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Finding Sandy

(By Donovan Lee  ) I’ve known I was gay all my life, but, until about twelve years ago, I had never acted on it in any way, and I never even bothered to read gay books, mostly thinking I would out myself by looking for such books. I didn’t have internet access back then, so even gay web sites were out of the question. Sure, I read the health magazines for men, all of them featuring handsome male models with perfect bodies that bulged through their skimpy clothes or even their overly stylish dress clothes.

For that matter, I also read the men’s clothing catalogs that knew their audience a little too well and always included some shots of men who bulged through their skin-tight underwear, making those underwear look more like paint than clothing. The forms of their organs would shine right through, the perfect outlines; sometimes, you could even make out the head, the shaft, the two nuts squeezed against the fabric. It was so arousing that I ordered all kinds of sh*t, just to keep getting the catalogs! I later figured out that they keep sending the catalogs anyway, even if you don’t order.

I never got up the courage to walk into a library or bookstore and look for something gay. I don’t know why. New Orleans is a big city, and I doubt anyone I knew would have seen me. And what if they did? Were they going to have me arrested for reading about myself, about my sexual orientation?

Countless fears swelled in mind, though…fears like bashings, my managers telling me they don’t want fags working for a family company, my parents never speaking to me again, a tube dripping something into my arm as I die from AIDS, or some whacked-out religious group trying to exorcise the fag demons from my twisted mind.

None of those fears ever came true , but they kept me from living the life I saw for myself.

I would see guys at bars, at the mall, at the beach…everywhere…who seemed to look at me with questions, and with offers. I knew they wanted to meet me, just from the look in their eyes. Or maybe they just wanted a chance encounter, which also sounded inviting. Either way, I somehow knew that their glances were intentional. Those guys didn’t just happen to look my way. I know that sounds arrogant, but I wasn’t stuck on myself; I was just aware of my own longing, and increasingly aware of the longing I saw in other men’s eyes…men who were obviously like me.

I had just turned twenty years old, and it was late in the summer of ’91, as hot as you remember, when I saw Kenny walking along the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, looking as hot as he looks today. He was wearing a baggy pair of swim trunks, sun glasses, and some silly purple flip flops, wandering through the crowds of beach goers. I could tell from the lines around his eyes and from the hints of gray in his thick black hair that he was probably in his late thirties or early forties, but he looked even hotter than the guys who were around my age.

I don’t know how, but I managed to get up enough nerve to say “hi” to him, or at least I thought so. But as I walked by him, all I actually managed was a nod.

A nod. I wanted to slap myself! Those bright blue eyes and those rock hard abs all grabbed my attention, and I saw that same look on his face that I had seen with other men, that same longing. But I couldn’t even say “hi”!

After that, I walked up and down the beach, hoping to see him again, but with no luck. Even when the sun started going down and the crowds dwindled to just a few clusters of drinking buddies with umbrellas and ice chests, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I wondered by the camp areas and the amusement park, but nothing. Nothing.

I looked out into the water, into the vastness of it, feeling alone and empty.

The next day, I went to one of the malls after work. Just as I was going down the escalator to leave, I went past Kenny. He was going up the escalator beside me. Noticing me out of the corner of his eye, he smiled playfully. This time, he was dressed up in a nice suit and tie, with his pretty blond hair all slicked back.

I wanted to try going up the down escalator, but there were too many people behind me, so I had to wait until I reached the bottom. I also couldn’t run down, because of the people in front of me.

Then when I reached the bottom, I ran into several families, all with arm-loads of kids and shopping bags. I tried to get around the strollers, the hand-holding pre-schoolers, and the impatient husbands. It seemed like all of New Orleans had been thrown to the three-foot space between the down escalator and the up escalator!

Finally, I gave up and found the staircase. But I couldn’t find Kenny. I looked everywhere, but again with no luck. I walked up and down the aisles of electronics, bedding, and glassware. Then, at the crystal vases, I saw him.

“I have one of those,” I told him, as stared into the large crystal vase on the aisle cap, surrounded by mirrors that helped capture its spectrum of refracting colors.

He looked at me, and his big blue eyes grew even bigger. I could tell he had wanted to see me again, as badly as I had wanted to see him again. But then he tried to hide it, not wanting to look desperate. “It’s nice, but I’m not a collector. Sometimes, something just catches my eye.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He grinned at my teasing comment. “So, smart-ass, do you have a name, or should I just keep thinking of you as the cute guy on the beach?”

