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“So, what are you doing for a vacation this summer?”
That’s not the first question I’d normally expect to hear from a guy while he was untying me from his playroom fuck bench. Still, I wasn’t too surprised, since this was my old friend Bill talking, a mature leather top who’d occasionally take me home from the bar for some kinky fun. He was a smart, big-time Toronto ad industry executive, who nevertheless had an absent-minded habit of blurting out whatever popped into his mind. Now, with our scene over, he’d changed personas from “stern disciplinarian top” to gossipy old pal without skipping a beat!
As it happened, I had no plans, and when I told him so, he asked if I’d like to stay at his cottage on the shore of Lake Huron for two weeks in the middle of July. There was a catch, he admitted with a grin. He’d hired a contractor to renovate the kitchen during those two weeks, thinking he’d be there himself to oversee the work. But in the meantime, a big job had dropped in his company’s lap, and he’d have to stay in town. He trusted the contractor, who’d done the bathrooms the previous summer, but he needed a trusty keyholder there in case of emergency. Plus, he didn’t want to leave the contractor and his workers on their own, free to nose around in his bedroom, which was the same reason for not asking one of his straight co-workers.
The offer was coming out of the blue, but we’d been friends and regular hook-ups for a few years, so by the time he’d undone the ropes and helped me stand up, I’d made up my mind to accept his offer. Though I did wonder why he’d asked me. I knew about the play toys he kept in his bedroom, so I could see why he wouldn’t want one of his straight friends to find them, but what about one of the leather tops he palled around with at the bar?
He gave me a wry look and said that, just because someone took an active role in BDSM sex didn’t mean they were any more responsible in real life than anyone else, despite all their alpha male pretensions. He needed someone to keep an eye on the contractor and see that the job was done properly.
“I like playing with you Ben, but we’re also friends out of the bedroom, and I know you’re a lot more responsible than those so-called tops I hang around with at the bar. And let’s face it, the bottom’s always in charge, in spite of what we tops like to pretend.”
So, that’s how, less than a month later, our mutual friend Jimmy and I ended up on a Friday afternoon in July 1978, driving down a gravel road to Bill’s cabin, situated on a quiet beach, on the Ontario shoreline of Lake Huron, four hours west of Toronto. After stopping at the local supermarket and the local liquor store on our way through town, we looked forward to a quiet weekend of sun and sand before I dropped Jim back at the bus station on Sunday afternoon for the express Greyhound to Toronto.
We’d put in half a day’s work before leaving T.O. at midday and driven five hours to get to our destination; so, after barbequing under the stars, we were both tired and eager for bed. Since we’d roomed together on holiday before we saw no reason to mess up two rooms and climbed into Bill’s queen size bed together, falling asleep the moment our heads hit the pillow.
The weather on Saturday was perfect, with temperatures in the high seventies Fahrenheit and not a cloud in the sky. Giving thanks to Bill and to our lucky stars, we proceeded to take full advantage. Getting up late for a leisurely breakfast, we slathered on the sunscreen and went down to the beach until lunchtime, downed a couple of beers over lunch and carrying a cooler with more, returned to the beach to continue working on our tans.
Anyone looking at us that afternoon as we lay in the sun might be forgiven for mistaking us for brothers, we looked so alike. Both in our late twenties with slim bodies, we were about the same height and weight, with me being bigger across the shoulders and two inches taller. We even had the same clone-style haircuts and mustaches, though Jimmy was a blond and my hair was dark brown.
You’d need only a minimal amount of gaydar to recognize us for what we were; a pair of giggly twinks in skimpy bathing suits trying to get a perfect tan line! To get that sexy result while not burning up, we turned over regularly, rubbing tanning lotion on each other’s body each time. Of course, spending time in the hot sun while replacing moisture lost to sweat with beer, meant we got more and more and more smashed as the afternoon went on. We’d decided years before not to mix up our best-friendship with sex, but I couldn’t help feeling more than just friendly each time I rubbed my hands up and down his upper body and especially when massaging his big runner’s leg muscles. He also seemed to take far longer than necessary to get the lotion over every inch of my body.
