The first man I ever loved was a very unlikely candidate. The way I met him was equally improbable. While future stories involving him are almost certainly exaggerations concocted to excite my cerebral spank cortex, everything here is as true to fact as my memory can faithfully reproduce.
In the early days of 2002, I was new to New York City and my main crew was a friend who had preceded me from Boston (Michael) and his new husband (Adam). Together they possessed the most beautiful and contagious spirit of liberated openness towards life and sexuality as you can imagine, and it was exactly the kind of energy my 22 year old self needed to draw myself out of the shell of my conservative upbringing. Forgive my corniness, I'm a corny guy with his heart on his sleeve. Love it or leave it- it only gets worse.
One night while hanging out in Adam and Mike's apartment Adam broached the topic of a new friend of theirs they had met online. "There's this guy me and Mike have seen a couple times now-" but then Michael shot him a glare that said
don't bring this up please, I'd rather it remained private
. He has very articulate glares.
"What?" I asked. You can't start a story and then cut it off once it's clear that it's a good one. Or an embarrassing one.
"Aw, Mikes embarrassed because we me him online. I thought it was one of the hottest encounters I've ever had. Come on mike, let's tell him."
Exasperated, Mike threw his hands up. "Well of course we have to tell him now!" But I could see a new glimmer in his eye- he had found himself moved by an erotic charge off the memory of the encounter.
"Okay so there's this dude in upper Chelsea- Asian dude, older but completely decent looking, like normal looking. He has one thing that he's completely into- he loves milking guys. He gives amazing hand jobs."
My proverbial antennae piqued.
"You've never had anything like this. He stays completely dressed, it's not like you have to do him back. He just gets off on the control of having a naked stud prone and exposed and getting him really closed to the edge of orgasm, but keeping him there as long as possible. Mike loved it." Michael was blushing, but I was popping some serious wood at the thought of my old friend laying back and receiving a long, slow stroke job. The way I know Michael is that a few years previous I had hooked up with him- we had a great time and he became one of those sexual encounters that stuck around as a close friend. I can tell you with authority that his equipment is nothing short of glorious.
"So he jerked you off? Together?" As turned on as I was, the question was driven more by the curious logistics of such a feat.
"No. The second time I met him he just did Mike while I watched." By now my arousal was intense enough that I had to adjust the rising bulge in my jeans. It did not go unnoticed.
"You think that's hot?" Adam asked with a gleam in his eye that told me this had been a trap all along. "I talked to a couple guys about it but they didn't get it."
I told him I did, I definitely did. In those days I wasn't really able to articulate why, that my particular mental g-spot came from enjoying a sense of powerlessness, of being on display, of presenting the goods to any and all who cared to enjoy the view and tantalize with a slow and gentle caress. For me it was about powerlessness, not ego. I didn't enjoy the idea of inflicting my nudity on anyone who didn't want to see it- I never understood the appeal of public flashing and the like. It was the willing audience I secretly fantasized about, and no wonder: the very vulnerability that fueled this link of mine would make any adversarial friction devastating. But I was 22 and still feeling my way towards ownership of my sexuality, so as it was I was proud of myself when I directly blurted out: "I want to try it. Can you mention me to him?"
