| Chapter 11 |
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It was a room high above the city, an island of space and time where five men planned
to give themselves over to the mysteries ingrained in the womb. In their hearts they
had become brothers—within the privacy of four walls they were five nervous men on
the threshold of an age-old fantasy. Together in secrecy they would explore the
compatibility of their minds and bodies, knowing very little of each other, yet more than
the rest of the world would ever know.
The first to arrive at the hotel, Tim rented the room. One by one they dialed his cell
phone from the lobby, and he let them in when they knocked on the door. The last to
arrive, James took a chair near the window that overlooked the downtown skyline.
They sat around the room in skittish knots, the world that would condemn them locked
beyond a bolted door. They were a collection of sweaty palms and bodies comprised
of identical poetry, of minds filled with doubt and adventure; five men standing shoulder-
to-shoulder, trying to cast off their guilt on a road with no clear horizon.
From his armchair, his head back, his hands folded in his lap, Jorge thought back to
his days in the Navy. He had lived among men and been among them naked in the
showers. His thoughts then had taken him to places he could never venture. Tonight,
he would find himself among naked men again, only this time with a collective new
promise. They were men at one with firm male shapes and masculine smells and less
common urges that, to them, seemed natural. Jorge had thought about his new
companions all week, letting his mind take him to that familiar realm of unrealized
dreams. Now he was here in their midst, a fraternity where his secrets and
perspectives were welcome, and where the dreams could very well materialize into
something real.
Jake sat nervously on the edge of the bed. He still felt self-conscious, especially now,
sitting in the intimacy of a hotel room among four handsome, well-shaped men. He had
started a new diet the very day he met them, found the rowing machine and dusted it
off. It didn’t matter his wife had made a few amusing comments about his attempt at a
few sit-ups before going to bed that night. Everything had changed. Oh, they made
him feel good about himself, not only about being a man, but being a man whose soul,
in part, lived in the shadows. He believed with all of his heart that they were sincere,
that they were who they appeared to be and would accept his masculinity as like their
own.
James had battled the nettlesome logic of his thoughts all day. Tripped up with
concern over what they had gotten themselves into, he had warred with himself since
dawn: the lies, the fear of getting caught, the setting himself apart from the general
brotherhood of men—thoughts diluted by mental images of nude men and the heat that
lived every minute of every day in the palms of his hands. Now uncertain of what to
expect, he sat with his back to the glittering lights of the city, one among five nervous
men who had gathered to shed light on their secrets and reveal their innermost
thoughts. Now was the time, he realized, to relax and seek peace with his demons.
David sat in the chair between Jorge and James. Observing the body language in the
room, he had not expected the conflicting and nearly overwhelming emotions of
euphoria and doubt. Being hidden away with these men was more trying than he had
expected. How different they were from each other: their backgrounds, their
aspirations, even the color of their skin. Yet they were the same, in that the riddle of
their genes compelled them to be here. Still, underneath the anxiousness and tension,
forever struggling to hold its own against guilt, was the calm down deep inside. He
looked at Tim, boyishly innocent and full of life; there was a gleam in his eyes and a
curious smile as he surveyed his new companions. Resting against the chair back,
David watched the young man, anticipating the notions he likely brought to the room.
Leaning against the dresser, Tim was the calmest of the five. Head tilted sideways,
eyes shifting from man to man, he realized the group needed a leader. He had come
prepared. He got to his feet and stepped from one man to the next, stroking each face,
lending reassurance through his fingertips. He felt their eyes follow him to the center of
the room, where he scanned their faces and stood with his weight on one leg. “If
there's no objections, I have a thought on how to proceed,” he said.
David directed a statement to Jorge and Jake. “Pay heed, gentlemen. If Tim has
something on his mind, you’ll not want to miss what it is.”
Tim smiled. “Okay, then,” he said, removing his shirt and tossing it across the room.
“When I was a boy I used to daydream. I already knew I liked looking at other boys. I
wondered what it would be like to be a free spirit. No physical mass; just a
consciousness that’s suddenly been given a human body to occupy. Can you imagine
the wonders the spirit is destined to discover?”
