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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: hj.txt (MM, gay/lez, rom)
Authors name: gmsmith (gmsmith@juno.com)
Story title : Harold and Jack: A true Love Story
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Please do not remove the author information or make
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Harold and Jack a True Love Story (MM, rom)
by gmsmith (gmsmith@juno.com)
A committed straight divorces his wife and meets his
lifelong gay lover...
Chapter 1 - INTRODUCTION
In baring my queer heart to the world, it is not
my goal to either foster or hinder any particular life
style. I am proud to be gay, a 40 year old fag who
years ago escaped from a marriage to a lesbian, who
bore me three -- all children now estranged, for the
shame of having a queer father. Those in the gay
community should certainly be more approving of my life
style than those of the straight and narrow minded
homophobic population. But to all who may object to my
professed, privately engaged in, sexual practices, ask
yourself the question whether or not my addiction to
cock sucking or my taking it up the back way ever
harmed you, your particular relationship, or, for that
matter, your marriage.
But for your prejudices, Harold and I could have
been legally wed, rather than receiving only a blessing
from a fellow gay pastor. You can call me a "queer," a
"cocksucker," a "fag," a "queen," or worse, but I never
call you names, such as "cunt fucker," "muff diver,"
"pussy lapper," etc. I then implore all of us to live
and let live in peace. So be it. . . and on with the
story of my life. While names and locales have been
changed for obvious reasons, the guy you are reading
about is me.
I never made a conscious decision to become what I
am. This was God's choice and I am told that God is
love. Remember that in this game of stud poker called
life, I merely played the hand that I was dealt.
Nothing more, nothing less. This is my first attempt at
publication, and I confess to a lack of writing talent.
Hopefully, my inadequacies in verbal expression will
not prevent my feelings and truthful message from
emerging.
While I have shown these written memories to a
few close friends (with each of whom I have been
sexually intimate on numerous occasions, and I know
them to be completely trustworthy), for obvious
reasons, both they and I must remain anonymous. Also, I
want you to appreciate that you are reading actual
events in my life, this is not a "story" made up for
your titillation or just to stimulate your jacking off
while you read it. Really, I've got better things to do
with my time than to amuse strangers. If only make
believe, my cock certainly would have been a robust
uncut 10-incher, as in all of the fictitious stories
that flood the Internet, rather than only a skimpy
circumcised six-and-half-incher. But I've had as much
fun with "Pinky" (everyone should have a name for his
cock). I've given as much pleasure with it as you have
with yours. Enthusiasm can sometimes make up for lack
of size, particularly when the choice is between being
tickled to death or bored to death.
If we perchance meet someday, perhaps I can
elucidate and answer any of your questions. To keep the
length of this lifelong confessional within reason,
repetitious and insignificant happenings have been
redacted out. Their inclusion in this revelation would
not have changed the message. However, if my memory
permits me to recall other important happenings, I may
some day cause a revised version of this remembrance to
be submitted for your approval, condemnation, or
perhaps you just won't give a damn.
It is said that confession is good for the soul.
If so, when you finish my revelation, I will then be as
clean as the wind driven snow, ready for my God. I pray
for the day when my priest confessor is able to give me
absolution. But for his vows, he could well have been a
fleshmate of mine.
What you read below is autobiographical. That is,
while not only factual, i.e., true in each and every
detail, it is, admittedly, an inadequate substitute for
a daily diary. For lack of some of the forgotten
details, I offer my abject apology. While the memory
can play tricks, such as my now recalling nine-inch
cocks as actually having been a mere seven inches. But
I was never one to turn down any pre-cum oozing prick
just because it didn't measure up to my size
expectations, as long as it produced my favorite creamy
cocktail. My definition of an attractive cock was one
that was either being sucked or was one that was about
to be sucked. Of course, the clipped and unclipped
cocks require a somewhat different cock sucking
technique, an always-pleasant challenge. I even accept
the strange description of how sucking, licking, or
lapping can be called "blowing," as if you were
inflating a balloon. This, of course, is too painful
even to contemplate. I certainly think that "suck-
offs," rather than "blow jobs" is a better reference,
but one must stick with the language of the street. So
"suck-offs" in this narration will simply be described
as "blow jobs".
In my years and years of giving blow jobs, you can
take my word for it that a guy's balls and the quantity
of his juice vary proportionately with both the size of
his rod and how long it has been since his last orgasm.
Eight hours sleep usually produces a goodly fresh
batch, although seconds and thirds can produce
surprising amounts of cum. Also, I've consistently
found that shaved pubes are a real turn on,
particularly around the asshole with its unique brush
like fuzz, if you happen to be into licking the love
bud. With me, I know a tender tonguing of my anus, all
by itself, can still make me come perilously close to
shooting my jism. This can be a great waste, unless you
can catch most of it in your hand or on your partner's
belly for later tongue clean ups.
While having been on the receiving end of a
pulsating cock literally hundreds of times as the
"suckor" (which is my very favorite activity, whether
aside, on top, or on the bottom), I'm still partial to
swishing it around, sharing, and swallowing my own cum
whenever possible. As a result of their being regularly
used as handles, my ears still can give my now balding
head the look of a Grecian vase. Variety may be the
spice of life, but my home-brewed ball juice, from my
strict vegetarian and herbal diet, is still the
fruitiest I've ever tasted. It has just a slightly
salty, slightly tart flavor that some ecstatic
recipients have actually found to be habit forming.
I've had many cock suckers compliment me on the
viscosity, smooth texture, and tartness of my cum and
its direct and orgasmic method of delivery, with its
initial blast and the repeated little squirts, only to
let me sample it with a follow-up kiss and a French-
like dueling of tongues.
You may very well find these to be odd
recollections from a former "straight," now, perhaps, a
hyperactive gay man, who was over 30 years old when he
sucked his first cock, who "survived" a 10-year
marriage with a lesbian spouse, and who presumptively
fathered three children. I say "presumptively," for
fatherhood is, after all, only a legal presumption,
while motherhood is a biological fact. While I indeed
had my pecker in her pussy and shot off my balls, I may
also have had help. Someone may have had it in for me!
True "homos" generally can't get it up with a pussy,
the reverse is not true for lesbians, who fake their
orgasms, can become pregnant, and actually can give a
passable blow job. I say "passable," for it is my
conviction, and actual experience through the years
proves it to me, that only a man can truly appreciate
either giving or receiving a blow job. Lesbians, of
course, also claim that they are the only ones that can
properly eat pussy.
