Tag: gay

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“Aaahhh, I think I just died,” Nelson laughed. “I’m totally dead.”
“I’ll avenge you!” Tito smashed the buttons aggressively on the controller.
“Oh! Oh noooo Tito don’t – ahh you dude what was that move? That was sick! You got him, finish him, finish him! Ahaha bro you’re my hero.”
“I have avenged you, but now I am a lonely victor. Cause yeah you died.”
Nelson snickered. “I am not good at this.”
“You did pretty well for someone who hasn’t done this before.”
“Yeah, I’m not that invested – it’s not like I can win this game in one day. Besides like, winning isn’t the point, just fun to hang out.”
“Yeah. I wish we could like…do this more often. Instead of just once a year,” Tito grumbles.

There was a solid pause. “We may be able to hang out more.”
Tito craned his head up. “What do you mean?”
“My cousin’s going off to college right? My uncle said the room is free; he said I could rent it if I want to.”
“You’re – you’re thinking of moving back here?”
“Maybe. I’m not getting anywhere with community college in Maryland, going to university doesn’t feel right, and living with my mom and her new husband is super weird. There’s a new HVAC program at the career center here that’s really affordable, and they pay for the apprenticeship. No debt, and I get job skills. Um, so I’m looking into it.”
“Are you serious? Is that why you came here suddenly? I thought you just came for your cousin’s graduation.”
“That, and to see you,” Nelson said.
“Did you apply for that program or are you just thinking about it?”
“I applied. I was waiting to hear back if I’m accepted for fall. I haven’t heard yet, but like, I just can’t keep a secret. So I don’t want to get your hopes up, but ya know… I kind of like the hope.”
Tito put down the controller. He turned around so he could climb onto Nelson’s lap like a koala, legs tucked on the sides, but holding on as tight as he could. “I want you to move back,” he whispered.
Nelson wrapped him in a hug and nuzzled his cheek. “I want to be with you too, but it doesn’t matter where to me.”
Their lips met with a soft touch. The CRT TV hummed in the background, the game on hold. Tito’s hands pushed up Nelson’s shirt; Nelson snaked his hands around back to squeeze Tito’s ass. Nelson could feel the hardness in Tito’s shorts against his stomach, and was pretty sure Tito could feel the same thing. The urge to touch him was suddenly over-whelming.

“So if it doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter if we’re in my bedroom instead of on this floor?” Tito asked.
“Nope. Actually I’d prefer to be there.”
“Yeah me too. Why don’t we move here?”
“That’s a phenomenal idea. I need to reward you for avenging my death though,” Nelson reminded him. “And I think your bedroom is a better spot for that.”
“You want me to carry you like how Cloud carries Aerith’s body in Final Fantasy?”
Nelson snickered. “I think for that scene to work, we need to fill up the bathtub.”
“Ohhh no I’ve watched enough porn to know sex in the bathtub is a bad bad idea.”
“Even with a sexy corpse?”
“Especially with a sexy corpse.”
“Well, carry me like a sexy corpse. It’ll be very dramatic.”
Tito puffed out his cheeks. “I will try.”

15 minutes later, Tito’s roommate came home and noticed there was a foot sized hole in the wall of the hallway, plaster on the carpet, and a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom at the end. Oh no, what were those noises? He decided to go get In n Out for dinner.

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Captions are fictional.

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“So go up to Broadway Street and turn left?”
“Right,” Morgan chirps. “Yeah I live in this residential neighborhood here a couple miles east.”
“Oh I know that area,” I say, “It’s kind of where the sorority houses are for the university.”
“Yeah! I’m living in an apartment for my senior year, but we’re gonna drive right past my party house. I’m part of Delta Phi Epsilon. Well, the Delta Delta chapter anyway. Delta deltaaa woo!” he emphasizes this with a dainty fist punch.
“Wow, you are enthusastic,” I note.
“They’re an awe~~some house.”
I chuckle. I drive for a ride-sharing app and have meant some eccentric people. I try not to pass judgements on first impressions, but it’s already obvious that Morgan is queer as can stereotypically be – the tone of his voice, his body movements, his skinny jeans and tight shirt and …I think he’s wearing a bit make up. He’s wearing sandals where his toes stick out, too. Then, something dawns on me. “Wait a second, Morgan, I know someone who went to Delta Delta. That’s a sorority isn’t it? Not a fraternity?”

