I won't say it caught me completely by surprise to find myself falling for another man. Hell, everyone's been curious before, whether they'll admit it or not, and I'm no different. What's more, I've never been one of those uptight guys who constantly worries about it. When I was seventeen, I sat down and took a good long look at myself, finally decided that guys didn't really do anything for me, and that was that, or so I thought at the time. I asked the question, which is more than most guys have the balls to do, and was perfectly satisfied that I was straight as an arrow after all. I promptly dropped the question and set about the regular youthful pastime of trying desperately to get into girls' panties with a new singleness of purpose.
Some inkling of curiosity may still have lurked in the back of my mind, but I was now secure enough in my sexuality that it didn't matter much. When I got to college, I gleefully bedded as many girls as I could, and my luck was considerable. I even managed to build up a bit of a reputation as a lover of no slight skill and passion, as I learned (to my considerable delight) when one of my "companions" mentioned between exhausted gasps that I was "even better than they said." That sort of thing just does wonders for a young man's ego.
Then, in my senior year of college, I met Jack, and the Big Surprise. As I said, it wasn't the fact that I fell for another guy that shocked me so much. It was how perfectly natural it all seemed that really surprised me. I'd have thought for sure that my first time with a man would be awkward and tense and scary. But we found ourselves in bed together after the very first night we met. It was a double blind date – Katie, a girl I'd slept with before and remained friends with, had set it up, with Jack as her blind date and her friend Janine as mine. Jack and Katie didn't hit it off very well at all, and Janine was frankly a bit of a domineering bitch, but Jack had hit a chord with me the first time I saw him. A connection was made, and when, after the date, I found myself holding him in my arms and kissing his forehead after our first lovemaking session, it didn't feel at all odd. THAT's what surprised me.
That, too, was what I was thinking about as I lay in bed eight months later, eyes still closed, with warm sunshine streaming through the apartment window onto my face. The space next to me was empty but still warm, the smell of strong coffee filling the apartment. I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom to shave and brush my teeth, the mirror still foggy from Jack's morning shower. My Saturday morning ritual is a lot like my weekday morning ritual, only not as hurried, so it was another fifteen minutes before I emerged and walked through the living room.
Jack walked out of the kitchen in his boxers and a white tee-shirt, handing me a cup of coffee and kissing me good-morning. Some mushy words were exchanged, and we sat down on the couch together to drink our coffee and watch the morning news.
To tell the truth, though, my mind wasn't on the news. I was still thinking of that first night together, and watching him out of the corner of my eye. It always has amazed me how simply beautiful he is. Since falling for Jack, I've been able to look at men differently, even enjoying some gay porn now and again, but Jack's always been different. I don't want him the way I would want a woman, or even the way I find myself wanting men these days – I want Jack the way I want Jack. And so I set my cup on the coffee table, grabbed the remote control, turned off the television, and told him so.
He responded by grabbing my face in both hands and pulling me into him, his mouth warm and soft and tasting of strong coffee. I ran my fingers through his shortish, brownish hair, sucking gently on his bottom lip, and slid my hands up his shirt to enjoy the feel of that toned muscle under my fingers. The shirt came off a few seconds later, and I found myself on top of him, kissing his neck, feeling him get hard through his boxers, breathing in his scent of strong soap and cheap cologne. I felt my own tee shirt pulled up and over my head, and then the warmth of his skin against mine. That warmth felt wonderful, and we lay like that for a long moment, lips pressed together, his hands on my back, my hands tugging playfully at the waistband of his boxers.
