Gay Erotic Stories

For quite a while, I’ve heard of various self-help programs, group therapy clinics, 12 step programs, TV Talk Shows—you know—the sensational kinds—filled with strange and crazy people. Everything from aberrant societal behavior to the mere wild and crazy—I guess they have quite a crew of recruiters that scour the trailer parks from one end of the country to the other, looking for something even MORE sensational than their last feat. No real soapbox commentary here, other than to say, that if I was watching TV and flicking the channels, my interest in such programs was short lived. I smugly considered these programs to be beneath my intellect and a brand of yellow journalism or cheap sensational theatrics at best. I mean really, who gets off on watching some uneducated goof balls utter nothing but four-letter works and butcher the English language to hell (admittedly they probably don’t know many five or six letter words). I just imagined the thought of 15 minutes of fame, a trip to New York or LA, etc and some cash money probably coerced them into anything short of selling out their mother—and maybe that too if they knew where she was. I had lead a very comfortable life—nothing spectacular—just what I’d considered to be a regular average middle America type life. I hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in my mouth and had had to work for absolutely everything I’d accomplished, enjoyed, or any material possessions I’d managed to acquire. I considered myself basically a self-made individual, not spoiled or privileged in any way. I’d been fortunate to have the wonderful experience of growing up with both of my parents in a loving, well-adjusted family. Sure we’d had some problems and bumps here and there, but the family wasn’t dysfunctional or a monumental candidate for any talk show. I’d come to terms at an early age with my sexuality—the fact that I was interested in boys and men, rather than the other sex. For quite a while, I’d just experimented on my own and kept my mouth shut as far as my parents were concerned. Eventually of course, they found me out, and this wasn’t a bad thing. Surprisingly, the only thing my father said was something to the effect…”I think I understand…” He didn’t elaborate on it, and I didn’t pursue it at the time. Ever since, I wondered many times just what in the hell he was saying! He’s passed on now, so I’ll just never know. Mom surprised me, taking the news with some difficulty. Initially, she didn’t speak to me for a couple of weeks or so, but soon began talking. Talking was her forte. Something she definitely did best. It soon became clear; she was just initially concerned that she apparently wasn’t going to have a daughter-in-law, or any grandchildren to parade around to her four sisters. I guess as soon as she realized how superficial this all was, she set about clearing the air between us. I can’t say she’s completely supportive even to this day, but she’s really liked both of my lovers over the years, and even got along well with their mothers too. I guess she just learned to live with my sexual preferences, even though her preferences would have taken a different path. I could always talk openly with her and had come to rely on her when my first lover of some 15 years grew apart. I was equally excited and shared my happiness when some 3 years later I’d found my second love. This relationship lasted some 11 years and mother had grown to really enjoy him, even though he was very much different in background, religion and ethnic makeup. Admittedly, I had surprised myself too. I was never really attracted to Asian men—but this one had captured my interest and my heart in a matter of days. Happiness and cohabitational bliss ended a couple of years ago. I was transferred over 1000 miles away by my company, and my significant other elected to remain with his career position. This had been a dreaded and painful choice, and for a very long time, neither of us were certain we’d made the correct one. Eventually, time worked more to separate us rather than do any real healing. Living alone was hard to get accustomed to. I had never really lived alone in an apartment. I had always either had a roommate or a love interest. Actually, living alone did have some advantages—no one to pick up after, no one to tell you what to do, no one to screw up the newspaper before you got to read it—but no one to make your favorite dinner, no one to share your day, no one to cuddle yourself to sleep with, and of course no one to have wonderfully intimate sex with whenever you both were in the mood! I soon found myself not wanting to go home when I left the office for the day. True, the cats were always there and eager to greet me whenever I arrived home, but they were no substitute for human contact, conversation and conviviality. No, instead I concentrated on stopping off at one of the local gay cocktail bars for happy hour. This proved fun and I soon met many fellow professional guys, networked some, and made some good casual acquaintances—but that’s where it ended. After having a few drinks, I’d head home after happy hour had ended, sometimes even before. Alone with the cats and the TV. I really hadn’t minded this and had grown accustomed to this routine. Not too bad, but I’d really was hoping that maybe sometime in the next 1-3 years—again I would find mister right. Life as I’d known it, took an unhappy twist. I’d just finished having cocktails with a great group of