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“Screw you, asshole,” my girlfriend of three years said to me right before slamming the door in my face. I was holding my possessions and valuables in my arms; the rest of my meager belongings were in the trunk of my car. I didn’t think Sally would be so heartless and selfish as to throw me out during the middle of a snow storm at six o’clock in the evening, but I guess I had misjudged the situation and misjudged her.

Sally was, and always had been the self- centered type, but that was one of the things I liked about her and found intriguing. When we first started dating I found it amusing and interesting that no matter the situation or topic of conversation, she would always manage a way to turn it back around to her. On the one hand, Sally could be extremely conceited and selfish, and then, on the other hand, she could take me completely by surprise and be so kind and caring and attentive to me. It always took me totally off-guard whenever she was in that sort of mood, which is why it was so special when she was in a caring mood because it rarely happened.

The relationship was doomed from the beginning. Well, not the beginning beginning, but after the first year or so, when we left the happy couple honey-moon faze behind and entered the serious relationship faze. I think the fact that the relationship was doomed and never going to work out drew us both into it more, as if we could somehow change fate and ourselves enough to warrant staying together, but in the end we had both given up and we had started to resent each other. The romanticism of the idea as well was what made us both come back to each other. It was us against the world, it was us together fighting through the obstacles to be together. In the books and movies it always seems to work, but not in real life.

I knew that I was bisexual and I had known for a long time, except I had never labelled myself as such. Ever since I was fifteen I had been having homoerotic fantasies and dreams. It happened one day after gym class, when Coach told us to hit the showers. I was standing there under the water scrubbing myself down when Reuben Fowler, a big burly giant of a kid came into the shower stall next to me. He did a weird sort of head tilt thing in acknowledgment of me and started washing himself. Reuben was actually a senior but had been kept back because of a learning disability he had. But dang, was he a good sportsman. He was on the school basketball, hockey and football teams, as well as cross country and soccer.

The school must have found it extremely expedient that Reuben suffered from his learning disability. Thanks to him our school had had great sports seasons and he had personally seen our football and basketball teams to victories. Reuben was making polite small talk with me while we both showered, which I was finding incredibly awkward. I turned off my shower and when the steam cleared slightly I happened to look down at Reuben . For a split second my eyes connected with his genitals, and in that split second, I felt myself burn up, feeling all hot and bothered.

I quickly ran off after that, getting dressed and trying to get through the rest of the day without thinking about his cock. Reuben's cock wasn’t overly big, it would have been five inches, perhaps a little bigger. But that wasn’t what had me all worked up. It was the thickness of it. His cock was so thick that in that moment when I looked down, I understood why Reuben was so popular with the girls.

After that I started fantasizing about Reuben’s cock, wondering what it felt like, wondering what it tasted like and what it looked like when it was hard. I had only seen it flaccid, so I used to wonder about the length and thickness of it when Reuben was erect. Soon my dreams and fantasies were expanding to the other guys on the football team and I would daydream and fantasize for hours about them all in the showers afterwards, their bodies all sweaty from the physical exertion of the game.

Except I didn’t want to feel this way. All my friends and classmates were finding out about girls and having their first kisses and sex for the first time with the girls from school and around town, while I was thinking about boys and cocks. I told myself that it wasn’t normal for me to feel this way and that I should be ashamed of myself. I went through a period of self-loathing and self-punishment, but the more I self-punished, the more I would think about cock. It was a vicious cycle that I couldn’t break and each time it happened I was so confused.

I was relieved when I started being attracted to girls once more when I was eighteen, after two years of thinking about boys and then feeling ashamed and punishing myself. I had my first girlfriend in my last year of school. Her name was Morgana, a cute, slightly geeky little girl. She had the cutest little button nose, which I loved to kiss. I was so relieved to not only have a girlfriend but to be attracted to girls once more, that I started being over-bearing with Morgana.

I was so grateful to have her and so grateful to be ‘normal’ that I was turning into a possessive and clingy boyfriend. I wanted to do everything with Morgana and in the end, she got pissed off with me for always hanging around her and wanting to know what she was doing twenty-four hours a day that I drove her away.

My first relationship came to an ironic end during the summer holidays, after we had both graduated High School. Me wanting to be with Morgana all the time had ended up pushing her away. I had a few short-lived summer romances and flings during the holidays, making the most of my time before I went off to college.