I guess this means that, at a former point in my
life, I progressed -- or degenerated I suppose, if you
choose --from a heterosexual, to a bisexual, to a
homosexual -- in the language of the street, from a
straight to a queer or a fag, today a hip swaggering
queen, if you must. Although, whenever the situation
presents, I still can and do get it up and shoot it
off, thank you. I have never been particularly
interested in labels and presently have no interest
whatsoever in cunts, either to ogle them at the beach
or to fuck or to lap them. If you require a tag for me,
just take your pick. I can live with it.
As a "teener" in a local Boy Scout troop, we had
our campsite contests to see who had the longest
pecker, with a game of dueling pricks, I had
experienced numerous group jack-offs around the camp
fires. No one ever seemed interested or brave enough to
touch another's tool, and there was certainly no
tasting of that icky, gooey stuff that shot all over,
making a horrendous sticky mess, which you tried to
shake off your fingers like buggers from picking your
nose.
Once while busily engaged in the five-finger cock
massage group activity, the scout leader surprised us,
much to our chagrin and embarrassment. We all went
immediately limp and hastened to put it away and zipped
up. Instead of letting us off, Mr. Grant (not his real
name) told us that our punishment was that we had to
strip naked in front of him, harden them up again, and
run them off while he watched! He stayed right there
until the last bare-assed kid had emptied his tiny
balls. He even helped some of the limp ones, cupping
their balls and massaging their little cocks. Then we
had to promise never to do that again, a promise broken
at the first opportunity. We were then marched stark
naked in front of the remaining troop. They all
whistled, catcalled, and jeered, but they were also
nothing but fucking little jack offs who just hadn't
been caught yet. We'd find a way to get back at them.
High school and gym class with its open showers
was a source of embarrassment to me, for you see the
head of my clipped cock, like a ripe plum, was so much
larger than that of any of the other guys. I could
never lather it up without the stem popping up to
attention. Then they would stare, point, and giggle.
Oh, how I would have traded that monster cock head for
another couple of inches on the stem and larger balls.
Aside from this problem, the big head on my only
six and a half inch penis (which, regrettably, never
got any longer) would not have been any drawback, if
the "word" hadn't gotten around to the others in the
class. After a considerable amount of begging during
recess, to win a good sized bet or to take a dare, I
would haul out the rod and display it, much to their
oohs and aahs.
By hindsight only, I don't think that I have ever
seen an attractive cunt, while almost all cocks, balls,
and love holes to me have been objects for my rapt
attention. The cunt of my later-to-become wife looked
more like an omelet. I have never since been able to
enjoy this French egg dish without recalling her ugly
pussy. Lathering and shaving her vaginal mound only
made the problem worse.
Aside from the fireside jack offs, I had never had
any sexual associations with either gender. Our group
jack-off sessions and my frequent private hand milking
sessions just seemed to be a temporary substitute for
and a prelude to girl fucking. We also told many lies
about our female conquests and the times we supposedly
had been sucked off by a date. To my recollection,
there were no admitted homos in the group, although we
had some doubts about the scout leader, who would
occasionally keep one of us boys (never me) in his tent
over night. Years later I learned that his wife had
divorced him and that he had been arrested for sucking
off a number of his charges. Newspaper accounts
described these incidents -- no matter how pleasant to
the recipient -- as "molestations."
If my remembrances ended here, you would have
wasted your time just getting this far. Pretty dull,
yes. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be,
there is more. I hope that you can navigate its wiles
without the necessity of jerking off or molesting your
roomy against his will. Just keep both hands out of
your pocket and on the table and read on. I'll get it
up for you later.
As you may have guessed, high school was
dullsville. I had never been propositioned by either
sex, and I had never even had the opportunity to play
stink finger with a girl, a coward's way to taste the
flavor of pussy second hand and to enjoy its fishy
aroma, which gives credence to the old saying, "when
you can smell it, you have it half licked." I don't
even recall having a hand inside of either a bra or
panties. I was damned glad to graduate from high school
and get on to college, which was my first experience of
living away from my parents and my brothers and
sisters. I trust that you are not too surprised or
disappointed when I can truthfully say that I never had
sex with any of my family, or anyone else for that
matter. My only sex was peter pulling, jerking off,
sometimes two or three times a day. I had discovered
that by lying on my back in bed, with a pillow under my
head and my feet touching the head board behind, I
could shoot jism right into my mouth, with some of my
cum hitting either my nose or chin. This was sometimes
messy, but always tasty, and I never wasted a drop of
the cream. It also kept mom from finding the dried hard
spots on my sheets.
My college dorm roommate could not conceal his
homosexuality, although my stolid "straightness" kept
him at a safe distance in the upper bunk while he was
whacking his jock. Although he many times strutted
around the room, naked and with an erection blooming,
his trolling of the bait never aroused my interest. He
always spent too much time in the bathroom, but he
never locked the door, many times leaving it ajar,
perhaps hoping that I would take the obvious hint and
come in. Many times I would come into the room needing
to piss, only to find him on the throne milking his
meat. He never missed a beat, and I'd have to stand on
my tip toes and pee in the high sink. While he was
jerking off, he couldn't keep from staring at my
pissing cock. The dormitory was filled to capacity, and
my request for a change of roommate was turned down.
At this time I had just met my wife-to-be and lost
my virginity after weeks of begging, sucking her tits,
kissing the cheeks of her ass, and lapping her pussy,
but I never could get around to her bung, which she
wouldn't even let me touch with my little finger. 69ing
wasn't too bad when I was the upper or so-called
superior position going down on her quivering juicy
twat, but when she got her cookies while spread eagled
atop my face sucking my cock, I thought I was going to
suffocate, if not drown, in her gushing cunt juices.
Yes, friends, girls cum too, but not the manly creamy
stuff.
It was not until we got a prescription for birth
control pills that I was able to fuck her without a
rubber and load her ugly twat with my cream, but even
then only after a lengthy foreplay of begging and
dining at the "Y" with her hands firmly at the back of
my head. I was getting calluses on my tongue. If there
had been a device such as a snorkel for pussy eaters, I
swear she would have made me wear it.
She was an apparently self-taught, but at least a
half-way decent cock sucker; but the bitch wouldn't let
me come in her mouth. When I sucked my freshly
ejaculated delicious cum off of her breasts or out of
her cunt, she had the audacity to call me a "fucking
pervert," which were her actual words. After I had
lapped up my juice, she wouldn't let me kiss her for
fear that she might get some jism in her mouth. This
really pissed me off, because I thought that my cock
juice was exquisite, and I didn't want it wasted by
getting it soaked up in a towel or a Kleenex and
discarded. I never could convince her that swallowing
cum couldn't make her pregnant! Only later did I learn
that she and her former lesbian roommate were still
frequently meeting sub rosa and 69ing each other's
brains out.
