My Demons by Hankster

My Demons

by: Hankster

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I lay on my stomach, almost not breathing. I was waiting patiently, expectantly, for Mark’s cock to enter my virgin ass. Moments ago his greasy finger had scouted the territory he would soon invade. Then a second finger, and finally a third, entered me. They were well oiled, and I hardly felt discomfort as he reamed and stretched my asshole, making sure that I would be ready to receive him. When he removed his fingers, I felt empty inside.

I shivered involuntarily when I felt his cockhead find my minimal opening. I was frightened and totally aroused at the same time. Mark had placed a pillow below me, raising my buttocks to greet him. He was straddling me doggie style and I was faint from wanting him so much.

“Are you ready?” I thought I heard him whisper. But now, years later, I’m not sure that he had said anything at all.

I think I whispered back, “Yes, I’m ready. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Fuck me now.”

Maybe an inch of his cock entered me and then stopped short at the sphincter which blocked his way. I was glad that Mark, fully erect, was no more than six inches of uncut glory. I couldn’t imagine anything bigger than that taking my virginity. He wasn’t too thick either, but not at all thin. I had passed turds larger than his prick, and I lost some of my fear when I first saw him in his present state. He was so hot and horny. I could hear his cock screaming to enter me and find release. I wanted so much to please him.

“Stop me if it hurts too much,” he said. I could barely hear him.

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” I answered him and he thrust suddenly past my opposing muscle. I nearly screamed out from the awful pain, but I bit my tongue. I had read enough and heard enough to know that the pain would soon give way to pleasure. I knew that when he was fully inside of me and started to stroke, his cock would massage my prostate and I might even cum before he did. In addition to all that cerebral knowledge, I loved Mark with all my soul. There was nothing he could do to me sexually, that could possibly hurt me.

He kept on entering me until I could feel his pubic hair on my hairless butt. Then he stopped and lay perfectly still. He let his upper body fall slowly on top of me until we were lying parallel to each other. I could feel an occasional twitch of his cock inside of me, but still he did not move. The pain was gone and the knowledge that the man I loved was inside of me added to the pleasure I felt. I thought that life could not get any better than this.

“Are you all right?” he asked with genuine concern. I prayed inwardly that his concern meant that he loved me too, and that he feared hurting me. All the while his tongue was tickling me inside my ear.

“I’m great and I love it,” I answered. “When are you going to stop talking and fuck me?”

Mark laughed as he began to stroke his cock in my love canal. He came out just far enough to keep from falling out, and when he reentered, he went all the way in. I felt a strange tingle growing inside of me and I realized that my body was aching to cum. I assumed that my prostate was being stroked by Mark’s prick.

In the beginning, Mark deliberately stroked slowly and stopped often, but after a short while his stroking became more regular and I could feel his pace quickening. His breath was becoming shorter and shorter, and I knew that he would cum any second. I was so consumed with the fact that I was about to pleasure him, that I almost didn’t realize that I was about to cum myself. As I shot my load into the pillow, I constricted my asshole involuntarily. With each spurt of my orgasm, my ass closed tightly around Mark’s cock. He could no longer delay his climax. My constrictions put him over the top. I waited expectantly to feel his fluids fill my gut, but I didn’t. It took me a minute to realize that Mark had put on a condom. It was the right thing to do, so why did I feel so cheated?

Mark lay on top of me catching his breath. Neither of us wanted to move. We would have stayed that way all night, but Mark’s cock grew smaller and he finally fell out of my asshole.

Just a few days earlier I was lying in my college dormitory bed, a nineteen year old virgin. I had just finished jacking off, and my cum was coating my pubic hair. I was sobbing bitterly into my pillow. My masturbation fantasies had not taken me to the realm of Venus, but rather to Vic, the hunk who was captain of my college football team. Vic and I were in the same Phys Ed class and I got to see his muscled body three times a week in the showers after class. I had to think of maggots crawling up and down my body to keep from getting hard.

During the past few months, I had finally let myself consider the fact that I might be homosexual. The very thought of it sent shivers up and down my spine. I was raised devoutly Catholic, and I was convinced that I would go to hell if I acted on my masturbation fantasies. On the other hand, I was convinced that I would go crazy if I didn’t, and soon.

Whenever I had homosexual fantasies, I felt an absolute need to do penance. I would run to church and offer as many prayers as I could remember, and promise God that I would purge these thoughts from my brain. A lot of good that did! I wanted to confess my sins, but I could not mouth the words, especially to a priest.

