And fuck, I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “I love you, too.”
And then he said, “I know.” And pretty soon after that I got dressed and left.
So the weeks went by, and sometimes I answered Bruce’s email and returned his phone messages, and sometimes I didn’t. I mean, I was busy with studying for finals and I wanted to earn some extra cash so I can travel during the summer, when Florida becomes an oven with hurricanes. Plus, I really needed a new car, my old one was for shit. So we never got together after that night, the time I got turned down by a john.
Eventually, Bruce sent me an email that said, “I’m guessing that you don’t want to see me again, but you just don’t know how to say it. So I’ll say it instead: Good-bye.”
Well, though Bruce can be kind of a drama queen sometimes, the truth is that I was sort of relieved. It’s not that I’d never have sex with him again, exactly, or that I want to hurt the guy. But what did he expect, really? I only have so much time and sexual energy, and business is business, y’know?
And also, here’s something weird, it turned out that my roommate Shawn isn’t really so straight after all. And hell, what’s wrong with relating to someone my own age, somebody who won’t die before I’m middle aged? I mean, sorry if it sounds cold, but it’s true. So Shawn and I have started having this thing. I haven’t told him about my work though, and I guess I never will, even though it’s a bit of a job to keep it a secret from him. But he would never, ever be as cool about it as Bruce was. So I won’t say anything about it, ever, and I hope he never finds out.
Bruce has called me a few more times recently, but I mean, what’s the point? What’s the fucking point? It’s over, right? Not to be hurtful, but…unless he gives me cash…over.
And that’s about it. That’s the story. I know you said you didn’t want to actually do anything, just beat off and talk. Oh, you wanted to do most of the talking? Sorry, sorry. But it’s still the two hundred we talked about, right?
So you can finish up jacking off while I go piss, right? Hey, you want to come along and watch? No? You sure?
Okay, whatever you want, right?
Because, yeah, business is business.
Be right back.
CONFESSION ANGEL
Shane Allison
I remember, “Shane’s got a boner, Shane’s got a boner!” I remember wrestling John Mattson in the lobby of the movie theater where we worked and desperately wanting him to fuck me. He was heavy and musky on top of me. I remember the jokes the boys at school made about my wanting to suck their dicks, and with some of them I secretly wanted to. I remember Trent standing on top of a toilet while I sucked him off. I remember puddles of cum on the floor. I remember fucking myself with the handle of a spatula. I remember Lawrence Patterson’s asscrack. I remember a tattoo of orange and red flames on a dick. I remember jacking off with hair, scalp and skin oil. I remember kissing my friend Jack Lebowitz during a game of Truth or Dare. I remember regretting that I didn’t dare him to show me his dick. I remember always choosing to tell the truth because I didn’t want anyone to dare me to kiss a girl. I remember Daniel Stewart sucking me off in the bathroom of our junior high school. I remember the bathroom with its black and gold walls, the school colors. I remember his buck teeth. I remember him telling me that we couldn’t mess around anymore because he had a girlfriend. I remember caressing Brian O’Connor’s leg in social studies. I remember Dennis Miller having bad acne and pimples on his back. I remember the two Valentine’s Day cards that Michael gave me that read, Happy Valentine’s Day, slut. I remember eating that awful chocolate cake that accompanied the cards. I remember when he kissed me on the forehead. I remember being taken to the Hangar for the very first time. I remember that go-go boy smiling at me and feeling extremely special only to find that Michael was actually waving a dollar at him to dance for me. I was mortified as I stuck the money down into his Speedo. I remember grabbing Greg’s ass as he stepped on the school bus. I couldn’t help myself. He told everyone I was gay. I remember Brian Miller showing me his balls in math class. I remember when Eldridge James caught me jacking off in the bathroom. The entire school knew about it before lunch. For three years everyone called me “Jack.” I remember the teacher’s assistant that told me I had to go slow because he had not been fucked for a while. I remember my ninth grade phys ed coach. He had the cutest butt. I remember wondering what a jockstrap was and what it was used for. I still wonder about it. I remember needing to wear an extra pair of shorts under my sweatpants in gym so no one noticed my hard-on. It didn’t work.