No one spoke. Ready and willing to turn the reins over to Tim, they sat silently as his
presence created a calming effect. They watched him take a few deep breaths and
close his eyes. His expression distanced him, as if he were suddenly alone in a
private realm of fantasy. He looked down, surprised then delighted by the discovery
his lean willowy body. First he looked at the hands, turning them this way and that,
marveling at how the fingers opened and closed. As if to discover the sense of touch,
he let them glide over his thin, near hairless torso, moving on to the jeans, toying with
the waistband and the zipper, realizing they could be removed. And with childlike
curiosity, he tugged at them and pulled at the belt and found it could be unbuckled, all
the while charging the air with his fluid movements and sensuality.
Down his legs went the jeans and his gaze rested on the white cotton briefs. Intrigued
by the presence of a bulge, he pushed at it as if to determine what it might be. He sat
on the floor, removed the sandals, then pulled the jeans over one foot at a time,
seemingly delighted this freed his legs of the unwanted clothing. Then a caress, his
hands moving slowly up his legs, fingers brushing lightly over the fine blond hairs, which
brought his attention back to the bulge. Tilting his head from side-to-side, his eyes
filled with wonder as he pushed it together between his palms, and his face lit with an
altogether new kind of sensation. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and let out a
slow breath, bracing himself with one hand and lifting his hips to lower the briefs.
David leaned forward in his chair, unable to relax with such an erotic visual close
enough to reach out and touch. He had not imagined anything like this, nor had he ever
seen a man so remarkably attuned to his own body; it delighted him to see the
workings of Tim’s mind unfold. He sat spellbound by the pull and flex of Tim’s sinewy
muscle, the symmetry of his shoulders and chest, his narrow hips, his long willowy legs,
not to mention his unique, almost adorable penis, which yielded, as he well
remembered, such a sweet aphrodisia.
David wondered, under these circumstances, how Tim managed to avoid an erection;
giving rise to the question whether a man looked more sensual soft or erect, a question
he had never pondered. With his lingering gaze he realized the beguiling effect of
seeing Tim soft. Yes ... soft, to be sure, for visual affect anyway, the color slightly
darker than the rest of the body, the bobble and sway; a subtle anomaly between a
man’s legs that drew one’s eyes to that part of his body. Soft, yes—the pure and
disarming allure of a man free of distraction. Erect meant business that needed
tending.
Tim got to his knees, his legs parted, drawing eyes to a pair of egg-shapes hanging
low in a fleshy pink sac. His hand slapped at them playfully, squeezed and pulled, then
found its way back through his legs into the shadowy crease. A single finger found an
irregularity in the flesh, exploring, teasing, learning the pleasures of another unexpected
find. He leaned forward and rested the side of his face on the floor and, during a slow
sensual caress, discovered the tip of the finger could be pushed in.
When he lifted his head, his eyes rested on James and he stood and approached him.
One by one, as chilled air fell over skin muted by shadows and soft light, he began to
undress them. First James, then David, and after David, his eyes settled on Jorge. Off
first came the silk shirt, which had covered a broad chest darkened by black hair. On
his knees Tim heard a sigh as the slacks slid down muscular brown legs, exposing a
large silhouette confined within a pair white briefs. No sooner than Tim pulled them
down, the dark cock put forth its bold length. Then, as Jorge nervously stepped out of
the briefs, Tim tilted his head toward David and James and smiled, their eyes fixed
and wide with disbelief, their anticipation put to rest.
Then Tim looked at Jake. He smiled and extended his hand. Breathing heavily, Jake
got to his feet and stepped forward, his underarms damp, his eyes closed as Tim
undressed him. He soon stood naked, his belly a testament to fine food, his white legs
threatening to buckle.
Tim turned down the bedding, climbed on the bed and positioned himself on his knees
facing Jake, patting the edge of the mattress; and Jake was glad to sit down. From
behind, Tim stroked his thinning hair and reached through his arms to knead his
malleable chest, muscle undefined by years of neglect. He leaned close and his warm
breath fell upon Jake’s ear. “I have something in mind for you,” he whispered.
Quietly they watched, directed by Tim, heedless of yesterday or tomorrow. They
understood what was to happen, eyes glancing at each other, hearts pounding and
tongues wetting lips. Steeped in need and breathing air scented with smell of men,
they filled the room with a humidity of sweat and unhindered passion as they positioned
themselves one by one between Jake’s legs. And Jake, lost on the sensations inside,
tightened his gluteal muscle on each man’s last desperate thrusts. Finally Jorge
stepped forward; and Jake, stretched and gaping, lifted his legs as he lay gratified
atop the damp sheet, his arms splayed, his face calm and complacent. Then its
predictable end and Jorge crawled over Jake’s tranquil body and collapsed.
