Guilt


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“Ira” hit me up on Craigslist months ago before Craiglist yanked the personals ads.

From the start I should have known he was wrestling with deep issues. Like starting with his name. What parents give their son a name more commonly given to girls? That had to fuck him up as a kid.

Ira is married and lives in one of those mini-mansion, tract homes in the Baltimore suburbs of Owings Mills. He is tall and light-skinned, in his late 50s, still has a decent body, and runs a successful media business.

Through a series of texts Ira explained that although he is married and a father and grandfather he has played with men since his days in college at Morgan State University.

“I’ve never been very good with women,” he said.

Since Ira claims to be religious he would go through periods of extreme guilt after playing with men. But of course the desire would build again and a few weeks or months later Ira would again find a man to rub dicks with.

Personally I thought we would never meet — he seemed so conflicted and more interested in talking about male-to-male sex than doing it. But last weekend I got a surprise text from him. He was doing some business nearby and wanted to drop by. We had been texting back and forth for a year, so why not?

But the sex was weird. I knew he wasn’t into penetrative sex so it would all be foreplay. But he insisted I put on a condom just to frottage because he was afraid of catching a disease and taking it back to his wife.

Then he averted any eye contact with me at all, his eyes darting away when I looked at him like some nervous animal.

“If I don’t look at you I  still get the feeling of sex but I can kinda psyche myself out that I’m not really here,” he explained.

Yup, told you brother man had issues.

To be honest he insulted me. He was the one seeking me out but then treated me like a walking germ just waiting to give him an STD. And the sex was trash.

Then, not long after he departed Ira texted saying he was again suffering from a severe case of religious guilt. It was like he was blaming me.

“I have reservations and I’m trying to be sincere to my wife.”

“I have God on my side. That’s why I feel uncomfortable with it.”

I urged Ira to not walk but run to get therapy from a psychologist or social worker who was an expert in dealing with men grappling with same-sex attraction. And I assured him that he could still have an active faith based life and still be a same gender loving man. He just had to work it out.

That backfired.

“Messing around is not my cup of tea any longer. I’m distancing myself from sin,” he responded.

The next day I called two buddies to talk about Ira. One is a gay man who was formerly married to a woman but is now married to a man and is a minister and gospel singer in southern Maryland. Let’s call him “Daniel.”

And the second friend lives in San Francisco and is very active in the Congregational Church in California. Let’s call him “Roger.”

“That man is just ignorant about the Bible,” Roger said.

Roger went on to explain how some so-called Christians pick and choose parts of the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy that seem to condemn homosexuality. But they conveniently ignore other parts of the book that say practices such as eating shellfish and wearing garments of mixed fabric will send you to hell, too.

The Apostle Paul, who wrote against homosexuality, was a product of the patriarchal Jewish society of his times, Roger explained. The most important thing is Jesus never condemned homosexuality in the Gospels and in fact if Jesus was on Earth today he would probably be supporting oppressed groups such as immigrants, the homeless and LGBT people, he said.

“I think Ira’s main problem is not that he is gay but why is he cheating on his wife,” Roger said. “When he figures out why he is married to her and cheating everything else will work out. It goes beyond the fact he is gay.”

Daniel was more blunt, which surprised me because he is a minister so I thought he would have a more conciliatory, helpful tone. Daniel said he was just tired of arguing with ignorant people such as Ira about whether being gay was a sin.

The medical and mental health profession had long ago proved that homosexuality is merely a part of the human continuum. And many denominations now accept LGBTQ people, Daniel said.

“Why are you wasting time with that brother,” Daniel said. “He is not worth arguing with. And please don’t have sex with him again.”

 

 

 

The Handymen


I took a shot of “Dominic” with my cellphone. He and Carlos showed up for work at my house not wearing drawers. I saw a lot more of them than just their roofing work.

My rowhouse is almost 100 years old. So renovation has been a constant thing since I moved in five years ago.

First I added a bathroom. Then my partner Van and I gutted out the old kitchen and had a contractor install a new, modern one. Then it was on to re-do the upstairs bathroom. And on and on.

And we hire handymen to do the work. And sometimes these outwardly macho men do some of the gayest shit.