By the time we staggered back up to the cottage, neither of us felt capable of handling the barbeque safely, so I made peanut butter sandwiches while Jimmy played bartender, producing two istanbul travesti of the largest and most delicious Martinis I thought I’d ever tasted, though I clearly wasn’t thinking too straight by that point!
Still in our swim trunks, we sat out on the porch to watch the sun slowly sink into the lake. Sipping Jim’s giant Martinis, we reminisced about how we’d met four years before at another cottage, further north on the coast of this same lake. While spending an exciting night bottoming for two masterful guys, we’d got to know and like each other, and had instantly become best friends, remaining so to this day.
That had been a wild night, with Jim and I sucking, rimming, and getting fucked while in bondage, then being hogtied together in a 69 and ordered to suck each other off. Just talking about it got me hot and bothered; and realising I was popping an obvious hard-on, I got to my feet, claiming that sand in my swim trunks was making me itch and that I was going in to put on a pair of shorts. He said he’d been thinking the same thing and followed me into the bedroom.
Over the years that we’d been friends we’d seen each other naked scores of times; putting on our leathers ready for bar night, sharing rooms on trips, running into each other at bath houses, or checking the other was OK during house parties. In all that time, after that first weekend of sex, we’d kept our friendship clear of sexual tension and if we hadn’t been as drunk as skunks and aroused by memories of that night of sex and bondage, that’s how things would never have stayed.
Once in the bedroom, we pulled off our swim trunks and walked, naked, over to our suitcases which lay open on the floor next to each other. I was standing right next to Jimmy as he knelt down to pick out a new pair of shorts and was so close that when he stood back up, my fully erect cock grazed his face in passing. He looked a little shocked at first, but when he realised that I could see that his dick was just as hard as mine, he grinned conspiratorially, then leant forward to kiss me on the lips and ask,
“Really? Are we really going to do this?”
To answer him, I giggled and put my hand around his hard-on.
“Yea, what the fuck, why not? I spent the whole afternoon looking at that cute bum of yours and now I’m too fucking drunk not to go for it. Let’s get on before we sober up.”
In response, he leant over to kiss me and began playing with my nipples. He was well aware that my tits were my main erogenous zone, and that tit play was certain to reduce me to helpless jelly. He soon had me whimpering with arousal and I was sorry when he stopped working them. Instead, he dropped to his knees and proceeded to spend many delicious minutes licking my balls and my taint and taking my dick far into his throat, eventually getting me so aroused that I had to pull away before he got me to climax far too early. Once I’d calmed down enough, I shoved him on his back onto the bed and began doing to him what he’d done to me.
Using my best cock sucking tricks, I soon had him as near the edge as he’d had me minutes before; and just the same, he got me to stop. Then, as I lay there licking my lips, ready to resume, he opened the top drawer of the bedside table and pulled out the jar of lube he’d been hoping to find.
“Hey, look what I found! Bill won’t miss a little bit of this in such a good cause, right? I’ll be the real butch top of your dreams, bottom boy. Get on your hands and knees and hurry up before I lose this hard on.”
I wasted no time doing what he said, and he got up behind me to rim my hole, to finger it, then slowly but surely push that stiff cock into me. He pumped up and down, and in and out, fucking me hard and making me squeal with delight whenever he found my prostate. But when he was getting too close, he pulled away so I could have my turn.
Since I wanted him to work my tits, I put him on his back, raised his ankles to my shoulders and worked myself into him carefully, just like he had. Even though we were usually the ones getting fucked, we certainly knew what to do; so, just as he had, I soon got into a proper rhythm and could see on his face that I was doing a good job. He was clearly enjoying himself, squeezing down hard on my dick and playing with my tits.
However, the two of us weren’t going to be able to keep this up for too long and we both needed to cum in the worst way. He let go of my tits so he could work his own dick with both hands, I responded by forcing myself harder and deeper into him and soon enough a shower of cum came spurting out of his cock. Moments later I pulled out and jerked off over him, mixing my load with his.
I fell on top of him with my arms around him and it didn’t take long for the booze and our orgasms to take effect and we gradually drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, not waking till eleven pm when my bladder sent me a signal! When I came back from the bathroom, I shook Jim awake and suggested we go outside to sit by istanbul travestileri the lake before turning in for the night. We grabbed a pair of beach chairs and walked halfway down to the water, but before he could sit down, I put my arms around his shoulders, hugged him tight and looked in his eyes.
