Notch 31: Darryl

My office building was next to a residential area of DC and if I stepped outside, I sometimes saw faces I recognized from my private life. One noontime during work I went out to grab lunch to bring back to my desk and spotted a guy I recognized from the DC Eagle. Our eyes met as we walked past each other, and he saw me look back again as I walked into a store. When I came out a few minutes later, he was still standing there, looking my way. I went over to say hello, of course.

He introduced himself as Darryl and said he lived nearby, pointing at a high-rise right next to my office building. We chatted for a moment and before I went back to work, he gave me his apartment number and said to stop by.

At the end of a day in which my concentration was ruined (or enhanced, depending on your point of view), I shut down my computer and walked out and across the small alley from my building to his. Someone also entering let me into the lobby (tsk, security?) and I went up and knocked.

The first thing I noticed to my great amusement and some consternation was that Darryl’s apartment directly faced my boss’ office window. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling a little awkward about that, while Darryl chatted and took my coat. He showed me around his remarkable apartment, walking among the Greek columns, life-sized plaster casts of male torsos (his own?), lush black-and-white photographs, and huge vases of flowers everywhere. The purpose of gay men is to make the world a pretty place, and Darryl clearly was heeding the call.

But Darryl didn’t waste time, either. After a few minutes he closed the drapes, gave me a kiss, and began removing my clothes. I returned his kiss and began to open his clothes, until we were both naked and then lying together on his couch. Darryl had a lean body, with velvety skin and a gentle manner to match. He also added that he had company coming in an hour or so and unfortunately couldn’t spend the whole evening with me.

He turned out to be a creative and flattering lover, talking sexy, telling me I looked great, and speculating aloud about versatile things we could try. One of his more interesting ideas was tying my ankles up high on the wall and forcing me to cum all over myself. But for this time, he merely got me into a standing position over him so I could jerk off and splatter his chest.

His phone rang as I was getting dressed: his guest calling to say he was on his way, and I left.

The next week I went back again to play with Darryl, which was not merely sexy but exciting in its nearness to my work life.

We never did hang me up by my ankles, and Darryl and I didn’t get together a third time though I saw him occasionally at bars or parties. Years later I learned from a former Mr. MAL that Darryl had passed away. I didn’t find out from what, but I was sorry for someone of his intelligence and flair.

 

Epilogue: One day, not long after I played with Darryl, my boss froze during staff meeting, half-standing, a file folder in her hand, staring out the window.

“Oh, my goodness!” she said aloud. “A naked man just walked by over there.”

I was pretty sure I knew whom she meant.

Notch 30: Randy

On another day hike into the mountains a tall, lean, muscular, and very attractive, heavily bearded bear named Randy had come along. Randy was gifted with not just a strong libido but a profound, almost animal understanding of male sexuality, a little about which our group learned somewhat open-mouthedly during a truth-or-dare discussion in the car as we drove. The frequency and depth to which Randy had indulged and explored gay male sex over the years was remarkable and… (well, I’m sorry, but Randy will just have to write his own book).

I had first met Randy two years previously on a canoe trip and we’d had dinner later, though that date didn’t lead to sex or any further contact. But one of my friends had met Randy in the meantime and invited him also along on this hike. I was delighted, however, as I thought Randy was pretty hot.

So now as the group hiked through the forest, I let myself fall to the rear of the line, squatting to tie my shoe as a ruse to hang back near Randy. The other hikers had gone ahead around a bend in the trail and I had just stood up wondering how I should come on to Randy when he suddenly tackled me to the ground, his arms and legs firmly wrapped around me, his bearded mouth pressed against mine, fallen leaves flying everywhere. We laid there for a moment in each other’s arms, snickering and not daring to move lest we didn’t hear the others coming back to look for us.

But when no one came back, Randy and I got to our feet and started making out. I had been wanting to play with Randy for a long time and didn’t waste any time fumbling his shirt unbuttoned, slowly working my fingers through the hair on his chest, my mouth and beard all over his, my dick swelling in my jeans. I unbuckled Randy’s pants and tugged them down around his knees, then reached for his cock which was also swelling and already bigger than most I had seen.

