Tag: gay captions

Gallery
by ccallenreese

“Hi Alfonso, I brought over the new case report from the office to read and some other papers since you called out sick today.”
“Oh thanks, Clark, I really appreciate it. How nice of you to come all this way for me.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” he smiles. “So tell me, are you really sick? You look healthy as an ox to me.”
“Oh you got me, Clark, but I only called in sick because I can’t call in horny. My dick won’t go down, you see. And…it was so very kind of you to bring over that report,” Alfonso says, fingers tracing the curvature Clark’s bicep.
“Alfonso, no. We can’t keep carrying on like this. Someone from the department is going to find out and catch us.”
“They’re not here now. They think I’m sick, and maybe I am, cause you have no idea how badly I need to be fucked right now. God, I love how big your arms are…turns me on like crazy. You’re the hottest cop in the distract Clark, just looking at you in civilian dress makes my dick hard.”
“Alfonso,” he groans, “If you don’t cut that out I’m going to get the handcuffs from the car and cuff you to the bed.”
“Oh I’d like that, Clark,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against Clark’s jaw. “Cuff me. Spank me. Interrogate me. Fuck my hole, hold my arms back and dominate me until I’m loose and wet and ruined.”
“Christ, Alfonso,” Clark said, his voice gruff. He ran his fingers over the other man’s bare torso. “You know rough sex is my weakness.”
“Don’t let anyone you interrogate find out.” Alfonso chuckles, nibbling Clark’s ear.
Clark cups him between the legs and squeezes, making the other man squeak. “I think you do need to be cuffed to the bed after all. It’s my job as your senior to put uppity cops back into place – arms bound, and ass to me.”
Alfonso wants it so badly he can only whimper.

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Text is fictional. Pretty sure this is from a porno.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Oh sweet boy, your body is so wonderful. I love the way your ass tenses, then gives, as I thrust up into you. It’s as if you’re always a little bit scared, but want to open up to me completely at the same time. I know when I’ve pushed my entire cock into you to the hilt, you feel full and complete in a way that leaves a void when I’m gone. You feel my thighs pushing against your bubble ass, my torso rocking against your back and just go off to heaven don’t you? You’re so at home under me. It’s where you belong. I hear those helpless noises being pushed out of your throat every time I thrust; is your head exploding from the way the comforter is rubbing against cock your trapped under you? You don’t even care. You just want to be fucked. We’re perfect for each other.
Oh, your skin is so warm. You smell like peaches and sandalwood and I’m ravenous for you. That’s why I keep licking your shoulder, just for a taste of you, your scent and your sweat is ambrosia. I’m so grateful for you, boy, for understanding how to submit and for letting me claim your ass. There’s no words I can use to explain to you how much I adore you. I hope you can read my mind, all these thoughts I’m thinking about you, although it’s a bit fuzzy in here now…I’m getting closer and closer to cumming, but I’m taking my time. I won’t rush this. Every second I am in your velvet body goes by far too fast, but the more I penetrate you, the more time slows down. I’m reaching that moment where everything falls away beyond our bed, beyond the walls, beyond the doors. It’s just you and I alone in this. There is nothing more sacred and instinctual than coupling. When I am with you, I am home.

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Text is fictional. Source unknown.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Jared nudged Gideon’s knee and gave him his warmest smile. “Thanks for getting me a beer.”
“Not a problem. I had to get up anyway.” Gideon glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he poked the fire with a stick. The light from the fire danced off Jared’s biceps, throwing shadows in the most mesmerizing way.
“Gideon?”
“Hm?”
“When are you are gonna kiss me?”
Gideon dropped the stick. “Pardon?”
“I’ve been waiting…hoping you would,” Jared admitted, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire, Scott singing folk songs off-key across the circle, and people laughing.
Gideon hesitated. All his closest friends from school were here and he wasn’t out to all of them. Heck, he thought Jared was straight up until a minute ago. His heart was throbbing at the idea of kissing Jared; there weren’t many gay boys in his school and hardly any as cute. Maybe it was the cheap beer coursing through his underage veins, or the warm summer night full of the sounds like the trees rustling in the wind and the crickets orchestrating in the underbrush, but Gideon felt like the world could be his.

