Be Who You Are

Be Who You Are (A Lesson From My Student)

Story by: MORRIS HENDERSON Edited by: Gerry Young

I had concealed my secret for years. Successfully, I hoped. There had been no incident in which my innermost desires had been detected. Not by my family. Not by my friends. Not by my school mates. My secret? I'm gay. In the time and place I grew up that was regarded as pathologically deviant by some, a sinful offense to God by others, and by all an insurmountable barrier to professional and social success. But my confidence in my ability to present a façade acceptable to society was shaken with traumatic force when Carlos and I crossed paths.

Learning to Cope

As I passed through puberty, I struggled to rid myself of the attraction to other boys—all of whom captured my attention but some much more than others. Girls? Some were likable but none—not one—sparked the level of interest that boys did.

None of my efforts to rid myself of abnormal, unholy attraction was successful.

I prayed. My faith in the power of prayer was weakened if not shattered when the yearnings for male companionship intensified, growing from adolescent curiosity (How did other boys' genitalia compare with my own?) to an almost compulsive urge to do more than seize fleeting opportunities to admire their physique. And not with a mere brief glance at the swimming pool or, more exciting, in the showers after gym class at school. I learned very quickly that violating the norms of my peers brought severe condemnation. I ached to explore other boys' male bodies visually to see what lay beneath their clothes. Most distressingly, with my hands. And to share what I expected to be the exhilaration of intimate bodily contact. Feelings of intense guilt over my "affliction" became almost debilitating. I lived in fear of being condemned to Hell.

I tried desperately to elicit similar feelings about girls, imagining them naked and inviting my attention. But all such fantasies left me unmoved and unsatisfied.

I considered psychotherapy. But I rejected the idea because as a minor, it would require that my parents be told the nature of my "illness" before they granted my wish for professional help. Knowing about their son's deviant interests would cause them emotional pain. Significantly, it would certainly jeopardize an otherwise loving relationship.

My discovery of masturbation intensified my burden of guilt. And frustration. And a growing sense of being abnormal, sick, and depraved. But the pleasure of fondling myself to erection and the mind-numbing ecstasy of orgasm inevitably seduced me into behavior that, in more rational moments, I knew was unacceptably sinful.

The only viable option for managing my problem was to exercise extreme care in words and behavior. Conversations, especially with handsome guys, had to pass through a censoring filter before the words left my mouth. I had to control my eyes in two ways: I could not let them stray to their pelvic region. However, when with one or more guys, it was a smart tactic to let my eyes gaze on shapely females. And actively participate in sometimes raunchy discussions of female bodies and behavior. With diligence and practice, I developed the necessary self-control to shield my real thoughts. The most difficult part of my maintaining a façade was when I heard disparaging comments about queers. I couldn't accuse the speaker of bigotry but that would alienate my friends. To protect those friendships and to disguise my true feelings, I had to agree with comments that ranged from strong disdain to malicious hatred.

By the time I finished high school, my self-control had become automatic. And I was able to keep my secret with little difficulty although, when I was lonely and frustrated, I suffered distress from not being able to satisfy my craving for male companionship. The anguish I had to endure when alone with my thoughts and body even interfered with my enjoyment of masturbation.

Willpower Weakens

In 1995 I began my graduate studies in Engineering at the University of Texas at Austin. I was fortunate enough to win a Teaching Assistant position that would help pay my expenses. The work involved helping undergraduate students in the lab and conducting a couple of introductory classes for first-year students.

I was somewhat nervous when I faced my first class of students. I had prepared my lecture notes thoroughly and the subject matter was a simple introduction for novice students. But my responsibility to explain basic concepts clearly and accurately and to engage the students' attention weighed heavily on my mind. I genuinely wanted to motivate them to develop an interest in the topic.

Twenty minutes into the class my nervousness had dissipated but I realized I had been droning on without any student involvement. I started to pay attention to individuals rather than to a collection of individuals. It was then that I noticed a young man seated in the front row and was momentarily obsessed by his good looks. Recovering my composure, I resumed the lecture now interspersed with tactics to elicit student involvement. Many of them responded with questions or answers to my questions. But my eyes kept returning to the handsome young man who, much to my regret, remained silent—attentive but silent.

The class period ended, the students made their way quickly out of the room, and I returned to my office down the hall. I sat at my desk critiquing my first experience teaching but my analysis was hampered by recurring images of the quiet, extremely attractive young man in the front row. Average in height, a trim but apparently solid body, but with other features that had captured my admiration: jet-black hair that partially covered his ears and forehead, a day or two of stubble on his cheeks and chin, dark eyes capped by thick eye brows, and a face that one might expect to see on a model in a fashion magazine. The combination of these features awakened my yearnings that I had kept concealed. I dreaded the prospect of seeing him three times a week because I knew it would be a continuing reminder that I could not have what I wanted. My fear was only partially softened by reminding myself that I had admired several boys in high school and college yet was able to reign in my desires with enough mental discipline.

