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Information A Week in the Buff
Posted by: Simon - 12-30-2025, 06:26 PM - Replies (3)

   


Part 1: A Conspiracy of Silence

There, among other gay men, we could openly show affection. Some, a visible minority, made rather too much of a show of it, indiscreetly and indiscriminately, particularly at the bar in the immense, barn-like Quonset hut near the entrance to the campgrounds. Why hide the fact? They certainly didn’t.

Most of us, however, the audible majority, confined our lovemaking to a single partner and the privacy of our tents. Walking past them late at night on our way to the showers or to lie back on the playing field and count the stars, and hearing, beneath the din of disco from the other side of the hill, the muffled grunts and sighs of their occupants, we’d smile happily, my lover and I, and tighten the grasp of our intertwined fingers. We’d come here for that too, but not just for that. We came for the camping and the volleyball and the swimming, cooking over an open fire and the company of men like us, to raise no eyebrows when we strolled as a couple and, when we emerged from our tent, not be subject to disapproving stares or remarks on how we offended everyone (meaning them). In short, we came to celebrate our family values.

That is not to say that we’d gone there intending to remain celibate all week. Our family values include having sex, having it often, and we fully expected to have rather more of it than usual during those eight days, but swapping, orgies and the like were not part of the agenda. We knew that quite a few, though by no means all, of the men there had come to have sex, to be watched having sex, to watch others having it, and perhaps to set a record for how many cocks they could suck in a week. Not us. One cock was enough, and we would suck it only as often as we felt like doing it.

Of course we checked the other guys out. Who goes to a museum and puts a blindfold on at the entrance? And we, too, were one of the exhibits. With nothing to hide, it felt right to shed our clothes and go about among men as naked as ourselves, basking in the sun’s warmth, our limbs as unconfined and unashamed as our spirits. Even Gabe, my lover, who was experiencing nudism for the first time and had been reluctant to come, found it natural, though he stayed close to me – out of shyness, not to keep an eye on me, though he could see that no one was sizing him up, as he had feared. Ours were but two unremarkable male bodies among many – old and young, pale and swarthy, squat and tall, hairy and smooth, toned and flabby, clad only in sandals, sneakers or hiking boots, with endowments shaped and sized as variously as their other features.

Sunday through Sunday, eight days of freedom from clothes and prejudice, eight days of letting it all hang out – our souls as well as our dicks. We arrived the evening before the official opening to secure a good camping spot. Others had come on Friday, but there were plenty of campsites left.

Had I come there alone, I would probably have done my fair share of fooling around. But I wouldn’t have come alone, and in my eyes no man there could compete with Gabe. Gabe is on the short side, slim and wiry, with an olive complexion, dark eyes and close-cropped, black curly hair – a Mediterranean type – and a tight, shapely ass you want to sink your teeth into. I couldn’t decide if the charming tattoo I’d talked him into getting flawed or enhanced it. The tattoo was relatively small, a line drawing in black ink about three by two inches, but very intricate, and had taken the artist over an hour to put on. As for his package, I suppose one would describe him as respectable, if unremarkable, but I never was a size queen. What matters to me is how it fits on the rest of the man. I loved seeing him naked all day long, and I took pride in showing him off surrounded by a throng of connoisseurs of male beauty.

Yes, promiscuity hung in the air like a cloud of invisible gnats. But for the time being they neither buzzed nor bit; there was no need to brush them away. We ignored them as they ignored us, not suspecting that by the end of the week their bite would prove so potent as to infect nearly everyone at the campgrounds.

* * *

The birds woke me. How do they know that a new day has come an hour before the sun rises? I lay on my side, my bent knee resting on the gentle rise and fall of his belly, my ankle bridging the space between his thighs, the mound of his soft sex cradling my calf, my hardness straining against his hip. I dozed, and when I opened my eyes it was light.

I lifted my knee from his stomach and sat up. With less pressure on his bladder, he relaxed and breathed more easily. I felt an urgent need to empty mine. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I put on my sweatshirt and sandals, grabbed my comb, toothbrush and a towel, and crawled out of the tent.

The air smelled of campfires smoldering to ash. We’d set up camp on a low rise at the edge of a wooded area. Here, beneath the trees, the chill lingered on and the dew had pooled on the fly, but you could see that the sun had already burnt it off the playing field beyond the trunks. The day would be hot and dry.

A dozen or so men who’d come as group had pitched four very large tents and an RV in a semicircle below us at the foot of the slope, on the lawn alongside the dirt road that separated them from the playing field. We’d wandered into their midst on our way back from the bar the evening before, when it looked as if the scene there would soon degenerate – I mean the word literally – into an orgy, and we spent a few hours drinking and chatting around their campfire. They looked like a wholesome enough crowd. A couple of them had nipple rings or a tattoo, but no egregious piercings. More people came and joined us as the night wore on.

They were all friends from the same naturist club, ranging in age from their late twenties to early sixties. No hard sex went on there – not in plain sight, that is – beyond some cuddling and a little casual groping between men who appeared to be in a steady relationship, but about half of them were at least half erect. That made us horny, and we left early, while the party was still going strong. We’d fallen asleep to the sound of their voices. Now, an hour or so after sunrise, not one of them was stirring.

The most direct route to the lavatories lay through their campsite. Still groggy with sleep and none too steady on my cramped legs, I decided to take the long way around and follow the car tracks – more than three times the distance – sooner than chance the loose dirt and uneven path down the slope. I crossed the clearing and headed in the direction of my erection. Only a long piss would wilt my morning wood. I walked past tents in which snores replaced the sex noises of the previous night, and made it about halfway to the lavatories before I had to relieve myself beside a tree.

The shower left me awake and alert. The sun was strong. I tied my sweatshirt and took the shortcut back to rebuild the fire and make coffee.

Off to the left, the radio was on at low volume in a one-man tent, alone in a treeless space, far from any others. I’d noticed it the day before, and figured that whoever it belonged to must be fairly unsociable, but no one else was up and I was in the mood for conversation.

It was Phil’s tent. That surprised me, because Phil was genial and gregarious, at least when he was buzzed. I’d met him at the party the night before, where he’d had quite a bit to drink. He was a tall, lanky man about twenty years younger than myself, with smooth, unblemished skin and short dark hair. I got the impression he would have liked to have slept longer, but he didn’t look hung over. I thought him quite handsome in the light, barefoot in front of his tent, soaking up the sunshine, arching his back to stretch the stiffness from his limbs, his hips thrust forward, his large, bony feet a yard apart, and, swaying limply between his legs, a penis that would do any man proud and looked even longer because like many men there he trimmed his pubes. One of the guys – Art, I think, unless it was Cliff – had made a friendly crack about it, saying that the name Phil suited him. It called my attention to the fact that we all – and there were nearly thirty of us – had one-syllable names and that, except for me and my partner, they were all words (Rob, Jack, Mark, Brad) or homonyms of words (Doug, Rex, Neil, Les, or, in his case, Phil).

“Hello!” I called out. “You’re up early. Leave shortly after we did?”

“No, I stayed till it broke up.”

“How long was that?”

“God only knows.”

“Doing what?”

“Drinking. Listening to you guys.”

I ignored his second remark and focused on the drinking. “I’m surprised you found your way back to your tent.”

“Someone helped me; I can’t remember who. I’m not sure I knew at the time.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“That much I know. Someone broke out some weed after you left. Good stuff. Everything after that is pretty cloudy, what with the dope and the vodka. I was counting on seeing who he was in the morning, but he must have left after I fell asleep. Well, I guess I’ll find out sometime today.”

“Hung over?”

He smiled dreamily, cupped his hand over his genitals and gave a squeeze.

“No, just tender. I wasn’t good for much else than kicking back and enjoying it, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing. I hope my being so unresponsive didn’t turn him off and he’ll come back tonight.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. With your looks you won’t lack for partners.”

“It’s not my style to hook up with a different dude every night unless the first is a loser. He wasn’t. Coffee? The water’s just about ready.”

“Thanks.”

We made some small talk – where we were from, or line of work, how we’d heard about the gathering, what we thought of the campgrounds. I asked why he’d set up his tent so far from everyone else.

“I didn’t. I was just about the first one here. It wasn’t worth the effort to move. Next time I’ll know.”

“Doesn’t it get hot inside with the sun beating down on it all day?”

“I’m only in it at night, and it’s nice that it’s still a little warm inside when I come stumbling back after midnight.”

I asked if his pendant, a large turquoise in a heavy silver setting he wore on a leather thong, was Hopi or Navajo. He didn’t know. “Are they any different? It’s just a souvenir I picked up in Arizona.”

The conversation lagged. We were miles apart politically. I said I’d better be getting back to my tent; my partner might be awake by now. I could see someone up and about where we’d partied last night. I hoped I remembered his name.

I did – it was Nat, the owner of the RV. He looked cold in his tee-shirt. The sun hadn’t yet reached below the trees. He greeted me with a “Morning, stud. I heard you two had a good time last night.”

Him too? Were we all that loud? “Just don’t say anything to my boyfriend, OK?” I said. “He’d drop dead of embarrassment.”

“Sure thing, but what’s the big secret? Everybody knew where you were going and why.”

Nat had just finished making coffee and offered me a cup. They’d brought a gas grill, so he didn’t need to light a fire. “Comes in handy,” he explained. “We always use up all our wood.”

There was no sign of Gabe at the top of the hill. I put my sweatshirt back on and sat down across from him at the picnic table littered with half-empty bottles and bags of chips. I enjoyed my second cup more than the first. This was real coffee; Phil drank instant.

“Looks like we’re the only ones up,” Nat said.

“Not quite. So’s Phil.”

“Already? I was sure he’d sleep all day. He got pretty wasted last night.”

“I’ll say. He doesn’t even remember who brought him home.”

“Shame on him! That was Pat. He’ll be plenty miffed when he hears he didn’t make much of an impression on the guy.”

“Oh, he left an impression all right! Phil remembers exactly what they did, he’s just not sure who with, and he’s dying to find out.”

“Then I’ll pass the word around not to tell him. Serve him right.”

Hank stuck his head out his tent. “Not tell who what?” he asked.

“You gotta hear this,” Nat said, and went on to tell him. He expected me to supply the details, but Phil hadn’t given many.

“That makes a lot of people to tell,” Hank said.

“Not really,” I explained. “We don’t have to tell everyone who was here. He knows it has to be someone at this campsite because he was the last to leave.”

Hank was incredulous. “Details like that he remembers, but he has no idea whose dick he sucked!”

“Apparently not.”

“Does he remember everyone’s name? Does he remember anyone’s name?”

“I couldn’t say. I don’t think he remembered mine, and he didn’t ask, so I can’t see him coming right out and asking who fucked him last night.”

“I’ve been listening to everything you said, and I think it’s a fabulous idea,” someone called from one of the tents.

“Who was that?” I asked Nat.

“Art. He’ll be taking charge now.”

“Bossy?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure which one Art was.

“Hardly. He’s just a natural-born organizer – Mr. Efficiency. See how well-equipped we are and how we landed the best campsite? That’s Art.”

“This whole weekend is his doing,” Nat continued. “It started out with just the batch of us friends, then got the idea to turn it into one big shebang. He did it all.”

“All?”

“All – made the arrangements with the owner of the campgrounds, advertised it on the Net, worked out the whole tickets in advance thing when we saw how big this was going to be.”

“How big is it?”

“Over three hundred people. There’ll be more next year.”

Art, an overweight man in his early thirties, stepped out of his tent buck naked. He didn’t seem to mind the chill. He was the one I remembered best, not because he was so much fatter than the others, but because he seemed to know all the guys who’d wandered in to join last night’s party. He was one of he three without a steady partner, and the only one who’d been married. “Hi, Ross,” he said. “I thought I recognized your voice.”

Nat and Hank looked relieved. I realized that neither of them had remembered my name.

As Nat predicted, Art took charge immediately. He started by pointing out that the most important one to tell was Pat, so he could play deadpan and lead him on all day.

“And at night?”