I remember filthy booths with cum on the walls. I remember Alan in an orange toilet stall. He was the first guy that ever tried to fuck me. The pain was excruciating. I remember jacking off to naked boys in Freshman magazine. I remember seeing a picture on Kirk Read’s website of him licking someone’s black motorcycle boot. I remember a poem called, “Eat Your Cum.” I remember wondering what cum tasted like. I remember tasting my own.
I remember hot-pink dildos. I remember polishing my nails and trying on my mama’s lipstick. I remember wanting to dress like a woman for Halloween. I remember hearing about drag queens duct-taping their dicks to their legs.
I remember picking pubic hair off my tongue. I remember the sensation of soft, limp dicks in my mouth. I remember the smell of musky balls at my nose. I remember a dick smelling like baby lotion. I remember a set of balls smelling like talcum powder. I remember the odor of unclean dicks, like shrimp or stale piss.
I remember gay personal ads in the Tallahassee Democrat. I remember the buzz cut and how hot Jim Carrey looked in tight jeans in Me, Myself and Irene. I remember having hot fantasies about Bill Clinton coming on Monica Lewinsky’s navy-blue dress. I remember wondering about the size of his dick, too. I still wonder about it.
I remember a guy asking after he blew me, how good his blow job was. He asked if it was in the top ten or the top five. I had to be honest and I told him it was in the top ten. I remember as I started to take my shirt off while this guy blew me, he said, “You don’t need to be doing that.”
I remember having a crush on Chris Mott after finding out that he was a slut. I remember all the jewelry he wore around his neck and on his wrists. I remember Nik dressed in black with long, brown, curly hair he used to wear in a ponytail. He wore lots of rings and had long fingernails like a vampire. I remember thinking if he were a vampire, I would totally let him drink my blood.
I remember the janitor with a Jheri curl warning me to stay out of the bathrooms or I would get in trouble. I remember the racist, redneck security guard who threatened to arrest me if I didn’t stay out of the bathrooms. I remember looking through the slit of his stall at a guy picking lint out of his pubic hair. I remember a guy with curly hair, a glazed eye and a big dick. I remember his arm reaching over the wall of the stall at me. I remember the only two stalls with glory holes cut in the walls. I remember every stall being full. I remember tap foot for blow job. I remember a dick that was too big to fit through a glory hole. I remember a guy that kept saying, “Pull it, pull it.”
I remember seeing a metal ring around a man’s balls and trying to pull it off. I remember finding out later it was known as a cock ring. I remember big, blushing balls in a leather cock ring. I remember thinking that I had a foot fetish.
I remember when Ron told me not to shower before coming over to get my ass rimmed. I remember watching gay porn in Noel’s room. I remember the copy of Black Inches he bought from a newsstand. I remember how tight his ass was in jeans. I remember how pissed I was when I found out he was dating someone seriously.
I remember cruising in the woods of Lost Lake. I remember a boy in blue swim trunks. I remember a man driving around in his car naked. I remember when he said he was all sucked off. I remember Sonny, who sucked me off on the hood of his Cadillac. I remember when he used to work at the gas station wearing his rainbow necklace. I remember seeing a guy walk stark naked through the woods like it was nothing at a
ll.
I remember Collin giving me head in a park across the street from his house. I remember the cum stain I left on his brown pants. I remember how disgusted I felt after we fucked. I remember driving home with shit on my dick and a shit stain on the front of my underwear. I remember swearing that I would never fuck him again. I remember sloppy kisses in the front seat of his gray Mustang with the cranberry-colored seats. I remember making out with Collin in the back room of Panhandle Pet Supply where he worked. I remember the scratches on Collin’s back as I fucked him on his couch. I remember his cat licking my scalp as Collin rode me. I remember thinking that Bisexual Cats would be a good name for a band. I remember shit on my dick again once I was done and not minding it so much. I remember swallowing Collin’s cum and thinking afterward that he was not worthy of the privilege. I remember Collin standing butt-naked in the middle of his living room begging me to give him head (naïve bastard).
