If you suck my dick, does that make me gay?
By MorganLikely
Recently, in the past few months, I've been kind of confused about my sexuality. I think me not getting laid since December 2000 might have something to do with it, but who knows - I could be wrong. I have a lot of frustration in my life because I don't look the way I wish I looked and I'm not as charming with the ladies as I'd like to be. So with these two factors combined, I end up spending a lot of time alone in a dark room with my shirt off, sitting in front of a computer furiously clicking through adult newsgroups while yanking on my hard little pecker until thick gobs of semen shoot out in exasperating spurts to coagulate all over my chest, dripping sticky ejaculate between my fingers. For some reason I keep telling myself that one of these days I'm gonna smear that shit all over my face like a cucumber facial mask but I can never quite work up the nerve.
Ever since I turned 18 I started spending quite a bit of my free time dropping into those 24-hour adult bookstores, dipping into the little arcade booths where I could shoot my load onto the floor for only a single dollar; I can be quick like that. Something about those places always fascinated me, the rows of tiny boxes filled with lonely men doing unspeakable acts. Even when I had girlfriends - a rare occasion indeed - I'd find myself dropping in on these little spooge huts in between picking up street corner whores for $20 blow jobs.
I've had this complex for years where I get this sick rush from committing acts of a sexual nature that leave me feeling guilty afterwards. From banging my head against the wall of my little one man pumping station, furiously howling a braying sex cry as I exercise little white demons from my prick, to snatching freshly beaten whores worked over by their pimps to give me toothless blow-jobs before dropping them off at the Cancer Clinic for their latest Chemotherapy treatment. All done in the name of depravity and self-debasement and I think I just might have found a new fix to fill this tired beast.
I had my first homosexual encounter this February, right before I left Alaska for the lower 48. While traipsing around on-line, I discovered this whole underground world of sex cruisers stalking these dark catacombs of moaning man closets, passing secret signals and modes of recognition, tugging the lobes of their ears with winks and half-cocked grins. I always avoided the rooms with the glory holes because I never quite understood them. They scared me in the same way all those urban myths and tales of the boogey man frighten you in your early days yet leave you utterly fascinated. Suddenly the velvet rope had been lifted and a lanky ashen arm slithered out from behind the black curtain, inviting me to a whole new world of sex and sin. Welcome to the House of the Dead and please, check your inhibitions at the door.
Suddenly I started noticing which guys seemed to be hanging around back there in the halls, waiting for a sticky fix. Then I found myself starting to leave the door unlocked, hoping that someone would come in without knocking, picking the booths with glory holes on both sides and looking down from time to time in between strokes, hoping to see a wandering eye blinking up at me or a wagging tongue flicking about invitingly saying "Come on in!" The first time he was too late and caught me just as I was tossing my load against the wall. The second time he retreated in disgust after my nervousness left a limp noodle wiggling in his hands. The third time was just right. When your eyes are closed or you focus your attention on the triple X movie straight ahead, you can hardly tell the difference between who or what is exactly down there doing the deed. The mouth was warm and wet and the tongue was searchingly lovely as it swirled around the head of my cock. No woman in my life was ever so eager to please and the only thing that made me feel uncomfortable was how persistent he was in trying to pry my ass cheeks apart so he could slip a finger in my rectum. Maybe I'll get around to trying that next time, if there is a next time.
Now I'm used to having chicks warn me to tell them before I'm about to cum so that they won't get a thick salty load inside their mouth and over time it has become a subconscious common courtesy. When I did the same for my streamlined Asian friend, he sucked and gulped even faster, grabbed the cheeks of my ass and pulled me closer, trying to shove even my balls into his mouth. When my hot geyser of gyzym blasted forth in savage exultation, he swallowed every drop like a man discovering an oasis to sooth his parched lips after 40 days and 40 nights of wandering in the desert. On another note I have also gained a new appreciation for hot Brazilian transsexuals with big tits sporting huge tanned cocks.
I still adore women and secretly, deep down inside, I crave love and understanding just like anyone else. I yearn for the day when I find a female who will put up with all of my bullshit and accept me for who I am and who will give me erotic pleasures equal to the dreams that leave me stuck to my sheets in the middle of the night. I could never love another man, because I'm not a homosexual, and contrary to popular opinion I don't believe that an occasional dose of hot anonymous gay sex makes me a flaming ass-ramming faggot. So in response to that age-old question "If you suck my dick, does that make me gay?" I say no, I don't think it does.