“Fuck him silly and see if he recognizes him then.”

“This is going to be fun,” Hank said. “It gives us something to do all day – keep Phil guessing.”

“Just so long as he doesn’t think it’s my idea,” I said.

“Maybe we can all have a go at him and let him figure out who’s who,” Nat suggested.

I told him to count me out on that one.

“Me too,” Hank said, and drew his head back into the tent.

“Where’s he going?” I asked.

“My guess is to tell Pat. It’s a three-man tent. Hank and Brad are a couple...”

“I noticed.”

“Pat’s the odd man out.”

The three of them emerged from the tent a few minutes later. “That bastard!” Pat grumbled. “He wasn’t that drunk when we paired off. You know, I wouldn’t half mind if all of us pounded his ass. He’d just better be able to tell which one was me.”

Nat assured him he was only joking.
“Ty wouldn’t find that funny.”

“He’d think it was hilarious. I just hope we can let everyone know before Phil works his way over here.”

“That won’t be for a while yet,” I said, “and he won’t ask who it was. He’s too embarrassed he forgot.”

Gabe came down the hill in a tee-shirt and lounge pants. “So this is where you’ve been,” he said. “Aren’t you cold?”

Nat handed him a cup of coffee. “Here, this’ll warm you up. You look like you need it.”

“I can’t wait for the game to start,” Pat said. “Look, I have to take a leak anyway. I’ll pick him up on my way back from the head. In the meantime you guys clue everybody in.”

“Sure you can keep a straight face?”

“You bet I can.”

“What’s this all about?” Gabe wanted to know.

We told him.

“That’s just plain cruel,” he said.

“We wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t like the guy,” Art answered.

“I certainly wouldn’t have done what I did last night if I didn’t like him,” Pat cut in, and left to take his leak. The whole situation was too absurd and the scheme was too delicious for him to stay mad at Phil.

“Besides, what’s a little embarrassment?” Nat was saying. “It’ll give him something to tell his grandkids.”

“Fat chance he has of having any!”

“Now not a word to bring this up,” Art warned, “and don’t anyone pick up on any of the hints he drops.”

“Yeah, keep him on pins and needles. Make him squirm.”

“Make him hot under the collar.”

“He ain’t wearing one. None of us are!”

“Teach him another risk of anonymous sex,” Hank added. “If he hasn’t figured it out by tonight we can all take turns coming on to him.”

The air had warmed up considerably, and we were all back in our bare skins, except Gabe, who’d taken off his tee-shirt but kept on the lounge pants. Art and Nat made the rounds to get everyone ready, while Hank took the car to pick up a few more cords of wood before they ran out at the office, where they hadn’t expected so many people to show up for the event.

It turned out that Phil had not been the last to leave. To no one’s surprise, at some point during the party Curt and Les had picked up two guys for a foursome in their tent. Theirs was, as they put it, a very open relationship, and I learned that just about everyone there, including those in a long-term relationship, had slept with one or both of them at one time or another. A fling with Curt and Les evidently didn’t count as an infidelity.

The four men came out of the tent, rubbing their eyes and grumbling about being woken up so early. Although they were about the same age as Art, Curt and Les looked the youngest in the group, and were by far the best-looking, in build, face and endowment. Les even worked part-time as a go-go dancer, which is how they met – Curt’s old partner had dragged him to a review at a gay disco and lived to regret talking Les into going home with them. (“Just for the hell of it,” according to Les. He swore he only took money for dancing. They’d been promiscuous together for over ten years.

When Les and Curt heard what was up, their annoyance turned to enthusiasm, and they were all for everybody having a go at Phil to let him pick out the right one. Just the thought of it was enough to make them hard again.

Art nixed the idea: “That wouldn’t be a joke. It would be a gang bang.”

“What’s wrong with a gang bang?” Curt asked with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s one of the few things we haven’t done.”

“Does that include putting on a show?” I asked.

“Do private showings count?”

“By invitation only or open to anyone who happens to stumble in?”

“Friends and friends of friends.”

“Then it doesn’t count.”

“I’ve made a couple of videos,” Les said.

“The two of you together?”

“Both of us, together and separate,” Curt specified.

Nat shrugged. “Pooh! Who hasn’t made a video?”

“I haven’t, for one,” Art chimed in.

“Videos that anybody can rent?” Les asked. “Videos that a million guys must have seen?”

“No, I meant a live show in front of a live audience,” I stipulated, “with hundreds of men you don’t know looking on.”

“That would be a first too.”

“If you want to put on a show for the whole campgrounds, go right ahead. I’ve seen your shows, and they’re innocent enough.”

“Innocent? I take that as an insult.”

“If you like I’ll spread the word; just set a time. But no selling tickets. It has to be a freebie. And leave Phil out of it.”

Nat thought that Curt and Les putting on a show would distract Phil from trying to find out who he had sex with, but Art brushed his objection aside.

All the time I was keeping my eye on Gabe. He was shy with strangers and didn’t say much in company, so I couldn’t tell what he thought of all this or the trick we were planning to play on Phil. Of the others, only Rob, some fifteen years older than anyone there (except me), didn’t like the idea. He argued that sex wasn’t just an amusement.

“I agree,” Art said, “but this isn’t sex, except for Pat and Phil, and they’ve already had sex together. For the rest of us it’s exactly that – an amusement.”

“And the Curt and Les sex show?”

“That’s their business. Christ, they’ve been together ten years! Don’t you believe they love each other?”

Continue reading..

Information A Gay Bestiary
Posted by: WMASG - 12-30-2025, 06:17 PM - No Replies


                                       
           


     1.   Raptor
     2.   Moths
     3.   Goldfish
     4.   Koala Bear
     5.   Flying Fox
     6.   The Frog
     7.   Ass
     8.   Aye-aye
     9.   Sperm Whale
   10.   Otters at Play
   11.   Red-Eared Turtle

        		           


   12.   Nesting Gulls
   13.   Praying Mantis
   14.   The Shrew
   15.   Hyenas
   16.   Leopard Etiquette
   17.   Trolls & Fairies
   18.   Hammerhead
   19.   Kudus
   20.   White Rhino
   21.   The Oyster
   22.   Blowfish

        		           


   23.   Cockatrice
   24.   Cheetah
   25.   Stallion
   26.   Woodpeckers
   27.   Two Serpents
   28.   Coral Polyps
   29.   Horny Old Goat
   30.   One-Humped Camel
   31.   Tasmanian Devils
   32.   Bonobos
 

       


Raptor  (Aquila chrysaetos)

      Out of lust, the god took the form of an eagle.

      The youth was in every way perfect.  Following the course of the Scamander toward the distant sea, he walked over the plains of Phrygia, rejoicing in his virility.  The sun rose above the peak of Mont Ida and warmed the breeze that wrapped itself lovingly around his nudity.  Ideally proportioned, supple of limb, graceful in motion, toned, unblemished, he let his intelligent gaze scan the horizon, taking in the early morning emptiness.

      Swooping down, the eagle carefully folded his taloned feet around the youth so as not to scratch him, and flew off, bearing him toward Mount Olympus.  His quarry put up no struggle, but gazed at the bird in adoration, as if he recognized the god.





Moths  (Order: Lepidoptera)

      It was close to midnight.  The slender young hustler stood leaning against the street lamp.  He wore a leather jacket and tight jeans.  The light reflected in his pale face flickered like a flame that drew the gaze of other men, drab and plump as night moths, but hesitant to step beyond the shadows and be burned.

      Far above his head, less cautious insects flew dizzy circles round the glow and sometimes dared to bump against the glass.





Goldfish  (Carassius auratus)

      He swims in lazy circles, round and round the little castle in the center of his bowl.  Its curved walls magnify the landscape of the alien world outside.  Tiny snails cling to them, or move imperceptibly across the pebbles below in quest of the dark threads that float slowly down from him.  He has no other companions except the bright orange shape that mirrors his motions above the  glinting surface.  It has no substance, for the fingers that scatter crumbs for him pass right through it, and he doesn’t feel its lips when they meet his to close around the crumbs.





Koala Bear  (Phascolarctos cinereus)

      Not the hairy, butch, beer-guzzling, often overweight guy familiarly known as a bear, but more like a soft, plush teddy bear, the koala is, in fact, not a bear at all, but a marsupial and, unlike butch beer-guzzlers, a protected species.

      Despite their large heads, koalas do rank high on the intelligence scale.  Their brain – one hesitates to use the plural for anything so dimwitted – has shriveled to size of a walnut since they first evolved, and if it weren’t floating in a lake of spinal fluid would rattle in their skull like castanets.  Scientists blame the shrinkage on fifty millennia of a low-energy, low-protein diet, made up exclusively of eucalyptus.  They have probably become addicted to the stuff, and began eating it in an attempt to control their cough-like bark.

      Male koalas have a double or bifurcated penis (if you like that sort of thing), which they have unwittingly used to spread the chlamydia epidemic that has decimated its numbers.  If cute and cuddly attracts you, please inquire about his genital health before you get too intimate.  You’re safer with the other kind of bear.





The Flying Fox  (Pteropus vampyrus)

      Another misleading name – this animal does fly, but it is no fox; it is a bat, the biggest bat in the world, with a six-foot wingspan.  It has other names as well, such as the fruit bat, because of its diet and sexual orientation.  A number of same-sex pairs have been observed hanging very close together and looking very foxy.

      Other animals are also called flying foxes.  One is an aquarium fish, of all things.  Unlike its namesake, it does not fly; in fact, it usually keeps close to the bottom of the tank.  At least no one calls it a fruit bat.





The Frog  (Pelophylax kl. esculentus)

      Girls were squeamish.  No princess would touch him, much less place him in her cupped palm and kiss his cold and clammy skin, rank with the water of the marsh.  If he regained his human form, it would be to bed with a boy.





Ass  (Equus asinus)

      I have written volumes about my boyfriend’s ass without exhausting the topic (or at least my interest in it).  I worship its firm, delicately-haired twin globes, the gentle curve back from his narrow waist, the this crescent lines where his buttocks meet his thighs.  I cannot keep my eyes, hands, mouth – or myself, for that matter – off it.  When we kiss, my hands will travel down his back for a friendly squeeze and stay there.  Before long they will slip into his trousers.

      I want to go for a ride.  The domesticated ass is, after all, a beast of burden.  It will be a bumpy ride, but I mount bareback.  This ass comes ready saddled with cushions that mold to the forking of my legs and a dip between them to rest my horn in.

      At first we amble slowly with a rocking motion.  Then, picking up speed, I bounce, and he begins to bray.  Soon I am braying too, and, like a worshipper, I spill my sweet libation.





Aye-aye  (Daubentonia madagascariensis)

      His ungodly shrieks pierce the night.  Why would such a secretive and solitary creature call so loudly?  To seek a mate?  To warn of danger or frighten it away?  His saucer-like eyes must see everything.  Slowly, stealthily, he crawls along the branches, probing for insects deep into the wood with a middle finger as long as his forearms.

      Behind the mosquito netting, other long fingers – his – pass stealthily over my body, tickling me in places only he may touch.  His middle finger probes, slowly, carefully, to draw from my throat a softer, more peaceful “Aye!  Aye!”





Sperm Whale  (Physter catodon)

      The name derives not from “sperm” (after all, virtually any animal that reproduces sexually produces sperm), but from “spermaceti”, which sounds like a kind of pasta, but is actually Late Latin for “whale’s sperm”.  This would not distinguish this species from other whales were it not for the fact that the sperm whale stores vast quantities of the stuff in his head – and in her head too!  Males and females alike swim around with a headful of spermaceti.

      Most naturalists theorize that they use their sperm-packed heads for defense rather than reproduction.  Males in particular are known to ram what they perceive as an enemy, and have even sunk a few ships that way.  Those on board naturally interpret it as aggression, but it is not impossible that our leviathan mistook the ship for another whale and was making sexual advances.  Remember his large brain encased in a sea of sperm.

