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Gay Stories
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Gay Male / 40
Out Of The Ashes Rose The Phoenix,
Some things happen that you cannot imagine ever happening. I was a thirty year old working for a textile company in Latin America, and met a young woman there and we got married. On an outing to a lakeside, we were stopped by the military at a checkpoint, things got out of hand and a soldier didn't have his safety on, and a wild bullet hit and killed my wife.
Nothing anyone does is enough or matters. That it was an accident is irrelevant. Apologies go nowhere. That the soldier was dealt with means nothing. I retreated, returned to the home office to try and make sense of it. I withdrew completely. It was a year before I was able to join a social setting.
It was at a social setting discussing local politics that I met this guy who was athletic, ran track in college. He was friendly and we went out after the meeting. He wanted to show me his gun collection at his apartment, he cornered me and kissed me and pushed me down and grabbed my cock and swallowed it. It didn't end there, we got our clothes off and I returned the favor and when I was held down with him on my back shoving himself in me I got clarity. I let him continue until he was finished. We lay on the bed with the fan overhead, both naked until he got up over me and kissed me and went to the bathroom. He came out with a warm towel so that I could clean myself up and I got dressed and left.
I avoided any contact with him, it happened, I accept it and let it slide back into the depths of my memories. I couldn't really make sense of it, and through a woman friend I agreed to see a psychiatrist, she said I had all the symptoms of PTSD and I needed someone to help me, process my wife's death. I agreed but never opened up about my experience that night. I had that bottled up and kept it there. My company paid for the sessions, which were very expensive, but I was overseas on their nickel when it happened and they agreed to cover the expenses.
The psychiatrist surprised me one session and asked me if I had suppressed homosexual feelings. If I had ever felt like acting out those feelings. It hit me hard and I stopped going to see him.
I go out and once in a while I meet a man that I go home with. I play the role of the bottom and it ends well when he takes me and completes himself in me. If I don't have sex I have deep frustrations. I've met a man, a veteran of Iraq and a Constable, he works off his PTSD on me. I surrender myself completely, it's not that I want him to fuck me, I need him to fuck me. I don't clean myself afterwards, I always go home wet and dirty. When I'm home I insert a butt plug up my ass and lay there watching the ceiling fan go round and round. Jerk off, and fall asleep.
Until the next time. And the next time.
Nothing anyone does is enough or matters. That it was an accident is irrelevant. Apologies go nowhere. That the soldier was dealt with means nothing. I retreated, returned to the home office to try and make sense of it. I withdrew completely. It was a year before I was able to join a social setting.
It was at a social setting discussing local politics that I met this guy who was athletic, ran track in college. He was friendly and we went out after the meeting. He wanted to show me his gun collection at his apartment, he cornered me and kissed me and pushed me down and grabbed my cock and swallowed it. It didn't end there, we got our clothes off and I returned the favor and when I was held down with him on my back shoving himself in me I got clarity. I let him continue until he was finished. We lay on the bed with the fan overhead, both naked until he got up over me and kissed me and went to the bathroom. He came out with a warm towel so that I could clean myself up and I got dressed and left.
I avoided any contact with him, it happened, I accept it and let it slide back into the depths of my memories. I couldn't really make sense of it, and through a woman friend I agreed to see a psychiatrist, she said I had all the symptoms of PTSD and I needed someone to help me, process my wife's death. I agreed but never opened up about my experience that night. I had that bottled up and kept it there. My company paid for the sessions, which were very expensive, but I was overseas on their nickel when it happened and they agreed to cover the expenses.
The psychiatrist surprised me one session and asked me if I had suppressed homosexual feelings. If I had ever felt like acting out those feelings. It hit me hard and I stopped going to see him.
I go out and once in a while I meet a man that I go home with. I play the role of the bottom and it ends well when he takes me and completes himself in me. If I don't have sex I have deep frustrations. I've met a man, a veteran of Iraq and a Constable, he works off his PTSD on me. I surrender myself completely, it's not that I want him to fuck me, I need him to fuck me. I don't clean myself afterwards, I always go home wet and dirty. When I'm home I insert a butt plug up my ass and lay there watching the ceiling fan go round and round. Jerk off, and fall asleep.
Until the next time. And the next time.
