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“John, please don’t shut me out of your life.”
He was blocking the path to the door. There was no way around him. I knew this moment would come, but I wasn’t ready for a face-to-face confrontation with Denny just yet. I wanted more time.
“Please believe me,” he said. “I never said a word to anyone about us — what is there to say? We had dinner a couple times — that’s all there is…you know how gossip turns into rumors…I’ve never spoken to anyone about my feelings for you, please believe me.”
The look of desperation on his handsome face and the pleading in his voice tugged at my heart strings. I wanted to believe him — I needed to believe him.
My eyes became misty with tears and I turned my head so he wouldn’t notice.
I knew deep down this conversation was stupid and unnecessary, but the guilt and shame I felt from my dirty little secret stopped me cold. At that moment I hated everything about my life.
I hated the fact I was gay. I hated my father for making me feel scared and ashamed. I hated I couldn’t be around people without becoming paranoid. I hated everyone who thought gay people were some kind of abnormal species.
But most of all I hated myself.
I was a coward and a fool. A slithering snake had more backbone than me. I had no character — no integrity. I was a simpering little faggot who let the opinions of others determine how I lived my own life.
I wanted to run out of the room and hide but Denny was blocking the exit. I tried to squeeze by him.
“Please,” I finally said out of desperation. “…please, I have to leave….”
His strong hands on my shoulders held me in place.
“Johnny, look at me,” he said firmly.
I didn’t want him to see me like this but I had no other choice if I wanted to get out of the room. I lifted my head and looked at him through the clouds in my eyes.
‘John,” he said, “I know what you’re going through, I went through it, too…I know how hard it is to accept who you are…you’re in a dark place right now and I want you to understand I’m here for you…I want to help you through this…when you’re ready, please call me, alright?”
I lowered my head, vigorously nodded ‘yes’ then pushed my way past him and fled to the nearest door. I didn’t want him to see the river of tears running down my cheeks.
The brisk, autumn night air felt good on my overheated face. I was able to block all the negative thoughts from my mind and concentrated on walking fast so I could get home as soon as possible and hide from the world behind the locked door of my apartment.
“Pssst…” I heard Lane from the bushes.
I knew why he was there and what he wanted. My immediate reaction was disgust. I hated him for being a coward hiding in the bushes.
What a pathetic queer, I thought. Has he no self-respect?
When he came out from the bushes I saw the familiar ballcap pulled low over his eyes shielding his identity should anyone walk by and see us.
My blood pressure rose; I was becoming angry. It was a strange emotion for me. I rarely got mad at anyone much less experience the kind of seething rage that was now growing inside me.
I quickly unlocked the doors and we were in my apartment. He made a move to hug me but I’d have none of it.
“Get your clothes off and get into the bedroom,” I said in a harsh tone.
“Oooo-goody….” he smiled.
His faggoty behavior pushed me over the edge.
“STRIP NAKED — NOW,” I yelled at him.
I could tell by his eyes that he wasn’t sure if this was a game, or if I was seriously angry, but he immediately began undressing. When he was nude, I grabbed his scrotum and pulled him into the bedroom.
I guided him to the massage table and told him to lie down on his stomach. I fastened the straps to his ankles and wrists then tightened the waist strap until he was helplessly secured to the table.
There was surprise on his face when I shoved the thick penis gag against his lips, but he could tell I meant business and opened his mouth.
I stood to the side of him and caressed his ass cheeks. I loved stroking his soft flesh but this time was different. A strong resentment towards him was growing inside me. I hated the way he obediently submitted to my demands yet couldn’t be seen with me in public.
What a hypocritical prick, I thought.
I’ve known him for weeks and he still wears that stupid ballcap pulled over his face so no one will recognize him when we’re together. The chickenshit still hides in the bushes like a scared worm and won’t come out until we’re alone.
I raised my hand high in the air and brought it down hard with a SMACK on his creamy white ass cheek. I felt a thrill of power and dominance over this meek and mild queer-boy.
I couldn’t help myself, I lost control. I wanted to punish him. This lying, hypocritical faggot was so ashamed of his feelings for men it made me sick.
SMACK — SMACK — SMACK — SMACK — SMACK….
The penis gag muffled his cries. I spanked him hard, over-and-over-and-over….