      The male sperm whale is a solitary creature; females and calves are social animals and live together in large pods.  About the time they reach sexual maturity, the young bulls enter a phase of male bonding and leave the group to form their own bachelor pods.  (Reminds you somewhat of our bachelor pads, doesn’t it?)  There the adolescent whales dream of future conquests, boast about fictitious sexual experiences, and compare the size of their penises, which they measure in feet, not inches – six, seven and a half, eight, etc. – for, like us stubborn Americans, they have yet to go metric.

      Eventually they drift apart, but some, presumably the gay ones, remain in pairs and care for each other.  It is not unusual to find two beached whales together, both of them male.





Otters at Play  (Lontra candensis)

      How unfair to call otters the clowns of the animal kingdom!  Clowns, though agile, feign clumsiness to choreograph a self-mocking performance.  Otters frolic to amuse themselves, not us.  Their sport most resembles a cross between water ballet and collegiate wrestling.  They dart, they spin, they slide; they bump into, brush against, chase each other, like my lover and I in the waves at the nude beach.





Red-Eared Turtle  (Trachemys scripta elegans)

      Sunning himself on a rock that jutted above the surface of the river, waiting for an insect to alight nearby so he could snap it up, he spotted another of his kind lazing on a rock some twenty or thirty yards away.  Yet maybe not exactly his kind.  Could be a female.  So hard to tell when they’re encased in a shell!

      He amused himself with lascivious thoughts, picturing the tempting morsel that shell might hide, soft and waggly like the little tail behind, or longer, stiffer, like the neck and head reaching proudly toward the sun.





Nesting Gulls  (Larus angentatus)

      He guarded his little pile of sand and stones fiercely amid the clamor of the rookery, pecking savagely at any bird that dared approach.  Except him.  For him he opened his beak to receive the fish and sweet prawns regurgitated from his craw.

      He’d struggled at first, indignant that another male should have pounced on him, his beak clutching his neck, his talons in his flesh, his wings beating against his sides.  Then the thrill of union spread through him, and he submitted.  Did seagulls mate for life?  He hoped so!

      Only one thought troubled him.  How would he react when he discovered he hid no eggs incubating beneath the warmth of his belly?





Praying Mantis  (Mantis religiosa)

      Females terrified him; he kept his distance.  A single one, pale green and motionless on her twig, multiplied in the thousand lenses of his eyes to become an army massed on the horizon, forelegs raised in menacing supplication, voracious to mate, voracious to feed.  A brief moment of futile pleasure, then she’d bite off your head before leisurely devouring the rest of your body and its thrashing limbs.

What was it in her fetid scent that so fascinated others of his sex?





The Shrew  (Crocidura leucodon)

      I recognized her shrewishness before I married her.  Shrews can be tamed; I have a bit of a temper myself.  And who could resist that twitching little nose?  Fool that I am, I thought the many things we have in common would compensate for her myriad shortcomings.

      We’re both tiny, despite our insatiable appetites; the calories just burn away.  And we have the same tastes – insects, seeds, nuts, worms – and are smart as whips.  Why, our brains are close to one-tenth our body mass!  But we’ve never had an intelligent conversation.  The bitch won’t let me near her except to have sex.  I can’t really complain about that.  She drops another litter almost every month.





Hyenas  (Crocuta crocuta)

      We gay spotted hyenas can stay happily closeted and openly satisfy our lust.  What you humans call effeminacy passes for masculine behavior in our packs, where females are dominant.  That allows us to give our submissive side free reign.  What’s more, our bitches are built much like males, and have a clitoris that may extend as far as seven inches beyond their vulva.  Seven inches, think of it!  Wouldn’t you consider that a respectable endowment?  It’s easy to imagine you’re sucking cock when you lick her nether parts.

      There is, of course, the odor of her estrogen, and hyenas have a highly developed sense of smell, but our alpha bitches secrete a fair amount of androgen as well, which makes their cubs more aggressive than the offspring of our lower echelons.  I’ve been fooled more than once, thinking I was coming on to another male and pretending to take him for a female.  When it turned out he was a she, I’d mate with her anyway while continuing to fantasize.





Leopard Etiquette  (Panthera pardus)

      He sniffed longingly at the tree trunks where other males had rubbed their hindquarters to mark their territory, warning their fellow leopards away.

      If he ventured further, not as a hunter, but as a mate; if he showed submission, reaching his paws forward till his jowls touched the ground, his tail raised in invitation; if he nuzzled their forelegs and purred, would they understand?

      Understand him or not, they would attack, nor show him mercy till he fled, his tail between his legs, or gasped his last breath, his mangled throat torn open.





Trolls and Fairies  (Homo inversus)

      The troll, although generally labeled a creature of folklore, sometimes surfaces in gay bathhouses, where he is easily identified by the unwelcome advances he makes to the other fairies.





Hammerhead  (Sphyma mokkaran)

      A man-eater.  With a name like that the hammerhead is clearly a top in his superorder, the Selachimorphs.  His appetite is voracious; his attack, ruthless.  Behind his monstrously flared head, the powerful muscles of his long, tubular body propel him forward at amazing speed.  His frenzies are truly awesome.  He sinks deep into the soft flesh of his prey and, once attached, does not let go.  He thrashes relentlessly, jerking his helpless, shrieking victim this way and that.





Kudus  (Tragelaphus imberbis)

      The two hunters put aside their rifles and spread a blanket on the short grass of the savanna.  When they lay down and showed more interest in each other than in predation, the small herd of kudu, usually so skittish, ventured forth from shelter of the acacias and warily approached to see what they were up to.

      They had never seen humans couple before.  (I might add that, despite its omnipresence on the Internet and in video rental stores, neither have many humans.)  They observed that it didn’t involve mounting from behind, hooves flailing in the air; instead it reminded them of a mother nuzzling her calf.  First the men slowly peeled away each other’s layers of clothing.  The puzzled kudus noted that both animals were male, made a mental note of the fact for possible future use, and cautiously moved in for a closer look.

      The men lay head to groin as if getting to know each other, sniffing, licking.  Then, instead of getting down to the business of procreations, each inserted his genitals into the other’s mouth.  They moaned their pleasure instead of trumpeting it.

      The noise of a twin-engine plane on the horizon scattered the herd.  The aircraft followed the fleeing animals, passing directly over the lovers.

      Seated next to the pilot and watching the kudu through binoculars, a man caught sight of the pair and trained his binoculars on them, turning his head to do so.

      “Those poofters Terry and Mitch are at it again,” he said dryly.

      “What of it?” the pilot replied.  “They don’t exactly flaunt what they do; you couldn’t ask for two more discreet blokes.  Kudos to them, say I.”





White Rhino  (Ceratotherium sinum)

      An endangered species, lumbering and short-sighted, at risk from the very defense with which Nature endowed me, hard, curved and pointed like an erect penis.  In the heart of the reserve, poachers hunt me down under the noses of the wardens, shoot me, cut off my horn, and leave my eunuch’s body for the vultures.

      They send their prize to distant China, where apothecaries grind it to a powder to be sold in market, costly as saffron, and stirred into hot tea as a potion to incite lust in aging, feeble men.

      Now only Viagra can save me.





The Oyster  (Crassostrea gigas)

      Tip the shell and suck in the tender flesh.  It slides silken-creamy over your tongue.  Press upwards and its plump firmness fills the roof of your mouth.  Breathe deeply through your nose to savor its briny tang before you swallow.





Blowfish  (Takifugu vermicularis)

      His gonads are deadly poison, his delicate white flesh succulent.  Blowfish sushi, or fugu, has become something of a macho ritual in Japan, so dangerous that a chef must specialize in its preparation.  Still, casualties occur every year, for to increase the risk – and how can there be heroics without risk? – the chef will touch his brush to the lethal parts and pass an imperceptible trace over the fillet, a whiff of milt the stout of heart ingest to prove their masculinity.





Cockatrice  (unclassified)

      Some claim that all cockatrices are female.  The very name of the beast would contradict that.  Nor can we accept the fact that it mates with the unquestionably male basilisk as proof of its gender.  One is said the come from the egg of a viper hatched by a hen, the other from a hen’s egg incubated in a serpent’s lair.  If so, their mating is obviously sterile, and both cockatrice and basilisk could well be males.

      The basilisk is more snakelike, the cockatrice toadlike, and the glance and breath of both equally deadly, destroying all animal life and vegetation that come in contact with them.  Any place they inhabit becomes a wasteland.  No less lethal when they’ve been killed, their bodies must be burnt and reduced to ash, which, rubbed on silver jewelry, gives it the sheen of gold.





Cheetah  (Acinonyx jubatus)

      He sometimes tried to picture the life his remote ancestors must have led, those that hunted for the Pharaohs, alone among the great cats ever to be domesticated by man.  Their hunt could not have differed much from the hunt he knew: the silent stalking, a sudden dash, fast and short-lived as a lightning bolt, leaping for the throat and sinking in his fangs, the heady taste of warm blood.

      But afterwards, instead of panting in the shade of some scrawny tree, if you were lucky enough to find one, to return to the royal palace where river breezes wafted through tall painted pillars, and stretch out on the cool stone floor while a man in a white loincloth, his skin smooth and burnished, waved a languid palm frond above your thick fur.





Stallion  (Equus caballus)

      The naked savage mounted him with a mighty leap, straddled his back, and pressed his knees into his flanks to keep his seat as they galloped across the prairie.  The man raised his arms in the wind and yelled his exhilaration.

      The stallion felt the puny sex squashed against his back and whinnied at the thought of the enormous cock he had, which, when aroused, dangled nearly to the ground from the height of a man’s chest.





Woodpeckers  (Dryocopus pileatus)

      Wood... Pecker...  How well the two words fit together!  When they go to it, these little red-headed, hairy-feathered birds don’t slide slowly into a convenient ready-made hole; they open a new one and quickly bore in, banging noisily away like a jackhammer.  Their rapid tap-tap-tap sounds like the staccato fire of a machine gun, only not as loud.





Two Serpents  (Boa constrictor & Naja pallida)

      Eight feet or more of slithering, rippling muscle, they move, swift and silent, one hidden in the dense growth of the jungle floor, the other through the tall grass.  One wraps himself in coils around his victim and squeezes the breath from its body.  The other raises up, flares his head, and spits.





Coral Polyps  (Class: Anthozoa)

      Part of the living reef, the colony sways together in the current as one individual, a long, pink cylinder that swells and contracts.  They squirt their seed into the surrounding brine, where    it hangs, fluid and milky white, till it dissolves, and the microscopic spores float free, disperse, and grow into larvae that anchor themselves to another part of the reef, piling new life on top of dead generations, now hard and brittle, that resemble the massed polyps that produced them.





Horny Old Goat  (Capra aegagrus hircus)

      That’s what he calls me – a horny old goat.  He says it when we exchange a furtive kiss, and he reaches down and feels my arousal.  He says it when, lying in bed together, my lips reach for his neck and, my leg across his thigh, the rigid length of my shaft rubs against him.  I rotate my hips suggestively.  “Horny old goat!”

      He says it more in resignation than it protest, and readily rolls onto his side, facing away from me, available, acquiescent.  He wriggles closer.  He gasps when I slide into him, and his member hardens in my hand.

      He melts under my rutting; our excitement grows; I erupt inside him.

      Thus joined we lie, still, panting, spent, until I soften and slip out of him, and again he whispers, “Horny old goat!”





One-Humped Camel  (Camelus Dromedarius)

      The large hump on a dromedary’s back is composed of fatty tissue in which he stores water.  When he’s drunk his fill, it firms up and stands tall, much like our penises when engorged with blood.  As his body uses up the water, it becomes soft and flabby, and if he goes too long without drinking will hang limp, like our penises after coitus or some other form of release.  But a camel with a drooping hump is thirsty, not satiated.

      The water held in his single hump allows him to cross the desert, but on such a long journey just one hump would not satisfy me.





