I’m Not Gay

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I’m not gay.

Now, if you had seen me last night about this time, you might doubt this. I was on my knees with a rather large, and very hard, cock deep in my mouth. I was sucking on it and sliding it in and out of my mouth, with one hand wrapped around the base and the other cupping the hairy ball sack.

“Okay,” I can imagine you saying. “I can believe that you’re not gay if you were being forced somehow. Maybe the guy was holding a gun to your head or something. Or maybe he was blackmailing you, or you’d lost a bet or something.”

But that’s not it. I was sucking this cock not only willingly, but eagerly. Indeed, I’d spent some considerable effort to get that cock between my lips and I enjoyed every second that I got to suck on it. And, my enjoyment built to a crescendo as the guy built to an orgasm. What I enjoyed most-what caused in me a sort of mental orgasm-was when I felt that hard cock explode in my mouth, covering my tongue with its salty, slimy treat.

“Okay. That’s it,” you say. “You’re gay!”

But that just shows how little you know. If I were gay, I’d be attracted to men. But I’m not. Not in the least. I suppose I’d want to go out with men, to embrace them. I don’t. If I were gay, I’d want to kiss men. The very thought turns my stomach. What I’m attracted to-what I crave-is cocks. I love them: long or short, fat or skinny, veined or smooth, hard or soft, black, brown, red, white or yellow.

Okay, I know what you want to say: “Cocks are attached to men.” Very perceptive of you! I know that of course. So, I’ll do what I have to with the men, to get what I really want. I’ve gone out on dates with men; I’ve embraced men; and I’ve even kissed them. I didn’t find any of these things in the least pleasant in itself. Oh, I’ll admit that my heart sometimes pounded with excitement. But it was only the excitement of the thought that I was getting close to getting what I really wanted.

And, yes, I’ll admit that I’ve had more than a few cocks up my ass. But that, too, was just to get what I wanted. I don’t mean that it hurt that much or that I actually hated it. Sometimes it kind of felt good. But I only did that if the guy pressured me and it looked as if I wasn’t going to keep getting what I wanted if I didn’t put out the way he wanted me to.

That hardly ever happens anymore because I seldom hang around for second or third dates with a guy. If I can get all the cock I want with anonymous, one-night-stands, I can avoid not only having to get to know the guy who’s attached to the cock, I can usually avoid getting fucked in the ass. But, again, it’s not that I mind getting fucked in the ass so much. I’d rather just suck. If I’m on a one-night-stand, then if I’m going to get all the cum I can from the cock, doing the anal thing, too, means that I usually wind up sucking on a cock that tastes of latex, or worse. I’m too much of a connoisseur to enjoy that.

And I am sort of a connoisseur of cock. Some people think it’s all about size and they mean by that: “the bigger, the better.” But they couldn’t be more wrong. Oh, it’s true alright that a huge cock is a huge turn on. Believe me, I’ve had some enormous ones, and I know. I’ve had some so fat I could barely stretch my lips around them. I’ve had some so long that even with both hands wrapped around the shaft like I was holding a baseball bat I still couldn’t fit the rest in my mouth. Fat cocks, long cocks…they’re fantastic. But only a rank amateur or someone completely devoid of taste in cocks would think that size means quality.

In fact, I’ve never sucked a dick that I didn’t find something to like about. I’ve had straight ones and curved ones, fat ones and skinny ones, veined ones and smooth ones. I’ve sucked off cut cocks and uncut ones, black ones, yellow ones, brown ones and white ones. I’ve sucked off young cocks that were as hard as iron and primed to explode at the least provocation. And I’ve sucked off old guys who never really got hard. (It’s actually quite a turn on for me to be able to milk a cock of its cum even when the guy can’t get hard.) It doesn’t matter. They’re all good. Actually, they’re all great.

I said that I’d worked hard for the cock I was getting last night. Really it’s more conniving and scheming than real work. But it takes time and some sensitivity. Like I said, I like one-night-stands best. That means I’m always looking for new cock. Maybe you think that most guys are so horny that a guy like me (are there other guys like me?) should have no trouble finding a willing partner-as long as I’m not looking for reciprocation.