With her deviancy and my, to then, lack of
appetite for cock, you'll say it was unusual for me to
marry and spawn all of those children. Latent cock
suckers don't often do that. But we were living in a
small midwestern town, with no queers daring to come
out of the closet. Instead of "outing," they all left
for the west coast, where they would have numerous
opportunities for a normal life. Also, without
attracting undue attention, she was able to continue
longstanding relationships with her other lesbian girl
friends. I found that society doesn't attach the same
significance to women hugging and kissing each other in
public. However, if I had ever French kissed one of my
male sperm donors in public, we both would certainly
have been tarred and feathered. Such is life in a small
midwestern city, where beating up a queer on Saturday
night is considered a public service.
At the exchange of marital vows, never to stray,
etc., till yee die, I attempted to be true even to my
lesbian wife, who had lost nearly 100% of her former,
apparently feigned, interest in my cock, which she
would only occasionally fuck, and had entirely given up
sucking on it. This infrequent release of tensions
proved to be too difficult for this mere mortal with
balls, which required frequent emptying. With her
numerous women friends in our small town it would have
been too risky for me to have fucked around with any of
them.
While pouring out my grief and the burning pain in
my testicles to a friend at work, he said that he was
very sympathetic with my problem and would do anything
he could to help me out with my case of bursting nuts.
I knew him to be unmarried, but I thought him to be
straight, as he frequently bragged about how much ass
he was getting on a regular basis -- only later did I
discover that it was really male ass he was getting! My
thoughts went back to my boy scout leader who had
gotten into trouble with some of the boys in our troop,
and I wondered just what would be involved if I let my
new found friend "help me out," as he had volunteered
to do.
He invited me on a tent-camping over night for a
fishing weekend. We actually had our waders, fishing
poles, bait, etc., which, as it turned out, never got
wet. I don't even remember if we were near any body of
water, just that we were in some god-awful wooded area,
miles from other human beings. After we arrived, the
tent was pitched, the sleeping bag unrolled -- to my
surprise, there was only one double bag which we would
be sharing sans pajamas in the nude. When the cooking
equipment was made ready, Harold (not his real name)
turned out to be an excellent cook, and we enjoyed
tender steaks and the works. Our beers were iced and
ready and there was even a gin martini or two before
dinner. Much to my surprise, after dinner, Harold
produced some weed and we passed it back and forth for
a pleasant little buzz.
Conversation was tentative, mainly about the
weather, the state of the economy, and the Cub's
chances for a pennant -- nil, of course. Then Harold
casually mentioned that it had been a long time since
he had gotten his balls off. We shared that this was a
mutual need, but I saw no ready way to solve the
problem. Harkening back to my Boy Scout days, we would
both simply have
hauled out our meat and jacked off. I told Harold of my
years ago practice, but he said that he had a much
better idea.
It was then that he told me that he was a
homosexual, but that I was not to worry as there was
nothing that I would have to do for him other than to
relax and enjoy what he would do for me; and that it
would be a lot more satisfying if we could at least
play with each other's cocks. At the time, I thought
the only thing we were going to do was to masturbate
each other -- a grown-up Boy Scout sort of game, but at
the next higher level. The thought of drinking each
other's cum would have caused me to scamper back to the
relative safety of the city and my wife's ugly omelet-
shaped twat. I had no reason to anticipate how many
higher levels of sexual activity Harold and I would
engage in that very night and how it would steer me on
the right course -- for the rest of my life.
Harold had brought with him several glossy
homosexual man-to-man naked and explicit sexual
pictorial magazines that we went through, page by page,
pose by pose, with Harold's animated graphic
description of what the men were doing -- for each
other, to each other, and with each other. I had never
seen such a photographic collection of nude men, all
with huge erections and many with their cocks in the
mouths or up the assholes of others. My rod was
noticeably stimulated and Harold's package was putting
a great strain on his slacks with a large wet spot
soaking through. Harold told me that he had actually
been offered a chance to model for this type of
publication and to act in male porno movies, but that
he was afraid that some of the people in town would
recognize him. This was probably a small risk, as our
town didn't even have an XXX type of movie theater, and
porno magazine racks were illegal. This was in a day
before you could rent such movies on video cassette.
Where is the ACLU and freedom of expression when you
really need them?
The weather being comfortable and flying insects
not a problem, Harold suggested that we get out of our
clothes for our little sex game around the camp fire.
Since high school in the open showers, I'd never been
in the buff with another man, and I let Harold be the
first to bare his equipment, which was spectacular
indeed. Only when he stood au natural with his gorgeous
penis straight out in front like a flag pole did I join
him as the second nudist. Almost like a casual hand
shake greeting of straight male friends, we each
wrapped our hands around the other's cock and cuddled
his balls. This was my first touching of another's
pecker. Little did I suspect that his cock would
actually shoot off in my mouth that very evening, and
that I would end up licking it, sucking it, and asking
for more of its ball juice.
As Harold with his admitted homosexuality was the
one of us experienced in man-to-man love, I took my
clue from him, mimicking mirror-like his every move,
wondering what would take place next. Harold suggested
that we lie down on the spread blanket. With his hand
still on my cock, I was in seventh heaven and thought
that I might cum too soon. I didn't want it to be over
that quickly.
Harold proceeded to kiss and suck my nipples and
lick and suck my belly button. Whee, this was
definitely more than a Boy Scout game now, but,
surprisingly, I didn't mind and my Pinky was oozing
pre-cum. It reminded me of some of the male models in
the magazines we had just been gazing at. Harold
started kissing my neck and cheeks, sucked my ear
lobes, and before I knew it he was kissing me on the
mouth, with his tongue swishing around and our cocks
rubbing together. My tongue welcomed his and before I
knew it I was reciprocating, swishing my tongue around
in his mouth. I could never have guessed that kissing
another man could be so exciting.
Needless to say, my cock was now at least an inch
longer than it had ever been before and was dripping on
Harold's belly. Pretending to pout, Harold asked me to
clean up the droplets with my tongue, a taste of my own
pre-cum. Harold then turned me over with my ass up. He
parted my cheeks and said that my buns were the sexiest
he had ever seen, as he started to kiss each cheek,
even licking deep down in the valley where the sun
don't shine. I was doing my best not to cum as he
licked my virginal butt hole, but he said to hold off
and promised that the best was yet to cum.
