Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Cheating as a hobby...like golf

After the wedding reception, Gabbie and I checked into our honeymoon hotel room at around 11pm. She hadn't eaten all day and was starving. The first thing she wanted to do was to order room service, which we did. She had a grilled cheese sandwich and a soda.

I assumed that sex on my wedding night was certain. I was wrong. As soon as Gabbie told me to order the food she said, "I'm exhausted. My feet are killing me. Can you rub them? I hope you don't care if we don't do it tonight, I'm too tired."

For our honeymoon we spent 10 days travelling in England. We spent time in London, Oxford, the Cottswolds, a few hours in Wales and a lot of time in Cornwall. It was an awesome trip.

The first year of our marriage was peaceful, even uneventful. Most of our social life revolved around Gabbie's friends from college. They all lived near us and we got together with them frequently. The one thing we did with one of my friends was to take a trip to Disneyland with Qais and his boyfriend.

At around our one year anniversary I decided that it was time for me to go back to school and get an MBA. In order to get a better job, I felt I needed it.

Because I had to keep working and we didn't have the money for a private school, my only option was California's State University system. As a public institution it was affordable and easy to get in to mid-year. The closest campus to where we lived was in Hayward, an unremarkable city south of Oakland.

Very early into my first semester I discovered that Cal State Hayward had an active Tea Room scene. A Tea Room, if you are not familiar with the term, is a restroom where men congregate in order to meet other men for sex. Before the Internet, Tea Rooms were very common. Now Craigslist serves the same function, but in a much better, safer way.

I first learned about bathroom sex in high school. I had read about it in some books at the public library and I had seen evidence of it at a local park. Once I got my drivers license I cruised a few Tea Rooms but never had any luck. I was both very shy and very picky; I did not want to be touched or even seen by any disgusting old guys.

Once I knew about the Hayward Tea Room I couldn't stop thinking about it. I expected that it would be unlike any Tea Room I had ever come across because it would be filled with young college guys. The idea of it was a sexual nirvana.

The problem, of course, was the gold ring on my left hand and the vows I had taken only a year before.

For more than two weeks I debated what I should do. If I did what was right by Gabbie, of course I wouldn't go. But what about me? Was it right to deny myself my natural need to enjoy sex with men? If I was going to deny myself, how long should I do it? Til death, of course. Was that possible? Was that what I had agreed to? Would I have gotten married if I realized that I was NEVER going to have sex with a man again?

That's a stupid question, isn't it? OF COURSE I should have thought about it. But I didn't. I was focused on why I should get married, not why I shouldn't. I felt that one part of my personality, being gay, should not take over my entire life. At no time did I consider the possibility that I was killing that one part of myself. No sex...with any man...EVER? I couldn't do it. I knew after one year of marriage that I couldn't do it.

As most cheating men will tell you, there's cheating and there's CHEATING. The difference is whether you cheat with your dick or if you cheat with your dick AND your heart. Cheating with your dick alone doesn't really count, as long as you are safe, because you always know who matters most, your wife.

Besides, is exchanging blow jobs with a guy in a bathroom really cheating? Shouldn't it be considered more of a hobby, like golf?

The Hayward Tea Room was not active at night, when I had my classes. I therefore assumed that it was active during weekdays, probably in the early afternoon when undergraduate classes finished for the day.

My work schedule was such that I seldom had a weekday off. At most, I'd have one or two days off a month. So, within a three month period I had spent only a few hours of a few days in the Hayward Tea Room, hoping to get lucky. But I never did. There was frequently fresh graffiti on the walls with times to meet, so I knew somebody was having sex there. But it wasn't me.

One time I almost got lucky. I unknowingly interrupted two young cruisers who were sharing a romantic 15 minutes together in a handicapped stall. Once they knew that I was more interested in watching them from a distance than I was in arresting them, they ignored me and proceeded to trade blow jobs. I would have liked one of my own but as soon as they finished they left in a hurry.

Pleased that I had at least been in the same room as someone else getting a blow job, I had renewed hopes for the Tea Room. I tried to check in more frequently, even on the weekends when classes were not in session. On one Saturday, around noon, I was surprised to find that someone was sitting quietly in a stall. This was very strange considering that the campus was empty. I was pretty certain that the lurker was a cock sucker but he could also have been a cop; I had to be patient until he made the first move.

My attitude about Tea Room cruising was that my stall was my castle. Once I took possession of it, I owned it. I decided who could put their hand, mouth, ass or dick in my stall. If you wore geezer shoes, your body parts were not permitted in my stall. If you wore jeans or shorts and your legs looked young and athletic, I MIGHT be accommodating. If you banged on my door and wanted to come in, you had damn well better be HOT because I did NOT like to show my face. I called all the shots and I could be as cautious as I wanted; no matter how horny the guy next to me was, he couldn't force me to do anything. Tea Room sex can be chicken-shit sex and chicken-shit sex was EXACTLY the kind of sex I was well-suited for as a young married man.

On this particular Saturday, the guy in the next stall appeared to be an acceptable catch---muscular legs, young looking hands, cool boat shoes with no socks. After the obligatory foot-tapping exchange he showed his wares and I thought FINALLY, I'm going to get some action. What I expected was some under-the-wall jacking with a nice suck-off finale. The dude had other ideas. He motioned for me to join him in his stall. I didn't like that. But he persisted and I reluctantly left the safety of my realm and stood at the door of his. His stall door swung open and standing there was a decent cock attached to a somewhat pudgy and graying 45 year old.

Not what I was expecting!

I felt duped, but committed. We exchanged blow jobs.

It was not a hot encounter nor was it what I was looking for. And yet that first guy was typical of most of the guys that I actually saw in the Hayward Tea Room. My fantasy that there were five or six hot, young college guys camped out in the bathroom waiting for me every day, it turned out, was wrong.

I didn't stop checking in on the Tea Room every once in a while but my enthusiasm for it faded.

For our second anniversary in the Spring of '92 Gabbie and I spent a four day weekend in New York City. It was our first and only trip there. Todd, my best man, had invited us. He had a nice studio in the basement of a brownstone in the Village. It wasn't big but we were thrilled by the invitation. Especially me. While we were in New York, Gabbie arranged for us to visit one of her best friends from college, Dario. I had never met him before but was looking forward to it because he was gay and because Gabbie and Dario had spent a lot of time clubbing together in San Francisco. I expected him to be a great guy and he was. We also met Dario's new boyfriend Matthew, who was originally from Buffalo. I found it interesting and a little surprising that the two of them had met through a personal ad just three weeks before our visit.

While we were in New York we did a few touristy things. Ellis Island, Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Little Italy. But my highlight was the time I got to spend with Todd.

I would never have expected it to be the last time I saw him in person.

Two years later he came to San Francisco with his boyfriend and he called me when they were in town. But we couldn't make our schedules work so we were never able to meet. If he has been to San Francisco since that time he never told me. I haven't been to New York again but if I went, I would call him. We've had some email exchanges in recent years but I think it's safe to say that I am no longer an important person in his life. If we lived nearer each other or had the opportunity to meet more often, I think our friendship would remain strong. But that hasn't happened and the passage of time has created a gap between us.

In spite of the fact that we have hardly interacted in many years I still count him as one of my very best friends.

I must be a complete moron. Or a dreamer. Or most likely, both.

After the regular school year ended in May I knew my chances of finding any young guys at the Hayward Tea Room was very low. Therefore, I did a full restroom search at a nearby community college that held summer classes with the hope that I might find an active Tea Room there. I saw some writing in a few stalls that looked promising, but no active restrooms. I tried again a week or two later, on a Saturday, and was very pleasantly surprised to find three copies of several gay porn magazines tossed across the sink area of one restroom. This was a sweet find because it not only meant that the restroom was active, it also meant that I had just acquired my first three gay porn magazines.

As I looked through my new treasures I realized that I had never thought of going to a porn store to buy similar magazines. I had read a number of steamy gay novels (Edmund White's A Boy's Own Story and The Beautiful Room is Empty, among others) but setting foot in an "Adult Bookstore" was a whole new option I had not considered.

After a few weeks I got bored of the content of the three magazines so I did some research and found out that there was an adult bookstore in a nearby city. Hmm.

The store mostly sold straight porn but it also had a decent gay selection. I was so nervous even entering the store, much less buying anything, that I ran in and ran out in less than 60 seconds. But I did it. I bought one magazine, Friction. Unlike most porn mags this one was focused on the written word and not on pictures. The magazine had about ten long stories in it, each with a different scenario intended to appeal to different fantasies from "boy next door" to bondage to straight guy seduction. Some of the stories were stupid, most were ok, but a few were pretty hot. Overall, I was happy with my purchase. In fact, I returned once a month and bought the latest Friction issue and sometimes a picture mag.

I also continued to visit the community college tea room. About two weeks after I found the magazines I had my one and only encounter there. The guy I hooked up with a young Hispanic guy who spoke broken English. I was not particularly attracted to him but once he knew I was there cruising he got very aggressive; he pulled out his dick and said, "You suck it?" He had caught me leaving the restroom so it was one of the rare times when I did not have the walls of a castle to protect me.

He looked harmless enough so I said, "Sure." Then my new friend walked to the entrance of the bathroom and locked the door. That made me nervous.

YHG didn't speak again for a while but from his body language and hand motions, I knew what he wanted. I devoured him, slurped and tongued him for a good ten minutes. Then he stopped me and fished out a condom from his pocket. Say what??

My understanding was that my chances of getting AIDS by sucking on a dick were pretty low. Not impossible but very unlikely. I wondered if the guy was HIV+ and that's why he suddenly wanted to put a condom on. The fact that he had waited freaked me out. But I had misjudged his intentions...he wanted to put a condom on so he could put his dick in a different place.