He leaned to the side, propping his wrist on Jared’s bare thigh. Their eyes met for one moment to convey silent consent, then Gideon tilted his head to kiss his boy, meeting him halfway. Jared’s lips were soft and plump and Gideon melted into him. They broke for air, then Jared put a hand on the back of Gideon’s head to make sure he got another round. Their lips pressed together in sweet little kisses at first, before quickly intensifying into crushing pressure against the other as their hunger and hormones bloomed. Jared wanted Gideon, Gideon wanted to devour Jared, and both were increasingly frustrated as making out only intensified their desire to touch and explore.

It was then that both boys realized the guitar music had stopped, as had most of the laughter. Instead, there was murmuring. The boys broke their kiss, Jared pulling away first, his face tomato red. He took a huge swig of beer, and nearly spilled it because his lips were so kiss-swollen that he couldn’t really feel them.
Gideon wiped a bit of drool off his own mouth and coughed, running his fingers through his hair.  “Um,” he began, desperately wanting to continue making out with Jared and distracted by the idea of seeing him shirtless.
Corinne spoke first. “Gideon made the first move. You owe me $20, Laura.”
“Nuh uh, Jared totally moved first. It was nearly at the same time. No deal.”
“What? Were you even paying attention?”
“Girls! Girls. They moved at the same time. I’m sitting directly across from them,” Scott interrupted, tightening a string. “The bet’s a draw.”
“Arg no!” Corinne whined. “I was invested in this!”

“Um,” Gideon began again, a bit louder this time. “What are you talking about?”
Laura gave him a devilish smile. “We were betting on who was going to make the first move.”
Gideon sputtered, flabbergasted, “What? You knew Jared had a crush on me?”
“Well duh,” Corinne said, rolling her eyes. “Have you paid any attention at all to the way he looks at you?”
“I don’t look at him differently!” Jared insisted.
“Oh you do too. It’s sooo adorable. He’s been pining after you this whole semester, Gideon, drawing your initials in his notebook. Since he’s the new kid, we absolutely had to invite him to our end-of-school bonfire since we’d knew you’d be here. Laura and I figured something would happen once we got a little drunk. It was the perfect plan.” Corinne and Laura giggled like proper teenage girls.
Jared ducked his head. “I can’t believe it was that obvious. I tried to be so casual, I never thought anyone would notice…god I’m so embarrassed.”
The girls made “aww” sounds.
“Well, we’re just happy it happened,” Laura piped up, “Nothing like a new romance to start the summer off.”

Gideon squeaked. “We haven’t even talked about going steady!”
Jared bumped his knee again. “I’d like to talk about it.”
More squealing came from across the fire circle. Scott pretended to be fascinated by the stoners passed out on a nearby boulder.
It was Gideon’s turn to blush. “You want to be my boyfriend Jared?”
Jared reached for Gideon’s hand. “I’ve never dated a guy before, but I feel like I’d really like to try that with you.”
Gideon squeezed his hand back and moved in for another wonderful kiss. Halfway, he paused and put a finger up to signal for the girls’ attention: “Oh, and to clarify from earlier, Jared made the first move.”
Laura whooped. “That $20 is all mine!”
“Oh, you traitor!” Corinne yelled at Gideon, huffing as she dug out her wallet.

Neither boy was paying attention by the time the cash exchanged hands though; Gideon and Jared were busy kissing and falling deep into first love.

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Text is fictional. Boys are gay Youtube sensation MarkE Miller and Ethan Hethcote. Yeah, this was supposed to be July 17th’s post…I didn’t get home until 3 am. Sorry guys!

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Henry was working on a metal sculpture for an upcoming exhibit when he got a text message from Emmett: Can I come over?
Henry texted back: Can it wait? I’m working.
Emmett replied at once: I need you, please.
Henry became alarmed: Can I call you? Do I need to call the cops?
Emmett: Please can I just come over?
Henry: Yes of course. He turned off the soldering machine and cleaned up his work area before taking a 3-minute shower. Emmett didn’t live far, maybe twenty minutes away.