“Hey, that was lots of fun, man, there’s no denying it. But we mustn’t do it again. I love you, man, you’re my best friend and we can’t spoil that. We’re friends, not lovers and if we mess things up with sex, we won’t be either. Right?”
“Absolutely, babe, let’s face it, we’re fabulous as girl friends but we wouldn’t last a month as boyfriends.”
My mouth found his for a long, lingering kiss and we plopped ourselves down on our chairs, not realising that we were being watched by three twenty-something locals walking along the shore, one of whom took great offence to what he was seeing and immediately turned up the beach towards us.
“What the fuck, goddam faggots making out right in front of us. What the hell? Who do you think you are, homos? Fucking rug munchers think they can get away with wherever they fucking well like. Go back where you came from and get off our beach, you perverts!”
He raced towards us, spewing insults and threats, followed by the other two guys, one of whom I could see was trying to calm him down and get him to leave us alone. But that only seemed to enrage him even more, getting angrier the harder his friend tried to pull him away. When he got up really close, I couldn’t sit for a moment longer being insulted and began to get up out of my chair. But at the exact same moment that I was rising to my feet, he’d managed to pull his arm out of his friends’ grip, and unfortunately for me, the force required to tear his arm away sent him off balance. His body swivelled around and a millisecond later the result was my cheek meeting his fist and me falling straight back onto the sand in a daze.
While I lay there in shock, all hell broke out around me. When Jimmy tried to stand up to help, the third guy lunged forward to push him back and as he did so, Jimmy’s feet got all tangled up in the chair legs beneath him, making him also fall to the ground. That sent the guy into a panic, and he ran off, disappearing up along the beach. Meanwhile, knocking me down had the opposite effect on my assailant, as if I’d deliberately fallen to the ground just to annoy him. He got even angrier, if that were possible, calling me names and shouting at me to get up and face him. But when I tried to raise myself up and do just that, he kicked at me with his feet. I rolled into the fetal position with my hands over my head feeling him stomp me in my lower back, kidneys, and shoulders. As I lay there, I could hear his friend pleading with him to stop and thankfully, he did so before causing me more serious damage. When the stomping ceased, the two of them ran off back down the beach, with the kicker still shouting insults into the air.
It had felt like hours, but the whole episode had taken less than a minute, ruining our weekend with an example of the hateful violence towards gay men that always lay below the surface in those days. Jimmy scrambled over to me, and I could hear the fear in his voice when he spoke. I was in a lot of pain, but I reassured him that nothing felt broken and hearing that, he lay down next to me and the two of us broke down in tears.
After pulling ourselves together, we staggered into the cottage, where he got me to lie down while he got ice cubes for the bruises on my back and my face. We knew without saying that going to the police wasn’t an option; they’d automatically assume I’d got what I deserved; just the natural reaction of a “normal” young man to a homosexual advance, the same “homosexual panic” defence that freed thugs from murder raps. This wasn’t as if this was our first time facing a gay bashing together; there’d been plenty over the years from hostile strangers to even more hostile cops. Only a couple of months before, we’d left a bar at closing time and seen an effeminate young man being harassed by a couple of guys saying much the same things we’d heard minutes ago. It had taken the help of two more guys leaving the bar to make the thugs to leave the boy alone.
It was particularly bad that summer, with the trial of three gay hustlers accused of the gruesome murder of a pre-teen boy in Toronto being held, giving every local and national media outlet the excuse to fill the airwaves and their pages with the gleefully undisguised homophobia that appeared at the drop of a hat throughout North America in the seventies and eighties, essentially implying that every gay man in Canada was a potentially murderous pedophile.
Jim found some Tylenol in the bathroom cabinet and took me to bed, holding me in his arms until I fell asleep. When we woke up, we told each other it wouldn’t spoil his last day at the lake, and after a big breakfast we stayed on the beach until it was time for me to drive him to travesti istanbul the bus station for the ride back to Toronto. Returning to the cottage, I spent an unhappy evening, feeling angry and helpless about the attack and missing him something awful.