"I fuck you." It wasn't really a question.

Considering that I had been sexually active with men for nearly 10 years it's odd to imagine that YGH was the first guy to fuck me, but that's the way it worked out.

Because he had the condom, I was willing to try it, but damn, I should have checked to be certain they were lubricated before I said "OK."

My friend made very little effort to get me ready. Then he unmercilessly pounded me for a solid 15 minutes.

I could barely walk for the next two days. I was seriously worried that Gabbie would notice. I decided that one Tea Room fuck was more than enough from me and in the future I would stick to blow jobs.

Ever since our second anniversary Gabbie and I had been talking about starting a family. I had very mixed feelings about this issue. On the one hand, my absolute greatest desire in life was to be a father. On the other hand, I had serious doubts about the future of my marriage. As much as I passionately wanted a kid, I did not want to bring him or her into a marriage that was broken.

Of course I could not voice my doubts and fears to Gabbie, so when she told me it was time to fuck, we did.

Around this same time a comedy club and bar opened only a few yards from where Gabbie worked. To help fill the club, Gabbie and her co-workers were frequently given free weeknight tickets. Gabbie is an extremely social person and once she started having fun at the club with her girlfriends she wanted to go as often as possible. I didn't mind because I wanted her to be happy. Also, I had night classes so it gave her something to do when I wasn't home.

By late July, Gabbie and her friends were going to the comedy club anywhere from two to four nights a week. They had no set schedule and would often go on a whim. With increasing frequency I came home at 7pm to find a message on the answering machine, "Hi Honey! I'm going out with the girls for a drink so I won't be home until later."

Soon I recognized this message as code for "see you after 11, enjoy your night and your dinner alone."

When I had class several nights a week and got home at 10, I didn't care. But when classes for the summer quarter ended in July and I was home alone multiple nights, for several weeks in a row, I was lonely. The loneliest I had been since high school.

As my feelings of isolation grew I began to fantasize more and more about meeting a guy and having a real relationship. Very occasional random sex in a bathroom was not satisfying. And it was dangerous. What I wanted was a partner. A guy who I cared about and who cared about me.

By early August I made the decision to place an ad in San Francisco's biggest alternative newspaper, the Bay Guardian. I remembered that it was through a personal ad that Dario had met Matthew. And, as I read through each week's ads I saw that the Guardian was a good choice because they printed a lot of ads from a great variety of men.

My ad said something like "SWM, 25, 5'8", 150. Closeted. Educated. Seeking a real relationship with a genuinely nice guy. Written replies only please, to PO Box 777..."

When you placed a personal ad, the Guardian assigned you a voicemail box. I didn't want that. I wanted to limit the replies to serious guys and I wanted to set a hurdle that made them put pen to paper and write about themselves.

Also, you might have noticed that I listed myself as single. I decided to do that because all of the MWM ads I had read were about finding a sex partner. I wanted more than that and I really didn't want to limit my chances of meeting someone great just because I was married.

The ad ran for two weeks. In total, I received about 45 written replies and many voice messages. Most of the respondents didn't interest me for some reason. Some were too old. Many wrote about their preferences and based on that I didn't think we were a match. Out of the 45 there were about 4 that I really liked. The one I liked best I replied to first. His name was Jim and he was a 19 year old junior at UC Berkeley. With his letter he included a small photo. He was adorable.

In my letter back to Jim, I included a photo and told him more about myself; I left out the fact that I was married. If he wanted to meet, I said, he should write back with his phone number and I would call him. And that's exactly what happened.

We spoke on Tuesday, August 18 and I immediately felt comfortable talking to him. We didn't talk for very long but in just those few minutes I KNEW we could be good together. We made a date for that Thursday. He didn't have a car so I was to come to his apartment and pick him up.

I had big hopes for Jim.

But as I knocked on the door to his apartment, I had no idea how completely my life would change in the next 24 hours.

Friday, March 26, 2010

"This is a clitoris."

In preparation for our wedding, Gabbie stayed with her parents on the Thursday and Friday before the Saturday ceremony. To keep me company, and to save them money, I asked my best man Todd and my other good friend Donny to stay with me for those two nights.

Both of them were still living in the same state as our college so they took the same flight to San Francisco and I picked them up together at the airport on Thursday in the early afternoon. That day was slightly crazed because as soon as I picked them up we had to drive an hour, get ready for the wedding rehearsal and dinner, then drive another hour in order to participate in those two events.

Both went very well. After the church rehearsal we had a fantastic dinner at an Italian restaurant in North Beach; the restaurant was owned by a couple from the Italian Village that Gabbie's family had known for years.

On Friday, after spending most of the day doing some quality sight-seeing in San Francisco, Donny, Todd and I returned to my condo around 5:30pm. We hadn't made any special dinner plans, but as we arrived Todd said he had an idea. He said we should "dress to impress" and be ready to leave at 7.

At ten minutes to seven Todd told Donny and me, "We should go outside. There are more people coming."

I grinned. "Ah! A surprise for the groom?"

"Oh yes. It'll be quite a surprise."

Fifteen minutes later an extra long black limousine turned the corner and pulled directly in front of us. "Surprise," Todd whispered to me. The way he said it was strange. It was as if having a limo pick us up was something to be afraid of. I gave him a confused look. He shook his head slightly, but didn't say anything.

The chauffer got out of the car, said hello, and opened a door to the back of the limousine.


Inside were my two cousins, Michael and Jim, my cousin's husband Jeff, and my aunt's husband Mike.

"We're taking you out for a wild night, bachelor! You'd better drink up, because this is going to get crazy," my cousin Michael said as he handed me a glass of champagne.

My relationship with Michael was slightly complicated. He was two and a half years younger than me, and in fact had turned 21 just six weeks before the bachelor party. If I had to pick someone who was the closest to being the brother I never had, Michael was him. However, we weren't as close as we once were. We hadn't spent much time together in recent years because I had gone to school out of state and even after I graduated I lived some distance from him. As a result, I felt like I knew him best when he was 12 or 13.

From the time that he was about eight, Michael and I slept over at each other's house a few times a year. We always had a blast. One of our favorite things to do was to build forts and haunted houses.

At one sleepover when I was 12 and he was 10, I woke up in the middle of the night and found myself admiring Michael, sleeping in his underwear, right next to me.

After a few minutes of looking, I couldn't help myself, I had to touch him. Very carefully I moved my hand down his chest, across his leg and onto his crotch. Touching his body was exciting---but I really wanted to hold his dick.

Very cautiously I slipped my hand into his underwear. It was rapture to touch his penis. But even that was not enough. I wanted to see it.

Very carefully, I slid his underwear down. His dick was still pre-pubescent but I couldn't help touching it more, hoping that I could make him hard.

His penis didn't respond but mine sure did. After a few more minutes of fondling him I couldn't ignore my cock any longer. I quickly jacked off to an intense orgasm.

Satisfied, I clean-up, pulled up my underwear and went back to sleep.

The next morning Michael said to me, with a big smile on his face, "Did you pull my underwear down?

"No." (Have you ever seen a 12 year old lie effectively? They generally can't do it. I certainly couldn't.)

"C'mon, you did."

"No, they probably slipped down while you were moving around in your sleep."

"It's never happened before......but maybe."

He badgered me for a while longer but there was no way I was going to tell him the truth.

For the next several years I continued the pattern. I couldn't help myself---he was lying right next to me! The first time was the only time I made the mistake of leaving his underwear down. Mostly I didn't bother with his underwear, I just massaged his dick until he was semi-hard, then I beat off.

When I was 14 and he was 12 I thought he might be old enough to cum so I got really bold one morning and showed him my hard on. I told him how great it felt to cum and proceeded to demonstrate by successfully fucking my pillow. He was definitely interested in what I was showing him, and he even tried it himself for a bit, but he was still too young. That was as overt I as I ever got with him while he was awake. Sadly for me, our sleepovers dwindled as we got older.

All those years I assumed that I was the homo pervert and Michael was the straight, innocent child.

Then, one time I when I was 17 or 18, I had to take a shower at his house. About 10 minutes into the shower I saw Michael outside the house trying to sneak a peek at me through an open window. If I had been smarter I would have given him a show. Instead I yelled through the window, "I see you!" I was worried that he was going to try to play a joke on me or something. Then, when I saw his embarrassed reaction I KNEW he was hoping to catch me masturbating. The incident made me wonder just how straight and innocent Michael was.

That was the last interaction with a sexual overtone I had with him, until the bachelor party.

Once I was in the limo, toasting my last day of being single, I was excited and happy. Gabbie had explicitly, vehemently told me that under no circumstances was I to participate in any kind "gross" bachelor party. I had made sure to pass that message along to all my groomsmen, especially Todd, who as my best man would normally have had the party-planning responsibility. So, to be having any kind of party at all was a huge, pleasant surprise.

"Thanks, you all, for coming and for planning this. What are we going to do?" I asked.

Michael answered for the group. "We can't tell you, it's a surprise."

"Alright, I can live with that. Just so long as we don't do anything that is going to get me in trouble with Gabbie."

"Don't worry! Everything will be fine. Have more champagne."

Todd spoke up, "Do you have any vodka? I think I could use a few shots." I watched in amazement as he took three large shots in quick succession. Todd was not a big drinker. In fact, the only other time I remember him having a shot was at a floor progressive when several of us held him down and poured it down his throat.

"What are you doing?" I whispered to him.

"Trust me, you're going to want to drink a lot." He looked afraid as he said it.

Usually I would have trusted his judgement but I was already pretty hungry and the thought of slamming a bunch of shots on an empty stomach sounded like a recipe for disaster. I decided that I would wait until we ate something, then I would drink more.