He swiftly moved his tonguing to my balls, taking
each one separately into his mouth, then both of them
at the same time. My cock dripping became more profuse,
and he proceeded to lick off the head, he said "for the
sake of neatness." Except for the beers and the double
martinis, which slowed me down, I would have shot my
load long before this. But it was simply too much to
hold back when he suddenly deep throated my log all the
way to my balls. I was so far down his throat, with my
nuts resting on his chin, that he probably didn't even
get to taste my cream, for it must have gone straight
into his stomach. When he kissed me this time, however,
I detected the taste and aroma of my very own juice,
which was to become a lifelong addiction.
I don't really know if one who loves cum can be
considered an addict, as in the case of a dope fiend,
but all I can say is that in my later life when I
bloomed into being an active member of the gay
community I never once -- that may bear repetition -- I
never once turned down the chance to give someone a
blow job and swallow their tangy cream, always good to
the last dribble, sometimes followed with a salted soda
cracker! In my high school days after jacking off into
my own mouth, I'd sometimes chase my cum with a 7-Up,
causing my burps to become deliciously aromatic.
To this time, Harold had been the only active one
of us, but his teaching by way of example wasn't lost
on me, and one good turn certainly deserved another.
Although dripping tasty pre-cum, Harold had
successfully held back his load. As a tenderfoot cock
sucker, I wasn't able to take much of his rod into my
mouth. Each time I tried I gagged. Harold told me that
he would teach me how to do it right, but that, if I
was careful not to scratch his cock with my teeth, I
was doing just fine for a beginner. I found that
enthusiasm can make up, at least partially, for lack of
experience. Mostly, I was just licking his piss hole,
sucking the head of his prick, and enjoying his oozing
pre-cum.
He asked me to take it out of my mouth and to lick
around his balls. For the first time, I noticed that
Herald was smooth and perfectly shaven from his belly
button down including his cock, balls, and bung. This
made his asshole smooth to my probing tongue and his
balls easy to slurp in between my lips, although I
wasn't able to get both of them in my mouth at the same
time as Harold had done with my balls. When nestled
deliciously down in his crotch it wasn't much of a trip
to lap around his bung just as he had pleasured me.
This caused his smoothly shaved cheeks to pinch and he
playfully trapped my nose in his crack. I wish now that
I had a picture showing the back of my head trapped in
the crack of his ass while sticking the tip of my
tongue into his smooth hairless butt hole. While my
memory of this first man-to-man experience may not be
totally accurate, I'd swear that my tongue was at least
a good half-inch inside his hairless bung, maybe more.
Who will ever really know? But in later years I became
much more adapt at tongue and cock fucking assholes.
This was, obviously, doing great things for
Harold, who tapped me on the top of my head and told me
it was now cock sucking time, and that he was going to
shoot off a load in my mouth. He knew, of course, that
this was my first time of going down on a prick and
that he hadn't unloaded for the past two or three days.
He warned me that his load would be huge, but that I
should try to swallow as much of it as I was able to.
He said that if I drooled, he would gladly lick me
clean.
It was then that I pulled my tongue out of his
asshole, had him sit up with his back supported by a
nearby tree, and I crawled toward his upright giant
meat. I'd only recently had it in my mouth and knew I
couldn't take very much of it, this my first cock
sucking time. But I managed to tongue back his foreskin
and unclipped head and about four inches of his cock
into my mouth before gagging. I then backed off about
an inch of cock and started going up and down on it in
short strokes. In later years I learned that this is
only a rank beginner's way of pleasuring a cock; but
Harold, to say the least, was both most patient with a
neophyte, and was he ever ready to gush! You bet he was
ready, and my sucking hastened the cum harvest of my
first giving of a blow job.
When his balls tightened up, he gave no more than
a 10-second warning of the cumming explosion, and a
veritable blast it was. I wish I could have caught it
in a measuring cup or a large shot glass, for it must
have set some sort of a record. But my only choice was
to suck the head of his joint and swallow as much as I
could, spurt after spurt, after spurt, after dribble.
Would it ever stop? He was right about the quantity, as
it dripped on my chin and down my chest to my belly
button. True to his word, he thoroughly tongued me
clean of his cum, I licked his cock clean of cum, and
we French kissed to share the treasure trove.
While he was shooting cream in my mouth I was busy
enough trying to gulp it down and couldn't detect any
particular viscosity, texture, or flavor. But when the
tornado blast subsided and I could swish it around a
little, I became a lifelong fan of the liquid cock
blast, known in polite mixed company as semen, a
clinical word depriving it of any pleasure and thought
to be good only for the impregnation of a cunt. In my
later life, next to my own ejaculate, Harold's cream
proved to be the very best in terms of its being smooth
and intriguing to the taste, with the smooth
consistency, but not the relatively dull flavor of
honey or of a heavy maple syrup. I learned to be
grateful that Harold was a non-smoker, as cigarette
smokers' cum is less in quantity, thinner, and has a
distinct, slightly less tasteful flavor. But
fortunately, so far at least, cigarette smokers' jism
hasn't been linked to cancer, such as is the case with
second-hand smoke.
Although it seemed an eternity for my initiation
into the gay life, the evening was still young and too
early to turn in to our double sleeping bag for naked
cuddling. Now a newly initiated cock sucker, I
continued lovingly to caress Harold's balls, tickle his
bung, and play with his recumbent semi-rigid member.
With neither his encouragement nor his reluctance, for
we weren't talking much, I proceeded ever so slowly,
sucking him off again. As he was only partially rigid
at the time, I had the exquisite experience of having
his pecker coming to full bloom alive while in my
mouth. Being only a half hour or so after his gigantic
first load, I was able to swallow his now lesser but
still generous spurting of cream, which I then returned
part of to my new-found lover by mouth-to-mouth French
kissing. We blew each once again before turning in for
the night, and we crowned it off with two 69's the next
morning before breakfast, never wasting a drop of cum,
and with Harold finger fucking my asshole. Although
very tight and a little painful, he actually managed to
insert two fingers up to the middle joint. It was then,
for the first time, that I realized that while getting
sucked off was delightful, I far more enjoyed being the
one doing the sucking and swallowing of the jism.
HAROLD AND JACK - Chapter 2 -
This ended my very first naked man-to-man
weekend. I knew then that my marriage to a woman, a
lesbian at that, had to be ended. Also, if I wished to
catch up and make up for lost time, I had to move to an
area more friendly to cock suckers. For me this proved
to be southern California, where baseball takes a back
seat to unabashed man-to-man love. For the next three
months, while waiting for a court date for my divorce,
Harold and I managed to meet discretely in out-of-town
motels at least twice, sometimes as many as four times
a week for the mutual release of our balls, never
leaving the room, having pizza with anchovies sent in.