I met “Carlos” at Club Bunns on game-night. We were spade partners. And we whipped ass, winning two or three games in a row.

He mentioned he did some home repair work so I said, “Damn, man I need a new roof on my back porch. Could you do the job?” And Carlos said, “Damn, skippy.”

But even though Carlos was at a gay bar, playing spades with a bunch of gay dudes, he explained he was straight. In fact, he just did occasional maintenance work at the bar and had a girlfriend.

“There she is over there at getting a drink,” he said. And he introduced me to this cute, little brown-skinned thing.

But that very night Carlos pulled me outside for a cigarette break and started complaining about how he and his girl didn’t get along and fought all the time and how sometimes he just hated going home.

This was a red flag to me — sometimes “straight men” use that “I-ain’t-getting-along-with-my-girlfriend” routine as a way to get out and hook up with men.

Then I mentioned to the club manager that I was going to hire Carlos to do some work

“Hey, that’s my boy,” the manager, “Antonio” said. “Are you going to try to get that ass?”

“Oh, wow, I just met his girlfriend. Does he swing with men, too? I didn’t know that was your piece,” I answered.

Antonio didn’t answer the question right off the bat (later he said he did not play with Carlos). “Oh, he does good work. You should be pleased,” he answered.

Still, I thought it odd a gay man would act so territorial about a handyman.

So a month later Carlos and his buddy “Dominic” showed up to do the work. And right off the bat I noticed they were wearing sagging jeans. And then I noticed they weren’t wearing drawers.

And they are stretching up on ladders and climbing on the porch roof and bending over to cut roofing tiles. And their asses were out. And their pants were sagging so low in front I could see pubic hair. And the dick prints were popping.

And they had to be checking each other out because sometimes Carlos would hold the ladder for Dominic and Dominic’s ass would be right in his face. And vice versa.

And they bantered and joked and joned on each other in a downright affectionate way. Like old lovers.

“I bet they get down with one another,” I thought to myself.

But I didn’t flirt or nothing. Because my gaydar could have been off and I didn’t want to mistake a straight man for a gay man. It was two against one — my partner was in Florida and I didn’t want to have to fight two dudes in my backyard.

So they got the roof done and I paid them for the job and off they went. But not 15 minutes later Carlos called back from Dominic’s phone, claiming he had misplaced his. “Can I come back and look for it,” he asks.

That’s the oldest trick in the book, I thought. I saw him glancing at me through the window while he worked. He was very friendly. He probably wanted to come back and flirt.

But all I did was help him find his phone (turned out he had really left it in the flatbed of Dominic’s truck) and sent him on his way.

But soon another handyman would come into my orbit who was much more obvious.

For months this brother on Adam4Adam was hitting me up, saying he liked my profile and photos and wanted to get together. He explained he was bisexual and not too experienced with male-on-male sex.

This week “Wallace” hit up me again so I invited him over. He explained he was a renovation contractor doing some estimates nearby and  would get to me before his next job in Glenn Burnie.

He showed up, tall, balding and light-skinned, with green eyes. Kinda handsome actually.

“I’ve been married for 16 years and have three kids,” he explained. “But I like playing with guys too. I was doing that even before I got married. Sometimes I need a little fix.”

So we went up to the bedroom and played. He took off his work jeans and boots and actually had a beautiful body with light brown, kinky hair dusting his flat stomach, chest and lean legs.

His uncut dick was big and as it got harder the head popped out from the foreskin like a gopher peeping out of a prairie hole.

He was more experienced then he let on. He kissed me sweetly and nibbled my nipples. Then I spread his legs and dove between and started eating his ass. He was clean but had been sweating and his skin had a slight salty taste.

He seemed fascinated with the size of my dick though. Soon he was sucking it and jerking it furiously. It most definitely was not one of his first times on a dick.

“I want to see you cum,” he murmured between licks.

So we lay on our backs and jerked off until it we nutted. His nutt squirted backward in an arc that splattered his belly. I got up and got a damp washcloth so he could clean up.

And we had a post-coital chat.

“So you are a contractor,” I asked. “Are you licensed and bonded?”

“Yup, I can give you my license number.”

“Well, I need some windows reframed on the back of the house. Can you do the job?”

