NYBBGUY58

That more than fine, there should be room for everyone here. It's your body and your choice and if anyone pressures you or belittles you about your choice, they're way out of line and can go fuck themselves. If I'd had the option, I would have used PReP to avoid becoming positive. I'm older - 63 - and my first physician's opinion was I likely caught HIV before anyone even knew it existed. I've been able to make a good life, and have had a lot of support and met wonderful people along the way. And having HIV certainly created some limitations as to what I could do with my life.

Amen!

I don't really focus on size...any will do. In my case sucking (along with rimming) is foreplay prior to getting fucked. I have the strongest gag reflex on either side of the Mississippi, and as long as there's enough dick to reach from him to me, it's all good!

Very interesting question, thought provoking. In some ways I had a couple of peak experiences in my 20s as a devoted little bottom boy. One left me so incredibly aroused that I freaked out and never saw him again (really stupid of me); the other was an intense sexual connection and the only guy I ever slept with comfortably, and that was in a 3/4 bed! There was also an older man who was partnered, so we only saw each other a few times - very hot dominant man. Since then there have been a number (😘) of different men (I'm 63), some who approached the first kind of peak but never the second. Currently there's one FWB whose tastes are the perfect complement to my own. I feel satisfied and completely accepted by him, which isn't the kind of thing you have every day. But I never found a man I could sleep with so comfortably again. The answer is yes and no in this regard for me I guess. Then there was the period where I actually branched out and was more of a verse, which has changed because I had radiation treatment for prostate cancer, and sexual function ended up changing dramatically. (Trimix helps a little, but not the same.) For that there's one guy with whom I had THE most intense orgasms, he is an incredible bottom. He's very patient with me in our infrequent get-togethers now. In my case I would say the answer is I'm content with what I've experienced in the past, and what I have now and find joy in learning who the guys I am with are sexually and what "does it" for them. Even as a top (I've experimented a little also with an FTM), the instinct to please carries over from my bottom-boy origins. Sex is a specialized form of play that can be a lot of fun, especially when taken as a a way to discover and share with another person.

Thank YOU! Glad you enjoyed it...