Even of you don't like anchovies on pizza, if you are a
real cum lover, anchovies give it an exquisite flavor
enhancement. Try it at least once, and write me if you
don't agree. I then confessed my love for him and my
wanting to be with him forever, but Harold warned me of
making commitments too soon, and that our future in the
radical, small mid-western area was extremely doubtful,
if not dangerous. Although there was the hazard of
possible discovery and getting fired, after hours in
the office we often sucked each other off in the john.
After my long awaited divorce, swearing our
lifelong love for each other, now nearly able to deep
throat him, I tearfully sucked Harold off and kissed
him goodbye and moved to the west coast with its gay
pride and dikes on bikes, etc. It is comfortable to
know that there you will not be ostracized if you admit
to liking an even more than occasional cock sucking
session. Occasionally is a word with different meanings
to many people, but to me it meant, if possible,
sucking off a cock before breakfast, one in the
afternoon, and one before bed time. An opportunity
missed can never be made up, or so it seemed at that
time; and, having gotten a late start, I had many years
to make up.
Following my years of conventional marriage and
almost total abstinence, insofar as cock sucking was
concerned, I had more than a little to do to make up
for lost time. As far as my being sucked off is
concerned, I found that it is impossible to make up
fully for lost time, my own balls simply can't make up
for the lost years of being straight in a loveless
marriage. But on the sucking and swallowing end, the
lost time can be made up in short order with willing
contributors, which was my exact goal.
I later became familiarly known in the
neighborhood as the vacuum cleaner who never wasted a
drop! I made it up to the donors, not by always letting
them blow me, but by tonguing their sweet bungs and
French kissing them with cum in my mouth.
Statistically, I was probably "blowing" cocks ten times
for every time I was getting "blown." This was just
fine with me, as my prime interest was in the cum, and
there was little need for me to jack off as a source of
my own cum.
Not yet approaching queenhood, but past 30, I
found that I had serious competition in my area of
delight. Being new to the gay scene, and -- except for
Harold's one-time exploration with two fingers up my
bung -- with a virginal asshole, I was hesitant to
approach total strangers, some of whom might be plain
clothed policemen. My first love, Harold, who had
stayed back in the closet in my hometown, came to my
rescue by telephone. He knew many of the right people
in my new paradise and explained to them my newness in
the homosexual scene. His first referral proved to be a
tasty experience with the creamiest ball juice, about a
seven and a half inch clipped cock, and a twitching
fuzzy bung. Following my oral servicing of him and his
most casual reciprocation -- during which he actually
seemed bored with it all -- he got me admitted into a
small circle of studs some not more than 18 and some
about my age. Would you be surprised to know that they
were nearly all "immigrants" from the Midwest, just
like me. What a loss of manpower for the Midwest!
Harold's friend, Jim (not his real name) also got
me invited to a small group that met once a week on
Tuesdays for their version of "cordiality," if you get
the drift. I was, of course, happy to see some late
teeners in the group, as they are able to get it up and
shoot with less rest time in between. With one of the
members, who couldn't have been over 18, I kept his
cock in my mouth after he shot and he didn't even go
limp until he had shot again. But those who were even
in their late 50's could still produce at least one or
two good eruptions each session and they didn't have a
hair trigger, which resulted in longer, more satisfying
sucking times. Sometimes though while sucking an
oldster, you had to wonder if he was ever going to
climax before your tongue got worn out. But their long
years experience of giving head turned their snake-like
tongues into a magician's wand, resulting in more than
the usual number of cums for me in an evening. However,
as my main interest in their cock was their ball juice,
I usually opted for the more vibrant youngsters, some
of whom called me Pop or Dad because of the five to
ten-year difference in our ages. It hurt my feelings
when they sometimes preferred one of their own age and
showed little interest in sucking me off or having me
blow them and lick their tender, sometimes fuzzy,
little pink assholes.
After shedding our clothes and when we were all
stripped naked, the group leader introduced each of us
by first names only (probably fictitious), and we had a
drawing for a number from one to eight. I drew number
three, which in this game meant that I would be paired
with number four for the first of that night's games.
All activities were to take place on the carpeted floor
of the room within the sight of all of the others. The
leader said that this was a cock sucking only night,
and there would be no asshole fucking that session.
This was fine with me, as, aside from Harold's two-
fingering my butt, my hole was still virginal, and I
had heard that the first few times of having your
asshole drilled with a stiff cock could be more painful
than enjoyable.
As the lower number (three) of my pair with number
four, I could make any one of three elections: I could
have four suck me off first, and I would then
reciprocate; I could blow him first, and he would then
perform on me; or I could choose to 69. By the rules of
the game number four had no choice but to follow my
choosing, sort of a temporary love-slave relationship.
Being new to the group, I exercised my authority and
ordered him to give me a blow job. After a short
session of licking my asshole and mouthing my balls he
easily deep throated my one-eyed worm. Before he made
me cum, he asked if I'd like to taste my own cream,
which we could accomplish by his not swallowing all of
it and French kissing after my shooting. I had been
about to ask him to let me have some of my cum, but it
was nice of him to volunteer. I later learned that he
expected me to return the favor with a generous
quantity of his jism after I blew him, which I swirled
around in my mouth before returning it to him.
After number four, it was deuces wild, and I put
my arm around the only African American in the group.
What they used to say in the service about the blacks
being more generously hung than us whites sure proved
to be the case with this ebony stud. I don't recall his
name, but his ten and half incher will never be
forgotten. He had drawn a number lower than mine, so he
was my sex slave master and elected to 69. I previously
had succeeded in deep throating a six and sometimes
even a slender seven incher, but his gigantic Shetland-
pony sized dong made me gag when I attempted to put it
down my throat. There was not too much trouble in
swallowing his load, as he had just cum a few minutes
before, and his jism, while still ample, was eagerly
consumed by me without any waste. I got my first
African American jism, which we later mixed by French
kissing for the longest time. Even when blindfolded I
can still always tell if the cream comes from one of
our dark brothers. Not only is the quantity somewhat
greater, but the viscosity and taste are more nutty and
fruit like, possibly a little saltier. With practice, I
was also able to deep throat their somewhat longer and
larger black dongs, permitting them to shoot directly
into my stomach.
I learned that each meeting of the group always
ended with a daisy chain in which all eight naked men
laid on the carpet and sucked off the one in front of
him, arranging, if possible, so that each got a
different cock or bung from that which he may have had
earlier in the evening. I may have lost count, but I
think that I was rewarded with at least four deposits
of ball juice that first meeting night. Fair is fair,
and I must have given up the same number of batches.
