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Gloryhole Slut at 18

Gloryhole Slut at 18

I can’t make this shit up.

If I did, I wouldn’t use cardboard. But the kid did.

He hit me up on Scruff. Usually I ignore the 18-year-old boys. And that’s what they are… boys. Even though some have these perfectly taught bodies with a slight layer of baby fat. And the barely legal pubes sprout out over the spit glistened cock where they’ve rubbed one out repeatedly.

He was just a few miles away and looking for “fun.” And I was bored. Chatting him up a little. His profile lacked a face pic but the chest pic seemed harmless enough.

Then he mentioned he’d built his own gloryhole and wanted me to fuck him through it.

I didn’t believe him.

A second later, I got a photo via Scruff.

Indeed, the cardboard with a hole cut into it, secured into a basement window.

Then he checked my height again and, a few minutes later, came back to say he was raising it for me since I stand over six feet tall.

Within an hour, he sent be a second pic (the one you see above). Now adjusted to my height, he asked me to come by his home, sneak down to the basement and fuck him.

Of course, I was wary of this little plot. I didn’t quite believe him… at first. But over the next little while, he convinced me of a couple of things:

  • He had a gloryhole.
  • He was 18 years old.
  • He wanted his ass fucked and bred.

I waited until well after midnight, when most people would be asleep before venturing to his neighborhood. I drove cautiously through it.

Everything was quiet and, his nondescript home sat silent and dark. I parked far enough away not to be noticed but close enough for a good escape. As the cicadas sang in the night, I crept nearby and then finally around to where I could see from the back, indeed, there was a gloryhole lit up.

I sent a message and approached.

He was kneeling naked. This young, beefy 18-year-old body at the hole.

I unzipped and put my cock through.

His hands were cold compared to the humid July air. He fumbled with my cock. His mouth surrounded me and he tried his hand at a blowjob. Honestly, it needed a lot of work. I never have a problem getting hard, but if I did, he’d have a hard time getting me there.

Inexperience. He needed someone to guide him. But with this piece of cardboard, I’d never be able to teach him how to take cock.

After a bit, he stood and turned around, aiming my rock hard 7-inches for his ass.

Like velvet.

Where he had inexperience in sucking, he made up in fucking.

I could smell the baby oil he obviously been using to lube up. And perhaps he’d been playing with something up his ass because it slipped inside his hole with the greatest of ease.

He scooted back, practically sitting on me. The cardboard pressed up between us. I lunged forward a little.

I’m not huge. But let me tell you, men notice when I go inside. They feel my cock slide into their guts and, for many, can’t always just take it in a single slide.

This little college-boy slut could.

And he bounced.

No adjustment needed.

Part of me wondered if I was his first cock of the evening. I never sniffed a whiff of other cum, but who the fuck knows. Or cares.

I couldn’t pound him and, when I tried to set a pace, he couldn’t quite get the groove with me.

I would have loved to have grabbed his hips and just thrust into him with all I could. But we were at a fucking gloryhole at his parents’ house in the middle of the fucking night. And I was a creepy old man fucking their son bareback.

So I just concentrated on the feeling.

His ass was open to my cock, just loose, but still wrapped around my cock tightly enough. The oil along with a little of his sweat, spit and my precum mixed together to provide enough lube for a good amount of friction.

But he was a natural bottom. I could see his smooth body through the little cracks.

Better yet, I could feel his ass. I just felt smooth and perfect.

I knew it wouldn’t be long. The excitement of this forbidden place and an 18-year-old hole — probably the youngest I’ve fucked in years.

And I felt my cum boiling up in my balls. I stopped moving and let him continue his awkward rocking.

I unleashed a torrent of cum into his ass. I held back my grunts or any noise. I just let my cock pump into him. I know I pumped for a solid 20 seconds. Strand after strand of hot man DNA streamed into his well-oiled cunt.

And I remembered where I was. I pulled back, zipped up and slipped into the night.

I got a Scruff message a few minutes later asking for more.

I would give it to him another night. And invite another top to join me.

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Catfish Uncovered, Fake Profiles Online

When Anonymous Hook-Ups Don’t Work Out: Atlanta Tops Need to Beware of This Catfish

Let’s be honest that there’s plenty of flakes and fakes out there. The Manti Te’o case Opens new window of a page on this blog brought a lot more attention to the plight and scourge of catfish Open-New-Window-External and it’s been a theme on this website Opens new window of a page on this blog.