That night I made a decision. Instead of another useless church visit, I decided to call a telephone number I had put in my wallet at freshman orientation. At the orientation we were all ushered into a huge gymnasium where at least one hundred tables had been set up. The tables were full of literature and one or two people sat at each table. Every fraternity, sorority and club at the university was represented. I had little interest in any of them, but I strolled up and down the aisles dutifully. At last one table caught my eye. The table contained several publications and a plaque which read: GAY AND LESBIAN COALITION. A very unattractive woman and an equally unattractive man were seated behind the table. I wanted desperately to stop and speak to them, but I didn’t dare. After much prodding by myself to me, I practically ran by the table, picked up some literature and was off before the two gays could speak to me. I was out of the gym before they could recognize me or call after me.

I didn’t dare read the pamphlets in my dorm room for fear that my room mate would see them. It was an empty fear because he was never there. He slept at his girlfriend’s off campus apartment almost every night. I enjoyed my privacy, but I committed the deadly sin of envy, and I confessed that sin often to my priest. It was a ready substitute for my sin of homosexuality. In the end, I decided to wait until I knew for sure that my room mate would not be in for the night and I could read the pamphlets fearlessly. Several weeks passed before I got up the courage to read them even though he was never around.

The pamphlets were not too revealing. One advertised support groups for gays. Several were requests for donations for various AID’s charities, and one was a newsletter from the local Gay and Lesbian Community Center. I read with interest the announcements of the various gay groups which met at the GLCC. As much as I would have wanted to attend a weekly meeting of gay college men on Wednesday evenings, I knew I never would. On the last page, tucked away in a corner, there was a little blurb encouraging gay men and women to call the Center Hot Line if there was something bothering them which they needed to get off their chests, or they needed to get help with.

The evening I decided not to use the church as my crutch after guiltily jacking off, I determined to call the number I had harbored in my wallet since orientation. I stared at the phone for long minutes before getting up the courage to call. Finally, with great trepidation, I punched in the Hot Line number. I shook with unreasoning fear as I heard the phone ringing at the other end. It rang four times and I was about to hang up in relief when I heard a friendly voice say, “GLCC Hot Line, Mark speaking. How can I help you?”

I was frozen and couldn’t answer until Mark asked, “Is anyone there? I promise I don’t judge, and whatever you tell me is as privileged as the confessional.” That very “Catholic” reference reassured me and I said, “Hello Mark. My name is Jason.”

“It’s nice to speak to you Jason. Now, how can I help you?”

“I’m not sure you can,” I sounded doubtful.

“Well if I can’t help you, maybe I can refer you to someone who can,” Mark answered optimistically. “Just tell me the reason for your call.”

There was something in Mark’s voice that allayed some of my fears. Still I hesitated and when I did speak, I stammered a lot and I wasn’t sure I was making sense.

“I think I might be gay,” I stammered out. I waited for Mark to respond but the line was silent. It was my turn to ask, “Are you there?”

Finally Mark asked, “Is being gay a problem or does being gay create problems? There’s a fine difference you know. Most people who call are troubled about being gay, and it’s a big problem for them. Others don’t mind being gay, but sometimes it causes problems for them, like at work or school for instance.”

“I’m afraid of being gay. I’m afraid I’ll go to hell. I’m still a virgin, but every time I fantasize about homosexual sex, I feel obliged to run to church and ask God to forgive me. I know how much he hates homosexuality, if not homosexuals themselves.” I started to blubber. I was angry at myself for giving in to my tears, but I just couldn’t help it.

“God doesn’t hate anyone,” Mark said adamantly. “He loves all his creations, flaws and all. What makes you think that being a homosexual or just thinking about it will get you into hell?”

“The Bible,” I answered with authority.

Immediately I heard Mark laugh snidely. “Listen Jason,” he said, “the Bible was written by men, not God. If you tell me that God spoke through those men and they merely recorded the ‘Words of God’ I will tell you that they were mortal men, and their mortal prejudices came out in interpreting ‘God’s words.’ Anyway nothing is more badly interpreted than biblical meanings. Jews can spend years arguing over the meaning of a single sentence in the scriptures, and Christians are a very close second. That alone proves that ‘God’s words’ were often misinterpreted, and certainly badly translated from the original writings.”

“I’ve heard those arguments before,” I said. “I’m not convinced. I live in mortal fear that I will spend eternity in hell.”

