How many nights has he watched me, by now? Sturdy. Jonah gallantly saves me from having to explain my lack of funds by paying for my entry without hesitation, although there is an awkward moment when he has to murmur and ascertain my age, to see whether or not I qualify for the ’12-and-under’ admission. It’s a kick for both parties. It’s unlikely that they’d ever telephone Adam’s parents. With Peter Sellers, Shirley MacLaine, Melvyn Douglas, Jack Warden. Stronger. Hardly. Can you truly rely upon your key holder not to ghost you? And while the temperatures remain mild, men will still venture to Bryan Park after dark. Some of the regulars would stay away on Thursdays, fearing trouble. I don’t grunt with pleasure—mostly because I take none from this impersonal coupling. He’s cement-hard the entire time I’m sucking on him, that’s for sure. What else would a study-obsessed, Sunday-school-attending, social nobody like me possibly be doing on a Friday night? This is where I’m supposed to be. Or are of me inside someone. Let Jonah gaze upon me, I think to myself. However, even a morbidly shy person can speak up and say, when the double entendres fly, something earnest and honest along the lines of, “Hey, am I reading too much into this, or is there something between us you’d maybe like to explore?” Or, “I can’t tell if you’re just being playful with me, or if you’re flirting for real. Here I am for the very first time at the fair with someone who isn’t involved in scouting, who isn’t my parent, and (I hoped) who will be taking me home and making love to me later this night. But then I trail off, arrested by a glimpse of a face that passes by at the end of the aisle. The park is seeing a busy night. There’s a swelling beneath her dress I hadn’t noticed before; she’s pregnant. The intimacy of it, right there on the street—never mind the dark—both breaks down any remaining resistance I might have to his plea, as much as it alarms me. I am not shooting much, but the orgasm racks my body. “I think I’m ready.”, In Bryan Park, nights of the week have distinct flavors. The light changes. By the time I graduated college in 1985 and had started studying for a Master’s degree at that university, the AIDS epidemic had struck fear into everyone. The street is silent. “Stay there.”. It was a lot of fun to read about though, complete with moments of panic, pounding heart, and cold chills. What am I really telling my mom and dad, with every glib tall tale? “My bike,” I explain, tugging my arm from his grasp. Maybe he’s shy, I tell myself. Clean to see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail, the green flashing eyes. Okay? The men who venture into Bryan Park after dark know better than to drive their cars into forbidden territory after it’s been swept through. I try to read my books and pound out stories on my manual typewriter. “Just don’t go up there this week. Once fastened, he finally opens his eyes and runs his hands through his curls to adjust them. Here I am, Jonah. Even though I surrender my body to faceless strangers in this dark place, I’m not so trusting that I’m willing to risk someone walking off with my bicycle while my back is turned—or more accurately, while my back is planted on a grimy picnic table dozens of feet away. Slowly, meaningfully, he settles deep into the cushions. Grown-ups love telling me what to do. He’s got to be enjoying himself, I know, but he’s not saying anything. I gasp with an open mouth, prompting the stranger in the overalls to seize my jaw with one hand while he beats himself off with the other. Men would occupy the stalls and fuck and suck through the holes and beneath the partitions; others would stand at the urinals on the side of the U invisible from the door leading in and out, and either fuck and suck there, or watch what was going on in the stalls, or wait for someone to open a stall door for sex. It’s only the work of a few seconds to pull on my clothes and get my denim jacket back on. The spokes click as they rotate. I am taking a major risk with this evening. Friday is the smorgasbord of different tastes, when men of all stripes venture into the park’s dark heart seeking anonymous sex to start the weekend. I was able to pick up so. “I don’t need a mini refrigerator….” I start to say. And of course there’s the ziggurat of pleasure, the Business Building, with its multiple stories of tearooms riddled, like Swiss cheese, with gloryholes. Competent. On top of his condescension, though, Jonah’s hypocrisy galls me. I take what freebies I can get!). His voice drops to a murmur. