Two Bottoms

"Hi, baby," she cooed.

I smiled at her and made her usual rum and coke. When I brought her the drink I thought to myself what a beautiful girl she was—with a great body, as well. I felt sad and guilty at the same time—I never got a hard-on the entire time I was with her. There were times when I wished my cock would get as hard with women as it did with men.

As the night wore on it became obvious that she wanted me to go home with her again. My mind busied itself thinking about excuses I could use. When closing time finally arrived, I told her I was playing golf the next morning, and I had to get up real early.

"Oh, pooh..." she pouted.

I drove by the park on my way home. It was late so most of the hook-ups had already happened and there were plenty of parking spaces. I parked in front of Vernon's building. I got out of the car, saw that his light was on; then looked at the park. I froze. I looked at the park then at his window. I chose to walk into his building.

He was genuinely happy to see me. He asked about work while he opened a bottle of wine. I said it went fine, but it was a little slow. He sat next to me on the couch.

After some small talk, I told him about Janice.

"Oh," he said. "Did you enjoy it?"

I hesitated, but told him about my erection problems when I was with women.

He smiled and asked, "So what does that tell you?"

I knew what he was getting at, and I couldn't deny that he may be right. He saw my uneasiness over discussing this and he changed the subject.

"So," he said. "You never got around to telling me your 'panty story'..."

I blushed. "Well, it's nothing really...one day when I was fourteen or fifteen; I was in the basement of the house I grew up in...I walked by the dirty laundry basket and just happened to see a pair of my mother's panties on top...I was alone in the house so I picked them up and felt the material...they were nylon yellow panties with a white lace waistband and they felt sooo good in my hand that I instantly became aroused...I felt a fever building within me...I thought about it then hurried upstairs to the attic...we only used the attic for storage, but there was a bed up there in case my father's wandering brother ever came to town...I pulled down my pants and underwear and pressed the panties against my hard-on—oh God what a feeling it was!...I started to stroke my cock with the panties then I had another idea—I completely took off my pants and underwear and stepped into the panties and pulled them up—Jesus, it felt incredible...I lay down on my stomach and began grinding my erection onto the mattress...I had never felt anything so good as the material against my throbbing cock...I used the friction of my rubbing the mattress against the panties to masturbate...when I came it was the best ever...when I returned the panties to the laundry basket I hid them under a pile of clothes...well, anyway, about a week later I was home alone again and thought about the panties...I didn't find them in the laundry basket—I was crushed...there were cotton panties there, but when I felt them they didn't do anything for me...now I was a stupid kid in heat so you can probably guess what I did next."

Vernon smiled and said, "You didn't take the yellow ones out of her dresser drawer, did you?"

I smiled and shook my head with embarrassment, "Yeah, that's how dumb I was"...I took them to the attic and this time I took off all of my clothes...God how I loved those panties...for the next week I couldn't wait to go to the attic and put them on...and every time after I was done...instead of putting them in the laundry basket—I hid them under the mattress...I figured my mother wouldn't miss one lousy pair of panties...one day I was sitting at the desk in my bedroom doing my homework...my mother came in my room—she had the panties in her hand—my face had never turned that shade of red before...she wasn't mad—she even had a little smile on her face...she said, "Sweetheart, please leave my underpants alone, okay?"...I couldn't look at her...I answered in a real small voice and said, "Okay"...and I've never touched any panties since that day...it turned out for the best, I guess."

"How do you figure?" he asked.

I smiled, "Well, those yellow panties were getting so crusted with my cum they didn't feel as good to wear anymore."

"OH MY GOD," he exclaimed, and we both broke down in fits of laughter.

"Do you have a panty-fetish?" I asked.

"Not really...I mean I use to love the sexy ones my wife wore...those would be the last thing I pulled off her when we made love...I liked to feel and kiss her between the legs when she wore them, but I never tried masturbating with them...no, I have a different fetish."

"What?" I asked eagerly, "what is it?"