Tasmanian Devils  (Sarcophilus harrisii)

      Taking advantage of their status as a protected species, they booked passage on the ferry from Devonport at a reduced rate to ogle the Aussie surfer boys in and (if possible) out of their speedos.  Without taking time to wash, they headed west and followed the Great Ocean Road and the Princess Highway to Point Impossible Beach, the clothing-optional section of Bells Beach, one of the world’s top surfing spots.  They flung their packs on the sand, rolled out sleeping bags, stripped down to their black furry bodies, and built their campfire.

      Although messy eaters, they didn’t leave much trash behind, for they consumed every scrap of food, edible and apparently inedible, squabbling, even fighting among themselves over the choicest morsels.  They were a rowdy batch, and the other beach-goers kept well away from their noise and stench.  When the current carried some unlucky surfer shoreward close to where they were partying, they’d run to the water’s edge to greet him, screaming like banshees and wagging their plump tails.

      Some people complained strenuously, but when the blokes patrolling the beach ordered them to clean up their act or move on, they snarled and snapped at them, forcing them to beat a hasty retreat.





Bonobos  (Pan paniscus)

      Our closest primate cousins are a highly sexed, promiscuous species, some might say oversexed (as if such a thing were possible!).  Easily scandalized naturalists do not choose to study bonobos.  They have sex whenever, their mating season lasting relatively short periods of time within a year-round fucking season, and they spend as much time at it as they do eating, sleeping and at non-sexual play.  Almost any stimulus imaginable arouses them.  They are the only species besides humans to have mastered the missionary position, but are not so benighted as to consider it superior to or more decorous than other methods.  Decorum does not concern them.  They frequently masturbate themselves and other bonobos, both in male-female pairs and as same sex couples.  They hug and kiss.  They enjoy oral sex and genital-to-genital contact in all forms and combinations, and do so openly.  Three-ways and larger groups having sex together have not been observed in the wild or in captivity, nor has anal sex, but if some curious primate psychologist undertook to teach it to them, they would no doubt take to both with unbridled enthusiasm.  I would be very happy to be a bonobo.

      Sex is the cement that holds their society together, into which they channel the stresses of daily life, their aggressions, fears and frustrations.  They do not use it to establish dominance, but to calm and reassure.  They are egalitarians, who believe in “share and share alike” and “make love, not war”.  It would be a better world if we were all bonobos.

Continue reading..

Information A Gay Alphabet for Children
Posted by: WMASG - 12-30-2025, 06:01 PM - No Replies

   


A is for abs.  "Abs" is short for "abdominals", the muscles that hold in your sagging gut.  Some men go to the gym almost every day to exercise their abs so they will have a flat, firm, rippled stomach, which makes them exceedingly attractive to other men.  A winning smile, broad shoulders, a thin trail of hair leading down to the crotch, a tight bubble butt, and a big dick also help.

[Other useful words that begin with A which you may want to add to your vocabulary: aaaah!, AC/DC, active partner, activist, adult bookstore, adult entertainment, AIDS cocktail, all-male review, amyl nitrate, anal, anal beads, androgyny, anus, armpits, around the world, arousal, arse, Asian, asshole, and available.]


   

B is for bottom.  In gay parlance, "bottom" is not a vectorial term.  Though most often used in reference to anal sex, a man can bottom in almost any act of lovemaking, and tops may also bottom.  It connotes neither relative physical position nor status; it is a question of attitude.  The essence of bottoming lies in abandoning one's body to another man.  A bottom wants to be used for his top's pleasure, while a good top will seek to use his bottom to give him pleasure beyond endurance.  When two men fuck, the fellow bottoming (who may be the top) experiences the more intense physical ecstasy.  Bottoms rule!

[Other useful words that begin with B which you may want to add to your vocabulary: B&D, back alley, back door, backrub, backside, ball-buster, balls, bareback, bathhouse, bear, bed, beat off, beefcake, behind, bend over, bi, biceps, bi-curious, biker, bitch, bite, Black, blowjob, blue balls, bodily fluids, bondage, boner, bootlicker, boots, boxers, boyfriend, boy pussy, boy toy, briefs, bubble butt, bugger, bull nuts, bullocks, buns, bush, butch, butt, buttfuck, buttocks, and buttplug.]


   

C is for circle jerk.  A circle jerk is a group of naked men sitting in a circle, each one pleasuring the guy next to him (usually on the right) by providing manual stimulation to his private parts.  He accomplishes this by holding the dude's well-oiled penis in his fist and rubbing it up and down until he cums.  Someone else will be doing him at the same time.  Some circle jerkers like to turn it into a contest to see who will cum first.  Only very rarely do all the participants cum at the same time.

[Other useful words that begin with C which you may want to add to your vocabulary: casual sex, catamite, catty, centimeters, chains, chaps, chat up, cheeks, cheese, chemistry, cherry, chicken, Cialis, circumcision, cleft, closet, clubbing, cock, cock ring, cocksucker, cock teaser, collar, colon, come-on, commitment, compatible, condom, corona, crack, cream, cross-dresser, crotch, cruise, cum, and cum shot.]


   

D is for diva.  A diva, from the Latin word for goddess, is any person, male or female, who expects and/or demands to be worshipped, such as rock stars, opera singers, and selfish, stuck-up queens who think they're shit on a shingle.  Gay divas are usually, but not always bottoms, and like to attract attention by prancing around and affecting such feminine mannerisms as limp wrists, a swaying gait, brightly colored clothes that reveal shaved legs, chests and armpits, and loud, high-pitched voices that speak in a vocabulary all their own.  In return they expect to be sucked up to and pampered.  They're relatively harmless, except when they turn catty (see above).

[Other useful words that begin with D which you may want to add to your vocabulary: daddy, daisy chain, dalliance, dangle, dark room, date, deep throat, deltoids, dick, dilated, dildo, dink, discharge, discipline, disco, docking, doggie style, domestic partners, domination, don't ask don't tell, dork, douche, drag queen, drip, drop-dead gorgeous, and dungeon.]


   

E is for erection.  A blood-engorged penis is called an erection because it stands up straight and tall and proud.  Many men's penises do not so much stand up as stick out, but the organ has risen and no longer just dangles between his legs, so the word fits.  An erect penis is noticeably larger than a limp one, and is also quite rigid and ready to penetrate your favorite orifice.  Males commonly get erections both before and after puberty.  They may occur as a result of direct or indirect sexual stimulation, or they may occur spontaneously, which sometimes causes embarrassment, or they may not occur at all, which also causes embarrassment.  A dick has a mind of its own.

[Other useful words that begin with E which you may want to add to your vocabulary: eat out, ecstasy, edible body paint, eggs, ejaculate, electrolysis, endowment, enema, engorged, entrapment, erectile tissue, erogenous zone, erotica, escort service, exhibitionist, experience, and eye candy.]


   

F is for fetish.  A fetish is an object which is not in itself sexual on which some people (called fetishists) get off.  Some fetishists require the physical presence of the object in order to get off and others can get off just by thinking about it, but most just get off on it and have to clean it up when they finish.  The fetish may be any part of the body from feet to haircuts, or an article of clothing, such as a boot or a glove or underwear, or a particular fabric, like silk or leather, a feather, or something quite random (a doorknob, for example), or even an odor or a color.

[Other useful words that begin with F which you may want to add to your vocabulary: face fuck, fag, faggot, fag hag, family jewels, fantasy, fellatio, fem, fimosis, finger fuck, first time, fisting, fixation, flaccid, flamer, flasher, flex, fling, flip-flop, fondle, fool around, foreskin, foursome, French, frig, frottage, fruitcake, fruit loop, fuck, fuck buddy, full frontal nudity, fur, furry handcuffs, and futter.]


   

G is for gay-dar.  Gay-dar is the sixth sense some homosexuals claim to have by which they recognize one another and which thus enables them to seek out sexual contacts without inadvertently propositioning straight people.  The number of gay men who get beaten up or arrested every day for soliciting suggests that this ability is rare, if it exists at all.  Please be discreet.

[Other useful words that begin with G which you may want to add to your vocabulary: game, gang bang, gag reflex, gay, gay baiting, gay bar, gay-bashing, gay-friendly, gender bender, gender roles, genitalia, get it up, get off, glans, give head, GLBT, glory hole, go down, golden shower, go-go dancer, gonads, grab, grease, Greek love, groin, grope, group sex, grovel, grower, g-spot, g-string, and gym.]


   

H is for handjob.  A handjob is just a less fancy term for manual masturbation.  You may give yourself a handjob, but it's much more fun when someone else gives you one or to give one to someone else.  Most men just pump up and down on a cock and get it over with quickly, but there is an infinite variety of pleasurable strokes that prolong the process and deserve looking into.  The Body Electric School of Massage has given each one a cute name, but they're all just handjobs.  Proper lubrication is highly recommended.

[Other useful words that begin with H which you may want to add to your vocabulary: hairy, handcuffs, hankie, harder!, hard-on, head, heat, he-man, hemorrhoids, hepatitis C, herpes, Hershey Highway, he-she, hit on, high-risk, HIV, hole, homoerotic, homophobia, homosexual, hook up, horny, hot, hottie, hot tub, huge, hump, hung, hunk, humiliation, and hustler.]


   

I is for inches.  This is the standard measurement for a penis in the United States.  Usually only the erect penis is measured,  though nothing prevents you from measuring a flaccid one.  Unless otherwise specified, the inches refer to the length from where it joins the abdomen at its base to the tippy-tip, but on occasion the girth of the shaft (called "thick" or "around") or even the head may also given.  The average penis measures 5 to 6 inches when erect, and that is quite adequate for most purposes.  (Modeling is an example of a purpose for which it is probably not adequate.)  Anything above that is considered impressive, and anything above 9½ is downright extraordinary.

[Other useful words that begin with I which you may want to add to your vocabulary: idol, immune deficiency, in deep, inflatable doll, insertive, interfemoral fuck, Internet, inter-racial, intimacy, intimate apparel, and invert.]

   

J is for jackoff buddy.  Jackoff buddies are men who jack off together on a regular or semi-regular basis.  I suppose they enjoy the company, since they usually go no further than getting naked and jacking off side by side without touching each other.  Since they don't touch each other it goes without saying that jacking off is as far as they go.  If they went further they'd be called fuck buddies (see above).  Most often they are casual acquaintances who get together for no other purpose, but friends may also be jackoff buddies.  Sometimes a group of jackoff buddies gets together for a jackoff party, which may take place in someone's home, a motel room or a jackoff club, and at which they are more likely to engage in a greater variety of sexual activities than as a couple.  (Go figure.)  Many men who have jackoff buddies consider themselves straight.  Hah!

[Other useful words that begin with J which you may want to add to your vocabulary: Jacuzzi, jack (or jerk) off, jackhammer, jail bait, jism, jock, jockstrap, john, jollies, joystick, and jumping someone's bones.]


   

K is for kink.  Kink is a more or less meaningless term, since it may be applied to such a wide variety of sexual practices.  Anything involving pain or fetishism or animals is invariably labeled kinky, but in fact anything out of the ordinary may be called kinky, and since few people restrict their sexual activities to the ordinary (though many claim to), the word essentially covers virtually every sexual act imaginable, including abstinence.  On the other hand, most people who engage in kink would be insulted if you told them that there was nothing kinky about what they do.

[Other useful words that begin with K which you may want to add to your vocabulary: Kama Sutra, kick-ass sex, kiddie porn, kiss, and K-Y.]


   

L is for load.  The amount of ejaculate a man shoots is called his load.  Its standard measurement is cubic centimeters, but few people bother.  They know by experience what constitutes a big load.  The load generally decreases in size with each successive orgasm and may be deposited either in the mouth, anus or hand, or on the face, back, butt, chest or stomach, or in a condom, or on the floor (if you're indoors).  You have probably seen traces someone's load on the partition of a lavatory stall sometime during your life.  Deposited in the mouth it may be swallowed or spit out, and deposited anywhere else it may be licked up, except in the anus or a condom.  (But if you're going to suck it out of the condom, why bother using one in the first place?)

