The Problem With My Virginity

The question of virginity, mine, was only a question of not only when but who. I knew I was gay, told my family from whom I got a kind of….uninterested reaction, “That’s nice, dear”. As opposed to the stories I’d heard about other guys who ‘came out’, of the closet this felt more like I’d come out of the kitchen. Oh, the worst, the absolute worst, Mom said she’d leave extra bottom sheets in my room so I wouldn’t have to sleep on messy semen. SEMEN, for Christ’s sake, semen. She had the technical vocabulary, book and verse and used it every time there seemed to be a moment to use it. Told I was going to Phil’s, my cousin, she produced a selection of condoms-seems Phil had made an announcement to his family as well. The condoms were unnecessary; If there was one partner for the opening unto a full sexual life no guy wants, it’s his cousin. Ask around, you’ll find I’m right about that one.

My family tis of thee! sweet land of stupidity of them I cringe!

Worse came when they started to be ‘of assistance’. You’ve read about it, probably here, when the father and son jerk off together? The night my Dad appeared, wearing his bathrobe-over nothing-carrying a jar of some lube he’d bought, on the suggestion of the pharmacist, at the drug store  as well as two boxes of Kleenex. Lets just say he got it up, splattered on those sheets Mom carefully laid out then finished by saying, “Sorry sport, maybe you need to be older.” I was Nineteen. If I had a list of things I really didn’t want to do, added to it was jacking off with dear old Dad. Phil got a little luckier, his Dad found and bought a CD on how to masturbate with long sections of demonstration of the various methods suggested; That got some traction.

Did we discuss this? You bet and the main conclusion  we reached was that...we lived in suburbia. All the guys in all the porn stories we read did not get their cherry plucked while living at home with their parents as a sort of cheering section. It was made clear to both of us that if we wanted to bring some kid (KID!!! for crying out loud) to have sex, fine with them, just try and keep the noise down or, it’s a good idea,  (only a good idea only if you’re them) set up some sort of sex room in the basement. The precursor, I guess, to being older and having a ‘Man Cave/sex dungeon (We’d seen them on porn flicks.)’.

I guess we could have tried to fuck each other but...your cousin? Uh, no. Also, we wanted the person who cherried us to know how to do it and, hopefully, do it well. Tell you something, you can watch porn until the  cows come home but you won’t learn how to fuck. Why? Well, you may have noticed that when you hit the ‘play’ button, they already are; Some one is hard, some one has their ass opened, peeled and winking so hard you’d think they were constipated. Not to mention they already knew how to do it and do a lot more than we wanted to do, well, at first. And that’s just the simple, in and out, up and down. No gang bangs, no three, four or five ways, just us. With copies of ‘dirty’ magazines for gay men Phil’s Mother, his mother for Christ’ sake, found and “just picked these up for you, dear”. Jeez. I wouldn’t have bought them if disguised as a gay Rabbi walking on a cane and wearing sun glasses so thick...but his mom could buy what were thought to be instructive; I’ve seen better photographed amateur porn. Probably stunned the cashier when she explained, and we knew she did as she asked him, if these were the better ones or did she miss some?

Forget a too helpful family, we’d done what we thought we needed to do to attract...someone. Worked out, I’d played Varsity Soccer, Phil had won a couple of state championships in swimming-the breast stroke so you can figure out his rack was primo. In my short shorts with a jock I’d sabotaged so my nuts fell out, if not on command, at least periodically, jumping, twisting...and I was well hung so there was considerable to drop out. Also, those shorts were that, short. For his part, he wore a Speedo that barely, and I’m not kidding here, barely covered what absolutely, according to the NCAA, had to be covered, was. Nothing. Not a coach, not a Ref, not another player, not a spectator did more to either of us than punch us in the bicep and say something inane like, “Hey, dude, good game, huh.” With my nuts bouncing up and down as I raced down the field, a spectator should have noticed and licked his lips….more likely licked a snow cone.

Oh, and the age thing. Okay, we got it, up to a point we weren’t legal however anxious and willing to step over that point we were but now, almost nineteen. Wanna hear worse? Neither of us had ever even had a fucking boyfriend. No kiss, no grope, no suggestion of what they’d like to do as soon as the car stopped, once the lights went out, when we got home.  Correction, when I won the individual player medal at State, one of the presenters, from South America, kissed me on both cheeks.

