I wrote this at the request of a Literotica reader who contacted me to ask whether I could write about a dilemma he'd undergone as a result of provocation - after which he'd spent some time questioning his sexuality.
He felt his experience might be of help to others who found themselves in similar situations but reckoned he wasn't any good at writing, so would I write about it for him? I said I'd give it consideration and what did it involve?
In the end, we met up and after a couple of hours chatting, I felt that his experience might indeed represent those of others who'd been similarly curious but doubtful. Accordingly, I recorded what he had to say and after many follow-up phone conversations to check various points, I wrote this story with his approval and on his behalf. For ease of composition, I have written it in the first person.
There is certainly some gay sex in what I've written but the main objective was to address my new friend's questions, doubts and concerns; and I truly hope that I have been successful in adequately framing those on his behalf.
In so far as I am aware, the events depicted are true.
*****
I've always been an inveterate womaniser and hitherto never remotely considered any form of sexual encounter with my own gender. Yet a couple of years ago my equilibrium was disturbed for the first time since pre-teens, by the onset and continuation of another's long-term provocation.
But I go back a little.
I had always been fairly tolerant of my children and their friends. It was rare for our house not to be playing host to a range of teenagers - both male and female and both singly and in numbers. There were many parties and when one or two of my kids' older friends had the inevitable clashes with their parents, we'd often find them living with us for a few days whilst they sorted themselves out. Occasionally it was for a few weeks and on one occasion, for over three months. In essence, our home provided them with a kind of 'half-way house' between the strictures of their parents and the possibility of going astray if they were to rely on the town and its streets for their recreation.
But to return to my subject . . . . one of the guys had been making occasional boisterous grabs at me after he noticed that my nipples were somewhat prominent when I was topless in summer heat. His game was to pinch one of them quite hard, particularly if both my hands were occupied with various tasks - whereupon he would then run off shrieking with laughter and leave me to bluster and threaten his departing form.
After a while, he went missing for a few months and his place was taken by another lad who, it turned out, had been handed the mantle to continue the assaults whenever the opportunity arose. And take it he did, with even more enthusiasm than the originator of the 'game'. But there was one subtle difference in that the hard pinching of the first guy had now given way to a gentle tweak from his 'replacement' and although the surprise element was still practiced, the grabs were by no means so painful as before.
One early evening I was dozing on the sofa after a long and strenuous walk with our four dogs. In a semi-somnolent state I began to daydream that a girl was caressing me. I could almost feel her mouth on my nipple, gently massaging it through the material of my thin T-shirt. As I came partially awake, I began to wonder if it might be real, for my day-dream now had a tongue pressing my nipple between tongue and lip and seeming to manipulate it in a deliciously sensuous manner. To my still only semi-conscious state the feeling was exquisite. It wasn't immediately sexy but the tongue's caress instigated a feeling of intense comfort - almost like that which a mother must feel with a child feeding at her breast. My mind returned to its sleepy fantasising and I did nothing but continue to lie half asleep and let the imaginary mouth have full rein.
Just as the sense of comfort was giving way to one of erotic dreaming, my wanderings were interrupted by the crashing sound of teenagers rushing into the next-door kitchen from outside. I knew they'd come into the room as soon as they'd taken off their shoes, so I sat up rubbing my eyes to see if someone actually had been there; but when I took my hands away, I was alone in the room. Despite my earlier sense of reality then, I assumed it must have been a dream after all and I just forgot about it.
Nothing much further happened for a while, except for the odd minor event which, had I been more alert, I'd have realised as first indicators that there might be something developing. For instance, Michael (the 'nipple-grabber') always appeared to sit next to me whenever we were all lazing around the morning after parties; but because so many people were in and out of our house all the time anyway, it was some while before his behaviour actually began to register with me.
In the back of my mind I was vaguely aware someone had once mentioned that Michael openly professed bi-sexuality - although when questioned, he seemingly stressed that of the two, he preferred women. None of this appeared particularly unusual, since it was quite the craze for some of their age group to adopt the fashionable mantle of being 'different' sexually. I did however semi-consciously begin to notice that Michael was often marginally possessive of me; but again, I must have thought nothing too much of that either at the time.
With hindsight, I should perhaps have recognised the implications of his behaviour.
In the end I couldn't help but notice one aspect - if he arrived late, whether we were inside the house or outside in the garden, he would always come straight over to where I was sitting and announce loudly to all present,
"I'm sitting next to Tom, so get out of the way you guys."
He would then plonk down at my side - or if someone else was already sitting next to me, he'd squeeze between us and wriggle down until he'd made a place for himself. Thereafter, he would ensure that he was the only one sitting close to me and his hand would occasionally brush my thigh quite high up in ways which, if I had objected, or if anyone else had noticed, could be laughingly dismissed as accidental or only larking about.
From time to time, he would massage my feet when I had my shoes off indoors and his hand would sometimes reach up around my ankle and slip under the bottom of my jeans to pull down my sock tops and stroke my lower calf. It was all very pleasurable and since one or two of the girls would also occasionally massage my shoulders or back, nobody seemed to pass any comment, so I just enjoyed the relaxation in the way one would a massage