For the first two months of college, I lived happily enough. I settled into life away from home, acquainted myself with my new surroundings and my curriculum, made a few new friends and once or twice I ventured out and had a boozy night on the town, both times taking a girl back to the dorm and screwing her senseless, much to the chagrin of my roommate, who thought himself so high and mighty and so much more sensible and adult than his peers. He thought sex was a futile activity fit only for animals, the bored and the uninspired.

“Sex is so Bourgeois ,” he told me once, rolling his eyes at me. He never elaborated any further on why he thought this and I never asked him. Larry was a real asshole and I wasn’t about to indulge him. He was determined to be the next great mind, to be the next great philosopher that he forgot all about enjoying life and the little things, which naturally meant that he looked down upon those who did enjoy life and indulged in the little things.

I met Sally at the beginning of my second year of college. She was a beautiful red head with deep, jewel blue eyes and a little pouty mouth. She was tall, lithe and graceful, good-looking and she knew it. I fell for her instantly and I asked her out for coffee, to which she agreed. She was from a mixed Scots/Irish background and was the first generation of her family to be born and raised in America. She was rich, her family were decidedly ‘old money’ which was part of Sally’s charm. Here was a young woman who was used to having most things done for her by other people, and to have those things done well.

We moved in together eight months into the relationship, which was good for me because I had outstayed my welcome on a friend’s sofa a few months earlier and his girlfriend Patty had not-so-politely told me to leave before she could throw me out and destroy my belongings. Sally rented a small townhouse close to the campus so I moved in there with her, contributing towards household costs such as electricity, the monthly internet bill, and other such amenities.

It was great at first, the excitement of living with the one you love and playing at house was a cool little game, but that was all it was; a game. I never felt at home in Sally’s house, I felt like a stranger. I had come from much more humble beginnings than Sally, so all the luxuries that her parents paid for and the means in which she lived made me feel uncomfortable in a place that should have felt like home. I was very grateful for what I had, knowing that one day I could wake up and something could have changed, that my belongings or my circumstances could be taken away from me. Sally took everything for granted.

Another thing that had started to grate on me over time was the fact that in all three years of our relationship, I never once met her family. She never even told her family about me. I was a dirty little secret, and I told her that I felt that way. Her parents wanted her to get an education and then marry someone rich, which I wasn’t. Every time her parents were in town and wanted to visit, I would be banished back to my friend’s sofa for the night. At first I was fine with it, it was actually pretty cool to get away for the night and live with no rules and be a ‘guy’ for the night, but soon I started to resent it and I resented Sally.

We started arguing more and more, over petty little things, which is how most major arguments start. On the night she kicked me out, she had yelled at me over a dinner plate. “Don’t just rinse the plate and leave it in the sink, wash it properly!” she yelled. It escalated from there and within the hour, I found myself standing on the doorstep holding the last of my meager possessions with nowhere to go. I rang up my friend Craig and asked if I could sleep on his sofa. I heard some fumbling in the background and Craig talking to someone else in the distance.

“I don’t know man,” he said after a few minutes. “Patty’s really busy with work and she doesn’t want the stress of a third person in the house.”

“You won’t even know I’m there, I’ll be silent and quiet as anything. C’mon man,” I replied, trying to reason with him. Craig spoke to someone again in the background, who I guessed to be Patty.

“Sorry man,” he replied. “But Patty says no.”

“Patty says no?” I questioned. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now? It’s like you’re not even yourself anymore dude. Patty’s taken you over, she’s controlling you.” And then I hung up.

With nowhere to go I drove around town for an hour, trying to find a cheap motel or lodge of some sort for the time being before I found something more permanent. I found a cheap, crappy hole-in-the-wall type place so I setup my belongings and tried to make a new home for myself. There was a bar next door, so after unpacking my things and getting the paper work sorted out with the girl behind the desk, I headed next door.

As to be expected, the bar was pretty much empty on a Tuesday night. There were a couple of biker looking dudes playing pool and drinking beer, there were three women sitting in a booth with a bottle of wine and some nibbles and there was a big, burly dude at the bar, watching the sports on the television. I went and sat myself a few seats down from him and ordered a drink, feeling properly miserable for the first time in the hour and half since Sally had kicked me out.

I ordered a scotch and downed that as soon as it was in my hands, so I ordered another, and then another. I was half-assed paying attention to the game but not really following it. My thoughts were still on Sally and how she could be so heartless and selfish as to throw me out in the middle of a New England winter when it was snowing. And on a Tuesday, which seemed to me to be the worst thing about the whole situation. Who throws someone out on a Tuesday ? Was what my thoughts kept coming back too.