We grabbed some fast food on the way into San Francisco and about an hour later we were getting out of the limo in front of Centerfolds, a high-end strip club.

Just as we entered, the night-long fog and alcohol-induced blur kicked in.

There were poles and busty topless girls and strippers who took it all off. There were curtained booths where you put $5 into a machine and a barrier that moved up from behind a glass wall, exposing a naked girl who played with herself and seductively pushed her tits at you.

And there were girls offering lap dances, one of which Michael very enthusiastically bought for me.

I was much less enthusiastic. I found it awkward to make small talk with her while she was grinding away.

The lap dance didn't really do anything for me but Michael watched the whole time to make sure he got his money's worth.

As uncomfortable as I was being in the strip club, Todd was petrified. I had to laugh at him because he looked so afraid that I thought he might pee himself. He was such a spectacle that I realized I could take the pressure off myself by directing more attention to him. I gave a girl a few dollars to flirt with him and he squirmed nervously the whole time. Watching him fidget had me doubled over with laughter.

After nearly two hours Michael told us it was time to leave.

"Thank god that's over," I said on the sly to Todd. He quickly agreed. But our hopes that we were done ogling naked women were soon dashed.

After a short drive, the limo dropped us off at another strip club, the Mitchell Brothers' O'Farrell Theater. The alcohol was in full-effect then. I only remember one detail about that place:

Michael had us all sit at a booth with a table, like in a restaurant. After we were seated a naked girl used a short ladder to step onto the table. She positioned herself as provocatively as she could across the table and said, "Hi boys. I hear this is a bachelor party. Which one of you is the groom?" Everyone except Todd gleefully pointed to me. I blushed bright red. She pushed her chest out toward me and said, "Hi, I'm Katie."

"Hi Katie." I gave her my biggest fake smile, "I'm Cam."

"So tell me, Cam, do you know how to make a girl REALLY happy?" As she spoke she changed positions and seductively pushed her ass and cunt toward me.

"Um, yes. My fiance' has no complaints."

Katie switched positions again. Now she was kneeling in front of me, her perky tits only inches from my face. "Well, let me show you, just in case."

She rolled back slightly to a sitting position but kept her legs directly in front of me. "A lot of guys have no clue where a girl's special button is."

I nodded.

"Our hot spot is right here." As she said that, she arched her back, spread her legs and with one hand holding her cunt open, used the other to point to the nub at the top. "This is a clitoris."

I nodded again.

"When you fuck your wife you want to make certain your dick is giving a lot of stimulation to her clit."

I didn't need the anatomy lesson but I found it somehow appropriate that a stripper should be explaining to a gay man where a woman's clitoris was on the eve of his wedding.

Katie continued to talk to me for five very long minutes and as she talked she put every part of her body as close to me as she could, without ever touching. Nothing I had seen in the strip clubs had been very arousing but having Katie so close and so focused on me, I must admit, was kind of hot.

Except for the twinge of excitement I felt for Katie, I mostly found the strip clubs to be enigmatic. What was so thrilling about being teased for a few hours? Blue balls? If a woman opened her legs in front of me and pushed her pussy within a few inches of my face, I didn't want to just sit and watch. I wanted to either turn away in embarrassment for both of us, or, to put my tongue in her twat and go to town.

Katie's tutorial was the highlight of our time in the O'Farrell Theatre. Not long after she left our table Michael loaded us into the limo and off we went to another destination. This time it was the Embassy Suites near the airport. The plan was that we would drink and then collapse there. Since I was already pretty sauced, that sounded good to me. I was just relieved to be finished with the strip clubs.

Michael rented a mini-suite, that is, a living room and a bedroom. The idea was that there would be enough space for the seven of us to crash. Prior to our arrival he had stocked the room with a good supply of alcohol and snacks.

We weren't in the room for long before there was a loud knock on the door.

We all looked at each other.

Then a woman yelled through the door, "Police! Open the door!"

Michael, who was nearest the door, opened it and a short police woman entered. In her hand was a black police baton, which she repeatedly slapped in her open palm.

Not far behind Police Girl was a tall, dopey thug, holding a boom box. The girl looked believable as a cop but the boom box dufus behind her completely killed the illusion. Seeing them together made me laugh. Then groan. ANOTHER stripper?!!!

As soon as the door shut behind the thug, he turned on the boom box and Police Girl began her strip show. Within seconds it was obvious that she was less polished than the women from the fancy strip clubs, but that made her all the more likable. At first I enjoyed her earnest effort but then a thought hit me that made me panic: Two strip clubs and now a stripper at a hotel? Wait. Maybe this girl is MORE than a stripper...maybe she's a prostitute? Are they going to make me fuck her?

Once that thought was in my head, I was so freaked out that I hardly paid attention to what the girl was doing. Just as I was able to re-focus my scotch-saturated brain the song on the boom box ended. The strip was over.

Police Girl, I noticed, had not gone the full monty---she still had on a pair of black laced panties. I relaxed a little and hoped that her restraint was an indication that she was not a prostitute.

The next part of Police Girl's show was requests. She went through a laundry list of things she would do and how much she expected to be paid to do them. I think a lap dance was $10. Notably missing from the list was anything approaching sex. No blow jobs, no cunt licking, no fucking. Now I felt better.

After Police Girl finished reading her list, she scanned the room in search of takers. No one wanted to throw any money at her. She begged a few times and finally my cousin Jim fished out a few bills. He said he wanted her to rub her hits in his face and give him a lap dance. Michael then paid for a lap dance for himself. After than that, Police Girl had no takers. She looked pretty annoyed, then at the last minute Jim said he would buy a snake dance.

The highlight of her show ended up being the snake dance.

Jim was 22 and a devoted baseball player from a young age through college. He had a solid, athletic build, big dimples and a cute smile. If he could've figured out how to charm a woman he would have gotten laid every night. He was so goodlooking that when Police Girl made him strip down to his tighty-whities and lie on the floor, I thought, Finally, a hot body to appreciate.

When he was ready, she got down all fours directly above him and slowly rubbed her bare tits all over his body, inch by inch, from his toes to his neck.

I thought for sure he would pop a nice boner for Todd and I to ogle but somehow he never made it past half-hard. I was surprised because he was a pretty vocal pervert.

When the snake dance ended and he still had no boner, I was really disappointed. I thought, Even I would be at full mast if a hot girl was rubbing her tits all over my bare body!.

I did, however, like the idea of a stripper who made the guys drop their pants.

After the snake dance Police Girl and Thug Boy left. Then we drank, ate, and some time later, passed out.

I had dozed off in a big armchair and jolted awake when I heard the room's front door close shut. No one had entered so I figured some one must have left. I had no idea who. Now that I was a little awake I decided to move to the bedroom and see if I could crash on the bed.

The bedroom was pitch black so I couldn't see who was who or where, exactly, they were. Two or possibly three guys were on the floor.

Once my eyes adjusted a little I could see that there was one guy in the bed, Todd. I wasn't going to sleep in my pants so I took those off and crawled into bed with him.

Lying next to him, half-dressed and under the same sheet, made me smile. All my "what if" questions returned, including What if Todd and I had become a couple? I laughed to myself when the answer popped into my head: Then I would spend every night lying next to him just like I am now. I lifted my head up to look at him. He looked back at me; I must have woken him when I got into the bed.

I whispered, "Thanks for being such an awesome best man... And thanks for setting this all up," meaning the strip clubs and the stripper.

He smiled, knowing I was kidding, and replied, "You're welcome."

Lying in the bed with Todd was the first chance we had to talk intimately, in-person, since we had come out to each other over the phone. Thinking about him lying next to me in a bed made me glow inside.

Aided by the alcohol, the warm glow soon turned hotter and I couldn't help myself---I reached over and took his hand. After such a crazy night, it meant a lot to me that Todd had been there to share it.

I gently caressed his hand. My touches brought him more to life.

Soon he was caressing my hand as much as I was caressing his. Excited and intrigued, I slowly moved my hand up his arm. Then to his chest. Then to his stomach. Then to his crotch. At each stop, his hand followed along and traced my body in exactly the same way.

Under normal circumstances I would have been rock hard and bristling with an electric, sexual energy. But the room was dark, it was very late, and I was barely holding on to drunken consciousness. Todd was at least as drunk as I was. With our hands somewhat noisily crinkling the sheets, we fondled each other's cock as quietly as we could. In very little time, I was fully hard and starting to get into it. Todd had a semi but was steadily growing in my hand. Then, just as things were about to get really good, whoever was sleeping on the floor on Todd's side of the bed, got up and left the bedroom. The abrupt departure broke the spell of our hazy tryst.

"Who was that?" I whispered.

"I couldn't see."

"Do you think he heard or saw anything?"

"I don't know....I don't think so."

"Do you think he's coming back?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I thought for a minute. So much of me wanted the intimate encounter with Todd to continue. But, had we been heard? And more importantly, was it right to fool around with my best man only hours before my wedding?

"We should probably go to sleep."

"Yeah. We should."


"Cam! Wake up!" It was my aunt's husband Mike---my uncle, technically, although he was only a few years older than me.

"I'm awake. What's going on?"

"You need to call Gabbie. She's pretty upset."

I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It said 8:22. I felt tired but thankfully, not hung over.

Between the surprise of the party, the booze, the girls and the relentlessness of the night, I hadn't thought about calling Gabbie once. Now that I knew she was pissed, I really didn't want to talk to her. Why should she be mad at me? All I did was get into the limo when I was told to.

After stalling for more than a half hour, I called Gabbie at her parents' house.

Within seconds of my hello she launched into a venomous, screaming tirade: What had I been doing? Why hadn't I called? Why didn't anyone tell her what was going on? Why didn't I tell my family there was not going to be a bachelor party? What did I do? Were there any disgusting girls there? Did I sleep with them?

