The Truth

Jesus said, "...you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." John 8:32

In modern times, an anonymous, but equally wise man said, "ALL MEN must know the truth to make a GAY MAN free."

THE TRUTH

BY: MOORE

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The suit was Saville Row, one of six conservative, bespoke suits purchased on his last business trip to London. The lush cotton shirt and silk tie, both hand made, were from shops in Hong Kong. The highly shined shoes were Italian, hand stitched of leather prepared by an exclusive tannery. Judging by his clothes and impeccable grooming, the fortyish looking man might have been an attorney or a physician or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He was neither, nor was he as young as he looked. Steven Rogers was a financial advisor to wealthy, old-money families and several small countries; fifty six candles would grace the cake that his wife of thirty five years had ordered from the pastry shop near their Park Avenue apartment for his party this evening.

"I won't be back in the office today," Rogers said to Nancy Jones, his personal secretary, when he returned with his briefcase in hand from his private bathroom. The attractive young woman handed him several files which he scanned before slipping them into the thin leather case. He snapped the lid shut when Jones came towards him with another file. Rather abruptly Jones thought, as though her boss didn't want her to see what else was in the case.

Truth be told, Steven Rogers did not want his secretary to see the pair of Sulka boxer shorts that were inside the case. Silk shorts he'd removed in his private bathroom and replaced with a cotton mesh thong from the Calvin Klein line of men's underwear. The inexpensive thong he wore now, provocative and highly suggestive to say the least, was more appropriate and practical for his afternoon's activity...more in keeping with the well concealed side of his personality.

"You'll attend to those two wires, Miss Jones, for the Barbados account and the Euro transfers to Switzerland for the 2005 taxes?"

"Yes sir," she replied efficiently, wondering for the millionth time what he'd be like in bed, and what it would be like to be married to such an attractive, considerate and extremely wealthy man. "May I call your cell phone if I need to reach you?"

"No," he said quickly, more sharply than he intended. "I'm sorry, Miss Jones, I didn't mean to be brusk, but I don't wish to take any calls."

Nancy Jones smiled inwardly, certain that her boss had a mistress that he visited two afternoons a week. His wife, whom she tried to avoid, was a bitch. Rarely in town, Norma Rogers was a vain, shallow, social climbing jet-setter that had had one face lift too many. She spent her time at their mansion in East Hampton and, if the rumors were true, with the tennis pro at their country club.

My boss is such a sweet guy, she repeatedly told her girlfriends over lunch. He works so hard, his wife is a bitch. He deserves to have a mistress, someone young and caring in his life and his bed. Someone like you? Her girlfriends chided, to which Nancy responded enthusiastically that she would sleep with her boss in a heartbeat.

"I'll see you in the morning, Miss Jones."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Rogers. Oh, happy birthday, sir."

It will be, Steven Rogers thought as he waited for the elevator. A very happy birthday if old Max is able to deliver the special gift I asked him to arrange.

"I can't promise anything," Max had cautioned when Rogers made the request. "What you want is hard to find at any price, even in the Big Apple where everything's for sale."

"Do the best you can, Max, a year either way," Rogers had responded. "Don't worry about the cost."

Rogers walked past the limos and yellow cabs, preferring the speed and anonymity of the New York City subway to take him downtown. His destination, were it to become known, would raise more than a few eyebrows among his family, friends and conservative clients. The erotic thoughts racing through his mind as he came up from the subway and walked the two blocks to the side street shop could, if turned from fantasy into reality, land him on the front page of the Daily News and land him in jail.

He thought too, eyeing the gay teenage boys that flocked to this part of the Village, of how it all began.

CHAPTER TWO

"That was quick," Steven Rogers said as he started the engine of his dad's new '64 Chevy and fiddled with the radio.

Larry Franklin, Steven's best friend and double date partner, lit up a Marlboro and let out a sigh with the cloud of smoke. "Her father met us at the door, not even a kiss goodnight. Your goodnight with Norma was pretty quick too," he said, taking another long drag and passing the butt to Steven. "You get a kiss at least?"

"I suppose you could call it a kiss, in her mother's kitchen. Very romantic, I'll tell you. You know, it doesn't really matter because well, Norma doesn't really turn me on anyway." Steven stared blankly at the cigarette for a moment, then cautiously asked, "Susan do anything for you?"

Larry took back the cigarette and took a final drag before tossing it out the window. Although he had rarely experienced it with any girl he dated, he knew exactly what Steven meant...an erection. The raging boner that guys bullshited about. The feelings brought on when making out with a girl, the ache to touch her breast, the hardon that begged for relief.

"Not really, no," he said turning towards his friend with a pensive look on his face. "But there is somebody who does."

Steven felt the tiniest little pang of jealously. "Who? Tell me."

"I can't."

"C'mon, tell me. I'm your best friend."

"I know," Larry said, sorry now that he'd said anything. "That's why I can't tell you."

"That's why you should tell me. C'mon, Larry, who turns you on?"

Larry turned away, stared out the side window at the darkened street until he felt Steven's hand on his shoulder. The physical contact pushed him over the edge, he couldn't keep the secret locked inside any longer or keep his penis from growing erect. He had to let it out, tell Steven how he felt no matter the consequences. The secret desire was eating him up alive. He turned back to Steven, took a deep breath and spoke the words that would change two lives forever.

