Chris was my neighbor. Our back yards actually touched at an angle of the cul-de-sac subdivision where we each lived with our wives and family. We were both family men with kids. He was a doctor with four small children and I was a rising executive with a large corporation with three young sons.

Over a period of several years, Chris and I became good friends in that way that you develop and have a good neighborhood friend. We borrowed tools from each other, went to the same neighborhood parties, did the manly gossip of sports and politics, and occasionally would drink some beers together. Our wives were buddies and shopped together, baby-sat for each other and spent a lot of time together at various of the typical neighborhood functions. Chris and I rarely spent time together without there being kids or wives around as well.

We were just your typical neighborhood husbands. Chris was ever busy with his growing medical practice with lots of his time at the hospital and I did a lot of travel, around the country. I was the ever-faithful hubby at home and would never have gotten my pants off in any situation, a great believer that you “never do it on your own doorstep”. When I was out of town, however, I enjoyed being a bit of a bad boy when I had the chance to play, and it was seldom with another female! I had experienced the thrill of having sex with the boys in high school and with the men in college and knew that I was hooked and addicted to dick but I also knew that my marriage and family meant that I could not reveal the feelings and desires that I had for male sex. I was totally straight arrow at home and I knew that no one could ever have any suspicion to the contrary.

Chris, my buddy was even a straighter arrow than I was. He was the most hetero stud ever. I knew him well enough to know that he had the full All-American red-blooded sex drive of the typical highly sexed young husband. He was happily married; he had four children that were the result of a healthy and active marital bed. He only ever referenced extra-marital activity in the macho and manly sense of lusty commentary of the female form whenever there might be the occasion to make raw comment. Chris was totally straight. I never thought of him in any other way, ever, and he never gave me any reason to think otherwise. Why would I? We were both just your suburban husbands, totally straight arrows.

One wintry evening, our wives had gone Christmas shopping and I had been consigned by my wife to go help Chris with a woodworking project that he had going in his basement workshop. He was making bunk beds for two of the boys, and it was well known that I was far handier with the wood and the tools than was Chris who could handle a stethoscope far better than a hammer. I was very willing to lend a hand, and Chris was already in the basement when I arrived. I readily took over the project and started providing assignments for him to do when a slight accident happened…

Find out what happens next…

I was walking home from work through the park late one afternoon feeling extremely horny. I had not masturbated for about three days because my girlfriend’s parents were staying with us and in between working and showing them around town I had no time to myself. I took the long way home so I could stop by the public toilets in the park, to read the things written on the walls while stroking a quick load off, as I sometimes do. My girlfriend doesn’t know it but I love cock. Especially the anonymous, no-strings-attached kind I’ve now and then sought in public places known for that type of activity, I think they call it cottaging in England.

As I neared the old brick building in the far corner of the park I looked around and the only person in the park was a man on the other side of the park jogging. I skirted the fence and discreetly slipped inside the male side of the toilet. I entered the second cubical and closed the door behind me. The stall was filthy and had a foul, musty smell. The floor was wet and the walls and door were covered in messages left by men seeking sex. I unbuckled my belt and let my trousers and underpants fall to the floor. Sitting on the toilet holding my erect penis I read the messages and began to stroke. The dirty, stinking atmosphere of the dark toilet cubical aroused me and instantly brought me close to orgasm. I love being in a filthy and depraved public place where many others had masturbated, met other men and masturbated together, shared semen and probably fucked.

I was reading a message written on the wall that detailed someone’s desire to have a total stranger suck his penis when the door to the toilet suddenly swung inward. The man I had seen jogging in the park stood in the open doorway looking down at where I sat holding my cock with a stunned expression on my face. There was no lock on the door. I thought I would hear someone entering the toilet block and if I did I would quickly pull my trousers up and act as though I was there too use the facilities for what they are intended, but he snuck in and I didn’t have the chance. I froze. He stood with a slight smile on his face and seemed to enjoy my panic. I went to pull up my trousers but he moved towards me and I sat back not knowing what to do in such a situation. He was tall and athletic looking with broad shoulders extending out of the singlet he wore. Through his tight fitting football shorts I could see a massive bulge and after he closed the door behind him I found myself staring at his crotch.