Then, once she had exhausted every question she could, she declared her unyielding hatred for my immediate and extended family: "No one would tell me where you were. They all knew and no one would tell me. They're all a bunch of liars, I hate them!"

The high point of the call came next when she said, "I don't know if I want to marry a man like you, with a family like yours. How could you do this to me? I really have to think about this. I don't know if I want to marry you today. Or ever."

I was as humble and apologetic as I could have been. Mike, Donny and Todd all left the room within the first minute of the call, as soon as they heard her screaming into the phone.

After about 25 minutes of listening to her rant, I was able to calm her down enough to tell her that I had to go, I had to get home and get dressed for the wedding. Her reply was, "Fine. Go home. But you had better call me as soon as you get there so I can tell you if there's even going to be a wedding!"

Mike drove us back to the condo. The hour's ride was slow and somber. No one was in the mood to talk.

By the time we arrived it was nearly 11am. The wedding was scheduled to begin at 2, and if there was going to be a wedding, we had to leave no later than 12:30.

As instructed, once I was inside the house I called Gabbie. I apologized again and reminder her that I had nothing to do with the party, "Basically I was kidnapped."

After a good ten minutes more of my begging, she delivered her verdict: "I have to go now. I have to get ready. I'm the bride and I can't be late to my own wedding."


An hour later Todd was still getting ready in the bedroom as Donny and I waited for him in the kitchen.

Donny and I had not been alone since his arrival on Thursday. He had been uncharacteristically low key during the bachelor party. I think he knew it was not the kind of party I would have wanted for myself. And he knew that Gabbie would not like it either, but he had no choice but to participate.

"Cam, this may not be the best time to tell you this...but as your friend...I have to say...I don't think you should marry her. If you do, she will be an anchor around your neck for the rest of your life."

I nodded and absorbed what he had said.

"You might be right, Donny. But I don't think I have much of a choice at this point."

I thought about the guts it took for Donny to say that to me, less than two hours before the wedding.

"I know that saying something wasn't easy to do, so I really appreciate your honesty. You might be right about her. But I think I have no choice but to be optimistic and appreciate her good qualities...and forget all her not-so-good ones."

Just then Todd appeared from the bedroom, ready to go.

We left at 12:40, nearly right on schedule.

As I drove us to the cathedral in San Francisco, I kept thinking about what Donny had said to me, she will be an anchor around your neck for the rest of your life.

EPILOGUE: I found out later that day that my other groomsmen, Qais and Gabbie's brother, had been invited to participate in the bachelor party. Both declined. They each knew it was a horrible idea.

I never understood what possessed Michael to plan a party so focused on sex and strippers. It was exactly the kind of party Gabbie did not want me to have. But more importantly, it was not the kind of party I would have wanted, even on my straightest day. I have often wondered why he did it. He was only 21 so maybe he thought that was what every bachelor party was like. Or maybe he thought it was what I wanted. Or maybe he wanted to prove his, or my, heterosexuality. I just don't know, but it was always something that I wanted to ask him.

Later, I realized that he had gone to a lot of trouble and spent a lot of money he didn't have to make the arrangements. For him it was an extraordinary effort that I had never seen him make for anyone else. Because of the bad way the party ended I never told him how much I appreciated his good intentions.

I would tell him now, if I could.

About five years after the bachelor party a driver ran a red light and t-boned him in his car, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. He was 26.

To my knowledge, he never had a girlfriend.

He died more than 14 years ago but I think about him all the time.

I love him like crazy.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Sunday Easter Sunday

I asked Gabbie to marry me.

Her answer? "No. You don't mean it."

I was stunned. "How many times do I have to ask before you'll believe that I'm serious? Gabbie---will you marry me?"

My begging must have been what she was waiting for, because she quickly changed her answer. "Ok, yes. Yes I will!"

Gabbie's family was shocked when we told them the news. Her mother asked, "When did this happen?"

"Just a minute ago, at the bocce court."

To which her father quipped, "I didn't realize bocce was so romantic."

My parents were speechless when I told them a few days later. The best thing they said came from my mother, "Oh........well, that's great," in her fake-happy voice.

What was great, was that my plan worked. The proposal bought me more time to evaluate my relationship with Gabbie. Originally she wanted to get married after we graduated the following June. But her mother said that was too soon, we needed to get jobs first. So I had more than a year to decide what I wanted to do.


The engagement was the summer before senior year. In October Gabbie called me at school to tell me some news, "I've arranged to spend Jan Term at St. Stephens."

St. Stephens is a pseudonym for a college that is located in the same small town as mine. "Jan Term" is the middle part of a 4-1-4 academic calendar. It's a semester system where you take four classes in the Fall, four in the Spring, and one during January. Jan Term.

I liked the idea of having her at St. Stephens for the month of January. Now that I was a senior and graduation loomed, I realized that I did not want to leave school. My college had a few one year internships that were available only to members of the most recent graduating class and I was thinking of applying for one. Getting Gabbie to support the extra year away from California was important because I knew that she expected me to come back immediately after graduation.

San Francisco never gets snow and in January a typical day's temperature starts in the high 30s and warms to the 50s. The weather at my school was very different. Although the sun was usually out, there was always a lot of snow on the ground and a typical January low was 5 degrees---far colder than San Francisco.

Gabbie received an unpleasant winter welcome when we arrived on the first Sunday in January.

To get to the town from the airport we had to take a bus. The bus dropped us off in the center of the small town and we had to walk six long blocks to her dormitory at St. Stephens. It was less than a mile distant, but half of the walk was uphill. I had begged Gabbie to pack lightly for this trip and she did much better than she had in England. Still, the walk took about 40 minutes. When we made it to her room the first thing she said was, "My shins are really burning."

I looked closely at her legs. On each of them was a bright red splotch of burned skin. "That's frostbite. You have frostbite. Why are you walking around with your legs exposed?"

"I have my pants rolled up because they look better that way. Besides, it wasn't MY idea to go off the sidewalk and march through a field."

The frostbite wasn't severe but she complained about it for the entire month. That first hour turned out to be very indicative of Gabbie's Jan Term. Not only did she hate the weather but she struggled to tolerate my friends. "They're all a bunch of weirdos. I mean, the women don't even shave their armpits. It's disgusting." Clearly Gabbie was much more comfortable in the Izod-clad halls of a catholic school.

On the positive side, Gabbie did a good job of keeping her opinions to herself. None of my friends ever said anything negative about her and she was always friendly to them, 'the weirdos.'

One perk of having her with me for a month was that she got to know my two best friends, Todd and Donny. Todd is an only child raised by his mother near Hoboken, New Jersey. He is the Ryan Seacrest of political reporting and a skilled social climber. Everyone who meets him loves him.

Donny grew up on the South Side of Chicago. He liked to say he was a polish jew but many people thought he was an obnoxious loudmouth. Gabbie liked to call him Fred Flintstone. That's an apt description of his personality, but his looks are more like Barney Rubble.

Both Todd and Donny have been quite successful. Todd writes for a major newspaper and has been a panelist for at least one presidental debate. Donny is a political consultant and community organizer. He has played a key role in several successful grass-roots senatorial races.

More about those two later.

Gabbie's Jan Term at St. Stephens killed any chance I had of working for my college after graduation. She hated the weather, never really clicked with the people and missed her family and friends too much. And there was no way she would agree to let me stay alone for another year.

With that job out the running I flew home for Spring Break to job hunt. During the week I was home, the best job I could find was in a retailer's management training program. Kill me now, that job sucked.

After we graduated we lived with our parents for a few weeks. This was pure torture for me so when Gabbie suggested moving in together I was all for it. There was some tension about where we should live because I didn't want to do an hour's commute from Gabbie's home town. We compromised on a location near her college because apartments were easy to find. Gabbie rented a two bedroom for $2000 a month.

Within four months we had to give up the apartment because it was too expensive for us. Money had become a contentious issue because my income was crap and hers was worse. She worked as a photographer's assistant.

In our last week at that apartment we got into our biggest fight yet. Our lack of money was the immediate cause but it quickly expanded to other areas. One of those was my apparent lack of motivation to set a wedding date. "Why won't you agree to a date?"

"I just think we need to be in a better place financially. And I don't see what the hurry is."

"Ya, right! My parents are paying for the wedding so what difference does it make what we have? The truth is, you don't WANT to get married."

"That is not true."

"Then pick a date."

"I just told you that I think we should wait a while."

"There's something else going on with you. I just know there is."

"What? What could it be? We couldn't even afford this two bedroom. How can you say that money isn't the issue?"

Gabbie gave me a hostile stare, then snarled, "Are you gay?"

A wave of terror flowed through me, then thoughts flashed in my head in rapid succession: Truth? Freedom! Her anger. My exposure! Life upside down. Sacrifices for naught. What next? A future alone?

Stop! What should I answer?

But before I could think any further, my mouth opened and a defiant, sneering "No" came out.

Satisfied by that answer, at least for the moment, Gabbie folded her arms across her chest and said, "Fine! But I'm not waiting forever to set a date!"

Later, I berated myself. why did I say no?!!!! For more than two years I had waited for the chance to answer that question again. Why, why, why did I say no? It was one thing to lie to a girl I had known for a few days but it was something else entirely to lie to my fiance' of more than a year. If I had done the right thing, I would have told her the truth.

The reason I held back, I decided, was because I was angry. In my pre-puberty days I did an astoundingly poor job of controlling my anger. I was far worse than every other kid and I endured plenty of teasing because of it. But at puberty, somehow a switch was flipped and I was able to deal with anger very passively. As long as I didn't speak, or said as little as possible, I could stifle a savage fury long enough to allow it to crest and then subside. To an observer, I appeared modestly irritated, not angry.