Sally told me that I was easily changeable and too distracted, and she had been telling me this pretty much since our first date. It was one of her major complaints about me. I was constantly changing my mind about things, I started things and never finished them, and I never completed goals I set for myself. But it wasn’t trivial, everyday things I changed my mind about like what was for dinner or new clothes, it was about major decisions. Case in point my choice of study. When I was a freshman I was taking criminal law and sociology. By the time I met Sally I was a psychology student and now I was a philosophy student who questioned anything and everything, which was another thing that pissed Sally off.

“You always have to see the deeper meaning about things don’t you Lewis?” she yelled at me. “Why can’t you just accept that an answer is an answer and that is it.”

I put it down to her not understanding. Things were very one dimensional with Sally. Yes meant yes and no meant no, there was no in between, there was no real reason for wanting something or not wanting something. When we first got together I had enjoyed debating with her. Her opinions, which were so different from mine opened my mind to another pattern of thinking, other viewpoints I had never really considered before, but toward the end we didn’t talk or properly speak. We made demands of each other and we yelled. That was it.

I ordered two shots with a beer chaser, drained those and the beer and sat there in the dingy bar on a Tuesday night feeling very sorry for myself.

“Rough night huh?” asked the man sitting a few seats down from me at the bar.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“School problems or girl problems?” he asked.

I gave the stranger a quizzical look. “What makes you think it’s either of those things?”

“Well, by the way you’re dressed you’re either a professor or student at the college,” he said. I looked down at what I was wearing, suddenly very self-conscious. Since taking up philosophy I had taken to dressing very preppy and formally, wearing jeans and blazers or dress shirts and slacks. But instead of looking distinguished and mature, I looked scruffily bookish, like the geography teacher who’s perpetually in a rush. Shabby chic, as Sally used to say, whatever that meant. Artfully disheveled as I liked to call my look.

“And the girl problems?” I asked the stranger, pressing him on the matter.

The stranger smirked and did a little laugh. “You just look like you’ve got relationship problems,” he said very vaguely. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t press him any further, his ambiguity was enough to satisfy me for the moment. If I ‘just looked like I had relationship problems’ then so be it. That was A-Okay with me, at least I had a label other than shabby chic or scruffy scholar.

We sat in silence for another ten minutes. I ordered another beer and nursed that, watching the game but not paying attention. Sports has never really been my thing. When I was in High School I was encouraged to try out for some of the sports teams, specifically basketball, because of my height- I’m 6’4. Except I’m not overly physically fit and I am ill-proportioned, lanky even, some may say, and I am the most uncoordinated person you will ever meet. After my disastrous basketball team try out, I was never pressured again by staff members to try out for a sport.

“You’re also at a bar at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night,” the stranger said, breaking me from my thoughts.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re at a bar on a Tuesday, so things must be pretty rough for you right now,” he went on. “And you’re drinking like there’s no tomorrow.”

“My girlfriend kicked me out,” I replied, which was unusual for me because I hardly ever confided in people, let alone strangers.

“Ah,” he said, nodding his head. “Well in that case, can I buy you a drink?” he offered.

“I’m not gay,” I suddenly burst out. I felt foolish afterwards for saying it, but I felt as if I had to, there was something about this guy and the way he looked at me that made me slightly uncomfortable, that coupled with the fact that I was still uncomfortable with myself made for my outburst. I just had a feeling that he was gay, which if he was, was no problem at all, but I was still trying to get my head around my own sexuality at that stage.

“I know,” he replied awkwardly, which made me feel like such an idiot. “I was just being polite.”

Back before I met Sally I had started having fantasies and dreams again about other men and thus a new round of self-punishment was born. It was more frequent and the dreams more detailed than the last time I’d felt this way, that I came to the conclusion that I was indeed gay and me dating Morgana and having the summer flings was a complete farce and lie on my part because I didn’t want to admit the truth.

But how can I be gay ? I asked myself many, many times. I decided that I needed to investigate, so I started throwing myself into the lifestyle more and more and trying to get on board with the idea. I started reading gay erotic literature, going to the odd gay bar (always out of town) and going to the gay pride parades. But their brand of homosexuality was something that I feared and found daunting. It was all leather and whips and chains and clamps and netting and bondage, which was something I found extremely uncomfortable.