I looked up at the handsome stranger smiling down at me. My heart was racing, not only from the heightened state of sexual arousal my hand had brought myself to, but also from the sheer thrill of being naked from the waist down in a public toilet with an extremely sexually appealing man who was clearly willing to engage in sexual activity. He slid his hand down the front of his shorts and I watched as he took out a half erect penis that was beautiful, perfect and frighteningly enormous. Twice before I had met with strangers in public toilets and both of those occasions had been bitterly disappointing. I had met with men not nearly as…

Find out what happens next…

Chapter 1

It started two weeks ago, as a sort of little problem. Matt, my boyfriend, had come home from his annual eye exam to report that he needed new glasses with a stronger script. Both Matt and I have myopia. We’ve been together for the past 10 years, and since then my script has gone from -3 to -5, a modest increase. Matt however, has gone from -4.5 to -9.25, and at his latest exam has been prescribed – 10.5. The optometrist, the same one I saw, had referred Matt to an Ophthalmologist, as he felt that Matt’s vision should have stabilized by now. Up until this last increase Matt usually wore contacts, although I preferred him in glasses, particularly the ones he had that were oval shaped titanium. In those he looked really hot. The new contacts were 10.5, and the glasses were just a bit stronger to compensate for the spectacle blur.”

On most evenings Matt and I would go to bed around 9:30. Matt had to be up early for his job as an EMS attendant, although I got to sleep in a little later being an electronic technician. Last week, the night before his second eye appointment, Matt was in bed early complaining that he’d had to take his contacts out early, as his eyes were so sore. I noticed as I was turning the lights down that his eyes were quite red and looked very tired.

I climbed into bed next to him and within a few moments he had snuggled up to my back, giving me a really nice cuddle. Slowly I could feel him move us around until we were facing each other. For some time he just held me, and rubbed my shoulders, arms and chest. His massage was starting to arouse me. He kissed me on the mouth, a slow, drugging kiss and the feel of his tongue in my mouth sent another hot jet of desire through me. Then he moved down my body, kissing, tasting and sucking, as he grasped me between the legs, his hand beginning to explore my growing shaft. He was trying to go down on me and then complained that because he didn’t have his contacts in he couldn’t really see what he was doing. I reached over and handed him his glasses, but he said that made it worse. He brought me off more by feel, than by seeing what he was doing…it was great, but Matt seemed disappointed and after we’d made love to each other, I held him and asked him what was wrong. He said he always enjoyed looking at me when he was giving me a blowjob and was very disappointed that he couldn’t watch me cum. We held each other for a while and finally fell asleep, in each other’s arms.

Chapter 2

The Test

When Matt came home the following evening, his eyes were still very red. He’d been wearing his glasses all day, because his contacts were just not comfortable. I loved the look when he wore his glasses, but I was concerned about his eyes. We went out for an early dinner and movie, as he was not working the following day, and had an appointment with the ophthalmologist.

The following morning he asked me if I could go with him to the doctor’s office so I phoned in for a day off and we headed to…

Find out what happens next…

It was her turn.

“Have you ever been with another man?” she asked.

A little pause.

“Yes,” I answered. “A conductor in Vienna I was working under. No pun intended.”

She grinned slyly and so did I.

I continued.

“One evening we’d imbibed that tad bit too much spirits and I suppose you could say male bonding got taken to another level. He was heterosexual as well, but our sexuality had little to do with it…”

I trailed off. Her grin had widened. There was a playful amusement in her eyes as she looked at me in that extremely alluring way of hers that gets me every time. I could feel an undeniable stirring inside me. Every nerve of my body cried out for her. I wanted her. Now. But she would have none of that. Not until I had finished telling her every filthy detail.

But let me tell my story again properly for you lusty readers.

The year was 1910. It was the final year of my musical studies at the conservatory. Franz was about ten years older than me and occasionally visited our class to lecture or give instruction as he was too young to acquire the position of a professor at the time, though he was on good terms with all of the teachers and many of the students.