His gaziantep travesti cries of pain suddenly turned to moans and groans. I reached under the table and found his hard, throbbing cock. It infuriated me. The little faggot loved being spanked!
My blood rose to a fever pitch. I saw nothing but a blinding white light before my eyes. I was overwhelmed by rage, an illogical hatred.
The harder I spanked him the more he seemed to like it. I was angry and frustrated. I wanted to punish him, not give him pleasure.
My hand became numb. The cheeks of his ass were glowing red. My hard prick screamed to be released from my pants.
I found the motor on the side of the table. I separated the legs of the table until they were as far apart as they would go. I stood between his open legs.
I was in a trance. Nothing was real. I opened my belt and pushed my slacks and briefs to the floor.
My hand somehow found massage oil and poured some on my erection. I covered my prick with oil then stepped forward until the head of my cock pressed against his defenseless anus.
I had no intention of preparing his hole for my assault. This wasn’t supposed to be a pleasure fuck… no, I wanted to punish him. I wanted to hear him squeal like a stuck pig.
His sphincter tensed as I pressed into him to gain entrance. I pinched his tortured ass cheek until he yelped into the gag and his muscles relaxed.
I buried my cock inside him in one motion. He howled into the gag. I pressed my wiry pubic hair into the raw flesh of his reddened asscheeks.
I counted to five then slowly withdrew my prick to the tip then rammed it hard back into him. He frantically rolled his head from side-to-side as I fucked his dry hole as brutally as I possibly could.
Strange and exotic noises escaped his stuffed mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head as I furiously thrust my aching cock in-and-out of his tightly clinging asshole. I fucked him as long and hard as I could.
When I realized his groans were of pleasure, not pain, and how much he loved being cruelly sodomized, I flew into a rage so deep and strong I really did want to hurt him.
I shoved my cock into the lying, hypocritical faggot as forcefully as I could, but his groans of pleasure made me angrier than I’d ever been in my life.
Suddenly his body stiffened, he shouted into the gag. He jerked and spasmed and bucked against the restraints and I knew he was cumming.
His wild cries and contortions sent me careening off the cliff, too. I furiously pumped huge loads of hot cum into his asshole.
When my balls were finally empty, I collapsed onto his back. It was then the cold, hard ugly truth smacked me up-side the head with the force of a ball-peen hammer.
It was MY thoughts and behavior that made me so angry — not Lane. It was ME who I hated more than anything — not Lane. And worst of all, it wasn’t Lane who was a lying, hypocritical little faggot — IT WAS ME.
My dirty little secret was driving me mad with irrational thoughts causing me to lash out at Lane with unnatural and illogical behavior.
I was talking and acting like a complete fool, pure and simple.
Afterwards, we lay naked together in my bed. His head resting on my chest, rising and falling with every breath I took. I absentmindedly stroked his face and hair as my mind tried to understand my horrific actions.
The first thing Lane had said when I’d removed the penis gag was “Wow, Johnny — that was the best ever….”
He’d actually thought the furious spanking I’d given him was part of a sex game. I decided it wouldn’t serve any useful purpose to tell him the truth. I didn’t want him to know I’d completely lost control of myself.
I played amateur psychologist and figured out why he loved the spanking so much: the spanking fulfilled a need inside him to be punished for his love of other men; for the shame and guilt he felt for being gay.
Lane rose until his face was close to mine. He kissed my lips, gently at first, then more insistent, forceful. Our tongues danced together as his hands caressed my chest and belly.
His wonderful hand stroked my thighs until I was hard again. His hot breath in my ear caused my erection to jump and twitch.
He whispered in my ear, “I love you,” then slowly kissed his way down my body until he was kneeling between my open legs.
When his warm, moist lips slid over my glans and he sucked my entire cock into his mouth, all was forgotten. I lay back and closed my eyes and shut everything out of my mind except the exquisite pleasure he gave me with his mouth and hands.
The next day the football team flew out of town for a Saturday road game. That meant I had four nights free from tutoring. I immersed myself in schoolwork. For whatever reason, I always wanted to be at least two-weeks ahead in all my classes.
Friday night Lane had a swim meet on campus. I wanted to go watch him, but he wasn’t comfortable with that.
“Johnny,” he said. “Please, don’t be angry with me…it’s just that, well…you know….”
“I’m not mad,” I told him, “I understand.”