Their energy drawn down, their bodies mellow and damp, they lay sprawled across the
bed as human remnants of an all male orgy, different than when they began, sharing, as
they were, the exhausted aftermath of a man’s capacity for another man. No one
spoke. Instead, they lay this way and that on the over-size bed, the smells of their
bodies mingled, their thoughts drifting like fall leaves on a slow moving stream.
Contemplating these first few steps of his journey, David’s eyes rested on Tim. Within
this small realm of men and emotion, the young blond had given over a remarkable
fantasy—the magic of his imagination promised to be an unending wonder. Through
Tim, their common thread, it was five parts equals the whole, five men joined by
mankind’s most primal urges. The acts David had participated in, the unsweetened air
flowing into his nostrils, the masculine flesh patterned with hair, to be sure were a part
of him, despite the perils of a restless mind, despite the guilt. It would take time to
reconcile the conflicts inside his head, to weigh the impact of this decision on the rest
of his life.
James spoke. “Are there men who don’t secretly yearn for something like this?
Scrape away the façade and the bluster and all the years of brainwashing, you’ll find a
man that doesn’t have to deny what he’s thinking.”
“It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” said Jorge. The frustration of many years of coping was in his
voice. “It doesn’t matter how compelling it might be. Men should be men we’re told.
We’re held to task from the moment we’re born. Finding another man sexually
attractive is anathema. No wonder we channel our energy toward material gain. We’re
told be strong, to abandon our emotional needs. Emotional needs are women’s
territory. So we live by codes conceived by autocrats. It’s not easy to come out
against such powerful tyrants.”
“We did,” said Tim.
“But look at how difficult it was to make the decision,” said David.
Jorge sat up and folded his legs. “Yes, it was difficult for me. But I longed to know men
like you. I longed to be myself without pretending. And tonight I didn’t have to.”
James was staring at the ceiling. “Who’s right—me and the way I am, us, or the
majority who say it’s unnatural? Why can’t we be who we are without feeling guilty?”
Still on his back, Tim reached back and squeezed James’s calf. “You’ll drive yourself
crazy trying to figure that one out. All I know is I feel lucky. More enlightened than most
men I meet. I have something they don’t. A perception they’ll never understand. I’ve
dreamed about it. Tonight I’ve experienced it. It’s part of what makes up the essence
of life. I pity those who seek happiness and self-worth in expensive cars, or over-
priced suits, or a pocket full of credit cards. They’ll never learn a superficial existence
can’t provide pure joy.”
“That’s because you understand life on its simplest terms,” said David. “You see things
as intended.”
Jorge was thinking about his past relationship. His eyes shifted between his new
companions before he spoke. “I realized something the other day. It dawned on me
shortly after we first met. My relationship with Peter was flawed. What I thought was
love was nothing more than mutual dependence. Each of us here shares the same
need for friendship. We’ve assumed the same risk and have similar goals. It wasn’t
so with Peter. He had simply attached himself to me to make his existence possible.
As it turns out, I’ve joined you as a man who hasn’t had the true experience of being
loved by a man. I’ve only identified the need.”
David sat up and looked at Jake, who remained prone while listening to the others. He
ran his hand over Jake’s belly. “I bet you have a new perspective, too.”
Jake shifted his weight to his elbow and glanced at the men looking at him. “Why didn't
I know you guys twenty years ago?” He rubbed the side of his nose. “I had a dream
once, about several men. It’s been a fantasy ever since.” He looked at Tim. “You must
have read my mind.”
Tim smiled. “Just had a feeling.”
“Ever thought about asking your wife to strap on a dildo?” James asked.
Jake turned his head. “You kidding!”
“Of course I am.”
Jake looked down at the sheet with an afterthought. “Be interesting, though.”
Jorge laughed. “Ah, a women who takes pleasure in ramming her man with a dildo.
Where does one find a woman like that? Problem is, as much as you might want her
to, you worry about what she’d think.”
“Maybe women are more open minded than we realize.”
“Some of um’ maybe.”
“I don’t know. I’d worry she’d wonder why I want to be fucked in the ass by a fake dick.”
“Because it feels good.”
“Yeah, sure. Have you told your wife that?”
“I think we choose the woman we want to marry for her feminine slant,” said Jorge.
“Her sexual prowess is secondary. I’ve always believed a woman with a man’s sexual
perspective probably lacks the important things we look for in a wife. We want to
protect them, to cherish the softer nuances they bring to our lives. Balance is her
appeal. The dominatrix with a dildo most likely has no balance at all.”