“You’re a tough one,” Mark said.” Usually when I reassure a caller that he won’t go to hell, they are convinced, at least for the moment. But I can’t seem to convince you. Look, Jason, I’m here at the Hot Line every Friday night from six to ten. Why don’t you meet me at the end of my shift next Friday? We’ll have a cup of coffee and talk.”

“What makes you such an expert?” I asked in a very mean spirited way.

“Well Jason, I accepted my homosexuality very early in life, and I have never had a problem with it, nor has it ever caused me a problem. Well, once it did. A girl fell in love with me in the eighth grade. I never encouraged her, but when I told her I was gay, she slapped my face.”

I started to laugh.

Mark continued, “So you see, I’m an expert. In addition, I was raised Catholic so I know where you are coming from.”

“You were raised Catholic?” I asked. “Does that mean you aren’t a Catholic anymore?”

“I attend a gay church now. It’s Christian and that’s all I care about. I’m comfortable there. I had a Jewish boy friend once and we went to a service at the gay synagogue. I felt at home there too. Do you know why Jason?” Mark asked rhetorically. “Because they told me there that God loved me, and I was assured that He didn’t give a hoot about my sexual orientation.”

“OK,” I said. “I really do need to talk about my fears. They are driving me crazy. I’ll come down to the Center next Friday about a quarter to ten.”

“Give me your telephone number,” Mark said. I immediately grew suspicious. I had a vision of being kidnapped by some cult.

“Why?”

“Just in case I can’t make it next Friday, I can call you. Unforeseen things happen you know.”

I reluctantly gave Mark my number and we hung up. The rest of the evening, before I fell asleep, I kept wondering if I would have the courage to go to the Center and meet Mark. I was just dozing off when the phone rang. I was pretty surly when I answered.

“This better be good if you are calling so late.”

“Sorry Jason. It’s Mark. I hope I didn’t wake you.” Something happened then that I had never experienced before. My heart skipped a beat.

“No,” I stammered. “I’m still up.”

“Rather than wait until next Friday, how would you like to go to church with me on Sunday?”

“Roman Catholic?” I stupidly asked.

“No,” Mark replied. “It’s the gay church. The service is a good mixture of a Catholic Mass and a Protestant service. I think some of your fears might be allayed, when you see that you can be religious, have faith, and still be gay. Unfortunately you were programmed to believe that homosexuality was a sin, and if that wasn’t a sin, then homosexual acts were. I want you to see that it’s all hogwash.”

To be honest, I had no wish to attend any church other than my own, but I had made a decision to seek help in exorcising my demons through means outside the church, so I reluctantly agreed to meet Mark. To be even more honest, I was anxious to meet the wise man with the kind voice on the other end of the phone line, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week. Mark gave me explicit directions to the church, and said to meet him at 9:45 AM on the church steps.

“How will I know you?” I asked.

“You can’t miss me,” he said. “I’ll be standing on the steps looking for you. My hair is fire red; my eyes are blue; and if that’s not enough for you, my face is covered with freckles. I’m twenty now, and my doctor says that the freckles will start disappearing soon. In fact they should have been gone by now. Also I attend the University, so you may have seen me on campus.”

After we hung up, I began to picture Mark from the description he gave me. Of course I exaggerated his beauty, and found myself whacking off, dreaming that he was down on me and sucking away with joy and abandonment. When it was over, I sobbed loudly and asked God a hundred times to forgive my sins. I vowed not to meet Mark on Sunday and to attend my church instead.

Sunday morning dawned cloudless. The temperature had dipped below freezing during the night. The freezing weather actually warmed me. Suddenly I thought of Thanksgiving only two weeks away. I would be home in a comfortable, familiar environment. I would be surrounded by people who truly loved me because they didn’t know my secret. Would they love me if they knew?

I looked over at my room mate’s bed. It was empty as usual and a good thing. My seven inch, circumcised cock was hard as nails and protruding through my boxer shorts. I had to pee badly. I put on a heavy bathrobe, slipped into my slippers and ran to the bathroom. While I was peeing I made a mental plan to ignore the early, unseasonal cold, take a shower and go to church.

CHURCH! Suddenly I had butterflies in my stomach. Did I have the guts to meet Mark this morning? While pondering this monumental question, I became aware that although I was all peed out, my cock was as hard as ever, maybe harder. The mere thought of meeting Mark, surrounded by gay men, kept it that way. I began to have a conversation with myself. I was doing that a lot lately.

