Here’s A Lustful Excerpt from My Novel, “The Czar of Wilton Drive”

Here’s A Lustful Excerpt from My Novel, “The Czar of Wilton Drive”

Jonathan Antonucci, a 21 year old, barely-out-the-closet gay man from suburban New York, overnight finds himself a multi-millionaire, thanks to a bequest by his late gay great uncle. Uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving him the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale’s gay ghetto. Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon encounters Uncle Charlie’s dubious friends and business associates, and is immediately submerged in the underbelly of Lauderdale’s gay scene. He also discovers his great uncle’s memoirs which reveal truths not only about Jon’s own past but also what may have really happened to his uncle.

Let’s set up the scene: Staying at his late uncle’s beachfront condo in Lauderdale, now his, Jonathan finds Charlie’s phone and retrieves his last text message from a fuck buddy, Marcos. Hungry to know more about his uncle, Jon invites Marcos over to fill in the blanks…

The sun was warm on the terrace, and Jon lay on the green striped lounge, taking it all in. It didn’t take long for him to start to smell as the sweat from his hairy chest dripped down to his abs. Hearing the intercom buzzer, he grabbed his boxers off the sofa, slipped them on, and waited by the door.

On the phone, Marcos sounded like he’d be a big guy, the defense tackle type, but what arrived at Jon’s door was a short, compact man, no more than 5’7, with a boyish face and one of those pencil beards, hair buzzed on the sides and thick down the middle like a modified Mohawk.

Marcos smiled broadly with a glimmer of surprise in his smile.

“I sure as hell see the family resemblance,” said Marcos shaking Jon’s hand like a man. “Though you’re uncle was a short guy like me.”

“I think the height I owe to my father,” said Jon.
“And the fur?” laughed Marcos.

Jon rubbed his palm across his chest. “Dad, too, I guess.”

Marcos glanced around.

“So Pete still with Herbie?” Pete was Charlie’s dog.

“Yea, I plan to pick him up later.”

“Your uncle loved that dog. Said even though he was a small little fucker, Pete had a bigger dick on him than most of his tricks.”

Jon grinned. “Wanna Coke?”

Marcos nodded.

“And watch out for Herbie. He likes to use dog collars on more than just his two babies, Hildy and Helen.”


“His two mini-doxies.”

They walked out to the terrace, Marcos stripped off his tank – he was tanned and hairless with the tight body of a gymnast – as Jon got the diet Coke from the frig. In the bright, naked sun, Jon’s visitor looked somewhere in his thirties. By now, Marcos had slipped off his floppies and cargo shorts and was down to his black bikini underwear. Jon could feel his cock stirring but went into the small talk, not knowing where this was headed or even where he wanted it to go. Right now, all he wanted was not to have his cock pop out of his boxer fly.

“So how long did you know my great uncle?” Jon asked staring out to the water in an attempt to cool his erection as he handed Marcos his drink.

“Since I came down from Tampa – I’m a transplanted New York Rican. Charlie had been down here awhile by then. We met at the local baths one Saturday night and just hit it off.”

“Baths? Aren’t they those seedy places where dirty old gay men go to have sex?” asked Jon curiously.

Marcos grinned.

“Yea, and they’re getting older and more tired looking every time I go there which hasn’t been much lately. And when I do go, it’s the same guys I saw there ten years ago when I’d go down to Lauderdale for an occasional long weekend. Christ, they should have bought time shares in the place instead of renting a room every week – it would have been cheaper. They used to ask for their social security card to get in – soon it’ll be their pre-burial arrangements.”

“So when you guys met there, Uncle Charlie was already …”

“Fifty nine and I was forty. I’ve always liked ‘em older, at least used to, but as you get older – I’m 45 now – you start looking at the younger men a whole lot more.”

Suddenly Marcos’s face went beet red. He realized what he had just said.

“You don’t look 45,” said Jon. “I’d take you for ten years younger.”

“Keep talkin’ dirty to me,” said Marcos. “Down here, when you’re half naked half of the time, you have to look good, or sure as hell try. And for those of us on the prowl, it’s a pre-requisite.”

“You and Uncle Charlie,” Jon replied.

Marcos smirked.

“You don’t sound like the usual airhead 21 year old I run into in the bars or on the web who were born with a smartphone up their butthole.”

“So you say you knew my uncle well?”

Marcos sighed. “Yea, he was a great guy. Him and I, neither of us were social butterflies, actually we were more homebodies, and it’s not that we got together a lot but when we did …”

“Like the day he died.”

