulating in ways my wife's could never be. His body shook beneath me. His hole tightened around my manhood in repeating waves of tightness and warmth as he cooed and moaned and sighed. His entire body went rigid, then slack, and he moaned, "Oh, Gawwwd," and sighed so deeply. I could feel his body relax. It was so similar to one of my wife's orgasms that I knew he'd just had his own against the bedspread.

Knowing that, I grew close to my own conclusion very quickly. I didn't know what to do. It was more and more difficult to continue in that slow way, but it was also bringing me to a higher and more potent finish than I'd ever experienced before.

I grunted, "Eric, I'm going to finish. What do I do?"

The climax was approaching fast, and hard. My entire body was tensing for an orgasm that was obviously going to be immense!

"Hold on to me!" he gasped.

I did. I held on tightly as my climax built, built, and finally released. I couldn't stop the hard thrusts then, no way. I pushed hard and went deep as I ejaculated hard and fast and frequent into Eric. It was so potent that I thought I was going to pass out!

I grunted and groaned and held onto him as tightly as my muscles could, shaking and quivering and shoving my throbbing organ deep into him.

Until the last rolling waves of pressure had waned and left me sucking air and shaking.

I was lying directly on his body now, both of us sweaty. I was panting.

I pushed up, to get out of him and get off of him.

"No, don't. Not yet," he said, almost begged. "Just... just stay here, for a... just a while. Please?"

"Okay," I sighed, and relaxed.

My organ was softening, but it remained in him. I kept much of my weight off of him, though.

He sighed and shivered. I felt his entire body go slack. I wanted to, but I didn't want to drop my full weight onto him.

"Jon?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

I laughed.

He turned his head as far as he could and looked up at me, and asked, "What? What's so funny?"

He looked angry.

I smiled down at him and said, "I was thinking of saying that to you."

"What? Why?" he asked, the anger gone, replaced with confusion.

I sighed, shook a little with that after-sex release, and said, "Eric, I've got to be honest with you."

He laughed, then said, "I think you should. Considering what we just did."

I laughed, too, then said, "I've wanted to do that with you since we started high school."

He blinked at me, then scowled a bit.

I worried I'd said too much.

"You mean, all that time, and we could have... "

I nodded.

He laughed, then said, "I guess it's about time we did, then."

"Yeah, I guess so!"

We smiled at each other. I nuzzled his neck. We kissed a bit.

"It would be nice if you got off me now," he said softly. "It's hard to breathe with your chunky ass on me."

"Chunky," I complained. "I barely weigh more than you do."

I lifted upward, pulling myself out of him. It was suddenly very, very, very awkward!

I rolled off of him, onto my stomach next to him. I didn't want to expose my naked body to him. I was suddenly very embarrassed and very timid.

He stayed on his stomach and turned his head to face me. He was smiling, so I did too.

"Jon. I want to make it perfectly clear that I like women. I am not a homosexual."

"I know."

I wondered if he was waiting for me to say the same thing. I considered it, but it would be a lie.

"But, if you are willing, I would like to do this again. Sometime. But only if you are willing."

I hid my grin. I reached out and laid my hand on his warm back.

"Eric, I love my wife, and my daughter... and I love you, too. If you want to, I will."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure. It's just... no one can ever know."

"Agreed."

We just looked at each other for a very long time. He was as handsome as ever, even more so now. That nice smile. Those blue eyes, that red hair, those faint freckles, his red lips, his almost noble nose, that chiseled chin. His smooth back and sides, his rounded, generous ass, his smooth thighs. Everything about him was sexy.

He rolled onto his side, to face me, and for the first time in nearly four years, since the showers in gym class, I saw his naked front. He'd grown, for sure. It was soft and wet, but it was full and generous, too. With a large, bulbous head. So pink! His big balls in their pink sack hung down sideways to lay against his pale thigh. His full bush of red hair was gorgeous. His nipples were still pink, too, and now he had a little bit of a patch of red hair between them. And a trail of hair below his navel to nearly his pubes. Otherwise, aside from some hair on his lower legs and under his arms, he was still smooth and hairless.

