drdivo
On the Prowl
Brad Lee was the first str8 man that I fell hopeless, irretrievably and foolishly in love with.
I met Brad my senior year in college. My then closest friend up and sprung on me that he was moving back to Detroit. Tomorrow. He had withheld telling me this because he was worried I'd react badly.
Ya think?
Anyway, Brad was the bartender at said bar, and friends with my closest friend, and at the bar that night but not working. He was a year younger than I am, 6'2", broad shouldered, athletic, with a big mop of curly golden hair and huge green eyes. Striking more than traditionally handsome, he knew how to dress himself well.
He called the day or so after my friend left for Detroit. We went out a few times to hang out and dance (with women; I was still closeted, but very clearly into men sexually.) He and I would get out on a dance floor with our dates, and the women would get frustrated as it was clear he and I were dancing for each other.
We spent that whole spring and summer of 1981 together. We went to the lake, drove all over the state going to nightclubs, festivals, parties. We each had a brand new black Camaro - mine with a V8 and red interior, his with a six and black interior. One night, he was over at the house and he met my stepsister - a few short hours later, he and she were at it in the basement - I felt short of breath, I was so upset.
The warning signs were there. I had redefined who we were into something we were not.
I was headed to graduate school in Texas in late August. I had given notice, had my farewell parties, and Brad was morose. He was nearly inconsolable. And then, about three days before I was to leave, he announced to the world (and surprised me) that he was going to move with me.
I was, of course, thrilled.
So, we packed up my black Camaro and came down here to Houston. I had on-campus housing arranged, and we both stayed in my dorm room for a few weeks - ten days, I think. It was miserably cramped. We leased an apartment. We had no furniture. We both got jobs at the same mall. We went everywhere together - all the big, glittering discos, the incredible shops, everything seemed so luxurious and refined as compared to our staid, Midwestern upbringing. We went everywhere in my hot car, feeling like we were really somebody. Somebodies that nobody knew at all.
And I was paying for everything. Every. Last Thing.
Brad's job nor mine paid worth a flip, and I was using my credit cards and my loan and grant money to supplement our lifestyle. I bought us furniture, and paid for every dinner and every cocktail.
At some point, he and I discussed my sexuality. I admitted that I was primarily attracted to men, and that it wasn't something I was happy with. He said it didn't change how he felt about me.
Friends from back home came to visit. I was starting to feel dissatisfied with how things were going. We went out one night with some friends from back home, and, as always, came home snockered. We were sitting on the sectional in the living room, and the lights were turned out. Brad asked me again about my sexuality. He suggested that perhaps I'd like to suck his cock.
I thought briefly, this sounds like a bad idea. Well, so much for that.
He has a big, pink rock hard joint. The head of it mushrooms out just a bit from the shaft. Little nads. Red pubic hair, just like his red body hair. It's gorgeous. I applied my best efforts. He was quite happy with it. After he blew his nuts' load, he went back to his room and I to mine.
The next day, he had to discuss that what had happened was a weak moment while we were both drunk, and that it couldn't become the definition of our friendship.
Famous last words.
For the next months, every time we'd go out drinking, we'd come home, enter the apartment silently, and go to our separate rooms. I'd undress, walk into the shared Hollywood bath to pee, and his door would be standing open, him lying on his bed (that I bought him) naked, on top of the covers and rock hard. I'd walk into his room, and blow him. After I'd finished, I'd go back to my own room and go to sleep.
I mentioned that I wasn't too thrilled with the arrangement, especially since Brad was keeping all of his earned money for himself and I was still paying for everything. He was now working in a very high end retail store making fairly good money and I was doing singing telegrams and making a killing. He was working at a brand new mall, about 20 miles north of us, and he started dating the manager at the store. She was very pretty.
He took her out to dinner. With my car and my Diner's Club. He didn't come home. It was after noon the next day; I'm without a call, a car or a card. I was mortified and furious. I called her house and got her room mate. Made a total ass of myself.
The sun was setting when he made it home that Sunday. I was lying on my bed, overwrought and very Gay Drama. He came into my room, still wearing his suit and tie from the night before. He crawled onto my bed with me, and apologized in a soft voice. He held me, and kissed me softly. He told me he loved me more than anything, and that he was very grateful for my having made his big date possible. After a short while, we were naked, and making love. That was the first night he fucked me.