When I went to bed that night, the image of the charming student invaded my mind. I stroked off to an orgasm that was intensified by imagining the nameless young man sitting naked in the front row.

Silent and Troubling Communication

During the third week of classes, I had managed to control my fascination with the still non-participating student who had aroused my interest. This, in spite of the fact that he continued to occupy the same seat (as is usual in most classes). But everything changed unexpectedly during the Wednesday class session. The source of my earlier attraction was taking notes with his right hand but his left hand was slowly fondling his crotch. Perhaps he thought I couldn't see it under the writing surface attached to the right side of his chair. Or perhaps he was absent-mindedly doing what all guys do but in private. Whichever was the reason, it caught my attention immediately and my eyes lingered there briefly. I gained control of myself and continued with my lecture. But the resumption of my task was not quick enough. The young man looked up, saw me watching his left hand, and he promptly withdrew his hand from his crotch. A few minutes later, as my eyes roamed across the faces of my students, they landed again on the face of the enigmatic young stud. He flashed a half-smile in my direction. By instinct only, I smiled back. That would turn out to be the beginning of a remarkable series of events.

I was surprised when the students arrived for the next class session. The young man who had captivated me—whom I now knew as Carlos and who had a prominent role in my private fantasies—arrived not wearing his customary knee-length chino shorts and a tee shirt that hung loosely on his frame but in a tight tee-shirt and loose nylon gym shorts that covered only half of his thighs. I was seated at the desk in front of the classroom and watched him as he walked to his customary seat. In spite of myself, my eyes locked on him as he strode to his seat. He returned the gaze and smiled. I smiled back, unaware that it was just what he had hoped I would do.

As soon as I began my lecture for the day, I noticed Carlos spread his legs apart. He didn't reveal anything but his casual position penetrated into that part of my mind that I had for so long kept in check. Only a few minutes later, he was fondling himself. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain a "professional" demeanor as I explained concepts and solicited comments or questions from the students. But from time to time I compulsively glanced at Carlos who continued to massage his crotch without a trace of embarrassment when he surely knew that I could see what he was doing.

Twenty minutes into the class, the tent in his gym shorts was an unmistakable sign that he had sprouted an erection. Curiously, there was no indication whatsoever that he was hiding his self- stimulation. My reactions, unfettered by my habitual restraint, were equally clear to Carlos as he shifted his body in his seat to make the tent in his shorts even more apparent. The conclusion was obvious. He was deliberately teasing me whether out of mischievousness or simple ignorance of appropriate public behavior. Or could it be that he was testing me and not so subtly advertising his wares with the hope that I would take the bait.

Confronting Carlos

When the class ended, I said to the class, "See y'all on Monday. Be sure to read chapter 6 over the weekend because there will be a quiz." Then I said quietly to Carlos, "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to talk to you in my office."

Carlos grinned broadly and replied, "Sure thing."

Upon entering my office I closed the door and said, pointing to a chair in front of my desk, "Have a seat." He sat. Significantly, I thought, with his legs apart. I sat behind my desk. If I had had more time to think things through, I'd have done a better job of handling the sensitive situation. But I tried to convince him to be more circumspect in his behavior.

"I couldn't help but notice what you were doing in class today, Carlos."

Before I could continue, he said, "Just trying to learn, Sir. It's a fascinating subject and I wanna learn as much as I can about it."

"That's good. But it's not what I was referring to. You were ... well ...you were playing with your penis. Enough to get it hard. That's not an appropriate thing to be doing when you're in public."

Carlos was quiet for a few minutes before he said, "I know that. And I don't do it. Well ... not unless there's a reason to."

"And your reason was?" I asked.

He cast his eyes slightly downward and paused for a longer time before answering. Still without making eye contact, he said, "I'm sorry, Sir. It was certainly not my intention to offend you. But it's...." He sat quietly.

"It's what, Carlos? You claim that you know better and don't do it unless there's a reason. What could possibly be the reason?"

Carlos looked like he was on the verge of tears when he looked me in the eye and said, "You're the reason, Sir."

"That doesn't make sense. Explain it to me."

"First of all, you have to understand something about me. I grew up poor. My mother worked but didn't earn much money. So we were hungry all the time. It was up to me and my two big brothers to earn money however we could. My brothers started pushing drugs. I was too young to do that. I took odd jobs for Gringos on the other side of town, the rich side. One brother was shot and killed in a deal gone bad. The other brother is in prison. That left just me and my mother. Fewer mouths to feed but more need for me to make some money. I didn't want to end up like my brothers so what could I do? I started giving blow jobs, letting fat old men fuck me. If that shocks you, I'm sorry but that's the way it was. Ya do what ya gotta do to survive."