“Well, please do keep thinking of me that way, but my name’s Sammy.”

I offered my hand, and he took it, squeezing gently with his warm palm, but then he cocked his pretty head a little. “Sammy and Sandy? No, that’s too cute, and confusing. Everyone would get us mixed up.”

His forward, presumptuous comment made me laugh, and I let go of his warm, firm grip. “I didn’t know we were a couple.”

“Well, we are picking out crystal. Actually, though, I might come back for this tomorrow. I was just getting some shopping done while I was in the neighborhood. I’m in sales, and I have dinner with a client in a few minutes.”

My heart sank, sure he was blowing me off. “Yeah, okay. It was nice talking to you. Sorry our names sound alike.”

He drummed the air in front of my chest, pretending to hit me, while he grinned like crazy. “I’ll get over that eventually, but I won’t get over you.”

That jolted me, and I was afraid my face was lighting up the room more than the crystal was.

He went on with his confession. “I keep thinking about you. I know we’ve never met, and we never even talked to each other, but….” A salesman approached, and Sandy led me away as he declined the salesman’s help.

After handing me a business card, Sandy said, “Please call me. I’m sorry I can’t take you out now. But I’d like to, real soon.”

* * *

We finally managed to set up a time to meet, a few days later, and dated frequently for three next weeks. After a lot of one-night stands and failed relationships, it was important to Sandy that we hold off on sex until we got to know each other. Well, that was okay with him, at thirty, after a string of flings! But I was twenty-one, and I had just come out. I wanted to do him the first time I saw him! We kissed a little now and then, but so briefly that it seemed more friendly than romantic.

One night, after a romantic movie and a romantic carriage ride, he invited me up to his apartment. I had seen it briefly a few times, but always before dates—never after. Besides the modest furnishings, he had a lot of drawings from a local artist he liked, mostly of men kissing or embracing. We talked on the couch for a long time, while I thought of embracing him like some of the men in the pictures. Then he asked if I would like to spend the night.

“Of course,” I said. At least I don’t blurt out the “YEAH! FINALLY!” that my brain flashed in huge neon letters.

“The bedroom’s in there.” He pointed at one of two open doorways. “Make yourself comfortable while I grab a shower.”

“Should I ask for pajamas?”

“I don’t wear pajamas…and you won’t need them.”

As he left, I stripped down to my underwear and slipped under the blankets. I would have stripped completely before he left, but I was somehow embarrassed about my erection. My body was in too much of a hurry! After I got comfortable in the bed, watching for him to walk back out into the still-lit living room, I pushed off my underwear.

After what seemed like hours, though five minutes would probably be accurate, Sandy walked out of the bathroom. He was still towel-drying himself, and I thought I might catch a glimpse of his cock, but he switched off the living room light.

As he walked into the room, he turned on a small lamp just outside the bedroom door. “In case you need to get up during the night,” he explained. I wasn’t worried about that; I just wanted to see his naked body. It was as beautiful as I imagined, even in that muted light, but he had wrapped the towel around his waist.

With a jerk, he pulled the covers off the bed, leaving me exposed. “No fair!” I told him, my hands instinctively covering my still-hard organ.

“Shy?” he asked. I couldn’t see him well enough to tell for sure, but I imagined him smiling playfully.

“Look who’s talking.” I pointed at the towel, which he dropped as he turned around, giving me a quick view of his firm butt.

Sandy flopped onto the bed beside me and kissed me, first on the left cheek and then on my lips, fully and passionately. I touched his chest, hairy and muscular, with hard nipples.

His cock rose slightly off his abdomen. I thought it might be soft at first, the way it was flopped over there, even though it seemed far too large to be soft. But on closer inspection, and with my eyes adjusting better to the lamp light, I could see the space between it and the hairy surface of his abs. I didn’t want to touch him there yet. I just noticed that space, and ran my hand between it, amazed by his levitation.

“Where are you going?” he asked, as I suddenly felt inspired to stand beside the bed and look him over better, see every inch of his beautiful body, lying there in waiting.

I was no longer on the bed, but merely leaning over it, leaning over him. His silver-blue eyes looked off into the distance, as he anticipated my touch. But he wasn’t distant at all. A smile folded down his lower lip slightly, and his brightly white teeth began to show.

