Just know, I’m not gay, but...
And I know what you’re thinking. Now, that’s a great way to explain away not being gay, but acting or feeling gay in every respect. Every respect.
The thing is...
Here’s the thing. If I’m gay, then I’d guess that, say, 97% of all guys are gay for also imagining at some point in their life what sucking another guy’s dick would be like. No kidding.
It’s just a thing most guys do as much as all guys, or let’s say at least approximately 98% have masturbated in their life and 95% of those guys imagined a sexual encounter with one of their close friends that wasn’t a standard missionary position and bordered on what 82% of people would classify as “kinky” if they could read their dirty minds.
I’m no different as I sit in this restaurant booth, listening to the cute waitress in her colorful uniform telling the couple in the next booth about the dessert specials involving a chocolate dream oozing with chocolate on the inside. She could not help promoting the ice cream. She gives a soft moan as though the thought of ice cream has triggered some past memory or fantasy. The sensuous moan gives me a tingling sensation in my groin.
I don’t think her voice would have normally sounded so erotic, but my mind was already in a state. I had just been having my dirty thoughts about being head-to-head with another man’s cock. I had never has such an experience and didn’t think I would. If I did, however, the question was what I would do with the opportunity.
I turn back to my shrimp pasta dish and qualify that whether I would put the man’s flesh in my mouth is a reasonable question. Not that I would be in that position, but if I happened to be, what would I do? Set aside all the complications of whether the man had STDs or whether he might be expecting something more or other considerations that might not be top of mind. For the record, the guy I was looking at in the business suit did not come across to me as someone with STD’s and I don’t think most guys are expecting much more than getting their rocks off and there aren’t other considerations because guys are that simple.
What would I do? Would I just stare at the cock? Would I stroke the shaft and head until he came. Would I lick his firm organ? I suspect I would alternate between stroking and licking and eventually shift to sucking. But, there is the idea that I might just jump right to the main event and jam the whole nine inches past my lips and all the way to my throat. That would be interesting.
I’m curious what an erect cock would feel like in my throat. I’ve heard there are some guys who can suck their own cock. That is probably the best of all worlds. I’m not so lucky in that I have neither the long enough cock or flexibility enough for such a feat. I would certainly suck my own cock if I could. I bet 95% of guys who could have considered self-felacio and 83% of those have tried. I don’t know how many would have gone all the way. I suspect I would if I could.
I suspect I would suck the businessman’s cock until he came. I’m not sure if I could imbibe all the fluid cleanly. I’m curious how the rush of warm, salty liquid gush would feel as it flowed from someone’s inner body and filled my mouth.
Great! Now I have a partial erection.
“Can I get you anything?”
I feel a jolt of embarrassment as though my member had been strewn across the floor for everyone to see.
“Ah, um,” I stammer, and then add, “I mean, ah... no.”
She giggles then says, “Obviously, I caught you lost in thought. Care to share?”
“Yeah, no problem. See that guy right there? The one with the mousy looking woman? Well, I was just imaging him cumming hard down my throat. But, don’t worry. I’m not gay. Do you want to go out?”
Of course, I didn’t say that. Instead, I muttered something about thinking about what I was going to do tonight. The embarrassment had cured my partial erection as I felt my penis go limp inside my pants.
“Are you visiting for work?” she asked.
“I had a conference.” I didn’t mention it was an insurance conference as even I could not imagine something more boring. “I’m in town for the weekend since I have a meeting on Monday morning. What do you recommend I do while I’m in Hartford?”
She gave an apologetic smile. I half-hoped she would say, “you could join me” but then I noticed a ring. I think that was an engagement ring, but I’m not an expert on such things. I had a girlfriend once who wore a ring there solely to keep certain people away. I argued that the people the jewelry kept away were the better ones and ones who would ignore the ring who should concern her the most. My girlfriend’s response: “But those are the fun ones.” She left me about a week later for some crazy guy. I saw her with a baby stroller outside a grocery store a year later.
I realized the waitress had already given me one, if not two, suggestions of places to entertain me as I was lost staring at her name tag. I’d like to say my eyes were focused on the name tag clipped above her left breast, but I had to take an extra second for my mind to process her name: Jenny.
“And the clubs are pretty lame,” she said. As I met her eyes and my brain caught up on its delayed processing, I understood that she had begun outlining all the issues with Hartford. She continued, “But let me think on it and check with some of the guys in the back. They usually know some fun things to do.”
I thought the conversation had died there as she walked off, but later, as I was finishing my Chocolate Dream with ice cream on the side, she came over. “There’s a comedy show tonight,” she explained. “It’s supposed to be very funny. It’s a hypnotist. He gets people to do the craziest stuff!” Her excitement was palpable.
“I’m not really up for crazy stu—” I began, but she cut me off.
“No, there are volunteers in the audience. You don’t have to volunteer if you don’t want to.”
So, there I was two hours later, volunteering to go on stage to be hypnotized.
For another character’s perspective of this story, read
Smaller Hands in the book Seeking Pleasure: Jenny