"I'm sorry, Carlos. For the tough times you've gone through. But let's get back to what you were doing in class. It was totally inappropriate."

"Let me finish," Carlos immediately replied. "This may surprise you ... I liked doing it. Yeah. I liked it. I was not only a boy-prostitute but queer as well. And I was damn good at it, too. Along the way I learned how to find men willing to pay for sex. I earned enough to help pay for rent and food. `Course my mother didn't like me doing it. We had a lot of arguments. But the money I brought home helped. Now ... about this afternoon. From the first day in class, I've noticed the way you look at me. The same way my customers do at first. Not all of them. I have to get more information to be sure of their interest in me. So I tease them a little and see how they react. That's what I was doing in class today. Teasing you. Tempting you. To see if you were really interested in a good time."

"So you thought I'd be interested in having sex with you?"

"I wasn't sure. I'm still not sure. But all the little things about your attention to me say you might be. If I'm wrong, I apologize. It's not the first time I've been wrong. And probably won't be the last."

"And what was it about my behavior that made you think I might want to have sex with you?"

Carlos laughed. "The expressions on your face. Your wandering eyes. The tiny interruptions to what you're saying. Lots of things. Things that took me a few years to learn. Oh. One more thing. I did what I did because I hoped you would be interested in having sex ... not for money. I don't have to hustle paying tricks anymore. I live with a sugar daddy who pays my college expenses in return for a romp in bed two or three times a week. No, I don't expect you to pay me. I'd do it just for the pleasure. And to give you pleasure."

"This sugar daddy. Does he know you're soliciting sex from others?"

"Sure. That's part of our agreement. The only condition is that when he wants me I have to be there for him. What I do in my spare time he doesn't care about. And doesn't want to know. So I do it. Why? Because I enjoy it. I thought I might enjoy it with you. That's why I teased you in class today. And your reaction was just like many guys who need a quickie. But I guess I'm wrong about you."

I chose not to confirm or deny my sexual preferences and took the conversation in another direction. "That's remarkable. I admire you for not following in the footsteps of your brothers. And for seeking a college degree.

Carlos, however, was undeterred in assessing my inclinations. "I've been honest with you. Will you be honest with me? Are you interested in a little sex play? If so, I promise you that I'm very good at satisfying men."

There it was—an unequivocal proposition to have sex. Part of me wanted in the worst way to accept his offer. My heart wanted to say, Ask me after the term is over and final grades are submitted.' But my head made me say, "The answer is no' and I'll tell you why. Because you're a student in my class. As your instructor, I can't do any favors for you in return for—shall we say—services rendered. It would be unethical and could cost me my position at the university."

To end the conversation before my will power faded, I said, "Thanks for being so honest, Carlos. See you in class on Monday." To emphasize that the conversation was over, I stood and shuffled some papers on my desk.

Carlos stood, grinned devilishly, and said, "See you Monday. And maybe later."

Another proposition

For the remainder of the term Carlos behaved himself although he frequently smiled when our eyes met. I would smile back only when he answered one of my questions. But I had to call on him; he never volunteered an answer or a comment. His answers were always correct and often indicated that he had read chapters I hadn't yet assigned. His scores on tests were consistently near or at the top of the class. Troubling, however, was the effect he invariably had on my libido and my obsession with him in my fantasies.

Immediately following the midterm exam, I announced to the class that I would like to meet with each of them to discuss their work and provide any individual help they may request or need. It rarely took much time. Few of my students wanted more than to get the meeting over with. An exception was my meeting with Carlos. I feared that it would involve more that academics. My fears were not misguided.

I opened the consultation with Carlos routinely. "You're doing very well in class. Your scores so far are admirable. It appears you're grasping the material easily. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Yes, Sir. But it's not about the class."

I anticipated the direction he would try to steer our discussion and I wanted to avoid a continuation of our meeting earlier in the semester. Hoping to divert the conversation away from the proposition for sex he had made earlier, I asked, "Is it about another class you're taking? I'm not sure if I can help you with that but perhaps I can give you some advice."

"No, it's not about that. I'm having no trouble in other classes."

"Based on your performance in my class, I'm not surprised." At that point I made a big mistake and gave him the opportunity to bring up the topic I dreaded. "So what is it?"

He had obviously thought through how to get what he wanted from me. He began with what seemed to be carefully crafted ambiguity. "I don't expect any favorable treatment in your class. I was just wondering if you had changed your mind."

I took the bait before recognizing the opening it gave him and asked, "Changed my mind? About what?"

His next statement distracted and confused me. "We're not really in public now. It's just the two of us."

For a brief moment I didn't know how to respond. But then it became clear. Recalling how I had chastised him for fondling himself in class, I said, "Rules can depend on the situation. But some rules don't. They apply even between two professional colleagues for example. Or between two friends."