If Gabbie had asked me in any other context, I think, I would have told her the truth. But with the anger from the fight boiling in me I had to muzzle it and say as little as possible. So I just said, "No."

That was what I told myself for many months after that fight.

Our new apartment only somewhat reduced Gabbie's irritability. In an effort to be as thrifty as possible, I picked a $450 studio. It was about 500 square feet and she had so much shit that it was as if we lived in a tiny warehouse; there were stuffed boxes everywhere. Her father help us move in and when he saw the place he said, quite incredulously, "You're going to live here?" Gabbie hated the place. I didn't like it much either, but I loved the low rent.

A few months later, in mid-February of 1989, I got a new, somewhat less shitty job working in a bank. And in June of that year I was able to get Gabbie hired for the same job with the same company in a different branch. With "real" jobs at last, Gabbie got me to set the date for the wedding: April 21, 1990.

With the wedding date chosen, one of my only responsibilities was to choose the groomsmen. I picked Todd as my best man, plus Donny, Qais, Gabbie's brother, and two cousins of mine. Both Todd and Donny were in the class behind me at school so they were in the final months of their senior year. Part of the reason I wanted to work at the college for a year was so that I could hang with them that whole time.

When I called Todd to ask him to be my best man, after he said yes, he said, "Cam, I have to tell you something."


"I'm gay."

"Are you serious???"

"It's true, I'm gay."

"Sorry, but I'm a little shocked! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I just started telling my closest friends in the last few weeks."

I knew Todd very well but I had never wondered if he might be gay. He was hardly macho but I still had never thought about it. I suppose the best clue was that he was the only kid at my college who actually ironed his clothes. He even ironed his jeans. Every day. Once during his freshman year a bunch of us on the floor "polyester raped" him---we forcibly dressed him in polyester-only clothing. It was such fun to torture him with synthetic fiber.

Another reason that I had never wondered if Todd might be gay was because I had never thought of him in a sexual way. He gave off an asexual vibe that made everyone want to kiss him on the forehead, not the lips. He collected friends by the dozen and he's no different now---he has 2,840 friends on Facebook and he's wearing a tuxedo in his picture.

Todd went on to tell me more about his coming out process. I listened, somewhat jealously, as he told me that everyone had accepted him very positively. Coming out, he said, was turning out to be easier than he thought.

"Damn, Todd. I really wish you had told me sooner."

"I'm telling you now, isn't that good enough?"

"Actually, no. I would have liked to have known sooner...we could have, you know, talked a lot more about it. Because...I...well...I'm gay too."

"Are YOU serious?!"


"If that's true then WHY are you getting married?"

"Um...I...she...Ok, the thing is, I want the story-book life. I want the wife, the 2.3 kids, the white picket fence. I know it's all a big cliche' but it's what I want more than anything else."

"But is that a real marriage?"

"Real enough. I mean, the thing is, I just can't let my sexuality rule my life. I know I'm weird, I'm a freak. I know lots of people would be morally outraged that I'm gay and I am willingly marrying a woman, and, believe me, I think about it all the time, but this is what I want to do."

With skepticism in his voice, "Have you told her?"

"No." I searched for the right words to satisfy him. "She wouldn't take it well. She's had two old boyfriends that dumped her for guys already so she's a little freaky about that topic. She's not homophobic or anything, one of her best friends is gay. It's just that if I thought it would be good for our relationship to tell her, I would. I just think it would make her feel very insecure so it's better that I not tell her."

"I see." It was an emotionless reply.

"Todd. Please don't give me any shit. I want you to be my best man. Will you please say you'll do it?"

"I already did!"

"Cool. Thank you. You're my hero."

For weeks after that conversation with Todd, I tortured myself with what-if questions. What if Todd had come out to me a year earlier? What if I was still able to hang out with him on a daily basis, would he try to convince me not to get married? Would Todd have been interested in me? If things had happened differently, could he and I be a couple now? What if I had stayed the extra year? And on and on. Eventually I wore myself out with my questions---until the next time I talked with him---then I'd go through the same series again. If I had known a year ago, would my whole life be entirely different now?


Financially Gabbie and I were doing better. In October we bought a one bedroom condo for $62,500. The condo was about forty minutes from both of our jobs so the location sucked, however Gabbie's family was big into real estate so they encouraged us to buy it. It was our first "real" place. We had furnished the first apartment with hand-me-down furniture---it looked exactly like a college student's apartment. The studio was basically a storage room that we slept in. So, the relative spaciousness of the condo gave us the first opportunity to play house. That is, for me to make improvements, for her to decorate and for us to shop to furnish it.

By early February Gabbie's attention had shifted to the wedding. It had turned into a somewhat monstrous affair, 230 people with full mass at a cathedral in San Francisco followed by a sit-down dinner, open bar and live band for the reception at a private club. I had no say in any of the arrangements. Gabbie, actually, had very little say either. It was her mother's party and she barely disguised that fact: "I'm paying for it so of course I get to make the choices."

The wedding was very much on my mind too. Unlike many 23 year old guys I was not afraid of commitment; I felt like I had already surrendered my testicles three and a half years before. Being married wouldn't make much of a difference that way. Instead, my fear was that I KNEW I absolutely preferred sex with men and yet I was marrying a woman. Could I be happy? Would I be tempted to cheat? Would I later be filled with regret? Was the marriage doomed, and if so, why get married in the first place?

The frenzy of the last-minute wedding preparations mirrored the frenzied fears in my head. The closer the day was, the more uncertain I felt. Then came Sunday, Easter Sunday, six days before the wedding.


Leo was Gabbie's maternal grandfather. He was born in the Piedmonte region of Italy and emigrated to San Francisco with his parents when he was four.

Leo's first and only career was as a banker in North Beach, the Italian neighborhood of San Francisco. For decades he was known as the "Mayor of North Beach" because many of the neighborhood's merchants relied upon him to help their businesses.

Leo was a very personable, chatty guy who loved to laugh and tell stories. He also liked to sing Italian folk songs and would do so at every family dinner. He was the undisputed patriarch of his family. I had my own grandparents, who I had known and loved my whole life, and I had known quite a few older people through my work at the bank, but none of them inspired me the way Leo did.

Once I had accepted myself as gay and welcomed the fantasies of boys that flowed so naturally thereafter, I realized that the essence of my attraction was not precisely sexual. It was more complicated than that. When I saw a good looking boy my heart raced and I lusted for him, but more than anything I wanted to BE that boy. I wanted his beautiful golden hair or his slight, dimpled smile or his full, rounded pecs or his athletic calves or whatever good looking or sexy quality he had.

While talking, laughing and listening to Leo at Easter dinner I realized that, for the first time in my life, I wanted to be another man, but not in a sexual way.

I knew I could never be the Italian grandfather who could sing and tell stories, so I didn't covet that quality. Instead what I wanted was to feel the extreme love that Leo felt from his children and grandchildren. When I looked at Leo at age 82, nearing the end of his life, I KNEW that in my final days I wanted a life like his. I wanted to be the beloved patriarch, surrounded by a plethora of children and grandchildren who adored me with a passion they could barely contain.

I didn't grow up in a bad family. There was no divorce, no fighting, no arguing. But I didn't grow up in a good family either. We merely existed. Four individuals who shared a house for a few years, a mother, a father, a son and a daughter. Experiencing Leo and the rest of Gabbie's family made me realize how much I desired something I had never had. I had known since I was a young kid that I wanted to be a father, so that idea was not new. What was new, after having experienced a great family, was that I KNEW I had to spend the rest of my life working to replicate what Leo had built.

For the first time in my three and a half years with Gabbie I realized that I could love her as a partner. My love would not be particularly sexual, but it would be love nonetheless, and in the long run that love could prove to be far more important and far more enduring than lust. So, six days before the wedding, at Easter Dinner, I found peace with my decision to marry a woman.

Five days later it was Gabbie who was having second thoughts.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Italian Village

Gabbie and I saw each other every day, except one, from Christmas until January 3rd when I went back to school.

Every meeting was instigated by her and although I tried to make excuses not to meet, I soon realized that I either needed to break up with her or continue to see her whenever she asked---at least until I left for school. I knew that once I was thousands of miles away for more than six months, Gabbie's infatuation with me would fade. Then I could break up with her and it would be easier for both of us.

When we said our goodbyes on January 3rd, I'll admit that I was somewhat emotional. Gabbie wept for nearly an hour before we parted and seeing her that sad made me sad too. But I still couldn't wait to go. I loved school, hated living with my parents, and was really looking forward to some freedom from Gabbie.

I was at school for less than a day before Gabbie called. At the time it was a big deal to call long distance---a 15 minute phone call cost nearly four times as much as a gallon of gas. She wanted to know how I was, how everything was going, etc. I gave her my update and quietly wished that she would not call very often.

But then she called three more times that week and sent a letter.

What am I going to do about this girl? I asked myself.

What could I do? Every time she called she was very sweet. How could I possibly just say it was over, without any notice or reason? I couldn't tell her I was gay. I had already lied about that. And, even if I did decide to fess up then I would be the most cruel person ever. Imagine being dumped by three different gay boyfriends by the age of 20?

What was I going to do??!I kept asking myself.

The answer? Continue to respond to her daily phone calls and letters.


In the beginning of March she told me, "My mom is so mad at me. My last two phone bills have been more than three hundred dollars each."

Ah, a perfect excuse! "Maybe you shouldn't call as much. Maybe once every few days or something so the bill isn't so high."


She kept calling every day.

A few days later she told me, "I have a surprise for you!"


"I have enough money saved to buy you a ticket home for Spring Break."

"Really? You shouldn't do that. You should pay your mom for all the phone bills. I've never come home for Spring Break before. It's ok, really. Besides, I don't want to spend any more time with my parents than I have to."