Wuss! I admonished me, you want to find out if you are gay or not (like I didn’t know) and if you are gay, you’ve got to exorcise your demons. You’ve got to learn to live with being gay the rest of your life. If you don’t, you might as well kill yourself. I shuddered at the thought of suicide. Mortal sins were a lot on my mind lately.

So I took my shower and dressed for church (overdressed as it turned out.) My heavy winter jacket was still in my suitcase. I retrieved the case from the top of the closet and removed the jacket, proof positive that the crisp autumn weather might be gone for another year, and winter was upon us. Even though I had convinced myself that I wouldn’t go to a gay church and meet Mark, I had studied the city’s bus routes and knew exactly how to get there. I was pleased that I didn’t have to make any transfers. The bus that I often took to the downtown business and shopping area of the city continued on, and in less than half a mile it was in a very gay section of town. The church was situated there.

I got off the bus and walked two blocks east. I turned right and there it was. I was pleasantly surprised and shocked. It was a real church, damn near a cathedral in its ornateness. I spotted Mark immediately on the top steps. He was wearing jeans and sneakers. I didn’t know what was underneath his jacket, but I could see that it was not a dress shirt. I was wearing my dark Sunday suit, business shirt and tie, and dress shoes. I felt a little foolish, but convinced myself that it was better to be a little overdressed than inappropriate. I figured that I could always remove my tie.

I approached Mark cautiously, held out my hand, and in a frightened voice asked, “Are you Mark?” Mark looked at me and broke out into a huge grin.

“You must be Jason,” he said. “You’re just as I pictured you, prim, proper and very wholesome. But that’s not to say that you aren’t drop dead gorgeous.” His first sentence may or may not have been a compliment, but his second sentence made me blush.

“You’re very good looking also,” I stammered out.

Mark completely ignored my outstretched hand. Instead he threw his arms around me and gave me a warm and welcoming bear hug. I loved it and tried to cover my shock.

“Let’s get inside where it’s warm,” he said. “I didn’t want to miss you and I have been waiting out in the cold for nearly a half hour. I was afraid you wouldn’t come, but I’m glad you did. I’m hoping you’ll be glad also.” We found two seats in the dead center of the sanctuary. The church must have had at least two hundred congregants already seated and plenty more men and women were still coming in. It boggled my mind to think that all these people were gay. I even recognized some guys and a couple of girls from school, but I averted my eyes from them.

When I was sixteen I had a buddy who was Episcopalian. One Sunday he came to my church and on another occasion I went to his. The two masses were not too dissimilar. “We’re Catholic Lite,” my friend told me jokingly. The service here at the gay church was very much like the Episcopal service. It wasn’t until the homily that I realized why Mark wanted me to be here.

The sermon concerned itself with Jesus’ belief in diversity. All people of every faith and persuasion were welcomed into his Father’s Kingdom. Up until then, his own people would not have allowed unclean Gentile’s into their Temples, but Jesus believed that all of mankind was inclusive. At no time in his ministry did Jesus say that homosexuals or bisexuals or lesbians or transgendered people would be excluded. That’s true, I thought, and I did indeed feel a tad better. This man of the cloth, standing at his pulpit, was actually telling me that clean or unclean, I was loved and would be welcomed into Heaven.

During the sermon, Mark had taken my hand and now he was squeezing it a little harder than gently. I wasn’t even aware of it until the sermon was winding down. I looked at him and he looked at me and we smiled at each other. My body was aglow with the warmth and the love of all the congregants. I even took communion together with Mark, and failed to feel that I was sinning because it wasn’t being offered by a catholic priest.

I smiled inwardly when I realized that I was lusting after Mark, and had no guilty feelings at all. Even the minister, during his sermon, made a reference to his ‘partner.’ This place was an incredible pool of love, but I saddened when I realized that I could never tell my family about me or this church.

At the end of the service we left the church and shook the minister’s hand. Then Mark led me to the social hall which was in a separate building. The church provided a good supply of diverse beverages and sweets. While we each had a cup of coffee, several of Mark’s friends invited us to join them for lunch.

“Not today,” Mark declined. “Jason and I have business to attend to. We’ll take a rain check.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my apartment. I’ll make us lunch” Mark said. “I intend to begin the long process of exorcising your demons. How do you feel about everything so far?”

I answered honestly. “I feel scared. I feel like a traitor to my faith. I still feel like I’m on the express train to hell, and I want to run into a catholic church to pray.”

“Boy,” Mark said. “Lesson one can’t come a moment too soon.”