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of competition. And of course, for readers of my blog, I’ve made crusty cum rags out of old socks and raffled them off. But the anxiety of the moment is making my fingers seem thick and wooden, and my heart’s beating loudly enough that I’m sure Necktie can hear it in the dark. For the past year I’ve been exploring the stuff of which I’m made. In the dark, though, I’m accustomed to being confident and strong and desirable and in control. Two red-hots with mustard. Evasion is the foundation of this game I’ve been playing out of the sight of my parents and teachers. It’s fastened with a numerical dial lock. Harvey balls are round ideograms used for visual communication of qualitative information. I hear him set down my bike on the soft carpet of needles. If I spin the leftmost disc instead of the one at the right…. “What can I do?” It’s a question I’ve asked many times before, in tones both coquettish and full of need. I feel too small and powerless to refuse. Finally I’m back to the living room to dress as quickly as I can, compose myself, and settle down on the sofa once more. “Follow my lead. Not once, in the year I’d been sexually active, had a fellow spent more time with me than it took for him to empty his nuts into one of my holes, much less woo me with greasy food and views of Richmond’s Northside. And then there's Tom Ripley. My highly-honed mission statement here at A Breeder’s Journal is to be absolutely everything to absolutely everyone. I watch him drive off toward the Boulevard. Monday Morning Questions: Public Apology Edition, the late and much-lamented Bijou in Toronto, I’ve written before of my business in that particular building, Adventures with BikeGuy13 - True Tales of a Sex Addict. When I make a move to loosen the hug, though, he pulls me in a little closer, and holds me still. Cocksucker’s Code says the first cocksucker claims the hole, so I would stubbornly refuse to budge when he'd shuffle in, groan, and heft his enormous backside on the other seat. I hate what I’m doing.Tears form in my eyes the faster I ride; the lump in my throat makes it difficult to swallow. Upside down, through my glasses, I see him. His sturdy frame supports me easily. Anything would be better than sitting here through a show I disliked, with a man I liked very much, wondering what might happen next. The Hibbs Building, where I’d taken my first anonymous cock the year before, has one of the cruisiest men’s rooms right outside the second-floor cafeteria. The Business Building restrooms were where I was protected by, and welcomed into, the fraternity of cocksuckers. Nods. Jonah has lowered the blinds on his front windows, but I stare at them, dream of the world outside this suburban foxhole, and wait for time to pass. “I worried you might not show up.”. It’s a silent ride back to the spot on Brook Road where he’d picked me up. My dad has such poor eyesight that to read, even wearing his prescription glasses, he needs to hold the paper up to his nose in order to make out what it says. Does he really think that I’m going to be able to take that thick dick without lube? This is the spot that Jonah told me he’d pick me up tonight. Grown-ups are supposed to know better than I. The man standing at the mouth of the picnic shelter, for example. Light sweeps over my face. He doesn’t take off the necktie that’s been hanging, loosened, around his neck the entire night. “That place is bad news,” he says, not for the first time. As a tall kid, a skinny kid, a kid who’s not good at sports, a smart kid with straight A’s, I’m a target—so I keep my head down. It rests between my shoulder blades for a moment, then rubs a path up and down my spine. Have you had many experiences with cum rags? I’m going to force Jonah to watch my climax. It’s true that four years has made me lankier and taller—I’d tower over Jonah if I approached him. First time running from the cops in the dark, I assume he means? I’ve figured out he doesn’t like to be touched anywhere. He doesn’t move until I’ve returned from the kitchen a second time. He wants to know if I live nearby. Despite a light sweater, I shiver whenever I remember being invisible before Jonah’s tightly-clenched eyes. If anything, he looks tired. 1845, the code is. I’m annoyed by the restriction Jonah has set on me, but for some reason I accept it. There was a year when I was a doctoral candidate that I would visit a gloryhole in the campus library, in an out-of-the-way men’s room in a far stretch of the library’s periodicals section that few people visited. At the same time, I’m realistic to recognize that I’m a mere kid in a strange man’s house, a good three miles’ walk from home, close to ten at night. The Bijou was essentially a clothes-on bathhouse in the basement of a building in Toronto’s gay district. Instead I continue staring at the small screen perched on the coffee table. “Just, you know, you and me. My eyes close as I flop and spasm; my hole gapes, welcoming deeper within the cock invading me. Breathing heavily, I wrap the insulated chain around my wrist and begin wheeling the bike into my planned route through the woods. “Right?”