I fully acknowledge that I may be repeating myself in reference to my mate, 'The Breeder' in posting that this is one of my All-time FAVOURITES from his blog, 'A Breeder's Journal'.
This particular piece of non-fiction has significant resonance for me.
I applaud this man for his narrative skills, personal insight and understated courage as a writer, a sexual adventurist and as a man.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"...It was 1987, and I’d just moved to the Midwest for school. I was totally
on my own, in my own apartment, supporting myself on a full fellowship
and through little odd teaching jobs here and there. It was a heady time
of independence. If I wanted to date, I could, without questions from
roommates or friends or parents. If I wanted to have someone spend the
night, all I had to do was ask. I controlled my meals, my finances, my
time.
And I didn’t know it, but it was a time in my sexual life when everything would start to swing around and change. The fulcrum around which everything pivoted was the man behind that number. I just didn’t know how much my life would change, when I called.
And I didn’t know it, but it was a time in my sexual life when everything would start to swing around and change. The fulcrum around which everything pivoted was the man behind that number. I just didn’t know how much my life would change, when I called.
He gave me a street number to visit the next night, at seven in the
evening. I barely knew my way around town, and drove past his place
three times without realizing. I’d been looking for an apartment or a
house among the tiny little storefronts on that busy east side street,
but he’d given me the address of a florist’s shop. As I parked my car, I
was slightly leery of that. In my youthful ignorance, I pictured
florists as the most stereotypical of all the so-called gay professions.
My mind was already imagining some lisping, mincing Charles Nelson
Reilly of a queen, complete with a periwinkle-patterned shirt open to
the navel. I was a fool. The guy waiting inside was short, trim and
muscled, and thoroughly masculine. He was perhaps in his late thirties
or early forties. When I stepped in, his blue eyes twinkled and he
smiled. “You are a tall one, son,” he said, looking pleased. “Shut the
door.” When I followed his instructions, he added, “Now lock it. Come
on.”..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My comment posted to his blog...
"SIR
said...
- I feel ya...my GAWDDD mate, I feel ya! My heart's pounding, my cock's throbbing and my mind's racing. In addition to capturing such a significant experience with brilliant clarity, you've managed to put 'my sexual evolution' right in front of me, as I identified with your 'bottom era' and was, like you, so immersed in the sex to even consider myself as a 'TOP' thus resuming my role as 'the bottom'. I had assumed my cock was incidental until that momentous fuck in which there was no denying what the look on that 'bottom's" face and in his eyes, "Yea Daddy. Yes Sir. Oh yeaaa Daddy. Fuck me please...please..." From that point on, I've never looked back. I believed him.
Thank you mate, for taking me back there through your inspiring writing...I just cannot emphasize the contribution you make to the gay/bi, msm world...intelligent, integrity, intuition and the horniest sexual appetites coupled with the warmth of 'that florist's hole'... ;-)
Seriously mate...Cheers for this one!!!"~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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