I was going to continue but Carlos interrupted me and said, "We're not colleagues or friends ... just instructor and student talking privately in your office. We're not really in public. So we can be honest with each other. Nobody else will know." He spread his legs and conspicuously placed a hand over the bulge in his trousers. "This is what I want to talk about. Have you changed your mind?"

It was not an explicit offer of sex but his meaning couldn't have been more clear. My defense mechanisms kicked in. "No, Carlos. I haven't changed my mind. I won't jeopardize my job here by engaging in any illicit relationship with one of my students."

He stared at me for a few moments before standing and saying, "You didn't say you didn't want to. Only that you're afraid of losing your job. So I'll talk to you after the end of the semester."

Before I could reply, he picked up his book bag and walked out, leaving me disappointed in two ways. Yes, I was attracted to him more than with anyone I could remember but I couldn't do what I wanted with him. I was also disappointed that I hadn't handled the situation better. I allowed him to draw me into a conversation I wanted to avoid. What I feared happened. His persistence in seeking sex with me combined with my frustration of suppressed yearning to experience intimate sexual contact with another guy. Not just any guy. Carlos embodied every feature of my ideal companion: extremely attractive, smart, and sexy.

A Difficult Decision

As the semester drew to a close, my emotions were a blend of relief—I had successfully completed my first teaching assignment— and regret—I would not have Carlos to admire three times a week. I wondered. Would he contact me when he was no longer my student? If so, would he persist in trying to persuade me to have sex? And would I dare to grant his wish? My answer to the last question alternated. At times, I vowed to doggedly shield my true nature and would therefore rebuff his pleas. At other times, I would consider yielding to my repressed desires and would agree to have sex ... provided, of course, that I could be absolutely certain that my secret would not become known to anyone else.

As I both feared and hoped, Carlos appeared in my office soon after the final grades were submitted. Standing in the doorway, he said, "Just wanted to thank you, Sir, for the grade you gave me."

"I didn't GIVE it to you, Carlos. You earned it. So thank yourself for doing such a great job."

He flashed a wicked grin and said, "I'm good at other jobs, too. Would you like me to prove it?"

The question was artfully ambiguous but the meaning was clear. At another time, when my conflicted mind was determined to protect my secret, I might have said, `I'll take your word for it.' But unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) he had caught me at a very vulnerable moment when my yearnings were at peak level so I replied, "Not now. Not here. Can you come back at five o'clock? We can discuss it then ... off campus."

Carlos flashed a very broad smile and said, "You won't be sorry. I promise you that." And he was gone.

I sat at my desk for a very long time contemplating what I had done and what was to come. The rational (cowardly?) part of me reasoned that I could still turn down the young stud's request and forcefully deny that I had any interest in gay sex thus leaving my façade of respectability intact. The emotional part of me cried out, `YES! This is what you want ... what you NEED. It's an opportunity you may never have again.' The two sides of me engaged in a fierce battle as the clock ticked ominously toward the moment when I would have to make a choice.

Ten minutes before five, Carlos appeared at my office door again. "Ready?" he asked through a grin.

"Ready," I replied, having allowed my hormones to overpower my self-control.

His grin exploded into an exuberant smile. "Great!" he exclaimed.

Into the Unknown

"I rent a room in a house not far from here. The landlady is away visiting her brother until tomorrow evening. We can go there if you like."

"Sounds perfect," he gushed.

We left the building and began to walk to the house that was my temporary lodging. Thinking of what lay ahead, I felt my dick begin to swell in anticipation. To avoid the embarrassment of an erection, I focused our conversation on his other classes, on his plans after graduation, and anything else that would distract my libido. I deliberately avoided any talk of his sugar-daddy or what he confessed to me was his current avocation in soliciting sex from any man who might be interested. He did the same. He told me he did as well in other classes as he had in mine and his career goal was a job in a tech firm of which there was a growing number in Austin. Based on his perceptivity in assessing my interest in him at the beginning of the semester, I guessed that he knew I was nervous.

As we climbed the stairs to my room on the second floor, the enormity of my decision overcame me. Although I had previously convinced myself that the risks to my reputation were minimal, the anxiety of my secret potentially being revealed to the world frightened me. Was there still time to back off? No. I had committed myself to a bold adventure by inviting Carlos to my room. Moreover, I was eager for the new experience I felt my heart racing and my hands trembling as I opened the door to my room. I ushered Carlos in first and followed him. Although the house was empty and would be for the next twenty four hours, I closed and locked the door.

"Nice house," Carlos graciously commented.

"It is," I agreed. "I have kitchen privileges, a private bathroom down the hall, and the best thing is that the rent is cheap."

"So," Carlos said hesitantly. "You wanna talk a while? Or are you ready for some fun?'