Henry was drinking water in his kitchen when Emmett knocked. Henry rushed the door to say “hello” to his friend, but the sight of Emmett’s red, tear stained face took the words right out of his mouth.
“Oh Emmy, what happened?”

Emmett’s bottom lip trembled and he burst into fresh sobs. Henry embraced him, leading him into the house and closing the door behind them. “Oh Emmy, what happened? Shhh…sshh, it’s ok. I’m here now.” He took Emmet to the living room but his legs couldn’t seem to hold him up any longer; he leaned back against the window and sunk to the floor. Henry grabbed a box of tissues off the coffee table and sat across from him, legs crossed.
“There there…it’s alright. Tell me what’s wrong, Emmy?”
“It’s Tim,” he managed through a tight throat.
The hair went up on the back of Henry’s neck. “Did he hurt you?” he asked in a low, serious voice. “Cause if he did I’m going to wring his fucking neck.”

Emmett hiccuped and grabbed a tissue. “He won’t unlock me! He put the chastity device on about six weeks ago, but he has only fucked me once since. It’s becoming really uncomfortable, and itchy, but he won’t unlock me – he says to just take baths for cleanings and to be a ‘good boy’ and play with my toys. I need more than though! I need to be fucked, to be milked like that, and he won’t do it.” Emmett sniffled, his chest fluttering from his big cry.
Henry rubbed Emmett’s leg reassuringly. “Did you demand the key?”
“He won’t give it to me! About a week ago my balls really started to ache. It hurt so much I barely slept last night. Also, my left ball began to tingle and it’s almost numb right now.”
“Holy shit.”
“I begged Tim to open the lock, but he won’t! He doesn’t understand. He just thinks I’m whining and am trying to manipulate him so I can jack off.” Emmett balled his fists and banged them against the floor. “It hurts, Henry, it hurts so much! I can’t go to school or work like this!” Fresh tears began to fall. “Please, I need you to cut the lock, I know you have the tools.”

Henry’s eyes were dark with fury. “That bastard…how dare he fucking hurt you.”
“You can tell me ‘I was right’ if you want,” Emmett said in a soft, sad voice, “You knew he was mean from the start, but I was so enamored by how hot he was, I thought it’d be so sexy to be locked by him, it should have been you…”
“Heeeyy no, Emmett. It’s ok. It might have worked out, it might not have. In this case it didn’t. But you took a chance and now you know, and you’ll use that information to find yourself a better partner right? I won’t judge you for that.”
Emmett nodded, obviously miserable. He dropped a crumpled tissue on the floor with the rest, and plucked a new one out of the box.
“Stay here, I’m going to get the bolt cutters from my workshop.”

Henry first brought Emmett some fresh water to sip, then ran out to his workshop to find the tool. When Emmett saw them, his eyes went wide. “That won’t cut anything else right?”
“No, just metal. Come into the kitchen, sit on a chair.” Emmett held out his hands and Henry pulled him to his feet. He heard Emmett whimper. Henry got the boy situated; he was shirtless and wearing only some athletic shorts that came off easily enough. Their relationship was casual and he had seen Emmett naked before; they had grown up next door from each other. Henry’s mom needed to borrow a cup of sugar and that’s how they met. They had been inseparable, Emmett following Henry around like a puppy. Now adults, they had their own lives but never went more than a week without contact.

With a sharp bang, the lock snapped under the steel teeth of the bolt cutters. Emmett yelped.
“Shit, did I hurt you?” Henry’s eyes roved over his swollen cock, looking for blood.
Emmett looked sheepish. “No the loud noise just startled me.”
Henry chuckled. “Yeah it startled me a little too.” He put the bolt cutters on the table and pulled off the lock. “I’m gonna go slowly ok?” Emmett nodded; his cock was starting to harden at the contact. Henry delicately pulled the plastic sleeve off his cock. An unpleasant scent reached his nose and he crinkled it in response. Emmett smelled it too. “Oh god. Oh god is that..is that me?”
“Did Tim not clean you in six weeks?” he asked in disbelief.
“Just bath soaks… I tried with q-tips but it was so tight.” Emmett covered his face in shame.
“Honey you’re uncut. You can’t clean that just with a soak…” Henry felt a tear hit his wrist. “Oh god, I’m sorry Emmett. Don’t be embarrassed. This isn’t your fault. Henry pulled off the plastic pieces and put them in a small paper bag he found under the sink. He folded it over and set it aside, then returned to Henry’s cock and inspected it with his fingertips.
"Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but there’s a sore on this side, and there’s a rash under your shaft. It might be a skin infection. You’re going to need to see a doctor.”