“I disagree,” Tim said. “I bet most women would be willing to do it, despite their
preconceived notions.”
“Would Rosemary do it?” David asked.
“I never asked.”
“Maybe we don’t know our wives as well as we should, their deep down, darkest little
secrets.”
“Some of Linda’s have been seeping out lately.”
“And Shasha’s”
Jake got up off the bed. “I’ll be right back.” He started for the bathroom.
Watching him, James was thinking about Shasha. “I don’t know. My wife is pretty
adventurous. I bet she’d strap on a dildo.”
“Would you want her to,” Tim wanted to know.
James thought for a moment and then looked up. “Yeah. I would.”
“How about you, Jorge?”
“If Michelle would strap on a dildo, I’d probably play poker with her on Thursday nights.”
David got off the bed and went over to sit by the table. The plate glass window was to
his back. “It’s still not a man,” he said thoughtfully. He drew up his knee and rested his
heel on the lip of the chair and clasped his fingers around his shin. “Anyway, how
would you bring it up? Linda would think I’m turning queer.”
“Maybe he’s right,” James put in. “Wives want macho husbands. I’d love it, but a
rubber dick is no substitute for the mental connection. Like this ... being here with you
guys. We think alike. No facades. No one sitting in judgment.”
David added: “It’s not that we don’t like being married. None of us are complaining
about their sex life at home, even if it’s governed by a woman’s sensibilities. That’s not
why we’re here. A woman doesn’t smell or think like a man.”
There was a short silence. David peered across the room in thought. What he was
feeling confirmed it wasn’t the sex, though certainly the sex addressed the surface
question. It was being with these men, sitting with them, intimately, in the privacy of the
room, voicing his thoughts and hearing theirs and enjoying the feel of his bare skin with
other nude men.
“I have a theory,” Tim said. “We’re programmed for sex. We have these organs
dangling between our legs, reminding us of it constantly. I think bisexuality is nature’s
way to provide straight men with an alternative sexual release.”
“Not according to society’s moral code,” James said.
“It makes sense though. How many guys get married because they’re convinced its
love instead of lust? They don’t want to sleep alone. But if a guy’s sleeping with his
buddy, he could focus on getting to know a woman instead of his urges. Could prevent
a few hasty marriages that end in divorce.”
“Could prevent a few marriages, period,” Jorge said, sitting on the corner of the bed.
“I’m serious,” Tim said. “If a man has a way to deal with his sex-drive he could focus on
dating women he’d like to get to know, instead of those he wants to take to bed.”
“No matter how you explain it,” James said, “it’s part of human nature. Has been down
through the ages. Men use to go off into the woods together when their wives were
tired of having babies. History is full of it. The Olympics originated for men to compete
with each other in the nude. You can imagine what went on in the locker rooms.”
“I wonder what happened,” said David. “It’ll never be condoned in this day and age.
Now it’s called perversion.”
Tim objected. “Why do they call it perversion? We don’t ache to have our ass
pounded as a matter of choice. We don’t suck a man’s dick because it tastes good.
We do it because we’re drawn to it. So what if it can’t be explained? It’s the same
instinct as a man’s desire to lay with a woman. I’m just grateful it’s part of who I am.”
Jake returned and handed out a couple of towels. They were used and passed
around. He sat down on the opposite side of the table from David. “I’m a little sore.”
“Blame that on Jorge,” David said.
“Sorry, Jake, if I got carried away.”
Jake shifted his weight. “No. No apology necessary. Actually, I wouldn’t trade the last
hour for a year free of complaining customers.”
“You must live, eat and breathe the restaurant business,” David said.
“Not tonight.”
“Well, no, not tonight. Tim saw to that.”
James leaned back against the headboard and clasped his fingers behind his head.
He nudged Tim with his foot. “How do you come up with stuff like that?”
“You mean the fantasy?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m an exhibitionist.”
“Good thing for us. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Jorge reached for Tim’s hand. He took it up and examined the calloused palm. “It got
me how you undressed us one at a time.”