It was as if he read my mind! Or, at a minimum, picked up on the subtle cues in my behavior and manner and knew how ill at ease I was in the situation—too nervous to answer his question. No doubt he sensed that and drew on his experience dealing with who knows how many men just as nervous as I was. He stepped toward me and clasped my clammy hands in his. Softly, soothingly, he said, "We'll go slow. We won't do anything you're uncomfortable with. Just say the word and I'll stop whatever it is."

His words, the tone of his voice, and the expression on his face had a phenomenal effect on me. They made me feel calmer. And safe. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Immediately, he hugged me back. We stood like that for a long time while tidal waves of euphoria swept over me. For seemingly endless years I had hungered for the sensual feelings of holding another guy close. Not like the rare and obligatory hug from my father or the distasteful hug of my demonstrative uncle. NO! The sensation was qualitatively different and infinitely better. It was the union, however preliminary, of two males with strong feelings of admiration for each other. Yes, the admiration was mutual. I had been immediately taken by his good looks and grew to respect his ambition, responsibility, and intellect ... in spite of growing up poor. And he obviously admired me. Why else would he pursue me repeatedly? It wasn't for money because his sugar-daddy patron provided ample support. It wasn't just for sex because he got plenty of that.

Too soon, he broke the hug. He led me to the bed and said, "Lie down on your stomach. I want to give you a massage. It will relax you so you can enjoy what comes next."

Like an obedient puppy, I complied with his request not only because I was a neophyte and would welcome his guidance but also because I trusted his skills that had been honed by considerable experience.

Fantasies Become Real

He surpassed my expectations. The massage both relaxed my tense body and soothed my worried mind. Within minutes, I no longer doubted the wisdom of my decision nor feared the consequences. Rather, it was as though I had emerged from a dark and lonesome cave into the warm sunshine. From that point onward, I would shed the bonds of inhibition and relish the delight of sensual pleasures.

"Roll over." It was a gentle request, not a command. As I began to change positions, he said, "Wait. Take off your shirt. That'll be better to really massage your muscles."

I obediently complied, thinking that massaging my chest and abdomen would result in merely a variation to the rub down process. I was wrong. When his hands began to roam, press, softly pound, and stimulate my bare skin, it had a distinctly sensual effect—magnified by my ability to see the handsome young man who had become an obsession with me. He periodically toyed with my nipples, which had an astonishing effect on me. Tingles seemed to radiate down to my pelvis and I felt my dick respond. A few minutes later, he was unbuckling my belt. It's beginning,' I thought, He's preparing me for the experience of a lifetime.' I raised my hips as an invitation to easily remove my trousers.

With my pants down around my ankles, my cock quickly engorged. But it was trapped in an uncomfortable position beneath my underwear. Carlos noticed my discomfort and corrected the problem. But not with his hands ... with his mouth! My dick sprang into an upright stance and stiffened even more. My mind swirled as he continued to use his mouth to massage my cock through my underwear. I could only lie there, engulfed by erotic sensations that permeated my mind and crippled all thoughts except for overpowering sexual arousal. A change in my sensations emanating from my crotch caused me to look down. My underwear had been pulled down and Carlos was licking my bare shaft from base to tip and flicking the hypersensitive crown with his tongue. The effect was electrifying.

I could only lay there and relish the pure delight, moaning uncontrollably from time to time. But my euphoria eventually morphed into frustration as the urge to ejaculate grew stronger. Carlos, with the benefit of experience, likely sensed my impatience. He took almost all of my cock into his mouth, and began slowly bobbing his head to simulate what I had done with my fist so often while fantasizing about my dick being engulfed in a man's mouth— and recently—Carlos' mouth in particular.

I wanted the ecstasy to continue much longer but the physiological imperative asserted itself. Without time for conscious thought to issue a warning, I bucked my hips, screamed, and felt the overwhelming ejaculation. No once but three times I shot a massive volley into Carlos' mouth. I collapsed as Carlos continued to gently suck and milk any remaining cum from my spent shaft.

A Surprise

I don't know how long it took me to descend from orbit but when I regained control over my mind and body I found Carlos with his head on my shoulder and an arm draped across my chest. "That was friggin' awesome!" I said.

"I promised you it would be. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Enjoy? That's an understatement. There's not another word that can express how intensely satisfying it was. Thank you for the experience of a lifetime."

Carlos rose. Propping himself on an elbow, he leaned down and kissed me. Not a quick, gentle kiss of affection but a lasting one of unadulterated sexuality. His tongue invaded my mouth. I reciprocated and tasted the remnants of my cum.

When he pulled back, I said, "Forgive me for not warning you. My only excuse is that I was out of control."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he grinned. "I wouldn't have done anything differently if you warned me. Your cum was delicious."