To be fair, Phil and I had tried making out but...on your cousins bed who still has sheets expressing fan dom for Ninja Turtles-mine were no better, I had Superman-it’s not quite like someone you really care for, I mean, care for in a sexual way; I was fond of Phil, I’d better be as things were going he and I were apparently going to be the last men on planet Zort and, through a strange trick,  by fucking could repopulate the planet. We spent a lot of time with each other, to the point that if a parent was looking for one, they’d find both.

Back to making out. We’d peel and sleep together. In the nude. We took showers together in the nude, we felt each other up, both nude and clothed. It’s still your cousin. One of the absolutes of porn is that nobody is wearing clothes. So we didn’t. Slept great, happened, once, the air conditioning had blown and nude, with no top sheet was pleasantly cool just not very sexy.

Under other circumstances the problem might have been solved if we’d gone away to school. You know, get our own apartment, find other guys on campus who were gay, we read about LBGTQ groups all the time but….they seemed more political than sexual and, frankly, maybe we expected too much, group pictures weren’t real encouraging-for a group pushing ‘queer’ they looked queer enough but in a strange non-sexual way. Plus, it would happen to us, one of the best schools in the nation was a slow twenty minute drive from our homes. Could we have wangled our parents into letting us get an apartment? Maybe but….our parents, unwittingly undercuting our desire to lose the stigma of virginity, had said that as long as we stayed in school, that was more important than work so without work we couldn’t have afforded to share the rent on a dog house. Plus, I’m reluctant to say this but…. free food, grazing privileges in the fridge, plus laundry…..We didn’t talk about living at home much...we knew, privately, it was a trade off between possible dick meat and real pot roast so it wasn’t discussed, that getting out to some sort of exposure to MEN who would be happy to fuck us….just not in our own bedrooms with our folks down stairs, with another couple, playing bridge.

To compensate for lack of work, we each got fifty a week, they’d pay for our gas. And that was another thing; Assuming we had some hopes of stud-dom, riding around in an aging Dodge just doesn’t cut it.

Our refuge from “understanding parents” was the library; It was quiet, no one looked for us to hand out dildos (yes, Mom again) and inadvertently, they had a better quality porn than that which came in plain brown envelopes. Or wrappers. One of the assistant librarians had been a paratrooper until, as he put it, “..the plane came down before I did...” cost him his right leg. As with many who have lost a limb, he and his prosthetic had become great friends and, apart from occasionally using a cane, you’d never know he was missing anything. In a quiet way, he became our purveyor of a literary sort of smut-first warning us that no matter what your sexual preference, “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” was only slightly more arousing than “The Morals And Dogma of Masonry”. His name was Jerry and a better ad for how you can overcome adversity did not exist. He was also, as any librarian must be, sensitive to the interests of their more frequent customers in this case us. His polite way of telling us he knew our problem occurred one day when, as we walked in, he called us over, handed us each a book saying these were classics of gay literature, we should read them.

We both developed what I suppose was a minor crush on him, he seemed romantic, interested in us, good looking in an ex-military way, great smile plus his patience with us...face it, anyone who takes time with and for you you’ll like. Was he gay? We reverted to ‘don’t ask don’t tell’. One other problem, whatever he was: His age, 36. To his credit we never saw him as patronizing, just a terrific man who was good looking; We hoped-we discussed this-what ever his preferences, he had a great boy/girl friend who loved him.

Phil says we blushed, I say he blushed. Jerry leaned against the counter and waited for our recognition of the fact that we had a friend as well as someone who tweaked our problem, understood it and was trying, at least to the degree that he could, be helpful. Whether he signed on as being our therapist and counselor intentionally is open to question but that he did….Also, to his credit, he roared with laughter as we told him about our parents and their guidelines to living the gay life. And, finally, we confessed our virginity. His only response was...”Guys, everyone starts that way...hell, I know I did.” As desperately as I wanted to ask him how he cured that problem, that was just too far, too personal, a question we couldn’t and no one should ask. Unless you were in the service, hanging around the barracks, everyone was half drunk  down to your boxers and recalling…”The first time I...”.