I remember the first time I swallowed someone’s cum. I remember how I gagged. I remember how happy I was to find someone who was into eating ass. I remember when he said, “Give me that chocolate sauce,” meaning my cum. I remember him sucking me off but stopping whenever he got email. I remember when he told me that he had a place but his wife was always home. I remember the noise we made as he rode me. I remember the beauty marks on his back. I remember how warm his asshole felt. I remember how pale his ass was. I remember pierced nipples. I remember big black boots with lots of buckles and realizing that he was one of those goth guys. I remember thinking What in the hell have I gotten myself into? I remember wondering why the walls of the sex arcade were being painted black.
I remember when the doctor at the clinic told me that I tested positive for herpes. I remember my cum oozing out gelatinously.
I remember Keerati, a cute boy I worked with at a computer lab. I remember looking over the stall and discovering how small his dick was. I remember a tiny hole in the wall of a stall, and written above it was, CHINESE GLORY HOLE. I remember thinking how rude that was.
I remember really salty cum and really sweet cum. I remember Brian’s cum tasting quite sweet. I remember the cute Mexican with a really big dick he wouldn’t let me suck. I remember a lot of men who were cock-teases. I remember a fat guy dressed all in black with a little dick. I remember a dick with lots of veins. It was gross and I refused to suck it. I remember really uncomfortable sex in my Ford Ranger with a theater major from Miami. I remember a man from Alabama with bad body odor. I remember an ugly Cuban guy with a really big dick. I remember the black-and-white photo given to me of a guy pissing in the woods. I remember gay porn magazines in sealed manila envelopes. I remember smokers’ breath in my face. I remember dirty messages written in green ink on toilet paper. I remember looking at men’s dicks while they pissed at urinals. I remember wandering eyes.
I remember wondering what George Michael wore when he was busted in that L.A. bathroom. I remember the impression soft dicks make through basketball shorts. I remember wondering how big Shaquille O’Neal’s dick is.
I remember my first gay pride parade. I remember half-naked men on parade floats and Brazilian men in gorgeous black and yellow headdresses.
I remember when Chris said I have a nice personality and give good head. I remember running my fingers up the crack of his ass. I remember him holding on to my shoulders as he face-fucked me. I remember the blonde girls he brought home. He told me that one of them passed out while the other sucked his dick. I remember feeling pissed off and jealous. I remember riding to McDonald’s in his PT Cruiser. I remember him telling me how good the McRib sandwich was, and trying it, but thinking that it wasn’t all that good. I remember wanting to sit and talk with him all night, but he acted as if he couldn’t stand to be around me another second. I remember when he told me I could come over to suck his dick because his girlfriend was at the movies. I was happy and excited. When I got there he told me that she had called and said she would be over in twenty minutes. I remember that Monday afternoon I gave him a blow job. I remember the black pajama bottoms he wore. I remember watching him through the window of his apartment. I remember his dick was so big he had to jack off with both hands. I remember the first two shirts I bought him from JC Penney. I remember us watching “MTV Jams” in his living room. I remember how happy he was before “she” moved in. I remember a bag of Hershey’s Christmas Kisses and an ashtray filled with cigarettes. I remember notes on windshields. I remember giving him a heart-shaped chocolate wrapped in red foil. I remember when he came in my mouth and how bitter it tasted. I was going to spit it out but there wasn’t anything around so I swallowed it. I remember how scared he was when he caught me standing outside of his apartment like a crazy person. I remember rushing home and calling to apologize. I remember being afraid that he would call the cops. I remember his hairy ass and wanting to give him a rim job. I remember, “Open your mouth. I want to shoot it in your mouth.” I remember leaving because his dick was just too intense. I remember, “Come back. It feels so good.” I remember when he wanted me to use my hand more. I remember, “Faster, suck me faster.”
