My Fantasies Ch. 09

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Happy Hour

So my friend Freddy and I were seated at the bar inside ‘Swinging Dick’s Saloon’ and this gorgeous hunk-of-a-man approaches us and blurts out, “Which of you queen’s wants to blow me?”

I am taken aback by his brash crudeness but Freddy instantly becomes all giggles, raises a limp-wrist and squeals, “I do — I do — I do….”

Good God, what a flaming faggot! The queer-boy doesn’t have an ounce of pride or self-respect in his entire body!

When I watch Freddy follow the hunk towards the back door, I feel the usual pangs of regret for not having spoken up first.

The one thing I should know by now about the dating game is ‘if you snooze — you lose!’ There are a lot more fairies like me out there than available stud-muffins so you gotta be ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

About two-seconds after Freddy left the bar, my friend Billy taps me on the back and says, “There’s nothing going on here — you want to go across the street? There’s still 45-minutes left of happy hour at the ‘Slap N Tickle!'”

I say “Let’s go!” and quickly drain my chardonnay and follow Billy out the front door.


The ‘Slap N’ Tickle’ is a meat-market for hetero’s. Every bar stool and booth is occupied with horny businessmen and the women trying their best to hook-up with them.

Billy points and excitedly utters “Over there — over there” and I look and see a guy and a gal getting off their stools.

Billy and I worm our way thru the crowd of high-powered businessmen and sharply dressed women of all shapes and sizes until we claim the empty bar stools for ourselves. Eddie the Bartender is as prompt and courteous as ever.

“What can I get you boys today?” he asks with that beautiful smile of his on his ruggedly handsome face.

“Two chardonnays,” says Teddy.

When he returns with our wine he winks at us, leans in and lowers his voice.

“See the old guy sitting across the bar wearing the thousand dollar suit? He wants to buy your drinks!”

We both steal surreptitious glances at the handsome older man and he catches us looking and gives us a wide grin and raises his glass in greeting. I blush with embarrassment but Billy squeals “Goody!” and waves at the man mouthing the words “Thank you — thank you!”

It’s not uncommon for supposedly straight men to guzzle down a few drinks here to work up the courage to go to the gay bar across the street. Older closet queens play the silliest games.

Suddenly, two bar stools open up next to the man and he motions to Billy to join him.

Billy wastes no time. He says, “C’mon Johnny” and leaves me sitting by myself.

I hate it when he does that — he always expects me to follow his lead, and more times than not I blindly go along with him. At least this time I won’t have to go out on the dance floor with Billy to attract attention to ourselves. His dancing embarrasses me.

Introductions are made and Billy sits next to the older man and engages him in small talk. I am the odd-man-out and sit quietly sipping my wine while eavesdropping on their conversation.

The man buys us two more glasses of wine and Billy suddenly moves his bar stool closer to him and I can no longer hear what is being said.

I become aware that while he is whispering in Billy’s ear he is staring at me. His gaze becomes so intense I blush and have to look away. I don’t know what my friend is saying to him, but suddenly he has a twisted grin contorting his face and he winks at me.

The man suddenly reaches into his wallet and pulls out a hundred dollar bill, folds it in half, and slides it on the bar towards Billy. I am shocked when Billy covers the bill with his hand and pulls it towards himself.

What the hell is Billy doing – we’re not hustlers or pros! Why is he taking money from the man?

Two more glasses of wine are placed before us and the stranger abruptly stands to leave and smiles at me and says, “See you soon, cutie!”

The man reaches into his suit coat pocket and I watch him hand Billy a key card with the the hotel logo on it.

When the man leaves, I turn to Billy and ask him, “What the hell is going on?”

Billy leans in and whispers, “He wants to watch us!”

“Watch us doing what?” I fire back at him.

He grins at me and says, “You know….”

I turn purple with rage and almost shout, “Why would you do that without asking me?”

“Oh c’mon sweetie, the man wants us to party with him in his room — it’s not like we’ve never had a threesome before!”

Oh God, I think, why do I always let Billy get me into these things?

“Hey Eddie,” Billy calls out to the bartender, “…give Johnny a shot of Fireball, please!”


Twenty-minutes and three shots of Fireball later I find myself staggering alongside Billy down a hotel corridor. The liquor has mellowed my reluctance and my little dick begins twitching inside my briefs at the prospect of being naked with Billy and the handsome stranger.

