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Archive name: bernie.txt (M-gay/m-straight)
Authors name: Lean Mac (leanmac@Hotmail.com)
Story title : Where Are You Now, Bernie, You SOB.

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Where Are You Now, Bernie, You SOB. (M-gay/m-straight)
By LeanMac@Hotmail.com

***

This story is true, every last word of it. And it has 
been leaving me with the question, "why?" for many years. 
Let me tell you what I am. I'm a straight white male 
Scorpio, twice divorced, father of three, addicted to 
women, and now single with a lovely girlfriend close to 
my age. I've never cheated on my women.
 
 I'm not as great in bed as I once was, but I look good 
for my age, and women 30 years younger still ask me to 
call them. My sexual addiction for women has gone 
unchanged--or maybe even increased substantially--over 
the years.

I love sexy young women. I download pictures of them 
whenever I can. I have special ones like Liz Hurley, Elle 
McPherson, Jane Seymour, maybe one I spotted on the 
street. I fantasize only about women, and they give me 
pleasure. I'm not sexually attracted to men.

But once when I was very young and inexperienced, a 
sexual predator took advantage of me, and to this very 
day, I ask myself: "Why did I let it happen?" 

First, let me explain, readers (and I'm assuming most of 
you are far younger than I), that when I was 21, most 
young women, and most young men, were virgins until they 
got married! Oh, there were always "studs" and what we 
used to call "easy women," but the large majority of 
young women and men saved themselves for their 
honeymoons!

And so, (there were no drugs readily available) young men 
got drunk, and lied to their buddies about last night's 
date! (Women probably did the same!) Mostly, though, 
young guys like myself came home from a date very 
frustrated and very hard. Thank goodness for 
masturbation! 

When I was around twenty, I started working for a big 
company. One of the guys in my department was a damned 
good creative writer after working hours, having sold 
several stories and books. When I told him I liked to 
write short stories, he expressed a keen interest in 
seeing them. The guys in my department all respected 
Bernie as a co-worker.

He was (apparently) happily married (I met his wife; she 
was attractive!), had children, and was in his mid-
forties. He was rarely without a cigarette, like many 
people in those days. An average looking guy, what little 
hair he had was closely cropped to his head, and he had 
thick glasses and an ever-present "five o'clock shadow." 
He spoke gently, but was solidly built. In those days, 
very few people said, "Hey, I'm gay and damned proud of 
it!" 

Bernie, though, exhibited characteristics of a gay man... 
in his walk, his talk, his mannerisms. The guys in my 
department were all older than I, good natured, and 
worldly. They never said cruel things to or about Bernie, 
and I think he enjoyed their light teasing!

Maureen Antonio was my first love! She worked in another 
department, and was a perfect mix of Irish and Italian, 
with piercing blue eyes and a natural tan, Tall, slender, 
dark haired and mysterious, she looked very much like the 
sultry and beautiful Ava Garner, still one of my all-time 
favorites! Maureen was a "poor man's Ava Gardner." 

The problem with Maureen (or was it me?) was that she was 
a very experienced young woman, to say the least. I went 
"steady" with her for four months, and we kissed and 
hugged and pawed very passionately. I was always ashamed 
and embarrassed at the massively aroused penis that 
always pushed at her belly, but I never opened my pants. 
I know now that her little rule was that the man had to 
make the first move. Times have changed!

At one time during our relationship, her grandmother, 
whom Maureen idolized, died unexpectedly. I attended the 
funeral with Maureen's family and parents. Only one 
person was missing from the funeral... and missing for 
about three days: Maureen. When she finally showed up, 
told me that her old boyfriend "Pete" had flown in 
unexpectedly from California, and had called her.

"He's not much to look at," Maureen admitted, "You're 
much better looking! But whenever he's here, I have to be 
with him!" And when we split up, she told me: "Someday 
I'll marry you, but only after you've had experience."

Hey, guys and girls, times were different then! And to 
make matters even worse, I was a catholic (still am). I 
really don't think I was afraid of "hurting God," but 
rather of being doomed to hell. 