Well, if that’s what you’re thinking, you’re wrong. I’m never looking for reciprocation. Sure, sometimes a guy has wanted to return the favor and sometimes I’ve let it happen. But usually that’s just because I think it will lead to me getting another load of his cum. If I’m certain he’s shot his last wad for the night, I’d really rather just go home and beat off while I recall the feel and taste of his cock in my mouth. I can really do that. I mean, I can recall the feel and taste so Gaziantep Saatlik Escort vividly that it’s as if he’s still in my mouth while I’m stroking my cock. It’s very exciting.

Anyway, even though I’m not looking for reciprocation, I have to go to some lengths to get guys. You can’t just hang a sign around your neck saying, “I love to suck cocks.” For some reason that I don’t understand, that turns a lot of guys off, and it can get you beaten up. And lots of guys who wouldn’t be up for it if they knew from the outset that’s what you were after, can be brought round to it if they’re handled right.

The trick is to find the right door. That means just talking with them like a regular guy-not setting off anyone’s “gaydar”. I’m not gay, of course, but there a lot of guys who get confused about these things. So, I talk with them about the things people talk about when they just meet at a bar or diner. I never come on to them until I find the door.

Here’s how it went last night. I went to a bar that was way on the other side of town. I’d never been to it before but I knew enough to know that it wasn’t a gay bar or singles bar. I hate going to gay bars. It’s not that I have anything against sucking a gay guy’s cock. But most gay guys want to do things like kiss or hug. Or they’re into B&D or leather. Those aren’t my scenes. Some of them are swishy and like to act fem. I try not to pay much attention to the person who’s attached to the cock I’m getting at, but the fem stuff is a turn off for me. Singles bars are usually too noisy and the people are so obviously looking for something that I just don’t like the vibes.

I like neighborhood bars, and that’s what I was at last night. There were about 20 people in the bar, mostly men. Most of them were splitting their attention between watching ESPN and bantering with the bartender or other people at the bar. Several of the men there looked like good prospects. I’ve already told you I’m not particularly picky-though I do sometimes get a hankering for a certain type. But mainly, I think of a good prospect as one I’m likely to be successful with.

And, though I’ve sometimes done more than one guy at a time, I really try to avoid that. Sometimes it leads to ass-fucking as the one who’s not in my mouth gets overly eager for some satisfaction. And, even when that doesn’t happen, the interpersonal dynamics are usually wrong. The guys are too into proving to each other that they aren’t gay. So, they get on power trips, holding my head and fucking my mouth like I’m a passive object or calling me demeaning names. I like being in control and I don’t like being abused. I’m convinced that the very same guy who would be abusive and controlling if he were playing to one of his buddies, is happy to let me take charge and incredibly grateful for my oral ministrations when it’s just the two of us.

So, I look for someone who looks as if he’s there alone. Of the likely prospects I scoped out last night, one was on the barstool right next to me. It turned out to be easy to strike up a conversation with him.

Ned looks to be about thirty-five, but turns out to be over forty. He has some boring job in a small company, has been married but divorced about five years ago, and now has a girl friend with whom things are just so-so. As it turns out, it is this last factor that provides the door. I suspect that right away, but it takes a little while for me to confirm it and even more for me to open that door.

I tell him a lot of stuff about me, almost all of it false. In a way, my lies are like those that millions of people tell prospective pick-ups; in a way, they’re very different. It wasn’t like I was lying to impress him-no, “I drive a Porsche” or “I’m Chief Legal Counsel of a major company” type lies. But, then, those sorts of lies aren’t the ones that further my ends. I tell a different kind of convenient lie. I tell him I’m married. I’m not, but I always wear a wedding band. It puts the “gaydar” way down. And, after he brings up his girlfriend, I tell him a little about my (nonexistent) wife. The main bit of information I want to convey-though it takes a long time for me to steer the conversation to the point where I can say this in a natural way-is that she’s really great in the sex department, even though we’ve been married for 15 years.

I tell him the old joke about the difference between a bride and a Hoover vacuum cleaner-after 10 years, the Hoover still sucks! I’m sure he’s heard it, but it gets the topic of oral sex on the table. I tell him that I married one of those rare Hoover wives. And, he reveals that the only thing he misses about his ex-wife, is her blowjobs. His current girlfriend isn’t into that.

BINGO!

Now he starts to open up. He doesn’t want to sound like a loser, so he quickly adds that he has a good sex life and his girlfriend does suck him sometimes, but only until he starts to get aroused and then she plays like she has to have him in her cunt soooo much-she just can’t wait another second. At first he was flattered. She was practically begging to be fucked. But now he sees it as just a ploy to avoid sucking him all the way off. He doesn’t say it in those words, but that’s the way he thinks about it. I can read between the lines. This guy’s yearning for a real blow job. Well, I think I can take care of that.