"You do."

"Me?" Steven's heart fluttered. "I turn you on?"

Larry put his hand on Steven's cheek. "Yeah you, Steven, big time."

For an awful moment Steven thought that Larry was joking, until he looked closely at his friend's face and into his teary eyes. Larry was dead serious; as was the hand caressing his cheek and the hand that had come to rest on his thigh. Steven began to shiver, though the late spring night was warm, and feel a bit light headed as the meaning of Larry's words and the placement of Larry's hands hit home. You can know someone for years, and not really know them at all.

"Are you shocked?" Larry asked. "Freaked out that I, you know, feel this way about you? I'll understand if you are, if you don't want to be friends anymore." Friends anymore with a homosexual, Larry thought, blinking away a tear.

Steven was too choked up with emotion to speak. He had a million things he wanted to say to Larry, feelings he wanted to share, but the words wouldn't come. He shook his head no, shook off the guilt demons that tortured him, then did something he'd wanted to do for a very, very long time.

They disagreed later about the singer on the radio when they nervously touched lips and kissed. Steven thought it was Dionne Warwick, Larry insisted that it was Barbara Striesand. They did agree that the first tentative kiss had been a magical moment, that the hungry, passionate, tongue probing kisses that followed had unloosed an identical flood of unspoken, urgent and long suppressed desires...homosexual desires.

Neither boy gave voice to the word homosexual, though it was on both of their minds. The dreaded words, queer and fag lodged there too perhaps. Gay still meant happy in the mid 1960's. These were issues to be dealt with some other time or not at all.

"This is crazy," Larry panted when they came up for air.

"Yeah, I know, crazy," Steven panted back, "Crazy good. I've never felt this way before...never thought I'd be kissing you. I'm a little afraid of these feelings."

"You don't want to stop?" Larry worried, one hand inching closer to Steven's crotch, the other struggling to undo the buttons on his shirt.

"No. You?"

"I don't want to stop either. I want to kiss you some more and hold you and.... Let's move to the back seat where there's more room."

"Okay, no wait. Not here, Larry, someplace private and safe." Where we can get naked together, he thought but did not say.

Steven thought for a moment and then quickly drove to the small park next to the elementary school. There were no houses here and few street lights, no chance of a late night dog walker being shocked by two teenaged boys giving life to their homosexual fantasies. They left their shirts and pants in the front seat and, with erections straining their jockey shorts, scrambled into the back. The car rocked on its springs as they groped each other, rubbed their bodies together in the narrow back seat. The windows fogged over and their bodies became slick with perspiration in the cramped and overheated space.

"C'mon, Larry, it's safe," Steven said as he opened the back door. "Nobody comes here at night."

"You sure? I'd hate to get caught."

"I'm sure. You think I want to get caught in my jockey shorts? It's too hot in the car, not enough room."

The walked a short distance into the park, settling behind a large shrub. Larry remained on his feet while Steven spread out the blanket he'd taken from the trunk. Larry was nervous, looking all around the deserted park, straining so hard to hear the sound of a footstep that he didn't see or hear Steven take a kneeling position at his feet. He felt the hands on his waist though, then fingers roaming against his bare skin inside the waistband of his jockey shorts.

"You don't have to."

"But I want to." Steven stuck his tongue in Larry's naval, then pulled down Larry's shorts and took his erection in hand.

Larry gasped as Steven stroked his rock hard penis and fondled his testicles. "Oh, shit, don't stop. That feels so good."

Both boys were shivering and shaking, breathing hard, it was impossible to determine which of them was enjoying it more. Larry's eyes flew open when Steven's wet lips grazed the head of his prick. "Are you sure?" He whispered, catching Steven's eye.

"Yes," Steven replied, "I'm absolutely sure." He kissed the tip of Larry's penis. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want you...your cock, Larry...I want your cock in my mouth."

"I'll lie down so you don't have to kneel."

"No," Steven said, kneeling was part of his fantasy. "Like this is just fine." Those were his last intelligible words before taking Larry's penis into his mouth. Only grunts, groans and the various animal like sounds of humans having sex followed over the next few minutes.

Larry was unaware that Steven wasn't very skilled...he didn't need to be good, just enthusiastic, which he was. The oral sex was stimulating enough and Larry was soon on the brink of orgasm.

"I'm so close," Larry said. "You better stop or...oh my god this feels so good, or I'm gonna cum."

Steven had no intention of stopping until Larry climaxed. "S'okay," he mumbled, tightening his grip around the base of Larry's shaft. He'd come this far, fulfilled half of his fantasy, he wasn't about to stop until Larry fulfilled the rest and ejaculated into his mouth. He didn't have to wait but a moment longer.

Larry's semen burst into Steven's mouth in furious spurts. Larry bucked as he came, rose up on his toes and would have toppled over had he not grabbed Steven's head for support. Steven gagged as Larry's hips thrust forward, an instinctive reaction shared by copulating mammals, human and animal alike, to propel their sperm infused semen towards the female's eggs awaiting fertilization. That this was an orgasm and seminal release brought about by a homosexual coupling, a barren human mouth receiving the sperm, was incidental to a millennia of reproductive evolution.