“Yea, we were supposed to get together that night for a nice man-to-man, down and dirty, long slow sweat session. That’s my thing, you know, sweat and man scent. Just call me kinky. And Charlie enjoyed it too, told me when he was driving to my place, he’d turn up the windows on his Beemer and turn on the heat, in eighty degree weather mind you, just so he’d be nice and smelly for me.”

“So – so he had the heart attack here?”

“Yep, the doorman who’s on during the day down in the lobby was delivering a package that had come that morning, some kinky underwear I think from International Male Charlie told me he had ordered where your ass cheeks hang out. He knew Charlie was in since he remembered seeing his car in the lot when he came on duty, so when he got no response at Charlie’s door, he used the master key and found him sprawled on the bed, cold. He was long gone, it must have hit him as soon as he got in the night before.”

“I wish I had stayed in touch all those years,” said Jon. “I think he would have been a good teacher for all this.

I’m not like you guys who have seen it all. I’m a virgin to this life. All I’ve known is Manhunt and Growl’r and Scruff …”

“But you’ve met guys on them haven’t you, I mean you’re handsome and hot, with all that fur,” said Marcos leaning over to give a playful rub to Jon’s hairy abs.

“No,” corrected Jon, “when I said I was a virgin I meant it.”

Marcos laughed, “Well, I had my first girl when I was 13 back in Brooklyn and ended up fucking her boyfriend a week later.”

“Me and my j-o buddy, well, we were always afraid to do it for real with all the shit gonna on out there …”

“You mean like HIV?” said Marcos.

Jon nodded.

“What if I told you I was HIV positive?”

“You – you don’t look sick.”

“Well, my meds keep the big bad boogey man at bay, but yea, I’m a poz boy like half the guys down here. Guess the sun and fun attracts us.”

“Was my uncle – was Charlie…”

“No, he always played top, you know, he was the one who did the fucking. Seems they say it’s pretty hard for a top to catch it. Or maybe Charlie was just lucky. Me? All it took was one bad cock.”

Jon looked Marcos straight in the face. He had beautiful brown eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to see what it would be like to be with a guy, but living at home and working a shit job with a buddy who only wanted to shoot our loads over pics, well…”

“And you want me to be your first?” laughed Marcos, getting up. “I feel honored.”

“You’re making fun of me …” cowered Jon.

Marcos stopped laughing and got all serious.

“I would never make fun of you, Jon.”

“Sorry for sounding so pushy. I’m usually a wallflower. Forget I brought the whole thing up.”
Marcos grabbed Jon’s wrist.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

“No, don’t ask me why, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

Marcos raised Jon’s hand and stuck his nose in his sweaty armpit.

“This is what I meant when I said no shower. Fuck, you even smell like Charlie.”

Marcos led him by the hand to the bedroom – Jon followed his cue and left his boxer shorts on the living room tile – and threw himself on the bed.

“Come here, Jon, lay on me.”

Jon began to shake nervously as he gently lowered his six foot two frame over Marcos. They were both sweaty from the terrace sun and the film of mutual perspiration formed an invisible seal between their bodies.

“I always enjoyed doing this with Charlie, just laying on top of one another like this, sweaty and smelly, stroking the fur on his butt, mating down all that fur on his chest and abs, just like yours …”

With that, Marcos’s tongue got reacquainted with Jon’s armpit and Jon instinctively raised Marcos’s hand to smell, then taste his.

“Something your never gonna get over a phone app, right, buddy?” whispered Marcos.

Jon’s cock was aching, his PA pressed against Marcos’ drum tight abs, and he could feel Marcos’s wet, uncut cock nestled against his inner thigh.

“Let me show you what it means for one guy to give pleasure to another,” said Marcos as he flipped Jon on his back and buried himself in his crotch. Jon closed his eyes, but there was no need imagining like he had so many times before what it was like to have a man next to him. Now he had one for real.

Starting with the big toe on Jon’s right foot, Marcos used his tongue and mouth to explore every square inch of his body, licking up his sweat and deeply inhaling his stench like only a lover of the moment could, leaving Jon’s aching cock as his last frontier, yanking on his PA with his teeth, then swallowing him whole. It never took long for Jon to cum but now, just a few deep sucks by Marcos and he was there, spurting down Marcos’s throat uncontrollably.