I tend to expose the assholes stupid enough to use photos of convicts Opens new window of a page on this blog, porn stars Opens new window of a page on this blog or others.

This one is different.

The Ass of a CatfishIn late September 2012, I began communicating with a person who wanted me to stop by his house and breed his ass. We began via e-mail. On the particular day, the person had a particular window of time, wanting to arrive home. As it turned out, it would be after I would drive past where his house happened to be on my journey home.

Through the course of our correspondence, in which we traded photos and eventually phone numbers to text, we would finally settle on one afternoon where the timing worked out. He gave me his address again (so I’ve received his address both via e-mail and text). I drive to the location.

It’s October 8, 2012.

The sun is dipping behind the fall leaves and there’s a coolness to the air. Pumpkins already sit out on the portico of this lovely brick home in an upscale neighborhood far outside the Perimeter (Atlanta’s interstate loop around the city). I’ve diverted my normal route home in order to hit a few extra red lights and visit this man’s home.

It doesn’t look like he’s gay. It appears he might be married with kids. This home is too large for a single man and this community just doesn’t have a signature of young couples. The house has to be five or six bedrooms at least.

I’m awaiting a text from him to say come inside, the front door is unlocked. He’s had me waiting in my car, in the driveway for way too long. I already know something is a little up.

I’m scanning the windows, which all have wooden blinds shut tight. Likely, he’d checked me here, but I never saw one move.

I walk to the door like I belong here and push the doorknob to open it.

It’s locked.

I text and knock.

He says he forgot to unlock the door. He’ll be down in a minute to unlock it.

Of course, that never happens.

Then, in the next few minutes, he gives me a brand new ZIP code. Says I got it all wrong.

Now remember that I’ve received his address twice. I check it both places and he’s clearly given the ZIP code to this place correctly.

As it turns out, there is another street with the same name but it’s several miles away in another suburb. For example, there’s Holly Bank Court in Norcross and Holly Bank Circle in Atlanta.

I’m not stupid. I’m not criss-crossing Atlanta.

That Brings Us to Today

These kinds of wild goose chases happen. I usually can weed out the fakes, but this guy was in for the long con. In a way, I’ve got to give him some respect for the play, keeping me on the hook and playing me for a few weeks until he was able to reel me in. I wonder how many men in Atlanta followed through on this process only to end up visiting two addresses and getting no response or meeting some folks who never expected these strange men to show up on their doorstep.

Not cool.

As is normal for me, I’m hanging on BarebackRT.com Open-New-Window-External this morning and I get a message from BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External. In the course of going back and forth, he wants a load and, based on what I see, it doesn’t look bad.

Now I see a lot of ass. Visually, I don’t catalog every ass photo I see.

BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External is only 13 miles from my house and, in the scheme of things for Atlanta and my normal travels to get some, that’s not bad. I ask for his location.

It’s the address of his house that I recognize. A nice cul de sac in an upscale neighborhood halfway between my home and my former place of employment.

I search my e-mail and there it is too. And then I check out the photos, which some are the same.

First, I do a screen capture of his profile (turns out to be a good thing). Then, I e-mail BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External letting him know I’ve visited his home before.

At first, he denies we’d ever chatted and that people had sent people to his home.

Then I send him his e-mail address. FYI, if you ever have an e-mail conversation with clemsonscott1993@gmail.com, don’t trust it. He’s another catfish and the same as BtmCatcherATL Open-New-Window-External.

He blocks me.

Busted.

BtmCatcherATL or clemsonscott1993@gmail.com's profile on BBRT

PostScript

I do have his face photo (which you can sort of see but I purposely didn’t highlight in the profile above). I have a huge version from the e-mail exchange. However, I’m not convinced it’s the person who’s sending the e-mails. As for ass photos, I don’t know and they’re not identifiable.

I just want my top friends in Atlanta to beware of this man.

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Orgy Etiquette

Orgy Etiquette Content

gay bareback orgy etiquetteIntroduction
Prior to Arriving
You Won’t Like Everyone in Attendance
Everyone Gets to Touch You
The Good Touch and The Bad Touch
Showing You’re Interested
Perfection Is Never Around the Corner
Do You Have a Right to Reject Advances?
Politely Rejecting Advances
When Rejected, Stepping Away
Being a Respectable Voyeur
Buck-Up: It Was a Bad Night
Providing Candid Feedback to the Host

return Return to How to Host an Orgy

 

Introduction

Every orgy brings with it some universal guidelines to ways one must conduct oneself. Keep these in mind as you enter into these hallowed halls of sexual decadence.