"You're not going to see your parents! You're coming to see me. In fact, you're not even going to tell your parents. You'll be staying with me."



On the plane to California for Spring Break I carefully reviewed my options. I mean, this was crazy! My plan to lay low and let our relationship fizzle had completely failed. Never in my life would I have guessed that Gabbie would call so much and write every day and buy plane tickets for me to come see her. And there was the problem...if she liked me that much how could I tell her that she had it all wrong? How could I tell her that our whole relationship was a lie and that it had completely snowballed beyond my expectations simply because I didn't want to admit to her that I was gay?

I didn't have a good answer. The best I could do was to wait for an opportunity to put some doubt in her head about the future of our relationship.

When Gabbie greeted me at the airport she wore the biggest smile and she squeezed me so tightly that I could barely breathe. In a way, it was really good to see her because it was awesome to be cared about so much. It was nice to be wanted.

As we walked through the airport and to the parking lot she whispered to me, "I want to sleep with you. I want us to do it."

I couldn't help but to grin widely.

Before we got to her dorm room we grabbed some fast food and toured her school's campus. Gabbie excitedly introduced me to everyone we saw, "This is the mystery boyfriend I keep talking about!" Eventually we settled into her room at around 9:30pm.

"Well here we are---I'm going to take a shower. Light some candles for us. This will be quite a romantic night together!"

The prospect of putting doubts in Gabbie's head was quickly pushed aside by thoughts of sex. Real sex, with a woman. How could I turn that experience down? I mean, when would I ever have this opportunity again?

Gabbie put a lot of effort into making the night special. Champagne. Candles. Incense. Soft music. Satin sheets. The actual sex was not as intense as I had hoped. Maybe my expectations were too high. Also, when I tried to penetrate her she went rigid with pain. Even when she said it didn't hurt "that bad" all I could think about was trying to be as gentle as possible. I wanted her to enjoy it as much as I did. In the end, however, I was the only one who got off. "It's ok baby. I'm really sore, it's not going to happen. I know the first time usually hurts so next time will be better."

The next morning she was still sore but we did it again that night. She came that time but I found it difficult to truly relax because I was afraid of hurting her.

All in all, my first experience with fucking a virgin was that the idea was much better than reality.

By the end of the week, Gabbie complained less about the pain. Overall it was a good week. No school to worry about, just sex and parties.

On the airplane trip back to school I realized that my attitude toward Gabbie had shifted somewhat during the week. The fact that she decided to lose her virginity to me made me rethink our relationship. I knew that her father had studied to be a priest for 13 years and that she adored him. Therefore, for her to have sex before being married was a huge sacrifice. Also, it wasn't like I was her first boyfriend. Beside the two gay ones she had dated a number of straight guys, including an older Australian she had met the previous summer. But none of those guys was worthy. Apparently I was.

Her sacrifice made me think: what had I done to deserve such adoration? I cheated on her with a guy in the first month. I only masturbated to thoughts of guys. I was annoyed with her constant phone calls and tendency to smother me.

The truth was, I was a major asshole. I was not worthy.

I resolved to be a better person and to be more patient and less negative about Gabbie. As in England, I decided to take each day as it came and to enjoy the positive aspects of having a partner.

Gabbie continued to call me every day at school. I was careful to never say anything to encourage her, but I stopped trying to think of ways to escape.

When summer arrived I had no choice but to stay with my parents. One perk was that I got to work with Qais again. I wrote to him often when I was in England; I told him all about my travels and my experiences with the Germans-who-don't-talk-to-you-in-gay-bars. I also told him about Gabbie.

When I saw Qais for the first time in months he was as nice as always---until we were alone. Then he teased me and said, "So are you not gay anymore?"

"Yes, I am. You know how that works. Once a fag, always a fag." He laughed.

For the summer, Gabbie shared an apartment with two friends. The friends were superb roommates because they were never in the apartment. Gabbie and I pretty much had it to ourselves. And almost every free moment I had, Gabbie made sure that we spent it together. She was just as clingy in California as she had been in England.

Speaking of England, Gabbie told me that she brought so many full suitcases back from there because of the "great shopping." It turned out that Gabbie liked shopping just about anywhere. Other than drinking it was her favorite recreational activity. I had no objections to the drinking but the shopping I had to tolerate. Not that I had a choice. If she announced that we were going shopping, that's what we did.

Her favorite things to shop for were shoes, purses, and jewelry. I could understand why she wanted to look at every day items like purses and shoes but the jewelry I didn't get. She would look at rings and say things like "I want a thin band with at least a one carat solitaire stone." And, although my reply was "Uh huh", what I really wanted to say was "I hope you don't think that I am going to give you a ring!"

On one particular Saturday in early July we stopped at five different jewelry stores. I had had enough. "Gabbie, why do we keep looking at all these rings?"

"They're engagement rings. They're for, you know, when we get engaged."

"I didn't know we were getting engaged."

"Well, I can't sit around waiting forever. Every time I go out lots of guys want to talk to me you know."

"What am I supposed to say to that?"

"Say whatever you want. But if we are not engaged by the end of this month, it's over. I can't wait forever."

"Um...ok. I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to say about that."

"Think it over. The clock is ticking."

At least two more times in the following week she reminded me that she was serious: I had to either propose or she'd find another boyfriend.

I was not prepared for that pressure. And I couldn't talk to anyone about it. All my friends at school---and especially Qais---they would all tell me that this was ridiculous. I already knew that. What I didn't know was how to handle the situation.

In the course of evaluating my options I asked myself an easy question: did I want to be engaged? No. There was no doubt about that.

The more difficult question was: did I want to break-up with Gabbie? If I set my sexuality aside, I had to admit that I liked being with her. She was fun and interesting--always an intellectual challenge. We didn't really disagree about anything or argue. She wasn't a perfect person but all things considered I really did like her. The fact that I, without a doubt, hungered for sex with men and was indifferent about women, was the only reason that I would want to break up.

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got about Gabbie's ultimatum. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair...I really felt unprepared to make such a big decision. I needed more time to figure things out. Yes, I knew I was gay but my sexuality did not define me. Gabbie and I were a good match but I had no idea how to reconcile the fact that I lusted for men far more than I lusted for her.

The pressure of the decision hanging over me got to be too much. I knew all the facts, I knew how I felt. I just had to make a decision and move forward.

Time is the problem, I decided. I need more time.

I needed to find a way to give myself more time to figure out what I wanted. Suddenly the answer came to me: I'll give her the ring but tell her that I'm not ready to set a date.


In the 1920s the northern, rural part of California was a popular summer vacation destination for San Francisco residents. Hordes of people, especially Italians and the Irish, would pack up their families, travel three hours north and stay for a few weeks in clusters of small cabins.

At that time Gabbie's grandparents began a family tradition of going to Lake County every summer. Her mother had gone every year of her life, as had Gabbie. When Gabbie told me that her parents had invited me to join them for a weekend at the lake, I decided to bring the ring with me. I knew it was a special place to Gabbie so maybe it was the place where I should give the ring to her.

We arrived at the "Italian Village" shortly before noon on a Saturday. Gabbie was thrilled to have me there. She pulled me around the whole resort, from cabin to cabin, introducing me to every adult she could find. By the time we finished the tour, lunch was ready; Gabbie's grandmother served the family cold sandwiches, Italian style.

After lunch we swam in the pool for hours, until about 4pm. Around then all the older Italian men in the camp converged on the resort's central kitchen and started peeling potatoes and slicing meat.

Dinner was communal, around 75 people from 18 cabins. Salad, antipasto, ravioli, garlic bread, veal scallopini, pound cake for dessert, and of course, coffee. I had never eaten a home-cooked meal like that before. I loved it.

After the dinner clean-up all the older people went back to their cabins. The younger ones mostly sat on their cabin's front porch and talked, or played cards, or yelled at their kids.

Gabbie asked me, "Want to go for a walk?"


We had been around people all day long so the walk in the moonlight was our first opportunity to be alone. This is my chance to give her the ring. Or so I thought. The problem was that we were walking in almost complete darkness. How could I propose to someone I couldn't even see?

After about twenty minutes Gabbie said that we should turn back. Eventually, as we walked toward the resort, the lights from the cabins became brighter and brighter. Near the entrance of the resort was a brightly lit bocce court. No one was playing.
When we drew near, I pulled her into the court and nervously fingered the ring in my pocket.

"Gabbie, I have to talk to you."


"I, um..." I pulled the ring from my pocket but kept it hidden in my hand. "I was wondering..." I got down on one knee, while still holding her hand. "..if you would marry me?" I opened my hand to show her the ring.

As I said those words, I watched her expressions change and reveal a series of emotions. First she looked embarrassed, then she looked effervescent, then she looked afraid.


"You won't marry me?!"

"No. You don't mean it."

I was stunned.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

A Squeal of Delight

Whether I really wanted to or not, Gabbie and I spent a lot of time together. Even after the twice-per-week field trips stopped in the fifth week, we ended up being the only two students in a class together, 18th Century English Novels. How weird is that, to have a class with just you, your girlfriend, and the professor?

One of the consequences of spending a lot of time together was that I got to know Gabbie pretty well within a few weeks.

One thing I learned was that Gabbie did not muzzle her emotions. If she was happy, she glowed with a radiance that made everyone around her happy. If she was upset about something, she was vicious and relentless. Once I got used to her roller coaster personality I found that I mostly enjoyed the ride. Her joy could be so extreme that seeing her happy was more pleasurable to me than almost anything I could experience myself. For example, her birthday was at the end of October. In advance of her birthday she told me exactly what she wanted: flowers, a thoughtful gift, a card and dinner. A lot of guys would have been put off by her demands. I liked them, for two reasons. First, I was clueless, and was therefore glad to have any guidance. Second, when I did exactly what she wanted, in the best way I could manage, she was orgasmically happy. I felt like such a good man, that I could make a girl that happy.