Marcos wiped the cum off his beard and glided his finger over Jon’s lips as he roughly jerked his own his cock and shot his load a good foot all over Jon’s hairy chest, the splatter even hitting his nose ring.

“Now, wasn’t I better than Growl’r?” laughed Marcos as he fell back on the bed, alongside Jon, the sheet beneath them drenched, then lay on his belly, all still.

Jon moved closer and, leaning over, ran his hands ever so slowly back and forth over Marcos’ hard back and smooth butt. If Marcos had been hairy, he would have rubbed his fur off.

“The Czar of Wilton Drive” … available as an e-book on

Whoever Fucked Up At The FBI Are As Guilty …

Whoever Fucked Up At The FBI Are As Guilty …

…as Crazy Cruz himself. No more bullshit apologies or “we’ll do better next time.” Hell, if l were the daddy of one of those kids – kids – I’d go postal even if they took me out.

Probably the law protects public servants from being criminally accountable, but in my mind all of them, from the Director of the FBI to the agent on TV to every other schmuck who dropped the ball should not just be demoted or fired, but should be charged with second degree manslaughter.

The FBI had a shitload of red flag leads and they did shit with them. You mean to tell me with their resources they couldn’t ID every Nickolas Cruz in the U.S., the name the guy used who signed off on that U-tube threat – “l want to be a school shooter” – when we can???

They have to be made an example to prevent such reckless incompetence from happening again. Otherwise why are we spending millions of dollars to keep these agencies alive??

I mean, what’s the fucken point???

The FBI’s excuse is it gets thousands of threats every day and only has a handful of agents to check them out. So manufacture one less billion dollar bomber and hire the army of investigators we need.

What’s happening is eroding the very foundation of our way of life, damn it!


A Lustful Excerpt from My Book, “Buy Guys”

A Lustful Excerpt from My Book, “Buy Guys”

Buy Guys, available on, is the story of Blaze and Pete, two young, handsome drifters with nothing and nothing to lose. Blaze convinces Pete, who is falling in love with him, to leave dreary New Jersey and lead free and easy lives as male prostitutes in sunny Fort Lauderdale, posting their profile on the male escort site, Buy Guys. Blaze, however, soon pulls Pete into a much larger, more dangerous scheme, a large scale drug smuggling gang operating between New Jersey and the Keys, that eventually threatens to destroy them both.

Blaze has been abducted by the gang since he knows too much, and in this excerpt,  Pete, desperate to find him, is told that a man known only as called John the Cop, a former New York City detective, now retired and a drug smuggler, may know his whereabouts. Pete initially meets John at the pool at Island House, one of  Key West’s leading gay resorts. Then, later that day…

It was after nine, there were only a few butts at the bar by the pool but he kept watching as guys drifted from the bar or their rooms which were off balconies facing the pool patio to some sanctuary on the second level. Pete decided to follow a guy up.

It turned out to be a whore arcade.

Pete strolled into one of the maze of rooms to find some naked old fuck lying on a platform getting plowed from behind by a blubber boy. His plower apparently done with him, the guy continued to lie there, his saggy butt ass up, snorting his poppers in anticipation of his next dick. But his would-be fan club was populated by only a few homely types who kept pulling at their soft button dicks.

As Pete moved to another shadowy corner, an arm grabbed his wrist. He looked down at the crouching figure sitting in a kind of crypt.

It was John.

“You’re not using are you, bro?” said John softly, pulling Pete down so they were eye-to-eye.

“No, I’m straight.”

“Funny, I sell junk to gay boys but never use the stuff myself. Maybe it’s the old cop in me. I collared so many brain dead shitheads when I worked Narcotics I learned from their stupid mistakes. And one thing is I never fuck around with guys who use.”

A thin ribbon of light hit John’s broad, smooth face. He raised his hand to rub it against Pete’s beard.

“You love this guy—the guy you’re looking for, don’t you?”

It was something that Pete hadn’t consciously even thought about till that moment.

“Yea, yea I do. I’m afraid they might…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find where your friend is. Meet me later ’round midnight at Saloon One on Duval and Bourbon. Like I said, my other bike buddies will be there. They should know something.”

Then John pulled off his tight white T. Pete instinctively did the same with Mitch’s orange tank. John moved in even closer and began stroking the fur on Pete’s chest as Pete put his arm around John’s shoulder.

“In the meantime you mind making love to the proper stranger?” said John. “All the men I’ve had lately are fucken ladies or boys, I don’t care how pretty they are. I need a guy, you know what I mean.”