“Hey! You know your sororities. Oh my gawd, that’s so hot. Yeah it is a sorority, those girls are my besties.”
I lift an eyebrow but hold off on responding until I can change lanes and get out from behind this bus. “I thought boys weren’t allowed in sororities?”
“Yeah but I was staying with them. Special permission for this twinkie, honey. It works out better than staying with frat boys and the girls love me. We share make up tips, go shopping together, bake cupcakes, form study groups, do charity events together – it’s sooo much fun.”
“How…I mean just…how? How did they let you do that?” I’m so confused.

“Well I met Brittany in ethics class. I needed crash space baaad since my roomie at the time was a fag hating roid douche, and she suggested I sleep on the sofa of their sorority house until I could rehome. I ended up teaching the girls how to make cheesecake. Never left.“
I signal to make the aforementioned left. “It’s not a problem that you’re a guy? Even though you’re…gay? Aren’t you?”
“Um, duh. If you can’t tell I am doing something wrong.”
“No no,” I say quickly, “I can definitely tell. I mean, I’m gay too and the radar is off the charts.”
He laughs and gives me a high five. “Hell yeah for gays boy!”
I high five him back.
Morgan continues. “And to answer your question honey – sororities are for girls, but being a girl isn’t about gender anymore. You can have a really cute penis, be biologically male, and still be a girl.”
“I …don’t get it.”
“Being a ‘girl’ is an identity. It means you like things pink, you like to be fancy, you’re into fashion, and fawning over cute boys. It means you can express your emotions. Guys don’t do that. I can be silly and flirty one day, vulnerable and passive the next, and fierce and bitchy one day later. It’s like … ummmm if you’ve twinked out too much and so God gave you an upgrade option?”

This time I almost crash the car. “What, seriously?”
“Yeah that’s exactly what it’s like! I mean, my sorority girls get it. They get me in ways you could never imagine. We’re not that different. We both got pussies, you know, and we both know how to use em. I mean – my chapter’s official logo is a unicorn for fuck’s sake. It’s the gayest sorority ever.”
“Uh. Wow.”
Morgan checks his cell phone and types a rapid response back to whatever message he received. “Omg Rachel got her nips pierced. Damn, I thought she was just bluffing when she was drunk. God, wine coolers are evil.”
“Wine coolers are disgusting,” I add.
“But cheap! I’m a brand whore, I only drink expensive vodka and it really adds up ugh. Girls gotta have her drinky drinks though.”
I struggle on what to say. “So it’s about…socializing?”
“In sorority houses yeah. Technically you’re not supposed to be drinking or have boys over, so that’s why I moved out for my senior year. The first years are about bonding and making friends, having someone to talk to about life, about careers, and sales at Macy’s. We do a lot of charity work with women of domestic violence, too.”
“That sounds…admirable.”
“Thanks hon. It was soo hard. As much as it made me grow up, it was depressing. Made me stronger. I kinda miss helping, but I don’t have to do charity work anymore since I’m about to graduate. Gonna go to New York City to intern at a studio that crafts ballet slippers.”
I glance over at Morgan. “Congratulations. That sounds…interesting.”
“My major is fashion and arts, with a focus on dancewear. I like the pink, what can I say?”
“Um, sorry to interrupt, but am I turning any time soon?”
“Yeah actually, turn at the light. Oh shit it’s this light. God, I got distracted. Tuuurn and there we go. Down to the stop sign, make a right.”
I nod, and Morgan gets another text message. “Oh it’s Jennifer. Wanna know something funny? Jennifer and I share a boyfriend. He likes doing through the backdoor, she hates anal; he loves tits and I am flat as a board. We are all too busy for dating, so we share him. Works out beautifully. I get to ride dick, and I pass my classes.”