Okay, it only took three years to finish writing this...apologies for the long hiatus. ____________________________________________________________ Chapter 26) “Good morning,” my mom greeted as Mike and I joined them in the kitchen. Dad was sitting next to her, both of them in their usual places at the table, nursing mugs of coffee, dressed casually for a quiet weekend day. Maxi trotted over, tail wagging, to greet us and engage in his favorite past time: begging for food. “’Morning,” Mike answered, a little sleepily; I also mumbled a “Good morning” back. Mike and I had fucked a few more times the night before, then dozed off. We woke around midnight and I insisted on brushing my teeth, so we staggered to the bathroom to “get ready” for bed. After that, we’d fallen asleep immediately, still tired from our long flight, the day’s hectic schedule and strenuous sex. We took a quick shower together and threw on some clothes before joining my parents for breakfast. “How was the dinner?” I asked, pre-empting – at least temporarily – the coming catechism as I took out the blender for Mike to make his smoothie. “Was the fundraiser a success?” I hoped that would hold them for a bit. “It was more than successful,” Mom said. “Aunt Dita was thrilled, and the dinner was good, too…” “If you like rubber chicken,” my dad chimed in, looking up from reading the Saturday newspaper. “Ken,” my mom remonstrated him, giving him an exasperated look, “it was delicious, don’t be such a grouch. How…” she began. “Was the Times there?” I interrupted, staving off the inevitable interrogation for another precious few seconds. Mike was adding sliced banana to the yogurt, soy milk, blueberries and protein powder in the blender. In a minute he’d be ready to turn it on, helping to further delay the maternal inquisition. “Yes, Dad and I were photographed, and they asked me who I was wearing. How…” “Oooh, maybe you’ll be in the Style section,” I said bouncing in my chair, not having to feign excitement about my second-favorite part of the paper. “‘New York Times columnist Miriam Sachs sparkled in a vintage Norman Norell cocktail dress paired with pearl jewelry, a look that was anything but basic…’” I began, composing the possible photo caption. “Maybe I can get you assigned to writing photo captions,” my mom said with an affectionate smile. “How was your…” “Sorry,” Mike interrupted, gesturing at the blender. “That’s okay,” I said before anyone else could reply, “let ‘er rip.” The ensuing racket made conversation impossible for another minute or two. But as Mike joined us at the table… “How was your dinner?” Mom asked. I glanced at the time on the microwave; six minutes since we’d joined them, a personal best at delaying a conversation I didn’t want to have. I loved Mom, but she tended to go overboard quizzing about every detail – it was her journalist’s mindset. And I was especially worried that the subject of the “piano thing” would inevitably come up and I wasn’t ready to go there. Yet. “Great,” I said cheerfully as I spooned yogurt into a bowl and added muesli in the vain hope that a monosyllabic, non-committal answer would satisfy her. “Did you all have a good time?” she added, including Mike in this question. And she’s off… I thought snarkily while I chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, Em’s great,” Mike said between sips of his breakfast drink. “You survived it?” my dad interjected. “The two of them for a whole night can be a lot to take.” Yep, right on schedule. Mom would ask a million questions and Dad would jab and make sarcastic comments. “Ha-ha,” I said dryly. “They practically speak their own language…” Dad continued. “Oh, unlike you and Uncle Jeffy,” I interrupted, “yakking away about Flooplesdorf versus Herkimer and whether the court was correct in finding splinters…” My mom snickered audibly. Dad threw a dirty look in her direction. “That’s ‘scienter,” my father corrected pedantically. “It means knowledge of wrong-doing.” He seemed to direct his clarification at Mike, the potential lawyer-to-be. “Whatever,” I said back with a shrug, entirely aware that I’d used the wrong word. “How was the food?” Mom asked tamping down her amusement and steering to a less controversial subject. “It was perfect, thanks Mom,” I said, and Mike nodded his agreement. “Em says you’re the only person anywhere who makes meatloaf that’s delicious, and the pureed parsnips were wonderful. Did you try a new recipe?” I wasn’t lying about the parsnips, but I was positive she hadn’t tried anything new, just spinning out innocuous subjects for as long as possible. “No,” she smiled, gratified by the praise anyway. “So what did you do after dinner?” Shit. The very question I was hoping to avoid. “Oh, uh, we caught up on school and how things are going. Em isn’t that happy at MIT,” I threw out casually, pouring myself a mug of coffee and taking a sip. “I know,” my mom said. “Aunt Dita said she’s looking into transferring.” Damn. I’d been counting on that for a five-minute digression. I applied myself to shoveling down yogurt and muesli as if it were the most important thing I would do that day, hoping the conversation had reached its natural endpoint. “Darr and Em are hysterical together,” Mike said, grinning reminiscently. “I spent half the night laughing.” Oh, no…please… “You haven’t heard their routines over and over,” my dad said. “Just wait.” Mike looked surprised and puzzled by my Dad’s attitude. I should have warned him and asked him to avoid the topic of… “It’s obvious they’re really close,” Mike said. “I learned things about Darr I didn’t know.” Goddamn it. No more stalling possible. Unless… “Oh?” my mom prompted. “Yeah, I didn’t know he was a piano prodigy.” There was an uncomfortable silence. A similar silence had probably followed King George III’s being informed that the American colonies had decided to declare independence. “Yes, he went to Julliard Prep,” my mom said brightly. “His teachers said he was quite gifted.” “We watched some of his YouTube videos, the concertos he played with orchestra.” “Really?” my mom said, pleased and a little surprised that Mike was that interested. Dad was pointedly ignoring this exchange in favor of the Business section. So far, so good. Maybe I was going to get off easy? “We even talked him into playing for us a little,” Mike continued. “I’m surprised he’s not a music major,” he finished pointedly. “That was his choice,” my dad said without looking up from the paper. Fuck. Dad wasn’t so engrossed in reading the paper that he wasn’t following the conversation. It was clear that this was still a sore point, the events of the past few months notwithstanding. I sighed inwardly, braced myself and waded in. “Not 100%, Dad. You didn’t give me any warning…” “I told you I would call someone to set up an audition for you, but you’re the one who said not to bother since you weren’t going to the best school possible,” my dad interrupted, reminding me. Just like a scratched CD, the same thing over and over. I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow my annoyance, but the knee-jerk response kicked in. “I got into Julliard and the Manhattan School of Music. You’re saying two of the most exclusive schools in the country weren’t good enough as a back-up for Yale?” “We told you that you we wanted you to get a real college education not go to a trade school,” my Dad said dismissively. “You’re leaving out that