This new town was proving to be most interesting
indeed.
My preference continued to be the sucking of
cocks, more than getting sucked off myself. Both were
good, of course, but it was turning out that I was more
of a "suckor" than a "suckee." I had many friends who
didn't object to just getting blown, sometimes daily,
if I would share their juice with a follow-up kiss and
some tongue twirling. Sometimes when I would call on a
friend by appointment in my busy daily cock-sucking
route, he would have invited some unscheduled friends
who also wanted to be serviced with my cunt-like mouth.
If my scheduling for the day permitted the additional
time before my next appointment (for I never liked to
hurry a blow job), I'd give them all a blow job that
they would remember for quite a while. Sometimes I'd go
from cock to cock in the room, keeping them all erect
for a long time, like playing musical chairs, before I
let them unload their jism in my mouth.
The thought of there being either too many cocks
or too much cum in my belly never occurred to me.
Although I've never seen a chemical analysis, even in
the great quantities that I was consuming, cum must not
be fattening, as I never gained any weight from my
consumption of this fragrant nectar, and, gratefully,
I've never had any upset stomach or digestive tract
problems. Wouldn't it be funny if they someday discover
that cum is nature's cure for ulcers and vitamin and
mineral deficiency!
I now found that to be completely accepted in the
gay world, I would have to become part of the anal
action set. As a dedicated cock sucker and butt licker,
I didn't believe that I would ever be interested in
fucking an asshole or in having mine reamed. But my
friends said that I'd nevertheless have to get used to
the pecker plunging of my bung, i.e., anal intercourse
they called it. Aside from Harold's tender two-
fingering years ago, no foreign object had ever been up
butt hole. Imagining some nine incher up my butt was
beyond my imagination; and, if you want to know the
truth, it actually scared the hell out of me. So my
first job was to find the smallest, shortest, thinnest
available cock for the initiation and training of my
still virginal love canal.
I don't think that the person of my choosing was
complimented when I told him why I had chosen him, but
he agreed to break me in to the anal arts. Even with a
mammoth amount of lubrication in and out of my hole and
generously spread on his little dick, with one-, two-,
and even three-finger explorations into my bud, the
slipping in of his little auger the first time, believe
you me, was not my idea of fun. When I complained that
it hurt, he just slapped my ass cheeks with both open
palms until they were red as a beet, like a jockey on a
nag, and said to keep quiet or he would rape me then
and there and make me suck off his shitty dick. It
turns out that he was being as gentle as possible and
he didn't attempt to put it all the way in until the
insertion of his cock head had fully relaxed my
opening. After a few minutes he gently slid the rest of
his rod in all the way to his balls and started gentle
in-and-out fucking motions, stimulating my prostate
gland.
Having relaxed after the complete insertion of his
cock, with his balls resting between my cheeks, "This
is fun," I told my ass fucker. "Why don't you start
longer in and out motions until you cum up my innards
in a blast." This was actually becoming joyful, and I
wondered why I hadn't gotten into this butt fucking
game years before. For a few more training days I got
him to ride me as rough as possible with his tiny
little pecker. The slapping sound of his nuts on my ass
cheeks was a real turn on. I was now no longer cherry
in any of my body cavities. Years after this
initiation, if I had as many cocks sticking out of me
as now have been stuck in me, I'd look like a
porcupine!
I had always thought that butt fucking was done
with the fuckee bent over with his ass in the air like
a bitch dog in heat, but I learned through my initiator
that it was far better with me to be on my back and my
legs up and over the fucker's shoulders. That way he
slips his dong in my bung under my balls until, when
all the way in, our ball sacs can jostle each other's.
Also this way we can even French kiss while he is deep
within my bowels, and I can jack off or he can give me
a hand job at the same time. Why didn't someone think
of this before? While I don't get to slurp up his cum
that way, he gets to lick my belly clean of my cream.
Whenever any of my lovers wore a condom to fuck my
asshole, I could slip it off after he pulled out and
drink his cum from the rubber-- a substantial bonus!
Needless to say, I have now graduated into taking
even the nine and ten inchers up my shute, and am now
the recipient of many invitations where my love hole is
put to good use. I've even been up a few bungs myself,
but truthfully I'd rather be fucked than to fuck, and
cock sucking with the swallowing of the juice continues
to rate, for me at least, far over either being fucked
or sucked. Whenever possible I ask my date not to come
in my ass, so that when he pulls out I can suck him
off. This is, of course, on account of my love of the
jism. If only I could manufacture and bottle this
stuff, it would beat out that most popular soft drink
hands down. However, I must say that ball juice has to
be enjoyed more or less immediately fresh upon
delivery, as even a short exposure to air seems to
oxidize it, rapidly destroying its delicate flavor.
Have you had your break today?
In the days of HIV, it now seemed to me necessary
to settle down to a lifetime mate rather than playing
around at various clubs and the notorious bathes. With
only one partner for the rest of my life, we also could
fuck each other's love holes and suck each other off
without the need of using a condom. While I can
certainly feel a cock with a condom on cumming inside
me and have done so many, many times, there is no
feeling like knowing that the cream is actually
shooting up high and will soon be oozing out between
the cheeks of my ass. Also, having sucked many condom-
covered cocks, I can assure you all that cream shot
directly into the throat and stomach is not only
fresher but is tastier than that retrieved and slurped
later, cold from a rubber with its latex-like flavor.
Whichever way you are doing it now, try the other
way and see if I'm not right. Doesn't it just make good
sense? I'm certainly not advocating risky sex, but when
you know that you have a clean partner, why not enjoy
his love hole as nature surely intended? Why not
consider mating with him for a long-term or lifetime
loving relationship? Don't let a good one get away, for
they are scarce.
It was now five years in my new-found liberal
area, where you didn't have to be straight to survive.
My first gay love mate, from my Midwestern hometown,
Harold, who had sworn to be faithful to me, had finally
either come out of the closet back there or, perhaps,
had been "outed." In any event, he found it
uncomfortable to remain in such a small-minded
homeopathic town and showed up at my apartment door for
an unannounced visit to southern California. I answered
the door fresh from my shower and stark naked
underneath my wrap around terry cloth robe. I couldn't
have been more happily surprised. Harold brought back
memories of our first-time coupling by grabbing me and
giving me the wettest of wet kisses. I playfully
dragged him into my apartment out of the sight of my
nosey neighbors. I dropped my robe, and proceeded to
strip him naked. He dropped to his knees to renew
acquaintances with my now erect cock and cream-filled
balls.
