Four Days in Maybybjmichaels©
I am lying naked on red satin sheets waiting expectantly for my lover to emerge from the bathroom.
Eight scented candles surrounding the bed illuminate the room. The luxurious softness of the sheets--the intoxicating aroma from the candles makes me feel special; I am wanted and needed.
His name is Justin and we met only four days ago, and in that short time, he transformed me from an unhappy hetero to a deliriously happy homo. In four short days he has made me his willing and submissive bitch and I love him deeply for it.
I am growing impatient; I want him beside me on the bed, or on top of me...whatever he desires. I feel the lust growing inside me; my penis begins to grow thinking about his strong hands, his kisses; the forcefulness in his voice when he directs my actions in bed.
I unconsciously stroke my cock to full erection dreaming of his eyes, his handsome face and his hard, powerful body. I am in love—yes, I admit it---I love a man and I want the whole world to know.
My sudden metamorphosis from straight-to-gay may be difficult for some to believe, but deep in my heart-of-hearts, and now that I'm able to look at my previous life with a new-born clarity, my life's journey has been traveling down this path all along.
My mind flowered-open like a rose petal in springtime; I was finally able to see that life was not a trip on a one-way highway—there are many twists and turns, and I as the navigator, could choose any road I wished.
Five days ago I was feeling pain and misery. When you think you've run out of options—you lose all hope.
I had convinced Judy to finally come to my apartment. We had been seeing each other for two weeks, and it took all my powers of seduction to get her willing and wet.
Well, it didn't work out as I had hoped...thank goodness.
I am very good with my hands, and I'm a damned good kisser, too. We were on my couch kissing and caressing and I had her "Ooooing" and "Ahhhing" and began to undress her.
It was at this point she usually stopped me, but not that night—she was more than agreeable to my advances.
I dimmed the living room lights and removed her clothes; kissing and gently stroking her, she became heated and passionate. I was overjoyed.
I quickly stripped off my clothes and lay beside her; my lips and tongue and hands working their magic. I needed desperately to feel her touch. I guided her soft hand to my hard cock and wrapped her slender fingers around my girth.
She squeezed it and gave it a couple tentative strokes then burst out laughing.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" she cried out. "ARE YOU DEFORMED OR SOMETHING?"
"W-What do you mean?" I asked, knowing full well what she meant—I had heard that cruel laughter from a couple other girls.
"Sweetie, I've got a small vibrator at home twice the size of what you have there..." Then she added: "Who the hell do you think you're going to satisfy with that tiny thing?"
In hindsight, I should have said, "ME."
She quickly dressed and I scrambled to pull up my briefs. I felt the need to cover myself.
She had her hand on the doorknob when she turned to me and said: "What a damn shame—what a waste---you have wonderful hands and you're the best kisser I've ever known---you know, I'm not sure if you even like women—you never listen to me---you seem to have more fun when you're around men---I've seen the way you look at some guys--maybe you should try to find Mr. Right and let him make you his wife!" And she was out the door.
What the hell did she mean by that?
It was the lowest point of my life. I sat on the couch and buried my head in my hands. Tears welled in my eyes. My heart ached with the pain of rejection and abject humiliation.
I was born this way, I thought. I have no control over the size of my cock. I'm not a freak, damn-it!
And having a small cock doesn't make me gay—not that there's anything wrong with that. I have a few gay friends—they're some of the nicest, smartest and funniest people I know; I don't care what two people do together—it's none of my business, but she was wrong—I've never been sexually attracted to a guy.
I turned off the light and sat in the dark. All the girls I'd dated flashed before my eyes. I concentrated on each one and thought about what I had liked, and not liked about them.
I thought hard and long. Then I made a serious discovery: outside of wanting to have sex with them, I was forced to admit I never truly enjoyed talking with them or even being with them—any of them.
Their interests and mine were miles apart. Their inane chatter bored the hell out of me and I found them frivolous, un-creative and not-very bright. When I wanted to talk serious subjects they'd roll their eyes and ask questions such as, "Do you like the new color of my nails?"
They weren't fun to be with at all.
To be fair, I there are many smart and funny women out there—unfortunately, I had never dated one. Right now though, the whole dating-thing seemed like way too much work and misery just to get a slim chance of seeing one of them naked.