Then from some distance down the trail, someone yelled my name.

We froze, silently smiling at each other. They yelled it again and this time I yelled back OK! We waited a minute but (to my relief) no one came walking back to find us. I guessed that they figured out I was anything but lost (my friends are wonderful).

In the meantime, Randy had got my pants open and had leaned down, firmly holding me by the balls and working my dick with his mouth, his saliva feeling warm all over me. After only moment of this I started to get close to cumming. I gently pushed his mouth away and took my turn with his cock in my mouth, rolling my tongue all around his large, wet, fleshy cockhead, getting him fully hard.

After working his cockhead a bit longer, I stood up and backed Randy a few steps up against a tree thinking I could use my belt to get his hands tied up to the low overhead branch, and then maybe play with spanking his helpless, protesting, deliciously naked ass.

But before I could try anything, Randy leaned down again and resumed on my dick. I abandoned my bondage plot and let him continue until I was so worked up, I couldn’t wait any longer to jerk off. Randy and I stood together, jerking our cocks until we had left little puddles of pearly white cum on the forest floor (where, according to a friend who worked in forestry, orchids would grow).

We leaned against each other for a moment, then pulled our clothes back together and hiked off after the others. We got to where I thought they might be waiting, but they had gone on and Randy and I were alone. We continued along the trail until we came to a fork where it might not have been clear which way to go. But fortunately, someone had left an arrow made of sticks on the ground. We assumed it was for us and we hiked gaily forward the way it pointed.

While we hiked, I wanted more affection and cuddling from Randy. We eventually came out of the woods onto a paved road and followed that back another mile or so to the small picnic area where we left the cars. The sun went down behind the hills and the afternoon began to fade and became rather chilly while we waited for the others to return. I wasn’t sure how we could have passed them on the trail, unless they took a detour.

Randy and I tried to keep warm by briskly walking around or by huddling together, which I liked better, on a bench in an empty picnic shelter. We might have tried a leaves-and-sticks fire in one of the picnic grills, but neither of us had matches or a lighter.

The others finally showed up, unsuccessfully demanding the full story of where we had been other than “not lost” as we drove back to DC.

Randy and I never dated but we saw each other at parties and remained friendly for years.

Notch 29: Scott

That previous September a few friends and I went car-camping in southern Pennsylvania. One morning I left camp to pick up a few oops-I-forgot groceries, mainly beer, in a nearby small town. As I stood in the check-out line, I noticed a handsome, bearded fellow with piercing eyes waiting in a different line and caught his attention. Handsome and I exchanged smiles several times, but he got through his check-out line first and didn’t wait around to say hello.

I promptly forgot about it and drove out of the parking lot, down a side street back toward the highway. But then I spotted Handsome walking a little farther down the block. Feeling adventurous, I drove closer, parked, and jumped out just as he went into a small store front, then reappeared as I approached. He lugged a small table and a chair out to the sidewalk, put a few things on the table, and sat down. I thought this was somewhat unusual and decided to see what was going on.

As I walked up to his table, he smiled and observed I was the guy in the grocery store, and we started chatting. He spoke with a gentle country drawl, introducing himself as Scott. He seemed to be about my age and had an easy-going personality and infectious smile that made his eyes sparkle. Scott explained the day was a town-wide celebration of some historic mining industries the town was founded on, and he was setting up a few fun things outside, just be part of the festivities.

Among other things, Scott had set out a box of chalk for kids passing by to make sidewalk drawings. While we were talking, I busied myself, on my knees on the sidewalk, drawing rainbows and happy bears. (I’m a fair chalk artist, did I say?)

Then Scott and I took turns lying in the street like murder victims, our arms and legs at crazy angles, tracing each other to make chalk body outlines but drawing our sneakers as stiletto pumps. Scott didn’t seem to mind that I pushed my hand in deeply to trace the contours of his crotch very, very carefully, you know, just to get all the firm details.

