The Choices We Make, Make Us.
The Choices We Make, Make Us.
Looking back I was a pretty inexperienced young man. I grew up on rural Indiana farmland, never really traveled much growing up, and didn’t understand the world was filled with so many types of people. This lack of understanding caused me a lot of grief: I thought everyone else was heterosexual, was supposed to wanna play sports, and strived to look like the folks on television. None of this described me in any way. Sure, I fit the mold the best I could. Wore the trendy clothes, had the cool haircut, and even had a girlfriend or two. But I wasn’t happy. I didn’t let myself think too much about that though. I dismissed those thoughts and had myself convinced any feelings I had about living a different sort of life would go away once I was older. I guess it worked through my teen years, but once I got to college at Arizona State things started to change.
In For a Change
A Story by Bradley Hatcher AKA gettingyounger79
WARNING: LONG STORY
Brad and John were brothers who had been through a lot. A few years before, their mother was arrested for selling drugs and was doing hard time. Their father had run out long before. For four years, John had been living with the boys’ grandmother in a near-by state. However, when Brad decided to drop out of college and work full-time, John came back to live with him in the family home.
I’d like to share my story with you about how much my life changed five years ago. My name’s Jim, and I’m from a small town in Texas. Both of my parents left this world when I was about ten years old, and I spent some years in a very strict, but very caring orphanage. When I was fifteen, I began living with foster parents from time to time, but I really hated it. Though I wasn’t a really bad kid, I was a little on the rebellious side. I hated having to get used to totally different house rules as I jumped from family to family, and from school to school.
by: E.S. Morwood
This story isn’t about an inanimate TF but it DOES contain one: XXX to Cigar. As such, if such material doesn’t suit your tastes, then DO NOT READ THIS.
I was surfing the web one night looking for cigar related sites. I don’t smoke but I have a cigar fetish. I love the smell of a cigar and the look of a man whose smoking a cigar. Anyway, I stumbled across a site that wasn’t very well designed but it did have some pictures of bearded men smoking. After going through the typical “Must be over 18 years of age” warning, I entered into the site.
The Top Hat
The caption of the auction listing caught my eye so I just had to check it out further; “My Great-granduncle’s Top Hat”. It turns out the item was a beautiful beaver top hat in pristine condition but what really caught my eye were the included photos of the uncle with the hat. The photos were sepia-toned and showed a tall, barrel-chested bear of a man in his mid-to-late forties wearing dress and formal fashions for the time period known as the Edwardian era, or early 1900s. I’ve always felt that bigger men looked especially good in the clothes of that era; the way the stiff collars accentuated a big neck and waistcoats with watch chains highlighted a broad belly. Theodore Roosevelt is a prime example. The pipe-smoking uncle also sported a large handlebar mustache and, in one picture showing him holding the hat, salt-and-pepper hair with a severe case of male pattern baldness. “What a handsome man,” I thought. Even if I didn’t have an interest in things of this era, I would’ve had to buy that hat just because of the man who owned it.
The news of Dan’s death floored me. Although we had never been lovers, had never even been together intimately, there had always been a strong connection between us. I knew him to be volatile, in life and in love, while I had always been too serious for my own good. However, an undefinable link made random meetings in bars or on the street memorable. For me at least. Or so I thought.
Life, For A Change
I have always enjoyed putting on other men’s clothing. I remember that in high school I would go into both of my male gym teachers’ offices after track or cross-country practice when no one was around and put on their sneakers, which they would always leave under their desks. Other teachers would leave their bags in one of the offices after they had changed and were either exercising or coaching one of the other sports teams. Over time, I was able to tell which bag belonged to what teacher since I would recognize the shoes or other clothing inside the bag. I would put on the teachers’ socks and shoes and just leave them on for a few minutes. I would then take them off and put them back where they were originally. Eventually, there were times when I would take some article of clothing (usually socks, underwear, t-shirts, or shoes) and take it home with me. Putting on other men’s clothing has always been somehow erotic for me. I used to put the clothing on and fantasize actually “being” that man.
(I’ll know as soon as Cyoc.net comes back online)
Jeffrey was a hunk and he knew it. He was a young hunk, though. He was only 18 and was visiting home for spring break. He was the envy of all the guys at school and all the girls wanted him. Jeffrey had been seeing this hot junior. She was a blonde named Jessica. Jess loved the fact that he had a chizzled baby face and only a little body hair on his legs and dick. “Girls don’t dig fur-balls,” she would say. Jeff was a freshman at a university on the opposite coast, so this was really the first time his family had been able to see him in quite some time.
The Foreign Exchange Program: Day 2 - Part 2
Day 1 :: Day 2: P1
NOTE: This part is INCOMPLETE and LONG. I’m only posting it to show that the story still lives.
After breakfast is completely over, the day continued to slowly trek by. My prior commitment of planning to convince those fools is put on hold as a wave of exhaustion hits me, prompting me to toss away my apron and fall asleep in the middle of the guest room. Once again, I experience many different dreams of dad and I. Unlike my previous dreams as a pubescent kid, these of which have me being a little older; probably about 5 or 6 now. Another difference is the addition of my “brothers” Kent and Taylor. Both of them seem explicitly older than me; Kent who appears to be around 10 and Taylor who looks the same at he usually does at 17. The dreams varied between boring conversations with each other, irritating arguments, or heartfelt moments together; but overall each one consisted of us 4 going about our daily lives when we were younger. Me attending elementary school with my friends, Dad coming to and from his construction jobs, Kent and Taylor bickering about between each other; just a whole bunch of meaningless things I’ve experienced before. Nothing really struck out to me as unordinary; that is…., until I realize we’re Japanese. Kent is Japanese, Taylor is Japanese, and I am Japanese! We were all speaking Japanese and living out our pasts as ordinary Japanese children under the care of our father, Yuudai.
Teaching is Transformative 3 - Janitor Edition
Teaching is Transformative: 1 :: 2 :: 3
It was evening. School had been out for hours and all the students were home for the weekend, leaving the halls of the high school empty and strangely quiet. The full moon shone through the glass front doors, shining its light on the senior lockers that lined the main hallway. The light revealed a strange, dripping trail of white paint leading along the surfaces of the lockers. The line led to a partially spray-painted caricature of a person. The caricature depicted a woman in a violet, pinstriped skirt and jacket. Instead of hair, she had a bunch of snakes sprouting from her head, and seemed to be devouring a man, blood spattered around her fang-lined mouth and at her feet.