So I decided that I would talk to my cousin Roy, who was gay, and openly so. He had come out to his family when he was eighteen, and I had always admired his forwardness and the fact that he wasn’t ashamed of himself. It was who he was, and he embraced that. I went to visit Roy the very next weekend. He didn’t live very far from where I did, which at that point was on Craig’s sofa. I told Roy all about the urges and fantasies I’d been having on and off since I was fifteen. I told him about the girlfriend’s I had and that, while I was happy with them, I still had urges and I was attracted to men. “So I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I’m gay,” I said. There was a long, drawn out silence, which just added to my unease and nervousness. Roy just stared at me long and hard, scrutinizing me.

“You’re not gay,” he finally said.

“What?” I questioned, outraged that of all the people he would reject me and my coming out. “Yes I am,” I stated, trying to make it seem more concrete and definite.

“Lewis, you’re not gay,” said Roy. “You’re bisexual, or in the very least bi-curious.”

Bisexual ? I thought. Bisexual . This was the first time I had put a real label on myself, and it seemed to fit. Gay just didn’t seem to fit me, it didn’t feel right, yet I never knew why. Bisexual seemed so much better.

“Well, what does that mean?” I questioned. I knew of bisexuality, but I didn’t fully understand it. Just like I didn’t fully understand homosexuality or heck even heterosexuality.

“It means that you’re curious about, or even attracted to both men and women,” Roy answered.

“So like what, I can’t choose between the two? I’ll spend the rest of my life between both men and women?”

Roy laughed. “If that’s how you want to go about it then yes, I suppose it is. Bisexuality is what it is,” he said. “There will be women you’re attracted to and want to have sex with, and there’ll be men you’re attracted to and want to have sex with. You could be in a gay relationship for the next few years but end up marrying a woman, or the reverse,” he explained. “But the main thing is, is that you’re comfortable and happy with yourself and your partner, whether they be male or female.”

Roy gave me a lot to think about that evening as I drove back to my home on Craig’s sofa. Bisexual seemed the perfect fit. It was a better fit than gay had been. I felt happy and content for the first time in a long time. And then I met Sally and got together with her. I never told her outright about my bisexuality until near the end of our relationship. I never felt like I could tell her, for fear of her reaction. When I did tell her we were in bed one night; I was reading and she was playing around on her tablet. I told her and she was silent for a while, making a low ‘ hmm ’ sound, but that was it. That was her reaction.

We never discussed it any further, she didn’t ask me any questions or want to find out more about that side of me, she took it for what it was and that was it. In a way I was grateful for her lack of reaction, she didn’t make a big deal out of it or reject me and she didn’t treat me any differently, but I was slightly disappointed.

I had built the moment up in my head so much, expecting her to freak out and have a massive reaction. I mean, it’s not every day your boyfriend tells you that he’s bisexual, but Sally had no reaction or comment at all, and her dismissal of me hurt. I guess because of Sally’s non-reaction to my news and the fact that she didn’t actively discuss it with me made me feel uncomfortable, not only with my sexuality but with myself and other gay people.

“So can I buy you a drink?” the stranger pressed me, once more breaking me from my train of thought. I’d always had the tendency to drift off into la-la-land and fly away with my daydreams, another thing that Sally complained about.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “And I’m sorry.”

The stranger shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Over the next two hours I found out that his name was T-Bone and he was a laborer , which explained why he was so muscular and burly. He was originally from South Carolina but had moved north to find work after the breakdown of a marriage that he described as a ‘complete and utter fucking disaster’. He lived essentially as a Nomad, moving all over the place, wherever the work was. He told me that it got lonely sometimes and it was difficult making friends when he moved around every four months, but it was a good living and he couldn’t complain about anything- he was happy and content.

My first inkling about T-Bone had been correct; he was gay and unashamedly so, but like me had tried to deny it to himself in his confusion. T-Bone was part of a different contingent of homosexuality that I was yet to experience. He wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality or himself, but he also didn’t parade around and shout out to everyone that he was gay. He wasn’t the loud and flamboyant gay that I had come across earlier when I embarked on my journey of self-discovery. T-Bone was happy and comfortable within himself, but more private about his personal life. I respected that and I respected him straight away.

T-Bone told me about the jobs he’d had and where he had worked, which was pretty much all over the North-East by that stage. When he was eighteen he worked at a steel mill in Virginia. This was right before he was due to marry Estelle.