Steven maintained a firm liplock on the throbbing head of Larry's penis, sucking still as the last of the sharp tasting semen oozed into his mouth. "No more, please," Larry cried pulling out, his penis too sensitive after his climax. Breathing hard, he sank to his knees and gently put Steven on his back. "I'll do you now," he said anxiously, lifting Steven's erection away from his stomach and towards his own mouth. "You're not going to believe how good this is going to feel."

Steven, his tongue and throat still tingling with the taste of Larry's sperm, lay back and spread his legs wide. "And you're not going to believe how good it feels to do it."

CHAPTER THREE

"Hello, Max," Steven Rogers said to the elderly man behind the counter. The store was empty, the lunchtime crowd having gone back to work, and would remain so until shortly after five o'clock. This suited Rogers who secretly owned half of the business. He trusted Max to keep his secret, but worried that others might find out. "How's business?"

"I can't complain, sex sells, though the new law is killing me. Half the shop filled with merchandise that nobody wants. Who comes to an adult store to buy stuff for kids?"

"Politics, Max. The mayor's being pressured to close down stores like this. Look what they've done to Times Square. Speaking of kids, were you able to arrange what we discussed?"

"I tried, Steven, really tried. That age group is tough, like I told you. Young girls, feh, I can get all you want, but nobody's dealing in adolescent boys these days. The church scandal has got everybody running scared. I got a real nice college boy, an eighteen year old freshman, standing by if you want him."

Rogers turned away, clearly disappointed, and slowly walked to the section of the shop where the gay magazines were displayed on open racks. His erection, though not his spirits, was somewhat restored as he idly leafed through the photos of naked young men. A two page spread featuring Asian boys brought back fond memories of his trip to Bangkok and his first encounter with a pre-teen boy.

The business had gone well and his Thai clients had arranged to celebrate at one of Bangkok's best private sex clubs. Girls and boys of various ages were both available, Rogers observed, and the girl his clients selected for him was very young and very beautiful. Rogers enjoyed the bubble bath with her in his private suite and even grew mildly aroused as her nude, soap-slicked body rubbed against his own. He politely declined the thinly veiled offer of sexual intercourse.

"No want fuck my pretty pussy?" The surprised girl said in passable English, trying to salvage the fee she received when a man or the occasional woman made further use of her body. "How about nice blow job, mister? I lick your big balls, cock suck your big cock real nice...make you cum real good."

Rogers shook his head no, but the girl persisted, reluctantly adding what she knew could be dangerous, but what no man had ever refused. The money was more important than the threat to her health. "No wear rubber to suck your big cock, mister. You make the sperms in my mouth, okay?"

Rogers laughed, gave her a hundred dollar bill and sent the confused, but happy young girl on her way.

He gave it a great deal of thought that night as he tossed and turned in his hotel bed. He considered the risks all over again when he awoke the next morning and felt a stirring between his legs when he thought about the rewards. Decision made, Steven Rogers returned to the club that night, alone. He was driven by a desire that had been growing more insistent and was emboldened to take the risk by the anonymity of the club. Steven Rogers paid the fee, in cash, then made his own selection from the group of achingly beautiful and very young asian boys.

"I'll bring the boy to you shortly, sir," Mr. Wang, the club's owner said respectfully, without so much as a raised eyebrow. "Please have a drink in the Cupid lounge."

Steven Rogers was completely at ease now, secure in the knowledge that nobody knew who he was and, to his great surprise, that nobody thought it unusual or seemed to care that he, a middle aged man wanted to buy the services of an adolescent boy. Rogers strolled into the Cupid lounge and ordered a single malt scotch. Two well dressed men sat together at a nearby table. Brits, Rogers surmised by the cut of their suits as he finished his drink and ordered another. They waved him over, "Join us," one called out. So he did.

"You're American, right?"

Rogers nodded as he took the offered seat, noticing at once that the table was inlaid with photos of naked Asian boys in various erotic poses. He sipped his drink and nearly choked on the expensive scotch when one of the men began to talk.

"We're both homosexual, Bruce and I. We've been coming to Bangkok since we ended our sham marriages to twin sisters about five years ago. Our children had a bit of problem at first, queer dads and all that rot, but they've gotten over it and now everything's hunky dory. Asian lads are so pretty, don't you think?"

Rogers sipped his scotch, shocked then amused by the man's candid admission. "Yes they are pretty," Rogers said, surprised at himself for speaking so frankly. Hiding his true feelings behind a wife and kids and other heterosexual trappings was deeply ingrained.

"Uncircumcised too, their delightful little cocklets. Hardly more than a mouthful I daresay. And smooth, round arses with pink puckered rosebuds. Ripe cherries just waiting to be picked. Bruce, here, the bloody old queer, he likes them very young."

"Not too young now, Nigel, you bloody old boy lover," Bruce protested mildly. "I prefer that my boys be aged...like my scotch whiskey. Eight years old is nice and smooth, though twelve years old is best when I'm wanting a taste of something stronger if you get my drift. The semen from a boy just entering puberty is so damn smooth and so bloody sweet. Have you selected your boy yet, Mr...."

"Smith," Rogers supplied, stifling a laugh with a large swallow of scotch. "John Smith. Yes I have."