But I know I can’t just blurt out, “I’ll suck you off!” I have to bide me time and figure out when’s the best moment to try to go through the door he opened up just a crack.

We talk for a while and I find out that Ned’s not living with his girlfriend. In fact, she’s out of town for the weekend. He lives just around the corner-another reason for me to go to neighborhood bars. Now I just have to find a way to get myself invited over to his house-or a plausible excuse to invite myself.

This takes a bit of listening. Sometimes, in similar situations before, I’ve never found that excuse. Sometimes, desperate at the prospect of losing a target, I’ve resorted to simply leaving the bar when my prospect does, and offering to suck them off in my car. I don’t like to make the offer so crudely and I don’t like doing it in the car, but sometimes the offer works and sucking a cock in the car is better than not getting any cock at all.

As we talk, I learn that Ned’s into cars and still has an old Mustang-1968 convertible-that he bought used almost 20 years ago. He’s in the process of restoring it and I can tell he’s proud of it. Now, I don’t give a shit about cars. But, if feigning interest in cars gets me what I want, I’m good with that. I tell him that I used to own a 67 Mustang but an old girlfriend wrapped it around a telephone pole. I let him think I know a fair amount about cars in general and Mustangs in particular-though I’m at the very edge of my knowledge and worried that at any second I could say something that would lead to a raised eyebrow and general skepticism about me and my motives.

But the conversation goes pretty well and finally I decide to pop the question. “I’d love to see your Mustang” I say. (God, if only he’d hot-rodded his Mustang, I could have said, “I’d love to see your rod,” and spoken God’s honest truth.)

I can see the instant I finish the sentence that it’s going to work. He wants to show off his Mustang. So, we leave the bar and walk about a block to his house. As we go through the kitchen toward the garage, I ask if he has any whiskey or anything. I tell him I’m full of beer but I could use another drink. Actually, I don’t need anything more to drink-well, not anything more before I get his cock in my mouth-but I figure he’ll have one, too, and it can’t hurt to get him a little more loosened up before I make my move.

He has some really fine single-malt Scotch, as it turns out, so I’m happy I asked. We drink a bit on the way to the garage. I appropriately “Oooohhh” and “Aaahhh” when he opens the door and turns on the light. We walk around it and I let him take his time showing me every detail: what he’s done; what still needs to be done. I don’t care about all of this, of course, but I want him to drink a bit more.

He’s not getting drunk, but I can tell that the alcohol has had something of an effect on him and I decide to go for it.

“You know, about five or six years ago, my wife and I split for about six months. I got involved with a woman and I was having the exact same problem you are with your girlfriend,” I venture. “She was really pretty and we had sex a lot, but she wasn’t into oral sex-giving it, I mean.” I let it sit there to gauge his reaction. It’s a noncommittal grunt, but with an upward inflection that says, “go on.”

“Yeah, so it got really frustrating for me. At first, it just sort of nagged at me. But I started to feel really deprived and I began to be fixated on getting a blow job.” I pause for just a beat or two, “Ya know what I mean?”

Now I get more than a noncommittal grunt. He knows exactly what I mean.

“So, then something really weird happened.” I take another drink. “And I did something I’d never done in my life.” Now a dramatic pause. He’s hanging on my words.

“In fact, I’ve never even told another sole about this. Guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. It’s not like we know each other or you’ll ever see me again.” I take another drink and don’t go on yet. It’s good to let the thought that he’ll never see me again sink in and I know he’ll wait as long as it takes for me to go on. He’ll prompt me if he has to. He’s hooked.

“So, what’d ya do?”

I suck down a little bit more of my Scotch. I want Ned to wait. “I met this guy-didn’t really know him-but we got to talking and I got real comfortable with him. After a while, I told him about my deprivation. He listened sympathetically and …” Time for another drag on my Scotch. It’s a great prop for teasing him with my story. He doesn’t say anything, though. He just waits for me to go on.

“And, he said…and I couldn’t believe that I’d heard him right…he said, ‘I’ll give you a blow job!'”

Ned looks at me really strange for a split second. I don’t let him think too long.

“So, when I was sure that I hadn’t misheard him, I tried to sort of laugh it off as if it was a joke. But he just kept looking at me and I realize that he’s serious.” Ned looks away. But it’s not because he’s not interested.