I always lived my life the way my parents and friends and the rest of society expected me to live. I conformed and obeyed; my life was about seeking approval and acceptance from other people; my own wants, needs, desires and thoughts be damned even if that meant dating attractive, but mind-numbingly dull women.
So how's that working out for you, Johnny?
I found my way in the dark to the bedroom and plopped down on the bed.
My head was spinning a million miles a second. I couldn't sleep. I turned on the bedside lamp and opened the drawer and removed my one and only porn magazine. I flipped through the pages.
I laid the magazine on the bed to give myself a free hand and reached inside my briefs and fondled my prick. The excitement I had felt earlier returned—I became fully erect. I pushed my briefs down my thighs and stroked my three-and-a-half inch prick.
I don't care what she thinks, I said to myself, still hurting from her words. My penis is in proper proportion to my body size.
When I reached my favorite page I laid back and stared at the photo. A well-developed, somewhat muscular man was standing while a girl knelt between his wide-spread legs.
Her right hand held his balls while her left hand grasped the shaft of his impressive cock. Her lips were stretched wide over his cockhead; the entire glans was in her mouth.
I stroked my cock faster. I fantasized what it would feel like if that were me standing there. My eyes fixated on his cock and her mouth. I admitted to myself it was a nice looking cock.
Once again, I lost control of my own fantasy which happened with more frequency the past few months—it wasn't her on her knees—it was me.
It was me sucking his cock--it was me rubbing his balls and stroking his shaft; this fantasy excited me the most--my orgasms were more powerful when I used this fantasy. This fantasy always made my cock throb and my balls ache.
My hand rapidly moved up-and-down my hard prick.
I imagined I was bobbing my head back-and-forth over his hard cock. I wondered how his hot flesh would feel in my mouth; I wondered what his cum would taste like.
My balls suddenly erupted like a volcano; my cum shot straight in the air and landed on my belly and thighs. My head rolled from side-to-side; I cried out and milked the last remnants of liquid from my shaft. When it was over I was gasping for air.
Before I turned out the light and went to sleep I said out loud: "Oh my God—that was a GOOD one!"
The next day was the warmest day we'd had in a long time. I needed some fresh air. I looked out the window at the swimming pool and saw there were only a few unoccupied lounge chairs, and many of the buildings female residents were sunning themselves.
I wore my loose-fitting swim trunks, flip-flops, and draped a towel over my shoulder. In the pool area the girls were engrossed in conversations and never gave me a glance as I passed-by. I found an empty chair and sat back and surveyed the scene.
There were several females I would have liked to approach, but as usual, I sat there just looking and listening. Courage to speak to strange women had been a lifelong problem. Maybe that's why I ended up with the women I did—I never really initiated a relationship.
At the other end of the pool the entrance gate clanged open and I shifted my gaze to see who was entering the area. It was just another guy. I had seen him around the complex, but we never spoke. I had to admit he had a great body, and the closer he came I saw he was handsome, as well.
I am not ashamed to say that I can find beauty in most everything. I love good art, music and the whole panorama mother-nature provides for us. I also appreciate a well-formed and attractive human being whether they're female or male.
I noticed how the girls stopped talking and stared at him as he passed them. I felt a little jealous inside; I wished I had that kind of body, and could provoke that kind of interest from the ladies.
I looked at the impressive bulge in his short, tight swimming trunks. That was nothing new; I frequently compared myself with other guys. I shifted my gaze away as he came closer.
"Is someone sitting here?" he asked me.
I looked at him and was momentarily dumbfounded—I couldn't speak. He had the biggest, bluest eyes I'd ever seen. They were like two huge pools of crystal-clear water and they seemed to sparkle as he looked at me. His eyes were hypnotic.
"Ah...no--no...it's all yours," I finally managed to say.
"Thanks!" he replied with a smile that warmed my heart.
I felt the need to say something; anything: "A lot of nice looking ladies here today..."
He chuckled and said, "Yeah, it makes you feel like a piece of prime beef when they check you out, doesn't it?"
I wouldn't know. "Heh-heh...yeah, sure does...."
Then out of nowhere he asked: "Aren't you the computer-guy who lives on the third floor?"