"Ahhh, John Smith. We meet a great many American tourists named Smith in the Bangkok sex clubs."

"It's a common name in the states."

"For a most uncommon activity. Rather harsh penalties in the states for a man too fond of little naked boys. Same in the UK and it's such a pity, I think. What's the bloody harm if a young lad, say eight or nine years old is willing to have sex with a man? Have you been to Sri Lanka, John?"

"No I've not, Bruce. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you like to look at boys, John? Naked boys?"

Rogers hesitated, considering his answer. Bruce seemed to read his mind.

"Come now, be truthful old chap. We're all three of us queers, fags if you will...all three of us boy lovers at this table."

Rogers downed the last of his drink and peered over the top of the empty glass at Nigel and Bruce. Men his own age, apparently wealthy and so comfortably open, not only about their homosexuality, but also about their preference for young boys. He envied their freedom from the shackles of society and wished he had the courage to throw off his own burdensome chains and stop living a lie. I can make a start right now, he thought.

"You're right, Bruce, I am a queer," he said slowly. It felt good not to lie, to make an honest statement of fact that, except for three people, he had never before verbalized to another living soul. "A queer," he said again, rolling the word on his tongue. The truth was like a breath of fresh air that whisked him away to freedom.

Steven Rogers had been called a queer and a fag and other more descriptive names like cocksucker, dick lover and scumbag, hundreds of times in the last few years by men he'd never seen and who had never seen him. Not his full face anyway, only his lips and lower jaw as he gorged himself on their cocks through a hole in a wall. His rear end was familiar to them all.

He liked the abusive language, liked hearing the words when a man's penis was in his mouth or ass. Verbal abuse, visual and mild physical abuse too, made the sexual experience more exciting and enjoyable. Not once though, in all the years, had he spoken the words aloud to another human being. But now he couldn't say them enough.

"I am a queer, yes, a fag, and I love to look at naked boys."

"Then you must go to Sri Lanka, John. Lovely dark skinned boys on the beaches near the capital city of Colombo. Naked boys, John, scores of frisky naked boys at play. Such a lovely sight watching their little brown cocks and lovely balls dangling as they frolic on the sand. Naked lads to feast one's eyes upon during the day, young lads so willing to share one's hotel room at night."

"You don't say?"

"Oh, but I do. Sri Lanka is a poor, English speaking country, the boys understand what you want and will do most anything...don't think me a glutton, John, but I've had three of these delicious creatures naked with me in bed for the cost of a cup of tea in London. You really must go."

"I'll plan on it," Rogers said, intrigued. He was already thinking about what reason he could come up with to schedule such a trip.

"And now we must go, Nigel and I, for here comes Mr. Wang with our two young companions. It's been a pleasure chatting with you, John. I hope you enjoy your evening."

"I'm sure I will," Rogers said, shaking each man's hand. "I'm sure I will."

Rogers sat alone, deep in thought when Mr. Wang returned a few minutes later. "This is Lon," Mr. Wang said, nudging the boy from behind his back. "He's a bit shy, only just arrived from a remote mountain village."

Roger's took the boy's soft hand in his own and felt himself growing aroused.

"He's an orphan and never been with a man according to the woman who sold him to us. His mouth and throat are unmarked, there are no missing teeth...so perhaps she spoke the truth. We are certain that he's never been penetrated, our doctor thoroughly examined him. We don't know his exact age, but his blood tests reveal the onset of puberty."

"He's beautiful," Rogers said, caressing the boy's smooth cheek. "Does he speak English?"

"Lon has not spoken a word in any language since he arrived. We have grown quite fond of silent Lon." Mr. Wang paused a moment before adding. "Hurt him if you must, sir, we understand that pain is an integral part of some men's sexual pleasure."

"Not this man's," Rogers said sharply, appalled that any man would hurt an innocent young boy. Sex yes, oral and anal, but with care and tenderness.

The suite was well stocked with creams and oils and all manner of sexual toys and devices. A raised bed sat in one corner beneath a mirrored ceiling and a large bathroom lay behind a pair of mirrored doors. "Please call if you require anything at all," Mr. Wang said before taking his leave.

Rogers simply looked at Lon for a while, hardly daring to believe that he was alone with this beautiful boy...a boy that was his for the night. When he could bear it no longer he removed his clothes and beckoned the boy to his side. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lon." Rogers licked his nose, playfully and kissed him on the lips. "I'm going to love you."

Lon stood perfectly still, perfectly submissive, his large dark eyes remained focused on his feet as the man he must obey removed all of his clothing. Rogers sighed deeply with pleasure and lust as he gazed upon the perfectly formed, light brown body of this naked young boy. He embraced Lon, clutched the incredibly smooth, naked flesh to his own hairy body and smelled, then tasted the sweet flesh of his neck.

"I have to have you," Roger's said, aroused as never before in his life. He swept Lon off his feet and carried him to the bed.

Lon lay unmoving, moaning softly as Rogers, blissfully lost in the taste and the scent of the boy's firm, hairless body, licked him from head to toe. Trembling now with lusty desire, he put the boy's slender legs on his shoulders, spread the cheeks of his ass and teased the pink anus with the tip of his tongue. The head of Lon's brown penis emerged from his foreskin as his body reacted to the stimulation. Rogers kissed the small, slotted jewel and the two rounded jewels below, then took the length of the boy's stiff, warm penis into his mouth.