You will find yourself enjoying yourself much more if you give yourself over to these basic guidelines since it’s what will be happening to everyone there. More fun shall be had by all.

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Prior to Attending

Bathe well, trim, shave, douche and everything.

Even though I never plan to get fucked at an orgy, I always douche because, as much as I don’t want it to happen, someone will attempt to slip a finger inside my ass. The last thing they need to pull that finger out and find it is an opportunity to create a Dirty Sanchez Open-New-Window-External.

If I do happen to find myself in the mood for assplay, my crack is absolutely clean and available for a little probing.

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You Won’t Like Everyone in Attendance

Among the most challenging things for a lot of people to keep in mind is that when there are five or more men gathered in one place, you will be comparing these men and of the four, you’d prefer at least one keep his hands off of you.

It’s just naturally how it will go.

He may be a different race. He might be hairy or smooth. He might be young or old. Whatever it is that just doesn’t turn your crank, you’ve got to swallow the bile that you think is coming up and stomach the moment when his hand brushes against your body.

Here’s why.

You see that hot, hot fucker across the room. The muscle man with the incredible pecs and pepperoni nipples you want to suckle on for days?

I’m reading his mind right now and he thinks you’re Fugly (yes, with a capital “F”).

However, the bile buddy next to you prompting nausea is dazzlingly beautiful to him.

Bile buddy is all about you but could care less about sliced salami nips.

By each of you tolerating the other, you each will “get” what you really want. It’s a triad of desire, only it’s all misdirected. If each of you will just swallow your pride, you will get what you want, though.

An orgy is not a place where people are meant to pair up and wander off. An orgy isn’t an a la carte menu. It’s a potluck dinner. One should expect to sample a bit from almost everyone in the room and, based on what’s there, indulge just a bit more from the more delicacies that seem a bit more appetizing to your palate.

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Everyone Gets to Touch You

For this reason, everyone in attendance gets to touch you. Your body is not off limits.

Unlike sex clubs Opens new window of a page on this blog or adult bookstores Opens new window of a page on this blog, you do not push away participants or close yourself off in a corner during an orgy (unless it’s just massive with hundreds of participants).

Whenever I host less than 10 participants, my goal is to get everyone together in one general space and everyone touching one another in one way.

The most ideal experiences I’ve had is when I’m not sure exactly who’s sucking my cock or sitting on my cock. I can generally see who I am kissing or who’s cock I am sucking. And if I am lucky, some tongue is on my balls or across my ass.

I have yet to have a cock in my ass while I am fucking someone. That fete will be one I will so enjoy when it occurs.

With good orgies, people stop worrying whether the least good looking is touching them and allow themselves to be swallowed by the pleasure of it. It’s a mob mentality. But instead of rioting, sexual energy takes over. Cock, cum, kissing, sucking, spit, sweat, lips, balls… it’s all just men.

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The Good Touch and The Bad Touch

If you are strictly a top or a bottom, or if you are somehow sensitive in some other ways, you may have created areas of your body that you consider “off limits.” This variety creates places that more commonly known as “bad touch” areas.

For me, almost anyone can touch my nipples. They provide almost little pleasure for me. They’re very neutral territory.

Should an African American with a thick 12-inch cock decide that a little spit would be enough to invade my ass, well, that would be a bad touch as a top.

And, since licking my balls lightly causes more juice to be produced for when I finally shoot my load (and with the right technique, can even cause me to loose control and paralyze my body for moments at a time), that’s a good touch.

You, as the participant in an orgy have an obligation to provide feedback — visual and verbal — to the men working on you. It’s very simple.

“Stop, don’t do that,” with a gentle pushing away of the offending appendage means bad touch.

“Yes, please do that more,” while leaning into the action means good touch.

And no movement means everything is a okay, just keep exploring.

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Showing You’re Interested

Unlike a bar, you don’t need to be quite as shy at an orgy. Sometimes you’re even naked. Walk up to someone and start feeling them up. If they move away, head to the next guy. Or lean back, take your cock in hand and motion someone over and start sucking. I mean, make your intentions clean by getting on your knees. Someone will eventually stuff something in your mouth.