A respected young conductor, he was a mentor of sorts to me, having already achieved the status I could only dream of someday nearing.

I rather looked up to him but he had always treated me as an equal, despite the difference in our ages and social standing. Somehow his status was never an issue between us, or at least he never gave me cause to feel that it was, and I was immensely proud of the fact that I had earned his respect at such a young age.

He had seen potential in me and it was as though he had already given me credit in advance for the greatness he was certain I would inevitably achieve. We’d always got on quite well as colleagues, and over time we’d developed something akin to a professional friendship.

He was a handsome, accomplished man of about 30 and was married to an attractive woman from Salzburg who was a couple of years his senior. I’d met and spoken to her on numerous occasions when I’d had the honour of being invited to dine with them at their beautiful home in one of the nicer parts of the city.

In comparison, the scruffy 25m² behind the Westbahnhof I returned to every evening was a constant reminder to me of my lowly position in society, at least for the time being.

I would never have dreamt of inviting any of my peers back to my modest dwelling, let alone the great conductor himself. But as chance would have it, one evening after attending a spectacularly performed Handel concert, he invited himself. It was not the only surprise fate had in store for me that night.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our first stop after the performance was a local Kaffeehaus where we had a satisfying go, as usual, at picking apart each detail concerning the orchestra, good-naturedly finding fault where we could. He’d already ordered his…

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“Getting to know you” also means getting to know your friends…

I had had sex with my high school buddies, but nothing I had ever done compared to the session with Todd, my step-dad. It had been a totally unexpected encounter and the steamy passion of the lusty workout had made an indelible impression upon my psyche. I thought of very little else when I was having sexual thoughts, and at age 18, that was often and bountiful.

Even with hot thoughts of having sex with Todd again, there was the further additive of who he had, had sex with. In the passionate afterglow of our own intimate encounter, we had each of us sort of fessed up to having gotten physical pleasure with other guys, a confessional of sorts. I got very chatty, told him about many of the physical contacts I had had, primarily with buddies, which were mostly explorations, and experiments of cock size comparisons, mutual masturbation and sucking dick. But I did not tell him everything.

We had several private “show ‘n tell” sessions, getting naked together and telling each other hot stories. Todd showed a lot of interest in my activities and probed with questions. I was eager to answer them, everything from the size of a buddy’s dick to who started the action, all sorts of titillating questions. Though I had had a few adult males, I thought it best to leave those encounters to myself for a while since he was so turned on by my buddy stories anyway. Many of them were the guys that he had seen around the house for years and he seemed tremendously amused by our behavior. . He would play with my dick the entire time I was telling him stories, and when he told me a few stories of his own, I would do the same for him. It was so damned hot to hear my step-dad telling me about how he and some of his cop buddies would get it together, that I would nearly cream just hearing his stories. He knew this, and would then go down on me at just the magical moment to heighten my senses so that I poured out my fluids in an uncontrollable stream. He never missed a droplet.

Later, I would have so many fantasies of Todd and his buddies that I must have lost gallons of cum jerking off to my mental images of what I imagined them getting up to. I guess I was still too naïve to imagine that I might someday actually insert myself into the action, but Todd had apparently been planning that on a practical basis while I was just fantasizing about it.

At breakfast one summer morning, Todd casually asked if I would like to “have a workout” with him later in the day. My dick went hard with the double entendre, as he continued to say that he had been neglecting the weights and would like to get back on track with them. He told me what time he would be home to work out, and I assured him that I would be “ready for him and a good workout”. He smiled knowingly, when Mom commented that we should be careful and not get hurt since she would be gone all afternoon and evening. Dad winked at me, since he apparently knew that information in advance anyway. I was hard as steel with the anticipation…

Find out what happens next…

(…I have described The Taverne in the Towne before, and some of its essential characteristics. The most essential of these characteristics is the slogan engraved over the backbar, ‘What is said in The Taverne stays in The Taverne’ This story is True – but, in True Taverne Tradition, the names have been changed to protect the Guilty…)

I walked into The Taverne in the Towne hoping that my favorite barstool (4th from the left by the cable TV) would be vacant, wanting nothing more than a few quiet drinks and a win by the home-town major-league baseball team (yes, I know, the NBA finals are on, but for me, football season and basketball season are just something to do to stave off the boredom between the World Series and Opening Day.)