Time and again Rogers brought the quivering boy to the brink of orgasm; sucking him gently, caressing his testicles, pausing and then resuming, prolonging the exquisite torture. Lon twitched, bucked and squirmed, his body consumed by sexual pleasures that cried out for relief. Rogers was thrilled to see the drop of preseminal fluid, an indication of sexual maturity and the young sperm yet to come. He licked away the shiny pearl, Lon squealed with delight and promptly climaxed.

Rogers held the boy's abundant semen in his mouth for several minutes. The creamy fluid; Lon's very first emission of sperm which Rogers had no way of knowing, was pleasantly salty and smelled like fresh steamed rice. Lon was in his arms while Rogers savored, then swallowed the boy's sperm, and in his mouth again a moment later when the boy's erection returned.

Dozens of men had ejaculated into Steven Roger's mouth since Larry Franklin had done so more than forty years before. All but one of those many homosexual encounters had occurred within the last five years, since he turned fifty. All but the one, a chance meeting in Utica, New York some thirty years ago, had been faceless encounters with unknown men on the other side of a tearoom wall.

Rogers wished it could be different, more like the long-remembered experience in Utica. As enjoyable as he found it he ached to do more than merely fellate a stranger through a hole in a wall. He longed for the physical contact of another male's body against his own, the kissing and foreplay that sent waves of pleasure rippling through his body. But above all else he felt the need to preserve his identity from the men he had sex with. The organs were bigger, the men more demanding to be sure, but as Steven Rogers lay naked in bed with this tender, young, Asian boy in his arms he could think of no other place that he would rather be.

The hours flew by, Rogers lost count of the times he had cum in Lon's mouth and in his rear. Piercing the tiny, pink anus had been easier than he thought possible. Lon squealed when Rogers entered him the first time. Tears sprang forth from his dark eyes which Rogers kissed away. The second time was easier still. Lon's penis signaled the pleasure he felt as Rogers grew erect.

What an experience that was, Rogers thought as he turned away from the rack of gay magazines, adjusted his thong encased erection and went to find Max.

"I'll call the college boy," Max said in response to Roger's request. "Won't take but a minute."

CHAPTER FOUR

Steven Rogers and Larry Franklin's secret homosexual relationship continued hot and heavy for the remainder of their senior year and throughout the summer months. The excitement of college in the fall was tempered somewhat by the awful realization that come September they'd be in schools a thousand miles apart. They had sex as often as they could safely manage it, not nearly as often as they wanted. Often frustrated by the lack of a place to go when the daily desire to have sex with each other had to be postponed. They racked their brains to think of a secure place and came up empty. The risk of discovery, the unspoken but equally shared fear of being outed as homosexuals was just too great to take any chances.

Double dates, usually with Susan and Norma, provided the safest means to a glorious, naked romp in the park or in the back seat of a '64 Chevy. They went at each other like animals once the girls had been dropped off. Tearing off their clothes to free their raging hard-ons and groping each other as their lips met in a bout of frantic kissing. Steven usually went down on Larry first. Licking Larry's sensitive nipples, then licking his way down Larry's tight body until he reached his destination.

"Do me already, oh god, please do me," Larry would cry out when Steven lingered too long around the base of his cock. He wouldn't be rushed though because he was enthralled with the smell of Larry's crotch. The smell under the testicles, close to the anus was particularly intriguing and Steven would have his fill before taking Larry's erection into his mouth.

He really had to work to get Larry off, sucking sometimes until his mouth grew tired and his neck began to hurt. "Don't stop," Larry gasped when Steven took a much needed break. "I'm so close, please don't stop."

Steven climaxed so quickly when Larry went down on him. He found it incredible that Larry could hold out for so long. "I get so excited," Larry tried explaining, "Like I'm cumming a thousand times before I shoot."

The roots of Larry's homosexuality was a mystery. He'd rarely masturbated, hadn't been abused as a child by a relative or family friend, or had an arousing sexual experience of any kind until he'd come out to his long-time friend. Steven, on the other hand, had masturbated frequently a full year before reaching puberty. His wet dreams started early, vivid dreams with a recurring theme: nudity in public places. He hadn't been abused as a child, though he'd had an experience which may have helped shape his personality.

The incident occurred at summer camp where he watched in fascination with the other ten year old boys as their counselor stripped naked and masturbated to climax. "It feels great to play with your dick and jerk off a load of cum," Paul had said to the wide-eyed boys. "Feels even better when a buddy does it for you."

The seventeen year old homosexual counselor coaxed the boys out of their pajamas and urged them to play with their dicks. "You guys are probably too young to cum, but let's have a contest and see who can get a hard-on. The winner gets an extra ice cream at dinner."

Paul watched carefully, hardening again at the sight of six naked boys playing with their little, hairless cocks. It took all of his will power not to reach out and fondle each of them. Paul kept his hands on his own cock, reminding himself to go slow, keep it light and fun, that he had all summer to advance things along. He took particular notice of one boy's enthusiasm and bobbing erection, singling him out to be first for some special one-to-one attention as soon as he got him alone.