Another thing that I learned about Gabbie was that she was strictly raised by Catholic parents. She was full of Catholic guilt. This was good for me because it meant that I could be "respectful" and not spend every minute alone with her with my hands inside her bra or down her pants. She liked that I didn't treat her as sexual object. I suppose this was part of the reason that she made a habit of dating closeted gay men.

Although Gabbie was a virgin she wasn't exactly a prude.

As the weeks passed, she got more and more forward with me, even though we both stayed fully clothed. In the early weeks she would come to my room late at night and sit on my bed while I was in it, talking to me. After a while she started laying with me on the bed, which led to kissing. The kissing led to our bodies being pressed together, which led to dry humping. I think the humping was an especially big turn on for her because she usually wore ribbed tights and the texture of them provided some rather gratifying stimulation.

Not once was there any genital contact, not even a sly slip of the hand. Whatever she wanted to do was perfectly acceptable to me. I was in no hurry to sleep with a woman.

Around mid-November I told Gabbie that I was disappointed because I was running low on money. Our semester was scheduled to end on December 18th and I had bought a return ticket for December 23rd. My plan was to travel in England for those few days but now I couldn't. The next day she surprised me with news that she had spoken to her parents and they were sending her more money. She was going to lend me some and use the rest to travel with me during that week. Normally I would not have wanted to borrow any money from her but my situation was dire. If I didn't borrow the money I would have been forced to return home to my parents for an extra five full days. In the England vs. parents debate, England won. In seconds.

The last month of the semester progressed very smoothly. Unlike the first five weeks which were sunny, relaxed and full of travel, the final five weeks were academically intense. The most difficult of my three classes was the 18th Century Novels tutorial. The professor was quite good but also quite demanding. We met twice a week and for each class we had to read a book and write a paper. Are you familiar with 18th Century English novels? Moll Flanders, Tom Jones, Pamela, Tristam Shandy, Middlemarch, The Mill on the Floss, Vanity Fair? LONG and boring as shit. Middlemarch is 912 pages. Vanity Fair, 768. Tom Jones, 1024. You get the idea. The papers had to be 4-5 pages. And for better or worse, we didn't have computers. Or typewriters. Our papers were all hand-written and we had to read them aloud in class. As I said, it was just Gabbie and me in this class, so it really annoyed the shit out me when she would stay out until 2am the night before class, having only read half the required novel. But that's not what was annoying. Rather, it was that she would come back at 2, read for two or three hours, write her paper in 90 minutes, then sleep for two hours and go to class the next morning, FULLY prepared and completely alert. I had never seen anyone power through academic work like she could.

All the classwork meant that as the sun was setting at 3:30pm every day in Oxford in December I was not thinking about sex with anyone. Instead I was wishing I was done reading fucking Tristam Shandy so I could fucking write my stupid paper.

As much as I complained about that class, it was one of the best I had ever taken. Not because of the reading but because of the writing. I was forced to write a lot and to do it without the benefit of a computer. It was a fantastic, albeit grueling, experience. The VERY best part, however, was that on the final day of the class we learned our grades. I received an A. Gabbie an A-. In yo face, bitch! That'll teach you to drink until 2am before every class!

She was pissed that I got the better grade but the next day she took her revenge.

When it was time to pack up our rooms and leave school I had the same backpack I had when I arrived. Gabbie paid to ship her trunk, thankfully, but she still had one HUGE suitcase, two medium suitcases and three smaller bags of I-don't-know-what. Oh. One was a purse.

"Oh my god Gabbie, why do you have so much stuff? What is in all these suitcases?"


There was no way she could have made it from Oxford to London to the airport with all those bags by herself. I suppose the fact that I helped her with her trunk on the first day, and her liking me for it, was really just her way of planning in advance to have a bag-slave ready when it was time to leave the school.

Gabbie had so much shit that it was impossible for both of us to carry everything at once through the Underground of London. In the Tube there were many long tunnels, stairs, twists, turns, and escalators. And lots of people. In order for us to move from one location to another we had to take multiple trips, leaving bags on both ends while we crossed in the middle. We probably couldn't do it today. We'd be arrested for leaving unattended luggage in a crowded Tube station.

Our first travel destination was Edinburgh which meant that we had to go from the Paddington train station in London to the Kings Cross station which was also in London. After hauling the bags through two different Underground lines I was able to convince Gabbie to pay and check most of her bags into storage at Kings Cross. There was no way I was going to drag all that crap through Edinburgh.

Edinburgh was a fine city. Very interesting. The castle on the hill in the middle of the city and the people are what I remember best. The people were memorable mostly because we couldn't understand what they were saying half the time, although they were supposedly speaking English.

After two days in Edinburgh we took the train back to London and we spent a night there in South Kensington. Gabbie and I had been traveling together for nearly three full days which meant that I had not had an opportunity to masturbate that whole time. In the hotel in South Kensington my horniness got the best of me. In Oxford our pattern was to mostly kiss and then eventually dry hump for a while. The humping was just a tease because neither of us got *that* excited. But in London we were alone and I was unusually horny. All the fore-play really got me going and for the first time ever I used my hand to massage her pussy through her tights. Her response was tremendous. The sexual tension in her body was immense and as I felt her body stiffening I couldn't help but to climb on and rub my jean-clad cock across her fully-covered cunt. In only two short minutes she whispered in my ear, "I'm going to cum" which just about sent me over the edge. I held on as long as I could which was just barely into the first whimper of her orgasm. It was so damn hot to listen to her squeal in my ear that I came almost simultaneously with her.

Afterward I thought she'd be mad at me or be mad at herself even. But she was calm. We didn't talk about what we had done but she seemed ok with it.

The next morning we traveled to Portsmouth so that we could take a ferry to the Isle of Wight. The Isle of Wight is a huge tourist destination in the summer. It's beaches are well-known.
In December, the island was completely vacant. We got into Yarmouth around 5:30pm and not only was it dark but it was pouring rain. We hadn't made any hotel reservations but when I called a Bed and Breakfast the owner was so glad to have guests that he drove in the rain to the ferry station to pick us up.

I'm not certain now why I chose the Isle of Wight. One of our school field trips had been to Winchester and I think we were told on a tour there how popular the Isle of Wight was, so that is probably why we decided to go. We only stayed one night but it was unexpectedly romantic. With no one else around it was just the two of us in a small cafe for dinner. And the next morning we had the B & B proprietor waiting on just us for a delicious, traditional English breakfast. Then on the beach I fooled around and wrote our names "Cam + Gabbie" in the sand. Gabbie really liked that. At night we dry-humped again but I felt that I had gone too far when I had massaged her the previous night so I kept my hands to myself.

The next morning we didn't have time to do much sight-seeing. The following day was the 23rd and we had to catch our flight to San Francisco early that morning. This meant that we had to leave the Isle of Wight right after a fish and chips lunch in order to make it London by 7pm.

In London, we stayed in the same hotel in South Kensington. In fact, we stayed in the same room. Just being there made me extra horny and I thought to myself, what the hell, so after we had been grinding as usual I started squeezing her pussy through her tights. She let me do it for a minute or two then she said, "You don't have to do that." I took that as my clue to stop, so I did, even though I ended up with a bad case of blue balls. I could hardly sleep that night I was so horny. At 5am I was up and went to the bathroom for a quick shower where I finally got some relief.

That morning was crazed because we had to go back to Kings Cross to get all her crap, then we had to schlep it through two Tube lines again before we finally hauled it all through the baggage check-in line at Heathrow. I watched them weigh the largest bag and slap a big "HEAVY BAG" sticker on it. It weighed more than eighty pounds.

Once we were on the plane and in the air both our thoughts were on home and our future. In spite of all the time that we had spent together we had never really talked about it. My intentions had never changed. From the minute that she forced me to say that I liked her I had seen the end of England as the end of our relationship. The bad news was that the three months that we had been together only made breaking up much more difficult to do. As I sat on the plane and thought about it, I knew that I couldn't just dump her the minute we touched down in California. Instead I thought I would let time and distance make it easier.

As I looked down at the snow on the Sierra Nevada mountains, I thought about how unbelievable it was that when I left California I was looking forward to being "out" for the very first time and yet when I returned four months later I was accompanied by a steady girlfriend of more than three months. It was all so bizarre to me, how it had happened completely against my intentions.

As we began the decent into San Francisco Gabbie asked me, "When will we see each other again?"

I tried to be as diplomatic as possible and answered, "Maybe in a few days. I'll be home for a week before I have to go back to school so maybe we can see each other one day then." I couldn't look at her when I spoke.

"Ok." Now that she had replied I looked at her and tried to give her my most reassuring smile. I also tried to read her thoughts but I couldn't tell what she was thinking.

After we had trudged, fully laden, off the plane and through customs we entered the public area of the International Terminal. Both sets of our parents were there to greet us. Everyone was introduced to everyone else and we walked to baggage claim for the rest of Gabbie's bags. There at the baggage carousel we said our goodbyes. As we hugged Gabbie said, "I'll call you tomorrow."

I answered, "Ok."

The next day, the 24th, the phone rang at 10am. It was Gabbie.

"Can you come see me today?"

"Um....sure. Maybe for a little while."

Our parents lived about an hour and 15 minutes apart. Gabbie lived in a part of the Bay Area that I had never really been to before. Fortunately, with the use of a map and her directions I was able to find the McDonalds where we agreed to meet. As we sat and ate our first meal together in the States, Gabbie said, "You're so funny. You told me we would see each other again next week and here you are the very next day!"