I finally remembered I ought to be getting back to camp. But Scott turned out to be such a fun person, I invited him to bring his sleeping bag and come out to our camp site for the night, as I had extra room in my tent. I spent the rest of the weekend with a hopeful semi-boner but Scott couldn’t get away from his day job (I later found out) and never showed.

But I stayed in touch with Scott, by email and once visiting for coffee when I was passing through, and came to like him very much. That November I invited him again to join me (and about eight other guys), this time on another rustic fall cabin weekend in the Pennsylvania hills, not far from where he lived.

Scott arrived at the cabin late at night after he got off work. We’d mostly all gone to bed, but he somehow found me upstairs alone in the two small loft beds that I had pushed together (the beds weren’t really all that small, imagine). He quietly undressed and climbed naked into bed with me, gently waking me up. I was really happy he made it, and we kissed and cuddled for a while, then jerked each other off and fell asleep. He turned out to be really nice to sleep with, lying right up against me or with his arm draped over me.

We didn’t have sex again that weekend though I enjoyed his visit and my friends did, too, welcoming Scott’s agreeable, happy self into the group. He and I never became lovers but we were instantly “old friends” which is better in many ways; we still are. Meeting Scott was a real win.

Notch 28: Roger

In November there was another Bare Bear Chest contest at the Baltimore Eagle, apparently an annual event, and of course I went. It turned out to be pretty much the same as before, with the admission fee, the value-added kiss by the door guards, the toy-bear party favors, and an art auction. And as before, one of them also kissed my hand, which had similarly happened a couple of weeks before to me, by a man at a rollerskating party—what was going on with the hand kissing?

I never found out. But now, I was standing at the bar for scarcely a minute when a handsome guy started chatting me up. Ever a sucker for a good chat-up, I thought maybe he was going for gold early in the evening and we might shortly excuse ourselves and go back to his place.

Nope. He said he was with Daddy magazine and saw me, and would I be interested in being a Daddy cover model.

Daddy?

As he told me more about it, I didn’t know if I should feel flattered or amused. It was definitely intriguing, especially the possibilities for meeting a lot of young men already lusting after daddy-me. But with thoughts of co-workers waving the magazine during staff meeting, I politely declined fame as a stiff-cock centerfold; also but less so because I didn’t think I was a daddy type (not then, anyway).

 Meanwhile, the Eagle filled up quickly, packing in hairy, bearded, and therefore good-looking men, with the contestants on display in various stages of undress and witty banter.

The bar got hot and stuffy, so I stripped off my shirt and wandered my bare bear nipples around, hoping as usual to meet someone choice to sleep with. Early in the evening I passed a short, 30-something bear with a handsome face who returned my smile and who looked so familiar that as I walked by, I paused and did a mental search.

After swimming a couple more laps around the humid crowd, Smiling Bear and I crossed paths again and this time I said immediately, Roger from Tennessee! After chatting a bit, he put his hand on my chest and slowly walked me backwards, pinning me against the wall, one knee between my legs, and we began making out. We had first met a year earlier at the Bear Hugz party, although he didn’t seem interested in me at the time and nothing sexy had happened.

We remained at the Baltimore Eagle awhile to watch the contest, and then left and I followed him back to where he was staying at his friend’s house in DC. Roger was gentle and warm and nice to sleep with, too, but I forget the specific details of what we did for sex.

The next morning I headed for home in a light rain, then went out again that night to the DC Eagle where I ran into Roger. I don’t remember if we had sex that second evening but probably not. I had got his home address and sent a Christmas card but didn’t hear from him again.

Notch 27: Grey

As I ate my burger at the bear-becue, another one who caught my eye pretty soon was an unusually cute, younger man I hadn’t noticed when I first arrived. He was on the small, slim side, and had a large, dark beard and piercing dark eyes. His hair was parted in the middle but it still managed to flop fetchingly over his eyes. He was also laughing and talking a lot and I, being not all that talkative (I tend to be rather quiet, did I say?), thought, oh, great, I’ll never meet him. Talkative, energetic people usually prefer other talkative, energetic people. (I’d taken a Myers-Briggs seminar at work and knew an “E” when I saw one.)