"You can touch it if you'd like," Paul said to Steven who was staring transfixed at his erect organ. "Go on, it won't bite."

They were alone, loading the kiln with clay pots while the other boys went off to the lake. Paul's bathing suit was at his feet, Steven's skimpy, nylon suit did little to conceal his erection.

"It's so big," Steven said, moving closer to Paul. "Will it shoot the white stuff if I touch it? That was so cool."

"It will if you stroke it like I showed you all yesterday. Would you like to stroke it for me and make it shoot?"

"Yeah," Steven said, extending his hand. Paul moved towards it, and Steven took the large organ in his grasp. He giggled when Paul made his cock jump. "How did you do that?" He asked. "Do it again."

Paul checked his watch, they had to leave soon and he wanted to get off before rejoining the other campers. He flexed his cock again and then rode Steven's clenched hand to a thundering climax. Steven barely flinched when the spurts of warm semen hit him in the chest. "That tickles," he said, looking first at the streaks of semen on his body, then up at Paul who had a very satisfied look on his face. "Did I do okay?"

"You did great," Paul said as he dipped his finger into the sperm and brought it to his mouth. "Mmmm, that tastes so good. You wanna try some? Go ahead, Steven, it's really good."

Steven dragged his index finger through the semen and brought it to his mouth. "It is good," he declared as the sharpness lit up his taste buds. "Kind of salty, but I like it."

Steven readily agreed to Paul's suggestion that they do this again, naively unaware that Paul had more than a hand job in mind for their next get together. With the right encouragement, Paul was thinking ahead, I'll have this hot kid's little dick and balls in my mouth and then I'll have him blowing me from his knees and taking my load in his mouth.

It might well have happened too, if Paul and another like minded counselor hadn't been discovered that night in a compromising position. Both boys were terminated on the spot. Oral sex was not on the camp's list of approved activities. They were sent home on the next morning's bus. Steven watched him leave, waved back when Paul waved, and he never forgot the incident.

Sexually speaking their college years were uneventful. Larry and Steven remained deeply in the closet, had sex only with each other; perhaps a dozen times over the four years. They dated girls to avoid the inevitable and unanswerable questions, and both were virgins when they graduated in 1969 and rented a small apartment together. Virgins still when they reluctantly yielded to parental and peer pressure and married the following year; Steven to Norma and Larry to Susan, and appeared to lead conventional married lives.

Steven performed poorly in his marriage bed. But well enough to satisfy Norma, a Catholic girl who thought that sex, while not actually dirty, was a burden to be borne for the sake of having babies. Oral sex, giving or receiving, was simply out of the question. Every other week was enough for her and more than enough of a chore for Steven. He frequently masturbated in the shower, enjoyed his little fantasies, and eventually discovered a rather unique ability.

Sex with Larry, secretly and painstakingly arranged around busy schedules and demanding wives was what sex was supposed to be about. Daily sex with Larry, like they'd had when they lived together, was but a distant and fond memory. Larry was a better kisser than Norma and he didn't require foreplay, much less the lengthy foreplay that his wife needed to become wet and aroused. He smelled better too, Steven thought, a musky smell that he found inexplicably attracting. Decades would pass before scientists discovered the complex chemical substance called pheremones and the roll they played in attracting a mate in the insect and animal worlds. Human studies conducted in the late 1990's revealed strikingly similar results. The evidence was clear, heterosexual men and women became aroused when exposed to the pheremones of the opposite sex.

A further study of exclusively homosexual men produced a shocking and unexpected and somewhat controversial result. Not a single one of the fifty four men in the blind study showed any response when exposed to a woman's pheremones. The gay men were only receptive to the pheremones of another male. All of the men reported feelings of arousal, erections occurred in 65% of the group. Brain wave activity in the sexual center of the brain increased markedly. One research scientist was quoted in a medical journal: "It wont be too long before we locate the gene for homosexuality."

"Would you do it with another guy?" Larry asked one evening while the girls were busy in the kitchen preparing a joint wedding anniversary dinner. They hadn't had an opportunity to do it with each other for two long months, and only a taste of each other at that last time. Neither had reached a climax.

"Depends on the guy and the circumstances, I guess," Steven answered with a wink. "I never really thought about it." Not since Friday morning, anyway, when the attractive office boy had dropped off the mail, Steven thought to himself. For the last couple of months he'd begun to look at men in a whole different light. Rating them as potential sex partners, fantasizing a little and laughing at himself when his penis got hard. He was hard now and tossed the question back to Larry. "Would you?"

"I did. Well, almost. Last week when I was in Green Bay for the conference. You want some more wine?"

Steven did a double take, too surprised to speak after Larry's bombshell admission. He found his voice a moment later when Larry returned with the bottle of chianti. "No shit! Tell me."

"There's not much to tell. We met at the hotel bar and we just started talking. Innocent stuff. Where are you from, what do you do...that sort of thing. Turns out that Todd, that's his name, he's a male model from LA."

"Did he look, you know..."