Emmett wiped tears off his face. “I feel so disgusting,” he said, feeling helpless.“
Henry brushed his cheeks with the back of his other hand. "Hey…it’s ok Emmy. I’m going to take care of you alright? I won’t hurt you, I promise.
Emmett looked at him with hope in his wet eyes.
"Do you have health insurance?” Henry asked.
“Yes, private.”
“Ok, we’re gonna need to call a urologist and make an appointment.”
“Can we shower first? Please? I can’t go in there with it smelling like this!

Henry agreed. He stood and got Emmett another tissue. "Let’s take a bath real quick.” He was relieved to see Emmett smile. They went upstairs together, and Henry filled the tub with warm water and a bit of vitamin E oil. By this point, Emmett’s cock was hard and deep red. “It hurts…” he said.
“We’ll take care of that.” Henry fetched the box of white gloves from the medicine cabinet, but when he saw the hurt look on Emmett’s face he put them down. Emmett looked relieved. Henry picked up the softest washcloth he had; he sat on a folded towel next to the tub and washed his friend with gentle lavender bath gel, saving his cock for last. He took great care in cleaning the sensitive skin, careful of the sore. He massaged Emmett’s numb testicle until he gasped and announced it was tingling. Pleased, Henry moved up to his cock. He took a deep breath and pulled back the foreskin. Both men cringed.
“I am going to murder Tim, I swear to god,” Henry muttered.
“I’d like to help.” Emmett agreed, folding his arms. “Ohh Henry that feels nice… that feels really nice.” His arms fell away at his sides and he rested his head on the back of the tub. “I wanna cum. Can I come?”
“Come as many times as you’d like.”
Emmett shot soon after, his seed shooting up like a fountain. They watched it splash into the water, making them both giggle. Henry was able to coax a second orgasm out of his friend, and by that time, Emmett looked like he was going to fall asleep.

Henry rinsed out the wash cloth and threw it into the sink. He pulled the drain on the tub and bundled Emmett into a fresh towel.

After some phone calls, they made an appointment at urologist for later in the afternoon. Just as Henry was starting to make lunch, the receptionist called back and said someone just canceled and if they wanted to come in early? Henry gave him some clean shorts to wear and got him into the car. Emmett commented how strange it was to not have the cage on; how light his cock felt and how sensitive it was. He spent the car ride plucking at the shorts.

The urologist listened to Emmett’s story with sympathy. He confirmed that the mottled spots on the underside of his cock were in fact a fungal infection. Emmett nearly died from shame and clung to Henry’s hand to keep from just going all emotional again. The doctor discovered the sore was an ingrown hair and subsequently drained it. He performed some more tests, including a much hated prostate exam, and by the end Emmett thought he’d never stop blushing.
“Now, you should not wear any sort of restrictive device on your penis for six weeks, including a condom. If you’re home, I suggest you stay nude, let it breathe. Wear loose fitting clothing, as I said, nothing tight or restricting,” the doctor instructed.
Emmett looked at Henry. “Around Tim? I don’t think-”
“You’re gonna stay with me,” Henry interrupted firmly. Emmett exhaled as the weight slid off his shoulders.