I was in luck – in luck twice, as it turned out, but I didn’t know it at that moment. I thought that I was in luck because my barstool was indeed vacant, so I grabbed it quick before anyone else could claim it. Unfortunately for me, the NBA crowd was in full control, so any hope of seeing the baseball game was in vain. My second bit of luck this night was that, as I sat down on my own home barstool, I realized that the hunched figure next to me was Brian – and that he was there without Zoe, his girlfriend.

Of all the various habitués of The Taverne in the Towne, Brian is one of the sexiest – not a big man, about 5’10” or so, but nice broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, and not hugely muscled, but lean-and-trim. He is a law school student, and so only comes to The Taverne occasionally, as his work and study schedules permit, but he is always a delight to my eyes. His main assets beyond his lean, mid-20’s body, are his long, dark wavy hair, with the killer eyelashes framing the soft, deep-set, heavy-lidded dark eyes, which flare with intensity when he is engaged, but are mostly found in quiet repose, as he is himself mostly found. Brian is not an overtly forceful, dominant, aggressive person, but he is one of those quietly assertive guys with whom you do not ever want to mess, and whom you want on your side in any fight, whether physical or intellectual.

As I pull up to my barstool this night, I give him a pat on the back – I always touch Brian whenever I can, because this straight guy is so desirable I never miss a chance for physical contact – just the touch of his firm shoulder through a thin t-shirt, or the sight of his hairy thighs and calves below his cut-off jeans, will fuel my fantasies for days – and nights. Tonight, however, Brian barely raises his head from his beer glass, and mutters a barely audible response to my usual “Hey, guy.”

Sensing trouble, I ask, “What’s up? Zoe let you off the leash for once?”

Brian almost never appears without Zoe hanging off of him, and what this sexy stud sees in that impossible bitch I will never know – suffice to say that he must want…

Find out what happens next…

Luck really didn’t come into it though many thought I was lucky. At 34 I still felt I was a good-looking catch. My interests in other guys were mainly in those my own age. I was a man’s man liking men who acted like men, men who acted like me really. When Nat started talking to me one night in the main gay bar in town, I paid him little heed. I was cruising a rather attractive David Beckham lookalike at the other side of the bar and was at the sly smiling stage where each time our eyes met we would smile at each other like we had a hidden secret. He was really attractive and just my type – hard to get!

Suddenly there was a hyperactive explosion of conversation at my right elbow and there was Nat. It was more of a continued conversation in which I had not been party to its initial stages. “They always do that to me; did you see that?”

“Uh,” I said, rather lamely. “Sorry I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“These bloody barmen, they treat me like I’m underage or completely invisible. I’m over 18,” he shouted to a passing bar queen! “I won’t report you for underage serving.”

“What are you trying to buy,” I asked?

“Just a bottle of beer,” he replied.

“A beer please,” I shouted to the returning bar queen!

“Coming up,” he said as he minced past, picked one up, flipped off the top and dumped it on the counter. “That’ll be £3.50,” he said, looking at me then down at the overpriced bottle on the counter.

I paid.

“Thanks, I’m Nat,” said the blonde thing in front of me. “It’s short for Nathan, not Nathaniel.”

“Right, I’m Rory and that’s short for Rory,” I said.

I really wanted peace to eye up my good-looking footballer hero lookalike and I looked up to reconfirm to him that I was still interested in a second half to our little game. My eyes met an extremely overweight and sweating forty-something who seemed to be keen on taking my now missing piece of eye candy’s place.

“Shit,” I said aloud!

“What is it,” said little Nat?

I explained that while he was flirting with me, the centre of my interest had left and 45 minutes of batting eyelids had been completely wasted.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s his loss anyway ‘cos you’re a good looking hunk!”

