in my late teens I knew I was sexually attracted to other men. I didn't hide it but I didn't wear a neon sign. Since then, it didn't matter to me that my friends, families and every job I've had knew.
The word gay, for me, meant only that I was sexually attracted to some men, nothing more nothing less.
I guess it made other guys comfortable expressing their curiosity and whatever degree of same sex attraction they had with me.
I met Henry in my early thirties at work. He was married, friendly and had one of those muscular square builds that some guys are born with.
We became friendly in the way I guess straight guys are friendly. We'd have lunch on occasions. See movies, or go for beers. I didn't think a lot about it. I didn't have many friendships like that so I enjoyed it for what it was worth.
Things gradually grew more intimate. He'd come to my apartment (I lived alone) and hang out and he'd invite me over to his house, usually when his wife was away for an extended time.
I began to sense that there was something he needed to express. One night he brought pictures of a camping trip he'd taken with his wife. There were pictures of him naked after a swim. I couldn't help but notice his handsomely round ass, and furry dark blonde mat of chest hair. Another time he brought a massage book with illustrations of men masssaging men. It was a legit book and had a page on massaging a penis and the areas around the cock and balls. He asked if I wanted to give each other massages. I said sure. With that bridge crossed we stripped down to our jockey shorts and he started massaging. He was genuinely meticulous and had a great touch. When he got to my waist, he very gently removed my underwear. It felt intimate but not aggressive sexually. He continued moving down to my butt cheeks back of the legs and the area high up around my balls brushing against them as he worked.
Well, I got a major hardon pressing against the floor beneath, and even felt a flow of precum . Under the circumstances, I didn't figure it was out of place. It was exhilerating having this burly dude's hands all over me.
When he told me to turn over my cock was there in all it's glory. The mutual massage continued and my erection was constant as I worked on him. Not surprising his prick grew as stiff mine. Straddling him working on his chest, my precum would drip on him. When I got to his cock I took both his and mine in my fist and pumped gently up and down getting them both slick. It was so amazing I felt dizzy and seiously needed to cum. After, I jerked us off cock to cock, he took his in hand and we both started stroking ourselves. Seeing his body and having this intimate, intensely masculine moment was awesome. It felt so perfect and natural to build to orgasm and blow my wad on his furry chest. My cum fell on his fist as he stroked faster and faster and his cock erupted too all over his chest and belly. We didn't say anything. Didn't need to. I grabbed my t-shirt and began wiping the jism off him and me. We sat up and just basked in the post-orgasm glow. It felt natural and freeing to be close to him naked.
Our active friendship lasted several years. Whenever we knew we could be alone we'd get together. It became easy to strip down to our briefs and sit on the couch, talking (he spoke often of his wife, clearly he loved her), watching tv, and just enjoy the closeness. Inevitably, we'd lose the jockey shorts and jerk off. We'd stroke each other which felt awesome and bonding. When we were ready to cum, we'd take ourselves in hand and stroke ourselves till we shot our thick white loads. I loved watching him lose himself in that ecstatic male moment.
He and his wife ended up having a son and daughter. He seemed to have no problem with our friendship and his family life. He wad proud to be a dad. We never once talked about our physical relationship. Not out of shame or guilt, but because we both deeply understood the need for sharing our bodies and selves with another guy. Some things between two men don't need words.