Both were quiet on the way home from the doctor and the pharmacist. As they pulled in the drive way, Emmett spoke up. “Is it wrong that I still want to explore chastity one day? I feel so perverted that I like the fetish so much, even now.”
Henry parked the car. “You’re a natural submissive, Emmett. You should never be ashamed of it. A proper chastity and keyholder relationship can be a wonderful thing.”
“I loved being horny the first week Tim locked me,” he admitted.
“A good keyholder takes care of his boy though and artfully uses that horniness to create wonderful, intense sexual experiences for both partners. You’ll find that one day, after you’re healed.”
“Would you be my keyholder, Henry?”
Henry unfastened his seatbelt and glanced over at Emmett. “I would love to take care of you, but I think you’re exhausted and upset and need to think about this more. Right now you’re just seeking me because I’m your friend and I’m the opposite of Tim. The doctor said you have six weeks of rest anyway, so let’s wait until then to talk about it ok? Plus, no more plastic. If you’re serious about chastity, we’ll look into metal.”
Emmett looked a little disappointed but nodded. “Metal? Really? Custom devices are always expensive.”
“But they’re better, easier to clean, and won’t hurt you. A good investment.”
Emmett thought. “How is it that you’re always right?”
“Not always,” Henry corrected. “Remember when I moved in and painted my bedroom pink by mistake?”
Emmett laughed. “It looked like a 7 year old princess lived there. God that was funny.”
Henry shook his head. “I was never so happy to see cream. Alright, let’s go in.”

Back in the kitchen, Henry made Emmett a grilled cheese sandwich and heated up a can of soup. After Emmett devoured both, he put him down for a nap sans apparel. As Henry was walking away, he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked over to see Emmett peering up at him from the blankets.
“Stay with me? Until I fall asleep?”
Henry sighed and gave in, climbing into bed and holding his friend until he finally surrendered his exhausted body to sleep. When he was sure Emmett was unconscious judging by his low breathing, Henry slipped out from the blankets and tucked Emmett in tight. Henry left him a glass of water on the nightstand, then went downstairs to grab his keys and put on his shoes. He also grabbed the paper bag on the way out.

Henry was going to go put the fear of God into Tim for hurting such a sweet, trusting, boy.

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Text is fictional. This is male model Harry Bowen. This caption is not a speculation of his sexuality or attempted projection of his identity. Photographer is listed as Bryan Huynh.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

captionstojerkby:

He says it largely as a joke, to disarm guests who feel awkward about being waited on with such consummate dutifulness and respectful obedience, but he really does live to serve; his day job and his night hobby—well, his night job and his late-night hobby—are so similar as to be indistinguishable.

Okay, sure, you can distinguish them: he gets paid for one, not for the other, and the uniforms differ—while both dark black and with a preponderance of fastenings, one’s Italian silk, the other Italian leather.

But his job is one in which he’s required to answer every request with a “yes, sir” that isn’t merely deferential, but that implies that there was never any question as to whether his assent, his consent, would be given. It’s a job that requires him to care only about someone else’s needs, and wants, and desires, and never his own. It’s a job that requires him to stay silent and in the corner until his service is needed; it’s a job that requires him to prepare himself, to always look his best as he stands at attention.

And when he’s anticipated a man’s needs before a man even knew he had them, when he’s left that man sated, and happy, and relaxed, the feeling he gets when he’s given a gentle smile of thanks—thanks for his having done well, for his having been pleasing and having pleased—is exactly the same.

Yes.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

The first time we had sex, it was after 13 long, slow months of dating. Julian wanted to go further, but was petrified stiff. No pun intended. He wanted to set a date to lose his virginity. At his request, I loosened him up with craft beer and Jack Daniels, and also at his request, put a little GHB in his drink. Just a little. He also took poppers. To say Julian relaxed instantly was an understatement – he was on me, crazy horny, and dragging me to bed.

We got naked and he wanted me to take him – was begging me to take him, to fuck him hard – but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. He wasn’t sober, and even though he’d consented, I wanted our first time together be real. He wasn’t going to remember this. He was never going to know how much of it was the drugs and alcohol and how much was love and passion. I was never going to know either.

So, I edged him and capped it off with an intense handjob. Julian exploded all over my chest, then promptly passed out.

The next morning, he was gone before I woke up. I couldn’t get a hold of him until 9 pm that night. I had texted him stating if he didn’t respond to me right goddamn now I was filing a missing persons report. Julian replied and asked to meet me at a coffee shop.