[Other useful words that begin with L which you may want to add to your vocabulary: labyrinth, lap dance, larger than average, lascivious, latent, Latino, lav, leather, Leviticus, Levitra, lick, lift your legs, lingerie, lips, live sex show, locker room, loins, loo,  loop, lovemaking, lover, LTR, lube, Lucky Pierre, and lust.]

   

M is for multiple partners.  A man who has had sexual contact with more than one other person is said to have had multiple partners.  This is the rule, rather than the exception.  A man who at any given period of time has sexual contact with more than one person is said to have multiple partners.  One might think that a man who is engaged in sexual contact with many partners all at the same time is said to be having multiple partners, but this is not the case.  A man whose life style consists in having multiple partners is said to be a stud or a slut.  That is a value judgment.  The main disadvantage of multiple partners is the risk of contracting a sexually transmitted disease and possible loneliness in one's old age.  Its principal advantage is variety and acquiring a reputation as a slut or a stud.  Men in monogamous relationships who eschew multiple partners get to bareback and swallow cum in relative safety, a distinct advantage.

[Other useful words that begin with M which you may want to add to your vocabulary: macho, make him beg, male bonding, male prostitute, man, manhandle, man handle, manhole, masochist, massage, master, masturbate, meat, merchandise, mind games, misdemeanor, moan, model, molestation, moon, more!, Mr. Right, muscles, and mushroom head.]


   

N is for nipples.  Some men have very sensitive nipples.  Many pierce them.  They like them licked, sucked on and bitten, tweaked and twisted, pinched and pulled, and say the pain and pleasure shoot down an invisible thread directly to their balls and that the sensation is exquisite.  Their nipples harden and stand up like little penises.  Any man's nipples will respond to gentle rubbing in this way, thought the man himself may feel only mild pleasure.  There are few things as annoying as having one's nipples mauled if they are not sensitive.  Some men with extremely sensitive nipples have trouble understanding that.

[Other useful words that begin with N which you may want to add to your vocabulary: naked, narcissism, naughty, navel, nude beach, nuts, and nut sack.]

   

O is for outing.  The act of making another person's homosexuality public is known as outing.  Some gay activists believe that the more men are out, the easier life will become for all homosexuals.  However, many men have valid reasons for remaining in the closet, so most people feel it is inconsiderate to out anyone other than practicing homosexuals parading as homophobes and similar hypocrites.

[Other useful words that begin with O which you may want to add to your vocabulary: obscenity, offensive, oh!, oh God!, oh my!, onanism, one-night stand, oral sex, orgy, orientation, orifice, and ow!]


   

P is for precum.  Precum is the clear, sweet-tasting, lubricating fluid many men secrete when aroused.  It may contain a few sperm, but you needn't worry about that.  Contrary to popular opinion, however, while it is just a dribble compared to the quantity of a man's spooge, the precum of HIV-positive men contains a higher concentration of the virus and has been known to infect men who lap it up, especially those with gum disease.]

[Other useful words that begin with P which you may want to add to your vocabulary: package, paddle, pansy, partner, passing, passive, pecker, pecs, pederast, pedophile, pee slit, pelvic tilt, penetration, penile enhancement, penile insert, penile shrinkage, perineum, pervert, peter, pheromones, phone sex, physique, picture exchange, pickup, piercing, pig, piss, pizzle, play around, plow, PNP, pole, poof, pop a nut, poppers, pork, porn, porn flick, porn star, positions, post-coital depression, posterior, potty mouth, pound, predator, premature ejaculation, prick, pride, Prince Albert, private party, probe, prolapsed, promiscuous, prophylactic, prostate, prowl, pubes, pucker, pull out, and pussy boy (not the same as "boy pussy".]


   

Q is for queer.  Once (and still) a derogatory term for male homosexuals, "queer" had been adopted by the gay community along with "faggot" as a self-deprecating in-word, an expression of defiance in the face of homophobic oppression.  "Gay" is the preferred term, and may be used a noun or an adjective.  "Faggot" is most often used as a noun, and "queer" more often as an adjective, as in "queer theory", which is no less esoteric and pretentious than any other school of literary criticism.  "Queer" may also be used as a verb.

[Other useful words that begin with Q which you may want to add to your vocabulary: queen, and quickie.]

   

R is for rimming.  Cleanliness is of paramount important in rimming, which consists in pleasuring another man by licking and nibbling and kissing and sucking on his pucker.  Often the tip of the tongue, sometimes a bit more, is inserted into the anus for a taste of tunnel.  Rimming may effectively dilate an asshole that you plan to fuck and also provides some lubrication.  It sounds icky, but it's fabulous for both parties.

[Other useful words that begin with R which you may want to add to your vocabulary: rainbow, raincoat, ream, rear-ended, receptive partner, rectum, relationship, relax and enjoy, rent boy, restraints, retrovirus, ride, rod, role play, roommate, root, rope, rosebud, rubber, and rut.]


   

S is for sodomy.  Any homosexual act or bestiality qualifies as sodomy, but most often the term refers to anal sex, performed bareback or wearing a condom.  Anal self-stimulation with a toy or household object is also considered sodomy.  Many heterosexuals believe that all gay men sodomize one another, but that is not at all the case, though many gays hold that a good fuck in the ass is one of life's greatest pleasures and the ultimate intimacy.  The compiler of this lexicon heartily concurs.  Try it; you'll like it.

[Other useful words that begin with S which you may want to add to your vocabulary: S&M, sadism, safe sex, same-sex marriage, sandwich, santorum, satyr, sauna, scat, score, screw, scrotum, scumbag, scuzz, seduction, self-abuse, semen, seropositive, sex slave, sexual advances, sexual contact, sexual encounter, sexual identity, sexual orientation, sexual preference, shaft, shag, shaved, sheath, she-male, shoot, shower (2 words, not homonyms), significant other, simultaneous ejaculation, sissy, sixpack, sixty-nine, size queen, skid marks, skin flick, sling, slut, smegma, smooth, snowballing, sore, spanking, sperm, sphincter, spooge, spread eagle, spread 'em!, spunk, spurt, staff, STD, steam bath, stiffy, sting, Stonewall, streaking, stud, studly, stud muffin, suck, support group, swallow, swap, sweat, swinger, swish, and switch hitter.]


   

T is for tearoom.  No tea is served in a tearoom.  Neither are crumpets.  "Tea" merely stands of the letter T, as in toilet.  Tearooms are public lavatories, the scene of casual sex between males.  They are often unsavory places, seldom meticulously clean, and all too often unsafe.  Men may loiter at the urinals eyeing each other as they stroke their meat to show off the merchandise or sit in one of the stalls and tap their foot to signal availability to the person in the stall next to them.  The partitions between the stalls often come equipped with a glory hole.  Some men bring each other off in tearooms, in which case it's always a quickie; others prefer to go somewhere safe for their quickie; still others pick someone up and go home with him, in which case it's usually a one-night stand.  Hustlers also frequent tearooms.

[Other useful words that begin with T which you may want to add to your vocabulary: T-cells, talking dirty, tattoo, tease, testicles, testosterone, thick, third leg, thong, threeway, tight end, tit play, toilet talk, tongue, tongue bath, tonsil tickle, tool, top, toys, trade, trannie, transgender, trash, treasure trail, treat, trick, troll, tumescent, turn-on, twink, two dads, and two-timing.]

   

U is for uncut.  A man who still has his foreskin is said to be uncut.  Those who are cut may have had their foreskin removed for religious, aesthetic, hygienic or medical reasons, or just in order to look like everyone else in countries where circumcision is widely practiced.  Only very rarely have they had any say in the matter.  Some maintain that a cut penis is easier to keep clean, which is not quite accurate.  They would do better to say that an uncut penis gets dirty more quickly.  Others assert that circumcision affects penile sensitivity, and I have heard both cut and uncut vaunted as more exquisitely pleasured or pleasuring.  Many make a big thing about being uncut, but you can find a foreskin on any size penis.

[Other useful words that begin with U which you may want to add to your vocabulary: underage, underneath, underwear, uniform, up, and urethra.]

   

V is for Viagra.  Viagra is the brand name of a little, blue, diamond-shaped pill that restores potency to men suffering from erectile dysfunction.  (See also Cialis and Levitra.)  This miracle drug does not produce the erection, but allows the man to get and maintain one in conjunction with appropriate (or inappropriate) sexual stimulation.  Its effectiveness lasts four hours or more.  The manufacturers of Viagra and similar products feel obliged to warn the public that such medications do not protect against STDs.  Can anyone really be that stupid?

[Other useful words that begin with V which you may want to add to your vocabulary: vacuum pump, vanilla, vasectomy, venereal, versatile, vibrator, vice squad, video booth, viral load, virgin, and voyeur.]


   

W is for WOW.  Wow is the word that results when the letter W is tattooed on each buttock of a person who bottoms for an extremely vigorous top too much and too often for his own good.  As an English word, it is an exclamation of appreciation or surprise.  For example, a person who saw a W tattooed on the ass cheeks of a bottom who's overdone it would probably say "Wow!"

[Other useful words that begin with W which you may want to add to your vocabulary: wad, wank, water sports, waxing, webcam, weenie peeking, wee-wee,  weirdo, wet dream, whipping, wiener, willie, woody, work over, and work-out.]

   

X is for x-rated.  An x-rating means that some uptight bastard has decided that something is unsuitable for people under legal age (18 in most states in the USA).  In theory, this is because of its violent or adult (a euphemism for sexual) content, but they let the most brutal, gory stuff by with an R, while "adult" can mean something as innocent as nudity or a few dirty words.  Let's face it – those fuckers think it's unsuitable for everyone and would ban it entirely if they had their way.

[Other useful words that begin with X which you may want to add to your vocabulary: XXX, and any E-word in ex- (i.e., x-hibitionism, x-perience, x-stasy).]


   

Y is for Y-chromosome.  The proverb says that "Clothes make the man."  Our bigoted society thinks that what makes a man is his sexual orientation, or his ability to stand up for himself or just to get it up, or his talent for fixing things around the house, or his love of sports, or even his favorite beer.  Many gays think that liking to get your jollies on top and affecting a macho swagger make the difference.  That's all nonsense.  Every man has an X-chromosome, inherited from his mother, and a Y-chromosome, inherited from his father.  Had he inherited an X-chromosome from both, she would be a woman.  But he didn't.

[Other useful words that begin with Y which you may want to add to your vocabulary: yes!, and YMCA.]


   

Z is for zipper .  A zipper is a sliding mechanism used to close garments, pouches, etc.  The ease which one can open and close it makes it particularly well-adapted for the fly of a man's trousers, allowing him to whip it out in seconds and tuck it safely away at need.  On the other hand, if you get your dick caught in a zipper, it hurts!  The much slower buttons have the advantage of prolonging the excitement of undressing someone or being undressed by him.  Snaps, which open almost as quickly as a zipper but take longer to close, make no sense to me at all, at least not for a fly.

[I can think of no other useful words that begin with Z which you may want to add to your vocabulary.]

Continue reading..

Information Cousins Take Charge
Posted by: WMASG - 12-30-2025, 05:24 PM - Replies (2)

   


Foreword
 
This is a ‘slow-developer’ story planned over a number of episodes, so won’t be to everyone’s tastes.
 
This is FANTASY! It is NOT a template for irl bdsm! Some of the practices described would NOT be safe in real life. Similarly, in real life, if we are lucky enough to come across good bdsm playmates, we need to value and respect them – they are not that easy to find!
 
If it is illegal for you to read this story because of your age, location or any other reason, don't read it.
 
…and… if you yourself are a fit young man in need of ‘slave training’, better get in touch, boy…
 
I hope you enjoy!
 
StrictSafeTop 
 
*******
 
Chapter 1
 
For the hundredth time that morning, Ben writhed on the grass, moaning with desire and frustration – a heady brew. The slightest movement of his lean sinewy body caused the twisted rope wrapped tight round his upper torso to saw against his pinched trapped nipples. Simultaneously the rope that ran tight down his ass-crack, between his thighs and then up front, rubbed against his groin. If Ben could have turned over to rub himself against the ground he would have done so, but the broomstick tied to the back of his shoulders kept him flat on his back.
 