I reminded him of our tent weekend and its
relative discomforts and suggested that we adjourn to
my king-size bed. My apartment is on the second floor,
and I just hope that the energetic romping on my bed
didn't cause the neighbors below any disturbing ceiling
noises. But, to hell with them, nothing was going to
tone down my greeting of my first-love, Harold, and the
greeting I received from him. I even volunteered my
newly found ability to take a fucking from him up my
ass. But for the initial night of our reunion we
contented ourselves with mutual cock and ball sucking,
asshole lapping, and 69ing. He was amazed at my ability
to easily deep throat his giant cock and the hyper
activity of my tongue, all skills learned in the past
few years.
You will recall that I had decided to find a
lifetime soul mate that we could both be faithful to.
Harold was my perfect choice, and I could now teach him
some of the tricks that I had not only learned, but
perfected in my stint in my fruit-filled area. He had
not given it much thought while back home, because a
gay marriage would not have been accepted in that staid
community. The very next morning after his surprise
arrival, while both of us were naked, following my
morning blow job on Harold's cock, I was seated on the
floor in front of Harold in the easy chair. His cock
was now relaxed but always inviting me to suck it
again. I teased it with my hands and gentle blowing of
air in its direction. His pubic hairs wafted in the
breeze. Heaven on earth. No two people could be
happier.
This was time to demonstrate to him that I had
become a very accomplished cock sucker in the past five
years. But first I just had to ask him the most
important question of our lives: "Harold, I love you
more than life. Will you marry me?" A very emotional
person, he immediately began to weep alligator tears of
joy and said that I had just made him the happiest
person in the world. We then stood up, our cocks
rubbing together, and kissed, with our active tongues
in each other's mouths.
Harold then suggested that we seal our engagement
by going back to bed and 69ing. I told him that I
wasn't too much for being the top guy for ass fucking,
but that I'd simply love having him fuck my love hole
while he jacked me off. This became a rather common
routine, that is, after we first blew each other,
Harold would put me on my back, lift my legs over his
broad shoulders and fuck me, always the gentle giant up
to the point of shooting off, when he became a
veritable tiger in his cock plunges while depositing
his load. Although he always enjoyed having me lap his
hole and probe it with my tongue, I actually only
fucked his asshole no more than once or twice. This was
not because of unavailability of his love hole or his
lack of desire to please me to the very utmost, but
simply my preference for being the suckor rather than
the suckee and being his fuckee rather than being his
fuckor. Harold never made fun of me, but always
respected my sexual preferences. Life together with my
lover could not get any better than this. Actually, I'd
always been in love with Harold since I first sucked
off his cock for its juice on our long ago weekend
camping trip.
After our marriage -- actually only a blessing by
a local liberal pastor attended by a few close friends
-- there were the domestic duties to be divvied up
between us. As husbands fuck and wives get fucked, in
my case both in the mouth and in the asshole, and this
was our mutual preference, we decided that Harold was
to be the husband in our new loving relationship, and I
was to be the wife. I had even chosen to take his
surname, and with our close friends I was proudly known
as "Mrs. Harold Black" (again a fictitious name).
"Jack" became "Jackie."
HAROLD AND JACK - Chapter 3 -
Although Harold, as the better cook, continued to
do most of the cooking, I washed the dishes and did the
grocery shopping and tidied up our living quarters with
the dusting and vacuuming, laundry, etc. While at home,
except for our sandals, we were both usually completely
naked, and Harold got a kick out of me wearing my tiny
maids apron, which tied in the back and left my buns
exposed. He never got tired of exploring under my
flimsy garment and checking the state of my rod and
watching whenever I bent over to pick up some trash
exposing my love hole, which he was now making frequent
use of, lapping it lavishly before inserting his tool
for fucking. I always looked forward to getting fucked
by Harold the sensation on my prostate gland was
unbelievable. This alone often made me cum.
We now regularly shaved each other's total body,
except for the hair on our heads. We were totally
smooth and hairless, even to the fuzz around our butt
holes, which could otherwise get caught in your teeth.
The best device for keeping smooth hairless bodies that
we found after much experimentation was a ladies type
cordless electric shaver. However, since the batteries
run down while lovingly going over the whole body, we
needed four of them, which we then recharged for our
weekly shavings. They are even gentle enough for the
balls and the asshole. It usually took about an hour or
two each week for each of us to be completely hairless
and smooth shaven. It could have been quicker except
for our numerous brakes for kissing, licking, sucking,
and fucking. Actually, we were never in a hurry. We
found that pubic hair grows rapidly and the immediate
area of the cock and balls should be shaved at least
every other day to be tongue licking smooth, free of
stubble.
If you think that total body shaving is too
radical, or what your friends at the gym or the beach
might say, start out at first with just shaving each
other's cock and balls. This is an exotic experience,
so don't shave yourself. Shave each other, for heaven's
sake. Also, you would have to be a contortionist to be
able to shave behind your own ball sack and around your
asshole, all critical areas for tonguing and sucking.
Caution: Shaving your lover's balls, for the first time
at least, must be done very carefully, but it is worth
the bother, moving his hopefully stiff cock side to
side for better access to his balls. When smoothly
shaven the balls slip in and out of your mouth easier
and we delightfully discovered permits sucking them
both at the same time.
Together in marriage we both made the most
marvelous discovery, and that was that our sex was a
thousand times more meaningful and thrilling because of
our undying love for each other. Suck offs lingered
longer and butt fucks were tender, sensitive, and more
loving. I always relished having Harold's cock remain
in my large intestines long after he unloaded his
gusher up my butt, and I could sleep spoon shape for
hours with his cock in me before he had to go pee. One
night I playfully didn't let him pull out to piss, and
he gave me a mammoth gushing piss enema! We never had a
serious disagreement, but even with minor matters
(never concerning fucking or sucking, on which we were
always in total agreement) we would tenderly kiss, make
up, and have some form of sex to re-seal our marital
union.
You may remember (and I'll never forget) that on
our first camping weekend Harold had promised to teach
me how to deep throat a cock. While I had gotten fairly
good at it on my knees over the years since, Harold
insisted on perfecting my deep throating technique. He
showed me a trick that I had never thought of before,
which was for me to lie on my back with my head
dangling over the edge of the mattress. He then stood
on the floor with his cock about mouth high. In this
position his cock had a straight shot past my tonsils
and into the top of my esophagus. This permitted him to
bypass my mouth and throat with his cock head and
actually to fuck my throat, in and out, in and out,
always gentle, and cum directly into my stomach. Only
his smoothly shaven ball sac resting on the bridge of
my chin prevented him from going even deeper. This is
about as close as man-to-man sex can come to the feel
of fucking a pussy -- all it lacks is the bush, and in
our perpetually smooth hairless condition I had no
moustache. As I was still more into sucking and getting
fucked, I never got around to trying this fancy deep
throating on Harold, although he fucked my throat this
way often. It actually became the favorite way for both
of us and provided me with a steady source of Harold's
flavorful ball cream.