I rolled over on my side to face him and grabbed him in a tight hug. Almost unconsciously, my hands began to rub his back. Becoming more aware of what I wanted to do, I inserted my hand under his tee shirt for the skin-to-skin contact.

He stunned me by pulling away and saying, "Stop!"

His chastisement confounded me. I had granted him full access to my body. Why did he recoil at my attempt to explore his? Meekly, I mumbled, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he said. "It's just that I wanted to do something else." And he arose to stand next to the bed, which left me in a state of complete confusion—confusion that was quickly dispelled when he launched into a thoroughly erotic strip-tease. His performance was remarkable. Moving slowly and seductively, he removed one article of clothing after another. My eyes locked on him. His trim, firm body mesmerized me. Actually seeing him bare himself far exceeded the image that my imagination had so often provided. A fleeting thought crossed my mind. How often must he have done this with his paying customers? Often, I concluded, before dismissing the question. All that mattered ... now ... and here ... was that he was doing it for ME. To entertain me. To stimulate me. To give me pleasure. Eventually, he stood before me with nothing on but a pair of white bikini briefs. The prominent bulge did little to hide his endowment.

"Magnificent!" I blurted out.

"You liked my performance?" he asked.

"Indeed I did. But I was referring to your sexy body."

His bronze complexion may have disguised a blush but he was obviously pleased with my compliment. And, no doubt, proud of what he had to offer to horny men like me.

He stood there, letting me admire him until he said, "I've got more I can show you." He stuck his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. "Would you like me to take these off? Or would you prefer to do it?"

The offer was irresistible. "May I?"

"Of course," he grinned and stepped toward me.

My hands trembled as I sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to lower his briefs. I inched them down to reveal first a thicket of dense, black pubic hair and then the base of his manhood. I was impatient to see all he had but I restrained myself so as not to betray the urgency I felt. Soon enough, his entire cock was visible. It was semi-hard and hanging in front of his ball sack. It was neither long nor short and was unusual only because he was uncut. If things were to go as I hoped, I would see it fully extended, erect, and ready for action. His pendulous balls hung very low. I stared for a few moments because it was the first time I had seen another guy's cock and balls except for discrete, fleeting glances out of fear of being caught doing so. My cock had responded to his strip-tease by partially inflating but it was now stiffening in spite of very recently discharging a load of cum.

I lowered his briefs just a bit more and let them fall to his ankles. Carlos stepped out of them, moved closer to me, and asked, "Want to examine the merchandise, mister?"

I grunted my answer and immediately wrapped my hand around his dick. I cupped my other hand under his balls. Never in twenty three years did I ever touch a guy's private parts except, of course, in my fantasies. (The one time I had to change my infant brother's diaper and clean him up with a baby wipe ... hardly counts.) Now, at last, I was holding in my hands the pot of gold at the end of my personal rainbow. My heart rate rose. My hands were still shaking at the realization of my dream. My eyes were glued to what was available to me ... to do with almost anything I pleased.

A burst of curiosity expressed itself in my mind. I could see just the tip of a helmet that was otherwise hidden from view by foreskin. What lay beneath the protective covering? Might constant enclosure cause the helmet to look different than my own? Before I could explore for an answer, I felt the semi-hard tube begin to swell no doubt owing to my fondling. As it did, the foreskin gradually retracted. The previously hanging cock rose up. To horizontal. And finally to point to the ceiling. The helmet, now fully exposed, was identical to my own.

As I marveled at the increase in length and girth, I felt Carlos' hands on the back of my head, pulling me closer to his crotch. The request, invitation, suggestion, whatever it was, couldn't have been more clear. Recalling Carlos' administration to my needs, I tried to duplicate his tactics. I licked his cock from base to tip. I teased the tip with flicks of my tongue. Barely audible to me because of my intense focus on what I was doing were moans of delight from Carlos. He was obviously enjoying what I was doing. And my enjoyment was no less than his.

I was surprised and disappointed when he pulled away. But I was relieved when he pulled me to my feet, seized me in a tight hug, and kissed me. While we kissed, we ground our crotches together. My now fully erect cock and his rubbed against each other with an extremely gratifying effect. Sensations radiated throughout my body. My libido reached its peak. Again, he broke contact. He lay on the bed and held his arms out to me. I almost leaped on top of him to resume the kissing and crotch-grinding.

After a few minutes of thoroughly erotic stimulation, he broke the kiss and said, "Suck me. Please." The tone of his voice made it sound like a mournful plea.

I happily granted his wish. Never having given a blow job gave me no confidence in my ability to perform the task. But having had one from an undisputed master of the skill, I hoped I might be able to satisfy his needs.

While I focused on doing things right—and enjoying what I was doing—I heard him call out, "I gotta cum! NOW!" I tightened the grip of my lips around his now throbbing cock. There was no way I was going to miss out on receiving and savoring his seed. If one is going to be gay—or even have but one gay experience—it's best to go the full distance.