"Like a homosexual? Not flaming and gaping if that's what you mean. He was handsome, gorgeous really and I had my suspicions when Todd described, in detail, the underwear layout he'd just completed for Esquire. Then he sort of turned the conversation to sex and started coming on to me, his hand accidently brushing my leg...resting briefly on my knee sort of thing." Larry paused and drank some wine. "I got a hard-on, he saw it. He was hard too in skin tight Levis. To make a long story short," Larry drained his wine glass, "I said yes when Todd suggested that we go up to his room to explore our obvious mutual interests."

"Larry," Susan called out from the kitchen. "I forgot to buy the rice mix. Could you go to the store?"

Susan, Norma right behind, came into the living room with empty wine glasses in their hands. "What kind of rice?" Larry said, concealing his annoyance as he poured the last of the wine into each of their glasses. Susan was disorganized and forgetful, which bothered the hell out of Larry who was the complete opposite. She'd put on weight too, a good twenty five pounds in the three years of their marriage, which bothered him even more.

"The red box, I think, or is it yellow? I know it when I see it on the shelf."

Steven saw an opening, a chance to get the girls out of the way for at least a little while. He turned to Norma. "Why don't you and Susan go to the store? And pick up another bottle of wine while you're out."

Larry saw the rare opportunity as well and quickly endorsed the idea. "Get some ice cream too, sweetheart, and hot fudge."

The ice cream and hot fudge clinched it for Susan as Larry hoped it would. "Come on, Norma, let's go."

Larry double locked the door while Steven hurriedly worked at his belt and zipper. "Take it easy," he said as Steven dropped to his knees, taking pants and jockey shorts with him. "We got some time and a warning system. Susan'll have to ring the bell because she forgot to take her house keys."

"Not nearly enough," Steven sighed as he breathed in Larry's musky scent. There's never enough time, he thought, then hurriedly took Larry's stiff penis into his mouth and began to suck.

Larry's sex life with Susan was little better than Steven's with Norma. Susan liked sex and liked it often. They fucked like rabbits in the first year of their marriage until Susan, a full figured girl to begin with began to put on weight. He was repulsed by her flabby body, hadn't touched her in a month, and without masturbation to bring him relief, Steven wasn't going to have to work too hard or too long this night to get Larry off.

The ragged breathing meant nothing, Steven knew from experience. Larry could breathe that way for half an hour without reaching a climax. The moans and sighs and exclamations of pleasure, even his tight scrotum, while encouraging, did not mean that Larry was ready to cum. It was only when his thighs began to quiver under Steven's hand, when he rose up on his toes and put his hands behind Steven's head, drawing him in on his cock, that Steven knew it was time to back off to the swelling head or risk choking on the semen about to be ejaculated into his mouth.

Larry always swallowed quickly when he was on the giving end of the blow job, scrunching his face when Steven climaxed in his mouth. He suffered in silence through the raw taste of the semen, relieved when this part of an otherwise pleasant experience was over.

Steven, on the other hand, found the taste of semen mysteriously appealing. In addition to the unique taste, the forceful spurts of semen thrilled him as well, made his head spin. The warm, salty, viscous fluid rushing into his mouth made him tingle all over with renewed lust. He didn't share his views with Larry, nor the fact that he'd tried to duplicate the feeling by drinking his own semen from a cup.

Absent a penis and the spurts, the affect was not the same. The shameless perversion and self-degradation of the act was highly arousing in itself so he did it again the next day in front of the bathroom mirror.

This time he held the cup above his head, tilted it slightly and watched as a drop of milky sperm dripped from the cup into his open mouth. Steven lit up like a roman candle when the sperm landed on his tongue. His spent organ surged with new life and his legs turned to jelly. Holy shit that felt good, he thought, and raised the cup again and again until he had consumed the scant teaspoon of semen.

Every night for a week, after Norma had fallen asleep, he slipped out of bed with a throbbing erection with but one thought on his mind. The cup proved messy at times and wasteful, a more direct method was worth exploring. But try as he might by sitting in turn on the toilet, the bathtub and the floor, and bending over, he couldn't get his cock anywhere close to his mouth. Neither could he get the thought of accomplishing the impossible from his mind.

It's probably fair to say that many a male, not just the dream of every homosexual, has at some time in his life harbored thoughts similar to those held by a frustrated Steven Rogers: If only there was some way that I could suck my own cock. Some way that I could cum in my mouth.

There was and Steven found it late one night in the guest bedroom after much trial and error. By throwing his legs over his head and pushing the soles of feet against the headboard, Steven Rogers was able to close his lips behind the head of his penis. He also discovered that by pulling down on his ass, three of his six inches slid easily into his mouth. The feeling was awesome, physically and psychologically, and it took all of his will power to stave off an immediate orgasm.

Steven's heart was pounding as he uncoiled from the awkward position and stretched out on the bed. He lay there, trembling, not daring to touch himself lest he climax, and considered the possibilities. He went to check that Norma was still sleeping soundly, then returned to the guest room with but one even more exciting thought in his mind: I'm going to give myself a blow job, suck my own cock, and cum in my own mouth.

Mind and body separated as his penis hung down towards his face, the head but a fraction of an inch from his mouth. He was two people at this moment, and only one a closeted homosexual; the other a person that changed at Steven's whim. A person who came to life in Steven Roger's homo-erotic fantasy.