guys and a couple of long time friends that were in town visiting. We’d each bought a round, and I’d over done it a bit. I was tired and left the group and headed for home. Unfortunately I’d come alone and left the same way. While driving home, I decided to stop at a grocery store and pick up a frozen dinner, as I really didn’t have much in the fridge and wasn’t in the mood to fix anything special. Rather than go to my regular little store, I decided to try another one. Bad idea. I got lost, and while I was looking for a street sign, I managed to strike a nasty cement curb. This rendered not one, but two left tires—front and rear—flat and one bent rim to boot! What to do? I was disgusted, pulled off the side of the road and pondered my situation. I pondered too long. I dosed off, only to be awakened by a police officer who’d pulled up behind me to see if he could be of assistance. His assistance—rather his insistence—was the last thing I needed. It wasn’t long before I heard those heretofore foreign words---“You’re under arrest” . Then my nightmare began. I found myself in the back of the patrol car and soon in the local police department’s holding area—bars separating me from my former freedom. My mortification continued as I produced a wonderfully high score. I always had had high scores on tests through my schooling. Unfortunately this also carried through with golf and now the breath test! After spending the rest of the night and a good share of the next day locked up, being finger printed and herded around with the other inmates being processed, I felt dirty, demoralized—like I’d become some type of horrific criminal in one quick stroke. The handcuffs, the finger printing, the mug shots—the strange smell of the place. It was just all too much to process. Fortunately, I’d been able to bond out just as soon as the mandatory 12 hours were up. I was tired, with little or no sleep, embarrassed by having one of my friends come get me, stripped of my license and $500 lighter in bond money, I’d felt as if I’d been stripped of my personality, my dignity and my personal reputation run up on the rocks. When I got home, I stripped my clothes and threw them in the washer. Then I took a LONG shower—desperate to get rid of that jail smell. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. Ah yes, but I of course there was work the next day. Fortunately, I was able to keep my misadventure disguised from my staff and other co-workers. Then there was the court date $835 fine, the lawyer’s fee, $500, the National Safety Council classes and evaluation, $195, the probation--$40 monthly for 6 months, periodic surprise breath ($11) and urine ($40) tests. Then for good measure, my car was booted for 10 days $100 for the pleasure. Restrictive, and financially draining—and we’ve not even addressed the impact on the auto insurance coverage! And then there was the counseling--$50 enrollment fee plus $20/hour for group sessions. Man what a racket! Everyone was making a killing here—and I was the object of their slaughter! I’d certainly become painfully aware of my mistake, and in fact had totally stopped drinking any alcoholic beverages at all. This was initially voluntary on my part, but mandated by the 6 months probation too! This certainly was an educational and life altering experience—one I hope and vow to never experience again—but I’d moved on and after hemorrhaging what seemed an endless flow of cash to outstretched hands, I’d become at first wary and then disgusted, seeing myself as the continuing victim here. I’d managed to continue my happy hour social life, sans alcohol. Actually, I found that if I drank a simple tonic and lime, or a diet coke, or a cranberry lime, I really liked it and didn’t miss the alcohol one bit. I was really pleased with myself about this and back into my old sort of feeble social routine. I think the biggest slap in the face was the mandatory recommendation for the counseling. I was resigned to it, but damn—I’d have to have counseling and group embarrassment at that! Jeeze, $20/hour times how many people in the class? What a racket. How long was I to bleed at this rate? Shit—I wish I’d made that kind of money! I wasn’t in the best of moods at the first group session. The initial workup had gone pretty well, the battery of generalized questions, designed to either pigeonhole you or quickly attempt to figure you out quickly. In any event, I was surprised to see that there were 11 people in the “class” and they varied widely in both age and sex. I wasn’t sure what to expect and was nervously anticipating the “instructor” , “keeper” , “shrink” or what ever you wanted to call our team discussion leader’s arrival. We all sat there—it was already 20 minutes past the scheduled starting time. Were we already on the clock and I’d just shot over $6 bucks? Finally, the door opened and in walked our counselor. The chatter was promptly replaced with deafening silence. Our counselor calmly sauntered to the front of the classroom, looked at each one of us, then finally introduced himself. “Good evening, my name’s Mr. Markham S. Pierce, and you can call me Mark.” Well now, that was a bit stiff! There was silence in the room as everyone just waited for Mark to make the next move. We all had the pleasure of introducing ourselves and before the first session was over, we’d all recounted our respective series of events that had gotten us here. Pain and embarrassment revisited. I kept my thoughts and initial discontent