At first I was flattered that he knew who I was, but soon realized I'd worked on several computers in the building and word spreads fast around here.
"Ah, yeah...." I replied.
He held out his hand: "I'm Justin," he said.
"I'm John," I blurted out as I shook his hand. He had a strong grip.
Small talk came easy for him. I imagined most everything came easy for him.
"You into sports at all?" he asked.
I laughed and said, "Yeah..." then went on a minor tirade about the performance of our local baseball team. I got him to laugh—his smile and laughter made me relax and I found myself enjoying his company.
After more conversation he excused himself and dived into the pool.
I watched his powerful shoulders as he effortlessly swam across the water. It was obvious he was a natural athlete; he seemed to glide over the surface of the water with long, even strokes.
When he came out of the pool and dried himself off, I found myself staring at his sculpted chest; well-developed, and without a trace of hair.
After a couple hours of non-stop conversation, a sudden chill overcame us when the sun began to hide behind the tall oak trees. It was time to leave.
We gathered our things and walked out of the pool area together.
"Ah, I don't mean to sound like this—you're probably tired of people asking you, but would it be possible for you to look at my computer? There's something wrong and I don't have a clue what it is...."
My immediate reaction was one of disappointment. Was this the reason he befriended me? To have his computer fixed?
"Ah, yeah...sure...." I responded.
"You know," he said, "I've got a couple steaks that need to be cooked—how about I make you dinner for your help?"
"You don't have to do that...." I said.
He stopped in his tracks and looked me in my eyes and said: "No, I, ah, want to—besides, I need to cook them before they go bad..."
His beautiful eyes melted any resistance I may have felt.
I perked-up: "Yeah, okay...that would be great...I'll take a shower and be right over, okay?"
"Great—apartment 2-D...." and we parted ways.
In the shower, all I could think of was his big, beautiful eyes and his wide smile. I ran a soapy hand up-and-down my prick and it instantly became hard.
What the hell are you doing, John? I asked myself, as I shook the image of him out of my mind and finished showering.
On the way to his apartment I told myself to calm down; he's a guy—not a girl, but I thought it might be fun getting to know him.
He was interesting and it was fun at the pool; definitely an all-American, alpha-type male, who probably has had thirty-times more girlfriends than me. I enjoyed our smart and witty conversation.
I found myself hoping he would share some stories about his love life. Sometimes I lived vicariously through the exploits of other men.
I was nervous when I knocked on his door.
I stood waiting at his door for quite awhile then I knocked again. When he finally opened the door I saw him wearing only gym shorts and no shirt; he was drying his hair with a towel. He had obviously just taken a shower, too.
"John...I'm really sorry...it took me longer than I thought to get ready...." he explained. "C'mon in...."
Damn, his chest was absolutely perfect! I thought as I entered his apartment. I felt my blood pressure rise.
What the hell is wrong with you, John? I asked myself.
I turned away from him to hide my red face. I was becoming seriously perplexed by my feelings. He's a GUY, damn-it—control yourself....
My eyes took in his apartment; tastefully decorated with quite a few paintings and photographs, and a large aquarium against the back wall. He had a large brown leather sofa with a matching recliner.
I saw his laptop on a table by a window and walked to it. He had the same view of the swimming pool as I, only he was one-floor lower. Duh, I said to myself, he's in 2-D and you're in 3-D.
He quickly came over to me and coughed, then said, "You know...I was fooling with it earlier and I think I might have accidentally fixed whatever the problem was...."
"Oh—good...." I said.
"I just put the baked potatoes in the oven," he said. "It'll be about an hour before we eat...want a glass of wine?"
"Sure, " I said. I noticed he'd pulled on a crisp, white tee shirt.
He directed me to sit on the sofa; he sat near me; I didn't think anything about it.
Our conversation took off from where we'd left it. It was like we were old friends. After our second glass of wine he excused himself; it was almost time to eat.
While he was in the kitchen I walked around the room taking a closer look at his artwork. He'd told me they were his—he enjoyed painting and photography and I could see he was talented.
I was staring at one of his paintings when suddenly he was beside me and he put an arm around my shoulder. I was startled at first, but it wasn't unpleasant.