“Yup I sure can. And my rate is usually $150 an hour but I’ll hook you up Immanuel and do it for just $75.”

“That’s a deal,” I said. “Can you come back Friday?”

“Yup I can but I work with my straight buddy. So you gotta act like we didn’t get down. I don’t want him going all over West Baltimore spreading my business.”

“Dude, for $75 an hour you don’t have to worry about that. Besides, I don’t give a fuck about your personal life. That’s none of my business. See ya Friday!”

 

 

An order of Venti Thongs at Starbucks Coffee


The Starbucks Coffee on Pennsylvania Avenue in Forestville, Md. where the cruising happened.

A few weeks ago I had a dental checkup early in the morning and didn’t eat breakfast. So I was hungry when I got done with my cleaning.

There is a Starbucks a mile down the road from Dr. Chung’s office on Pennsylvania Avenue in Forestville, Md. So I drove over to get a quick decaf mocha and one of those delicious smoked bacon, egg and cheese breakfast sandwiches. I had my laptop with me so I could catch up on work emails while I ate.

I got my order and picked a seat in the back of the restaurant, near the restroom, where it was more quiet and the frigid breeze from the front door didn’t hit me whenever a customer came or went.

I was busy, tapping away on my laptop, and didn’t notice when  a handsome young Latino man with a parka with a fur-trimmed hood sat in front of me. Well at least I didn’t notice him at first.

But then I happened to glance up and noticed he had let the back of his jeans slide down and was wearing a bright red thong that disappeared into the crack of his ass — or at least the part of his ass crack that I could see.

“Man, he must not know his ass is hanging out and it’s cold as shit today,” I thought.

But then he looked over his shoulder and saw me looking at that fat ass and winked.

“Okay, this is cute,” I thought. So I smiled back and put my head down and got back to work on my laptop.

However, my appreciative smile must have encouraged him to cruise harder. He got up and walked to the door of the bathroom immediately to my right, opened it and stood in the threshold and motioned for me to follow him.

“What the fuck?,” I thought. “People fucking up in Starbucks bathrooms now? I thought this shit only happened at train stations, truck stops and gym locker rooms.”

I smiled at him again and shook my head no. He wasn’t bad looking — a little on the plump side though — but there was no way I was having public sex at Starbucks. Especially a crowded, early morning one.

But he didn’t give up. I put my head back down and kept working and he walked outside the restaurant and stood with his back to the glass window near my table and pulled his jeans almost all the way down to his knees so I could see his ass in all its glory.

“This motherfucker is too thirsty,” I thought. Time to end this show.

I quickly logged off, packed up my laptop, and headed to my car.

Hey, I may be sexually active but to me coffee and cruising don’t mix.

 

 

 

When a Dick Comes Between Friends and the Dick Wins


Patrick’s penis.

I always counted on “George” as a friend and mentor.

We have so much in common. He was once married and is now divorced and lives as an openly gay man. Like me he has grown children. And he is a gracious and kind host.

But a big dick got between us.

George regularly hooks up with “Patrick,” a short, brown-skinned guy from North Carolina who reportedly has a dick so big it looks a baby arm hanging between his legs.

Apparently, George mentioned to Patrick how good I am in bed and Patrick started hitting me up. Which was a bit odd, because Patrick is supposed to be a primary top too.

Patrick started texting my profile on Adam4Adam and then we started texting on the phone. At first I thought he wanted a threesome with George and me. But it soon became clear he wanted to get me alone and play with my dick.

But Patrick’s behavior struck me as odd. It seemed like he was never working and was always hanging around cruisy Washington, D.C. spots like Union Station, which has a notorious men’s bathroom off the lower level food court, or the MLK Library near Gallery Place.

I mentioned to George about Patrick’s advances and his odd behavior and George told me he had concerns about Patrick as well. In fact, he told me he thought Patrick was homeless and a hustler.

“One weekend I picked him up and brought him over and his clothes had that homeless smell,” George said. “So I washed his clothes for him. But I made it clear I didn’t want to make that a habit.”

“Oh, now his behavior makes sense — he does behave like a homeless person going from place to place,” I said. And I thought nothing else of it.

But a few days later Patrick sent me an angry text, accusing me of being a typical faggot who runs and tells everything.