He picked an isolated table in the back. Before I could get a word out, he  begins to blather about how gross and disgusting he felt. He was headachey; he couldn’t remember most of the previous night and was regretting having ruined his first time. I kept trying to interrupt him but he just kept talking, so eventually I just put my hand over his mouth and said firmly. “If you just shut up a moment, I’d inform you that we didn’t have sex.”
“….What?” Julian’s face furrows. “I don’t understand – I remember being naked, cumming…”
“You were on aphrodisiacs, horned out of your mind. I gave you a handjob because you said you’d only not like them if you were dead. I had to get you off the edge. You passed out like, right after.”
He blushes. “But we didn’t…fuck? You didn’t penetrate me with your cock?”
“No. For the exact reasons you described above. Handjobs were always something you were fine with, but penetrative sex was another matter. Just because you consented before the booze and GHB doesn’t mean you still do after you’ve taken them. I felt like such a creep. I felt like I was going to rape you, the way you just were grinding on me like crazy. You wanted my dick, but I didn’t know if you really did, you know? I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to "do the deed”, I wanted to make love with you. You were fucking hot, but it was not what I wanted.“
Julian sits in silence, blinking like an owl at me. "But… how can I be sure?”
“No open condom wrappers. No sore ass. You’ve never taken my cock before, I would have stretched you first. You would have remembered that.”

“No condom wrappers…” He fights the indignancy he’d been building all day, then releases it all in an audible sigh. He collapses back into his chair, exhausted. “oh my god. I am so relieved. Just…Jesus fucking Christ, I was coming here to break up with you!”
“I know,” I say softly.
“God you are amazing. You’re the best boyfriend ever. I am so grateful for your thoughtfulness.”
I give him a warm smile. “It’s because of you. You’re the one I really want to keep and cherish. I’m… I’m really hoping we can try this again? I want to be your first, if you still want me…”

He sits up. “Yes! Yes I do. When it’s right.”
“When it’s right.” I put my hand on the table and Julian put his hand over mind. I told him I love him and he blushed again, before telling me he loves me too.

A week later, he was over for dinner-and-a-movie when a heavy storm knocked out the power. We had dessert and coffee in bed, surrounded by candles, and one thing lead to another… The next morning, the Earth was verdant from being washed clean and Julian woke up a man.

We’re still together. To this day, I still wrap an arm around him in bed. I’m not letting him run off on me again while I’m sleeping. I love when he spoons up against me and wiggles his butt into my crotch, accepting that he’s stuck and might as well get comfy before I wake up horny and come after his hot self.
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Text is fictional. Source unknown.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Gregor and his friends wanted to make sure they passed their high school finals so they could all go off to college together. Their grades were decent enough, but corruption run rampant in their school system and a teacher could flunk a test because he or she simply felt like it. The boys knew they had been rambunctious this school year, that they could have done more homework, and had gotten in trouble for sucking cock in the bathroom and being late to class.
Lucky for them, the boys knew of a certain school administrator with a thing for young men. It wasn’t a secret that he would leer at their butts and crotches and it was rumored he stole underwear from the locker rooms. So, Gregor and his friends decided to use their toned bodies as a bribe to get what they wanted.

Their parents were so proud when the test results came in the mail.

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Text is fictional. Watermarked.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I see Howard across the shopping center and totally just freeze. It’s him. It’s absolutely him. I forget that he can see me staring and that I’m not gazing at him through a screen or one way glass. He doesn’t look like his online profile at all – he looks twice as tall and three times more handsome. The angle of his photos made his face look shorter and rounder, and the lights from the club made him look much lighter. His skin is the exact color of cinnamon, and I don’t doubt it’s warm and smooth as the foam on a chocolate latte. He is more handsome than I ever could have hoped.

But he’s wearing a cardigan and I’m just not sure if I’m ready for boyfriends that wear sweaters…and what are those shoes called? Chukkas? Where at the basketball shorts and wifebeater shirts and sneakers? Are those jeans or slacks? God, what do I do – I can’t tear my eyes away and he’s noticing me, his face furrowing in confusion. Am I ready for a man like this? He’s gotta be intelligent as hell and totally down to Earth and practical, hell I can just tell he’s gonna be a great dad one day… and I mean, why would he want to date me?