Sure, okay, I become antalya escort something of a slut when I’m high. I haven’t been ‘out’ very long and sometimes it feels like I’m trying to make up for lost time.

Billy suddenly stops and knocks on the door to room 128. We are both mildly surprised when the man answers the door wearing a bath robe. I resent it when men take me for granted and assume I’ll put out for them…even if it is true.

“Come inside, boys,” said the older man after nervously looking both directions up and down the hallway to make sure no one sees us entering his room.

I spot a wedding ring on the man’s finger as I pass by and think, ‘Another one of those kinds of guys’…you know the type: a loyal and devoted husband probably with kids at home, but in his case, most likely grandchildren, on a business trip wanting to do something he’d never have the nerve to do back home.

When he closes the door he makes sure it is not only locked, but attaches the chain as well as the dead bolt. These older guys get so paranoid about being caught with queers they don’t know how to act. They’ll do anything to deny their dirty little secret right up to the time I kneel between their legs and take their hard dicks in my warm mouth.

Billy likes to get these hook-ups over with as soon as possible and takes me in his arms and kisses me full on the lips.

The man becomes slightly agitated and says, “Wait a minute — wait a minute!” and gives us each a gummie then says, “Here, eat this — it’ll help you relax!”

I exchange an amused glance with Billy. Recreational pot is legal in our state and we both know we won’t feel any effects from the gummies for close to two hours, but apparently the old man doesn’t understand the way edibles work. We do what he tells us then resume kissing and embracing.

All of the man’s comments and instructions are directed at Billy. He assumes I am the ‘sub’ and Billy is the ‘top’ and it upsets me…again. Why do so many men automatically think I am Billy’s bitch? Do I have the word ‘Sissy’ stamped on my forehead? It’s very emasculating!

Billy pulls off my tee shirt, opens my slacks and pushes them to the floor leaving me standing before the stranger in nothing but my red nylon, string, bikini briefs.

The man’s eyes bulge wide as he slowly looks me up and down. I’ll be the first to admit Billy has done a remarkable job getting me into shape. I am proud of my firm and flat tummy, and I simply love how soft and smooth my hairless flesh has become.

Billy goes so far as to raise one of my arms so the man can see that my underarms are hair-free, too.

When the man is finished ogling my body, he looks me directly in the eyes but says to Billy, “If his boobs were any bigger he could pass for a girl!”

My face turns bright red. I HATE it when men say that to me. I’m a guy, dammit — I don’t WANT to be a girl!

Billy blurts out, “Yeah, he really could — especially when his nipples get hard, hahaha….”

The man suddenly added: “…and having him wear panties is a nice touch, too!”

I always bristle at the suggestion I wear women’s panties. I’m queer — not a crossdresser!

“These are MEN’S nylon briefs — I buy them online from a MEN’S catalog, right Billy?” I ask confident he’ll back me up.

Billy likes to embarrass me so he says to the man, “I haven’t been entirely truthful with Johnny…I buy ALL his undies in the women’s lingerie department…I’ve had him in panties for months!”

The man laughs and Billy joins in while I admire myself in the floor length mirror. The panties are so tight my bulging ‘package’ looks h-u-g-e…what’s one more harmless illusion in a world of self-deception?

Paying the Rent

He was VERY old and VERY mean and a VERY spiteful man. He was so strict and set in his ways he kept me on a very tight leash.

“D-D-Daddy,” I stammered, “…please loosen the leash — I’m choking!”

He brought the leather spanker down hard on my smooth, unblemished buttocks.


I cried like a schoolgirl — tears flowed down my anguished face — my asscheeks burned like a five-alarm fire.


I opened my thighs as far apart as possible. I knew better than to disobey him when he was in one of his ‘moods’ especially when I’m naked and defenseless and on all-fours while he’s standing over me wielding that damn leather spanking strap.

Spanking strap? I swear to God it’s a whip – not a strap! I cannot sit comfortably for days afterwards, and the ugly black-and-purple welts are visible to our friends for a week.

To add insult to injury, the red inscription on the coarse, black leather strap reads ‘BAD GIRL.’

Don’t feel sorry for me, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to our arrangement. I’m very thankful though I’m a slow healer — he won’t alanya escort want to spank me until the nasty welts are gone and my flesh is smooth and milky-white again.