“What do you mean?,” I asked.

“George showed me the texts you sent about me,” Patrick said. “Lose my number.”

I almost laughed. This bum was acting like I was the one after him. He was the one sweating me.

“Why don’t you lose my number first because I don’t understand if you feel that way why you bothering to text me in the first fucking place,” I answered.

I then called George because I wanted to know why he would show this odd man text messages shared between two good friends. No answer.

Then I texted him. No answer.

Then I sent a message to his Adam4Adam profile. No answer there either.

And then I thought about it and realized George is 60 years old and it might be harder for him to get good dick. An although old Patrick might be homeless and a hustler with clothes that smell like musty feet George is probably grateful to get that dick fix from time to time.

So in this case, a big dick trumped a more than decade-old friendship.

Burning Down the House


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My partner “Van” and I go to a Black gay men’s retreat in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina every Martin Luther King Holiday Weekend. It’s a private affair and you got to know someone to be invited.

It’s always fun and we get to interact with professional — and working class — gay Black men from all over these United States. One them, “Milo,” told me this story of being forced out of the closet:

Milo, who works for Amtrak in Los Angeles, lived with his girlfriend. A real beauty. Feminine. And good in bed.

But he also had a male lover on the side. A real handsome guy. Masculine. And a beast in bed.

For months, maybe years, Milo had his cake and ate it, too. Pussy and titties on Friday night. Ass and dick on Saturdays. And never did the two meet.

Until that day he came home from work on a Friday afternoon and found his girl dressed all sexy in black lingerie. They had been together for a while and settled into a routine. Was she trying to light a fire back under things?

“Hey baby, I really want to have a romantic Friday night with you. But first, I left you a little letter on the refrigerator. Go read it,” she purred.

“Oh shit,” Milo thought. “She wrote down something sexy she wants me to do. Like some freaky recipe.”

He grinned and trotted over to the refrigerator in their tiny kitchen and started to read it. And his smile vanished and the blood drained from his face, turning his pecan brown complexion three shades lighter.

His male lover had mailed his girlfriend a confessional and she had posted it for Milo to read.

“I just want you to know I’m in love with your man and he is fucking me too,” it read in part. And for your information you met me. I’m his homeboy Darren. The one he works out with on Saturday. But I’m more than just his buddy. And he is working me out in more than just the gym.”

Seconds passed that felt like hours. It felt deathly quiet in their downtown apartment, despite all that Los Angeles traffic whooshing just two floors below.

“Milo, I want you to explain this to me,” she said.

“Look baby, I got to make a run,” he said. “I will explain when I get back.”

I forgot to explain this. Milo is fun guy from Oklahoma. The life of the party. All smiles and jokes. He still has that high, whiny, Country and Western twang and sounds corny.

But he is crazy as shit,too.

“Immanuel,” he explained. “I went to a gas station and brought some gasoline and I went to that motherfucker’s house. He wasn’t home but I set that shit on fire and burned it down. That’s what that bitch ass got for doing that bullshit.”

“But didn’t you get caught,” I asked.

“Nah, I know how to do shit like that without getting caught,” he said. “And after what I did that motherfucker wasn’t going to talk to the police because he was afraid of what else I might do.”

Milo is handsome but has a face that looks almost like a cartoon character. Like his head is large and slightly bulbous, like Tweety Bird from the old Warner Brothers cartoons.

But something in his eyes — a steely hardness — made me believe he would commit arson and smile so sweetly in your face with that awww shucks manner that you would never believe he would.

Milo went home and sat down with his girl.

“Look baby, I messed up. Dude kept trying to seduce me and I tried it out. Let him suck this dick. That’s all. He just wants me and will do anything to mess up what we have. You know how them faggots are. They just want to be women, anyway.”

She looked at him with liquid, doe-like eyes. She loved him. Believed him. Forgave him.

“Look baby. Let’s get married next week and put this all behind us. Just something small down at the courthouse and a quick honeymoon down to Baja.”

“Yes Milo. I will marry you,” she said. And that night he fucked her till her pussy was sore and a week or two later they married.

But Milo kept fucking with dudes.

And she found out because despite letting the first one slide she was far more watchful.