Pete pressed his lips against John’s – yes, he knew he was fantasizing they were Blaze’s – but as he felt John’s hard smooth body against his fur, all that mattered was now.

“I live just a few blocks away,” said John as Pete followed him down the stairs. Just outside, John’s two wheel shiny, yellow chariot awaited them. “Hop on.”

Pete held onto John tightly, his arms locked around his hard waist, as they winged and zigzagged around till they came to a little gray shingled house at the end of a dead end street. The whole house was on cinderblocks and squared off by a weathered three foot high white wood fence. Some dead shrubs almost blocked the gate.

“Gotta get rid of these one of these days,” he laughed softly, as he held them back to let Pete pass.

Not much else was spoken as John grabbed two Buds from his frige, they stripped off their shorts and tops, then underwear, and collapsed into the swishy comfort of John’s water bed. John rekindled the kiss he had interrupted back in the maze, with Pete lying on top of him. He could feel John’s fingers caressing the fur on his butt, then playfully teasing his hole.

“You’re negative, right?” asked John.

Yea, you?”


“You have a beautiful man’s butt.”

“It’s yours,” said Pete without hesitation.

“In time,” said John, “in time. But first, I want to enjoy the rest of you. It’s not very often I’ve got a man—and you’re all man—laying next to me.”

He gently flipped Pete on his back and crawled up to continue his kiss, then seamlessly, slowly moved down to tongue the hairs on Pete’s chest and abs, delicately pulling on them with his mouth, till he reached his ultimate destination. As he snaked over Pete’s body, Pete could see John’s lonely cock hanging there in the shadows. It looked erect and uncut with a lot of droopy foreskin but wasn’t much compared to Pete’s very erect seven inches. That didn’t matter. It was the massive, yet gentle man who was its owner that made all the difference. And after all, if he was going to take the plunge, as Blaze once put it, John had the perfect starter dick for his never-been-fucked hole.

John continued down Pete’s magic triangle of pubes, dick and balls, and propping a pillow under Pete’s butt, began thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper into Pete’s furry butthole, as he stroked Pete’s thick, hairy thighs and Pete pressed his hands on John’s smooth, strong upper arms and shoulders.

“You are one hot man,” whispered John between licks and strokes.

“Come up here,” said Pete.

John crouched on his knees and slid closer to Pete who made love to his smooth muscular chest and abs, then slid down beneath John’s legs to devour his cock.

“You taste and feel so fucken good,” said Pete, mouthing John’s genitals as he grabbed his thick firm buttocks from behind.

“Am I worthy?” said John softy.

“I want you inside me—now,” replied Pete.

John reached over and fumbled with the drawer in the bed stand.

“Sorry,” he chuckled lightly, “you see I’m kind of a particular guy, don’t have many visitors, so I didn’t expect to…”

“To meet me?” said Pete.

“Yea,” said John, reaching down to kiss him again.

“So, do I meet your standards, buddy?”

“You’re perfect,” said John who got up off the bed to retrieve the lube and condom.

“I know we’re both negative, but better safe than sorry,” he said as he slid the rubber over his cock. The skin had retracted to reveal a big shiny head but Pete guessed his tool, though nice and thick, was no more than four inches long.

Just right.

John lifted Pete’s legs up onto his shoulders, kissed and caressed them, then aimed his dick for Pete’s tight butt hole.

Pete could feel John’s cockhead begin to enter him.

“Pull on my nips,” said Pete.

And as John did, Pete lay the back of his head against the pillow.

“OK buddy, it’s time.”

With that, John thrust his cock into Pete who clenched his fists and tensed up for a moment, then relaxed.

“You okay?” asked John, looking him straight on.

“Yea, buddy, that hole is yours.”

John gradually picked up momentum and Pete could feel his cockhead hitting the spot. It felt good, real good, and Pete grabbed his own drooling dick and began stroking feverishly.

“Take me, buddy, take me.”

“I fucken love you, dude,” said John, and with that, Pete felt John’s cockhead quiver and become a hot branding iron deep inside him as Pete spurt his load high enough to hit John’s chest.

John withdrew as Pete dug his fingers into John’s back muscles for just a moment, then collapsed onto his lover. Pete’s own cum matted the hairs on his chest as John pressed his body against him.

“If that friend ever tells you to get lost, here’s one guy who’ll never desert you,” panted John quietly in Pete’s ear.