I thought he was finished and hadn’t expected those last three strokes of the strap. OH-MY-GOD-IT-HURT-LIKE-HELL!!

My head hung low and my body gently shook while the teardrops rolled down my puffy cheeks.

When I heard him unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper I breathed a sigh of relief. My ordeal was finally over…well, at least the spanking part of it anyway.

“You like seafood, boy? Shuffle over here on your knees…” he said and obscenely grabbed his crotch, “I got a trouser-trout here just waitin’ for you! hahahahahaha….”

It wasn’t any funnier today than it was last month or the month before that or the month before that….


My neighbor Tommy and I were on the front porch drinking beer. We were talking and laughing and having a good old time when he suddenly said, “C’mon, let’s go inside!”

Icy shivers raced up-and-down my spine. I knew what ‘going inside’ meant — I understood full-well what he expected me to do for him when we went inside…but I went with him anyway. I had to – I felt like I no longer had a choice — it was now a matter of survival. I would NEVER be able to live with myself if he told our friends and co-workers about that nasty night in his apartment.

Sure, I was drunk and the way I see it he took advantage of me, but do you think my friends would understand? Heck no! And now he uses my mistake like a bludgeon against me every chance he gets. The worst part though is he’s not even nice about it anymore.

“Let’s go inside, sissy – I’m horny as hell!” or “C’mon queerboy — I’m gonna let you play with my dick again!” or the worst one of all that makes me break out in goose-pimples and causes my heart to pound in my chest: “I think tonight I’ll bend you over and fuck you in the ass!”

He hasn’t done that yet but the mere threat makes me panic and I almost rip open his pants to get at his dick. He sits back with a silly grin on his face and watches my hands move up-and-down his hard penis. It’s not so bad. I can get him to shoot his load in under five-minutes now….

One Little Mistake….

“John, would you please call the guy so he’ll quit hassling me. Christ, he pesters me every night about you – I don’t know what to say to him anymore,” my roommate Mike complained when he got home from work.

“What has he said to you?” I nervously asked him.

“Huh? What are you talking about? He just wants to talk to you,” he replied. “Jesus Christ, John, what the hell did you guys do when you went over to his house the other night?”

“What? Nothing — we didn’t do anything — we shot pool like I told you…he has a real nice pool table!”

“Yeah, he brags about his rec room…is the pool table really regulation size?” asked Mike.

A silent sigh of relief escaped my pursed lips. I dodged a bullet. I successfully changed the subject.

“Oh yeah, the rec room is huge! He’s got a helluva sound system and at least four televisions — one’s an eighty-incher and the others are at least fifty or sixty! It’s a real impressive man-cave,” I said to him.

“Oh good, I can’t wait to see it tomorrow night,” he casually added.

I coughed and choked and almost swallowed my tongue!

“Tomorrow night? What’s tomorrow night?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

Mike replied: “He invited me over there after work — you’re invited too…what the hell did you guys do the other night? He can’t stop talking about you.”

Luckily, the only light I’d turned on in the apartment was in the kitchen. He couldn’t see the deep red blush that covered my face in the living room.

“NOTHING — we got high and shot pool — that’s all!” I said too loudly and too defensively.

Mike didn’t notice the panic in my voice and casually remarked, “You know, John, you better be careful around him…I think he’s queer and has a crush on you, hahahahahahaha….”

The hair on the back of my neck stood straight but I managed to sarcastically say, “Yeah, right…” and joined him in defensive laughter.

“His fiance is going to set me up with one of her girlfriends — she said she might have a girl for you, too!” said Mike.

Huh? What’s going on here? Khamir didn’t act like a man interested in women much less a man with a fiance.

“Oh…that’d be great,” I said feigning excitement even though I was totally befuddled by this new information.

“He probably told you his father is some kind of diplomat, right? Saudi Arabia or some place like that in the middle east,” said Mike.

“Yemen…he’s from Yemen,” I corrected him.

“Yeah, whatever…meet me at my car after work tomorrow night and I’ll drive us to his place,” said Mike. “Good night, I’m going to bed.”

I froze. My belek escort brain went blank. I couldn’t think of a single excuse to tell him why I wouldn’t be going.

Mike suddenly turned and said, “I almost forgot – Khamir said to tell you he wants a rematch – I guess you guys didn’t finish whatever game you were playing?”

Huh? Ohhhhhhh….”Uh, no, I guess we didn’t…” I softly responded.