The warm sun raised perspiration in beads on his tanned skin, the beads gradually growing into plump bubbles, before breaking into rivulets running over the curves of his muscles, down his flanks, or soaking into the ropes binding him tight.
 
 *******
 
If Ben had been able to think clearly (but that facility had deserted him some time ago) he would have reflected back to the seemingly innocuous trigger that had trapped him into this situation.
 
The three of them had been watching some weak TV drama the night before, during which the teen hero had been captured and tied up. They were all pleasantly buzzed from drinking beer, stripped down to just shorts in the warm evening, and not caring very much about the quality of the programme – which was just as well. At the point where the teen was roped up, all three were amused by the unrealistic portrayal – although Ben hoped that his sudden stiffie wasn’t too obvious in his shorts, as he shifted uncomfortably.
 
One of the twins scoffed at the programme, pointing out how ridiculous it was that the young actor hadn’t freed himself straight away. Ben agreed, “yeah, and what a pussy he’s being about it, too – all that whimpering and whining! He should’ve really been given something to whine about!” Rick, the other twin, agreed, saying, “Yeah, bet if it had been Ben here, he wouldn’t have whined, and he’d have escaped within seconds!”
 
Rad appeared dubious. “Maybe – but perhaps this is one sport Ben isn’t so good at. Bet if I tied him up, it would take him longer than that.”
 
Rick shook his head. “Nah, my money would be on Ben – c’mon, Coz, are you up for the challenge?”
 
Ben looked at his cousins. In years gone by, their admiration was a given; more recently, though, as they were growing into adulthood themselves, their worship of their older jock cousin appeared to be accompanied by teasing and needling, challenging him to justify his superiority over them.
 
Perhaps it was that need for justification, or the erection in his shorts, or just the fuzziness induced by the beer that led to his stock jock-boast response, “Sure, I could do much better than that guy – bring it on!”
 
Rad nodded as though a firm agreement had been reached. “OK, we’ll give it a go tomorrow morning – let’s see how you do!”
 
Some more similar banter back and forth, some more beer, some mucking about, before eventually bed beckoned.
 
Ben lay awake thinking about Rad’s – promise? threat? – and wondered why it felt so exciting. So exciting indeed, that he realised he was unconsciously stroking his growing dick. He stopped, as much to save the sheets as anything else, and mentally shrugged – probably the twins would have forgotten about it by the morning. As he drifted off to sleep, brain going into free association, there seemed a moment of a regret, hardly realised. A pity, really, a thought floated, considering some of his darker fantasies.
 
******* 
 
Indeed, while they were having breakfast and then splashing around in the pool, no further reference was made to the ‘bet’, and Ben hardly liked to bring it up himself – he wasn’t even sure he wanted it. No, that’s not quite right – he wanted it, but was scared at the same time about the ramifications.
 
But when they were sunning themselves in the skimpiest swimwear to top up their tans, it wasn’t long before Rad looked over at his fit cousin.
 
“So are you ready then, Cuz? All set for your tie-up challenge?”
 
Ben stared at Rad. Did he want this? Should he be allowing it? Instinctively he knew that the morphing relationship between his cousins and him would be shifted for ever if he acquiesced.
 
“What, now? Like this?” gesturing at his skimpy Speedos, in a clumsy attempt at delay.
 
Rad’s face curved into a mocking grin. “Oh dear, Cuz, all mouth and no action? Chickening out? Brrrrrck, Bck, Bck” as he flapped his elbows imitating a clucking hen.
 
“Oh c’mon Cuz” pleaded Rick, “Don’t let me down now – my money’s on you, y’know”.
 
And that little exchange was indicative of how his cousins had recently become so adept at manipulating him. How could Ben pull back now? He’d made his protest; best now to put a brave face on it.
 
“OK Rad, sure – do your worst!”
 
Clearly the twins had planned carefully – within seconds they had Ben lying face down on the grass, wrists together palm to palm behind his back, Rick wrapping a cord round them several times before winding a strand between them to lock the coils in place. Simultaneously Rad was tying a rope round his left upper arm between the deltoid and bicep, then tugging it across tight to his right arm. The idea that it was only Rad doing the tying seemed to have melted away – both twins were all over him trussing him tight.
 
To the overwhelmed Ben, it seemed no time at all before his arms were tied taut behind his back at biceps, elbows, forearms and wrists, while his legs were similarly immobile at knees and ankles. Every finger had been bound to its opposite number, before the same had been done to his thumbs. His ankles were folded up to meet his thighs, whereupon they were tied to his wrists, so that he was in a tight hogtie. A doubled-up cord had been twisted into a pseudo-ply and was now wrapped tight round his upper body, constricting his pecs. A similar cord ran down his spine, snug into his ass-crack, between his thighs to come up either side of his genitals to tie off again at his neck. A piece of hose was thrust between his teeth and tied back so hard his lips couldn’t meet. Somewhere in the middle of this, Ben had felt the twins were overdoing it, but they had moved so fast that by the time he thought of protesting, the opportunity was gone.
 
The twins flipped him over back on to a broom handle which they fastened to his shoulders under his armpits. At this point, one item became hugely obtrusive to them all – the skimpy Speedos did nothing whatsoever to hide the large bulge in Ben’s groin which was pushing hard against the elastic waistband of his swimwear. The twins said nothing but Ben, wriggling in his uncomfortable hogtie, found he was unable when looking up at them to meet their gaze, while they spent a few moments checking all was as they wished. Rick adjusted the twisted rope by that swelling groin and, whether by accident or design, that was enough for the bulge to pop out past the waistband, which then held Ben’s erection at its base against his stomach. Then Rick pushed at the twisted cord round Ben’s chest until he managed to “plop” the right nipple out between the two strands of the cord. Ben gasped at the pain – and then gasped again as his throbbing dick told him he liked it! While he was processing that strange message, Rick also popped the left nipple through the cord.
 
Rick slapped his abs gently. “OK, Tough Guy, you’ve got twenty minutes to get free”, and walked away.
 
Ben waited a moment while he endeavoured to recover some feeling of normality. Just a few minutes ago, he’d been a tanned jock sunning himself. Now, he was a helpless victim as near naked as made no difference, at the mercy of his two mischievous cousins, sporting an embarrassing erection.
 
He tried some experimental wriggling. Several things became immediately obvious. He was very tightly bound! All the ropes seemed to connect to each other, so a tug anywhere made the ropes bite everywhere. And that meant that every wriggle made the twisted cords abrade the side of his nipples, and rub past his throbbing dick.
 
After a good time writhing in his bondage, something else became obvious to Ben. Whether he had twenty minutes or two hundred, he was not going to escape! The twins had done their work well; there were no knots within reach of his fingers, which in any case had been so immobilised that it probably wouldn’t have made any difference.
 
In addition, the erotic stimulation in the sunshine was removing his ability to think clearly – when he lifted his head, Ben could see pre-cum already drooling slowly out of his piss-slit onto his ribbed abs. He twisted again – and moaned from the pleasure-frustration messages that his abraded nipples and dick were sending to his by now addling brain. At the same time, the severe hogtie was beginning to hurt. He needed to escape.
 
Above all, he needed to cum.
 
******* 
 
He shut his eyes in an attempt to calm down.
 
He writhed again – and moaned.
 
He shut his eyes again.
 
He writhed again – and moaned.
 
Ben wondered how long it had been since the twins had put him in this so-vulnerable situation. For the hundredth time that morning, Ben writhed on the grass, moaning with desire and frustration.
 
******* 
 
Silently, Rad looked at him, a ruler in his hand. There was no doubt that Ben looked the hottest he’d ever been. The hurt of the hogtie was putting his muscles under strain – Rad could see the long lean muscles on his thighs quivering in an attempt to prevent more pulling on his wrists. Perspiration was puddling in the hollows of his trembling abs and running off his lithe limbs. His goodlooking face was contorted in confused anguish, betraying his struggle to process the mixed messages hammering at his brain.
 
The noise of Rad sitting down made Ben turn his head to look at him, drool dripping out of his forced-open mouth.
 
“Well, Tough Guy” (and never had the term sounded so mocking!) “you’ve had your twenty minutes, but you’ve failed to escape. That means you’re still our Prisoner.”
 
Ben looked puzzled. What the fuck did that mean? Weren’t they going to let him go?
 
As if Rad could read his mind, he went on “So, until you manage to escape one of our tie-up challenges, you remain our Prisoner, and we are your Warders, so you have to obey all our orders. I’ll untie you now, providing you agree to those terms. Nod yes if you accept.”
 
Ben felt as though he was in an impossible situation. Gagged as he was, he was completely unable to negotiate, merely able to indicate a “yes” or a “no”. And he knew what would happen if he said “no” – they’d just leave him tied up – he’d experienced their machinations before!
 
Wearily he nodded “yes”, and then moaned again as the ropes rubbed at his erogenous zones.
 
“Oh yeah” said Rad, “We haven’t talked about how much you’re enjoying this, have we?”
 
With the ruler, he tapped Ben on his throbbing erection; Ben’s reaction was wholly disproportionate to the small tap; he surged, he writhed, he gurgled behind his gag.
 
“I think you ought to tell me that tying you up excites you”. Tap tap.
 
Ben gasps for breath. He-is-so-close-to-cumming.
 
Rad strokes the ruler along the length of the pulsating shaft. Ben writhes again and mews in the back of his throat.
 
Rad gives a harder slap to the dick-head, with a corresponding heave of Ben’s writhing sweating torso. “I’m waiting for you to tell me that you get a hard-on from being tied up.”
 
Ben pleads with his eyes. How could a macho jock possibly admit to that?! Besides, it isn’t true, is it?? Surely it’s just the complete bizarre situation that is making him so excited?
 
Tap … stroke … slap. Ben shuts his eyes, moans and writhes.
 
Rad reaches forward and gives each of the pinched nipples a little smack-smack with the ruler. Ben’s lithe body jolts again. Oh-please-let-me-cum!
 
“I’m waiting, Ben”.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap. More groans.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap. Muscles writhing, throat moaning.
 
“OK Ben, I gave you your chance. I’m gonna leave you for ten minutes (desperate head-shaking no-no-no!) ten minutes, I said, then I want the truth from you”.
 
And that was it – Rad was gone!
 
Ben slumped in frustration, the ropes biting into his limbs. Ten minutes! And he’s desperate to cum!
 
Scrabbling with his helpless fingers he manages to hook his tied thumbs inside the twisted rope that’s rubbing against his groin. He tugs it, and his dick tells him how much he likes it! He pumps his groin upward as much as he can with his limited movement and tugs again. Oh yes! Can I cum this way, perhaps?! Pump tug. Tug pump. I-am-so-close!
 
But after a few minutes of this … not-close-enough! Ben moans and pumps harder, tugs harder. This is a real effort in his restricted bondage, and his supple torso is running with sweat, he’s gasping for breath – but-he-is-so-close!
 
******* 
 
Finally, Rad returns, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the muscles jumping and clenching under the sweating skin, and the desperation on the goodlooking face. The ruler comes into play once more.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap…
 
I-am-so-close-please-let-me-cum!
 
“Ben, you’ll remember you need to tell me the truth. I want you to tell me that you get a hard-on from being tied up.”
 
Pleading eyes.
 
Rad shakes his head.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap.
 
“Last chance, Ben – tell me the truth!”
 
Ben closes his eyes in defeat, and reluctantly dips his head.
 
“OK – this is going in the right direction, but I want a clear and definite yes from you. I’m gonna ask the question one more time, and I want an unequivocal, enthusiastic response. If I don’t get that, I’m gonna leave you for another half-hour.” No-no-no-no!
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap.
 
Tap stroke smack-smack slap.
 
“Ben, do you get a hard-on from being tied up.”
 
Ben grunted hard and nodded his head vigorously up and down several times.
 