I shouldn’t have worn this shirt. I should have gone with the button up. Should I have played up my 1/16th Cherokee heritage? Maybe he doesn’t date white boys. God he looks amazing in that cardigan. This guy isn’t gonna try to fake his way through a date just to touch my dick, he’s gonna want to cuddle up next to me and have a glass of whine…. am I ready for that? Am I really, really ready because this guy could be the father of my kids one day and oh god he’s coming over here.

When he looked at his phone earlier, he was totally checking out my profile picture. I can’t be what he thought I’d be. He has to be disappointed already. I’m just not that put together, and I should have worn the button up shirt, goddammit. What color do I look bad in again? Purple or yellow? My socks are cream – is cream yellow? Oh god, brain please shut up he’s coming over here. People are looking at him, noticing him, his style is just so casual and organic, how does he make it so effortless?

Why does that guy not have every gay college lit major trailing after him for his phone number? Why does he have to turn to online dating? And why did he pick –

“Pardon… are you Micah?” he asks, adorably nervous. Part of him is surely wondering if I’m just stoned out of my mind, standing here gawking like this.
I stammer and run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I’m Micah Carter. You must be Howard.” I offer a hand, he shakes it; his grip is perfect. I faintly smell sandalwood.
“Yes, I am. Is everything alright? You have this frightened look on your face. Is there something growing out of my head?”
My face darkens a deep red. “No it’s just – just… well, I don’t know if I can explain it. I’ve met a lot of guys online and no one else gave me this feeling…ugh, this is so embarrassing. I’ll tell you one day, it’d just seem silly now. Um. You look really handsome and well put-together. Love the cardigan.”
The confused look on his face melts into a relaxed smile and he chuckles. “I’m not really sure what you mean by that first part, but thank you, that’s sweet of you to say. I went through eight other sweaters to pick it out.”
“I’ve never dated a guy who owns eight sweaters before…”
“I’ve never had a date with a guy I met online before.” Howard offers, looking shy. “And uh, I think it’s kinda hot you’re wearing just a plain white tee-shirt and raw denim. It’s such a classic look, you just don’t see it anymore.”
I’m momentarily speechless. “Howard, you are a sweetheart for saying that, but I just don’t think I can hold a candle next to you.”
He tilts his head and I swear I see him blush.. “Why don’t we just go on our date and you let me decide, Micah?”
Relief floods through me. He’s taking control. I need this, like my lungs need air. “Yeah, sure, I can’t wait.” Howard gives me another little smile and begins to walk; and to my surprise, my feet become unstuck from the floor and follow after him.
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Text is fictional. Watermarked. This man’s name is Rashid, and this was taken at the Melbourne Central shopping plaza in Australia.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

That pink cage hides the small cock cleanly and shows off this boi’s beautiful full round balls instead. Definitely hard to ignore – no keyholder would be able to resist the temptation of cupping them in their hand and feeling their heat and heft. You know this boi feels them with every step he takes, which is probably why his trapped cock is pressing so hard against it’s prison. This is a proper state of existence for a boi under the tutelage of a keyholder.

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Text is fictional. Source is unknown, and the sexuality of this boy is speculation.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

captionstojerkby:

Traffic was so bad I had the cab stop ten blocks downtown and just ran the rest of the way myself. I didn’t care that I’d burned bridges with Manny; he wouldn’t have understood that when you get a call like the one I’d just gotten, you don’t wait around and finish out your shift pulling half-caf caps. Manny would deal, and if (no, when) this fell through there were any number of other crappy coffee shops in New York City where I could spend the rest of my life as a barista and not a baritone.

But I was so fucking late, and it had been the last day of auditions, and I knew they’d all be back on a plane in the morning. I was worried the rehearsal space they’d rented for auditions would be locked up; it wasn’t, but all the lights were off, and I was out of breath by the time I got up to the third floor and barged into the room where they’d been held. I must have looked ludicrous, wearing jeans and a winter jacket and knitted cap and a green fucking apron with my nametag—I pulled it off quickly—and standing all alone in the middle of the empty rehearsal room. Well, not empty, and not alone—Albert Sommer, youngest artistic director in the Staatsoper’s history, whose rise was so meteoric to have been a portent and sign of a sea change in the art, was leaning against the piano with a score open to his side.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Mr. Sommer.” I stammered, out of breath. “I got here as quickly as I could. Did the other members of the committee—”

“No, no, do not worry,” he said, and gave a smile that didn’t make me feel like I shouldn’t worry. He hadn’t said anything during my audition that morning (I thought I’d bombed until I got the call they wanted to meet with me again), so this was the first time I’d heard his voice. It was heavily accented, and he spoke in clipped, precise, musical syllables.

