*Gay Sex: Older & Young men*

LETTER 1: NOEL

Dear Hans,

I can’t believe I haven’t written you a proper letter since last month. I’ve guess I just been too busy to write these days.

Well, I still have lots more work to do, of course, but now I can take a breather, but just for a moment. We shouldn’t ever abandon our friendships. We rely on each other’s emotional support since not many folks in the big old world out there is gonna support us.

I know I always give you too many English words to read Hans, but since we always talk about the stuff of our everyday life, I have to tell you about something intresting that’s happening in mine right now. As you know, it’s always easier for me to write about these personal experinces in the form of a story. It makes me feel less self-conscious I guess. This way I can also communicate what I feel more vividly.

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It was early afternoon and usually dry Southern California was unusually wet. The rain was coming down as hard as Tim could remember in his 25 years. “Why,” he asked himself, “am I out in this. But he was completely out of cigarettes and that’s why he was driving down the boulevard. As he pulled into a mini-mall parking lot, he saw a young boy standing on the curb. The boy was soaked from head to toe. Tim pulled into a parking space in front of the boy and hoisted his umbrella out from under the seat of his car. He carefully got out of the car, opening the umbrella as he did so. He glanced at the pathetic kid who was shivering uncontrollably. In the downpour, he moved over to the youngster and asked

“Why are you out in this rain?”

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I am a Caucasian, Bi, male. In my late 40’s. I love women, but, while I’m not particularly attracted to men per se, I have a passion for sucking cock (by the way, I keep that part of my life very secret. Which is why I’m not going to be using any real names in this story).

I’ve had many male to male encounters in my lifetime. Although, with the onset of Aides and other STD’s that hang on forever, those encounters have been virtually nonexistent in recent years. I hate the taste of rubber, and although I love to suck cock, I’m not willing to die for it.

Anyway, this story is true and takes place several years ago when I was in my mid teens. I live in a city in Northern Illinois (not Chicago). While it’s classified as a city, it’s actually laid out like an overgrown small town.

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I remember standing in the rain naked, I must have been about six years old, no I was seven. I remember I had just started first grade, my birthday being in September so I had to wait an extra year to start school. I saw him at the window, he was watching me. He came out after a few minutes and picked me up and carried me into the house. He was my step-dad but all I ever called him was John. My mom had married him when I was four and he was really the only dad I had ever known, but I wouldn’t call him dad. That name was reserved for my real dad. My real dad had died when I was three years old. I would like to say I remember a lot about him, but the truth is…I don’t. I do have bits and pieces of memories, like him holding me up on his shoulders so I could see Santa Claus in the parade. Stuff like that, but I don’t even remember what his voice sounded like or what he looked like. Oh, sure I’ve seen his face in pictures, but truthfully if mom hadn’t told me that was him, I would have never known it. John carried me into the house and into his room.

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The first burst of freedom any boy gets is that bike his dad gets him. And like most normal families my dad got me a full 26 inch (bike, although it would be interesting to see one). At the age of 12 I used it like the car you have now. I went everywhere and never was without it. I loved that bike, a three speed “English Raleigh” that he got on a trip to England. It was like the ones you see in the British pictures. The bike and I were inseparable. It would be five years before I would drive a car and that bike took me from a scrawny kid of twelve to a well developed man.

I had, and still do, good legs and it help give my ass that nice bubble shape gay guys love so well. From using the bike I got into the track team in high school. I ran the 880 and 440 yard races. Not bad times either. By the time high school came around I knew every part of Brunswick, Maine blindfolded. About that time I could stay out till after dark because of my advancing age. I would ride all over and spend time riding the campus of Bowdoin Collage, an Ivy League school that at that time was just boys. The high school used the college track and field house as well as the pool for the swim team so I started spending evenings there after dark. Riding home through the campus was how a nice boy started to learn that college-age guys can be a sexual turn on. I also would learn more at that college about life and myself then any place I’ve ever been before or since.

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