While typing these intimate memories, I've had to
stop two or three times to cry elephant tears and to
jack off, for you see Harold died a few months ago, a
pedestrian victim of a drunken driver, and I have
remained faithful to his memory at all times since. I
no longer get the ball cream of others, or feel a love
pole up my accommodating posterior, but I continue to
drink my jism daily and never waste a drop of my own
precious cum, my previously admitted teenage and
lifelong addiction.
Being rather tall and slim, with dedicated
practice, I have discovered that while seated in a
wooden chair I can get the bulbous head of my cock in
my mouth for sucking, which permits me to give myself a
half-way decent blow job. Don't laugh, it beats jerking
off. However, my cum hardly ever hits the back of my
throat and still dribbles down the shaft for later
retrieval and enjoyment. I am now committed to keeping
up my practice until I can get much more, possibly some
day all of my cock, in my mouth. If I succeed in doing
this, I'll let you all know.
But now, rather than sitting in a chair, I'm doing
it lying on my back on the floor with my head on a
pillow and my long legs stretched way, way back over my
head as far back as I can possibly get them, touching
the floor with my toes. This position makes it possible
to get more cock in my mouth, presently about four of
its paltry six and half inches and I'm getting better
week by week. When I shoot in this posture I can
swallow it with none of the load running down the shaft
of my cock as happens when doing it sitting up in a
chair. It seems impossible for me ever to be able to
lick my balls and bung, although while sucking I do
massage my balls and finger my hole and often use my
large size vibrating dildo on my prostate gland up my
previously well-fucked asshole.
Sometimes during the day while running errands or
grocery shopping, I'll put in my butt plug before
leaving the house. The large end of the plug is
necessary to keep it from getting lost up my loose
asshole. This is largely sentimental, as the asshole
plug was a present from Harold on my last birthday,
specially designed so that an exterior smooth plastic
fin extends up between my buns providing stimulating
friction while walking. Harold would always moisten the
plug portion by sucking on it before having me bend
over for its insertion and proper placement of the fin
between my cheeks. He said the plug caused my hips to
have a more wife-like swing when I walked. When out
walking together, Harold didn't want anyone to have
doubts as to who was the husband and who was the wife.
As I was his loving wife and would have done anything
to please him, I didn't mind some of the stares that I
got from strangers passing by. It also made me both hot
and ready for Harold's ass fucking as soon as we got
back to our apartment. The dildo is a recent purchase,
as I certainly had no need for it with Harold's
gorgeous cock available for sucking and always ready
for asshole fucking.
If Harold could now look down from Heaven and see
my self-suck-off efforts with the dildo up my ass, I'm
sure he would have a good belly laugh and then
enthusiastically applaud my valiant efforts. Also, I'm
now an active member of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers,
for they deal with the problem that took my beloved
husband away from me long before his time, and made it
necessary for me to suck myself off and to use the
vibrator in my love hole.
Following our marriage, Harold and I put all of
our property in our joint names and made out
appropriate trust and will documents. However, this
didn't keep Harold's long-lost brothers and sisters
from suing to have them set aside. Happily, they didn't
win and I am now the sole beneficiary of Harold's
rather large estate, which I hadn't even known existed.
His double indemnity insurance policy provided prompt
funds which were needed immediately after his accident.
If you cock sucking couples haven't done this sort of
planning, you should see an attorney who is friendly to
your plight right away. The brothers and sisters,
however, were the only beneficiaries of a wrongful
death legal action. The court held that my lack of
recognized legal standing with Harold, i.e., no legal
marriage, prohibited me from participating in the
judgment. This seemed terribly wrong, as I was the only
person in the whole world who loved him.
I think fondly of Harold every time that I put my
cock in my mouth, suck it, and shoot off, or try to
cook some of his very favorite recipes, which I'm doing
right now. Pinky doesn't shoot as vigorously as in my
younger years, but the quality is still there and I
eagerly drink it all. I removed Harold's wedding ring
from the body before burial and now wear one ring on
each hand. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when I
would like to have sucked him off or had my husband up
and deep into my love hole, I wake up and cry. Friends
who see my suffering tell me that this period of
mourning is beneficial. It seems, however, that it will
never end.
My life as Harold's widow drags on. Instead of
flowers, I suggested that his friends make a donation
to Mothers Against Drunk Driving. Thank you all for
your kind and generous thoughts for this lonely old
cock sucker butt fuckee who will never again have the
pleasure of experiencing the feel of his lover's
ejaculating meat in his mouth or deep up and in, never
again to have his love hole fucked and juiced with
Harold's nine plus incher. But, as Shakespeare was wan
to say, it is far, far better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all.
THE END
Postscript:
While only recently rambling through a file of
papers which Harold had meticulously maintained, I
happened upon a sealed envelope addressed to me, with
the notation "To be opened only in the event of my
death." Inside the envelope was a note, entirely in
Harold's handwriting. It read:
"Dearest Jack,
You are the love of my life and the greatest cock
sucker I ever had blow me. I'll never forget my joy in
having my cock buried deep in your love hole. Only
death can ever separate us, one from the other.
However, in the event that I should go first, hopefully
later rather than sooner, I do not wish you to become a
martyr, with the rest of your life becoming lonely and
unbearable. That will not heal your loss. Only your
active reestablishment in the community of our friends
can sustain you. I am now gone. While not forgotten, I
can no longer share your magnificent capacity to exude
love for your fellow men and, in turn, to be the
recipient of their love.
Now I not only release you, but give to you my
blessing and my heart-felt wishes that you have a happy
and fruit-filled life.
Now good bye, my love,
Harold
Thankfully, I have been enthusiastically and
actively welcomed back into our circle of friends, and
am no longer limited to sucking my own cock and having
to use the dildo up my ass. Many times, while enthusi-
astically engaged with one of my old acquaintances and
some of my newly found friends, I close my eyes and as
their cocks swell and cum in my mouth or my asshole I
pretend that it is Harold. The future now seems secure.
With their cock in me I look longingly toward heaven,
I say, "Good bye, Harold, my lover."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 12