I remember Anthony who sucked me off in the parking lot of a library. I remember Jason who was only available on the first or second of July for sucking, getting sucked and getting fucked. I remember Dale who wanted to go clean his ass before getting fucked. I remember Richard and how his stomach growled as I blew him. I remember Von Ash in green shorts and a stocking cap. I remember making out on the floor in my bedroom and how his dick curled up like a hook. I remember when I wanted to stop having sex with him and how he begged me to continue. I remember pinching Greg’s ass. I remember giving a letter to Thaddeus telling him how I felt about him. He hated me for it afterward. I remember meeting Matt for the first time. He wore all black with black boots and had a shaved head. I remember thinking that he was a white supremacist.
I remember the brown carpet in my aunt’s bedroom. I remember the first time I jacked off. I was twelve, sitting on the carpet in front of her Zenith TV. I remember my cousin and other boys standing under a clothesline showing their dicks to one another. I remember kissing my cousin Darrin on the mouth while he slept. I remember seeing Jarret with his shirt off. He quickly put it back on when he saw me looking. I remember how Matt looked in his black leather jacket. I remember jacking off in the lower bunk below my roommate. I remember finding porn magazines in his desk. I remember attempting to fuck Greg, but he was too tall for me to get my dick up his ass.
I remember knowing so many men named John I began to think I would end up with a partner named John. I still believe that.
I remember jacking off with butter. I remember jacking off with mayonnaise. I remember jacking off with vegetable oil. I remember jacking off with syrup. I remember jacking off with toothpaste, but it burned. I remember not being able to come because I had too much to drink. I remember how pissed off I would be after waking up from a really hot sex dream. I remember the smell of egg custard during sex.
I remember a guy eating my ass, but stopping because he said it was too sweaty. I remember a guy rimming my ass and telling me that it tasted like shit. I remember the nineteen-year-old I sucked off. He wouldn’t stop complimenting me on my blow jobs and said he would tell all his friends how good I was.
I remember Oscar, whose shirt looked like a picnic tablecloth. I remember making out with him outside of Stonewall Bar. I remember a guy walking past and saying, “Ah, true love.” I remember walking into Christopher Street Bookstore, which really wasn’t a bookstore at all, but a place that sold sex toys and videos and had a basement with booths. For ten bucks you could suck and fuck as many men as you wanted.
I remember jacking a guy off under the stall. As I followed him out, he kept waving me away. When we got outside, his wife and kid were waiting.
I remember a man in Macon, Georgia telling me that his dick was only six inches. I remember peeking through a glory hole at a guy wearing panties and stockings. I remember a guy being thrown out of
an adult video store for pissing in one of the booths in the back. I remember a man from Tennessee rimming my ass so good I came without him touching me. I remember getting my toes sucked and wondering why anyone would want to suck these crusty, calloused things. I remember finding a white pubic hair in my groin.
I remember calling the 1-900 numbers in the back of magazines. I remember lying about what they were when Mama saw a list of 1-900 numbers on the phone bill. I told her I was calling admissions offices of colleges out of town.
I remember jacking off to the drawings in The New Joy of Gay Sex.
I remember the first time I saw my daddy’s dick. It was hung and uncircumcised. I remember using my daddy’s tape measure to see how long my dick was.
I remember it all….
MINIMUM DAMAGE, MINIMUM PAIN
Jason Shults
One day Jimmy Dragon went crazy. He showed up at my apartment with a black eye and a loose front tooth, and when he stripped down I saw it wasn’t only his face that had been hurt. He had hand-sized welts on his arms, chest and belly, and what looked like boot prints on his legs. I knew enough not to ask what had happened. When he fucked me that day, he told me to grab his ass, grab it hard and pull him in as far as he would go, leave marks on him if I wanted, scratches down his back.
“Hit me, goddammit,” he said, his breath hot in my ear, his hands pulling my hands up to his chest. I tried to pull away, but didn’t try very hard, even though I could have thrown him off me if I’d wanted to. My knuckles made weak slapping sounds against his skin.
“Hit me,” he said, growling the words out. “Hit me.”
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