For once, Morgan has rendered me speechless.
“Oh there’s my apartment building! Fuck yeah duplexessss. Thank you, you’ve been a great driver.” He pulls a contact info card out of nowhere and offers it to me. “I like the gay boys, so if you ever want to tap this, call me ok?”
I take the card. “Um – uh – wow, um, ook then. Thanks, um, Morgan. Been nice talking to you. You’re really, interesting. I like your confidence.”
Morgans beams. “Thank you, dear. I’ll give you a big tip through the app.” He winks and gets out of my car. I watch his cute butt wrapped in denim as he sashays up to the apartment door and lets himself in. For a moment, I just sit there at the curb, wondering what just happen.

Then I glance over, and notice the glitter he left in my passenger seat – gay debris left by Hurricane Morgan. Despite the fact I fucked my boyfriend last night, compared to Morgan, I feel nearly straight.

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Text is fictional. Source is too hard to track down. I know nothing about sororities so sorry if I screwed something up. Also that sorority’s official mascot really is a unicorn.

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I’d finally gotten on medication for my depression, but I still wasn’t leaving the house much. In a gesture of support, my friends at the leather club decided to get me a puppy. At sure I was hesitant because pups are a lot of work. After just a week of owning one though, I began to enjoy having his needs to focus on instead of mine own. My therapist did say that having a routine was important.

Every morning, the pup would wake me up by jumping on the bed; he’d cuddle the hell outta me while rubbing his whiskers against my shoulder. He had to be let out to relieve himself and walked before breakfast, so normally he’d bring me the leash too. Once, I clipped the leash on and fell back asleep. A few minutes later I woke up again because he was making the mattress bounce. I forced open an eye and saw him sitting there, bright eyed and eager, leash in mouth and ready to go. Christ, he was adorable. I cracked a smile for the first time in weeks. “Alright, alright,” I threw off the blanket, “You win.”

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I looked up from my book at the half naked man in front of me. What a sight, naked and covered in freckles! I coaxed him over and take his soft cock in my hands and knead it with interest. I sighed in contentment as I felt the flesh tighten and swell under my administrations. The stranger groans and entwines his fingers in my hair. The person on the deck chair next to me starts watching me and reaches for his cock..

There’s dozens of secret, gay pool parties all over South Beach. I know where and when they all are because I’ve been coming here for fifteen years, the same two weeks every summer. I send the kids off to summer camp, kiss the wife good-bye, shut off my work phone, then hop on a plane for my “work sabbatical”. Over the years, the family has gotten postcards from Prague, Rome, Sydney, Aruba, Jakarta… but it’s a carefully constructed farce. I’ve never left the US once. I come to South Beach every year for two weeks to have gay sex in excess. Yep. From the time I land to the morning I leave, it’s cock, dick, and balls from sun-up to sun-down.

I love men, but I also like success. In the white, homophobic world of New England investment banking everything you eat, sleep, and breathe is a career move, and that includes marriage. My kids are 8 and 9 now. They might figure out that daddy’s secret, but my wife is pretty dense. I love them, yes, but every year it gets just a bit harder to leave South Beach… and every year I debate just staying here, splitting custody, and getting to play with naked studs by the pool every damn day until I die. What a life!

I reach around to squeeze a firm handful of this stranger’s ass and take his erection into my mouth. I push up his Tropical Heat shirt and run my hand over his chest as I suck. I love the musky scent of an aroused man, I love the way the vein throbs against my tongue, I love the small noises they make when I tongue the tip of their cock…perfection. The air is hot, I’m sweating, everything smells like suntan lotion and chlorine. This is heaven. Not Connecticut, not banking. Maybe this is the year. Maybe. I give his balls a squeeze. Oh fuck yes, he’s already coming.

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“Hey,” he grinned, posing in my window like some sort of over-sized Peter Pan.
“How..how did you get up here?” I gasped, “In your underwear at that…”
“I was a monkey in my past life.”
My eyes roved over his trim body and heavy bulge in his pants. I’m a rather famous actor in the ‘States and came down here for vacation and to study for my new role. Met this young thing in a cafe and he showed me around… well, that ended up with us making out behind a temple. He had no idea who I was and I wanted to take him to bed so badly, but someone had tipped off the paparazzi and they were crawling around the hotel like roaches. I hadn’t been able to focus since I sent him away, still hard and whimpering. 
“Where are your clothes?” I laughed.
“I didn’t want to tear them climbing up here, so they’re in a locker… the beach isn’t far, no one bats an eye here.”
I tossed my book on the nightstand and walked over to where he was standing in the window. I ran my palms over his thighs, then licked his soft shaft through the cotton. “Ay yai…” he groaned. That was it. He was mine. I slipped a hand under the garment and grabbed him by the cock, pulling him of the ledge so he stumbled with a yelp into my hotel apartment, “You won.” I said, “Now get into my bed, I’m going to teach you how Americans fuck.”
 