Hell, put your ass in the air.

Orgies are about sex and making your intentions clear should be just fine.

Moments of awkward pause do occur. Every party needs an icebreaker. It’s just something to get the “conversation” rolling. But the conversation at an orgy is sex, so people will appreciate it if you’re the one who starts creating the sexual tension in the room.

Gay Bareback Orgy Etiquette GuideNot sure how?

I’ll give you the easiest trick in the book.

Walk up to a guy or a few guys.

If you’re a bottom, ask, “Are you a top?” or “Are you guys tops?”

If anyone answers “yes,” or “versatile,” then, “Feel like a blowjob?”

And don’t wait for an answer. Go for it.

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Perfection Is Never Around the Corner

There inevitably will be this idea to wait for the perfect man with whom to shoot your load or to generally wait to get wild. It’s something all noobs Open-New-Window-External that the proverbial greener grass on the other side never quite appears. When I know there’s an orgy coming up, I save up a nice batch of cum with the knowledge that I hope to deposit a couple of loads.

Bottoms (I hope) go with the intention of getting as many loads as possible. However, it isn’t a competition.

I’ll fuck multiple holes. My first load is the easiest to crank out, of course. But it’s the second or, even more rare, the third. You earn that, you’ve got a blessed ass.

I never wait to see if I find a better ass. If I feel like cumming, I cum.

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Do You Have a Right to Reject Advances?

Some people do and some people do not have the right to reject advances at an orgy.

If you are the sole bottom at a “breed the bottom” party, guess what: You’re it.

No, you don’t get to say, “That’s too big” or “That’s too small” or “I don’t like Asians” or “You’re too old.”

The solitary bottom at such a party is the one who has the literally take it in the ass. You cannot reject someone lining up to take it in the ass. The only exception is if something terribly wrong has happened, meaning you’ve got a physical or medical issue that needs attention.

A good bottom should know how to pace his meals and clean himself for an evening without a shit dick Open-New-Window-External event.

Now, if it’s not a “breed the bottom” party, I like to designate a slut bottom for every party who will take all cummers — literally. That way, no one is left leaving with blue balls. Usually, you’ll have one or two volunteers. And since I am a top, when I host, I usually agree to be the fucker for all bottoms, so each one ends up with a nice hard cock in their ass at some point.

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Politely Rejecting Advances

I do have my dislikes Opens new window of a page on this blog. It’s just one thing I can’t overcome. And when I am a guest at an orgy, I cannot control the guest list and therefore cannot assure that the man touching me is going to be matching my desires.

While there’s some types of guys who just don’t turn my crank, some men will cause me to lose a hardon as fast as a knife popping a balloon. When that happens, one must politely decline the advance. This can occur with several people or just a few in a group. I focus on minimizing the opportunity for the incompatible person.

For example, some smokers just seem to carry a huge cloud of ash around with them — a smell, not just on their breath, but emanating from every pore of their body. These people will prompt me to “take a break” where I can return later or, if I’m fucking someone I like, make a small hint that they might like to follow me to another area.

If you have someone obsessed with you who keeps following you around after the breaks, just pull them aside and say the following:

[alert style=”green”] Thanks so much for your interest in me but I’d like to spend some time with the other men here right now. Maybe I’ll get back around to you a little later. Or maybe we can meet up another day. Okay? I’d really appreciate it. [/alert]

If that doesn’t work, let the host know and perhaps the guest will be invited to leave.

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When Rejected, Stepping Away

I’ve been rejected. Plenty of times, most especially at the gloryholes Opens new window of a page on this blog at an Atlanta adult bookstore Opens new window of a page on this blog.

Number One When I arrive at the gloryhole and unzip my jeans, my cock isn’t instantly hard. One must play a little mouth music on it to bring it up. Some men expect instant hardon. Whatever happened to enjoying the feel of a cock inflating in your mouth?

Number 2 With the work from lips and tongue and even some hand, I get to my normal 7 inches and, with a little more work — especially around the balls — you’ll see it reach a respectable 7½ inches. But for the size queens who think 8 inches in minimum, it’s not enough.

I’ve had my cock pushed away and men simply stepped away or leave the other side of the booth. If I took this personally, I’d be crying still now, if not dead from committing suicide from the immense depression caused by such rejection.