The events center where the meets were held was just down the street from me. When I heard crowds of people walking by my building I knew it was over and I went online to check the results.
Lane had easily won his five events. All his times were close to the records in each event. I smiled. I felt good for him; I was proud of him.
Sometimes I forgot he was an amazing athlete just like Denny. He was so soft spoken and humble, it was hard imagining him participating in high-pressure competition.
He called me Saturday morning. I congratulated him and praised his performance. He responded with his typical “Aw shucks, it was nothing” Kentucky-style humility.
“Do you want to see a movie tonight?” he asked.
“Yes, I’d like that,” I said.
We agreed on a movie we both wanted to see then made small talk.
Finally he said, “Okay, I’ll pick you up at six…maybe we can have dinner before the movie?”
I was confused.
“Why do we need to drive?” I asked him, “…the theater is two blocks away.”
He paused and I heard him clear his throat.
“Well, uh…I was thinking of going to the ‘Northtown’ multiplex…there’s an Asian restaurant there I’ve always wanted to try…”
The theater he was talking about was twenty miles away on the other side of town. I knew instantly why he wanted to go there: we wouldn’t run into anyone he knew there. I felt a brief flash of resentment but it quickly disappeared.
It began to sound like a good idea to me, too. There would be no chance for any of Denny’s friends to see me with another guy.
Lane and I are birds of a feather, I sadly thought. We’re pitiful….
I prepared a small lunch then turned on the television. The football team was now ranked number two in the country and commanded national television coverage every week.
It was fun listening to the announcers talking about guys I knew and had contact with every day.
It was another blow-out win. Our guys played their usual tough-nose defense while our offense scored at will. Denny made twelve catches and scored three touchdowns. The only balls he didn’t catch were the ones thrown out of reach over his head.
Afterwards, I sat there beaming at the television screen. I wore a silly grin. I was hoping they would interview Denny.
Instead, as usual, they interviewed Todd the Quarterback. He said the normal clichés, praising his teammates, and it took him a long time, but he finally singled out Denny for his great play.
“Goldilocks is the greatest receiver I’ve ever played with — if the ball is anywhere near him he catches it.”
Then the pretty, female sideline reporter asked: “Is there any tension or animosity towards Denny Johnson in the locker room?”
The hair on the back of my neck stood straight.
Did she just ask that? I wondered.
Todd, in all his glorious innocence responded, “Why would there be?”
She stared coldly at Todd and said, “Do the guys feel uncomfortable when Denny Johnson is in the shower room with them?”
The question blind-sided Todd. Panic and confusion spread over his face.
He stuttered and said, “Well, ah…I don’t know what you mean….”
“You know darn well what I mean,” she said.
Todd stared at her a couple seconds then abruptly excused himself ending the interview before she could ask another question.
A jolt of fear ran up my spine. I suddenly became very afraid for Denny.
Why the hell would she ask a question like that? What does that have to do with the way he plays football?
I shut-off the television in disgust. I sat in silence wondering what repercussions the interview may have for Denny.
My cell phone startled me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hoped it was Denny, but it was Lane. He started talking before I could say ‘hello’.
“You know, Johnny, I was thinking…I don’t know if I really want to see a movie tonight…I have an exam on Monday I should really study for….”
“You saw Todd’s interview on tv, didn’t you?” I asked.
There was silence for a full ten seconds before he spoke.
“How could she say that on national television? She outted Denny to the whole country! What a terrible thing to do….”
I was confused. “What do you mean ‘outted’ him? Everyone knows he’s gay,” I said.
“John,” he said in a low voice, “Denny has never admitted he is gay…everyone just assumes he is…he never denies it, but he doesn’t admit it either. Do you know what this could do to his Pro career?”
It was my turn for silence. I began to tremble and shake. It felt like I had a million ants crawling on my skin.
“I’m sorry…” he continued. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the movie…”
I understood his fear. We were very much alike. We both were deathly afraid people would discover our dirty little secret.
“Well, you know, two guys going to a movie together doesn’t necessarily make them homosexual,” I said sarcastically.
“The theater is twenty-miles away…” I said, trying to be a calming influence. “We’re not going to see anyone we know.”
He paused then said, “Okay, but instead of the Asian restaurant, maybe we can just grab a burger on the way….”