“How will I get home?” I asked, coming back to reality.

“Not a problem. I’ll drive you back to your dorm.”

When we got to Mark’s apartment, I was surprised. Given Mark’s age and the fact that he was a student at my university, I expected to see an extension of a sloppy dorm room. I was so wrong. His apartment was small but neat. It was sparsely furnished, but it contained everything a young man could possibly need for his comfort. I was very impressed and told him so. The apartment had a small kitchen with a tiny table and two chairs. There was a bedroom, living room and bathroom.

Mark hung his jacket in the front hall closet, and he hung mine there also. He showed me around and when he reached the bedroom, I saw that the double bed was neatly made. Mark removed his sneakers and put on a pair of slippers.

“Give me your jacket, tie and shoes,” he said. I obeyed orders, and Mark miraculously produced another pair of slippers which he offered me.

“We might as well be comfortable,” Mark said. He led me to the kitchen and bade me sit on one of the chairs while he made us cheese omelets, which he served with Kaiser Rolls and coffee. While we ate, Mark began to speak. He sounded very much like one of my professors. He was very clinical. I expected he might be a bit sexually provocative. Correction! I hoped he would be sexually provocative.

“So you’re a virgin.” He made it a statement rather than a question. “I find that rather sweet.” He patted my hand. “Let’s get started.”

He took our dirty dishes and flatware to the sink, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. He was a neatnik!! He motioned for me to follow him and we sat down comfortably on his sofa.

“Do you believe in God?” Mark asked me staring directly into my eyes. His question stunned me. All I could do is nod my head.

“Tell me what you believe God to be?”

I had to think awhile before I answered, “Spirit.”

“Good spirit? Bad spirit? In between spirit?” Mark asked. I thought he was mocking me, but I wouldn’t be fazed by him.

“Why good, of course.”

“Define good,” he demanded.

“Perfect, infallible,” I responded immediately.

“Then if God is infallible, do you think that his creations are less than perfect?”

“Yes, we are all sinners.”

“Then if we are all sinners, who gets into heaven? Maybe I should ask, does anyone get into heaven?”

“Of course,” I said haughtily. “Those who repent and atone for their sins.”

“But don’t we sin again immediately after we repent? After all we are fallible and constant sinners.”

Mark seemed to have a rebuttal for everything. I was beginning to become very uncomfortable. In fact, I was beginning to feel foolish, but I wasn’t ready to expel my fears just because I felt that way.

“Where is all this leading to?” I asked.

“Nowhere!” Mark answered. “I just wanted to show you that even if you and I were to make love this very second, it would be no less a sin than the other hundred you seem to feel you commit on a constant basis every day. But you should know that no sin would be committed in my eyes. Is it more of a sin to make love, than to send young men to die in senseless, fruitless wars?”

“Are we?” I asked

“Are we what?”

“Going to make love this very second?”

“I’d like that,” Mark said. “I feel a big need to save your immortal soul. I know we just met, but I have feelings for you. Surely God would not punish me for loving another human being, one of his creations no less. Did you stop believing that God is love?”

Before I knew what he was doing, Mark leaned into me and started to kiss me. The biggest wonder of all is that I responded immediately. Our lips parted and our tongues began to duel. If this was the road to hell, the highway was awfully beautiful.

Instead of surrendering to the joy and the passion of the flesh, I was suddenly overcome with guilt and I pushed Mark away from me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t,” I sobbed. “It’s contrary to God’s will.”

Mark did not let go of me. He was holding me tight and I allowed it. How can I deny how good it felt to be held by him? I loved him but I cringed at the very thought of such a damning scenario.

“You’re wrong,” Mark said very quietly. “It is God’s will. Just look at how quickly we fell in love. I see it as having been arranged by our guardian angels. I feel God blessing us. Don’t you?”

Mark continued to hold me. He caressed the back of my head and ran his hand down my back, finally caressing my buttocks. All the while he was whispering softly in my ear. “You have nothing to fear. I love you. I want to make love to you for the rest of my life. Please don’t run away from me. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

After a long period of soul searching, I said, “I love you too Mark, but I am still in fear for my immortal soul.” I wept silently on Mark’s shoulder. I could not push him away. Instead I pulled him closer to me and began to kiss his cheeks. I realized then that his cheeks were wet. All the while he had been whispering in my ear, he too had been quietly crying. My heart melted. Suddenly I made a decision, and I spoke too loudly in Mark’s ear.