My talented cock is rock hard and it can fuck. Too many tops just do not get that hard and, well, getting inside a tight bottom is a challenge.

Not me.

One had to learn not to take the rejection personally.

We all know how men are built Opens new window of a page on this blog. We separate sex from the emotional ties. This is NSA or “no strings attached” sex. So if it has nothing to do with the emotions and someone rejects us, why would we let ourselves get all carried away with emotions when we’re rejected?

Don’t let it happen to you.

Sex is like a business transaction and you’re just not compatible. It’s as if he’s wanting to use AMEX and you only accept Visa.

Walk away and move on to someone who is compatible.

Believe me, I’m too old, too fat, too small, too hairy, too dorky or too something for someone. But I’m also just right for someone else. If you don’t move on, you might miss out on a really good time. Do not let yourself get obsessed with some idiot who won’t (or can’t) let themselves broaden their horizons to let you in to fuck around.

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Being a Respectable Voyeur

Barebacking breedingOrgies are such that you get a great opportunity to watch some great sex, even if you don’t always get to participate in it. There’s nothing hotter than a group of men jacking their cocks around one incredible fuck scene in the center. I’ve been both places.

When fucking a bottom, I generally like to get the sense whether he’s up for a tag teaming from anyone else there. And I’ll share. But sometimes it’s meant to really be just the two of you until you blow that load.

For me, I personally enjoy if the voyeurs touch me. I especially like the other tops to come up behind me, play with my ass and up along the crack to my taint and balls. This really gets me going. Other men do not like this. A gentle push of the hand away or asking not to touch is just fine. Then step back and let the professional do as he wishes.

I know a lot of bottoms who love to be looking into the eyes of the top as he blows his load into the bottom. I suggest staying away from blocking that line of view. Otherwise, if the bottom invites you to stuff his mouth full, go ahead.

Keep in mind the others around you and let them see the fun as well.

But get involved. Cheer the action on at least. And touch unless told not to touch.

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Buck-Up: It Was a Bad Night

With every orgy, there’s a chance it can go bad. Very bad. You don’t get off. The two hot guys there go off in a corner and ignore everyone else. You get stalked by the troll who happens to be the host’s best friend from out of town. It’s bound to happen.

Buck up. Bad nights happen.

What I’ve done to try and rescue a night: Wait around to the end and as people leave, walk out with your last-chance choices. Make small talk, inviting them to coffee or getting their numbers to text them later. Once, I even fucked one by a neighborhood dumpster (talk about a quick dump and go). He turned into a regular fuck.

By waiting until the end of the night, even if you’re satisfied, you’ll see who the real sluts of the group are and you might start making friends.

I earned regular suck and fuck buds by waiting to see who waits until the end of decent orgies.

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Providing Candid Feedback to the Host

Whenever I’ve hosted a get together, I always ask for candid feedback after the get together to see if there’s ways to improve the next party. I do not take things personally unless someone tries to get personal about a get together.

I like to know the problem people, who just jerked off rather than actually barebacking (they don’t get invited back) and who seemed to be too picky (ditto). I prefer the feedback later, a day or two after the party and sent privately via e-mail or in a phone call.

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return Return to How to Host an Orgy

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Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: How Should I Feel?

Tonight I sit with a weird feeling creeping up my spine. I find myself reduced back to a boy, curled up in guilt and a little confused.

Long-time readers will know my story but I imagine most won’t, so I should set the stage with my original Dark Passenger. The man who launched the twisted fuck I would become. In a very real and unusually strange sense, that man indeed is the genesis of a myself, out and very comfortable and confident in my skin. While I would like to think I’d eventually maneuvered my way out of the closet, I doubt seriously if I’d ever become as tolerant of others or even admitted to myself or other what a barebacking sleaze I can be.

As a youth, I was molested by this man. Most of the entries regarding him and what he did can be found here, if you choose to read:

If you choose not, it’s fine. Know that from some point until around 18, I had sexual encounters with this man — a neighbor and trusted friend of my parents.

So the reason for my odd sensation is the call today to notify me that my molester is in hospice.

The call to me is not unusual, I guess, since he and his wife were friends of my parents and, now that both my parents are dead, the community feels as if someone in my family should be notified and, technically, I am the head of the family. The local community is not aware what this sleaze did to me or countless others.