Not only were we virgins but, thanks to a heap of overkill by our parents, we were also naive. They’d given us so much ‘help’ that some of the basic psychology never got mentioned. Also, because Phil and I had only each other, we created a wholly incorrect view of all sorts of things not only about being gay but sex in general. We, for example, decided that you only ‘did it’ with someone you truly cared about-forget the hooey of porn where you ‘did it’ with whomever was next or available. Jerry did try, when he figured out how far from reality and truth we’d flown ourselves, to correct our ideas but...he was stuck behind a library desk; He could give us books and information but sexual suggestions were probably further than he felt he should go. In fact he’d gone a lot further than anyone in his situation should have gone unless he was working with someone who was doing research and needed his professional guidance as to where to look for what and then, perhaps, a careful commentary as to whether this book or that periodical was really what would be helpful. He knew what we thought would be helpful and that was, plain and simple, to get fucked.

Worse, we were brilliant students; It seems if there’s anything that kills lust faster than terminal acne, it’s intelligence. In one or two of our classes there were guys we’d like to get to know. And we did. We were assigned as their tutors; They were really grateful for our help but always had to race off as their girl/boy friend was waiting. See? Being dumb got you a boyfriend or maybe being dumb just made you seem like an easy lay-we never asked.

After Thanksgiving-for which we had little to give thanks save we’d been told we’d made the Dean’s List (A real sexual come hither) we pretty much avoided our homes and started hanging out at the library any time we weren’t in class or involved in our sport. We’d found a place where almost nobody ever was, quiet, off the path to the Dewey Decimal System and only of interest to the those who were blind; It was called the Braille Area. Seldom was there anyone there save one man who, apparently was doing research as he was constantly surrounded by texts, stopping to think, running his finger along a line. Until we got used to seeing it, watching him look straight ahead and move his finger was creepy. But eventually he became part of the furniture; we did our homework and held lengthy discussions about our aging virginity and what to do.

Christmas came and went, there was talk of upcoming Spring Break; Mom had done  her research, had brochures on the best places for gay college students to go, some were at the beach, some skiing, ten day all gay trips abroad...just let them know what we’d like and they’d make the arrangements. So proud of us, so proud of the Dean’s List, this was their gift to us for ‘applying ourselves’. Well, they got one part slightly right, we wanted to apply ourselves, just not to school but a warm male body who wanted our application. We thanked them but said...we’d stay home, maybe they could see their way to letting us have a couple of months in Europe this summer. (We’d heard about Amsterdam and the very open lifestyle there, the gay men, the gay bars-where our age wasn’t a consideration.) . They agreed and...what else?….Mom started working on her gay guide for guys to Europe. Swell.

Just after school resumed we did find out something that, well, we couldn’t have expected but, looking back, should have figured out. We’d both been rushed for a Frat and turned it down. Given our involvement with sports, this was virtually the proverbial animal house which didn’t suggest getting laid unless you were running with the ball and were laid out. One of the guys from the Frat, on the swim team with Phil, casually said as they were lined up to go off the ten meter board, “Yeah, we figured you’d turn us down, everyone knows you and your dynamite stud of a cousin are a pair…”. Phil forgot to dive and just fell into the pool.

Not too much later, and in tears, he told me and, for once, we held each other and both cried. I suppose if you saw us, two good looking men, locked in the arms of the other, it looked great, particularly with the snow falling in the twilight….I’ll say this, Phil with his eyelashes dripping tears and snow drops was appealing….just not to me. What to do, retreat to where no one could see us, the Braille section at the library.

Jerry must have wondered why we shot by him, clearly distressed but with no outward reason. This time, the guy doing his research, had only one book was staring out a window he could not see as he ran his finger along a white page that looked as if it had small pieces of spaghetti glued to it.

We tried to be quiet but...Phil was still on the ragged edge of tears, I was too stunned to be anything but...there. I put my arm around him, “Hey, he can’t be right, we’re cousins, not lovers, how dumb can he be?” Except that an idea was creeping over me, not a good one, but an idea; Phil and I were together almost constantly and who knew we were cousins? Sure, back in high school but this was university and no one knew us, what they did know was we were together all the time, clearly knew each other...easy enough to just assume, another pair of good looking guys, mated pair from all that it looked. I started to do that dumb hiccuping weep that you get when you can’t cry but are so down, some sound, some expression of what? Sadness? Distress?