Brad went back up to Michigan to get his car, and drove it home. That lent some freedom to the partnership, but things were still wobbly.
All this time, Brad had been dating a beautiful Mormon girl in Dallas. I drove him up there many weekends, and he and I spent the nights in Dallas sleeping in the same guest bed. Most of those nights, I was his sexual outlet, as the Mormon lass wouldn't put out. It was just strange to be working over his very familiar, ripped, fuzzy body and huge dick while his girlfriend and her family slept only a few feet away.
Then, we moved into a larger apartment, brought in a new room mate, and he started working at the singing ******** company as a stripper. I was the most popular singing ******** messenger act in the US at that time, and Brad was getting all of the attention, because his round fuzzy ass and big package were barely contained in his rayon g-string. My resentment grew.
We had poker parties, and the young men we had met through Brad came over to smoke cigars, drink liquor, and play cards. I increasingly felt like I was the caretaker, house cleaner, food prep, and sugar daddy. Brad scheduled more and more frequent parties for us, showing off our big place.
And, once we moved, the sex was totally cut off.
One night, we had a big poker party and Brad was very Oscar Madison to my Felix Unger. Everyone got totally pissed drunk and blacked out. I awoke in my bathroom on the floor with Brad and this smokin' hot married guy, all of us wearing only our t-shirts, the floor covered in drunken piss. I don't know how we got in there, or why we were all mostly naked. The married guy and I ended up in my bed together, still naked. Nothing sexual happened, but Brad was angry - he accused me of trying to manipulate the situation to get into the married guy's shorts.
The lease was up for renewal, and I arranged to move myself into a one bedroom apartment on the property. The lease was solely in my name where we were. One Saturday morning, the movers showed up to move me across the courtyard, and Brad and the room mate were both stunned .. "What's happening?"
"We're moving. You both have until the end of the day tomorrow to find a place to go."
Brad continued to work at the ******** company as a stripper for a while - and then went back into retail. He lived on property a couple of buildings away, so I saw him every once in a while.
I asked him to repay me for all of the financial support I had given him, and we fought over that for a while. Finally, he paid me a small portion of what I had asked for. After that, we had nothing further to say to each other, and he's now living up in the Dallas area. We haven't spoken for more than twenty years.
I met Brad my senior year in college. My then closest friend up and sprung on me that he was moving back to Detroit. Tomorrow. He had withheld telling me this because he was worried I'd react badly.
Ya think?
Anyway, Brad was the bartender at said bar, and friends with my closest friend, and at the bar that night but not working. He was a year younger than I am, 6'2", broad shouldered, athletic, with a big mop of curly golden hair and huge green eyes. Striking more than traditionally handsome, he knew how to dress himself well.
He called the day or so after my friend left for Detroit. We went out a few times to hang out and dance (with women; I was still closeted, but very clearly into men sexually.) He and I would get out on a dance floor with our dates, and the women would get frustrated as it was clear he and I were dancing for each other.
We spent that whole spring and summer of 1981 together. We went to the lake, drove all over the state going to nightclubs, festivals, parties. We each had a brand new black Camaro - mine with a V8 and red interior, his with a six and black interior. One night, he was over at the house and he met my stepsister - a few short hours later, he and she were at it in the basement - I felt short of breath, I was so upset.
The warning signs were there. I had redefined who we were into something we were not.
I was headed to graduate school in Texas in late August. I had given notice, had my farewell parties, and Brad was morose. He was nearly inconsolable. And then, about three days before I was to leave, he announced to the world (and surprised me) that he was going to move with me.
I was, of course, thrilled.
So, we packed up my black Camaro and came down here to Houston. I had on-campus housing arranged, and we both stayed in my dorm room for a few weeks - ten days, I think. It was miserably cramped. We leased an apartment. We had no furniture. We both got jobs at the same mall. We went everywhere together - all the big, glittering discos, the incredible shops, everything seemed so luxurious and refined as compared to our staid, Midwestern upbringing. We went everywhere in my hot car, feeling like we were really somebody. Somebodies that nobody knew at all.
And I was paying for everything. Every. Last Thing.
Brad's job nor mine paid worth a flip, and I was using my credit cards and my loan and grant money to supplement our lifestyle. I bought us furniture, and paid for every dinner and every cocktail.
At some point, he and I discussed my sexuality. I admitted that I was primarily attracted to men, and that it wasn't something I was happy with. He said it didn't change how he felt about me.