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“Hello =D”
“Er…hello…Where am I?”
“You’re in the Waiting Room,” the one on the right answered in the same perky voice.
“The Waiting Room? Woah, you have wings? Does that mean you’re -?”
“Angels? Yep. I’m Michael, that’s Daniel behind me. He’s a trainee.”
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, have I …am dead. I’ve died haven’t I?”
“Yep. They just lost you on operating table. Pretty messy down there, there’s blood everywhere. The Barrier Between is pretty thin right now so we’re holding you here until we know if we can put you back or not.”
“I…I don’t understand I – …oh god Hugo. Hugo! I was on my way to our anniversary dinner. He’s probably sitting there waiting, he has no idea. Someone needs to-”
Michael interrupted again, “Hugo’s in the hospital’s waiting room. He’s the one that called us actually. It was a pretty big signal, scared Daniel pretty good.”
Daniel hmph’ed, “That was not funny.”
“It was terribly amusing. Oh look, seems like you get to go back. Lucky you! Any questions before you go?”
“You..so you’re telling me that you answered Hugo’s prayers? Prayer actually works?”
“Oh gracious no, it’s love that calls us, love. Bye now, see you in 71 years!”

Dr. Turner polished her glasses on the way to the waiting room. She was wearing a fresh coat. “Is there a Mr. Hugo Evans here?”
“ME! That’s me! I’m Hugo,” a handsome man sulking in the corner dropped the magazine he wasn’t really reading and bolted up right, “Is Jesse alive oh please god tell me he isn’t dead please…”
Dr. Turner sat on the chair next to him, encouraging him to sit back down too, “Mr. Mays survived surgery.”
Hugo sucked in air sharply and covered his mouth as fresh tears cascaded down his face, “Oh god, Jesse…”
“I won’t sugar-coat things for you, Mr. Evans. We lost a pulse on the table but we were able to bring it back. He’s stable and in critical care now, but the next 24 hours are going to be extremely crucial. Statistically those injuries have a near 99% mortality rate, so Mr. Mays has already passed the worst hurdle. He’s very lucky.”
The patient’s boyfriend was speechless with emotion so the doctor let him sob.
Hugo sniffled, “I…don’t feel very lucky right now. I feel very scared. He…can…can I see him?”
She paused, “You can, but to be honest I would not recommend it alone. Can you contact his family? It’s a lot to see alone.”
Mr. Evans wiped his nose on a tissue from a box he found on the sidetable and nodded, “I…I’ll call his mom, she’ll call the rest.” He hiccuped.
Dr. Turner gave him a reassuring pat before noting she’d check in with him soon, then left to check on Mr. May’s status.

An hour later, when Jesse’s mother was sitting besides the wrecked body of her son, a nurse came by to hand her the patient’s belongings in a bag. There wasn’t much – most of his clothing had been cut off by the paramedics and too sodden to save. She rifled through the socks and debris, tears silently sliding down her face. Her fingers bumped something small yet bulky wrapped in an opaque plastic bag and stuffed in a shoe. Curiously, she dug it out and peeked at the contents. Inside, was an indigo velvet box.

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I started the sophomore year of college single. I quickly noticed this jock lookin’ guy in my advanced chemistry class. He looked like a bruiser, with this captivating profile and sexy, solid build dotted with questionable tattoos. Very distracting. Pensive, focused. A couple weeks into classes, I was packing up when I heard him approach the teacher, “Doc, I’m sorry, this Lewis dot stuff this is not sticking.” I waited until Bruiser left the lecture hall then I followed him in step, asking if he needed a tutor. He said yes and looked visibly relieved.

So there we were, in my crowded little apartment, bent over a card table with papers everywhere. His name wasn’t actually Bruiser, it was Jules, but his family called him Judge because he was so serious-looking. Judge wanted to be a doctor, but that was a long way from a GED he got in juvie. I asked what he did, and he said set cars on fire when he was part of a gang. Maybe it was because I was a sheltered white STEM nerd, but that edge turned me on.