Someone came up behind us, said something. We were so stunned, we hopped up and knocked him to the floor: it was the blind guy. Okay, now not only do we feel awful but we’ve knocked down some handicapped person we don’t even know in the library. I half way expected to see Jerry headed our way saying that we should leave… The guy on the floor laughed, said he deserved that for interrupting our grief, stuck up his two arms to be righted and started listening to our profound apologies.

“Mind if I sit?”

Too horrified at what we’d done, he could have sat on us if that’s what would have pleased him. We put him in chair between us, continued our apologies until he reached out, put an arm over each of our shoulders and told us to shut up, for Christ’ sake.

He laughed, explained his name was Jim Patterson, he knew we were Phil and Paul, cousins, and he wanted us to know how many days we’d cheered him up as we groaned our way through virginity.

“Guys, look at me, pretty butch, huh, cept for the eyes but I’m as gay as you and many, many times I stopped my work and just listened. See...I know you’re nice guys and I’ll bet real studs...whether you see it or not. You’ve done all the right things the wrong way.” He paused. “Oh, I bet you thought the visually handicapped couldn’t be gay, wrong they can.”

By then we were in a spiral of embarrassment and glad to meet someone who seemed to have a more practical grasp on our problem.

“Look, you’ll just have to believe me, I’ve unintentionally listened in, sympathized, wanted to help for a long time and given this new wrinkle, maybe it’s time. Tell you what, Friday, come to my place around seven for a guys get together. I’d like to talk here but...some of it gets personal and graphic so lets not disturb the librarian...”

“Jerry? he’s been a buddy whether he meant to or not, some days he’s been….” I puddled up thinking about Jerry’s calm, he patience, his understanding… “He’s been a great guy.” Again, Jim, who still had his arms around our shoulders, did that thing where you grip one side and, somehow it helped.

“So, Friday, I’ll give you a card, got an address-not in Braille-phone….you need to meet someone new who already knows the back story. Okay?”

I don’t know why but we agreed, really looked forward to it. On our way home, we talked about what a great guy he was, shame he probably didn’t have anyone, good looking, too. But knowing there was a Jim and we could go to his place...helped.

Coincidentally, that was the evening when the folks had a brochure for a gay dating service, all filed out, all they needed was a head shot of each of us; We fled to my room and hid.

By the next morning-Phil slept over-we were actively embarrassed to go to school knowing what was thought of us. We knew we were gay, would have told anyone who asked but….what we weren’t was a couple, cousins yes, lovers no. It’s unfortunate that when it involves two people you involuntarily commit a sort of emotional folie a deux, not that we’d done anything it was concept that not only were we lovers but cousins who’d fucked each other. Phil said he would speak to his swimming coach...I told him not to; One thing of which I’m sure, you can always make a bad situation worse and dragging his coach in probably made it worse. After all, as I pointed out, the coach hadn’t said anything, what he thought, he’d kept to himself and did Phil really want to know what he thought? For that, did either want to know what anyone thought about our relationship-we’d already heard enough.

Our families and their misguided efforts to help us began to look better; At least they’d never suggested we try sex with each other before widening our search party. Okay, that was cold comfort but, just then, we needed any kind of comfort...which is why we gathered the families and told them.

To their credit, they were not only shocked but royally annoyed that anyone could think that...why...we were cousins, close yes but not that close. My Dad, who may have remembered the father/son masturbation episode, said he knew by personal experience that Paul and I did nothing. I wondered how he knew that but didn’t press the subject. And then they went over Niagara in a barrel; They would go to the Dean, after all, we were on his list, and protest!

Oh, Christ! Want to make a situation worse, more than we imagined? That would do it. For whatever else we had, we did have some very low visibility on campus, not only educationally, but in the sports we played. Even the college paper had referred to us as “Studs” for our teams...although we might have preferred ‘studs’ being redefined.

In Greek chorus we begged them to do nothing, please, nothing. As with any campus gossip, it would go away as some as something more interesting came along. Neither of us particularly believed that but, if it kept them out of the Deans office, fine.

