The End of an Illusion By Plower Power
I knew I was done chasing pussy. As I lay back in a new friend's bed, with a hand around my very hard penis and two lips pressed softly against mine, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of me. It had been a long time coming.
Although I had dated women and liked them, my sexual experiences into my mid-20s was limited, and not very satisfying. When I actually got lucky enough to push my cock into a snatch, it always took me a long time to orgasm, and sometimes just getting hard or staying hard with a girl was a challenge. I was surprised, in fact, how much more a few girls seemed to like sex than I did. I was, though, almost painfully shy around women. It would have been so much easier if I'd simply relaxed around them.
At that time, I didn't connect the fantasies I'd begun having in my early teens with my sexuality. I had slowly started imagining being with guys. I knew that was wrong, but it was very exciting, and it helped get me off when I masturbated, which was of course frequently when I was a teen. Jerking off didn't slow down at all the much as I hit my 20s, either. And when I did have sex with a girl, whether it was a make-out session, heavy petting, or getting my dick into her pussy, I would think about doing similar things with guys, telling myself later that it was just a harmless way to spice up the fun I was supposed to be having. I didn't understand I was trying to believe in an illusion.
There was a reason, I thought, why I would imagine being with a guy, and a good reason why I liked doing that. It's because I'd been with a guy. I was all of seven, and he was a neighborhood kid, nine, and he managed to get me behind a hedge at the rear of his house, where we initially had a few "you show me yours, I'll show you mine" episodes. At some point, when his parents were gone one Saturday afternoon, he got me to take off my clothes and taught me how good it felt for us to stroke each other as we lay on his bed. We did that a few times, and then my friend moved away.
So maybe, if my early experiences hadn't been with a boy, I'd have liked girls more. I did manage to what I did with that boy for several years. But when I hit puberty, I began to remember what I had done, and I wanted to try penis play with a guy again. Thoughts of girls, even though I knew I was supposed to be with them, began to disappear.
Maybe, though, I'd have finally stopped fantasizing about guys if it hadn't been for a chance encounter with a sign on building.
When it happened, I was working for a film production company in Beverly Hills as a researcher, and one day my supervisor asked me to pick up some reference material in mid-town Los Angeles. As I drove up to the building, I noticed a sign over an old, Victorian home next door. It read, "Gay-Lesbian Center."
This was a long time before the Internet, and my knowledge about gays and gay life was limited pretty much to what I'd done as a child, and what I imagined I could do. Yeah, I'd read a little porn and seen a few porno films. Seeing that sign and that old house, though, set something off inside me. I could feel my cock stir in my pants, not from conjuring up an image of mutual masturbation with a hot guy. No, it was knowing that walking into that building would very likely take me from my fantasy to a reality I had never faced up to.
My car was parked on the street. All I had to do was get back in it after I picked up my package of books and magazines. It was already late afternoon, and I didn't have to go back to work. I could go home. Instead, I sat in my car for a while. And then I got out and walked up the steps and into the building. And everything did change.
Inside there was a comfortable lounge, and I was the only visitor in it. There were lots of brochures and pamphlets about coming out and AIDS and events planned by the center and a magazine for gay people, the Advocate, which I'd never heard of, all of it in racks on the walls, or spread out on tables, around which were some comfortable chairs.There was a good looking guy and an attractive woman behind the front counter at the far end of the room, and they both welcomed me, asking if it was my first visit, and if I had any questions or wanted to speak with someone about any topic.
I was extremely nervous, but I managed to get out that yes, it was my first visit. That brought an invitation to come back at 7 p.m. for a weekly gay men's discussion group, and the guy wanted to know if I wanted to be on the center's mailing list, which I declined.
Back at my car a little later, part of me swore I'd never go back to the center. Part of me, including a still very stiff cock, wanted nothing more than to return. I went home and jerked off three times that night, thinking about meeting guys I could play with.
The next week, I showed up at the center a little before 7. I wasn't a bad looking guy - masculine, a half-inch shorter than an even 6 feet, on the thin side because I was fairly athletic from hiking, jogging and biking, my hair a little long, which was the style in the 80s. In a way, there was a meeting before the meeting, because there were about ten guys already in the lounge, including very straight looking guys and effeminate guys. One of those guys, Ron, who was straight looking, walked over to me and introduced himself. He was dressed in slacks and a sports shirt, he was a little taller than me and a little bulkier, and he seemed to be about my age.
He asked me a few questions, kind of personal, but not exactly about sex. He asked if I was gay – I said I wasn't sure – and if I had a girlfriend – I didn't - or if I dated. Ascertaining that it was my first visit to the group, he walked next to me into the meeting room, and sat next to me in the circle of chairs which eventually held about 25 mostly young men. Eventually the moderator had us introduce ourselves, and say whatever we wanted to about ourselves, too. Before it was my turn, I heard most of the guys admit they were gay and always had been gay. Some, like me, said they were there out of curiosity, without saying more. Some thought they were gay, even if they'd never had sex with a guy, or even with a girl. I was nervous, but it was liberating to say what I felt.
Then we broke into smaller groups and just talked. And talked. About first times and coming out and what it felt like to be with a guy and how difficult it was to be with a woman. And when it was over, Ron had given me his phone number, and I'd nervously given him mine. He said he'd see me next week at the meeting. He called me early the next night, though and invited me over to his apartment in the Echo Park area.