“Yes, Mark, I do love you. I don’t know if I’ll go to hell or not, but while I am here, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I put my lips on his and we began to kiss passionately.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want to do or that will gross you out,” Mark said. “Let’s take it nice and slow. I’ll do all the love making. You just lie back and enjoy it. When you want to, you can do whatever you want to me. I’ll be patient and wait for as long as it takes.”

Mark led me to the bedroom where he began to undress me. The minute he unbuttoned the first button on my shirt, I got an erection. My first thought was to hide it, but it finally dawned on me that an erection was exactly what Mark would want me to have. When my upper body was naked, Mark began to undo my belt. That was the point I got my courage up. I asked him to stop for a moment, and I lifted his tee shirt over his head. Now we were both naked from the waist up.

I expected Mark to return to my belt, but he surprised me by pinching my nipples instead. My whole body vibrated. I had no idea that a man’s nipples were so erogenous. I played with his nipples also, wanting to give him the same pleasure. Then Mark bent down and started to suckle and take little nips on one of my nipples, and then the other.

“I’m going to faint,” I informed him. “I need to lie down.” Without further ado, we stripped the rest of our bodies by ourselves and got into Mark’s neatly made bed. We were on top of the bed cover as we came together in a passionate kiss. Mark rubbed his cock against mine. I made no move to stop him. I had dreamed of this moment forever, and I didn’t give a damn at that moment if I went to hell or not. I vowed to make love to Mark as long as my strength, and his, held out. I decided to worry about hell later on.

Mark began moving down my body. He kissed my neck, lapped at my nipples and my belly button, and finally reached my pubic hair. For some reason I feared that he would stop at that point, but he skirted around the hair and started to lick my balls and my inner thighs. I was no longer in a conscious state. I was euphoric and concluded that this must be what a “religious experience” felt like. Coming back to my senses, I wanted to reciprocate, and while I was at it, I could make another fantasy a reality. I twisted my body around and took Mark’s cock into my mouth, just as he took mine. I paid attention to the way he moved his tongue and his lips, and I tried hard to emulate him. I played with his balls as I sucked him, just as he did to me.

I felt his balls constricting and I knew he was close. I panicked at the thought of his spunk rushing into my mouth, but I did not stop. I was determined to go to hell in style. Apparently Mark was more adept at delaying orgasm than I was, and I felt myself coming. I couldn’t let him know because my mouth was full of his cock, but I was relatively sure he could tell. When I came, I did have to top sucking him as I cried out in utter abandonment. Mark did what I expected and according to my fantasy. He swallowed every drop of my cum.

We lay back exhausted. After a short while, Mark leaned over and kissed me. The smell of semen was on his lips and for what it is worth, that aroused me, and I remained perfectly erect. “Let me satisfy you now,” I said.

“Can I fuck you?” he asked me. The fires of hell appeared before me, but I answered. “Please fuck me. I have fantasized what it would be like for years.”

“Turn on your stomach,” he told me.

“Are you ready?” I thought I heard him whisper. But now, years later, I’m not sure that he had said anything at all.

I think I whispered back, “Yes, I’m ready. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Fuck me now.”

“Stop me if it hurts too much,” he said. I could barely hear him.

“I’m great and I love it,” I answered. “When are you going to stop talking and fuck me?”

Mark lay on top of me catching his breath. Neither of us wanted to move. We would have stayed that way all night, but Mark’s cock grew smaller and he finally fell out of my asshole.

I am now fifty years old, and Mark is fifty-one. We have not spent a night apart since that wonderful day we first coupled. Mark makes me happy. He makes me want to live every day in his presence. I no longer believe I am doomed to hell. Rather, I believe that God or some guardian angel brought us together. Our union is truly blessed.

I kept my secret from my parents until I graduated college. When I came out to them they refused to talk to me and told me never to contact them again. I was distraught, but Mark’s parents took me under their wings and welcomed me into the family.

Two years after my parents disowned me, I heard from them. They asked if I would please come home for Christmas and to bring Mark so that they could meet him. Mark’s parents agreed that it was more important for us to go to my home for Christmas than to spend the holiday with them.

My parents acted like nothing had ever happened. They made Mark feel that he was one of the family. At one point during dinner I looked quizzically at my father. I said nothing at all, but he read my mind. Smiling at me he said, “I didn’t want to lose you, son.”

The best part of the reconciliation was that I truly stopped believing that my love for Mark was a sin. More importantly, I came to hope that night that my parents didn’t see me as a sinner either.

Posted: 02/26/10