Several volleys of hot cum assaulted the back of my throat. I had to swallow or choke. I swallowed in part because that's an inborn instinct but I was also motivated by a determination to keep that warm tube of manliness in my mouth for as long as possible.

An Ending or a Beginning?

I milked him dry as he lay back recovering from his orgasm. But when his cock was thoroughly deflated, I reluctantly moved up to lie beside him.

He looked over at me with a very contented smile and said, "Thanks. That was one of the best blow jobs I've ever had."

"Sorry, Carlos, but I can't believe that. It was my first time. I'm a complete novice. And you've had so many you probably can't even count them."

He frowned. "First of all, I meant what I said. You can be proud that you did as well as you did on your first time. Secondly, I've been given fewer blow jobs than you apparently think."

"How can that be?" I asked. "You've said that you and your sugar- daddy have sex three times a week. And then there are your customers."

"What you say is true. HALF true. All the rich guy I live with wants is a blow job and to fuck me. That and holding me close while we're naked in bed. He'll play with my cock and even jerked me off a few times. But he won't take my cock in his mouth and he refuses to let me fuck him. So it's a bit of a one-way street with him. He gets his rocks off ... into my mouth or my ass ... but I have to use my fist when he's not around. And my customers? They're pretty much the same. I suck em or let em fuck me. They pay me and they're gone."

"That's surprising. Not about your customers but about the sugar- daddy. And it's sad, too."

Carlos stared at the ceiling for a while and said, "Life's never fair. I learned that as a kid. I also learned that you have to make your own way, get over the setbacks, and strive for something better." He paused. "That's why I was so intent on pursuing you. I knew right from almost the beginning that you were different. That you were special. That you might be the one. If you know what I mean."

"The one?" I asked.

"Yeah. At first I thought you might be somebody who would think about sex as a mutual act. You know. Not just take ... but give as well. I think my early assessment was correct. We've just had sex. Both of us giving. Both of us receiving. I don't know how you feel about it but I thought it was absolutely wonderful.

"I agree it's been wonderful. You may not know this but it was my first time being intimate with a guy. My first time receiving or giving sexual pleasure."

"I didn't know that for sure. But I guessed it based on your behavior and reactions. I'm also guessing that you're deep in the closet, afraid of coming out because of what others will think and say."

"Your guesses are right on the mark. So, knowing that, I'm sure you'll understand that what we've done together must be kept secret."

"Of course." Carlos then looked at me intently, causing me to wonder what he was thinking. I didn't have to wonder long. "What we've done is our secret. And what we do together next time. And the time after that."

"I know where you're going with that," I said. "If I answered the implied question based entirely on the emotions I feel right now, the answer would be an unqualified `yes' we can do it as often as we can. But if I think it through carefully and consider every implication of the decision, I might not be so eager. Bottom line: I haven't been happier that we had sex and would like to do it again. But I can't promise that I'm willing. Will you give me a little time to think it over?"

"Carpe diem," Carlos grinned. "But that phrase is incomplete. It implies that you have to take things as they come and enjoy them. What's missing is the fact that we can MAKE things happen and enjoy them ... rather than waiting for something to happen TO us. We can create our own future."

"I've always been impressed with your sharp mind, Carlos, and your ambition to rise above poverty... to make yourself a stronger, better person." I paused, smiled, and added, "Today, I've added to the list. You have a very sexy body.

"The body is yours whenever you want it." His response— repeating the possibility of continuing sex—was entirely consistent with his determination to create his own future. And flattering that he wanted me in his future.

The Painful Void

Carlos spent the night with me. (He assured me that his sugar- daddy didn't expect him home, which was not unusual.) Of course, there was another episode of intensely gratifying oral sex before bedtime—this time in a 69 position. Not unexpectedly, I was the first to cum and the sensations were, if anything, more intense for having Carlos' cock deep into my mouth as I shot hot cream down his throat. Why? I'm not sure. Perhaps because we were doubly coupled, which magnified the total experience. Perhaps also, that purely sexual union was the seed of an idea that occupied my thoughts as we pressed against each other just before falling asleep. Those thoughts revolved around two questions. As much as I admired Carlos, could I grow to love him? And, if so, could I risk becoming known as a practicing homosexual and still be successful in a world that was still virulently homophobic? I fell asleep with no clear answer to either question.

At dawn I awoke and as usual I was a bit groggy. Seeing Carlos next to me in bed was disconcerting at first but shook me into complete consciousness. I remember thinking, `It was not one of my fantasies. It actually happened.' I recalled every part of the incredible evening and felt every emotion I had experienced. I couldn't wait any longer so I carefully slipped out of bed to empty my bladder. Upon returning to my room, I found Carlos awake and sitting up in bed. "My turn," he exclaimed and rushed to the bathroom.