He reached for me, grabbed my arm and tugged me closer, yearning to continue. “Lay back down with me,” he pleaded, and I did, feeling the warmth of his hairy chest.

I pressed my body sideways against him as he continued to lie on his back. Our erect members slid against each other, his cock like a big lever that mine pushes; then he pushed my lever.

My eyelids pulsed and I struggled to keep them open so I could enjoy his beauty even while feeling the ecstasy that stings and burns my blood. It seemed strange that my eyes wanted to close, but I had never felt anything so good. It seemed blinding, like walking into a lighting store and someone flipping every light on at the same time. I couldn’t believe anything could feel so good, even though we were merely rubbing against each other. We had barely even started our love-making.

My hand remained intermingled with the thickest part of his chest hairs, feeling his heart beat off to the side, enjoying the hint of sweat from our bodies both emitting so much long-contained heat. His abdomen twitched slightly, making me look to that flat stomach, and to what touched the bottom of it.

His organ still stood, pointing at my hand as it ran down his chest, down his stomach. Again, I didn’t touch what I really wanted to touch. I ran my hand beneath it, but this time letting the course, thick hairs of his torso scratch me ever so teasingly. I moved in slow motion, but I still reached the thick base of his member. It pulsed against my fingers as he let out a moan of relief, as if he were afraid I would never actually touch it, or afraid that he would climax before I touched it.

No longer the one for waiting, he helped me clasp my hand around the base, while he pushed down on the fat testes that lightly kissed my knuckles. His body trembled, starting at his hips. The ripple effect was a wave that shot through him, almost pulling him out from under me, and away from my grasp.

I wouldn’t let him go.

Instead of moving that hand from the base, I used my other hand to explore its impressive width and length. I felt his thick veins through the tips of my fingers, which I slid around the hot, twitching surface. He pushed me down on that surface, not shoving it into my mouth, but just causing me to kiss it.

And I kissed passionately.

I pressed my lips gently against the large, shapely crown, which stood out proudly, even more so than on most erect organs. With each hurried kiss, I opened my mouth a little further, until part of that crown found its way into my mouth. I couldn’t believe how warm and sweet it was, how good it felt in my mouth! Though I had imagined fellatio countless times, I never imagined the heat, the texture, the taste. Now that I was finally experiencing it, I realized that it was much more than I ever anticipated.

As I leaned further over him, I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, from the base, which I still gripped firmly, to the tip of that mighty crown of his. Suddenly, and without warning, I slammed my mouth down on his cock, and he moaned with shock and delight. I sucked it in and out of my mouth, hungrily, lovingly.

He gave me his warmth. I gave him mine. His hand rested on my head, gently guiding me, as I slid up and down, as I pumped him with my hungry mouth. I swirled my tongue around the head, slowing down for a few minutes, but then I took it in completely, all of it. I yearned so much for its length that I even stopped gripping it with my hand, so I could drop my mouth all the way to the base, feeling its thick hairs scraping against my face, before I continued bobbing my head up and down.

When I slowed down again, I took it in all the way, but this time I felt his testes squeezing up against my face, and I felt him pushing me away. His release was beautiful to watch. It brought glistening wetness to his perfect stomach. He didn’t moan or grunt when it happened, but simply breathed in satisfied gasps while caressing the side of my face, thanking me with his gentle touch.

With my eyes now better adjusted to the limited lighting, I looked at his hands—hands with subtle veins, barely seen beneath tanned skin, criss-crossing over knuckles and pointing at the light brown patches of hair on each section of each finger, so light and so sparse that only I would notice such a thing. But only I noticed a lot of things about him. I realized that, even then.

After admitting to feeling exhausted by our love-making, I asked if we could go to sleep. He pulled the covers over our bodies and caressed my chest, kissing my hair and my forehead.

“That was wonderful,” he whispered to me. “Goodnight.”

We fell asleep, looking at each other, but woke less than an hour later, touching each other.

My staff grew firm, straining against the sheets, too tight against my body. We tugged on the sheets and the blankets, knocking them off our still-naked bodies. My face grazed against his hairy torso, hard nipples. Tongues, lips, pressed into the firmness between his collar bone and his chest. He tasted of salt and smelled only vaguely of the cologne he had put on at the beginning of the evening, now more of natural, intense manhood.