"Well..." he began, "I like to masturbate using vibrators...my wife actually got me started doing that...after a few years of marriage I had difficulty getting hard when we were in bed...one night she pulled her vibrator out of our bedside table...I thought she was going to use it on herself...we lay side-by-side..."Open your legs," she told me...I raised one leg so my foot was resting on the bed...she switched it on and I heard a soft humming sound...we began kissing and then I felt it against my anus—I almost jumped out of my skin—my cock got stiffer than it had been in years...that first time I didn't last very long...she used her hands—I shot maybe my biggest load ever...after that we used it every time we made love...she took control of me in the bedroom...she knew I was passive but she didn't understand how submissive I really was...she learned quickly—and very well...she'd use the vibrator to get my cock hard as a rock then she'd climb on board and give herself a couple orgasms before she began fucking me with it—yeah, she had taken to pushing it in-and-out of my ass while she played with my cock—she was incredible..."

"Sounds like you really loved her...." I said softly.

"I did—more than anyone before her or since...after our divorce she said she only went through with it because my oldest daughter insisted she do it...my daughter has never forgiven me—she hasn't spoken to me since the incident..."

"I'm sorry...."

"The ironic thing is my wife knew how I felt about men—one time she even suggested a three-some with another guy...I don't know why I brought that guy to our house behind her back...."

"How did she know? A woman's 'instinct'?"

He smiled, "No—like your story—just another example of how dumb we men can be...I began buying magazines that showed men's erections—I love looking at firm, stiff pricks—almost as much as I love caressing them...I thought I had the perfect hiding place for the magazines in the basement—well, my wife is an excellent homemaker—she found them when she was cleaning one day—that's when she began to take charge in the bedroom...."

We both had bulges in our pants but we didn't care. Vernon poured more wine, sat next to me and gave me a kiss on my cheek. He changed the subject.

"You have many bad hook-ups in the park?" he asked.

I liked the way he used the word 'many' and not 'any'. Those of us who lived this life ALWAYS had a bad hook-up from time-to-time.

"Yeah...not too many—and I only got punched in the face once, thank God. It's mainly been verbal abuse and threats...it still amazes me how quickly a guy's attitude can change once you swallow his load."

He smiled knowingly. "Jekyll and Hyde..."

"Yeah, I mean—what is that about? I don't think I'm that naïve, but why do seemingly sane men—actively pursue—sometimes go completely out of their way—maybe drive many miles to get to the park--all for what? A ten-fifteen minute encounter with another guy? Then he turns into a crazed lunatic right after he's gotten what he wanted in the first place? Amazing!"

"They're the saddest ones—and the most dangerous," Vernon answered. "AND, they're not that different from you and me...we are all just looking for a moment of happiness in a cruel world."

He saw the puzzled look on my face then continued.

"Let's be honest here...I don't know your motivation for going to the park, but for me, a large part of it is 'the thrill of the hunt'—and then the morbid curiosity of what kind of guy am I going into the shadows with? Is he a decent man, or does he have bad intentions? Will he whisper sweet-nothings in my ear, or call me vile names? Will he tenderly caress my head and face as I suck him, or will he grab my ears and crudely shove his dick in-and-out of my mouth? Afterwards, will he 'thank' me and pat me on the head, or is he going to call me a whore and punch me in the face? It all comes down to this: nowadays, on my way to the park I wonder, am I going to meet Mr. Right—who'll treat me good OR a sexually-repressed gay-basher who might kill me? I'm tired of thinking this way...I guess that's why I don't go to the park as often as I used to...the night we met—that was the first time in four months I'd been there."

I didn't say anything. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Over the last year even I felt the park had become less thrilling, and more nerve-wracking, but what could I do?

"Why did you go there that night?" I asked.

"It was past closing time—'The Hideaway' was closed...have you ever been there?—oh, I forgot—silly question—when I go out now I usually go there—it's clean, convenient and I've met some very nice men—AND the men who go there WANT to be there—they're not driven just by some primal sexual urge—they like men and want to meet men—no hidden agendas....guys in gay bars are generally not repressed homosexuals who hate who they are. "

'The Hideaway' was a gay bar around the corner from where I live. I always thought about going inside, but never did.

"I guess I better get going—it's getting late," I said.

He smiled, "Sure...how about I pick you up at 9:30 on Monday? We can have breakfast on the way to the course."

My days-off from work were Monday and Tuesday and we had arranged a golf 'date'.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

He walked me to the door—he had his arm around me.

"John, I didn't mean to scare you or make you depressed."

"I know..."

"It's just that...well... you're a sweet boy--I would never want anything bad to happen to you..."