When he returned, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, hoping for another episode of sexual abandon. I was not disappointed. Carlos leapt into bed and pulled me down on top of him. We kissed passionately, which was only a prelude to another prolonged and mutually satisfying period of foreplay, arousal, ejaculation, and cuddling contentedly together.

We ate breakfast at about nine fully dressed in case the landlady came home earlier than expected. The meal over, Carlos said, "I have to go now. I promised my mother I would visit with her for a few days between semesters. I'll call you when I get back ... that is, if you want to get together again."

I'm sure he knew what I would say. "I DO want to. It's been more than wonderful being with you."

Perhaps just to confirm my intentions, he asked, "So you DO want to do it again?"

"Absolutely!" Then, upon considering the questions that still haunted me, I added, "As long as we're discrete. I have to consider my landlady; you have to consider your patron. It may be difficult but we can coordinate our schedules."

His response was predictable. "Or we can MANAGE our schedules to achieve what we want. Right?"

I laughed and said, "Ever the optimist, aren't you."

He grinned. "What's the alternative? Give in to problems you can solve?"

We exchanged phone numbers. After a long hug and kiss, the young man who had doggedly pursued me, who had given me the experience of a lifetime of yearning, and who had—I had to admit it—won my complete admiration and affection walked out of the house with a final, meaningful comment. "I'll be back." I watched him disappear down the street fervently hoping he would keep his promise.

For the next few days before the second semester began, I should have been devoting a majority of my time preparing for my next class. But my heart was not fully into doing that. Instead, my thoughts returned persistently to the young man who had become an important part of my life. I knew he would be away for only a few days but that knowledge did little to ease the emptiness I felt.

Emptiness had been part of me since puberty. I knew that a part of me was unacceptable to my family and their church and to most of society. But I consigned my desires to a dark corner of my being that became a barren void. But Carlos, a remarkable young man by any measure, had penetrated the defensive barriers and revealed to me the extraordinary pleasures that could—if I dared— be mine.

Fundamental Life Change

But the questions I had to answer remained. Could I be the person I knew I was? What price would I have to pay? Would I, for example, jeopardize my career, the relationship with my family, and ultimately my overall happiness? Perhaps I could resolve my dilemma by the time Carlos returned.

A combination of good and bad luck presented an opportunity but one that would require solving a major problem. My landlady suffered a massive stroke that left her alive but helpless. Her grown children arranged to place her in a nursing home. They notified me that they were putting the house up for sale and I would have to find other lodging. After a reunion with Carlos, in which we both eagerly partook in the pleasures of the flesh, I told him of my eviction. Ever the optimist, he assured me we could work it out. I was not convinced.

Carlos, ever the inventive schemer called me two days later with a solution. One of his customers was relocating for three years to Europe as Regional Manager for his company and agreed to hire us both as caretakers of his large house while he was away. No rent to pay, only minimal work to do, and a small stipend paid in cash monthly.

"I told you it could be worked out," Carlos said, the triumph of his achievement obvious. "You didn't believe me. But we can live together, finish school, get jobs, and live happily ever after."

"You never stop amazing me, Carlos. There's a lot I can learn from you. But something you said leaves me wondering. What did you mean by `live together ever after'?

"You do have a lot to learn, don't you," he grinned. "About molding your own future, I mean. Let me try to teach the teacher. Would you like to spend time with me and not worry about your landlady or anyone else finding out what we do together?"

"Of course."

"Would you like to live with me instead of grabbing an occasional chance to have me in your bed?"

"Yes, but it's the `ever after' part that I don't understand."

"As in committed partners ... sharing not just our bodies but our LIVES."

"Wow," I exclaimed. That's kinda what I thought you meant. Is that what YOU want?"

"No question about it! You're the man I've ALWAYS wanted."

"And you would give up your comfortable life with sugar-daddy what's-his-name?"

"Not for anybody. But you're special. Besides being very smart and ambitious, besides being attentive and caring, you've got a body that turns me on. And most of all, you give of yourself ... in class, in bed, in lots of ways ... instead of just `gimme and I'll get outta here.' Now answer my final question. Will you live with me?"

"You've done it again. Through creative thinking and single-minded action, you've designed your own future. And I'm happy to be a part of it."

We sealed the commitment with a passionate kiss.

<><><><><>

The end of the story ... ... but the beginning of a loving, lasting relationship.

AUTHOR'S NOTE I have often expressed my appreciation to my good friend for his meticulous editing and significant contributions of ideas that enhanced my stories. When I first asked his permission to give him the credit he deserves, he suggested using the acronym, Iatia. I'm pleased to identify him now and ask that you join me in appreciating Gerry Young's expertise and effort.