When man wants a man

Friday, March 25, 2011

In a perfectly squared private room, the touch of his hand and just two of us; everything flashes back again. Nervous and shivered I laid on the bed that I did not mind the door half closed. As he told me to lie on the bed and open up the most secret part of my body I went into the state of torpor. From the room next door I could imagine the beautiful girls giggling or talking to some males and I could little wonder what state I would be in if one of them was in his place. But some experiences however weird and unusual they might seem become one of the most memorable moments in lives.

This was not planned. Or did not even in my normal conscience have thought I would be confronting with a male. Not even while I got boozed every evening. If I thought it during sober state, it could have been the radical idea I immediately felt yuck of it. But that is life, things falling in place when they have to and it was my turn though I did not feel the chosen one.

Everything was normal until 29 years; regular job, athletic, booze and flings. Of course I am a heterosexual, gladly involved in finite numbers and yet to add many in the coming years. I have a fair deal of hobbies that include games, scrabbling, drinking and boozing. I wonder if the last two can qualify to be hobbies but they have more impacts in my life than games and reading. Ultimately I found myself drinking everyday and all other hobbies seem to be inclusive in it and the pattern of thoughts started to change. The most prominent being the touch from a man. It starts to worry me though his hands were soft. Perhaps not as soft as any woman that touched me in the same area.

I did not wear cologne because that was not in my mind. Women did not mind it before. I realized he did not mind it either. Of course I had least idea it would be him and not her. Being a man, I expected a woman and went pretty clean myself. I still feel nervous to meet new people and I was nervous that day too. When such assortment of feelings ran in my spine, I felt like a donkey ready to winch up on the table and drip plentiful of sedative drug. It was a no returning point. Every experience begins from first time. Choice or not, I obliged to his words which hit my eardrums from a far-off land.

“Get on the bed,” he said without a tinge of inexperienced tone.

“Yes sir,” I muttered.

He prepared the latex with his hands. It was the time to frighten me up. The way he threw the cover into the bin and prepared himself for protection had me think how many times he did it in his life. As I wanted he spoke less. I wondered whether he talked less with the women on that bed. I talked more but not on his bed. A donkey does not talk.

I closed my eyes and turned towards the wall. I have shown him the most unimaginable but important part of me. From his position where he stood beside the bed, it could have been the best for him. He took good time before those big hands mould my skin.

And now this memory is reliving itself after many months. I can still hear his voice, imagine the bed, the girls giggling outside and of course the exposure incident and his touch.

The thought is sickening me. I have even caught fever. I am no more interested with my hobbies. With alcohol every evening, it has dominated every other likes. Some likes were so dear to me. I loathe alcohol more than anything. I want to read the books again, want to play games and become a normal twenty nine years old than seventy nine accepting the end to come anytime.

But priority seeks first. I have to meet him. Somehow I feel he will ask the question on my diet out of many questions in the world. May be that is his priority question mandated to ask. I don’t mind. I will lie down on his bed and once more show him my buttock, the swollen piles dangling from the rectum. I only wish it is not the female doctor. Otherwise this donkey is going to die.


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