But after I ate, I was hovering, looking for an opportune moment and when Cute Beard went into the house for a beer, I followed him in. He introduced himself as Grey (short for Greyson). As we came back outdoors, he indicated across the yard also to “that guy over there” as his partner.

Ah.

Grey turned out to be a happy guy, fun to talk to, and smiled at me a lot. We spent some of the afternoon hanging out on the lawn. His partner came by a couple of times to say hi and briefly join the conversation before wandering off again. We also realized that a few months before we had both been at Ross’ Christmas party though somehow we hadn’t noticed each other.

As the bear-becue began to wind down, I traded phone numbers with Grey, thinking maybe I found new friends in him and his partner. It was, after all, the reason I was trying to socialize more.

Over the next few months Grey and I met for bike rides around DC or went together on a couple of Adventuring day hikes out in the mountains. If it was a hot day, Grey sometimes took off his shirt to reveal quite a lot of wonderful, jet-black hair in pretty swirls on his chest, and which flowed around his nipples, tapering all the way into his armpits. I longed to trace it with my fingertips while listening to "Supermodel."

Later that fall there was an Adventuring “winter” backpacking trip into the mountains where it had snowed early. I asked Grey and his partner if they wanted to join me. Grey’s partner wasn’t interested, explaining that he couldn’t stand to be more than a mile from the nearest brunch restaurant. Grey however jumped at the chance. He said he had a backpack but no tent, so I invited him to share mine.

Our camping group met in DC and carpooled out to the mountains. We spent the first couple of hours hiking in to a remote spot the trip leader knew and set up the tents, then did a short hike a little way up to a rocky ledge with a pretty view of the surrounding countryside. I was looking forward to ending the day around the campfire with a fire-cooked dinner (OK, browned, apple-filled toaster pastries with chunks of melted cheddar; seriously, try it sometime) and a nightcap of Kentucky’s best gay bourbon cut with an icicle snapped off a dead hemlock.

When it was time for bed, Grey and I roped our food bag and lifted it high up over a tree branch, as I read once we should do to thwart literal bears. We said good night to the others and crawled into my tent.

In the narrow confines of the tent, we managed to get out of our winter clothes down to our long johns and wiggled into our sleeping bags. I was very aware of lying next to handsome Grey and leaned over to give him a quick goodnight kiss-kiss. He kiss-kissed me back and we fell asleep.

The next morning however I woke up with a raging hard-on and all these heavy things on me. Grey, still asleep, had rolled partway over in his sleeping bag, his arm across my chest and his knee over my legs.

Given we were half-way there, I decided not to be shy anymore and slowly opened my sleeping bag to struggle out of my long johns (not easy in a tent where you can’t stand up). Grey was awake by then and, watching me trying to strip off, started to pull off his long johns, too. I had previously asked Grey about his partner, but he assured me they played around separately on the side.

Oh.

It was still cold and it had snowed maybe an inch overnight so it felt very cozy just to cuddle in the tent, sharing Grey’s body heat. We didn’t have much space for a lot of fancy maneuvers, so we pretty much just held and felt each other up and made out, chewing on our beards. We managed to turn ourselves around each other in the tent for a little sixty-nine, but slowly, like playing Twister in a phone booth. Grey rolled his hot, wet tongue all around my cockhead as my mouth went down over his, my fingers buried in his chest hair. I thought I could really get into this winter camping stuff.

Finally we straightened around to take turns jerking each other off. When it was Grey’s turn, I got him stretched out on his back in front of me. He laid there, a sprawling mass of (speaking of a pretty view) beard, armpits, and chest hair, his ass up in my lap and his furry legs spread around either side of my waist, his cock stiff and begging to be touched.

Gently tugging on his balls, I slowly stroked him with the other, my thumb and forefinger slowly and ever so delicately sliding his paper-thin, brown foreskin up and down his shaft. The pink slit in the tip of his cock peeked in and out, wet and shiny with his pre-cum. He closed his eyes and got more and more quiet as I stroked him, until his face screwed up and he took a couple of deep breaths, delivering several hefty blobs of cum all over his front as his cock throbbed in my fingertips, his navel an overflowing cum pond. (Toilet paper, please. A very hairy front can be rather messy to clean cum off of, if you don’t have any running water.)