you said it would be safer than staying in New York and that you had to show confidence in the University. Didn’t that work out well?” I said sarcastically. Two could play the but-you-said game. “Hey, I would have called my contacts at Yale before you applied, but you said you refused to be the George W. Bush of the piano world,” Dad said. “I. Want. To. Succeed. On. My. OWN!” I insisted for what felt like the thousandth time. “Ken, Darren,” my mother said clutching her forehead, “please, you’ve had this argument over and over again.” “Mr. Leibowitz, with all due respect, Darren misses piano,” Mike interjected. “He sits in the window seat in our room, listens to music and just stares at…I don’t know what. But he’s unhappy.” Mike had started politely, becoming more heated as he spoke. “I think he should be studying music, he loves it and he’s incredibly talented…” “You think so?” my dad interrupted thoughtfully, considering for a moment. Then he seemed to make a decision. “Okay, fine. You’ve made your case. Darren can study music…” “Really?” I interrupted, excited. “If he stays in New York.” I was confused. “You mean now?” “I mean now.” Idiot! I chastised myself, having recognized the calculating expression on my dad’s face a fraction of a second too late. I should have known he’d agreed too easily and that there’d be a catch. I shot a horrified look at Mike; my mother seemed to have frozen. “But…but…I haven’t even finished a year of college…it…it’s too late…to apply anywhere for spring,” I stuttered anxiously. “Well, Mike has convinced me that I was wrong, and you should pursue your dreams. But why go back to the University? You’re the one who called it a ‘shithole of a school,’ remember?” He’d obviously been storing up that last comment for months. “Do I have to decide right now?” I said in a small voice, still dazed. Dad could always reduce me to a complete shambles in minutes. “Take your time,” he said with his wolfish litigator’s smile. “You’ve got a few weeks.” “Excuse me, I need to…” I said, trailing off, caught my breath, then pushed my chair back abruptly, stood and turned to leave the kitchen. “Sweetie, you haven’t finished your breakfast,” my mom objected in a worried voice. “I’m not hungry. Give it to Maxi,” I snapped over my shoulder. “Darr?” Mike called, following me. “Ken,” I heard my mom say sharply, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I missed his reply, likely because all I could hear was the loud ringing in my ears while I replayed the conversation and wrestled with the choice I’d been given. ————————— “I can’t believe him. God fucking goddamn it!” I half screamed, half groaned while I paced back and forth in my bedroom. Mike was sitting on the bed watching me anxiously. “Honey, I’m sorry…” “It’s not your fault,” I choked out. “I should have warned you, we should have talked about it.” “I just thought it would help if it came from me instead of you,” Mike explained, sheepishly. “I figured they sort of felt like they owed me a little, and you’d said your dad was angry about what happened.” “I know you meant to help. It’s a…touchy subject, and Dad hates feeling at a disadvantage.” I kept on pacing; I was afraid if I stopped I’d explode or cry. Either option would be completely humiliating. “Sweetheart, please calm down.” I continued to pace. We were quiet for a few minutes if you didn’t count the sound of my blood boiling. “Darr, maybe your dad is right?” Mike said tentatively, breaking the silence. I stopped and stared at Mike, shocked. “If you stay in New York, you could take piano lessons, audition for schools, and you’ll be safe here. You won’t have to worry all the time, and constantly look over your shoulder,” he continued. “I can’t stay here. If I do that he wins,” I argued. “Honey, what if it’s a…test? If I support you staying here so you can study music, then no one can argue that I’m with you for myself.” “That’s ridiculous and you don’t know my dad like I know him. He’ll hold it over me forever.” I paused a minute. “And I’ll miss you…” I said, feeling my eyes sting. “Aw, sweetheart, I’ll miss you, too. But it’s only for what, six months? After graduation, I’ll come straight to New York and get a job. I could be a personal trainer at a gym, find a job teaching phys-ed at a school, or if I have to I could work construction. I’ll get a job at McDonald’s, anything.” “What about law school?” I demanded. “I’ll figure that out later.” Mike said. “Oh, wonderful. And if it doesn’t happen, then it’s my fault,” I said. “Well if you don’t stay here and study piano, then it’s my fault you can’t do what you should be doing…” “No,” I interrupted, “I’ll figure out something. I’ll take lessons back at school, there must be someone I could study with. And maybe I could take some music courses, too? My dad doesn’t have to know everything I do.” “And when he sees your report card?” Mike asked. “What’s he going to do, demand a refund? And there’ll be the settlement from the lawsuit. We could take our share and go wherever we want.” Mike was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Darren, I can’t do that to your mom and dad. They’ve been good to me, paying for me to come here with you and taking care of all the expenses. It wouldn’t be right.” My insides twisted, I was short of breath. Tears warred with fury, so I consciously chose anger and resumed pacing. “I guess Dad was right about everything,” I said bitterly. “A few months with me is more than enough.” “What are you talking about?” Mike demanded. “You’re ready to give up and leave me here. You’re still the Prefect, right? So you can go back to school and find some other guy,” I said brutally. “You could have any of the others you want. Maybe Aiden? He’s really hot…” “I can’t believe you,” Mike said angrily. “I’m trying to do the right thing…” “Oh, yeah, sure,” I snapped, interrupting his explanation. Mike stood and interrupted my agitated pacing, grasping my shoulders and giving me a little shake. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Don’t ever forget that.” “So that means I’m supposed to be a good boy and do whatever you say?” I snarled back. “No, it means…” he began, and then he took a shaky breath, visibly trying to dial back the emotional temperature, “we’re sherbet, right?” It was the last thing I expected; I made a sound that was some combination of a sob and a chuckle turning away to fight for control. He stepped up behind me, wrapping his arms around my torso and pulling me close. “That’s bashert,” I mumbled. “You know what I mean,” Mike whispered in my ear and then trailed a line of kisses behind my ear and down my neck. “No fair,” I moaned. He didn’t stop – what’s that saying about fairness, love, war…? His hands were under my long-sleeve t-shirt, pushing aside the soft fabric to caress the skin of my abdomen; my back arched and I groaned, fighting surrender. But I didn’t want him to stop, either. Maybe if it’s good enough he won’t want us to be apart…maybe it’ll convince him…I rationalized desperately. Now he was unbuckling my belt, sliding down the zipper on my cords, pushing my briefs down and out of the way. I heard the rasp of his zipper and felt his hardening dick brush my thigh, then graze my butt. Just that light touch completed shattered any resolve. I wanted him more than anything else, would give him whatever he wanted. Anything to keep us together – I couldn’t lose Mike. I turned toward