“Yeah, that would be fine,” I replied. “See you at six?”
“Sure…would you wait for me under the big tree down the street from your building?” he asked in a hollow voice.
I stared at the wall across from my sofa. A crushing wave of sadness overwhelmed me when our conversation ended.
Lane, Denny and me, I thought. We can’t help it if we prefer to be with guys…that’s the way we are.
Why do we have to hide in bushes and shadows and drive clear across town to be with someone we like? This isn’t right.
It wasn’t until after the movie and we were safely in Lane’s car driving home that we both relaxed. The evening seemed more of a clandestine spy operation than a ‘date’.
Lane wore his ballcap pulled low over his face the whole night, even inside the dark theater. He never once looked anyone straight in the eyes.
For my part, when we were in public, I bowed my head and surreptitiously glanced around us, surveying the crowd for ‘hostile’ faces. That is, anyone we might know.
It was a sorry spectacle, to be sure, but after what we saw on television that afternoon, I was feeling just as paranoid as Lane.
“I hate this…” he said softly. “Criminals walk around in public all the time, but when we see someone, do we wonder if they’re a killer or thief by the way they dress or act?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “or how about when you’re with someone you know and they suddenly say ‘I heard so-and-so might be gay’ and then they always add ‘but that doesn’t bother me’…if it doesn’t bother them, why the hell say it in the first place?”
“Oh, yeah,” he chimed in, “and then there’s the guys who say ‘I don’t care if someone is gay — as long as they don’t hit-on me.”
“Yeah, and they’re usually the repulsive guys who couldn’t get laid in a women’s prison,” I quickly replied.
“People are horrible,” he said.
“They’re the worst,” I agreed.
We fell into a fit of laughter and the mood inside the car lightened considerably.
When Lane made a left turn instead of right, I knew immediately where he was taking us — Penis Park — the place where we’d met.
“Mmmm, nice idea,” I said, “it’s been a long time since we made-out in the car….”
I heard him breathe a sigh of relief. He probably thought I was going to chastise him for not going to my place. I was beyond that now. I completely understood what we were up against.
He found the darkest parking place and shut-off the car then moved from behind the steering wheel until he was close beside me.
We clung to each other as we kissed. Our mouths were hot and moist. The kisses were passionate, sometimes sloppy. The hunger we felt for one another was palpable. Our tongues embraced.
We worked feverishly at each other’s jeans until they were open. Our hands slid inside and found our hard cocks. We stroked and caressed each other until our flesh throbbed and hunger and desire consumed us.
Lane was the first to lower his head. I sat back and closed my eyes.
He sucked me with an urgency that was new. Usually he’d kiss and lick and tease my turgid pole, not this time. He frantically bobbed his head up-and-down as he squeezed and stroked my cock. His tongue made my cock tingle and twitch.
He was on a mission to make me cum, and I wasn’t going to disappoint him.
I moaned, “Oh-God—oh-God—oh-God….”
When his hand found its way under my shirt he kneaded and pinched my nipples. I couldn’t hold back any longer. The whole thing lasted less than three minutes.
His mouth became a voracious vacuum sucking the cum straight out of my balls. I heard him gulping down my semen and thought it was the sexiest sound ever. My eyeballs rolled back in their sockets. My body jerked and bucked.
When he’d totally drained me, and my prick shriveled in his mouth, his tongue lovingly lapped-up my remaining juices.
He raised his head and I immediately kissed his wet and sticky lips. I licked at his tongue, tasting my discharge.
When I lowered my face to his crotch, his fresh and manly aroma made me swoon. I took as much of his cock in my mouth as I could.
From the moment I began sucking, he strained to cum. His urgent, upward thrusts, forcing more and more of his hardness inside me until it bumped the back of my throat.
I had other ideas, though.
Holding his scrotum in one hand, I raised and lowered my head as fast as possible until I felt his balls contract and his body stiffen. My thumb and forefinger encircled the flesh above his balls and gently pushed them back down in his sac.
Orgasm denied, he whimpered with frustration.
It was then I used my lips and tongue to bring him the ultimate pleasure. His groaning became non-stop. I sucked him slowly, thoroughly. My tongue never rested.
Each time I flattened my tongue over his slit and lapped-up the pre-cum, his body tensed then relaxed. I had complete control over his pleasure.
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