Tim sat up. His blond legs crossed, he contemplated the company of four nude men,
his lovers. He looked around. The sheet was damp and crumpled. Clothes lay in
various piles on the floor. City lights flickered beyond the window. A soft glow of light
fell across the floor from the bathroom. He looked down at his own body, noting its
contrast to the men lounging quietly around him, and he sighed.
to give themselves over to the mysteries ingrained in the womb. In their hearts they
had become brothers—within the privacy of four walls they were five nervous men on
the threshold of an age-old fantasy. Together in secrecy they would explore the
compatibility of their minds and bodies, knowing very little of each other, yet more than
the rest of the world would ever know.
The first to arrive at the hotel, Tim rented the room. One by one they dialed his cell
phone from the lobby, and he let them in when they knocked on the door. The last to
arrive, James took a chair near the window that overlooked the downtown skyline.
They sat around the room in skittish knots, the world that would condemn them locked
beyond a bolted door. They were a collection of sweaty palms and bodies comprised
of identical poetry, of minds filled with doubt and adventure; five men standing shoulder-
to-shoulder, trying to cast off their guilt on a road with no clear horizon.
From his armchair, his head back, his hands folded in his lap, Jorge thought back to
his days in the Navy. He had lived among men and been among them naked in the
showers. His thoughts then had taken him to places he could never venture. Tonight,
he would find himself among naked men again, only this time with a collective new
promise. They were men at one with firm male shapes and masculine smells and less
common urges that, to them, seemed natural. Jorge had thought about his new
companions all week, letting his mind take him to that familiar realm of unrealized
dreams. Now he was here in their midst, a fraternity where his secrets and
perspectives were welcome, and where the dreams could very well materialize into
something real.
Jake sat nervously on the edge of the bed. He still felt self-conscious, especially now,
sitting in the intimacy of a hotel room among four handsome, well-shaped men. He had
started a new diet the very day he met them, found the rowing machine and dusted it
off. It didn’t matter his wife had made a few amusing comments about his attempt at a
few sit-ups before going to bed that night. Everything had changed. Oh, they made
him feel good about himself, not only about being a man, but being a man whose soul,
in part, lived in the shadows. He believed with all of his heart that they were sincere,
that they were who they appeared to be and would accept his masculinity as like their
own.
James had battled the nettlesome logic of his thoughts all day. Tripped up with
concern over what they had gotten themselves into, he had warred with himself since
dawn: the lies, the fear of getting caught, the setting himself apart from the general
brotherhood of men—thoughts diluted by mental images of nude men and the heat that
lived every minute of every day in the palms of his hands. Now uncertain of what to
expect, he sat with his back to the glittering lights of the city, one among five nervous
men who had gathered to shed light on their secrets and reveal their innermost
thoughts. Now was the time, he realized, to relax and seek peace with his demons.
David sat in the chair between Jorge and James. Observing the body language in the
room, he had not expected the conflicting and nearly overwhelming emotions of
euphoria and doubt. Being hidden away with these men was more trying than he had
expected. How different they were from each other: their backgrounds, their
aspirations, even the color of their skin. Yet they were the same, in that the riddle of
their genes compelled them to be here. Still, underneath the anxiousness and tension,
forever struggling to hold its own against guilt, was the calm down deep inside. He
looked at Tim, boyishly innocent and full of life; there was a gleam in his eyes and a
curious smile as he surveyed his new companions. Resting against the chair back,
David watched the young man, anticipating the notions he likely brought to the room.
Leaning against the dresser, Tim was the calmest of the five. Head tilted sideways,
eyes shifting from man to man, he realized the group needed a leader. He had come
prepared. He got to his feet and stepped from one man to the next, stroking each face,
lending reassurance through his fingertips. He felt their eyes follow him to the center of
the room, where he scanned their faces and stood with his weight on one leg. “If
there's no objections, I have a thought on how to proceed,” he said.
David directed a statement to Jorge and Jake. “Pay heed, gentlemen. If Tim has
something on his mind, you’ll not want to miss what it is.”
Tim smiled. “Okay, then,” he said, removing his shirt and tossing it across the room.
“When I was a boy I used to daydream. I already knew I liked looking at other boys. I
wondered what it would be like to be a free spirit. No physical mass; just a
consciousness that’s suddenly been given a human body to occupy. Can you imagine
the wonders the spirit is destined to discover?”
No one spoke. Ready and willing to turn the reins over to Tim, they sat silently as his
presence created a calming effect. They watched him take a few deep breaths and
close his eyes. His expression distanced him, as if he were suddenly alone in a
private realm of fantasy. He looked down, surprised then delighted by the discovery
his lean willowy body. First he looked at the hands, turning them this way and that,
marveling at how the fingers opened and closed. As if to discover the sense of touch,
he let them glide over his thin, near hairless torso, moving on to the jeans, toying with
the waistband and the zipper, realizing they could be removed. And with childlike
curiosity, he tugged at them and pulled at the belt and found it could be unbuckled, all
the while charging the air with his fluid movements and sensuality.