him and pulled him down for a kiss. Once our lips met everything else was obliterated: all my worries, Dad’s ultimatum, everything and anything else. There was only Mike and me, the taste of his lips and tongue, his muscular arms around me, his cock throbbing against me. I stroked the soft skin at the nape of his neck, exploring his hairline, his closely cropped hair tickling my fingers, and moaned into his mouth when he delicately stroked my ass crack. “Fuck me, please,” I begged in a husky whisper. “I need it, I need you.” Mike lifted me easily and dropped me on the bed, then covered my body with his, his rigid dick probing my abdomen and captured my mouth in a searing kiss, tongues tangling, breathing accelerating, pulses pounding. His warm, muscled body weighed on me, pinning me in place. I could feel his chest hair against mine as he started to rub his cock against me, pre-cum easing the friction. He kissed the corner of my mouth, then his lips followed the line of my jaw to my ear while I gasped and squirmed under him, then moaned aloud once he began kissing and licking my ears. “We belong together,” Mike whispered against my ear between kisses, “nothing will ever change that.” He moved to kneel over me, his dick and balls hanging out of the fly of his jeans, his immense cock rigid, twitching, pre-cum beading at the tip as he scooted forward to bring it to my mouth. I eagerly met him halfway, applying my lips delicately to the head with tiny, teasing kisses, working my way down the shaft. He moved further forward, pressing his jean-covered balls against my face. “Sniff my nuts,” he ordered in a low voice, grinding the worn denim against my face, “inhale – deeper,” he demanded. My own dick was rigid, I was completely aroused by his dominance, whimpering with pleasure as I obeyed. “Let me hear it, sniff out that crotch, now start kissing, nice little kisses on my balls. You love my balls, don’t you boy?” “Yes, yes,” was all I was able to get out between kisses. “Lick them then, taste my jeans, that’s it, keep going, don’t stop,” Mike demanded as he moved forward, my head between his legs. He brushed his ass over my mouth, settling himself with his ass crack right on top of my nose, pungent man scent filling my nostrils. “Smell. My. Ass,” Mike commanded. “Get that man stink in your lungs, you know you love sniffing that funky asshole of mine.” I obeyed immediately, loudly inhaling his musky scent. “Now kiss that man’s ass, keep kissing my top hole, make me feel good, oh, yeah, fuck yeah, lick right where my ass crack is,” Mike said on a groan, rubbing the rough seam against my mouth. I turned away for a minute, the pressure a bit too much. “Don’t move your fucking head,” Mike barked, squeezing my head between his thighs. “I’m going to smother you with my ass,” he said, letting more of his weight press against my face. “Never pull away from me.” I kept my head in place with some effort, I could only manage to inhale shallowly, redolent with his scent. “That’s it, obey your man,” Mike said, then stood and shed his t-shirt and jeans revealing that he’d gone commando, a savage grin on his face as he flexed and showed off his body for a minute, squeezing his dick with his hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he rasped out, then positioned himself over a corner of my bed with his legs spread. “Get the fuck over here and smell my balls.” I submitted immediately, my breathing ragged with excitement. Mike had never been so dominating before, and it was driving me wild; I was panting and moaning as I positioned myself under his big balls. His wiry pubic hair tickled my nose as I inhaled the powerful odor of his pubes. “Lick my balls,” he snapped, “yeah, that’s it, keep going, now get your nose in my asshole, start sniffing that shithole…yeah, boy, now lick it, taste that man’s ass. Eat me, don’t stop…ah,” he groaned gutturally. “Time to fuck now.” Mike grabbed the fuck sheet out of his backpack, folded it and put it under my hips, then grabbed the jar of Vaseline from my nightstand drawer, stuck his fingers in for a glob that he smoothed over his dick, using the remaining bit on my asshole, putting a finger up my rectum, then adding a second and a third finger. He pulled my legs over his shoulders roughly, positioning the head of his cock against my pucker. “Brace yourself, bitch” he said and rammed his cock inside of me, my sphincters clenching painfully, then releasing as he began to pump in and out, his thrusts brutally hard. “This is what you like, take it, take my dick,” he said huskily as his hips pounded against me, his thrusts gaining force and gathering speed, the slap of his skin against mine getting louder. I could still smell and taste his dick balls and ass on my face, along with our comingled sweat as Mike drove into me, not letting up for a moment, nothing soft, just the sheer power of raw fucking as he exerted complete control over me. His shaft was angled against my prostate, massaging it, as I strained against his iron hold on me, my own excitement starting to peak. “Take it,” he murmured, “the cum is boiling in my balls, I’m going to shoot my charged load up inside your sweet little hole, breed that ass of yours, mark you as my mate…here it comes…ah, Ah, AH” he groaned in time with his thrusts, burying himself balls deep inside of me. I could feel his cock pulsing inside of me, probing my prostate until I couldn’t hold back any more and shot with him. My cum shot up between us, hitting my face; he covered my mouth with his, inhaling my gasps and moans while licking the cum off my face. We gradually calmed, breathing slowing, his kisses become melting and sensual as post-orgasm relaxation kicked in. “You know I don’t want to leave you, right?” Mike asked. My gut clenched and I could feel my eyes sting. Nothing had changed… “But…but…we just made love,” I exclaimed. “How can you...?” I broke off as tears threatened. “Get off of me,” I said, pushing at him ineffectually. “Honey,” he began. “I said let me go,” punctuating my demand with a hard shove against his chest. He pulled out, saying “Sweetheart, please…” “Don’t you call me sweetheart,” I barked, “you fucking liar!” “We can make it work,” he promised. “We can Skype or video call on Facebook every night, and it’ll be June before you know it. You’ll be so busy with lessons and practicing, anyway, and I’m going to be swamped wrapping up the semester and graduation. Anyway the rest of the frat is…” I tuned out – Mike’s words making no sense, cold spreading through me: the chill of betrayal. “You’re not the only guy in the world,” I interrupted, taking refuge in fury. “There are other guys who want to be with me. In fact, both the bodyguards my parents hired over Thanksgiving fucked me in this bed the last time you deserted me because you were so concerned and worried that you decided to be a total asshole,” I snarled, struggling into my t-shirt and corduroys, my voice getting louder and stronger. “What?” Mike shouted angrily, shock and hurt registering on his face, I noted with savage satisfaction. I was pulling on my boots, preparing to leave, to go anywhere to get away from him. He had put on his own clothing rapidly, and grabbed my arm, restraining me. “Who needs you? Go back without me, see if I care,” I spat at him, unleashing my hurt and fury. Loud, insistent knocking at my bedroom door cutting off our argument. Now the fuck what?