. Is my face flushed red? I’m glad he can’t see me right now. Small talks mortifies me—I’m convinced what little I have to say is much, much too small for anyone older than myself. Then he settles back down on the sofa and waits. But he stands up straight, rests his hands on my shoulders, and allows me to lean into him. His entire body shudders and shakes. He keeps fucking, just as I’ve ordered him, while I erupt. How do these things work? (Hell, most of my generation never experienced anything like it.). After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. The Rockford Files is still playing on the TV. 01 (4.04): Wife punished by hubby in front of her daughter. The last two-thirds were a bitter rivalry to the end between two cocksuckers, with both of us losing out in the end. He’ll shrug off my grip with a grimace if I try. And then there's Tom Ripley. It’s but the work of a few seconds to yank up and button my cords and pull down my rugby shirt. Where you told me not to go. It's not as if I had nothing to do with that desire (I sure did) but I also have not decided yet if I just like the idea of being in one (I never have). Ten, if one included the clean-up time. “Puh—“. It’s thicker, larger. I know, it all sounds very good, but after the hole had been open for about a month, a rival arose. It sits in a dish in the nearly-cool oven, awaiting their arrival. I start with one in my hand and one in my mouth. But I can shake my head with a clear conscience: I haven’t been to Bryan Park since the night we evaded the police patrol. Everything seems so beautiful, this high up. Is he going to be around enough to do so? He wonders where my folks think I am, and seems to understand when I tell him they don’t worry as long as I’m home before my absence becomes suspicious. Had Jonah said anything about not visiting other parks? The adult word feels good on my tongue. My eyes keep darting to the left, trying to scrutinize his expression. Or 1846? Including that the actors who portrayed their film versions were so very handsome. I could probably get another load in me before I had to be home. So yes, I’m a liar. How Would My Sexuality Have Been Different if I Had the Internet? Always we keep our heads turned toward the road running from the woods and shelter back out into the neighborhood. But I fret my nighttime ventures down the Boulevard to Byrd Park push the limits of what even my lenient mom and dad find acceptable. It’s cruel, and calculated. They’re tough to find these days. I have to lift myself up so he won’t spear me prematurely. I feel it move, stroke my chin, then coax my jaw upward. For example, in a comparison of products, information such as price or weight can be conveyed numerically, and binary information such as the existence or lack of a feature … I jerk off plenty. Nearby enough that I can bike over, I say, leaving it vague. It’s really the only way he can be certain I’m still next to him. As a responsible dominant, I don’t allow a submissive to make promises that he’s going to be unable to keep. Once I manage to lubricate myself enough to settle down on him easily, bringing him to a climax is usually a swift process. My first venture to a tearoom after meeting Jonah feels like treachery. He’d taken me to the State Fair and had bought me my first nachos and shown me the sights from the top of the ferris wheel. I know I’m getting to him. I’m probably the quietest kid in my eighth grade class. I’m sitting there staring at the screen and wondering what is going on. I’m terrified of shifting too obviously to relieve the discomfort, though. I nod, looking at his tasseled loafers. Once he’s looked around and made sure there aren’t any cars around us, he lifts his right hand from the seat and runs it through my long blond hair. I suspect he does so for the sheer pleasure of holding my hand and slipping me his dollar bills. Now, wit. “Puh—“ he aspirates. The weather often remains warm in Virginia through Halloween. “What time do you have to go?” he immediately asks. After all week building up the night with the Bogdanoviches at the fair, how would I concede to my parents that the big event had fallen through? “Hi,” he says. “You and me,” he says, thumping me mid-thigh. The man fucking me immediately obeys, stroking my little dick at a rapid pace. Four? I’d seen the twin headlights turning in our direction, reflected in Youngs Pond, and heard the simultaneous sounds of frustrated curses while belts were buckled in the gloom, followed by the quick steps of men dashing into the trees. I shiver whenever he turns his head and smiles. Jonah and I stand by his truck and regard each other in the dim porch light