The next morning, I had to be up and around by seven o’clock to greet the contractor and his workers, who of course wanted to know about the ugly bruise on my face. I told them I’d tripped on the patio steps after a couple too many beers and then kept out of their way while they got on with the job, going far down the beach before taking my shirt off, so they wouldn’t see the bruises all over my back.
Once the guys finished on Tuesday afternoon, I hopped in the car and headed for the little supermarket in town to fill up on fresh necessities. After picking up milk and bread and fruit, I headed for the meat counter, only to stop in my tracks when I recognized the young man behind the counter. It was the same guy who’d tried to stop the beating on Saturday night. I could tell that he’d recognized me too and he looked worried, seeing the heavy bruise on my face and wondering if I was there to cause him trouble.
There were no other customers around at that moment, so I came up close to the counter and reassured him that I wasn’t there to give him a hard time.
“Hey listen. I’m just here to do some shopping. I wasn’t looking for you. I’ve only been in town for a couple of days, and I had no idea you worked here. I certainly don’t blame you for what happened, though I must say, I don’t think much of your choice of friends.”
Seemingly reassured that I wasn’t there to beat him up or lose him his job, he took a deep breath before answering me.
“I’m really sorry for what happened. It all happened so quick and in such a blur that I can still hardly believe it. Jonathan got some good weed and Eric said we should head along the beach to the breakwater where no one could smell it. Then when we went past your place, Eric looked up and saw you kissing your boyfriend. I always knew he hated fags, but I didn’t know how much. He fucking lost it, man and started up the beach towards you guys. I was hanging onto him and when he pulled away, he couldn’t stop his arm from whipping round, and it hit you in a kind of recoil. That was really an accident, but when he was kicking you, that was just fucking crazy. Your face looks bad and you must be bruised on your body too, right? I don’t know what to say, I’m really sorry.”
“I know you tried to stop him, I appreciate that, man. I’ve got to thank you for even trying. I’ve seen my share of gay bashing over the years, and you did more than most guys do when their friends go around beating up homos.”
“Eric and Jonathan and me went to high school together and in a small town like this, you end up hanging with the same people, even when you don’t really like them. Jon’s OK, but Eric’s always been a thug. I was friendly with other guys in school, but the smart ones have all left for college or for jobs in Toronto or Windsor and I’m stuck with small town dregs like Eric.”
I was surprised to hear him open up like that, as if he was desperate not only to apologize but to make me understand something about himself. When I looked at him, he stared right back into my eyes, almost as if he was cruising me. Plus, he’d called Jimmy my “boyfriend,” something straight guys would rarely say in those days.
“I hope your boyfriend wasn’t hurt. Jonathan panicked when he saw him getting up and thought everyone was going to start fighting. That’s why he pushed him down and ran off like that. Jonny’s never been in a fight in his life, and he never meant to hurt him. Please tell your boyfriend he’s sorry.”
“Oh, that’s OK. By the way, Jimmy’s my closest friend but he’s not my boyfriend. When you guys saw us, we were talking about our friendship.”
“Sorry if I misunderstood, its just that it was the first time I’d ever seen two guys really kissing. And just when I was thinking about you two being lovers, Eric started shouting and all hell broke out and you had to break apart.”
What he said and the look in his eyes as he spoke got me wondering if he’d liked the sight of two men embracing each other. Why had this presumably straight boy immediately taken it for granted that Jimmy and I were lovers and what did that say about him? He continued staring intently at me, making me feel uncomfortable about the thoughts going through my own head. Had I really run into a budding homo out here in the boondocks or was I just imagining it? I told myself not to go down that road; just because the guy wasn’t actively hostile didn’t mean he was gay, for heaven’s sake! And it wasn’t as if I was normally even interested in younger guys, and I certainly didn’t need to be involved in someone else’s coming-out problems.
Murmuring something about how good it had been to have this talk, I changed the subject, asking him for the best deal on steaks and sausages for the barbeque.
He seemed disappointed at me for cutting off the conversation but soon recovered, asking how much I needed and looking confused when he heard what I wanted, saying that wasn’t nearly enough for two guys. It was my turn to be confused, until I realised what he meant.
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