And two months later they separated.

And eventually divorced.

Take a pic before you go


“Roger” had been hitting us up online for months and asked whether my partner and I were finally free to play the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

“I have to run a few errands first,” he said.

I thought he was bluffing and Van and I went about our day and thought nothing of it.

But he showed up as night fell, a handsome light-skinned brother with a beautiful body.

In fact when he walked in I realized I already had seen him – he works out at the same L.A. Fitness we do.

Van and I took turns tag-teaming his bubble butt. It was fun. He was loud and passionate and enthusiastic. And he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy.

After sex Van and I admired his body as he dressed.

“We got to have your picture,” Van said.

“Sure.”

I grabbed my phone and shot a pic of his fabulous ass.

“Now turn around,” Van requested.

And I took a second from the front.

Here they are:

I Cram to Understand You


Thought I knew you well enough to call you a man, but

Just like a test
Ju-just like a test
Ju-just like a test
I cram to understand you

Rapper MC Lyte 1988

From the start I should have known he was a low-grade sociopath. But against my better judgement my adventurous ass had to taste him. And I got a sour taste in my mouth, like lemon and salt.

My partner and I had known “Lawrence” for a minute. He came to one of our sex parties with another guy who was so hyped up on drugs that we almost had to throw him out. But Lawrence was cool — he wore a pair of long Johns and looked sexy sitting in a chair getting his big dick sucked while it was sticking out of them.

A month or so after that party he came back and had a threesome with Van and me. But that affair was kind of weird — Lawrence mostly just lay back passively while we played with him. So Van and I decided that likely wouldn’t happen again and chalked it up to experience.

Months passed. In November and early December of 2016 Van was away in Florida setting up his condo and I was alone for a month. But it was cool — we have an open relationship so it was understood I could have company.

And Lawrence started hitting me up around that time, saying he wanted to get together again. And finally it happened again.

He came over and we had some weed and hit the bed and I’m not lying the sex was much better than before and stretched my boundaries. And I think we met the next week and did it again.

And he started coming on strong, throwing out hints he wanted to meet my Mom and date me, and calling me up at lunch just to talk.  And against my better judgement, or maybe because I was lonesome, I started to get hooked on the attention. Because it was intoxicating.

And then one Saturday morning he invited me to go with him to walk his dog at Druid Hill Park. The day was starting and that damp cold that can grip Maryland at the start of winter was setting in. I could feel it lapping my cheeks like wet, icy kisses.

We were in the middle of the field and he let his big, furry dog off the leash to go running. And he turned and embraced and kissed me, right out in the open. Traffic just going by on Beechwood Drive and just beyond on busy Auchentoroly Terrace. A few people even walked nearby and I swear a man in a parked work truck looked over and stared.

I have to admit it was hot. It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me as an openly gay man. Like I was in a movie or something.

But another part of my mind was thinking about what I had read about sociopathic people. That they hook you with attention and flattery to get what they really want. And that you are really disposable.

In fact his behavior perplexed me so much one day I called him and just asked.

“What do you want from me, man?”

He paused and answered.”A fuck buddy.”

That soon became apparent. He wanted me only when he wanted sex. And since I was getting a nutt too why not?

A few weeks before Christmas he met me at the nightclub Bunns  on a Friday night. He introduced me to an old friend of his, “Taylor,” who was attending a private birthday party upstairs.

“We want to freak with you Immanuel. Let’s go over to Taylor’s place,” Lawrence said.

It was cool and I got Taylor’s address and cellphone number and we met up at his spot, smoked some weed, and got to freaking. Taylor was younger with a big dick like mine and we tore up Lawrence’s tall, brown-skinned body. We  fucked him doggystyle and bent over the sofa and all over the floor of the living room.

It surprised me that Lawrence, a person who was so businesslike and professional during the week could let himself get fucked so roughly. I remember thinking if there were 10 guys up in there that night he would have let them all run up in him — that’s just how much in heat he was.

But I noticed Taylor acted a bit jealous of the attention Lawrence showed me. For instance while we were smoking I mentioned that I had invited Lawrence on a gay men’s trip with Van and me and Taylor looked hurt.

“You used to go on trips with me like that, Lawrence,” he said.