"I know..."

Before I walked out the door, he said with a huge grin on his face, "Who knows? Maybe I can talk you into going to 'The Hideaway' Monday night!"

His smile was infectious—I smiled back at him, and said, "Stranger things have happened..."

Monday was one of those rare and magical days when everything you did or said seemed perfect, and the person you were with was having as much fun as you were.

We were comfortable with one another, and our conversation came easy and it was interesting. Vernon gave me a couple golf tips, and when his tips worked, I smiled broadly at him. I sensed that he liked me as much as I liked him.

On the drive home he asked, "So, what about tonight? Do you want to go?"

I knew what he was talking about and I didn't want to insult him by playing coy or dumb.

"I've thought about it," I said truthfully, "...I don't know..."

"John, I know you're worried about seeing someone you may know...but think about this: if you do know anyone there—wouldn't that mean they were gay? And wouldn't that mean they wouldn't give a rats-ass that you were there, too?"

I burst out laughing, and said, "I have no idea what you just said--okay-okay—I'll go."

He smiled and said, "If you can't dazzle'em with brilliance—baffle'em with bullshit."

We arranged to meet at my place in a couple hours. I went across the street and bought a couple bottles of wine, and then the cigar section caught my eye. I bought him a long, fat one, and selected for me a shorter, narrower cigar.

When I got home I cleaned-up the apartment and put fresh sheets on the bed. I had plenty of time for a long, hot shower.

I decided to meet him outside my building. The sunset was gorgeous; birds were singing all around me, and I stood there with a silly grin on my face. My heart pounded as I watched him walking towards me.

We greeted each other and he said, "I thought you were going to show me your apartment?"

I smiled and answered, Well, Mister—you play your cards right and just maybe you will see it later."

We laughed and walked around the corner to 'The Hideaway'. I felt my hands trembling as he opened the door for me and we went inside.

I was very pleasantly surprised. It was larger than I imagined, and tastefully furnished. The lighting was bright enough to see people's faces, but not glaringly-bright.

There were quite a few people, I thought, for a Monday night.

We stepped up to the bar and Vernon ordered two glasses of wine then we found an empty booth and sat down opposite one another.

"To a perfect Monday," I said, and we clinked glasses and sipped the wine. It was delicious.

I looked around the room. People were milling about, quite a few going table-to-table greeting friends. I saw two women in business attire with two guys wearing suits and I figured they'd just come from work. There were no other women in the entire bar.

Everyone was busy in their own world. Vernon was right—nobody stared at me—there was no reason to feel self-conscious—and most of all, nobody gave a 'rats-ass' that we were here. I breathed a sigh of relief and my whole body seemed to relax. I liked it here.

"Look around," Vernon said, "Do these guys look like they cruise the park?"

"No—they don't," I admitted.

"No...they have enough self-confidence to come here and meet guys and have a good time..."

I was aware I had issues with confidence and self-esteem, and I didn't resent Vernon for mentioning it—I knew he meant well. I changed the subject.

While we were talking a couple guys came over to the table and said 'hi' to Vernon. We were on our second glass of wine when a gorgeous guy, probably in his thirties, walked by the table.

"Hi Tom—how are you—haven't seen you in a while," Vernon said to the hunk.

"Oh...hi..." he said, not very enthusiastically. "Yeah...I met someone—haven't been coming in..." He just walked away.

It was awkward. I could tell Vernon liked the guy but the feeling wasn't mutual. A sad smile crossed his lips. I felt bad for him.

"There's nothing more pathetic than an ageing queen..." he shook his head.

"Hey," I said. "Let's play a game."

"Huh? What kind of game?"

"It's called 'Sweet N Sour'," I said.

He smiled and asked, "Okay—I give up—how do you play it?"

"Well...look around the room—pick out a guy—any guy you want—and you guess whether his cum tastes sweet or sour...and you have to give a reason to support your guess."

The smile returned to his face. "You are incorrigible!"

We laughed.

"I'll go first," I said.

I looked around the room and after a few seconds I pointed to a guy sitting with his friends at a nearby table.

"He's 'sour'," I said.

"Oh, really," Vernon laughed. "And how can you tell?"