to myself; however, one rather well dressed white haired lady pretty well summed up most of our feelings in a nutshell. “I don’t see why I’m forced to relegate myself to such humiliation in front of these people—I’m not an alcoholic!” Later, we found her out—she’d had the fortune to sideswipe a police cruiser parked in front of a grocery store, on her way to driving through a storefront of a Hallmark Card Shop. I guess she really left quite a calling card. She’d spent the afternoon playing cards with her lady friends and was just going a few blocks home. In any event, the first session lasted exactly one hour, and we hadn’t been charged for the first 20 minutes sitting time. Subsequent sessions became easier. Occasionally, there would be new members added to the group and some would drop off—finished (assessment wise or financially). Mark had continued to be our “moderator” as he liked to call himself. I’d certainly taken notice of the other class members; a couple guys were young and very good looking. Speaking of good looking, Mark wasn’t half bad either. He usually stood in the front of the classroom and one could easily tell he worked out and was in very good physical shape. He also sported a good package, standing there in his Docker’s. He also sported what appeared to be a wedding ring on his left hand. After his initial coolness and stiff, formal penance type presentation, as the sessions went along, his demeanor became more genuine, caring and he even animated at times. The group felt easier and as the members became more comfortable with each other, they opened up and let loose with a host of surprising, revealing and downright juicy tidbits and touched on some really amazing issues. We all began to actually look forward to these meetings. We actually learned a lot about ourselves and the process was certainly entertaining too! I figured I was really getting my $20 worth! I began to develop a really good rapport with one of our team members who had been there from day one. His name was Mickey and I’d noticed him from the start. I’d figured that he was a member of the club early on, and I’d been right. I was amazed at his openness and his willing discussion of his current relationship that was on the skids. Now, I was more reserved and didn’t really go into specifics with regard to my two long term relationships, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by either Mickey or our moderator, Mark for that matter. You ever get the feeling like that in large meeting, church, temple or a lecture—that the speaker is looking and talking directly to YOU? I was getting this feeling from our moderator and it was making me wonder if I was progressing according to plan, or needed to do more, etc. I was surprised when at the close of our 7th session, Mr. Markham S. Pierce (that’s Mark) asked me to remain for a couple of moments. I nervously waited for the room to clear out before proceeding in his direction. Mark looked up at me and opened with, “I’ve been evaluating your progress and I feel that you might benefit from some individual counseling.” Great! This individual counseling is going to cost me $80/hour! I told him that this whole disastrous litany of events had already set me back $2163.00 to date and that the well was about to run dry, so to speak. Mark must have been impressed with my coming up with an exact amount to date (I admit I was kind of anal about this), because he quickly added that there would be no additional cost for the special session, just the same $20 hourly rate. I thought, okay, good enough, anything if it will get me over and done with this hemorrhaging of cash and time. The following afternoon, I left work a bit early, and met him at the counseling center just before 6 PM. To my surprise, he suggested that we could conduct our session over dinner. Ahh, field study! He’s going to be testing me, I bet! Jesus, did he really think I was going to look at the drinks menu or the wine list? I was hungry, having had a quick lunch, so the opportunity sounded good to me—as if I was going to make an elective choice? We were fortunate that there was a great upscale chain restaurant (okay, if you must know—Chili’s) and the place was crowded with happy hour office workers and early diners. We bypassed the bar (surprise) and settled down in the smoking section (his call) even though neither of us smoked. It was less crowded and we could talk. Well, that WAS the idea here. Both of us ordered and after having two large ice teas brought to us, were left alone by our server (not bad looking guy either, but back to business). Mark minced no words and got right to the point. “I’ve been carefully monitoring your progress, and I believe that actually you’re a candidate for release from our little program. Actually, I’ve been toying with releasing you for the past 3 sessions.” I’m not sure what gave me away, maybe it was the thought of the extra $60 bucks I spent, but Mark’s body language kind of apologized, and I didn’t say what I was thinking. Then he added, “Actually, there’s no charge for this little session, and by the way—dinner’s on me!” He smiled. I was relieved, and nervously quipped, “Yeah? Good, you’re probably the only one who can afford it!” Mark just smiled, and then gave a chuckle. “You’re always good with quick humor. That’s what I like about you!” Thought to self—“What? That’s what he liked about me? Okay, I’ll let him expound on that one!” Mark did just that. “Humor, delightful