It was that night we did sleep together, nude, wrapped in each others arms and cried. Not very stud like behavior? Huh?.

A note here because, well, I forgot to mention it earlier. Our overindulgent parents offered us, given their thrill at our educational progress, the vehicle of our choice as our only Christmas present. The words “our choice” seemed a little broad-as we discussed it, whatever we chose, it would probably boil down to a matching pair of used Cop Crown Vics with the black and white painted over. Given that thought, we took them at their word. Between us we decided to get cars that had two purposes, I asked for a Chevrolet Corvette and Phil said he’d be happy with a fully tricked out Ford Raptor. And gave that no thought until….Christmas morning on the driveways were...a Silver Corvette with black leather interior and, on the other one, a silver Ford Raptor with black leather upholstery. Stunned doesn’t begin to cover our reaction; We even insisted that we knew the cost and great as they were, please, return them. Nope, they were ours. Stud vehicles to the max. Just...no studs to ride in them. Oh well, they were great to drive, particularly the truck-taking the Vette to anywhere near campus was to conjure up our own version of, “Dude, Where’s My Car??”. The truck was probably as much a magnet for theft but, for whatever reason, we were more comfortable for its safety and, frankly, it was more comfortable than the Vette.

Friday was, if possible, worse. It was a full day of classes, team practices, exposure to every single person on campus, or so we felt. Phil said as he stood on the ten meter, all he could think of was..me...us...and promptly fluffed a dive he had done since he was ten. Elsewhere, I had ditched the show off jock, found a pair of long shorts, played badly, which got me a quizzical lecture from my coach then, after showers-assuming all the guys were staring at us, waiting to see if we’d get hard, look at anyone too long...we met in the parking lot, decided not to go home-we called in about sudden practices that might delay us or...we might bunk out in student housing which always had a few spots for visiting teams in the event that weather or whatever didn’t allow them to leave that evening.

Which proved to be true, the weather had fallen in very suddenly, all sorts of warnings were being issued to stay in, avoid driving...which justified our lies. Did we mention Jim to our folks? Are you kidding?

One thing we’d done which more college kids should do, is pay attention to the weather particularly when you lived in an area like ours where storms of all variety could and did descend on us with little warning. Also, since no one paid much attention to us, we were prepared, by listening to the early morning weather, to get into our cold weather gear, much of which had been acquired from a store that sold para military clothes. Good, sturdy material, your choice of climates and they could fit you out. That day we were in full uniform down to and including  heavy wool socks under lace up boots,  over our winter camos. There was also a bag of change out clothes, spares of everything...all we needed was a commanding officer and we’d be ready for action.

By four, ice was already a threat, snow was piling up, the wind shifted directions every ten minutes or so….we were glad to have the truck. Just to be on the safe side we found where Jim lived, went to a quick rip place, got a double coffee and, since it was dark and we knew he couldn’t see, went back and parked in front of his house. Looked more like he was prepared for Halloween-dark, dreary, not even a porch light. Well, for a person who was blind….

In the half hour or so we waited, maybe a half inch of snow and ice coated the truck-one trick, we put salted water in the locks plus a sealing cover over them. Finally it was time for whatever was going to happen. I grabbed the large change out bag, for no good reason we shook hands, opened the doors and headed up the walkway to whatever fate and Jim Patterson had in store for us.

“Get in here, now. Too cold to be outside.” He slammed the door behind him. “Can’t have your nuts frozen before they get talked about...”

As we’d seen, it was dark inside, even the little spill from a street light left only dim shadows. We shuffled in, not knowing where anything was, including Jim.

The lights snapped on.

“Great Jumping Jesus, the Marines have landed.” It was Jerry, leaning against a door jamb, one hand on the face plate of a light switch. “Didn’t think I’d let him have my two favorite men all to himself now did you? I’m guessing that bag you just dropped has other clothes, Oh, God, Jim, I wish you could see our soldiers...bet they’re warm…” He was trying not to laugh as he walked toward us. “Guys, I admire your taste in gear, kinda reminds us of the good old days...Jim, run your hands over the one nearest you, not to be  believed.”

With that, somehow we knew we were safe and...someone cared about us. Without our asking, Jerry went through the bag with our other clothes while Jim started to strip us, first making us sit down and untie our boots. When Jerry finished whatever he was looking for he joined Jim and they….stripped us. Nothing. Seated on the couch, Jerry stood in from of me and Jim stood in front of Phil.