Aiden Ward is still around, I think, but I don't know how active he is at this point. Part of the transition is probably also the availability and acceptance of PreP.

There is a chapter 25 posted already. When I get back to NYC, there's a chapter 26 that I have to complete, and a start on chapter 27.

Wow! Thanks, that tension is always there, giving enough of a sketch so that imagination is stimulated without getting too insanely detailed.

PS, there's more after that. Sparks are gonna fly on the home front...

I hope to pick it up...I have one more chapter, I just have to figure out the sex part of the scene. 😳 It gets harder, I'm trying to not just write "tab p went in slot a" or else it gets bor-ing.

Thanks...it's been a tough holiday. My mom who was in poor health for quite a while passed away. I was with her and it was as peaceful as I could have wished. We're sorting out the estate and her house. Eventually I'll get back home and do some writing. It actually helps to lose myself in creating things.

No, I have more and know where it's going. I just have to sit down and write it, which is hard. Sigh. In the new year, visiting family and the file is on my PC at home.

How sweet of you! Glad you enjoyed it. I stalled on writing it, but I know where I want it to go. I'm visiting family now, hopefully will do more back home in the New Year...

I'm allergic to latex too. And I found out the hard way...not fun.

I have a couple of male cousins I still fantasize about...of course in my fantasies we're all teenagers!

...and let me add that maintaining health insurance coverage will determine much of what you can do professionally. Take off and start a new business on your own? Maybe not...I've had to prioritize keeping a health insurance gig over many other things I would have loved to do. But maybe that's not a concern for you. I don't mean to be such a downer (so why are you, one might ask) but I don't want to leave out the real life-altering changes that you'll have to contend with. Good luck and take care. ?

I will say to you what I say to everyone considering this: some things that make great fantasies are not so much fun when they actually happen. And I'm just talking about relatively tame things, like bondage - it never pans out for me, but it's likely that my expectations are not realistic. Getting HIV will completely change your life in ways no one can predict, since the course of infection is different for each person. Then there are things like deciding on (or if you want) treatment, what medications will work for you, what are the side-effects, can you tolerate them, etc. And now as I hit my 60s, suddenly all these new medical issues that are common for the 60+ crowd are an issue, and for my doctors to come up with treatments that don't conflict with the other meds I take can be a challenge. I'm not saying to not do it, just think it through carefully. Yep, my middle name is buzz-kill. This desire, unlike my example of a a so-so bondage experience, will have permanent consequences.

Great story so far! Like others I had crushes on my junior high and high school teachers...a gym coach...a guy who taught shop (which I never took, I was a music nerd)...and one of the high school counselors (not mine), who I'm pretty sure sent me a note about getting together with an obscene picture. He was dark, with a full beard and mustache; kind of short, but the electricity between us when we passed in the halls was intense. I called the number in the letter...but I was too scared to follow through, just questioned him about how he got my name and number. At 16 in the Midwest it didn't feel safe; I was convinced that if I answered yes to his simple non-specific question "Are you interested" that I would be somehow outed to the world. Looking back, it was very unlikely that would have happened; this was pre-cell phone, pre-interent, pre-caller ID, etc. Too bad, it might have been fun. Oh, well. Within a year or so I'd lost my virginity to a guy close to twice my age while attending a music festival.

That is so typical of our misfunctional healthcare system. Ridiculous. I wish I had something to suggest - I checked out Gilead's site, and they confirm that your plan won't cover PReP. Whitman-Walker looks promising. I also searched and found this: https://www.cdc.gov/hiv/pdf/risk/prep/cdc-hiv-paying-for-prep.pdf Good luck!

I only bottom now, due to radiation for prostate cancer, but I've always loved rimming and being rimmed. In fact, heavy worship is kind of thing for me. However, the health issues are real. I've always had a lousy gut (IBS, bad stomachs run in the family ?), but I had especially terrible trouble for a while after rimming a top who was none too clean. I myself keep very clean, and make sure to do a clean-out prior to any encounter. But you're right, @Cutedelicategay, it's rare that I find a top as into rimming as I am...Sigh.

I don't think anyone has ever asked me that...but since I don't know, I have no strong feelings. The way I've discussed it is to say something like: "I was in all the right places at all the wrong times or all the wrong places at all the right times...not sure which it is." I'd say you'd only want to ask someone with whom you're close. Otherwise, it might feel intrusive. And always make it clear that if they don't want to talk about it, that's fine too. It could be that the exact circumstances were in some way painful - a cheating boyfriend/husband for example. So handle with care is my advice.

I appreciate your patience...