“Alright, so~ looking at your Lewis dot skeleton structure for H2S04, how many bonds do you have?”
“1..2… 6. There’s 6.”
“Good! So draw the lines for this example…” I was pressed up so close to him, I could smell the hint of aftershave behind his ear.
“See, Judge, not so hard. Now just take your electrons – what was the number you got earlier?
"32. Or 16 electron pairs.” Judge beamed.
I clapped him on the back, “Good!” I left my hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
“Now distribute those around the electronegative oxygens…” I introduced to him a secondary way to draw the potential structure, and we continued on with using formal charge calculations to determine which one was correct. Judge bent over his paper with his brow furrowed like a sharpei.
I tapped his math with my pencil eraser, “Look at your numbers. The central atom’s charge must be the same number as the over all charge, so which Lewis Structure is the correct one?”
“…The…the one on the …right?”
“You sure?”
He sat up, “Yes, it’s the one on the right.”
“Correct, to every last dot.” Watching the pride bloom on his face at that moment would be more rewarding than any A I would get in class that year.
“I GOT IT!” he hooted, “I got it!” In a fit of jubilation he grabbed my face and kissed me right on the lips.
I nearly fell off the chair as his huge hands engulfed my jaw and our mouths met in crushing capacity. Judge pulled back suddenly, as if suddenly aware of his actions. “I… woah sorry man, I just…I guess I was just so happy I could kiss you…” Judge chuckled nervously, “No homo.”
I fisted his white T-shirt, and drew him back to me. He nearly knocked the chair over standing up so he could press his weight down on me properly and kiss me slowly and thoroughly. My pulse pounded in my ear as my cock began to expand in my pants. Judge retracted again, breathing audibly, “Dude what was that?”
“I….” I swallowed, “I think it’s time to take a break from chemistry for a little anatomy lesson.” I stood up myself, and without asking his permission, dragged him over to the couch.
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This is for gay-college-science because they hinted for a gay college science story in one of my reblogs. You got your wish, even though it took me an hour to figure out this S2S04 stuff.

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Yes, it’s true that most men that dance ballet get tagged as gay despite the prominent number of heterosexual dancers. Even though homosexuality in ballet is a hot topic, the number of gay ballet productions is actually a pretty small number but they do exist.

In the mid 1990s, Matthew Bourne choreographed a retelling of the Russian ballet Swan Lake. Instead of a princess whom is transformed into a swan by an evil sorcerer and must be saved by her prince, Bourne’s version is more modern. It features a prince who falls in love with a male swan representing his freedom, but the prince is downtrodden by his borderline-abusive Queen and her evil cohort, her Private Secretary, until his mental anguish threatens to overtake him . It’s still a traditional classical ballet with a new jazz scene thrown as well. Over all, it’s very moving; I admit that I cried at the end.

The link above is the first act from a 1996 performance (hence the quality). The second act is HERE. They’re each about an hour long. If you want to actually see these men in flesh and feathers, yes, Bourne’s Swan Lake is STILL actively touring! Most of the tour dates are in Europe or Israel right now, so hopefully they’ll add more.

PS: A more recent trailer in damn good quality is here, and clips from the 2010 season with interviews is here.

(Source: http://www.youtube.com/)
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He’s caught me looking at his ass, but why should I be ashamed? Everyone in this club is looking at it. The curvature is perfect, the vinyl shorts he’s wearing push them out for display. His cock in the front is wrapped up like a little Christmas present, so tight I can tell his religion. Those nipples are just begging for clips. What a cute young man, and he’s already wearing the right cuffs to be secured to a cross. I gaze around the room. Everyone wants him but no one is making a move. They’re waiting to see what I do – the Bull of the Bar they call me. I’m not very hairy, but I have a lot of muscle mass and the biggest dick in the place.

I lean over the bar and spear a toothpick with a couple maraschino cherries and stick it in the corner of my mouth before hopping off the bar stool and sauntering in his direction. I place a wide palm on that flawless ass before sliding it up his back, “Come on boy, let’s go play.” His eyes blaze at the invitation. God, I love the waiters here.