“You know all those rumors and cliches about steel mill and factory workers?” T-Bone asked me, an odd smirk on his face.

“Yeah,” I answered, or more accurately slurred. I was pretty tipsy by that stage.

“All true,” he said. “All true. At the end of every shift, when we left the floor and hit the showers before leaving, the men would all form a circle and touch each other. Everything from mutual masturbation to sucking and fucking. You can imagine the shock on my face after my first ever shift there when everyone was walking around naked and touching each other.”

“I-I can imagine,” I slurred, shifting uncomfortably on the bar stool.

“This was when I was confused and trying to hide the truth from myself and the rest of the world. I was marrying Estelle for propriety’s sake. I liked her, she was a great girl, really sweet, but I knew somehow that I was different from everyone else, and I didn’t want to be different. After work, when the men would go to the locker room, strip down and form a circle, I never participated. I was too scared to and still trying to tell myself I wasn’t gay. Although I never fully participated, I was extremely turned on watching this orgy of men right in front of me. I did all my masturbating then, after work in the locker room,” T-Bone laughed and shook his head at the memory.

“I was a dumb kid back then who didn’t know what he wanted. Now I know exactly who I am. I’ve accepted myself and I’m happy. Happier than I ever was back then. It takes time to come to grips with it, but once you’ve accepted yourself and who you are, it’s the best feeling in the world,” he said.

I was pretty drunk and by that stage, I wasn’t fully paying attention to T-Bone’s speech about self-acceptance and happiness. I had completely missed the point of his spiel and I had missed that he apparently had me all figured out. So at eleven o’clock, after having a few more drinks, I did not protest when T-Bone escorted me next door back to my cheap motel room. After he had seen me in and taken a quick look around at the small bedroom that was also a living room and a kitchenette, he sat down next to me on the sofa. T-Bone made no move to leave and I didn’t kick him out.

Truth be told I was enjoying T-Bone’s company and I was too scared to be by myself at that stage. If I was left by myself I’d spend the rest of the night thinking about Sally, and in my drunken and vulnerable state I’d most likely ring her and plead with her to take me back. I’d beg her and tell her that I’d change and be whatever she wanted me to be- at the peril of my true self and my soul. I could see that all happening before I even thought about it. But with T-Bone here I wouldn’t do that. He was saving me from myself.

“Make yourself at home,” I slurred to T-Bone, motioning at the small, crappy room that was to be my home for the next however long. T-Bone picked the television remote up from the small table next to the sofa and flicked the TV on. He searched through the channels – all five of them and then ended up turning the TV off when he couldn’t find anything. I was fine with whatever at that stage. I was off in my own drunken thoughts.

“Why do they call you T-Bone?” I asked.

“We had this conversation earlier,” he answered, laughing at me rocking back and forth in my seat. “My name is Tom Skelton. T-Bone is a nickname I picked up at the steel mill.”

T-Bone , I thought. Apart from the obvious play on words, I wondered what other reasons had contributed to the nickname. Was his dick T-shaped, or was it big and thick like the steak? As I thought more about this, I felt myself stir in my pants. T-Bone was big and burly, built tall and muscular like Reuben had been, the first man I ever had erotic thoughts about. I thought back to that time in the showers when I was fifteen, glancing down at Reuben Fowler’s cock and feeling incredibly turned on by it.

I felt that same feeling now, sitting next to T-Bone and wondering why he was nicknamed that, thinking about his cock. I felt myself start to harden and I had the insatiable urge to start masturbating right then and there. Just to rub one out, despite the presence of T-Bone. I groaned in drunken frustration, leaned forward and put my head in my hands.

“Are you okay dude?” asked T-Bone.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but my answer surprised even me. “I’m really, really horny,” I blurted out. It had been a few months since I’d last had sex; the relationship issues between Sally and I meant that we never had sex very often- she was always very shitty with me so never wanted to sleep with me. I felt T-Bone shuffle closer to me and he placed his hand on my thigh. I exhaled audibly and looked up, and in that split second he kissed me.

This was the first time I had been kissed by another man. It was, obviously, very different to kissing women, but not completely unenjoyable. In the moment, it felt right, and all the dreams and fantasies I’d been having on and off ever since I was fifteen were starting to make sense. It felt right, and though I was drunk and horny and not fully aware of myself, I was very aware of my growing arousal and the fact that I wanted this.