“Guys, sit back and enjoy your first blow job by men who know how to do it.” With which they sank down between our legs and started… with fingers playing with us, pushing our perineum, tongues licking nuts, a hand grabbing them so they couldn’t withdraw, kissing our cocks, us, our balls, us, licking everything down there. Finally taking our diamond hard cocks in their mouths and, pretty quick, got a mouth full of us.

“Great, that’s the overture now for the first act, the good stuff….”

Having never had a blow job we had no idea what to expect but knew it sure as hell felt good. We’d never thought about how things would feel and now that we were quickly going up the learning curve, we sort of made a Dean’s list in having your dick sucked. Those two really knew what they were doing, no idea how long we sat there or rather our bodies undulated, we made very guttural sounds, couldn’t say much, just, Oh Jesus, if this had to do with losing your virginity, we were all for it.

The second time was both harder and far more intense, I knew I wanted to come but Jerry would only take me so far then back off, give my balls a good hard squeeze, lick the head, try and get his tongue in my piss slit, grasp my pole with his hand, clamp down, suddenly give it a deep suck...and this went on, hell, I lost track. What I do remember was the strange feeling that started in me and led to where Jerry was attached. I could feel my abdomen begin to spasm then Jesus Christ, for the second time, I blew a wad and almost passed out once I finished.

The guys did the cruel thing we’d heard was called edging in that they didn’t let us go, just kept pumping until we both were almost screaming in pain and desire….then turned loose.

Almost immediately a bowl with warm water and towels was produced as they cleaned both of us and them. When they finished that, they put a warm quilt over us then stood up and stripped to the skin. They joined us under the quilts, giving us no time to think, started what I guess was making out ….We had no way to know what to do which they seemed to anticipate. Kissed, hugged, our nipples played with, kissed some more then a tentative tongue in our mouths….it was all terrific, they were terrific, we were...exhausted. Finally, they slowed down, picked us up-how Jim did it, but he was strong, his body looked like Jerry’s, hard, worked, able….took us to a bedroom and plunked us on a  bed, put pillows under our heads, pulled covers over us and somebody said….

“You two rest, we’re here, you’re okay, just...rest.”

Rest turned into sleep for when I woke, however much later that was, Jerry was laying on the bed beside me, dressed, on his side, smiling at me, just the two of us.

“Have you figured it out?”

I could only nod, ‘no’….

“See, Jim and I have had our eye on the two of you, knew you were great men, going to be better if you partnered up….but not with some kid which would be a lot about sex and, in not too much time, off he’d go. You’ve got all the equipment and, frankly, we held our breath waiting for an opportunity to tell, well, to tell you you’re not looking any more, you’ve found the men you deserve. See, along the way, all those days talking to me, Jim listening to your problems, we concluded, well, I did first, I more than liked you, I wanted you, I knew I could take your cherry about which you worried so much, and could do it right. I guess I half way fell in love with you. Same with Jim and Phil.”

He rolled on his back, stopped, thought, put an arm out and cuddled my face. “Jesus the two of you are Studs...why no one ever noticed, we wondered about that but then, the other day, when Phil said someone told him they knew he and you were paired up...it hit us, you’re so fucking much together, that’s what people thought and, my friend, I’m so glad they did, so glad otherwise, maybe you wouldn’t be here now, we’d be talking about those two great men...how we missed them. Paul, I’m telling you I love you.”

I could see the almost desperation in his eyes. He wasn’t lying, Phil was no doubt hearing something like that and from an equally great man. Jesus we were lucky. I reached for him, started to tear up, knew I was where I needed to be with whom I needed to  be…

“Look outside, you are spending the night, found the keys to your truck, put it in the garage so it’ll be safe, not get too cold. May even spend tomorrow. Want me to call your folks? Assure them all’s well?”

Yes, that was going to be interesting. The meeting of everybody, parents, sons, new lovers, one blind the other missing a leg, each about 15 years older than their sons….in all the work they put out trying to find what we wanted, nobody had planned on this. Whenever it happened, yes, it would be interesting.