Paul, the counselor from camp who he'd never forgotten had been the first fantasy partner to assist him, from age 12 onward with his habitual masturbation. Others followed Paul as Steven got older, real people he knew only casually or, and this was preferable, people he did not know at all. Men who, in his fantasy, not only saw through Steven's heterosexual facade to the submissive homosexual that lived within, but also made him perform unspeakable sexual acts.

Larry never appeared in the fantasy because Steven knew him too well. He knew that Larry would never say the demeaning things that Steven wanted to hear or make him do the degrading things that Steven wanted to do. On this special night it would be Bob, the burly maintenance man in his building who would participate in the fantasy while Steven sucked his own cock.

"Please," Steven mumbled as he passed the head of his cock lightly across his lips. "Please, Bob, I can't. Not here. Norma's asleep in the other room. What if she wakes up and finds us...finds me with your prick in my mouth?"

Spoken aloud or unspoken, he heard his own words clearly in his mind, as well as Bob's laughter and response as the fantasy unfolded.

"C'mon, Mr. Rogers, you called me, remember? We both know how much you want to suck my big dick. So what if your wife finds out that she's married to a queer?"

He felt the sexual excitement of the self-inflicted humiliation, the fear of discovery, like he'd never felt before. It was as though Bob was with him, as though Bob's cock was actually hovering over him. He protested mildly, as he might in real life, then quietly submitted to Bob's imagined demands.

He kissed the shiny bubble of precum from the tip of his/Bob's surging erection, then took three inches of his/Bob's dick into his mouth.

Bob's voice rang out loud and clear in Steven's mind. "Suck harder, faster, Mr. Rogers. Suck my dick, faggot, play with my balls. Oh, shit, get ready, cocksucker. Here comes your reward."

"Cum inside me, Bob," Steven said, then fondled his/Bob's testicles as his/Bob's warm semen flooded his mouth.

The following night it was Tim, the would be actor who waited tables in the coffee shop where Steven had breakfast each morning before work. Tim climaxed twice in Steven's mouth and called him a cum eating, faggot scumbag between the blow jobs.

Then it was Seth, the friendly UPS delivery guy. Seth made Steven beg, literally kneel in the nude by the side of the guest room bed and beg for his cock.

Then William, who came around one afternoon collecting donations for some charity. That night, William made Steven put a finger in his ass and leave it there throughout the blow job and mind blowing climax. William got invited back to the next fantasy and brought a shaving mirror with him.

So you can watch yourself sucking my dick with a finger up your butt, Steven said for William, shaking with excitement. The mirror stayed in the guest room so that in future fantasies, Steven could bear exciting witness to his own humiliation and escalating perversions.

No man that Steven Rogers found attractive was safe from appearing in his fantasy. On an out of town business trip, Stanley, the hotel desk clerk made him tie a ribbon around his cock and balls. Steven had eaten a big dinner with clients so he couldn't bend over far enough after assuming his position on the bed. Stanley unhappily settled for a hand job instead of a blow job and ejaculated all over Steven's face.

Stanley returned at daybreak, laughed at Steven's morning erection with the ribbon still in place and followed him into the bathroom. He laughed again at the dried semen on Steven's face, then made him lay back in the bathtub and urinate all over himself.

Leon, the Negro room service waiter got Stanley's blow job after Steven had showered and moved his bowels. Steven struggled with this one, his first interracial fantasy, before deciding how it would play out. His bigoted, narrow minded father called black people niggers; Jews were kikes, Asians were chinks, Puerto Ricans were spics, and homosexuals...Steven shuddered at the memory of his father's opinion on gays. The man would roll over in his grave if he knew that his son was about to fantasize about sucking a black man's cock.

Steven Rogers was not losing his mind, he'd been fantasizing in one way or another for years. Exciting himself to sexual arousal with self-directed acts of personal submission and humiliation. Locked deep in the closet, he had the hope, but little expectation that any of his fantasies would ever come true.

Norma, unaware of what had been taking place on the other side of the master bedroom wall for the past months, inadvertently put an end to Steven's guest room forays when she announced plans to redecorate the space. She had taken up photography and she needed a dark room. "Yes dear," Steven said when Norma told him that all the furniture, including the bed, had to go.

The bed was gone, but the fantasies lived on. His expanding duties at work required out-of-town client visits, and hotel rooms allowed his vivid imagination to run wild.

Larry always laughed after his orgasm. An involuntary laugh that drained the remaining tension in his body. "Oh, god I needed that. How long's it been?"

"Too long," Steven said, swallowing the last of Larry's sperm and rising to his feet. The tile floor in the hallway was murder on his knees.

"A day is too long. Lay back and I'll do you now."

Steven climaxed quickly, then flipped around to enjoy Larry's cock for a few more minutes. Neither wanted to quit, but caution won out over lust and they reluctantly disengaged from their sixty-nine and retreated to the bathroom to clean up.

"We wasted all that time," Larry said with a laugh when the doorbell rang twenty minutes later.

Steven grabbed his arm, "Wait a sec, I forgot to ask. What happened with Todd, the guy in Green Bay?"

"Nothing," Larry admitted sheepishly.

The bell rang again and Larry went to open the door for their returning, unsuspecting wives.

With his hand on the knob he turned back to Steven. "Todd kissed me in the elevator, groped my dick and I got cold feet. I chickened out."