Finally...the saga continues... _________________________ Chapter 25) “That was great,” Mike said enthusiastically at the conclusion of the video of my debut with the Southwest Pennsylvania Philharmonic that he had persuaded me to watch with him. We were lying together on the chaise longue with Maxi, who was seemingly out for the count. “Really?” I said uncertainly. Seeing the video of my younger self perform Mozart’s Concerto #9 in E flat Major (Jenamy) was weird. I felt as if I had no idea who that child on the screen was and I cringed at what I now recognized as the blatant imitation of my favorite recording of the piece. But the crowd had given me a standing ovation as I bowed, shook the conductor’s hand, and then shook each of the principal string player’s hands before taking another bow and walking offstage with the conductor following as the video faded out. “What do you mean, of course it was! You kept smiling up at the conductor and you’re so into the music” Mike said, stroking my arm, “plus you looked adorable in that pint-sized tuxedo. And how many guys have a video of the moment they first met?” “It’s not exactly the moment we met…” I countered. “Did they post your encore?” Mike interrupted. “Maybe…” I said as I scrolled through the videos the Orchestra had on their YouTube channel. Sure enough, there it was. With my finger poised to start it, I said to Mike “Are you sure you want to hear me play modern trash?” Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine.” I started the video, but I’d forgotten that before I played I’d made a speech thanking the audience, my piano teacher, the audition committee, Maestro Zimmer, the conductor, and the orchestra, of course my family, then said a few words about the piece. Yikes, even as a kid I sounded SO gay. Then I launched into Bartok’s Allegro Barbaro, one of my favorites, my hands flashing rapidly over the keyboard as I dug into the clangorous showpiece that lasted all of three minutes. It won me another ovation, and I heard shouts of “bravo” and a loud whistle. “You hear that whistling?” Mike asked. “Yeah?” “That was me.” “You can’t be sure of that.” “Yes I can. That’s when I got the lecture about modern trash.” “Why? The audience loved it,” I exclaimed. “It bothers you that my parents didn’t like it? That was what – seven years ago?” “Philistines!” “No argument from me, honey,” he said. Then he pulled me still closer. “But that means I’m in the video, too, and...” “Okay, okay,” I capitulated, raising my hand to indicate surrender. “It’s the first moment we met, fine. And it’s nice to know I have loyal fans.” Mike nuzzled my ear. “I’m your biggest fan,” he murmured. “In more ways than one,” I teased. “Pervert,” Mike said. “Just a simple observation, I didn’t specify.” “Uh-huh,” Mike said back, tracing my cheekbone with his forefinger. “You’re the one with a dirty mind,” I said primly. “You can’t even imagine, honey,” Mike said, pulling me back against him – we were spooned together – so I could feel his erection. Maxi, who was sleeping curled up next to me stirred drowsily, then settled himself again and went back under. “Shh,” I whispered to Mike. “We’re going to wake up Maxi, he needs his rest.” “Did he do anything other than sleep, eat, beg for handouts and go outside to pee before dashing back in for a treat from the doorman?” Mike asked. “Hey, it’s a tough job but somebody’s gotta do it.” “I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer,” Mike said, pushing against me harder. “Maybe we should just go to bed…” “Mozart turns you on?” I teased. “Interesting kink. Some psychologist should do a study…” I jumped and was cut off by my gasp when he kissed my neck. This time Maxi definitely woke up, stood, then shook himself before jumping down to the floor. He looked up at me imploringly, whining. “Uh-oh, I think he needs to go out for a walk,” I said. “You’re kidding me,” Mike said. “He takes his job very seriously,” I answered. “All right,” Mike sighed, and we slipped our shoes back on and went to the front hall with Maxi following us closely. We put on our coats and when I took out the leash and dog coat Maxi did his happy dance in front of the door. “You don’t have to come with me,” I said as I put the coat, harness and leash on the wriggling dog, grabbing a plastic bag for safety’s sake in case I had to clean up a doggie mess. “It’s after 9:00 and I’m supposed to be your bodyguard. I shouldn’t have let you go out alone this morning.” I rolled my eyes, and gave up. Even though it was still chilly out, Maxi seemed to need to stretch his legs a little. I guess the coat kept him more comfortable in the cold. “So what were your plans?” Mike asked as Maxi closely inspected the sidewalk and the black wrought-iron fencing in front of the building. “My plans for what? Maxi’s walk?” “I mean what did you want to do with your music?” Mike said with a chuckle. I smiled up at him. “Are you asking me what I want to be when I grow up?” Mike sighed. “You must have had some idea.” “Sure,” I said as we followed Maxi. “I planned to be recognized as one of the great pianists and musicians of my generation. Not too much to ask, right?” I said sardonically. “You’re ambitious,” Mike said. “You should be, you’re so talented.” “But it’s not very practical,” I said, feeling a little depressed. I’d never really gotten over the rejection from Yale even though Em was right, it wasn’t really my first choice. I just knew that if I got accepted there it would go down better than a conservatory with my parents, who worried ceaselessly about how I’d earn a living, and why did I have to choose something so competitive, blah, blah, blah…like they hadn’t chosen difficult fields and been successful. My mom was a writer, for fuck’s sake, but she took pains to point out she dropped the idea of authoring the “great American novel” to be a journalist. And Dad had worked to establish himself as a top litigator in an already crowded field and made it. They didn’t seem to be able to transfer any of that experience when thinking about me. And when I wasn’t accepted by the Yale