“I’ll do it. We told them we might sleep over at the places for guest teams, said the weather looks bad. All they need to know is we’re okay….”

“Give them this number...”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how all this is going to be, honest. They may not love the idea of older men, handicapped men, Christ, look at all the work they’ve put in trying to find you something...we may not be what they had in mind….Jim and I talked about that.”

“Can I change the subject? You know what I want...”

“Sure, your cherry plucked and I guarantee that will happen just not tonight or tomorrow but soon. Some time needs to elapse, gotta get you moved in here…”

“Here?”

“Of course, guys always live with your partner...didn’t all that porn tell you that? ‘ Sides, I want you here, I want your enthusiasm, your zeal, your happiness, your love...when you get to that...your sex, your joy at having sex….just having you around the house, doing your work, going to school, those fancy cars...Proud to take my stud for a ride, top down, shirts off, shades….I want people to see I have one A number one prime man. I’d show ‘em your business but that’s just for me and Jim…”

“Jim?”

“Yes, Jim and I’ll take Paul but only when you  both want to change up. See, this isn’t ordinary, you don’t take two guys, bring them in and say, ‘you’re ours, welcome home we love you, we’re partners.”

“So….do I have to, you know, with Phil?”

“Probably, but that’s a long way down the pike. I’m here looking at my my man and I don’t think he even ever bothered to look. That shag on his chest, those big hairy balls, that cock, that butt that washboard stomach, you two thought of yourselves as kids for so long, that’s how you saw yourselves but, my dear friend, you are men from the cum in your cock to the waiting prostate in your ass to your mouth that gonna lick my nuts and then eat my sausage, that’s what men do, that’s what you will do. Fuck all that porn with perfect people, we’re real people and we’re gonna do what real men do with their man. Fuck ‘em, Suck ‘em, Rub ‘em, Piss on ‘em, Pinch their tits and then hold them so close cause you love ‘em. Got it?”

I lay there finding things out, finding out I no longer cared if I was fucked cuz I knew it would happen and by someone I wanted to do it. All the time Phil and I worried about the act itself, we never really thought who would do it. Just some amorphous man with a cock who knew what to do. Line us up on our knees, butts in the air, hands spreading the cheeks, he’d go along, plug us, give us a slap and a thanks then we wouldn’t be virgins.

“One thing I learned from porn...partners sleep in the same bed and they’re not wearing clothes. At least tell me for all that I got screwed up, that’s right, isn’t it?”

Jerry just smiled, reached down to start unbuttoning his shirt, paused, fiddled with something down his pants, something heavy fell on the floor...”I can’t run away from you with one leg.”

I rolled over until my face was on top of his. “I know, but...I kind of hope you’d always be running to me.” I helped him unbutton his shirt, got it off him, T shirt, pulled it over his head, unbuckled his belt, started to unzip his pants…

“Gotta warn you, I’m not wearing anything more except one sock...”. Geez he had a great smile. One that I figured I should kiss, he wouldn’t mind if I was a rookie...He didn’t.

The next morning I was told that he’d laid out the clothes I was to wear, no argument, just put ‘em on.

Okay.

Cowboy boots, Levi button fronts-already worn in-and a black turtleneck that I didn’t so much put on as slither into. Where had all this come from? Correct sizes? Why these clothes and, frankly, being told what to wear made me nervous. Whatever my deficiencies about sexual education, I knew how to dress myself as well as what to wear.

I turned back to see Jerry dressed just like me. “I do this for Jim, he’s challenged enough without trying to remember, only  by touch, what I’m wearing...you gotta have figured out that he and I were partners..maybe ten, twelve years now…?”

It was wounding, I suddenly felt like I’d been brought in as a relief batter, not part of the main team… “Okay then...you have each other, what’s the idea? Building up a stud farm so when you get bored with each other, there’s a place to go to get some fresh meat?” I started to undress, wherever my real clothes were, I’d put them on, find Phil, explain it to him and, I don’t know, thank the guys for the blow jobs and leave.