of a nearby home. “Yeah. It’s impossible to tell. I am the giant at the top of the beanstalk. His fingertips are digging into the upholstery the entire time I’m guiding him into me. Someone had used pliers to bend back the points of jagged metal so that they wouldn’t stab anyone in the groin or face; someone else had applied electrical tape around the perimeter on both sides to smooth it out and prevent injury. I’d efficiently take care of it, swallow the load, and await the next horny fucker standing impatiently by the sinks for his turn. It’s probably too late to turn back from a future as a confirmed faggot. It’s on Mondays that the fucking in the picnic shelter is at its most unhurried. I know what to do, but does he want it? Let him see without blinking exactly why I prefer this twilight no-man’s land rather than the purgatory of his ugly, overstuffed blue sofa. I mouth it again and again that night, biking home. My mom has helpfully informed me that I’ll never forget the combination if I remember the year that Texas joined the union…but frankly, it’s easier to remember a simple four-digit number than to keep track of historical dates. My mind makes rapid calculations. Eventually the clearing would be alive again with barely-visible movement and soft, liquid sounds and sighs. I’ve got some pine needles or debris tangled in my long hair. “Until we know the coast is clear.”. I’d been nothing but proud of the pleasure I inspired there, of the secret knowledges I’d sought and mastered within its secluded walls. They’re mental degenerates. I might have felt trepidation the first time I left my dad’s office with claims I intended to study in the university library, only to spend the next few hours manning the gloryholes in the Business Building. She thanked him, sipping down her drink, before she laid her head on his shoulder and he continued to talk. Twice in the last three weeks I’ve ignored my parents’ long-standing orders about not biking across Broad Street and into the Fan district, to navigate to Byrd Park. It hadn’t been an easy decision. The Talented Mr. Ripley, Patricia Highsmith The Talented Mr. Ripley is a 1955 psychological thriller novel by Patricia Highsmith. Same with the midway rides—too much of a liability for a scout troop. There’s enough light from the quarter moon that when I force my eyes up, I can see the ferocious smirk on the garageman’s face. I’m already beginning to doubt how much of what I apparently need we’ll be able to squeeze into our seventeen-year-old Dodge Dart, especially on top of the clothing and books and journals I’ll already be taking with me. The man’s name is Jonah. Study…lamp. Our lips connect, and then I feel desire blossom across my skin as gently he presses his mouth into my own. He steps forward, closing the distance between us. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime. Well, I seem to have a thing for spoiled rich brats like Sebastian Flyte and Dickie Greenleaf, who have much in common, I would say. Is that too weird? Sex is all about interaction to me. I used to spend hours at a time at that glory hole. Yet the realization that he’s just as nervous as I, charms me. The fellow with the large dick flips me onto the picnic table. Since the moment he’d laid his hand on the door handle of his truck, I’ve actually been considering whether or not to return to the shelter after he leaves. All right. I don’t want to display too much enthusiasm. When he was done, he’d simply toss it back under. The police have ruined men’s lives in their sweeps of the city parks and the trails by the river. I’m rewarded with a squeeze above the knee. It was first broadcast on ITV on 30 December 1990 and was watched by 13.8 million viewers during its original transmission. I don’t pull away. Jonah was that asshole who’d made me feel badly about going to the park, all those years ago. Finally I feel him bend down. First off, Mr. Tom Ripley is no sociopath. My dad’s former student, Marc, lived on the second floor of a brownstone in Philadelphia. In 1977, no one rebounds with grace after the Times-Dispatch exposes them as an active homosexual. All he does, though, is loll his head backward and breathe more heavily. My parents, unaccustomed to having me underfoot in the hours before primetime TV, ask me if I’ve had a falling-out with my friends. Maybe I’m rotating the wrong number? A guy will buy a chastity device and I will lock him into it. But after five minutes, the ride begins to slow and stop as it lets off the old passengers and accepts new. Late Thursday nights, after the cops cleared the park at dusk, some of the rednecks would linger on the side streets until it was quiet enough to go cruising. I’ve begun to learn how to open wide to survive a savage throat-fucking from the biggest tools without