“It is just I. The committee was very impressed with your audition, Mr. Shannon.” This wasn’t real. I must have banged my head in the shop, and I was hallucinating, dreaming. “We did though, have some concerns about your Figaro. Well"—and here gave another tight, pained Teutonic smile—"I had some concerns about your Figaro.”

So no, not dreaming. Fuck. I knew it was a reach. I knew I shouldn’t have tried it, should have chosen an easier piece than Largo. I said it was cliched, I said it wasn’t ready, but my vocal coach knew that the Staatsoper was doing The Barber of Seville in two seasons and thought it might make an impression. Stupid, stupid, stupid—whoever they picked as their baritone artist-in-residence wouldn’t even be singing a major part, would just be some third villager, anyway; why had I been so stupid?

“If you’d like, there are other pieces I’ve prepared that better show my voice. I’d be glad to—”

“No, no, no. Your singing was more than adequate. Quite nice.” From anyone else, it’d have been crushing; from Albert Sommer, hearing my voice called “nice” made me wish I had something to lean against. “No,” he continued, moving to sit at the piano, “it was your interpretation.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, as if I’d said something worth assenting to. “Barbiere is a misunderstood piece. It is comic, of course. And Figaro is the most comic of its characters. But he is not—wie sagt man das?—broad. No. He is not broad.” He paused, thinking. “Ah! The opera might be buffa, but Figaro is not the buffoon, yes?” The smile he gave his own joke was still just as tight as his earlier ones had been.

His fingers began to move over the keys, not looking like they were pressing them hard enough to play, but  I heard bars from the middle of the aria. He closed his eyes for a moment, catching Rossini’s rapid pulse, and then began to hum bits of the libretto; I followed along under my breath, both of us jumping lightly, in tandem, from phrase to phrase, both of us lost in something we knew deep in our bones. “Yes, yes, everyone wants him, everyone wants his services—’tutti mi chiedono, tutti mi vogliono.’ He is describing his customers—‘donne, ragazzi, vecchi, fanciulle’—and his services—both so varied!” His playing trailed off, and he looked at me again. “He does so many things, yes Mr. Shannon? Whatever is needed! He is a barber, but one di qualità. He wants something more from the world, yes, and so he advertises”—he put the stress on the second syllable and shortened the ‘i’, pronouncing it ‘adVERTtisses’—“himself as factotum. Ah, the factotum! The man who can do anything, yes? The man willing to do anything, yes?”

I nodded.

"And this is why the count feels he can trust him so. Why he can put his faith in him, yes, with all the delicate matters of the plot. Figaro is not some bumbling servant. Figaro is not a stupid man. He knows the way the world works. He knows his place in it, and he knows the—the advantages of that place, yes? And he knows how one uses that place to his advantage.” He’d stood up from the piano, and was slowly walking toward me, his heels clicking on the parquet floor. I heard one of my sneakers squeak as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, and I took in the crisp lines of his suit, his tie, the one strand of hair that’d fallen out of place during his playing and hung down over his forehead. “I need that in all of my singers, Mr. Shannon. And the baritone who is to one day successfully sing the role of Figaro must be able to communicate that when he sings. He needs to be able to make it very, very clear how much he—Figaro, natürlich—understands what he must do to get what he wants.”

By then he was right in front of me, far too close; I could smell his cologne, which was strangely both clean and dark, full of scents mysterious and easy to place at the same time. I realized I was trembling and looked down, which was a mistake; those crisp lines of his suit were barely restraining it. “Per carità,” I whispered, or wanted to, but a perfectly manicured thumb came up to run over my beard and down my jaw, lifting my chin so my eyes met his again.

"Now. Perhaps you would you like to try singing for me again, Mr. Shannon, yes?”

A unique bit of work from captionstojerkby, well done! I hope they put that piano bench to good use.