I looked at this piece of candy floss that had just called me a “hunk” and took him in for the first time. Standing about 5 feet and 8 inches against my 6 feet and 1 inch, he was slim with shape, if you know what I mean. He wasn’t skinny and had some shape where it mattered. He had a round face, which looked almost cherubic, and real blonde hair with just enough brown streaked naturally through it to make it textured. His eyes were a piercing blue that looked almost like coloured contact lenses but weren’t. His chest hugging pink top should have looked really effeminate but wasn’t somehow, and his washed out jeans were fitting around his hips and just sitting low enough to show the pale blue band of a pair of Emporio Armani briefs peeking over his belt.

For those of you salivating over this image, he wasn’t me at all. Though he wasn’t camp, he should have been as his image said he was…

Find out what happens next…

This Uniform Story is Also True…

My Step-Dad was a policeman, and was quite a role model for me. Todd had been in the family since I was ten. He was tall, dark, and handsome, 6′2″ and 200 pounds, very fit and muscular since he worked out a lot. He worked primarily as a detective in street clothes, but he also had his police uniforms that I thought made him look exceptionally macho, but I would never have told him that, certainly not in that way to make him think that I thought he was a sex symbol.

He knew that I admired him, and as I developed, he would compliment me on my looks, and my build as I fleshed out the body, by working out with him. He often told me that I was getting to be as good looking as his old man, or developing a build like his old man, always meaning himself of course, even though we were not related. Even so, I took that as a high compliment since I regarded Todd as one of the most handsome men that I had ever seen. I was as blonde as he was dark, but otherwise, our body make-up seemed to be made pretty much from the same mold.

We were good buddies and good friends, but not exceptionally close. I knew that he was there if I needed him, and he gave me all the support and guidance that a good father would do. I was eighteen when mom and Todd decided that my bedroom, which was adjacent to their bedroom, should be changed and that I should move into the big room over the garage, which was down the hall and farthest away from them. I guess they knew that I wanted and needed more privacy as a testosterone-laden teen, and they likely needed their own marital privacy as well, without worrying about any sexual antics in either room. The room over the garage had only been roughed out, and needed to be finished and painted. For as long as I could remember, it had just been a storage room, with a lot of Mom’s sewing things, but mostly just full of boxes and old furniture. On a long holiday weekend, Todd and I were left at home alone to work on my new bedroom.

We were up bright and early, and by the end of that day we were making great progress since it was beginning to take shape. We hauled out virtually everything that was in the room, lugging it to the garage or to the junk heap. By nightfall, it was now a big empty room, with two big-mirrored sliding doors that led into a huge closet that ran the entire length of one wall. With the room now empty, Todd announced our last task for the day was to tackle the closet, which included a long rack of old clothing. As he handed the clothes to me to take to the garage, he stopped at one point with a noticeable pause as he held up an old police uniform, obviously one of his from years ago. He smiled as he displayed it for me, and told me that it was the first uniform that he had ever had custom tailored to be form fitting. He always felt good in it, he said, and felt that he looked good in it, too. I asked him to try it on to show me. He smiled, said he was sure that it would not…

Find out what happens next…

I couldn’t hold off any longer. I gently grasped the back of his head, his thick brown hair filling my fingers. My knees got shaky as my orgasm built up in me. I could feel his tongue trying to go down my pee slit, his finger up my anus, swirling. I told him, he paid no attention to me, just sucked harder, and slid a second finger up my needy asshole. And then, finally, the pressure was too much. Without caring, I shoved all 7 inches of my cock down his throat. He took it. I could feel my cum boiling up the length of my cock. Shot after shot erupted into the back of his throat, only to be quickly swallowed. I could see his throat work, his lips smacked. Finally, my cum just drooled out. I almost went to my knees I felt so weak. Slowly, I felt him slide his fingers out of me. He was looking up at me, his twinkling eyes crinkled, his long eyelashes drawing me down to him. The picture he made was incredibly erotic. His full, thick lips wrapped around the shaved base of my cock, my hands still entwined in his hair. God, this man got me hot!