Music Department that had only fueled their worries. “What do you mean?” I sighed deeply and we walked a few more steps as Maxi continued to sniff every nano-meter of sidewalk. “For one thing, the arguments I had with my father were pretty…rough. I said a lot of nasty things about the University and I think I hurt him. It’s going to be hard to suddenly say I want to study music again.” “You’re not going to tell me he feels the same after all the shit you’ve been through there.” “Well…no…he’s pretty pissed off about the whole thing,” I conceded, remembering Dad’s confession of guilt when I visited for Thanksgiving. “It’s not only that. I’ve lost so much time and momentum.” Mike looked mystified. “You’ve only lost what, four months?” “You have to understand,” I said, “it’s like being…an Olympic athlete, you’re always in training. I can still play, sort of, but my hands feel like mashed potatoes with stainless steel cores. My best bet would be to win a big competition before the clock runs out when I turn 32, even though that’s not the sure thing it used to be. Whatever, I should have spent the last four months studying music, getting more repertoire under my fingers, preparing for smaller competitions and playing concerts. And I need to make connections, to build a network. If nothing else, any major competition requires letters of recommendation.” “I’m pretty sure you can manage to catch up before 14 years have passed,” Mike teased. “C’mon Darr. You’re ahead of the game…” “No, I’m not!” I snapped as I turned away to check on the dog. “That’s why I hate being called a prodigy. I’m a late bloomer by prodigy standards.” Mike grabbed my shoulder and turned me to look at him. “You played an entire concerto when you were 11 with a professional orchestra and they hired you when you were 16…” Mike argued back. “That’s a late bloomer,” I interrupted. “On YouTube, there’s a video of a nine-year old playing a Mozart concerto that’s as hard or harder than the one I did. And her encore was a Chopin etude that makes my Bartok look like Mary had a Little Lamb. To get anywhere you practically have to have a career, no one really comes out of nowhere to win a top prize. For the Van Cliburn, the holy grail of piano competitions, you need two-and-a-half hours of challenging solo piano music ready to spread over three recitals, learn whatever piece they commission, perform one of whatever major pieces of chamber music they decide on with whatever personnel they pick, and play two different concertos with orchestra. All of that within the space of about two weeks with limited rehearsal — from memory. I’d only ‘get’ to do that if I made it past a video audition and a preliminary audition here in New York. To have even a chance of success means learning the repertoire so well that playing the hardest pieces is like breathing.” “That’s crazy, it sounds like a marathon,” Mike exclaimed. “It’s more like figure skating,” I groused. “It takes strength and endurance, but about 99.9% of what determines who wins is the subjective whims of a bunch of musicians, not a stopwatch. And winning or losing can make or break a career.” Mike was quiet for a minute, digesting what I’d said. “Then you don’t have any more time to waste. And give me the plastic bag.” “Why?” I said confused. “What does the plastic bag have to do with anything?” “Because Maxi just...” “Ugh. I’ll take care of it,” I said, moving to clean up the little pile. “I’m a farm boy, remember?” he said with a grin as he grabbed my wrist. “If there’s one thing I know it’s how to scoop up animal poop.” I gave up and let him take the plastic bag while heaving a deep, exasperated sigh. “One more thing,” Mike said as he efficiently cleaned up after Maxi. “Do you really want to be a pianist?” “Yeah,” I answered, feeling as if I were confessing to an addiction. “It’s like a sickness,” I added. “Just checking. You don’t make it sound like much fun,” Mike said as he tied the plastic bag shut. “I love the piano and the music. It’s the stuff you have to do to get a career going that’s a pain in the ass,” I said, heading for the corner of Central Park West where there was a handy trash can to dispose of the dog’s leavings. Maxi balked, now ready to go home. For a little dog, he was unbelievably strong. I surrendered to the inevitable and picked him up. “You’re going to spoil that dog,” Mike remarked. “‘Going to’? That ship sailed years ago,” I parried. Maxi licked my cheek, ecstatically happy at not having to walk. I paused for a moment, trying to think of a tactful way to phrase what I was going to say, then gave up. “Why is the whole…piano thing so important to you?” Mike look surprised. “I want you to be happy, Darr.” He tossed the bag and its noisome contents into the trash, and we turned around to go back home. I nuzzled Maxi’s head and said, “I’m happy.” That didn’t sound convincing even to me. “Uh-huh,” Mike said. “So when you sit in the window seat and stare at nothing, you’re full of joy?” I didn’t have an answer ready. “Besides sweetheart, you gave up so much when your parents sent you to the University, just when you should have been starting out at Juilliard. You could have left…” “No,” I said firmly, interrupting. “I couldn’t.” “Yes. You. Could. Have,” Mike said emphatically, grasping my arm and halting me in mid-stride. “You didn’t, and, yeah, I’m happy you stayed.” After a pause he admitted, “I wanted you to stay. But that feels kind of selfish, especially when you were so brave going back at that asshole Zercher like you did. And you still wanted me after everything.” “None of it is your fault, don’t you dare say that. Don’t even think it.” Maxi squirmed in my arms, and I realized I was squeezing him too hard, so I put him down. “Fine,” he conceded. “Is it okay I feel lucky and that I’m proud of you?” I stared at him, speechless. Mike grinned broadly. “Wow, two for two.” “What?” “That’s the second time in the past five minutes that you haven’t had a comeback.” I was unable to keep from laughing, and Mike put his arm around my shoulders. “You must be tired, we’d better get