I know that, John,” whispered Pete back, “I know that.”

It’s Over. Period.

It’s Over. Period.

I live in Fort Lauderdale Florida, 20 miles from Parkland, site of yesterday’s school shooting. I cried for Sandy Hook, I cried for Pulse, and last night I cried for Parkland and the 17 people who died for nothing, and the thousands more who knew them whose lives will be forever changed.

Folks, it’s over. Any chance of sanity in our society is gone. Doesn’t matter if we do away with the entire First Amendment and confiscate every gun in the United States. It won’t matter or make a bit of difference. Over the next week we will hear the usual overtures in Congress that NRA should be curbed, lobbying by NRA should stop, gun laws should be changed to make it more difficult for crazies to get guns. That still won’t make a difference and we all know nothing will happen. Students at Parkland knew Cruz was a crazy, the school suspended him, so why was not any additional action taken when he talked about guns like they were toys? The mental heath treatment world is broken and will take decades to fix.

Cruz even had a picture of himself with his guns posted on Instagram. If they have algorithms to identify a picture with a girl’s boobs showing or in my case on Facebook, the shadow of my penis in my shorts that earned me 30 days in Facebook prison, God damn it, social media doesn’t have the technical wizardry to red flag such a pic?

The only slim hope is that every public venue in the United States, schools, theaters, bars, restaurants, shopping malls, have metal detectors at every entrance and exit. But you know damn well just about none of them will put out the money and will just cross their fingers they’re not next on the list.

But as we have all painfully seen in just the last few years, sooner or later your luck runs out.

On This Valentine’s Day, What’s Better: Love or Lust?

On This Valentine’s Day, What’s Better: Love or Lust?

Lust any day of the week in my book. Sure, deep stares, long kisses and holding his hand or him holding yours while he fucks you or you fuck him may appeal to our soft, romantic girly side, but isn’t it his hole you lust after that keeps Mr. Peter a happy fuck fella?

For me and my fuck buddy/lovers, it happens to be our down and dirty, testosterone laden lust for fur and they and l have that corner of the market all sewn up. Furry faces, hairy chests, hairy abs, furry legs and butt and natural men’s bodies  – no deodorant pleaz! – make us tearing off one another’s clothes before we even get to the bedroom (or patio lounge chair or living room sofa or utility room wall… you get the drift.) And happily, our pairs of hairy nips are hardwired to our cocks which after just microseconds of being licked, sucked or in my case bitten, send an instant message to Erection Central.

Hot foreplay, what l described in a previous blog as changing the scene (, and throw away the wall clock. For guys who lust after one another, time is an inconvenience meant for other people.

Hey I recently bought a pair of see-through jockstraps at Pride Factory, our one stop shopping men’s fun store here in Lauderdale, and told the cashier behind the counter that it was all for foreplay, all sixty four dollars worth, and worth every penny.

And i’m talking about guys i’ve fucked around with dozens of times with each encounter, believe ir not, hotter than the last. Sure, after that many romps there has to be some emotional connection which comes through in our long kisses that help us jump start the dance all over again. But without attraction on an animalistic level, love, that four letter word that sometimes actually gets in the way of lustful,manly, sweaty, greasy, ritty, panting, “fuck yea” sex, would never get to home base.

In fact in my mind lust is the essential ingredient missing in today’s gay life. Sex has become either too mechanical (see Fort Toff); too virtual (see any of the hookup sites) or just ho-hum. (See tired, old and cynical.)

Lust? That’s what makes love exciting and not boring, or when a jock stud buddy comes over to your place for the Super Bowl. Only he and you end up never watching the game.

For the rest of this week and into next, l’ll be running lustful excerpts from my works of erotic gay fiction. Advance warning: go wash your cum rag now.

I’ve Got Nothing Against Transgenders, But what About the Rest Of Us, PLEASE

I’ve Got Nothing Against Transgenders, But what About the Rest Of Us, PLEASE

Yesterday, The Lauderdale Beach was filled with participants in our annual Pride Fort Lauderdale, held, l think, this time of year to attract all the out of town tourist dollars. Okay, fine, anything to keep my property taxes reasonable and a state income tax out of Florida, thank you, but it seemed reading all the propaganda surrounding it that there was, in my mind, an awful heavy dose of transgenderism. Like the promoters were trying to shove it down our throats. (Now if it were a nice nine inch schwanz l wouldn’t mind.)