"What do you think?" he asked me. "Do you like them? You can be brutally honest with me if you don't think they're any good."
On the contrary, I thought they were extremely good.
"I'm, ah...I'm very impressed...you're very good...but I was wondering...." my voice trailed-off.
"Wondering what?" he asked.
"They all seem to have a common theme...they're all beautiful, and you use different methods of conveying your message, but they give me the feelings of emptiness—loneliness...."
His hand squeezed my shoulder before he spoke.
"Wow," he said in a soft voice, "you're very perceptive...not many people see that..."
The meal was excellent. He enjoyed cooking and it showed. I rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher then we were back on the couch with another glass of wine.
I was curious about his personal life but didn't want to pry. In a round-about way I got him to open up.
"No, I'm not seeing anyone now...it's difficult meeting the right kind of people...I dunno—maybe I'm too selective—I'd hate to settle on someone I'm not 100% crazy about...."
"No," I said, "...you should never just 'settle'...it seems like I've done that my whole life and I've got nothing to show for it...."
"Yeah, I know what you mean..." he said. "Sometimes I get so bored and lonely I'll go out and have a fling with the first person who smiles at me and says something clever."
I had a hard time understanding how this smart, talented and funny man could possibly have a difficult time meeting women. Hell, I saw the stares he received from the girls at the pool today. I guessed maybe he was too picky.
In addition to all his other attributes, he struck me as very caring and sensitive. Despite his manly exterior, maybe he was just as insecure as the rest of us?
We talked for a long time. Whenever there was silence between us, it was never awkward. I had never felt so comfortable with another human being in my life.
It was late and we were saying our good-byes. He said he had two tickets to the ballgame the next afternoon and asked if I wanted to go.
"I'd love to," I said. I hoped I hadn't sounded too eager.
"Great," he smiled. "How about you stop by here at 11:30 and I'll drive us to the game?"
"I'll be here," I said.
Before I left I stared into his beautiful, glistening eyes and said, "Justin, thanks for dinner—and the conversation—I had more fun tonight than—well, I don't remember when...."
I will always remember the way his face lit up when I said those words.
When I got home I wasted no time in stripping for bed and retrieving the magazine from the nightstand. I went straight to my favorite page and stared at the man's cock.
My prick had been twitching and jumping in my pants all night; my balls were aching—demanding relief. I didn't understand my emotions, but I didn't care either.
I made no pretenses tonight: the cock in the picture belonged to Justin and I was kneeling between his legs giving him pleasure. I could almost taste his sweet pre-cum as my tongue lapped over his silky-smooth cock-flesh.
My orgasm rocked my world. A gushing flood of cum--amounts of which I'd never experienced before--covered my belly and thighs and hand. I was breathing hard for five-full minutes before I drifted-off into a blissfully-peaceful sleep.
The following morning it bothered me that I had masturbated to the image of my new friend. I was feeling somewhat embarrassed when I knocked on his door at 11:25. He greeted me again with his fabulous smile.
I wondered what was wrong with me--how could a man have this overpowering effect on me?
The negativity quickly disappeared—I felt like a new man when I was with him so to hell with my old inhibitions.
The ballgame wasn't very good; our team fell way behind early and never made much of an effort to catch up. Neither of us cared, we exchanged baseball stories, and enjoyed the ballpark cuisine.
He surprised me after the game by taking me to the Art Institute. An artist he admired had an exhibition opening and we toured the gallery for three-hours.
I listened to his knowledge of art history with rapt attention. It seemed the longer I knew Justin the more I was impressed by him. I clearly saw his fascination and love for art, and his excitement was contagious.
At times, when he was explaining a work to me, I became lost in his eyes while the melodic sound of his voice tugged at my heartstrings.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a woman's voice cried out: "Justin, darling—how nice to see you!"
The woman approached us: she was tall, blonde and very beautiful. I was impressed by her grace and poise. I wondered who she was.
The blood drained from Justin's face; his demeanor suddenly changed from lively and amiable to a sullenness I'd never seen.
"Hello, Jennifer...." he said in a not-very welcoming tone. "How have you been?"
"Just fabulous, darling...Todd and I returned from Bermuda this afternoon...we had to make it back for Freddy's opening tonight...isn't his work marvelous?"