Down his legs went the jeans and his gaze rested on the white cotton briefs. Intrigued
by the presence of a bulge, he pushed at it as if to determine what it might be. He sat
on the floor, removed the sandals, then pulled the jeans over one foot at a time,
seemingly delighted this freed his legs of the unwanted clothing. Then a caress, his
hands moving slowly up his legs, fingers brushing lightly over the fine blond hairs, which
brought his attention back to the bulge. Tilting his head from side-to-side, his eyes
filled with wonder as he pushed it together between his palms, and his face lit with an
altogether new kind of sensation. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and let out a
slow breath, bracing himself with one hand and lifting his hips to lower the briefs.
David leaned forward in his chair, unable to relax with such an erotic visual close
enough to reach out and touch. He had not imagined anything like this, nor had he ever
seen a man so remarkably attuned to his own body; it delighted him to see the
workings of Tim’s mind unfold. He sat spellbound by the pull and flex of Tim’s sinewy
muscle, the symmetry of his shoulders and chest, his narrow hips, his long willowy legs,
not to mention his unique, almost adorable penis, which yielded, as he well
remembered, such a sweet aphrodisia.
David wondered, under these circumstances, how Tim managed to avoid an erection;
giving rise to the question whether a man looked more sensual soft or erect, a question
he had never pondered. With his lingering gaze he realized the beguiling effect of
seeing Tim soft. Yes ... soft, to be sure, for visual affect anyway, the color slightly
darker than the rest of the body, the bobble and sway; a subtle anomaly between a
man’s legs that drew one’s eyes to that part of his body. Soft, yes—the pure and
disarming allure of a man free of distraction. Erect meant business that needed
tending.
Tim got to his knees, his legs parted, drawing eyes to a pair of egg-shapes hanging
low in a fleshy pink sac. His hand slapped at them playfully, squeezed and pulled, then
found its way back through his legs into the shadowy crease. A single finger found an
irregularity in the flesh, exploring, teasing, learning the pleasures of another unexpected
find. He leaned forward and rested the side of his face on the floor and, during a slow
sensual caress, discovered the tip of the finger could be pushed in.
When he lifted his head, his eyes rested on James and he stood and approached him.
One by one, as chilled air fell over skin muted by shadows and soft light, he began to
undress them. First James, then David, and after David, his eyes settled on Jorge. Off
first came the silk shirt, which had covered a broad chest darkened by black hair. On
his knees Tim heard a sigh as the slacks slid down muscular brown legs, exposing a
large silhouette confined within a pair white briefs. No sooner than Tim pulled them
down, the dark cock put forth its bold length. Then, as Jorge nervously stepped out of
the briefs, Tim tilted his head toward David and James and smiled, their eyes fixed
and wide with disbelief, their anticipation put to rest.
Then Tim looked at Jake. He smiled and extended his hand. Breathing heavily, Jake
got to his feet and stepped forward, his underarms damp, his eyes closed as Tim
undressed him. He soon stood naked, his belly a testament to fine food, his white legs
threatening to buckle.
Tim turned down the bedding, climbed on the bed and positioned himself on his knees
facing Jake, patting the edge of the mattress; and Jake was glad to sit down. From
behind, Tim stroked his thinning hair and reached through his arms to knead his
malleable chest, muscle undefined by years of neglect. He leaned close and his warm
breath fell upon Jake’s ear. “I have something in mind for you,” he whispered.
Quietly they watched, directed by Tim, heedless of yesterday or tomorrow. They
understood what was to happen, eyes glancing at each other, hearts pounding and
tongues wetting lips. Steeped in need and breathing air scented with smell of men,
they filled the room with a humidity of sweat and unhindered passion as they positioned
themselves one by one between Jake’s legs. And Jake, lost on the sensations inside,
tightened his gluteal muscle on each man’s last desperate thrusts. Finally Jorge
stepped forward; and Jake, stretched and gaping, lifted his legs as he lay gratified
atop the damp sheet, his arms splayed, his face calm and complacent. Then its
predictable end and Jorge crawled over Jake’s tranquil body and collapsed.
