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In my early twenties I was quite the slut. I usually topped, and didn't mind if guys wanted to use condoms. I still don't even though I prefer bareback. I met this guy Tony at a bar one night and ended up going back to his place. We made out on his bed for a while, and before we even got our clothes off I could tell he was going to try to fuck me. At that point I wasn't bottoming much, mainly because there were just so many bottoms in town, and also my first experience bottoming wasn't that great so I was a little gun shy. One thing that helps is a guys attitude. He's gotta be assertive when he's fucking me, not aggressive, just assertive. That really turns me on, and it's exactly how Tony was acting. We got our clothes off and started 69ing. He had a great body and 6 inch cock similar to mine. We sucked each other off for at least 10 minutes. He wasn't just sucking my cock, he was licking all around my ball sack and taint which I love, and I returned the favor. He finally flipped back around and spread my legs as he started kissing me again. I could feel his cock just under my testicles poking my taint and occasionally my hole. I was kind of clenching because I wasn't expecting to be fucked that night. He sat up and reached into his night stand for a condom and lube. Mind you, at no point did he ask to fuck me, he just expected it and I was just so turned on by that. He got the condom on and lubed up himself and my hole. He put my legs up in his shoulders and put the head of his cock at my hole. I was kinda clenching, and just couldn't relax at first, but he kept pushing and eventually sank his whole condom covered cock into my ass. Once he bottomed out I started loosening up and started to enjoy him slowly thrusting in and out. He went slow at first like he could sense my initial unease. I just stared at his awesome body as he pumped his cock in and out of my hole. After a few minutes he pulled out and flipped me over onto my hands and knees, and entered my doggie style. I absolutely love that position, it makes me feel submissive. He started fucking me faster in this position, and after a few minutes ended up driving my whole body flat against the bed, his body covering mine while he drove his cock in my hole. Suddenly he stopped and pulled out. "The condom broke," he said. He got off me to pull the broken condom off and throw it away. I rolled over onto my back thinking we'd just have to jerk off. He came back, got the lube and lubed up his bare dick and mine, and I started jerking. He climbed up between my legs and spread them apart while working the lube on his cock. He put his left hand on the back of my head and started kissing me, and with this right, I felt him line up his bare cock with my hole. Again, without asking, he just sank his cock into my ass, only this time, it was bareback. I was kinda in shock, but also so horny I just let him start thrusting his cock in my hole again. We kept kissing as he was fucking me, and I was furiously jerking my cock because I was so horny. After about 5 minutes of getting bare fucked by this guy I met a few hours before, he told me he was getting close. He started kind of slowing down and doing shallower thrusts, and it seemed like he was about to pull out to cum.I don't know what came over me, but I wrapped my legs around his body and squeezed him into me. I started spewing my load across my stomach. "Oh fuck I'm coming," he said, and thrust his bare cock balls deep in my ass as he unloaded in me. He collapsed on top of me and we kissed some more as his cock softened and slipped out of my hole. After a minute I could feel part of his load seep out of my hole and down my crack. I fucking loved that feeling.

I'm convinced that our lives are irrevocably shaped by our childhood experiences. No amount of willpower, education, or socialization will ever do more than slightly alter the course of our lives, a course set while we were quite young. I was born in 1965; at age four, my father enlisted in the Air Force to support his young family. My sister's birth probably had a lot to do with it. Delivering furniture wasn't much of a future for a young father but the military promised, at least, stability and surety for the future. It's funny, in the way that isn't, that during a time of societal upheaval, the Summer of Love, the Vietnam war and its protests, Woodstock, the Stonewall riots, the Civil Rights movement, the environmental movement, feminism....during all of this and into the 1980's, I grew up within a rigid and socially conservative environment known as the United States military. Specifically, I was an Air Force "brat", the child of a member of the Air Force. How can I describe it? It was safe, safe enough, at least, growing up in military housing complexes, living on military bases. Never once do I ever recall fearing for my physical safety, overall. School existed. I never wanted for food or clothing. My parents loved me or, at least, never ignored or harmed me. What difference did I know? Yet, for all the safety, there was an undefined requirement to fit in, to conform. Rush nailed it with their song "Subdivisions". And I didn't exactly fit in, I didn't precisely conform. I wasn't cool, and I was cast out. For starters, I was slender. Not small, not skinny, just slender. Blonde hair. Eyeglasses. I was a bookworm, and smart, sent to gifted programs, preferring to build model ships and airplanes over playing ball. I did not conform, I did not fit in (although I did have friends, I wasn't a loner). But I was different and called names because of it. The only name that mattered then was "faggot". It was a deadly insult. I wear it with pride, now, it's what I am. Then? Well, the only thing worse than losing a fight over being called "faggot" was not fighting at all, because not fighting at all meant that you accepted the moniker, it was a label that would stick with you and follow you from one of your father's duty stations to another because the world of military brats is pretty fucking small, all told. So, I fought. A lot. Generally, I lost or it was a draw. I won often enough that the insults and threats of fights became little more than posturing, until the next duty station. And here's the thing. I knew I was a faggot. No, I didn't understand the full implications of that word. I knew I was excited around other boys, though, and from about 11 to 13 I had five different encounters with other boys my age, basically touching, two gay boys who didn't quite know what it meant to be gay, playing some version of "doctor" they knew was both forbidden and so very, very exciting. Oh, but that oh-so-conservative military environment. Always in the background of everything I thought, said, and did was the knowledge that if I fucked up, my dad would get in trouble. I don't know how it is, now, but back in the mid-70's into the 80's if a service member's family member, spouse or whatever, got into serious trouble, the service member could be disciplined for it. Remember, this was back when the old policy of "Don't ask, don't tell" was simply "Don't". So I didn't. Only very furtively, very infrequently, and with an abiding and foreboding sense of guilt and shame and anxiety. That's the background, the childhood experiences and upbringing that has shaped my life. I was keeping a daily journal while seeing a therapist. She recommended that I write about my life, as catharsis, as outreach....I'm mainly doing it to help create a permanent, positive narrative for myself. Having it written down makes all the progress I've made over the years seem more....real. If it seems strange that I've finally settled on this particular site, this blog, to do it, it's not, I'm comfortable with myself, now, I'm a faggot and this site suits me and so I've chosen it to reveal all.