We ended up doing ourselves in that tent for a bit longer than was decent. When we finally emerged, in our long johns and pulling on our boots in the snow, the others in our group were already finishing their camp breakfast and looked at us, like, really?

I was friends with Grey and his partner for a few months, until Grey’s partner found out Grey and I had played around. Apparently, Partner all along had not been on board with them playing around “separately on the side,” and that was that.

Despite living in the same city and having a few friends in common, and a weekend chugging coffee drinks called Cappio, I never saw either of them again. It bothered me for a long time that I might have caused harm to their relationship, even if I hadn’t known.

 

Aside: Around this time, Grey and other friends and I saw Daddy and the Muscle Academy, a documentary about the great Touko Laaksonen aka “Tom of Finland” and the impact of his art on gay male culture, extant to this day. I’d appreciated men in leather (see “Brad Sir”) for some time, but the movie set it out really well—highly recommended.

Notch 26: Kevin

Still trying to find ways to meet people apart from the artificial, often cold scene of cruisy gay bars, I joined a bear social group. Among the occasional dinners or movie nights, one of the group members announced he would host a backyard “bear-becue” cookout at his house on an upcoming Sunday afternoon.

I RSVP’d, and on the day, I rode my bike there, hoping that since it was a warm day, I might get noticed if I arrived looking hot and sweaty. As far as I could tell, no one noticed my sweatiness when I arrived.

The party was already going so I locked my bike and said hi to the host, grabbing a beer from a cooler inside the house and coming back outdoors to stand around and maybe meet new guys. I really didn’t know many of the people there but I greeted the few I recognized from somewhere. I went back in for another beer.

People continued to arrive and soon the yard was fairly full of bearded men laughing and talking in little groups. When the burgers and other cook-out foods were ready, I got in line with a plate, took a burger and potato chips, and sat down on the blankets provided for those of us comfortable sitting on the ground.

Looking around while I ate, I noticed one bear in particular, farther down the row of us ground-sitters, leaning back and looking my way. I did a double-take and smiled. He smiled back. Yep, definitely leaning back and looking my way.

I went on sitting and eating, and when I got up to get more chips, I deliberately walked around by Smiling Bear and said hi. He said hi back and asked if I was having a good time and grinned. He said his name was Kevin.

Kevin and I hung out together for a while at the bear-becue, chatting about let’s do something sometime. We traded phone numbers before the party broke up and I biked home.

I met Kevin at his apartment a couple of weeks later. We didn’t just jump into bed but instead went for a walk-and-talk around his neighborhood. Kevin was kind, gentle, smart, and apparently interested in lots of things I liked, like movies or going to the Smithsonian. (One of the great things about living in DC is the Smithsonian Institution. It’s vast, free, and makes for a great neutral date.) I’m sure we ended up back at his place, got out of our clothes, cuddled, and shared orgasms.

Even more memorably, Kevin also turned out to be a good dancer, much better than me. Although I had tried two-stepping several times, I just could not get the hang of it enough so the lop-sided motion came naturally.

Despite my ineptitude, we went out dancing several times at Remingtons, a country-western bar on DC’s Capitol Hill. I did my best to two-step, letting him lead; more often Kevin danced with others as good as himself. Kevin also line-danced and liked it when they played The Escape Club’s “Wild, Wild West.” Even now when I hear this song, I see Kevin stomping and twirling and having fun. At the same time, I learned from Kevin the fine art of cruising the room for others, even when out with someone.

I ended up dating Kevin for a few months and we had safe sex in the usual, various ways. I also learned from Kevin about cruising other guys, which he did a lot whenever we were out. But eventually we called it quits in a nice way and we let it go; eventually I introduced Kevin to a friend of mine with whom he seemed to hit it off. I continued to see Kevin around DC for many years.