Their energy drawn down, their bodies mellow and damp, they lay sprawled across the
bed as human remnants of an all male orgy, different than when they began, sharing, as
they were, the exhausted aftermath of a man’s capacity for another man. No one
spoke. Instead, they lay this way and that on the over-size bed, the smells of their
bodies mingled, their thoughts drifting like fall leaves on a slow moving stream.
Contemplating these first few steps of his journey, David’s eyes rested on Tim. Within
this small realm of men and emotion, the young blond had given over a remarkable
fantasy—the magic of his imagination promised to be an unending wonder. Through
Tim, their common thread, it was five parts equals the whole, five men joined by
mankind’s most primal urges. The acts David had participated in, the unsweetened air
flowing into his nostrils, the masculine flesh patterned with hair, to be sure were a part
of him, despite the perils of a restless mind, despite the guilt. It would take time to
reconcile the conflicts inside his head, to weigh the impact of this decision on the rest
of his life.
James spoke. “Are there men who don’t secretly yearn for something like this?
Scrape away the façade and the bluster and all the years of brainwashing, you’ll find a
man that doesn’t have to deny what he’s thinking.”
“It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” said Jorge. The frustration of many years of coping was in his
voice. “It doesn’t matter how compelling it might be. Men should be men we’re told.
We’re held to task from the moment we’re born. Finding another man sexually
attractive is anathema. No wonder we channel our energy toward material gain. We’re
told be strong, to abandon our emotional needs. Emotional needs are women’s
territory. So we live by codes conceived by autocrats. It’s not easy to come out
against such powerful tyrants.”
“We did,” said Tim.
“But look at how difficult it was to make the decision,” said David.
Jorge sat up and folded his legs. “Yes, it was difficult for me. But I longed to know men
like you. I longed to be myself without pretending. And tonight I didn’t have to.”
James was staring at the ceiling. “Who’s right—me and the way I am, us, or the
majority who say it’s unnatural? Why can’t we be who we are without feeling guilty?”
Still on his back, Tim reached back and squeezed James’s calf. “You’ll drive yourself
crazy trying to figure that one out. All I know is I feel lucky. More enlightened than most
men I meet. I have something they don’t. A perception they’ll never understand. I’ve
dreamed about it. Tonight I’ve experienced it. It’s part of what makes up the essence
of life. I pity those who seek happiness and self-worth in expensive cars, or over-
priced suits, or a pocket full of credit cards. They’ll never learn a superficial existence
can’t provide pure joy.”
“That’s because you understand life on its simplest terms,” said David. “You see things
as intended.”
Jorge was thinking about his past relationship. His eyes shifted between his new
companions before he spoke. “I realized something the other day. It dawned on me
shortly after we first met. My relationship with Peter was flawed. What I thought was
love was nothing more than mutual dependence. Each of us here shares the same
need for friendship. We’ve assumed the same risk and have similar goals. It wasn’t
so with Peter. He had simply attached himself to me to make his existence possible.
As it turns out, I’ve joined you as a man who hasn’t had the true experience of being
loved by a man. I’ve only identified the need.”
David sat up and looked at Jake, who remained prone while listening to the others. He
ran his hand over Jake’s belly. “I bet you have a new perspective, too.”
Jake shifted his weight to his elbow and glanced at the men looking at him. “Why didn't
I know you guys twenty years ago?” He rubbed the side of his nose. “I had a dream
once, about several men. It’s been a fantasy ever since.” He looked at Tim. “You must
have read my mind.”
Tim smiled. “Just had a feeling.”
“Ever thought about asking your wife to strap on a dildo?” James asked.
Jake turned his head. “You kidding!”
“Of course I am.”
Jake looked down at the sheet with an afterthought. “Be interesting, though.”
Jorge laughed. “Ah, a women who takes pleasure in ramming her man with a dildo.
Where does one find a woman like that? Problem is, as much as you might want her
to, you worry about what she’d think.”
“Maybe women are more open minded than we realize.”
“Some of um’ maybe.”
“I don’t know. I’d worry she’d wonder why I want to be fucked in the ass by a fake dick.”
“Because it feels good.”
“Yeah, sure. Have you told your wife that?”
“I think we choose the woman we want to marry for her feminine slant,” said Jorge.
“Her sexual prowess is secondary. I’ve always believed a woman with a man’s sexual
perspective probably lacks the important things we look for in a wife. We want to
protect them, to cherish the softer nuances they bring to our lives. Balance is her
appeal. The dominatrix with a dildo most likely has no balance at all.”