I silently groaned to myself. I know. Believe me, I know.

To Gabbie I did not reply. Instead, I smiled politely.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Gabbie and I snogged for a while. That made her happy.

Eventually I walked her back to her room. Alone at last I thought about what I had said and done.

I knew that I should have told her the truth, but I just couldn't get it out. Then, when she reminded me that she had been serially hurt by boyfriends that turned out to be gay, I felt that if I confessed I would be reopening those painful wounds. It would have been cruel to be honest; it was easier to tell her what she wanted to hear.

As for what to do next, I felt that the easiest, least painful answer was to take things one day at a time. I figured that our time together was limited, at best. My high school girlfriend Kathy and I had lasted less than three months so it was unlikely that Gabbie and I would even last until the end of the semester. And if we did make it to the end, she would go back to her school and I would go back to mine.

Rather than worry about what I had done, I made the decision to relax, be happy and to not worry. To go with the flow.

Poor David had to find a new field trip buddy. Gabbie wasn't suffocatingly clingy but she definitely expected us to spend a lot of time together. This was an adjustment for me because I was used to having my own space. To Gabbie's credit, for every minute when I was silently frustrated with her, there were twenty minutes when I was amused by her wit or entertained by her exuberance.

It was also fun to experience some depth in a relationship. Kathy and I had basically role-played our three months together; neither of us had shared much of our true selves. And Brian just didn't have much depth to him. So after a few weeks with Gabbie I began to understand the complexity of what having a real relationship was like.

In our third week together I was surprised, yet pleased, when Gabbie announced to me that she was going to a University dance with Kat and two English guys on Saturday night. "Don't worry," she said, "we're just going to drink and dance and have fun."
She didn't explicitly say that it was a date but we both knew it was.

"OK" I said, "have fun." And I meant it. Her date was a clear signal to me that neither of us was taking our relationship particularly seriously.

When Saturday came I spent most of the night out pubbing with friends from school. My supply of cash had dwindled to such a degree that I had no choice but to have just one pint a night. It was a fun enough night but I was in bed by 1am. Around 2:30 I was awakened by a knock on my door. "Come in."

It was Gabbie. "Hi sweetie, how are you?"

Um, I was sleeping, how do you think I am? "Fine...how are you?"

"Good. Me and Kat had fun..." she continued with a detailed description of her night. I was too dazed to pay attention to what she was saying. "...and he had his hands all over me but I told him I had a boyfriend."

"Uh huh."

"He was nice at first but then he turned kind of sleezy, so I didn't really like him. I'm so glad you're not like that."

"Uh huh."

Then she rambled on a while longer. She was fairly drunk but by no means incoherent. I was trying to be patient and interested but after being asleep for such a short time I honestly just wanted to go back to sleep. She eventually picked-up on my reluctance to talk and gave me a kiss good night.

I had really hoped that the date would have gone better for her. A second boyfriend could have given me an easy escape. Still, the fact that she had a date with someone else was good news to me. I felt somewhat emancipated. By Tuesday I had written a personal ad for the Men Seeking Men section of the London weekly Time Out. I figured that I was going to be in Oxford long enough that I could attempt to meet a guy and at least have a two month fling.

My ad received a surprising number of replies. After sifting through them the one that was most intriguing to me was a 24 year old biologist named Nigel. He had included a photo with his reply. He was cute but not hot. He lived in Reading which was only one stop from Oxford on an express train. Like me, he was not out.

I rang Nigel and we spoke for a few minutes and seemed to click well enough. We made a date for the following Wednesday afternoon. We would meet at Kew Gardens in London.

When I found him waiting at the gates of Kew I introduced myself. He seemed to like me so we were off to a good start.

We walked around the gardens and talked about ourselves, our interests and what kind of relationship we were looking for. Although Nigel was four years older than me, he told me that he had never had a significant relationship with anyone. I told him a little about Brian but nothing about Gabbie.

He had to catch a train to see his sister at 4:30 and by 3:30 we felt comfortable enough with each other that we started getting frisky. Kew is a public garden and even though it was a weekday, plenty of other people were about. After some serious flirting between us, Nigel was determined to get some action. He pulled me behind a large bush about eight feet from a walking path and kissed me deeply. Between the connection I felt with him and the nervous energy of passionately making out with a guy in public, I was hard in no time. Nigel pawed at my crotch and grinned. Then he stood back and showed me the outline of his hard dick in his jeans. Just seeing the contour of his erection was enough to make me half-dizzy with desire.

After a few more minutes of kissing, rubbing and grinding, Nigel started to undo my jeans. Although we were sort of hidden, we really weren't. I mean, I could see the pathway so surely anyone walking past could see us. Nigel didn't care. He had my dick out and down his throat in seconds. It was crazy having an English guy blowing me in a bush in the middle of Kew Gardens. The fear of being seen was invigorating but it did not stop me from wanting to cum as soon as possible. I really did not want to be arrested for public indecency in a foreign country. Nigel ferociously devoured me and I quietly egged him along until I blew into his mouth.

I didn't know what to expect next but Nigel did. He wanted a blow job of his own. Now that I had cum, the intensity of the situation had faded a bit for me. I had a mental picture of the two of us, cowering in the bush, me on my knees and Nigel gripping my head as he thrust into my mouth. For some reason it was more funny than erotic. I would have laughed if I hadn't had a dick in my mouth.

Fortunately, Nigel was keen to finish quickly too. The only weird moment was when an older couple wandered by and I heard the woman say "Oh!" and the couple quickly turned away. Nigel didn't seem to be aware of them so he kept on thrusting and within two minutes unloaded a small, salty load in my mouth.

I whispered to Nigel that we had been spotted so he zipped up and we ran from behind the bush in the opposite direction of where I thought the couple had gone. After a few minutes we found a bench and collapsed on to it, laughing. We talked for a while longer then Nigel checked his watch and told me that he had to go. I walked with him to the Underground station and said that I would call him soon.

Although the date had gone well, as I was sitting on the train back to Oxford I realized that I was somewhat disappointed. Blow jobs in the bushes were fun but what I really wanted was a connection. Nigel said he did too but his actions made me wonder if sex was more important to him than anything else.

I rang Nigel again a few days later and we made another date. This time he wanted to come to Oxford. This made me nervous because I was afraid that we would bump into someone from school and I wouldn't know how to explain him.

When the day arrived, a Wednesday, I met Nigel at the train station. We said our hellos and walked toward the centre of town. "What should we do?" I asked.

"What would you like to do?"

"Have you spent much time in Oxford?"

"Yes, I've been here often."

"Is there any place you'd like to go?"

"A room alone with you."

I blushed a little. "Well, I do have my own room."

"Let's go then!"

So our date became a booty call.

My hand was really shaking as I turned the key in the door of the school's entrance. I was certain that I would run into one of my better friends and be forced to awkwardly introduce 'my friend Nigel.'

I quickly peered up the interior entrance stairs as I opened the door. No one was there and there were no sounds of anyone approaching. In a low voice I told Nigel, "Up the stairs and the first door on the right."

Thankfully we made it into my room without being seen. I locked the door and pulled the curtains. I kept the light off so that it would look as if I was not home.

Nigel pulled me into an embrace and leaned in to kiss me. It was fantastic to kiss a man.

We made out for a bit and then Nigel walked us to the bed. We flopped down on it, me on the bottom, him on top. We wriggled and groped and rubbed and slurped for a good fifteen minutes. Then the clothes started coming off. Shirts and shoes, pants and underwear. Gloriously naked we rubbed our bodies together in a slight rhythmic hump.

Nigel whispered in my ear, "Do you have a condom?"

"I'm sorry, I don't."

"Me either. We'll have to make do."

Nigel pushed his cock more fervently against me, giving me the clue that he wanted to body-fuck.

I loved feeling the weight of his body pressed into mine, and his slick, sweaty skin slidding across my chest, stomach and cock. I closed my eyes as I relished the sensual intimacy of being with him.

Then I froze.

Someone was coming down the staircase from the second floor. I worried that if I could hear them, Nigel and I could be heard.

Nigel stopped grinding and looked at me with a puzzled expression.

Then came a knock on my door.

"Cam?....sweetie?" It was Gabbie.

I stopped breathing; I could not allow any sound to escape me.

After a pause, there was another knock. "Cam? ... are you in there?"

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Please go away.

Another pause. My once warm sweat had turned ice cold. My body trembled as adreneline caused by fear coursed through me.

Then came the jiggling of the door handle. Oh fuck, oh fuck.

The door did not open.

Another long pause.

Then the sound of Gabbie's footfalls on the staircase up to the second floor.

"Who was that?"

"A friend" I said.

"Oh. ... Now where were we?"

Nigel was ready to continue exactly as we were. But I was freaked out. I was certain that Gabbie was going to return at any moment. I wanted Nigel to leave. Immediately.

"Nigel, I'm sorry, but I'm a little freaked out."

"Oh it's fine. She's gone. The door is locked."

"Um....Well, ok....The thing is, I don't think I can cum. Would it be ok if I gave you a blow job and we called it a day?"

"If that's what you want."

So I went down on Nigel.

I'm sure I did a shitty job. All I wanted was for him to cum as quickly as possible and then to leave. Within about 10 minutes I got the first part of my wish.

Then, as if it things weren't awkward enough, after he came, an invisible but impenetrable wall fell between us. We hugged goodbye but it was a token jesture. The fear of being caught with him had instantly killed all of my desire to be with him. My freaky, distracted and insincere behavior likely killed his desire to be with me.

A few days later I rang Nigel again. I apologized and explained that the girl pounding on the door was my girlfriend. "I'm sorry Nigel but I don't think I should be dating two people at once."

Nigel agreed. We never spoke again.