Friends from back home came to visit. I was starting to feel dissatisfied with how things were going. We went out one night with some friends from back home, and, as always, came home snockered. We were sitting on the sectional in the living room, and the lights were turned out. Brad asked me again about my sexuality. He suggested that perhaps I'd like to suck his cock.
I thought briefly, this sounds like a bad idea. Well, so much for that.
He has a big, pink rock hard joint. The head of it mushrooms out just a bit from the shaft. Little nads. Red pubic hair, just like his red body hair. It's gorgeous. I applied my best efforts. He was quite happy with it. After he blew his nuts' load, he went back to his room and I to mine.
The next day, he had to discuss that what had happened was a weak moment while we were both drunk, and that it couldn't become the definition of our friendship.
Famous last words.
For the next months, every time we'd go out drinking, we'd come home, enter the apartment silently, and go to our separate rooms. I'd undress, walk into the shared Hollywood bath to pee, and his door would be standing open, him lying on his bed (that I bought him) naked, on top of the covers and rock hard. I'd walk into his room, and blow him. After I'd finished, I'd go back to my own room and go to sleep.
I mentioned that I wasn't too thrilled with the arrangement, especially since Brad was keeping all of his earned money for himself and I was still paying for everything. He was now working in a very high end retail store making fairly good money and I was doing singing telegrams and making a killing. He was working at a brand new mall, about 20 miles north of us, and he started dating the manager at the store. She was very pretty.
He took her out to dinner. With my car and my Diner's Club. He didn't come home. It was after noon the next day; I'm without a call, a car or a card. I was mortified and furious. I called her house and got her room mate. Made a total ass of myself.
The sun was setting when he made it home that Sunday. I was lying on my bed, overwrought and very Gay Drama. He came into my room, still wearing his suit and tie from the night before. He crawled onto my bed with me, and apologized in a soft voice. He held me, and kissed me softly. He told me he loved me more than anything, and that he was very grateful for my having made his big date possible. After a short while, we were naked, and making love. That was the first night he fucked me.
Brad went back up to Michigan to get his car, and drove it home. That lent some freedom to the partnership, but things were still wobbly.
All this time, Brad had been dating a beautiful Mormon girl in Dallas. I drove him up there many weekends, and he and I spent the nights in Dallas sleeping in the same guest bed. Most of those nights, I was his sexual outlet, as the Mormon lass wouldn't put out. It was just strange to be working over his very familiar, ripped, fuzzy body and huge dick while his girlfriend and her family slept only a few feet away.
Then, we moved into a larger apartment, brought in a new room mate, and he started working at the singing ******** company as a stripper. I was the most popular singing ******** messenger act in the US at that time, and Brad was getting all of the attention, because his round fuzzy ass and big package were barely contained in his rayon g-string. My resentment grew.
We had poker parties, and the young men we had met through Brad came over to smoke cigars, drink liquor, and play cards. I increasingly felt like I was the caretaker, house cleaner, food prep, and sugar daddy. Brad scheduled more and more frequent parties for us, showing off our big place.
And, once we moved, the sex was totally cut off.
One night, we had a big poker party and Brad was very Oscar Madison to my Felix Unger. Everyone got totally pissed drunk and blacked out. I awoke in my bathroom on the floor with Brad and this smokin' hot married guy, all of us wearing only our t-shirts, the floor covered in drunken piss. I don't know how we got in there, or why we were all mostly naked. The married guy and I ended up in my bed together, still naked. Nothing sexual happened, but Brad was angry - he accused me of trying to manipulate the situation to get into the married guy's shorts.
The lease was up for renewal, and I arranged to move myself into a one bedroom apartment on the property. The lease was solely in my name where we were. One Saturday morning, the movers showed up to move me across the courtyard, and Brad and the room mate were both stunned .. "What's happening?"
"We're moving. You both have until the end of the day tomorrow to find a place to go."
Brad continued to work at the ******** company as a stripper for a while - and then went back into retail. He lived on property a couple of buildings away, so I saw him every once in a while.
I asked him to repay me for all of the financial support I had given him, and we fought over that for a while. Finally, he paid me a small portion of what I had asked for. After that, we had nothing further to say to each other, and he's now living up in the Dallas area. We haven't spoken for more than twenty years.
I'm never getting hit on in Cleve, OH