“I disagree,” Tim said. “I bet most women would be willing to do it, despite their
preconceived notions.”
“Would Rosemary do it?” David asked.
“I never asked.”
“Maybe we don’t know our wives as well as we should, their deep down, darkest little
secrets.”
“Some of Linda’s have been seeping out lately.”
“And Shasha’s”
Jake got up off the bed. “I’ll be right back.” He started for the bathroom.
Watching him, James was thinking about Shasha. “I don’t know. My wife is pretty
adventurous. I bet she’d strap on a dildo.”
“Would you want her to,” Tim wanted to know.
James thought for a moment and then looked up. “Yeah. I would.”
“How about you, Jorge?”
“If Michelle would strap on a dildo, I’d probably play poker with her on Thursday nights.”
David got off the bed and went over to sit by the table. The plate glass window was to
his back. “It’s still not a man,” he said thoughtfully. He drew up his knee and rested his
heel on the lip of the chair and clasped his fingers around his shin. “Anyway, how
would you bring it up? Linda would think I’m turning queer.”
“Maybe he’s right,” James put in. “Wives want macho husbands. I’d love it, but a
rubber dick is no substitute for the mental connection. Like this ... being here with you
guys. We think alike. No facades. No one sitting in judgment.”
David added: “It’s not that we don’t like being married. None of us are complaining
about their sex life at home, even if it’s governed by a woman’s sensibilities. That’s not
why we’re here. A woman doesn’t smell or think like a man.”
There was a short silence. David peered across the room in thought. What he was
feeling confirmed it wasn’t the sex, though certainly the sex addressed the surface
question. It was being with these men, sitting with them, intimately, in the privacy of the
room, voicing his thoughts and hearing theirs and enjoying the feel of his bare skin with
other nude men.
“I have a theory,” Tim said. “We’re programmed for sex. We have these organs
dangling between our legs, reminding us of it constantly. I think bisexuality is nature’s
way to provide straight men with an alternative sexual release.”
“Not according to society’s moral code,” James said.
“It makes sense though. How many guys get married because they’re convinced its
love instead of lust? They don’t want to sleep alone. But if a guy’s sleeping with his
buddy, he could focus on getting to know a woman instead of his urges. Could prevent
a few hasty marriages that end in divorce.”
“Could prevent a few marriages, period,” Jorge said, sitting on the corner of the bed.
“I’m serious,” Tim said. “If a man has a way to deal with his sex-drive he could focus on
dating women he’d like to get to know, instead of those he wants to take to bed.”
“No matter how you explain it,” James said, “it’s part of human nature. Has been down
through the ages. Men use to go off into the woods together when their wives were
tired of having babies. History is full of it. The Olympics originated for men to compete
with each other in the nude. You can imagine what went on in the locker rooms.”
“I wonder what happened,” said David. “It’ll never be condoned in this day and age.
Now it’s called perversion.”
Tim objected. “Why do they call it perversion? We don’t ache to have our ass
pounded as a matter of choice. We don’t suck a man’s dick because it tastes good.
We do it because we’re drawn to it. So what if it can’t be explained? It’s the same
instinct as a man’s desire to lay with a woman. I’m just grateful it’s part of who I am.”
Jake returned and handed out a couple of towels. They were used and passed
around. He sat down on the opposite side of the table from David. “I’m a little sore.”
“Blame that on Jorge,” David said.
“Sorry, Jake, if I got carried away.”
Jake shifted his weight. “No. No apology necessary. Actually, I wouldn’t trade the last
hour for a year free of complaining customers.”
“You must live, eat and breathe the restaurant business,” David said.
“Not tonight.”
“Well, no, not tonight. Tim saw to that.”
James leaned back against the headboard and clasped his fingers behind his head.
He nudged Tim with his foot. “How do you come up with stuff like that?”
“You mean the fantasy?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m an exhibitionist.”
“Good thing for us. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Jorge reached for Tim’s hand. He took it up and examined the calloused palm. “It got
me how you undressed us one at a time.”
Tim sat up. His blond legs crossed, he contemplated the company of four nude men,
his lovers. He looked around. The sheet was damp and crumpled. Clothes lay in
various piles on the floor. City lights flickered beyond the window. A soft glow of light
fell across the floor from the bathroom. He looked down at his own body, noting its
contrast to the men lounging quietly around him, and he sighed.