His voice resonated inside his body. With my face pressed so tightly against his chest, I could feel his words but couldn’t understand them. I really didn’t need to. I thought I knew what he was saying.


No, that can’t be right, I told myself.

He pushed me away, gripping my face between his palms, and repeated. “Stop.”

Yes, that was what he said, but it just didn’t seem like something to say at that moment. “Why?” I asked, feeling tortured. I thought of a million things I wanted to do, but stopping didn’t make the list. It wasn’t even a contender.

"Let’s go outside."

When he stood up beside the bed and tugged on my hand, I had no choice but to tell him, “Okay.” For no apparent reason, he wrapped back up in his towel, and I pulled on my snug-fitting briefs, before following him out the bedroom.

He led me though his house to a fenced-in backyard. Vines covered the fence, and a waterfall trickled near a large porch swing. Kissing me on the neck then the cheek, he held my hand as I sat down in front of him, falling into the swing. As I slowly pushed the towel down his muscular legs, I discovered his manhood again, in its fullness. In the dim moonlight, I couldn’t see it all that well, but I could see that it was big and hard, and nearly poking my forehead.

Bracing my bare feet in the grass, I swung backwards ever so slightly, safe from his nakedness, safe from letting our skin touch.

“Come back,” he said, not as a command, but as a plea. He wanted my mouth on it, and so did I, but I felt playful too. It wouldn’t be a quicky, or some sort of dominance. We still had each other, and the night was still ours.

I swung in a little closer, meeting his upward thrust. His thick glans brushed against my mouth, my cheek, my ear.

I swung away, further this time. He moaned in delight, realizing that I wasn’t turning him down but rather building up the intensity, like when he told me to stop but then took me to the backyard to have his way with me again.

Instead of thrusting again, he waited for me to draw closer, to press my face against the thick bush that surrounded his manhood. My eyes fully adjusted to the moonlight, I looked up and noticed the look of delighted anticipation on his handsome face.

Then I looked back down to what was in my face. I kissed the head, licked the shaft. My hand pressed against his tight abs, which grew even tighter as he arched his back in ecstasy. I took his manhood into my mouth, loosely, using my toes to swing me away a little, but not enough that it fell from my mouth. He arched and pushed in counter-movements, making sure I kept my lips around the thickness of his shaft.

He touched the top of my head and toyed with my hair, but never tried to control me, instead letting me swing into and way from his pelvis. He whispered something again, and I was afraid he said “stop,” but he said “don’t stop.”

And I didn’t.

We kept it slow. Though he could have shoved it in and out of my mouth, or I could have swung at a faster pace, we took our time with each other, enjoying the sound of the trickling waterfall and the feel of each other’s heat. When the moment finally approached, he pulled out, and let his wetness warm my chest.

After kissing me and thanking me, he pulled down my briefs before dropping to his knees in the grass. Now he used his outspread arms to swing me, but with my thing going into his mouth. He swung me faster than I swung myself, sucked me harder than I sucked him. But I certainly wasn’t complaining!

I would have been happy just getting him off, just feeling him inside my mouth, but he wanted to give me pleasure with his wet lips and tongue, his pressure, his hunger, his yearning for me.

My head fell back over the top part of the swing’s seat, as I looked up at the crescent moon and listened to the waterfall. In the distance, I could hear cars, birds, alarms, and all the other sounds of the city, but only for a moment. They faded back into nothing as he overtook me with pleasure, as he forced me in and out of his driving mouth.

Finally stopping the swing’s motions, he leaned back his head and swallowed me to the bush. I was already close before that. Even after the past few minutes, I still couldn’t have imagined how it would feel, having every nerve ending on my cock stimulating at the same time by a warm, constricting mouth. He enveloped me with passion!

“Stop.” I said it that time, and just in time. My seed joined his on my torso as he pushed me away. Then he pulled me back as he climbed onto the swing with me, resting his head on my trembling chest.

The night air eventually dried me off, as we sat talking, sometimes lightly swinging, sometimes touching each other’s faces or sneaking in kisses between words.

Then we noticed the sun coming up and remembered the world around us again. Despite talking about everything for hours, we suddenly grew quiet.

We went inside and dressrf, looking awkwardly at the clock and each other. I hated the idea of leaving. Of course, he called me a few hours later, and we’re still together, all these years later.
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