Note: I thought this was up already… >_>
Robert had been hanging around the local chatroom online for a while now and was about to call it quits when a new handle showed up in the userlist. BearMuscl. Hmm. Not one to pass up a hot bear, Robert called up BearMuscl’s profile. 36, 5’11”, 195lbs, black hair, muscular build, worked out three times a week. “Woof,” Robert thought to himself.
Opening up a message window, Robert sent a ‘Howdy’ and sat back. BearMuscl was probably checking out his profile and Robert hoped he liked what he saw. 38, 5’10”, 175lbs, dark brown hair. He kept meaning to update the profile, he’d kept a beard for a while now and was moderately hairy, something of a bear himself. Yeah, he was moving out of his greenest pastures, but he could still turn heads. Unfortunately he hadn’t been getting much more lately than heads turning away.
Teaching is Transformative: Quarterback Edition
Our world is full of mysteries. The unexplained and the unknown litter the planet right under our nose, and most of us ignore it. Every day, the strange and the mysterious move about just out of our perception. The otherworldly and questionable pass before us, unperceived. The dark and dangerous peer at us from the shadows. Sometimes these unknowns are explored by the brave and the curious. Other times they come to find us. This truth was known more to others than most, especially one man named Eric Wilson.
Hammer Time for Jeff(rim)
XXX to Dwarf (Fantasy)
Thinking of Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, and World of Warcraft, and wanting to be adventurous and see what the Chronivac [click for info] would make him, Jeff decided to go on with the current options, changing his location to a medieval-themed fantasy world and making him into a random denizen of that world. Jeff clicked on the “Continue” button. At first he thought that nothing happened, but them he felt a whoosh of air from his left and turned to see that the left wall of his room was gone, and the other walls were disappearing one by one, along with his bed, posters, bookshelves, and everything else except for the desk and computer.
Like most medium sized towns, we only had one gay bar and it had to accommodate all the different factions of gay life. An area for the young twinks into fashion and dance, an area for the hardcore leather queens, and an area for folks like myself- plain old blue collar guys not into stereotypical gay culture. My buddies and I would usually hang out in the space out back- An enclosed porch with plenty of room, and plenty of windows to allow for smoking. Every Saturday this room was ours, with an occasional leather queen or twink coming back to stand near a window and smoke before returning to their own crowd. They’d usually not bother talking to any of us, which was just fine with me. I knew most of them were just insecure little boys, trying to fit in by associating with a certain crowd. Part of their fitting in meant they had to display arrogance for anyone who didn’t look like their group. It didn’t bother me at all, as on more than one occasion a guy who wouldn’t look at me earlier in the night waited for me outside as I left, and in a drunken stupor tried to carry on a friendly conversation with me. It was always the same- He’d act like he hadn’t been ignoring me when he was around his friends, and then proceed to tell me, now that the friends were gone, how hot he thought I was. If they were really feeling their buzz, they’d ask to rub my bald head or beard, and tell me how much of a real man I was. Now most of the time I’d just say thanks and move on, but every so often I found one of them attractive, and let them suck my cock in my truck before I left, or took them to the picnic table around the side of the bar and fuck them. Of course the next time I’d see them in the bar they wouldn’t acknowledge me, but that was fine. They remembered.
Yes Nathan, There Really is a Santa Claus
Yes Nathan, There Really is a Santa Claus - Part I
Nathan O’Leary was a cynical son of a bitch. He had few real friends and his family had given up on him long ago. He’d had few boyfriends – they ran off as soon as they saw there was only room for one person in the relationship; Nathan.
Even his family had distanced themselves from him. Especially when they found out he was gay.
Now the thing was Nathan was a looker, 6’ 2” thick, jet black hair, muscles for days….you know the type. This was one of the reasons he’d become so self absorbed. Who wouldn’t?
Well it was nearing Christmas and Nathan had been invited to a private party through some friends. Seems it was being held at some rich old guy’s mansion in the country, maybe this was a chance to step up the ladder and find a wealthy boyfriend…..he certainly could do with the money, the job at the bank didn’t pay enough. No, he knew he was destined for better things, even if it meant using people.
What Nathan didn’t realize was the friends weren’t really friends at all. They wanted to humiliate him, so they sent him to a party they’d seen advertised at a leather bar downtown, for retired Santa’s.’
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.