personality, genuine, interactive, considerate of others…all good healthy attitudinal signs. You’re very well adjusted and I see no threat concerning your driving ability here.” Thought to self—“Well now, isn’t that just a glowing review. It’s a wonder he didn’t say I play well with others! Shit! How would he know—or me for that matter? I hadn’t played well with others—or anyone for that matter since moving here!” I must have chuckled at my own humor, because he was just about ready to laugh at me. Maybe it was my facial expression. Our dinners came just then and not a moment too soon. Thankfully, I began to undo the silverware wrappings and focused on the food at hand. Mark was doing the same, but I tried not looking directly at him. I was still trying to analyze what he’d said. I was two bites into my Chili’s Burger when he dropped the bomb. “You’re gay aren’t you?” What kind of a cluster fuck was this? I damn near choked on the meat (no pun intended)! My hesitation couldn’t be disguised by my chewing. He had me cold; I knew it and he did too. I didn’t say anything; I just frowned and looked at him in amazement. Mark just smiled—a bit too smugly for my taste—and continued, “I was pretty sure early on. I watched you take stock of the rest of the group. You definitely gravitate to the male persuasion.” Note to self—“Jesus, was I that damn obvious? Buy sunglasses.” He continued, “Actually, I’ve got a confession to make, and please don’t take this the wrong way. Tonight’s purely my idea. I didn’t just want to dismiss you from the program in front of everyone else. You see, you and I have a lot in common. I’ve been there, done that. About four years ago, I too got pulled over and had to go through this program. What’s worse--it had a direct impact on my professional life too. Imagine being a clinical physiologist and being on the other side of these sessions.” He stopped and I was beginning to recover, breathing a sigh of relief, content this conversation was going mainstream, and my uneasiness began to drift away. I now found myself genuinely sympathetic to his position and really admiring his candor. Actually, I was beginning to really like this guy and was honored that he’d made his special point of asking me here to dinner. My comfort zone was about to be shattered…he just came out with it… “You see, we’re both quite a lot alike the way I’ve got it figured. You’ve been single for as long as you’ve been here, right? Nothing much has gone on either, I bet. I’ve been single ever since my sessions 4 years ago. I destroyed by own life, so to speak. It’s something I’ve never really admitted to anyone—maybe not even myself until now.” “Why was he telling me this? I thought he was married—he’s still got that wedding ring on, and now he tells me he’s left his wife? And 4 years ago? “ My mind was sorting this out when he continued… “It’s okay. I’m gay too.” He paused, and then something very unusual for he who I’d never seen at a loss for the right words, “ I…I think you’re a really nice guy…and…and I’d like to get to know you on a personal level…if that’s okay.” I must have had one hell of an astonished look on my face when I felt a hand on my left knee under the table. Mark had this quizzical look on his face, and unknowingly at first, then intentionally shortly thereafter, when I head stopped spinning, I just looked at him straight in the eyes. Okay, I melted down probably too soon. This guy had been stringing me along? He’d been playing me? Note to self—“Damn you fool! You’d been looking at him and had him already undressed and played with mentally anyway! Why stop now!” “You’re kidding! You’re telling me you’re gay? Your relationship was with a guy? But why the ring?” I guess I was just full of questions. “The ring’s a decoy. Unusually, I get hit on by the women—some of them are damn old too—but they just don’t quit trying. They’re lushes and we’re not necessarily talking about drink. It apparently worked with you too!” he added confidently. “Ugh, news flash—yeah!” “Well, that’s the real reason for this special session and dinner, actually. I just had to make a confession. I hope you don’t take offense, but I really find you very intriguing, both as a person and physically too.” Note to self—“Thank God you had the foresight to hit the bathroom before leaving the office!” “Well thanks for the great compliment. And while they’re being passed out, may I say that I too enjoyed your sessions. I learned quite a bit about myself, even though I’d considered myself pretty well adjusted and in control of things. I’m also flattered that you saw fit to invite me out to dinner.” I looked at Mark and he was nervously listening to my all too proper thank you, and ready for the other shoe to drop. I couldn’t keep up the ruse, “Actually, I’ve been noticing you as well—it’s kinda hard NOT to! And I find you very stimulating (evil grin). We compared notes and I learned that Mark lived less than a mile from my apartment. I invited him to come over and share Saturday morning at the pool with me if the weather held out. I thought he was backpedaling, when he added that he had a very early morning session and needed to go home and prepare for it tonight. But he accepted my invitation, paid the waiter, and as we walked back to his office, his hand joined mine. We reached the parking lot of his building; he turned to me and said, “Till Saturday!” He looked around briefly, and then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. (To be continued)