After we nutted we put on our clothes and Lawrence went to his car and I went to mine. It was a cold night and so I let my car idle and heat up. But before I could drive off Taylor was texting me, inviting me back to his ground floor apartment to keep fucking.

But I begged off, saying I had a busy Saturday ahead. And wasn’t he Lawrence’s friend?

Later that morning Taylor kept hitting me up. So I texted Lawrence to tell him what his friend was doing.

“He always does that shit,” Lawrence said, sounding angry. “He always hits up on the other guy after we have a threesome. Look Immanuel, I want you to let me know before you have sex with him again.”

Lawrence sounded like a jealous lover. So I told him I had no intention of sexing Taylor solo. And I texted Taylor and told him that too.

Taylor’s response was downright weird.

“Fuck you I don’t care,” he said. “I was really into Lawrence anyway.”

So why hit me up?

Then I told a good friend of mine “Darryl” about how Lawrence was acting and the weird aftermath to the threesome I had. And Darryl, who grew up in Baltimore and has been on the scene awhile, schooled me. I didn’t have to cram for the test about Lawrence anymore.

Lawrence was the type who would meet a guy and throw themselves into them and then fade back, just like he was doing to me and had probably done to Taylor, who was apparently still bent out of shape, Darryl explained.

Lawrence also only came out on the gay scene when he got horny and wanted to freak, Darryl said. He was one of those gay men who was only in it for the sex. In fact, Darryl had first met Lawrence in another gay bar, “The Gallery,” and Lawrence had only been introduced to him for less than an hour before Lawrence offered to suck his dick in the stall in the men’s bathroom.

“There is something about him that turned me off so I didn’t do it,” Darryl said. “Look Immanuel, I can’t tell you what to do but that guy is not worth your time. Fuck him if you want but keep him at arm’s length.”

Christmas came and I went to Florida to be with Van and Lawrence had to have an operation so our relationship cooled.  I told Van what went down and he was pissed that Lawrence would try to make relationship overtures to me while he was away. But again, we chalked it up to experience. Because a lot of gay men are messy like that, Van said.

“He will hit you up again,” Van said.

And from time to time Lawrence would text me, or we would flirt because I must admit the attention was intriguing. But things would be weird sometimes.

I remember one night in March I was out dancing in Baltimore and he sent me a text at 1:30 a.m.. He was at a freak session down in Washington, D.C. and sent me a picture he apparently secretly took of a naked guy who was with him.

“Wyd,” he texted.

“Barhopping,” I texted.

“Freaking in dc thought you might be in the area,” he said.

Lawrence had admitted to me he had tried every drug in the book. He was probably hyped up on meth or something and getting his back blown out and wanted another dick, I thought.

“Okay, thanks of thinking of me lol,” I texted back.  I don’t think he got that I was being sarcastic.

The photo Lawrence texted me.

And the next day I unfriended him on Facebook because that text exchange proved the point Darryl was trying to make. I decided I didn’t want to give somebody like that too much access to my life.

But a year passed and November has come around again. And the weather is turning chilly and damp. And Van went to Florida to check up on the condo and I was again alone.

And Lawrence said he wanted to hang out with me and we met up at Bunns. We talked awhile and then I went out front to grab a cigarette. And he soon rushed out after me, looking like he thought I would just leave without letting him know.

I really wanted to go barhopping that night and I suggested we hit The Eagle but he soon just came out and said why he wanted to hang out with me.

“I want you to fuck the shit out of me.”

His eyes looked almost like he was pleading — or was just plain horny. So I said yes and he followed me home.

But the sex was different — it didn’t have the same heat as a year before. I felt like I was going through the motions — like I was looking at myself having sex with him. In fact, my dick could barely stay hard.

And he fell asleep before I could ask him to leave and was snoring so I let him rest. And we lay a few hours and then I got up and showered and fed the cat and made myself a cup of coffee. And I heard him upstairs getting up and dressing.

And when he came downstairs and put on his coat to leave I looked at him and wondered, “Why the fuck did I do that?”

I felt a little used but hey I am very grown and knew what I was doing. I wanted to taste that again to see if it would be the same. But it wasn’t.

Now I have to get that sour taste out of my mouth again.