I spoke on the phone in an even tone, thanking the person for the notification. It wasn’t a time to be emotional. But now that I sit alone with the thought of him dying, I feel something. Perhaps it is the last of my own childhood finally passing away with the man who stole it from me, since so much left me when my parents left in the last few years. Perhaps it’s a kind of happiness or vengeance, knowing the fucker is finally suffering and will befall his own fate he promised me — that one-way ticket to hell. Or maybe it’s my own fear that I might be closer to death as well.

Or is it the fear that I might become the molester like him. The other day, a 14-year-old on Twitter solicited me. Now he had been posing as a 23-year-old. And when he admitted to being 14, I blocked him. And as I wrote, I volunteered at times for my own molestation. I wonder if the world were wired when I was 14 what I might have done.

So I sit, quietly contemplating a big-dicked old man as he teeters at the edge of the abyss. And I wonder why I give a shit and I wonder why I even care.

 

Dark-Passenger-First-EntryDark-Passenger-Previous-EntryDark-Passenger-Next-EntryDark-Passenger-Last-Entry
Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: A Murky Beginning

I don’t recall exactly why. Seems like my mother had to go to the doctor or something medical. On a summer’s day in the South, the perfect solution seemed to be letting the kids go to the nearby lake with neighbors.

Not just a small lake. This one had several access points and so the “beach” attracted dozens of people. An older man and woman — very distant relatives of ours — picked my little sister and me.

Who knows the exact date, but I’m guessing 1978. My memories fade from extremely blurry to crystal sharp, so forgive the moments in between. It’s as if some of my memories live beneath the murky lake water where it started and then emerges as it gets closer to the surface until it breaks and emerges above the surface. And then I can see what happened. But more than see it, I can feel it. It’s not just the sensation of him but also the confusion and conflicts I felt every moment of that day. Drawn to stay in the water and allow him to touch me.

I remember us going into the men’s changing area and him teasing me. At the time, he was probably in his early 40s with a respectable body — big wide chest with a little hair, more than six feet tall and a long angular face. We changed.

As an awkward, not very athletic child, my photographs show me as lanky, too thin with a bowl-cut for a haircut. Indistinct. At least this occurred prior to the plague of acne would take away my smooth ivory skin.

Playing in the water with my sister and others probably was the norm. But the moment his strong arms wrapped around me, I didn’t move much. I’m shy by nature and, back then, even more so. At some point, a game of swimming beneath the water’s surface and between each other’s legs occurred. At first, just a brush. Then a little more obvious. My cock ached beneath the surface of the water.

As I would swim beneath his legs, under that crotch, I remember him making sure to push me down and toward his cock. I know I felt it, but it would be months before I really touched or saw it.

My cock pulsed harder than ever. I’d felt it like this in the gym when we did something called “donuts,” lying flat on our stomach and lifting our legs and shoulders off the floor so our tummies and crotches were the only thing on the gym floor. It would be years later before I’d realize the dry orgasms I’d had everyday in gym, looking forward to this “exercise.” So much so, I’d do it at home on my own.

As my cock ached, my sister retired to the beach with the wife and we were alone. I didn’t dare return to shore. Unsure whether I wanted to stay here, in the water, with this man I barely knew. But something kept me there. Something in the back of my mind. Something that made me fantasize about Tarzan rescuing me from the jungle and carrying me to safely against his bare chest and in his strong arms.

That fantasy seemed to turn reality, as he stood behind me and took me deeper into the water but held me safely in his arms. Around my back, his hands rested on my bathing suit shorts. Right on my cock. He stroked me through the thin fabric.

I remember his hot breath on my neck. The only words about what was happening beneath the murky surface, “Do you like this?”

I hesitated. How should I answer this question? What should I say?

I stuck my face into the water and screamed into it, “I don’t know.” Only bubbles emerged and I swam away.

When we changed to go home, I found a stall by myself. I made sure not to be alone with him. I stayed quiet and distant. I do remember getting ice cream — an orange cream “push up” as they were called.

Only recently do I recall these details. If you want to know, the man lives — still a neighbor to my mother. He suffers from cancer and Alzheimer’s. My stories do not end here, but my next memory occurs in the winter. I’m not certain if I’ve somehow blacked out some of those moments or perhaps there’s no memory because nothing happened.

But it began at a lake in murky waters. He touched me. I was changed.

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