Young people didn't make much money in those days, and I 
lived in the tiny one-room loft of a house owned by an 
older couple. No townhouses, no condos, no high-rise 
apartments then, mostly just boarding houses and private 
residences. One day, Bernie came over unexpectedly to 
look at some of my short stories. I didn't have much 
furniture, so we both sat on my bed. Bernie sat awfully 
damned close. But, being extremely naive, I didn't get 
the message. 

My parents lived a couple of hours away, and I used to go 
home on weekends. But this was a bad weekend. Maureen had 
dumped me. Bernie approached me before the day's end, and 
asked if I could drop him off in New York City, on my way 
to my parents' house. His car had broken down, so he 
said. I agreed.

He knew I liked swimming, and somehow he talked me into 
checking out a mens' "bath house" in Greenwich Village 
with him. It had an indoor pool. We both signed in at the 
front desk, and I used my real name. I don't know if 
Bernie did. I had no bathing suit with me, nor did anyone 
else. Everyone in the pool was naked! As we sat on the 
side of the pool, Bernie studied my body.

I asked him if I had a decent one. That was a stupid 
question, but I was always self-conscious, and uncertain 
because Maureen had ended our relationship. I have always 
worked out, but I thought I was too tall and slender 
then. Bernie said I had a fine body.

We left the pool area and passed through a huge, very 
dark room where dozens of young men were moaning and 
writhing on the floor with each other. I heard one young 
man ask another what was wrong. "I'm just not feeling 
well tonight," was the reply. I could barely see them, 
but we walked gingerly to avoid stepping on them. Some 
hands grabbed at my legs! I didn't realize they were 
screwing each other!

Bernie led me to a small room that had a bed, and said, 
"You're very tense! Let's relax a while!" 

By now, I was starting to feel uneasy. "Bernie," I said, 
"It's getting late and I have to get home! My parents are 
expecting me!"

"Just relax for a while," he said soothingly. Our clothes 
were in a locker somewhere else, so I sat down on the 
bed, covering my private parts with a flimsy towel. 
Bernie sat next to me, and questioned me about Maureen. 
He knew Maureen. Everyone knew Maureen. All the guys in 
my department kidded me about her being a whore. I told 
him she had dumped me, and I started crying!

My emotions wanted to explode! Bernie told me to just lay 
back and relax, and gently pushed me backwards on the 
bed. I will never forget the foul smell of his cigarette 
breath as he put his face near mine. No, he didn't try to 
kiss me, but he removed the towel that covered me and 
began stroking my cock!

"No, Bernie!" I said, but he continued until it was 
hugely erect. With a sharp motion, his deft fingers 
pulled down my uncircumcised foreskin, and then eh 
tightened them around my penis. "No! No! Bernie! Please!" 
I cried, but then I began moaning and my breath became 
shallow and I stopped trying to fight him off.

In a few moments, my sperm was exploding into his hand 
and on the bed sheet. I was very quiet after that, and he 
didn't make any further attempts that night. I dropped 
him off wherever he was going, and headed home.

On Saturday, I went to confession. 
 
Sure enough, on Tuesday evening, Bernie showed up 
unexpectedly at my door. I have always wondered what the 
old couple downstairs thought of me! He tried to enter, 
but I gently pushed him outside, and that was the end of 
it. 

But not of my thoughts! Every now and then, I ask myself 
"Why?" 

Since then, I've managed to enjoy a bunch of 
relationships with women (only), took the vows twice (was 
never unfaithful), and have continued to enjoy my sexual 
fantasies involving beautiful women! But I can never 
forget what happened that night.

No, I'm not yearning for a repeat. I Just keep asking 
myself why? Why didn't I stop him? Did I enjoy what 
happened? Was it a consensual act by both of us? Or did 
he simply take advantage of my innocence?

I don't know you, reader, and you don't know me. What's 
your opinion? Was it a form of rape? Or did I appear to 
encourage him?

Every word of this story is true. And it has taken me 
many years to tell it. Write to me at 
LeanMac34@Hotmail.com.

The End

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 17