Rad grinned and pointed across Ben to the side of the garden. There, mostly hidden behind a bush, was Rick filming the whole exchange on his phone! Simultaneously, Rad gave some additional force to the ruler.
 
TAP stroooooke SMACK-SMACK SLAP.
 
TAP stroooooke SMACK-SMACK SLAP.
 
Ben’s eyes widened at the horrific thought that all this had been recorded. But one or more of these stimuli was enough finally to push him over the edge. Was it the humiliation? The ruler smacks? The bondage? The helplessness? The ropes rubbing at his groin and nipples? Certainly Ben didn’t know. All he could feel, as he whimpered and mewed, was a powerful orgasm boiling out of his erect dick, gushing ropes of cum all up his abs and pecs, spurt after spurt, as the ruler kept tapping and slapping.
 
******* 
 
As Ben started taking proper notice of his surroundings again, he felt his gag undone, the broom-handle being removed, being flipped on his front, and ropes round ankles and knees loosened.
 
“Water” he croaked, “please, water”. As Rad continued untying him, Rick brought back a bowl of water. In his thirst, Ben thought nothing of lapping at the bowl while still lying on his front, his cum squishing between his torso and the grass. Mentally, emotionally, and physically drained, Ben – once his aching limbs were free of all restrictions – fell asleep, right where he lay.
 
******* 
 
Ben slept for two hours solid – testament to the trauma he’d suffered. On waking, he took a few minutes to orient himself to the unusual surroundings – and then flushed as memories flooded back. He pushed himself up on still aching arms – noticing that his Speedos had gone. Ben scanned the area; no sign – but he heard the twins splashing around in the pool so headed for them, naked as he was.
 
As he approached, though, his pace slowed. He felt somehow shy, diffident – with these two cousins he’d known and led all his life! This morning, though, they’d just manipulated him, mistreated him, humiliated him; but he’d had one of the most powerful orgasms of his young life. How did he feel? He didn’t know – but his cock did; already the pumping blood was causing it to rise from its pubic nest.
 
“Ben, hi! How’re you feeling?”
 
“Er OK, I guess, thanks, Rad – but I can’t find my Speedos – have you got them?”
 
Rad rested his chin on his arms on the side of the pool. “Well, that’s ‘cos you don’t need them, Ben. From now on, you go naked. Remember? You failed the tie-up challenge, so you stay our Prisoner until you succeed the next.”
 
Ben flushed and stared open-mouthed. “B-b-but I feel…” He gestured helplessly, flapping his hands at his nakedness.
 
“You feel – vulnerable? Humiliated? Helpless? Good! That’s how prisoners are meant to feel. P’rhaps that’ll help you get into the role. And” Rad gestured at Ben’s swelling dick “it doesn’t look as you dislike it as much as you’re saying,” he concluded dryly.
 
“Oh, fuck” Ben said despairingly, and then managed a weak supplicatory grin. “Mind if I skinny-dip?”
 
Somehow in the pool, his nakedness didn’t feel so bad – they’d all skinny-dipped before, for instance – and the horseplay was very much as before, although this time it was always the twins on him two-on-one, and very physical.
 
But after the pool, when the twins were drying off and putting on shorts – that’s when Ben felt very strange. He tried again. “Guys, listen don’t you think –”
 
Rad cut him off impatiently. “Don’t keep on, Ben; we’ve told you what’s happening and why – just suck it up, ‘K?” The twins led into the house and they got a snack lunch together to eat by the pool, so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Ben was having trouble with his dick developing a mind of its own, erecting and deflating by turns – noted and mocked by the twins.
 
Ben was worried about one aspect of all this which he felt he had to raise. “Er, guys, you were filming at the end, right? That’s not on – I’m telling you you have to delete that stuff right now.”
 
Rad frowned. “Listen, Ben, I don’t think you’re in a position to lay down the law. I keep saying, you’re the Prisoner and we’re the Warders – and you agreed to obey all our orders. So shut the fuck up telling us what to do.”
 
Ben felt sick in his stomach. As he had feared, accepting the tie-up challenge had tipped the relationship with his cousins beyond recovery – but he hadn’t anticipated it would be as bad as this. (Particularly ironic, considering both sets of parents had left Ben “in charge” while they were away!)
 
“Listen, guys” he pleaded, “At least promise me the clip won’t go beyond the three of us?”
 
“That will very much depend on how good a Prisoner you are” Rad said forcefully. He jabbed a finger into Ben’s muscled pec. “Which is it to be, Ben? A badly-behaved prisoner and we make the clip go viral, or a well-behaved one who follows our orders? So definitely no promises – look on it as an incentive to keep you in line.”
 
Keep you in line! Control was passing so fast into the twins’ hands that Ben felt scared and breathless. One thing he did know, and that was there was no way he could allow that clip to be passed on – anything but that!
 
Ordinarily he would have brushed away that impudent finger jabbing his pec, but these circumstances urged caution. Trying to make a joke of it he said, grinning weakly,
 
“Hey I’m always perfectly behaved, so of course a perfectly behaved prisoner I will be!”
 
Ben bowed his head and crossed his wrists in front of him in mock submission – but hurriedly desisted when he felt his dick erecting again for some reason!
 
******* 
 
Eventually everything tidied up and put away, Ben assumed they were heading for the pool again but, once outside –
 
“OK, there’s several things to do; Ben, you’re mowing the grass.”
 
Ben stared unbelievingly at Rad.
 
“What the fuck? You mean, I’m doing your fucking chores now? Don’t you think that’s taking things a little bit far, Rad?”
 
Rad smiled grimly. “Huh, ‘perfectly behaved prisoner’, yeah? Some hopes! Listen, Ben, you made a promise – are you gonna to honour that promise, or wimp out?”
 
Well of course jocks never “wimp out”, so after a moment of staring back, Ben stamped off down the garden to get out the mower. A few minutes later, yanked the starter savagely, and running the mower over the (admittedly a bit long) grass.
 
As time passed, the twins enjoyed a cold iced drink, enhanced by the sight of their older cousin doing their chores. Ben’s muscles were showing well in the warm afternoon sun, glistening as he worked naked on their lawn, working to their orders.
 
******* 
 
A sudden interruption in plump round tones.
 
“Hello, dear boys – I’m so sorry to burst in on you unannounced but I couldn’t help seeing through a gap in the hedge and wondered what was happening.”
 
Well, if there was a gap in the hedge, it must have been minute, and it must be perfectly obvious what was happening, but the twins nevertheless greeted their neighbour politely, upon which Rick ambled down the garden to find Ben who seemed to have disappeared.
 
He was discovered hiding by the compost bins with the grass box.
 
“Rick, who the fuck is that?”
 
Rick laughed. “Oh that’s just our pervy next-door neighbour, ol’ Peebles. He always gets an eyeful of us if he can, and he’s obviously peeked through the hedge, seen you, and come over to get a better look.”
 
Ben stared, horrified. “For fuck’s sake! Get me some shorts or something, would you? I’m not coming out from here prancing naked over your grass to allow some perv to get his rocks off!”
 
“I’m afraid, Ben, you haven’t a choice,” said Rick gently. “Don’t worry about it – he’ll be ogling us just as much as you, and we’ve gotten used to it. And if you don’t come back, Rad and Peebles will come down here to find you, and then you’ll be providing a close-up view.”
 
Ben ground his teeth, pounded a fist into a palm, snatched the grass box and stamped back to the mower. As he ran the mower up and down – not bothering whether or not he was doing a good job – he cast sulky resentful glances at the trio relaxing by the pool while he was sweating. What made it worse was that, from the way they were looking, they were talking about him as well.
 
******* 
 
If Clive Peebles had known how the day would turn out, he would have got up at dawn – or earlier.
 
It was always a pleasure for him nowadays living next to the twins – for instance, if he peeked out of a corner of the bedroom window, he could see their lithe runners’ bodies splashing in the pool or sunning themselves poolside. They were often playing games on the grass in shorts or swimwear, and he ensured that the dividing hedge was cut low enough that he could see most of their garden from his upstairs windows.
 
But this week they’d been joined by a clearly very sexy jock-boy who, if possible, looked even better in scanty wear. And today. Today! For some reason this lad was prancing around naked while cutting the grass.
 
Hurriedly he changed into something presentable and rushed round to the side-gate. He paused – no point arriving hot and flustered – ‘play it cool, Clive, play it cool’. So after a few deep breaths he unlatched the gate to go through.
 
“Hello, dear boys…”
 
 *******
 
Not only was Clive Peebles enjoying himself immensely watching the lovely body of the young jock cutting the grass, the afternoon sun glancing off his muscles in a most entrancing manner, it soon became clear that the twins could benefit from his wise advice, to the mutual benefit of all. Although Rad and Rick had succeeded in imposing their will on Ben to some extent, his sulky scowls in their direction and his deliberately careless mowing were obvious signals that he was very far from accepting his plight, and could easily rebel.
 
Clive talked with the twins sensibly, helpfully, convincingly.
 
Once he saw that the twins had been impressed with his proffered help and advice, he decided regretfully it was time to go. Just one last look – the leg muscles bunching just above the knees, the pecs and abs clenching as Ben pushed the mower – a delight! Ah, but even better when he turned to go back down – the strong V of his shoulders, the long sinews of his thighs working in co-ordination with his pert butt muscles – ‘poetry in motion’ proved to be a wholly inadequate description of the powerful youthful eroticism on glorious show. Ah well, patience, more to come soon!

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Information Tom the Grocer
Posted by: WMASG - 12-30-2025, 05:15 PM - Replies (7)

   

Prologue

Tom was lost.

His two remaining kids had shut him out of their lives years ago. His wife of 20 years was long gone. Not that he had many fond memories of their last few years together as they had grown apart rapidly, particularly after the accident, probably because of the accident.

He had a reasonable but strained relationship with his daughter, Jane, until she married that upstart real estate salesman, and moved into his grand villa on the North Shore. As for his son, Graeme the less said the better.

Then there had been Jeremy. Sweet and loveable Jeremy. Jeremy, who everybody loved. That love of fellow kin had seemed to hold his family together until the accident. After the accident, it was as if no one wanted to even acknowledge each other let alone talk. Did everyone blame each other Tom had often wondered, him more than most?

Now he was facing a new life. A new life in his 40’s without family, past or present. He had sold the family home, set up a company funded by the proceeds of that and investment from his personal super fund, and pursued his dream of a simple life in the only industry that he knew and understood, grocery. The Corner Grocer was a relic of the past, now in the day of the giant supermarket, but it was all he knew. He had found this small shop, well actually two shops combined, rooms behind suitable for dry store and cool rooms with a small apartment upstairs above the two shops. The son-in-law real estate expert had told him he was crazy to even consider buying this relic but Tom had been fascinated with it from first sight, and proudly displayed the simple sign that he had commissioned; Tom the Grocer.

He had searched for an old inner-city location, one without giant supermarkets and he was confident that in the Australian suburb Stanmore, with just an IGA on the other side of the railway station and just 10 minutes west of the City of Sydney, he had found the perfect spot.

The only part of his old life that he will miss is of coaching the Under 16’s soccer team, but every year the keener ones kept continuing in older teams whilst others who develop different interests sadly drop out, it doesn’t even have much to do with ability just the mindset. He had not known much about soccer till little Jeremy showed so much talent, following his progress through the age groups, and that progress, seemingly to stardom, had stirred his enthusiasm.

Maybe he will find a new team to coach in his new home, but probably not. Much better to lead a more reserved private life, but he will miss those mischievous boys, and the adrenalin rush of winning, sharing with them the unbridled elation of success!

As for women he wants no more of the possessive intrusions, the mood swings, the feeling of being owned. He remembers his carefree teenage days and the friendships without strings he enjoyed with his boyhood mates, what a simple life that was?

But in life, it is no good looking over your shoulder. Tom believed that it was far better to always look ahead with a smile and a clear head. This is the new life he plans for the new Thomas, as Tom the Grocer.



Chapter 1
The last weekend.