“Well, he said to tell you he won’t take ‘No’ for an answer,” said my roommate.

Mike then laughed and added: “He said if you didn’t show up at his place he’d have to embarrass you by telling people what you did the other night.”

OH-MY-GOD — he wouldn’t, would he? OH-NO-OH-NO-OH-NO-oh-nooooooooooo….

Mike must have seen the full-blown panic on my face because he laughed and quickly said, “Calm down, dude, we’ve all barfed after drinking too much!”

Barfed? WHEW – I can go along with that story. I breathed a sigh of relief and lied, “Yeah, but I blew chunks into a pretty nice wicker waste basket — it was nasty.”

Mike laughed all the way to his bedroom. When I heard the door close I abruptly stopped laughing and thought about what he’d just told me.

Apparently, Khamir didn’t say a word about what really happened, but now it sounds like he’ll tell Mike what I did if I don’t don’t go to his house tomorrow night. A cold shiver raced up and down my spine. I’ll be damned if I go and damned if I don’t!


I couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned until I was tangled in the bed sheets. Finally, I just laid on my back and stared up into the darkness. I was determined to fall asleep without jerking-off but my eyes remained wired open.

A few more minutes passed before I said, “Awww, to hell with it!” and rolled over onto my belly. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my briefs and pushed them down above my knees. I made sure my foreskin was covering the glans then began to gently grind my erection into the mattress while remembering how hot and hard Khamir’s brown cock had felt in my hands.

When I imagined myself on my knees with that beautiful cock inches from my open mouth my balls exploded and I flopped around the bed like a fish out of water.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Sissy Scorned

“So you moved sixteen-hundred miles from home just to live in warm weather?” he asked while I fumbled with his belt.

“It was mainly the snow I didn’t like,” I said unhooking his slacks and lowering the zipper. “I could take the below-zero temps but got tired of all the snow when it warmed up to twenty degrees.”

I reached into his boxers, took hold of his boner and he hissed, “Oh yes, that’s it, baby — harder – squeeze it harder…oh, baby, yesssssss…be a good boy and take it out — take out my cock, baby!”

Baby? I’ve been called a lot of names by guys but ‘baby’ was a new one and I didn’t much care for it.

It was a stark reminder of what my life had become in just four short weeks in Florida. I went from being a ‘babe-magnet’ to being a ‘babe.’ I blame my co-worker Eddie for turning me queer.

Sitting in the front seat of his car one night after closing our favorite bar, Eddie started saying things to me I used to say to girls:

“C’mon cutie, I know you want to – just feel it – pleeeezzzzzz!” (I finally did) — “Stroke it for me, Johnny-if you do me I’ll do you!” – (I did him but he didn’t do me) — and the next night in his car when he had me open his pants and take out his hot and pulsating hard-on, I squeezed it the way he liked and vigorously moved my hand up-and-down. After only a minute or so I felt his hand caressing my hair and suddenly his warm breath was in my ear and he whispered , “Take it in your mouth, cutie!”

Alarm bells went off in my head. My immediate thought was ‘I can’t do that’ but his strong hand began applying a slow, downward pressure on the back of my head and before I knew it my face was an inch away from the bulbous glans of his seven-inch manhood and he was pleading with me:

“Suck it for me, Johnny — suck it for me — suck it — suck it, Johnny!” and as if I was in a dream, I saw myself open my lips and slide them over his purple cockhead.

The night after that I actually said ‘”No” to him when he said he wanted to fuck me. Not because I thought it was wrong, no, I figured it would hurt like hell (which it did the first 2-3 times when I finally caved-in and bent over for him).

For the next couple of weeks or so I guess you could say Eddie and I were dating. During the day we worked together at a huge discount liquor store but after our first night in his car he insisted we act like we don’t know each other while we’re at work.

“Johnny, let’s keep this on the ‘down-low,’ okay?” he said struggling to breathe after I gave him yet another explosive orgasm. “A lot of people in Florida aren’t as liberal about homos as people in Minnesota.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” I said bristling at his use of the word ‘homos.’

And then he added: “Maybe you don’t care if people know you’re a faggot, but I’ve got a reputation to live up to here!”

Oh really! I thought. No one was around us so I gently stroked his upper thigh and whispered, “Eddie, c’mon over to my place tonight, I promise I’ll show you a real good time.”

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