Listen, l got nothing against people doing want they wanna do with their lives unless they rob banks or rape kids – as a gay man l’m the last one to preach – but l’m sorry, enough of the transgenderism already. Sure, some of the gals to guys after their testosterone shots are hotter and hairier than some of the anatomically born men l’ve  bedded down with, but, Jesus – maybe this is the year of the transgender –  transgenders in the U.S. constitute only .06 % of the adult population where, by the most conservative estimates, gay men and women make up 5%, ten times more than transgenders.

So what about US?

What about protection from discrimination in housing and employment which the advocates denigrated to the bottom of their wish list in favor of gay marriage.

Gay Marriage. Give me a break.

Now, not only will those far more important civil rights be impossible to get, what has taken us decades to achieve is already quickly being eroded, and if the Supreme Court agrees with Trump and Company about that infamous Colorado wedding cake case and decides religious rights are a good reason to discriminate against us, folks, we’re FUCKED.

Okay getting back to transgenders. Two reasons they don’t belong in our sandbox:

Reason # 1: Many go on to lead str8 heterosexual lives. Herman who lives in Cleveland, moves to Chicago and becomes Hermione. Heromine meets David, a man from birth who accepts Hermione for who she is or, the more likely script of least resistance  is a transgender himself and was once Donna, and they get married and live happily ever after in hetero bliss.


Not us. No matter how successful and how mainstream we may be as gay men and gay women, we will always live with a stigma in this forever puritanical culture that will never die – that of being gay.

Reason #2: Transgenders themselves say they identify more as heterosexual, not homosexual. Then why the fuck are we celebrating them?? Okay, ask me that.

Enough of all this fucken “we should be inclusive” political correctness. We as gay men and gay women have a lot o fighting yet to do. Let’s focus our energies on that please.

It’s like Congress talking endlessly about the Dreamers when our health care is fucked, our roads and bridges are falling apart, and there are still millions of people – which include just about everyone I know – living on the edge.

P.S. lf there are any woman to man transgenders who have all their new  equipment in place, l’d love to bed down with you. It would make a great blog. Just make sure you’re hairy. You know, this old faggot has his standards.


Best Performances By Two Gay Men In Leading Roles

Best Performances By Two Gay Men In Leading Roles

It’s this past Friday night at the Ramrod, Lauderdale’s leather bar.

There he is, my 42 year old, dark, hairy, incredibly handsome lover sitting on the bleachers in the back bar, dressed in a thrift store button down shirt and baggy shorts as if he had just come from Walmart to pick up moth balls. But l know the hot body that lurks beneath, a body l know intimately…

And there am l. Humpy, hairy, but old enough to be his daddy,  I’ve already shed my short shorts by the time l’ve spotted him and strut over in my attire of the night, my tight, pouchy, dark blue “Addicted” undergear.

At seventy, l have no shame.

We make out for the audience that surrounds us as a member of Ramrod’s penis police cautions us not to whip out our dicks. He doesn’t know we’ve explored one another’s cocks and a whole lot more dozens of times  – in my bedroom.

We go to the front of this already crowded gin joint – by now l’ve convinced him to shed his shirt and go heavenly bare chested – and take possession of the small stage facing the main bar.

And become the fantasy of half the men on the dance floor and everywhere else in eye sight, deep kissing, endlessly stroking, and petting our nips hardwired to our cocks as if we were the only ones in the place.

But decadently know we aren’t.

All eyes are on us, and l love every millisecond of this adoration as does my son-lover. Some grab my tit, other’s my lover’s hairy muscular leg. Circus acrobats have nothing on me as l repeatedly get up and go down like a Jack-in-the-Box, to stretch out my weary limbs but in as lusciously a way as possible.

To be desired is to be loved, and to be loved is to be worshipped.

In between our endless kisses, l tongue my lover’s  chest and abs or rub my beard agaInst his stubble as he strokes me and fingers my hairy hole, easily accessible through my underwear  We are conscious of all the men, some handsomer than us, staring with slight smiles of delight – or lust – but as far as we’re concerned, we are all alone on our own deliciously alien planet

Around 2 a.m, we part ways – after all tonight had merely been foreplay for our main event later next week –  he for Uber, me to my car and home ten minutes away, as l realize that I’ve just experienced perhaps the hottest night i’ve ever spent in a gay bar in my life.

The next morning my young lover texts me and asks if l survived our fantasy fifteen minutes of fame.

“Sure,” l lie, but it was worth every millisecond on my heating pad.