to bed immediately,” he murmured into my ear, somehow managing to make that innocent sentence sound like an indecent proposal. ————————— When we got home, the apartment was dark and quiet; my parents obviously hadn’t gotten back. Maxi had wolfed down the treat the doorman had for him, and once freed from his coat and leash trotted off for a drink of water and to settle for the night in his favorite spot: on the carpet near the radiator in the living room. Mike and I retreated to my bedroom while the retreating was good – before Mom and Dad got back and fired off the inevitable barrage of questions about how was Em and how was dinner and what did we do and on and on and on…I wasn’t in the mood, and judging by the bulge visible in Mike’s jeans he wasn’t either. More charged cum! was the thought foremost in my mind as we quickly shed our shoes. Our lips met in a sweet, melting kiss that made me dissolve into a puddle. Then something struck me belatedly. “Am I really that bad?” I asked. “Huh?” Mike said, obviously not quite comprehending the question. “Do I always have to get the last word in?” He treated me to one of his devilish grins. “Oh, yeah,” he answered. “You’re a terrible pain in the ass.” He grabbed my butt and squeezed it through my jeans. I smacked his left shoulder, so he grabbed my right wrist to immobilize that arm, then imprisoned the left arm when I raised it to land a matching blow to his other shoulder as he laughed. “You want me to tell the truth, don’t you honey?” “No!” I said as I tried to twist my wrists out of his iron grasp. “You’re supposed to lie and say, ‘Of course not, sweetheart, I…” “…love that you always end my sentences for me,” he interrupted By now I was giggling as we wrestled, though Mike clearly had the upper hand. “I do not,” I gasped out, as he pushed me back towards my bed. “Yes, you do,” he laughed back and tumbled us on to the bed pinning me in place. “Someone could end up sleeping next to the dog tonight,” I threatened as I twisted under him fruitlessly. “You know you’d miss me too much,” he answered and began kissing my neck in what he knew were the most sensitive spots. “I would not,” I gasped out as my back arched. “Yes, you would,” he said, nudging my knees apart with his right leg, not that he had to nudge very hard, then covered my mouth with his own in an intense kiss. Still giggling, I managed to break off the kiss and say, “If anyone finishes sentences around here, you do. You did just now.” “Yeah, so the score is one to ten million,” he teased. “An insult!” I exclaimed. “I don’t have to take this…” “Oh yes you do, you’re going to take whatever I want you to,” Mike said humping against me between my legs, then gave me another steamy kiss, thrusting his tongue in my mouth to wrestle with my own. My struggles were weakening markedly as we kissed more deeply and I wriggled around until my legs wound around Mike’s waist. Our playful wrestling became sensual: he released my arms to tangle his fingers in my hair, holding my head in place, while I wrapped my arms around his back, my hands following the lines of his perfectly V-shaped torso to his ass so that I could pull him against me more securely. He growled in the back of his throat and began to thrust against me, hard. I pushed back against him, feeling the tingling ache of need that always centered in my butt. Mike broke off our kiss with a moan, breathing raggedly. “I’ve gotta fuck you now, I’m about to cream my jeans,” he rasped. I tugged at his t-shirt to pull it off, but Mike rose to his knees, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans; his huge dick popped out as soon as he pulled down the zipper, visibly quivering, with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. He fumbled with my belt, then was unzipping my cords and pushing them down along with my briefs, freeing only my left leg, then pulling my legs over his shoulders. “The duvet!” I exclaimed, not wanting to have to hide stains from my mom. Mike huffed out an impatient breath, yanked off his t-shirt and spread it under my raised hips. Then without bothering to lube, he began to push inside of me, his pre-cum smoothing the way only marginally. I flinched a little, but he continued to press forward, forcing his way inside me. “I know it hurts, honey, just relax. Take it, I know you can,” he whispered in my ear. I was panting, and felt perspiration beading on my forehead, my chest, my arms, all over my body as I willed myself to relax and open for him. My belt clinked as Mike started thrusting, easing himself past my clenching sphincters, deeper and deeper until he was balls deep inside my butt. He pulled back, and it burned but with a purifying heat that vaporized all uncertainties, all barriers. I calmed my breathing, consciously taking in deep breaths as slowly as I could and exhaling as gradually as was manageable. After a few more minutes it got easier, though that might have been Mike’s pre-cum…or maybe I was bleeding…or both. His thrusts grew stronger as he felt me relax underneath him and join in his rhythm. My cock was now erect and I cried out, “Fuck me harder, yeah, more, please, more,” I begged. “I need you, now…” My helpless pleading was interrupted by his shout, “I’m cumming, take it,” as he rammed against me, brutally, three times, collapsed on top of me, then froze, burying his dick inside me to the root. I could feel his cock twitching inside my asshole as he shot his dirty load, and it throbbed against my prostate; that set off my own orgasm, wringing another shout from Mike as my sphincters clenched and released his sensitized rod. We lay entangled on my bed as our breathing slowed, then calmed; post-coital languor kicked in immediately. “Wow,” I sighed. “Uh-huh,” Mike murmured. Then I took advantage of the moment and landed a smack on his right shoulder blade. I could feel him shaking with laughter, and he kissed me on the mouth again. “Just for that, I’m going to fuck you all night,” he growled. “Promises, promises,” I answered.

I was a strict botyom for years...thanks for making me feel less lame...