I felt T-Bone rubbing his big hands over the bulge in my pants and I moaned and started moving my hips against his hand. I then felt him un-button my jeans and pull them down. My boxers were pulled down also and my erect cock fully exposed. T-Bone gripped it in his big hands, making a fist and slowly moving it up and down my cock. The size and roughness of his hands was something that I would have to get used to, as opposed to the soft feminine hands who had previously touched me. But I cannot deny that T-Bone knew what he was doing. He was confident with his grip, pressure and strokes, which instantly put me at ease.

T-Bone ceased to kiss me and he lowered his head into my lap. He was still firmly gripping my cock with one hand as I felt the tip of his warm tongue flick all over my head. I shuddered and moaned. He stroked my shaft while he sucked on the head of cock. I moaned as he swirled his tongue all over the head of my dick and then proceeded to take me further in his mouth. Saliva spilled from the corners of his mouth and down onto my balls, which he cleaned with the tips of his fingers.

“Shit,” I slurred, leaning back in my seat so T-Bone could take me further into his mouth. His big, rough hands were surprisingly gentle as he squeezed my balls and rubbed them. He took my cock out of his mouth and then licked all up and down the shaft. He shifted himself from his position next to me on the sofa, to in front of me on his knees. Once more he gripped my cock with his hands and licked all over my dick. He traced the tip of his tongue over my balls and I pushed my hips forward and groaned.

He again took me in his mouth and lowered his head onto my cock. He took my fully in his mouth until I was hitting the back of his throat. He bobbed his head back and forth, saliva falling from his mouth and making a mess. Moans and groans were constantly coming from my mouth, getting louder and louder. T-Bone built up a pattern; he’d switch between sucking my dick and then doing the same to my balls. In my experience girls tended to neglect the balls, but not T-Bone, he knew exactly what he was doing and I was fast building up to an orgasm.

T-Bone leaned back on his heels and with both hands started vigorously rubbing my dick. My breathing increased, I leaned back and started thrusting my hips slightly and before I knew it I was shooting my load, which T-Bone cleaned up. Once he was done he got back up on the sofa next to me. Neither of us said anything, though my first thought was to thank him. I looked over at T-Bone, who was tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch and staring into space. I glanced down between his legs and I saw that he had a sizeable erection.

In my mind, I knew now how to thank him for taking care of me. I was nervous, understandably, this would be the first dick I had ever handled other than my own, this was my first, or more accurately, my second gay experience, my first being not five minutes earlier. I did as T-Bone had done. I shuffled closer to him and placed my hand over the bulge in his jeans and rubbed.

He breathed out loudly and slowly, closing his eyes as I rubbed my hand over the bulge in his pants. I undid his belt and pushed his jeans and underwear down and his cock broke free of the constraints. My eyes bugged in my head when I saw the size of the thing! It was a healthy six inches, perhaps even nearing seven as it grew harder, but that wasn’t what shocked me. It was the thickness of it. I immediately realized that T-Bone was not just a play on words because of his name, as I had suspected all along. I made some half-drunk slur at the size of his dick and T-Bone smiled very smugly and proudly. I imagine that he was not un-used to such comments or praise about what he was packing.

I grabbed the base of it and lifted it slightly, looking at the underside of his dick. It was so thick that my fingers didn’t even meet when I had my hand wrapped around it, but in fairness my hands are rather slender and delicate and slightly feminine- they are not the hands of someone who has worked outdoors a lot. Sally always used to tell me that they were the hands of a scholar, what with the long, thin fingers and the ink stains and smears my hands always seem to bear. Like I said earlier, I’ve never been a ‘man’s man’ and it was never more obvious than earlier when T-Bone’s big hands were next to mine on the sofa.

I was unsure of what to do. I didn’t know if I should go straight for it and suck it, or if I should start jacking T-Bone off. He offered me no help either. Perhaps he sensed that I needed to do this on my own and decide how to progress. I would do what T-Bone had done with me. That seemed to me to be the best bet. I started gently tugging on his dick, moving my hand up and down the shaft, every now and then rubbing over the head. I must have been doing okay because I heard T-Bone sigh and moan a little.

After a few minutes of gentle tugging and rubbing I got down on my knees in front of T-Bone and with both hands I started jacking him. I leaned my head in closer to his dick, and, very tentatively I poked my tongue out and had my first taste of cock. I licked the tip and around the head, trying to figure out what it tasted like. When I could think of no comparison I simply decided that dick just tasted like dick. There was no real comparison to be made, it was what it was.