Jerry grabbed me from behind pinning my arms to my side. “No listen, yeah he’s my partner, has been ever since we met at the training center for the handicapped, hit it off and...here we are. BUT, you rascal, he sleeps in there, I sleep in here, only now I’m gonna be sleeping with my partner, you. Did we make it? Sure a time or two but it was just to get our rocks off, men do that you know...I’m halfway amazed you and Phil didn’t try it. But, Paul, you’re what I want, what I’ve got, what I’m holding in my arms...now, I’m gonna turn you around, put one hand on your chin, start to kiss you and the other hand on your nuts so I can take your pants off, just push ‘em down, and suck you off. Okay?”

“Jerry I’m so….”

Stupid fool didn’t let me finish. He did put his lips on mine plus his hand on my suddenly bulging jeans and….well….at least the coffee stayed warm. Phil and Jim gave us a smile that said, “I guess you put cream in your coffee”.

Two, three, four years passed. I’ll tell you how and when and where I lost my cherry but that’s sorta personal and I want to clear some other things up.

“Mom, hey, Mom….we’re here!”

“Oh, come here son, we just never get to see you enough….”

“Yeah, they’re weird about driving without eyes.”

They started into the living room. “Now, I’ve been working on that and GM is coming out with a car that drives itself so I thought….oh, here, I have some brochures on it somewhere….”

Almost from the start both sets of our parents liked our guys. For one thing, their age made it easier for them to have ‘adult’ conversations. For another, they liked their history, they liked that they’d chose us... As usual, we’d read things wrong but they’d gone in for gay overkill; What they’d wanted was happiness for us and that’s what they got. The age thing? No bid deal. The handicapped part? My mom was dabbing her eyes once, said, “It just shows how much you love them. I used to worry some Stud meat…” I glared at her. “Did I say something wrong dear?” “No, not for you, no.”

Okay, it was unusual. Phil and I are working on our Doctorates, Jerry is still at the library while Phil is teaching Braille reading to both the visually handicapped and the sighted. Yes, at home we wear the same things, kind of our trade mark and are we happy? I’ll get mom to get a brochure on happiness and the gay man, I’m sure she’ll love trying to find it. We could tell her but why spoil her fun?

CHERRIES JUBILEE or late one night…..

Jerry was curled up next to me, he liked to be in back-said running his hands through the hair on my chest made the furnace unnecessary. Yeah, sure…

“Phil?”

“Um.”

“How asleep are you, I mean, if I wanted to fuck you, could you go back to sleep?”

Said nothing just pushed my ass closer to where I thought his cock wasp-it was hard so it wasn’t difficult.

“Uh huh. So that’s how it is, my man is going be a slut for his man, that how it is?”

I was making my butt to its best example of the Tango, waving up, down up, down.

“Uh huh. Guess I better get a hold of the issue...can’t let you start alone.”

He started to gently press two fingers in, worked them around, exerted some pressure pushing out on my inner wall. Added another finger, pushed further in. I could feel he was almost at the tightest spot the one he told would hurt, just let him do the work, it happens to every man….once.

His cockhead was hard and hot and at the door to my virginity while I did everything I could think of to welcome it, pushed back, got my  butt slapped, told he knew what he was doing, just lay still...If you’ve never had a cock up your ass, can’t tell you how it really feels, if you haven’t had the cock of some man you love coming in for the first time….they’re afraid of hurting you, you’re afraid they won’t hurt you; Seems that moment of pain is when you give and they take your virginity, your cherry, your first man to man fuck, however you want to say it….you’re now full of him, waiting for what he’ll do, anxious to please and, then, oh shit, he hits your prostate and, he did know what he was doing, got it from the inside and the outside. He knew how to pump his prong up, no part of your internal tissue when unnoticed or unloved. His hands on your nipples, his teeth biting into your neck. The long smooth agony at first of the first thrusts and withdrawals then you’re with him, demanding whatever he wanted from you. Your former life, gone. I was now fully his man. Inside I could feel him get both softer and bigger as he pumped my prick, barely holding me back, I was losing track of which part of pleasure I was enjoying most and then he whispered...”I love you” just as he shot in me and I bred his hand.

A bit after that when we were just laying there, I was toying with his balls, his nipples, kissing him, trying to think how to thank him….For I wanted to thank him so much…

He said, “Remember the first time you met me, I was behind the reception desk, you rushed in, blurted out….remember?...you said in that over the top way of yours, ‘Sir, how do I get fucked?’ I guess you know now."

And I did.