"Don't worry, Dave," he said, "I'm not going to rape you. We're not going to do anything you don't want to do. There's a reason you were at the meeting last night. Come over for dinner and a beer and we'll sit on the couch and watch t.v. and maybe talk some more. Come on!"
It took a lot of willpower not to masturbate before going to see Ron in his little apartment off Baxter St. I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and Ron was, too. He looked even better out of the more formal clothes he'd worn to the meeting. He made us pasta with homemade meatballs. We had ice cream for dessert and then watched t.v. for a while, sitting close together on the couch. I was so hard it almost hurt, but I was also scared. Ron finally turned to me and said, "Well?"
"Well what?" I answered. Ron leaned over and put his hands on my shoulders.
"Are you ready?" With that, he turned me sideways and said, "Let's start with this," and he began slowly massaging my shoulders and neck. It felt great, and no words were exchanged for a few minutes. When he stopped, I asked Ron if I could massage him.
"Not now, baby," he said. His word of endearment made my cock twitch in my jeans. "Let me take care of you tonight. Here, lift your arms."
"I don't know," I said, still very nervous. Fantasy was one thing. The massage felt great. Taking off some clothes made me feel a little inhibited.
"It's OK, remember, I don't bike." His mouth was on my neck and then he whispered into my ear, "Come on, Dave." I did as he wanted, and he tugged my t-shirt over my shoulders and dropped it on the floor. I couldn't help shivering a little, but not from the cold; it was from the unknown.
Ron drew me to him, and he gently kissed me on my cheek, and licked my neck, and kissed my ears. Then he was bending down, helping take my shoes off. Then he was at my jeans, unsnapping and unzipping them, and tugging them off. I helped by lifting my ass off the couch, the same way, I noted, that girls had helped me on occasion take off their panties, even as others resisted that (usually to my relief), even if I had already gotten to third base with them. My pants joined my shirt, and Ron's fingers were soon gently touching my very erect shaft through my briefs. He wasn't masturbating me, he was just touching me.
"I see you're enjoying this," he said, smiling and looking straight into my eyes.
"Yeah."
"Isn't this better than fighting to get into a chick's pants," he said to me, as much a statement of fact than a question. I wasn't sure what he meant, though. Was I like a chick that he'd just had to "fight" with a little? He went on, though, "Isn't it nice to bone up because you want to, instead of having to? Hey, I've been there, you know." He was right. And I didn't have to imagine anything, either, this time. What I'd wanted was right there, in front of me.
I thought I was going to cream in my briefs from the gentle touching Ron was doing. He was back kissing my neck and ears, too, and his other hand was slowly exploring my inner thighs, and traveling up to softly tweak my nipples. He stopped playing with my cock, though, long enough to tug my briefs down and off me. I felt good, almost proud, to be naked for someone I realized I was starting to like a lot.
"Hey, this isn't fair," I said. "I want you to be like me."
"OK," Ron said. "Let's go to the bedroom, but in a minute." He moved his lips to mine. and we kissed, softly. It was electric, from my toes and through my cock and onto my head. Then Ron was holding me close and his tongue was trying to get into my mouth. And I was kissing him back, my arms around him, pulling him as close and as tight as he was pulling me. Kissing him like that, kissing a male, liberated me from any remaining misgivings I might have had, misgivings like worrying if I was doing something wrong, or if I'd have a difficult time coming, like I did with girls.
We finally stood up and putting his hand on my cock, he pulled me toward the other room. Once there, as we sat on the edge of his big bed, I helped strip Ron down, and there was my first close encounter with a beautiful, naked man, and his beautiful, naked penis, a penis a little bigger, in length and girth, than mine.
Ron had my lay on my back. Sitting next to me, his right hand clamped around my cock, he leaned over for a another kiss, a brief one. He hand started a slow, gentle rhythm on my shaft, and I knew I wouldn't last long. Ron knew it too. "Let me know when you're ready to come, baby," he said. There was that word again. Baby.
"Oh, fuck!" I said. "I'm almost there."
"Tell me when you're really close."
"Oh, fuck!" I repeated. "Now!"
My eyes were closed, so I didn't see Ron lean over again, but I felt his warm mouth engulf my cock, his hand still closed around the base of my cock, just as the first powerful, orgasmic spam hit me. Damn, I was coming, and I was coming inside a guy's mouth! It was as intense come as I'd ever experienced, and I felt my butt lift off the bed, as I humped and pumped into Ron's eager mouth and hand.
I spewed my load in a long series of spasms. Ron kept me inside him until I was spent. I pulled my deflating cock out of his mouth.
Ron lay next to me now. I looked down his beautiful body, his bare chest and bare legs. I thought his hard cock looked like it was waiting for my touch. I reached for it and started to masturbate my new friend, as he turned toward me and we kissed. Soon I started in ernest jacking Ron off to what I hoped would be as good a come as I'd had just enjoyed. Neither of us would be disappointed.
There was, I knew, no turning back for me. That night, as my cock began, amazingly, to stir again, my illusion, no, my delusion about sex, was over. I knew I was done chasing pussy forever.
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