I licked all around his cock and even trailed my tongue over his balls, all the while gently rubbing him. I made my way back to the head of his cock, where I very gently started sucking on it. It was something that I would have to get used to, having never done it before, but I found it enjoyable, though my joy at eliciting moans from T-Bone was mixed in with a slight apprehension and fear, as most new experiences are.

I took him a little further in my mouth, and then a little further still, until I felt him hitting the back of my throat. This caused me to gag and splutter and so I quickly retreated, coughing as I tried to regain composure, very embarrassed.

“Try again,” T-Bone said patiently. “Don’t take more than you can handle.”

So at the gentle insistence of T-Bone I tried again. I licked the head and then sucked on it, taking him further into my mouth very slowly. I managed as much of it as I had done previously, except when I felt him hit the back of my throat, I didn’t try to take any more of him. I felt my gag reflex start to relax around him as the need to gag and choke diminished. It’s not so bad , I thought, not so bad at all . When I was used to having something that big in my mouth, I started very gently bobbing my head back and forth, my tongue licking the underside of his dick.

I was very aware of my teeth, and every now and then I felt them grazing and scraping along his dick, which I hoped wasn’t hurting him. A girl bit my dick once, mid-blowjob and it really, really hurts. I just hoped that I wasn’t doing the same to T-Bone. I was amazed at the amount of saliva being produced in my mouth, but it made him easier to take as it offered lubrication. As T-Bone had done I managed to build a rhythm between my mouth and my hands and soon T-Bone was breathing loudly and moaning.

I was able to recognize the signs of T-Bone’s impending orgasm as his dick twitched in my mouth. I mentally prepared myself for the outcome, somehow knowing that he would have rather a large load for me. I was correct in my assumption when I felt him twitch again and start moaning as he came. Most of it I managed to swallow but a lot of it I missed, though that was quickly remedied as I cleaned him up.

The taste of cum was somehow as I had anticipated it to be- salty with just a slight sweetness, though again, I could think of no immediate comparison for the flavor of it. T-Bone put himself away and straightened up and I realized that I was still hanging free so I too put my dick away.

“That was good,” said T-Bone. I was pleased with his praise and I felt a strange sort of pride. “But be careful of the teeth. A little light nibbling and perhaps a little biting is okay sometimes, but just be careful of them grazing.”

“Okay,” I nodded. I had tried to be very careful of my teeth, but obviously not careful enough.

“Hey,” said T-Bone, picking up on my change in mood. “It was good for a beginner, the teeth thing is just something to think about. You’ll get better with practice,” he said reassuringly. He then chuckled. “I thought you weren’t gay?” he laughed.

“Despite what we just did, I-I don’t think I am,” I answered, stumbling over myself with the initial embarrassment, remembering back to the scene in the bar when I had reproved him for offering to buy me a drink.

“Bisexual,” T-Bone said, nodding.

“How do you know?”

“I can just tell these things about people,” he replied. His decisiveness about people and his ambiguity when answering questions amused and puzzled me at the same time, but I decided then that I liked T-Bone and I could see us having a friendship. I thanked T-Bone and told him that that was just what I needed.

And, like T-Bone said, I did get better with practice. T-Bone left town not long after the drunken night I spent with him, but whenever he’s back in the area, or near to town, he calls to tell me and we meet up and suck each other off. Every time he rings me, he closes with “I thought you weren’t gay?” to which we both end up laughing before he hangs up. I’ve met someone else, another girl named Monica. She doesn’t know about the arrangement that T-Bone and I have, though she does know about my bisexuality. She told me that sometime she’d like to watch me with another guy. I am very much looking forward to it.

Author’s Note: This is my first story written from the perspective of a gay male. I hope I have done the role justice as I tried to capture the confusion and eventual understanding that I am sure all people go through when they question their sexuality. Any feedback on the subject would be more than welcome and gladly appreciated. Check out my other stories, the Jeff and Brianne series, The Holiday, Revenge Affair, Another Revenge Affair, Lesbifriends, Lesbinaughty, Our Little Secret, Love Nest, Paradise lost & found, Misfit Love, The Bachelor Party, After-hours Antics, La prisonnièr Francais and Mrs Malcolm. Check out my profile also!