It was Tom’s last free weekend, Monday morning and the shop would be open, then it would be working seven days a week with just Saturday, and maybe Sunday nights free as he intended to close at 6:00 instead of at 8:00, on the weekends.

So, as it had been the norm during the renovations, it was off to Kings Cross for his normal weekend break, just a few nice dinners and a couple of drinks to unwind after all the pressure of getting Tom the Grocer ready for operation.

Most, but not all, of the expected deliveries had come and he was sure that the few that remained now at 6:00 would not come before Monday, so he went upstairs to ready himself for his final weekend break.

An experienced traveler, it only took a few minutes to pack his small bag and be off. He quickly walked the 50 meters to the railway entrance for the Stanmore station, walked up the ramp, and then down the steps to the platform for trains to the city. There were many train lines but only two were for trains stopping at Stanmore, one to the city where Tom was headed and one to the inner western suburbs. Most were for the longer distance through trains which roared through regularly, without stopping.

As Tom walked down the length of the platform, there was much noise and tomfoolery as handfuls of schoolboys from Newington College were jostling each other in normal boy fashion. As he walked past a group of 4 or 5, in their summer uniform of khaki shorts instead of trousers, one rather pushy type, a real all-round sporting specimen had caused a minor commotion by just grabbing one of the other boy’s genitals and was laughing whilst the victim was seeking revenge.

Newington College was an elite school for boys, established by the Methodist church back in the 19th century. It is a fee-paying school, for rich kids.

Boys will be boys, as they say, rich or poor. Memories came flooding back of Tom’s own teenage years and the games that they played as well. Mutual groping was an almost all-day-everyday process that just happened, in class, in the corridors, on the bus, or when just walking along anywhere. More serious groping also sometimes happened in the showers after sport, particularly if the teacher left early and left one of the naughty boys in charge.

In the showers it was flesh against flesh with no clothing to get in the way then sometimes things got a bit more serious and the groping became mutual wanking. Things that he had not remembered for a long time, maybe that is normal when boys become men and even fathers of their own, those memories are filed away never to be re-visited or even remembered.

Tom also recalled his weekend sleepovers with close mates Matt and or James, sometimes with all three of them enjoying their games, at night, being naughty. Always sharing a bedroom at whichever home it was their turn to stay at, sometimes even sharing one large bed.

The mutual wanking had begun in 1st Year and continued, with a few additions, through to 5th Year, from around 12 years of age till 16 or 17, from when they had small finger specimens until they had, with maturity, become large throbbers. It had all been relatively innocent till the weekend that Mark’s young cousin Joey was included in the games, and it all changed. At first, Tom had been disappointed as Joey took over a position in the bed between Tom and Matt, but Joey was more precocious than any of them and, Tom could still remember the giggling boy asking him if he ‘wanted a gobble’ while squeezed in the bed between Tom and Mark. Tom had not answered but Mark had whispered ‘go on’. Only turkeys gobble but Tom was sure that he knew what Joey meant. The boys had often talked about oral sex and all were waiting for someone to do it to them, no one ever considering offering to do it themselves.

So, Joey took no answer from Tom for a yes, and then it happened. Tom’s cock was suddenly wrapped in warmth and wetness, his body reacted with a violent twitch and a wave of trembling ran up and down from his head to his feet. He had never before experienced anything like it and his resultant orgasm was accompanied by a fireworks display with colors exploding in the sky. He came very quickly as if the dam had burst.

The following sleepover, with Joey back to his home in the country after the school holidays, was a game of cat and mouse.

“If you do it for me, I will do it for you”

“No fucking way, I am not going to suck your cock.”

“Didn’t you like it when Joey did it to you?”

“Of course, and you can do it to me if you want?”

“It has to be each way or not at all?”

“No way!”

“Come on, it feels fantastic, I tell you what, I will do it for you, just a teaser to remind you, only for a minute or two. But then you have to do it for me if you want me to continue doing it for you?’

Tom did not answer but made no attempt to stop Matt from going down in the bed and doing it. It was almost as good as when Joey did it the first time, fantastic just not sensational. Perhaps the first time would always remain the best ever. He knew he wanted it done again, and again, so he was resigned to reciprocating, so he did. The three of them loved it so much it became their main reason for getting together. One scary day they even did it in the showers at school when no one else was around.

Tom was quite horrified to now be reminded of his old teen games, all caused by watching those Newington boys groping each other. He had never fancied boys or had a crush on a boy, as they say, he had just, with his teenage hormones raging, constantly fancied sex, and that had been the only alternative at the time. He had subsequently progressed to girls, then women, and finally marriage and fatherhood. Funny though, that very first head job still remains in his memory as the best one ever, perhaps boys do it better than girls?

Tom’s memories of his naughty teenage years were halted by the arrival of his train. He boarded and sat just inside the door of the Tangara. Four stops later he alighted at Town Hall station, climbed the stairs to the concourse, and then went down the long escalator to the depths of the lower platform for his train to the Eastern Suburbs. Another two stations on the new train and he would be at his destination, Kings Cross.

Kings Cross had quite a reputation but Tom had always been comfortable there. Originally a bohemian-type village, consisting of late-night restaurants, cafes, pubs, and a mix of cheap and very expensive accommodation, it had exploded into something else as a result of the Vietnam war and thousands of American soldiers arriving from their near-death experiences for their final, very wild R & R leave with a pocketful of $US.

There had always been discreet prostitution, but suddenly there were girls everywhere, professionals and amateurs, all willing to sleep with a ‘yank’ and have a good time, sometimes that even led to a marriage, other times just an unwanted child. The arrival of the Americans also brought hard drugs to Australia and Kings Cross. Marihuana had always been a part of the local scene but now more serious options abounded, all driven by the $US, and the servicing needs of the visiting soldiers.

With so much cash flowing freely every scam artist in creation also now walked the streets of The Cross, as it was known, these days. Tom’s early recollection of The Cross was visiting small cafes where the jukeboxes played foreign pop songs. Dream time for the Aussie youth of the day as all planned to go ‘overseas’ at some time in their life, preferably soon. A night at The Cross was almost like pretending that you were already there

When Tom stepped off the escalator at Town Hall station, a train was already there and waiting, with its doors open. He quickly boarded and as it was already very full, and he was only going two stops, just stood inside the door with his back against the wall between the seating and standing areas. He had just enough room to shove his bag on the floor between his feet. The train continued to just stand there as new passengers kept boarding the already full train. Tom watched as a smartly dressed young man skipped off the escalator, looked down the platform. Obviously thinking of going further along to less crowded areas but then decided to push his way into where Tom was standing, He squirmed his way in, and as a result, he and Tom almost rubbed noses as he did so, finishing with his body firmly against Tom’s right hip bone, the boy grinning, and nodding to Tom, as if in apology.

The warning buzzer sounded and the train’s automatic doors closed, and the train began its journey. It rocked as it entered the tunnel and began going around a tight bend, As it did so, Tom realized that the young man’s right arm was locked in between their two bodies. Worse still the back of his hand was firmly pressed against Tom’s genitals, and that pressure was starting to cause Tom to get an unwanted erection.

How embarrassing! The young man will think he is an old pervert. He hopes that he will not notice it. As the train pulls into the next station, Martin Place, maybe some passengers will get off. They did, but only from the other side and more of them boarded, so all in Tom’s section were still glued together.

As the train recommenced its journey Tom’s horror had become complete as it was now not the back of the boy’s hand pressing against him but the front and his fingers were pressed hard against Tom’s now full erection, worse still the fingers were wriggling and there was no way Tom could escape without creating a scene by verbally abusing the boy. As the train pulled into Kings Cross station almost everyone in the crowded compartment alighted so at last Tom was able to retrieve his small bag from the floor and with it placed firmly in front of him leave the train with no one able to see his embarrassment. The boy had quickly departed and Tom believed that at least for the moment his situation was over.

The journey from the platform to the concourse was by way of two long steep escalators, the left one going up the other coming back down. As Tom stood on his step on the escalator he absent-mindedly watched those who were descending, a mix of characters who lived, worked, or had just been visiting The Cross. The 24-hour action of the area attracted all sorts, including the down and outs. First into view were a pair of mature-aged indigenous Aborigines, both poorly dressed and the worse for wear. The lady was alternately loudly berating the man and glaring at the ascending passengers such as Tom, as if to dare them to interfere or comment.

The man just stood there taking it all in without comment as if he was used to this daily tirage. A few steps behind them, was a smartly dressed young man, no doubt just having finished his shift at one of the many real estate agents in the area, behind him another young guy who was still wearing his distinctive chef’s trousers. Ten or so steps behind him was an Asian lady, in her 50’s or so, in a strange white dress that had multi-colored layers overlapping; greens, blues, orange. To cap off this Technicolor display was her vivid pink-colored hair that matched one of the layers.

At The Cross nothing was considered unusual.

Now at the top of his escalator, Tom moved to pass through the ticket barrier, still holding his bag in front, with his Opal card automatically opening the entrance gate for him. Across the concourse to another bank of escalators, that would take him up to the street level at Darlinghurst Road, and his entry to the famous Cross, and all that entailed. He was faced with three escalators this time, two going up and the other coming down. Tom chose the left-most one and only then looked up ahead. The boy from the train was standing on the central escalator and instead of facing upwards as all of the other passengers were, he was facing back down his eyes firmly on Tom who stared straight ahead not making eye contact but keeping him in focus in his peripheral vision. He had no wish for any further confrontation just wanting to escape and book into his hotel which was conveniently situated directly above the train station.

At the top, the boy walked straight ahead but kept looking back as if willing Tom to follow him which he had no intention of doing. Tom turned left at the station entrance and noticed that the boy had crossed over to the other side of Darlinghurst Road but still kept glancing across towards Tom. He had no wish for the boy to see where he was going, so he stopped at a street-side café for an essential coffee break and to get his breath back. The boy stopped at an entrance to an upstairs place, no doubt a sex shop as it was named Pleasure Chest. The boy looked across one last time, saw no interest from Tom, he seemed to shrug and give up, ascending the stairs to who knows what? Tom had explored such places before and had a good idea of what it would contain.

Tom was surprised that the encounter on the train had quite shaken him up, he did not quite understand why he did not just laugh it off. After he finished his coffee, he walked back along the street to the Crest Hotel and went in, registered at reception, and went up to his assigned room on the 10th floor, overlooking the city of Sydney. Needing a quick shower to refresh he did so, whereupon his erection re-surfaced but this time he got rid of it in what had become the normal way of recent years.

Now relaxed, he set off on his adventures of the night. First, a leisurely dinner. The choice at The Cross was immense, from cheap and nasties to the best of fine dining. Tom settled for one of his usual places. Maggies. The food was OK but nothing special but as a long-time regular customer the staff had become almost like family and it was always a super relaxing experience, a bit like eating at home!

He crossed the park at the El Alamein fountain, in front of the police station, and approached the restaurant, still mostly empty at this early hour. He had only just taken his seat at a small table when waiter Dave arrived with a hot bread roll in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other, obviously having seen him approach through the park opposite, and had come prepared with Tom’s usual starting order.

“Good evening Tom, how are you today?” asked Dutch Dave.

“OK Dave, but a bit shook up. Just been groped on the train.”

“Not bad, a cute girl I hope?”

“No, that is the strange part it was done by a boy!” Tom confided, knowing that nothing would shock Dave.

“Always thought that you were the other side of the fence,” replied Dave rather matter-of-factually.

“So did I, I mean I am,” answered Tom.

“It all happens at The Cross,” mused David as he returned to the bar.

The restaurant was famous for its giant-sized schnitzels, and Tom was very hungry so he ordered the Chicken Jaeger, two large slabs covered with a mushroom sauce which he was able to add at the table in order to keep the meat crisp.

After dinner Tom went for a few drinks at his usual late night bar in The Cross, Barons, an illegal drinking place the haunt of just about every night owl in Sydney. It was operated by two very police-savvy Austrians nicknamed by the regulars as Hitler and Jesus. The former being an extreme right winger, the latter a failed seminary student who had been unable to suppress his love of women and having sex with them.

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