"Well, looks like he's drinking Martini's with olives AND onions...there's nachos on the table loaded with peppers...and he's not in very good shape—he's overweight—yeah, his cum is definitely 'sour'."

Vernon laughed loudly, and his eyes came to life.

"Okay...okay—I think you're right," he said.

"Your turn," I said, "...and you can't point to anyone you've already 'tasted'."

He laughed again then surveyed the room.

"Okay...OKAY—the guy in the blue shirt—he's 'sweet'," he said, pointing at a good-looking man in his forties. "He has a nice haircut...tastefully dressed...looks to be in good shape...and he's drinking what appears to be plain soda water."

"Yeah," I said, "I'll have to agree with you..."

We had more wine and played a few more rounds of the game and talked and laughed. Vernon asked if I wanted to shoot pool and I said "Sure."

I was feeling the wine and leaned over and whispered, "The winner gets a blowjob from the loser."

He smiled and said, "That would be the world's longest pool game—we would both try to lose."

We never did shoot pool. We talked and watched the people in the bar. I was having a good time—I really liked this place. Vernon was enjoying himself, too.

When the time came, Vernon wanted to pay the bill but I insisted on splitting it with him. We left smiling and laughing. I asked if he wanted a nightcap at my place and since he wasn't driving he agreed. I was nervous and happy as we walked up the flight of stairs to my apartment.

Once inside and we stood in the middle of the room I said I'd give him 'The Grand Tour', I motioned with my hand—"Here it is—and the bathroom is over there"—he laughed and I opened the wine and we sat on my loveseat.

Now maybe I wasn't thinking clearly—maybe it had been so long since I'd been with a guy I liked as much as Vernon, but I really thought we could have a future together.

When we were together the conversation was free and easy; we enjoyed many of the same things, and I was attracted to him and I thought he felt the same towards me. So when I put my hand on his thigh and leaned over to kiss him, and he pulled away from me, I was surprised and hurt.

"Johnny..." he said softly. "This isn't going to work..."

I looked at him with sad eyes and said, "But I like being with you."

"Sweetie," he said, "...I enjoy being with you, too, but we both like the same things...we both receive pleasure from giving pleasure...we are submissive guys who like dominant men...we both love to kneel between a man's legs...we both love the thrill of bending over for a strong man—sweetie, two bottoms don't make a top."

"But we could give each other pleasure..." I insisted.

A forlorn smile appeared on his face. He said, "Johnny...you need to understand WHY we do what we do...it's not about the sex--the sex is secondary...it's about our 'feelings'—our emotions—it's about the very act of submitting yourself to another human beings will—it's about putting their pleasure above yours...think back to all the hook-ups you've had—how many times did you ever cum when you gave the man pleasure? Not many, I would guess. And did that matter to you? No, it doesn't matter because the whole reason you do it is to submit and give pleasure to someone else—the thrill you feel is giving pleasure to a dominant man, and we both live to feel that thrill. We didn't ask to feel this way—it's just who we are...Johnny, I love you as a friend—I hope we can continue that relationship."

His words echoed in my mind over the next few days. I didn't call him and when I saw his number on my cell phone I didn't answer. Maybe I was being small and petty but I still thought it could work for us.

It was a long week at work and I was relieved when my weekend arrived. I had no plans but the longer I sat around my apartment the more it weighed on mind. I decided to go out one night.

I put on my 'trolling' clothes and walked to the park. Vernon's light was on in his apartment, but I went into the park instead. I only had to walk about 50 feet until someone approached me. He was a good-looking guy not much older than me.

"Ah...hey, ah..." he stammered.

Oh, a shy one, I thought.

"You want to go over there with me?" he asked as he pointed to the shadows.

"Sure," I said, and smiled at him trying to put him at ease. A lot of the 'newbies' didn't know how to ask for what they wanted.

When we reached a dark area he felt more comfortable and opened up.

"Do you suck cock?" he asked.

I could smell alcohol on his breath—he had to drink to get his courage up, I thought.

"Yeah, would you like that?" I replied.

"Oh, yeah..."

I got on my knees as he leaned against a tree. I opened his pants and took out a slender, not-too-big penis.

First, I had to use all my skills just to get him hard. Alcohol has that effect on a lot of guys. Then it took a good fifteen minutes before he shot his load in my mouth. My own cock was throbbing and aching by that time.