I was a closeted bisexual man in the late ’80s, trying to navigate feelings I didn’t have the language or freedom to express. Living in North Carolina, memories of an early same‑sex experience kept resurfacing, and the pull to understand that part of myself was getting harder to ignore. I’d heard about a small gay bar in Jacksonville and felt drawn to see it, even though my life at home was busy and tightly structured. With a young child and a new marriage, I rarely had time alone.
One holiday season, I finally slipped out for an evening and drove to the bar. I ordered a drink and lingered near the pool table, but the few men there didn’t feel approachable. The owner came over, introduced himself, and offered a listening ear if I ever needed one. He gave me his number, and after finishing my drink, I left feeling uncertain but still searching.
A few days later, I reached out. He understood my situation immediately and didn’t pressure me. He mentioned he was usually at the bar late mornings during the week and said I could stop by if I wanted. So I made an excuse at work, told my wife I had an appointment, and drove over.
When I arrived, the doors were locked. I sent him a message, and he came to let me in. He greeted me kindly and led me to a small room in the back. We talked for a while, about my life, my confusion, and the weight of carrying something I couldn’t share with anyone. He listened without judgment, creating a quiet space where I could finally speak honestly about who I was and what I was struggling to understand.
I stood there for a moment, caught off guard by how quickly he started to get undressed. And now he was standing in front of me with nothing to hide, waiting for my reaction. For a split second, I froze, not out of fear, but from the weight of the moment.
Something in me moved before my thoughts caught up. I reached out, feeling the warmth of his skin, the quiet tension in the air, the way he watched me like he was giving me a choice. I sank to my knees, not out of hesitation but out of instinct, letting my touch and my presence speak for me as I traced gentle, deliberate lines along him, slow enough to make sure he knew I wasn’t rushing anything. I opened my mouth and slid the beautiful mushroom-shaped head in slowly, swirling my tongue around it. I could hear the small moans, telling me that I was doing something right. After a few minutes of teasing the head, I worked more of it into my mouth. I could feel the head of his cock working its way down my throat. I bobbed my head up and down; it felt amazing.
After a lengthy time of sucking his cock, I was getting turned on myself, imagining this beautiful cock buried in my tight little hole. I stood up and proceeded to undress myself. I was pulling my shirt over my head when I felt him unbuckling my belt. I kicked my shoes off, slid my pants down as he reached for my underwear. He slowly pulled it down and leaned in to put my cock in his mouth. I nearly lost my load right then and there. After a short time, he had me sit up on the counter, reached for the lube, and proceeded to coat his cock and finger my hole to get it nice and ready.
He pushed his cock against my hole and slowly slipped in. Mind you, it had been several years since I last experienced the pleasures of another man, so needless to say, there was a little pain during the first few seconds. But once he was fully inside and working on a steady rhythm, the pain turned to pure pleasure. He had amazing stamina; he fucked my tight hole for what seemed like an hour, and he was close to that. As he was approaching climax, I too was getting close, with every deep thrust hitting my prostate and bringing me closer to my own orgasm. He shot his load deep inside me and continued to pound my ass.
Before I had time to orgasm, he pulled out, leaving the feeling of satisfaction in my ass. He knelt in front of me, took my cock in his mouth, and sucked me to completion. He pulled me off the counter, bent me over, and started eating my ass. I could feel the cum oozing down my inner thighs, and feeling his tongue licking up every drop. I wanted so badly to taste our combined loads; however, he swallowed it all before I had the chance.
He handed me a warm washcloth so I could get myself together. Once I’d cleaned up and dressed, I thanked him and headed out. The whole drive home, my mind kept drifting back to him, replaying the moment, wondering when we might find ourselves together again.