I rolled onto my side to face him. He looked me up and down. Smiling.

He reached out and touched my chest, my stomach, my pubic hair, and gently grasped my manhood. It was wet and slick, and very tender. I laughed. He laughed. I reached out and felt his chest, his stomach, his red hairs, and his warm, soft, slippery, pink cock.

We toyed around until we grew hard again. We lay beside each other and used our hands on each other until we satisfied each other again. It was slow and meticulous and glorious.

His warm semen felt so creamy and smooth on my fingers and his long, thick cock and fat, satiny smooth head. And his fingers felt so good toying with my softening penis coated with my own emissions.

We talked and felt each other for hours. Until we ended up in each other's arms and soon asleep. We slept late and woke ruined. We were both so hungover that we didn't even consider doing anything. But we talked about it.

He still wanted to carry on doing it. He wanted to get together at the same motel and repeat the same things. I was willing, so we did.

Over the next few months, every other weekend or so, we would tell our wives we were going fishing and we would go to that motel. I would lay on his back and gently penetrate him until we'd both finished. He always finished as I fucked him. After a few times, he asked if I'd be willing to let him have me. I was, and he did. And it was incredible. Not at first. He was very generously built, and it took us some time and trials to figure out what we needed to do to make it possible and comfortable. But after that, we traded positions. We even used other positions as well. We discovered oral together. Sexual talk wasn't as bold as it is now, and we'd never heard of oral sex, and we thought we'd discovered it. How naive we were.

He never told his wife when he was leaving, but he did.

"I don't want to stay in this town. I need to get away from the stares and the laughs. I mean, can you even imagine what it would be like if what we were doing were to get out?"

I could, and I didn't want that at all. But I didn't want him to leave, either.

But he did. I helped him pack up his things one Saturday while his wife and kids were visiting her parents. I feared she would return before we were finished, but she didn't. Everything he wanted to take fit into the trunk and back seat of his car.

We stood in front of his house then, saying goodbye. It was painful. I cried. He called me a softy. We laughed. He had my phone number and address, and promised to contact me with his when he was set up. His new job was waiting. The company had arranged for an apartment for him. He was all set.

I waved as he left. I cried some more. It was the saddest day of my life, until my father died a few years later.

We stayed in touch. He met a few girls. Eventually, almost five years later, we met up at his place. He told me then, that day, almost as soon as I'd entered his place the first time, that he was a homosexual and he was in love with a man.

I felt destroyed. I hid it well, though. I said I was fine with that, and I was happy for him. But I was numb inside. I still loved him. I never told him.

We stayed friends all of our lives. He changed men from time to time. We even met up several times a decade. We sometimes talked about it, but we never repeated what we'd done in that motel room those few short months in the summer of 1955.

I never touched another man while my wife lived. I thought of it many times, but the opportunity never arose. Well, some did, but I loved my wife and my kids, and those opportunities were not as secret and not as private, and were not with a guy I cared anything about. I kept that part of me deeply hidden.

My wife died from health issues in our late forties. It was horrible, and it tore my heart out. My kids were my only salvation.

Years later, an opportunity arose, and I took it. He was a very good guy, someone I'd known for a while, that I'd been working with for years, who told me one evening over beers on his patio that he liked men. I was so shaken by his frank admission, that I told him I'd been married and had kids, but I'd had a male lover once, and I'd enjoyed it immensely. And I told him I'd always thought of trying it again sometime. Especially now that my wife had been gone for years.

Well, one thing led to another, and Ben and I were a couple for a while. Secretly, of course. I could not tell my kids or their kids or my friends or coworkers. I'd been hiding it too long and was too used to being 'straight.' He understood and we carried on quietly for years. Until he passed on in 2004. I haven't been with another since, man or woman.

Eric passed on in 2019. I kept his secret. Until now. I'm going to follow him soon. I'm nearly ninety and in rapidly failing health. My wife and two of my kids already have gone on. Even a granddaughter has gone on already. And two great-grandsons.

But before I go, I wanted to tell our story. It seems like he would want me to. Maybe somehow it's right, after all this time.

 

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