“So, whadya do?”

“I said, ‘What the hell? Why not?’ and got the best blowjob of my life.”

That gave Ned pause; I think he was pretty ambivalent about the story. He offered, “Gays make me feel uncomfortable. I never know whether they’re interested in me sexually.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know what you mean. I’m the same way. But this guy was so not gay. He was married and seemed as straight as your or me.” Another drink. “Later he told me that he’d never done that but he’d thought about it sometimes and figured, why not then, with a guy he didn’t know and didn’t have to worry about running into later.”

“Hmmm. Well, I guess,” Ned mumbled and it was his turn to take a drink-mainly to avoid saying anything.

“So,” I offer tentatively, “what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” He’s playing dumb but I don’t blame him. The embarrassment of being wrong by thinking that I’m offering to suck him off is much worse than the embarrassment of being thought slow to pick up on an offer.

“I’ll suck you off if you want.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. You know, ever since he did that for me. There have been times-late at night if I can’t sleep or in a random moment-when I’ve wondered myself what it would be like.” I finish my Scotch. “I’ve never even touched a man before.” (Wow! Now there’s the biggest lie of the night-maybe of the century.) “But, I’m interested in trying it.”

Okay, now that takes the burden off of him. All he has to do is be willing to let me suck his cock. And it’s not as if I’m some sort of cock-hungry gay guy. I’m just a regular guy who is doing a little experimenting. Nothing threatening there.

“So, is it okay with you?” I ask.

“I guess.” He stammers a little. “Where?”

“Here’s fine I guess.” I’ve never given a guy a blowjob in a garage. And I’ve given lots of blow jobs. I put my jacket on the floor to cushion my knees and kneel down slowly in front of him.

One of the good things about doing this under the pretense of “never having done anything like this before” is that I have to go slowly and tentatively. I have to act like it really is my very first time, at least until I get into it. And that heightens the excitement.

He stand a little too far from me and so I pull him closer. I reach up tentatively toward his fly and unzip him. My hands are shaking a little bit. He doesn’t know it’s from excitement, not fear.

The guy has on whitey-tighties under his slacks so I don’t have to fake awkwardness at getting his cock out. I really have to fumble a little to get at it. He’s not hard yet, not even beginning to get hard. Some guys get hard at the mere thought of a blow job. Maybe Ned would if it were a woman doing it. Of course, if a woman were doing it, there would probably be some foreplay like kissing and petting. I hate that shit and, anyway, I don’t mind putting a soft cock in my mouth and making it swell up like a balloon. “Don’t mind!?!?!?!” Hell, I love it!

Ned’s dick isn’t that big. But you can never really tell when they’re soft. Some big dicks when they’re soft wind up no bigger than small dicks when both get hard. Black guys especially often have much larger soft cocks even when they don’t have gigantic hard dicks.

I look at Ned’s dick in my hand, trying to seem a bit tentative and reluctant even though I’m feeling ravenous. I bring my lips to it as if gingerly and gently put my tongue out to touch its tip. I touch it twice, pulling my tongue in after each contact. Then, I slide my tongue under the cockhead to caress the most sensitive spot. As my tongue slides along the underside of Ned’s cock, I feel his shaft begin to harden and I can hear him moan. I know there’s no turning back for Ned now. He wouldn’t care if I were gay, or a Martian. He wants my lips wrapped around his cock and he wouldn’t stop me no matter what until he’s shot his load.

Still, I take it kind of slowly. I don’t have to for his sake, but I like teasing myself and him a little, too. I pull back a bit. Maybe he thinks I’m changing my mind. That’s okay. If he does, he’ll be that much more grateful when I take him into my mouth. I reach into his pants and pull his balls out. It’s difficult with his jockey underpants, but when I get them out, it’s worth it. His balls aren’t too hairy, but they’ve got some nice fuzz on them. They’re nice sized with some weight to them. I think about all the sperm cells that he’s been making there that will soon be mixed with his semen and shot into my mouth. Strange things go through my head sometimes. I think about an individual sperm cell that is soon to be shot the length of his cock, right into the back of my mouth and swallowed down my throat into my eager stomach. I’m thinking this weird thought as I fondle his balls in one hand, gently rolling them between my thumb and fingers. I’m really looking forward to this. This guy’s going to bust a nut big time, and I’m going to reap the rewards.

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