His name was Donald but everyone called him Mussy. He is the son of a woman with whom, years ago, I had an affair. I was 25 then. She was 35, and Mussy was in his early teens. I moved after I finished college and did not see her for many, many years. Much later when I would go back and visit my old stomping ground, Mussy was never around as he had grown and no longer lived with his parents. Margeret was the same, big busted and full of energy. She must be in her mid sixties now as I was 54, but she was still hot, still in shape, and still with that naughty twinkle in her eye which had been the spark plug for our long past affair.

Donald (the elder), her husband wasn’t home when I pulled up their driveway. It was a warm summer day, and she came out of the house with a tight t-shirt and nylon running pants on. I felt my cock stir. We hugged, and her big, braless breasts squished against me. The nylon running pants, which came to mid thigh, were so tight they slid between her pussy lips. She never had dressed like the other women who lived out in rural Virginia, and I was glad her habits hadn’t changed. “Come on in, Tory, I got some cold beer that has your name on it.”

We sat in her living room, drinking beer. She was sitting in a big, overstuffed chair with her legs apart, smiling that naughty smile that had drawn me into her bedroom before. As we had our second, she began to adjust her breasts, which still seemed firm. Her long, thick nipples poked through the cotton material, clearly erect. Damn this woman was hot! But I wasn’t 25 any longer, and I finally had to laugh out loud. “Margaret, if you show me any more you won’t need to wear clothes!”

“Bother you?” She asked with a mischevious glint in her eye.

“Sure does.” I said, feeling my cock begin to fill. “Amazing how you are as hot today as you were thirty years ago.”

She laughed, standing up and posing for me, “do you really think so?” And I did, and told her I did.

“Well, Donald…

Find out what happens next…

It was my yearly golf trip. My regular foursome always went to Myrtle Beach at the end of May, when the prices were cheap and the courses not so crowded. We would spend five days, and golf our brains out, drink our livers out, and eat our guts out. It was a great time.

I was 54, married, kids and had a great job. I made lots of money, and worked my ass off. My sex life had gone to hell, and all I really had was fantasy and my sturdy, strong right hand.

The first day was great; I shot 74 and was really hitting the ball solidly. My putting was working, a soft, smooth stroke and I was driving the ball like a God. Who knows why, but I knew I was going to take advantage of my newfound swing for as long as I could.

At the end of the first round, we went into the pro shop, and I saw him. He couldn’t have been over 18, though he had to be 18 if he was working in the pro shop and handling money. He was short, very slim, with a full head of tousled blonde hair. My sexual past included some men, friends when I was young, and one or two in my early thirties. But none since then. I knew I liked cock, and loved being penetrated, but marriage, kids, a good job had knocked that out of the ball park of reality. In bed, at night, alone and with no one able to read my thoughts I jerked off to young men, old men, penetrating me, sticking their hot cocks in my mouth. But it was only at those times that I let these desires out.

But I did like to meet young guys so my fantasies were more real, tied to an actual person. And so I went to where he was checking in foursomes, even though the line was longer there. Finally, it was my turn. I had spent the time eyeing the young man, his bright blue eyes and creamy, white skin. He surely didn’t weigh over 130 pounds and couldn’t have been taller than 5′4″, where I was 6′2″, and about 215.

He looked up at me, “Hi, can I help you?”

Boy, I thought, could you ever “help me.” But instead of saying what I was thinking, I said, “sure, checking in for the 7:52 tee time, should be under my buddy’s name, McDonald.”

He looked down, checked the screen of his computer and nodded, “Great, want range balls?”

I nodded, and he passed me a token to put into the range ball machine. I handed him my gold card, he smiled, and I actually felt my prick kick just a little. This kid got me hot!

“What’s your name?”

I wanted a name to go with the face while I jerked off, “Tommy.”

I nodded, “Well, Tommy, nice to meet you.” He smiled, man was he pretty.

After the round, we pulled into the cart return area and to my surprise there was Tommy. He was cleaning carts and clubs as the golfers pulled up. I hadn’t been able to see his entire body behind the counter, and he had been wearing a baggy, white collared shirt, but now he was wearing…

Find out what happens next…