gagging…and to sense when a man liked the sounds of a struggle, to enhance his pleasure with grunts and whimpers. By week two, I’ve convinced myself I’m not doing anything wrong. “I won’t,” promises Jonah with an easy smile. Left to my own devices, I likely would have spent a half-hour visiting all the booths and obsessed over the prices before I chose the single, most inexpensive thing on the menus. I can’t stay here much longer to figure it out. Maybe he’s tired. “You okay?” I feel his hand rest on my chest. The spillover from floor to floor that had taken place nightly, for years, was gone forever. We’re all on alert, constantly, even as we fuck and suck and spill our seed into each other and onto the ground. It’s the Friday after Halloween. However, if you’re typically a reticent type, I wouldn’t try leading with “Hey, shove those inches of yours down my throat.” That might be too much for a shy personality to handle, right out of the gate. “This is nice,” he says with a smile. Published June 17th 2008 by W. W. Norton Company (first published 1955. As I turn the corner from Brook onto my parents’ street, the worse my mood becomes. “Those men are deeply disturbed. One of the first assessments I make of a prospective cash slave before accepting him is of how sustainable a commitment to me is going to be. He always arrives in business attire, or as if he’s stopping by after a church social. Last week he’d claimed we wouldn’t be going on a date, but this very much feels like a date. Didn’t he want the same things they did? Physically held the keys, that is. I sit motionless until I feel the last of his pulsations, wait a beat, then hop off. Still he says nothing. Some would stride in already hard, unzip, and without prelude shove their meat through the hole. I’m enraged. I can see Laburnum, with its steady stream of headlamps, and the twinkling lights of the neighborhood beyond. “Keep fucking,” I demand, relishing the last word as I spit it out. We make casual conversation in soft tones as we head up the side street, then turn down the avenue running parallel to the park drive. In the haunted house ride, we sit in a tiny two-person car knee to knee, hip to hip. “Let me get you home, kid,” he says, grabbing his keys from the coffee table. I’m still thinking about the close call back there. I keep an eye out for signs of trouble. “Harder,” I grunt, heaving my hips in rhythm with the man’s thrust. If you choose to explore longer periods of chastity, add a single day at a time, and see how much you can endure. How many loads have I taken so far in the forty-five minutes I’ve been here? Some lump of a person from the local community (in my head, I remember him as the wheelchair-bound Andy that Matt Lucas used to perform on Little Britain, but he probably wasn’t that repulsive) discovered the hole and would attempt to commandeer it at the same times I did. During a commercial break he reaches over and swipes my unruly bangs from my eyes. Impulsively I wrap my arms around his middle. I have no doubt Jonah finds our domestic Friday evenings to his liking. His hand has been on my chest during this entire brief conversation. This endless show is almost at an end. —Mrkgnao! It’s better to ask, get rejected, and to know, than to waste months or years of your life pining after someone who’s just a flirt for the fun of it. I would have welcomed him inside me without question. Both times I’ve arrived back home after ten-thirty, panting from the four-mile bike ride, innocent apologies dripping from my lips (“Oh? And those weren’t the campus’ only cruising spots, either: the campus library there was equally cruisy, as was the Hibbs Building, where in 1976 I finally gave in and let my first stranger fuck me. The entire time I’m sitting on his sofa, or obeying his unspoken commands with as much speed and silence as possible, I think to myself how wrong it feels. “Do you require an optional mini refrigerator for your dorm room?”. Just you and me. If anything, I have to bite my lip to cope with the pain of his girth when I hit bottom. He’s paying. Almost immediately when I sit down on a bench, men with unzipped trousers head in my direction, already stroking their engorged cocks, to joust for my attention. Mind Control 10/12/10: Naked in the Half-light (4.45) Martha has an early morning (naked) holiday romance. I’ve mastered the routines of my usual cruising spots—the ebb and flow of men through the trees at the parks I visit, the sounds of doors and footsteps in the tearooms with gloryholes, the warning alerts of intruders at the public library restrooms. We can hear when the crackle of pine beneath his feet gives way to footsteps across grass. . This novel introduced the character of Tom Ripley, who returns in four subsequent novels known collectively as the Ripliad.