Bisexual Journey

When Barry was gone I walked to my mirror to examine myself. Who are you? What are you? A twenty seven year old man stared back at me. Six feet tall, well developed, big cock dangling. Good looking, hell yes, vanity justified by too many genuine compliments from women. Chestnut colored hair full and half long on my neck below my ears. Green hazel eyes. Fair skin with body hair confined to a modest T across my pecs and down my stomach to my chestnut bush. A sprinkle of hair on my thighs and shins. A splendid specimen of masculine perfection. A most worthy lover of women. Who now knew he had tits that could feel the same pleasures a female felt.

I gazed at my tits. My pecs were pretty much flat muscle. The nipples were average, but the areoles were a touch larger than average. My man tits. Wired to feel what a female feels. I touched my nipples with my finger tips and produced that fuzzy sweet feeling. Who am I? What am I?

Two days later I went shopping at the drug store I usually frequented. A long boxed tube of KY jelly was close to the boxed condoms. Something called a "rectal syringe" almost jumped off the shelf into my hand. With my goodies in hand I walked towards the cash register, and froze. Shit! What would the woman at the register think? What if a line formed behind me and looked at my goodies and looked at me, with shock, with disgust? I wasn't prepared for that. I turned to put my goodies back on the shelf, but a woman was in the aisle doing her own browsing for private needs. I was trapped.

After weeks of being seduced by Barry, I had surrendered myself to his desire to fuck me, but that was to be in hermetically sealed privacy, no one else on earth ever knowing or even suspecting. I never considered my public exposure in buying the paraphernalia to bring that about. Practically shouting to the world that I am making myself ready to be fucked by another man. Or the opposite, that I had a sweetheart boy I was going to fuck. Which would provoke the same disgust in those in line. There was a slim chance the public voyeurs might imagine I had a girl who liked anal sex. My predicament was so silly I almost laughed out loud. Never the less, I sidled about until the moment the register was very much idle before I dashed up to pay.

The woman was professional. Only a flicker of recognition tweaked her face as she scanned my goods and put them in a concealing bag. She carefully avoided eye contact, taking my money and pronouncing her "thank you." Nice and civilized. There are perverts out there, just try not to look at them.

My public exposure in the drug store was amusing. It was less amusing when I became my own voyeur of my own exposure in the privacy of my apartment. Did I really and truly want to do this? This perversion? What if I really liked Barry's cock in my ass, loved it? Would that transform me into a gay man that would never desire a woman again? The unknowns. The risks. Scary. For a moment terrifying. Just like with Andy when I was eighteen and had to battle the truth I was half a faggot and half a normal guy. Things like that, giving in to desire to take a first cock in my mouth, are things that can't be reversed or taken back. And the consequence was my learning I loved to suck cock.

Even so, I still desired and made love with girls. I knew how to separate the two, being a faggot and a stud. I had that firmly in my control. For now. But my self control was undergoing seismic movements, tectonic plates deep inside me grinding together, creating rifts and upheavals. The temblor of thrill in being seduced by a man, a big, big man who had claimed me for his darling, who gave me the fantastic discovery I had tits, as fully wired for pleasure as a girl feels. And that was not scary at all. That was marvelous, precious, a discovery of inestimable value. Barry could suck my tits all night long and I would know bliss. What would his cock buried deep in my ass feel like?

I called Barry to cancel out of our Wednesday night gym meet. An urgent business matter I couldn't ignore. No problem, he said, see you the next week. But his tone betrayed a mild suspicion I might be drifting away from the passion that had detonated between us. Frightened by it, stepping back from it, feeling about for protection. Which in fact I was doing to some degree. Mostly I was vacillating.

The sensation of his finger in my ass was a very exciting and alien thrill. But did that really portend the experience of his big hard cock in there? I seriously doubted it. But I couldn't imagine just what other truth his big hard cock in my ass would generate either. When he fucked me, would I discover something comparable to learning I had tits with the same wiring as a girl? When he fucked me. Not if. In the end I went back to my seduction of Bryan years ago. The stress on his opportunity of a life time to know what man sex was all about. Here was my opportunity. Barry teaching me. Just us alone. No one else would know.

"Hi guy. I'm missing you. How easy is it for you to get away from your office?"

"Very easy, usually, I'm the boss."

"Today?"

"Hang on." I heard some paper sounds. "Tomorrow is better."

"Early afternoon. One, one thirty, somewhere around there?"

"Can do. Will do.... No more thinking about it?"

"I'm ready."

"So am I. Tomorrow, Tuesday, one thirty. Till then, anticipate."

I awoke early Tuesday morning and consumed a hearty breakfast. Somehow I shuffled my anticipation into the deck of business chores ever calling for my attention. I was also my own boss, and my computer was my office. The simple explanation is I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was an only child, and yes, the beneficiary of a trust fund. To think "Rockefeller" would be absurd. To think comfortable nest egg would get it. The income became mine when I turned twenty one. I used it to dabble in stocks and bonds. I made money and the dabbles increased to chunks. I was a moderately wealthy young man at age twenty seven. But deviously secret about it. My private financial affairs were as closely guarded as my bi-sexuality. Both offered opportunities of a life time, with attending risk. And I was my own boss.

Barron's, The Wall Street Journal, ticker tape quotations, interspersed with my fingers stimulating my nipples. Anticipating. Watching the clock. A timely bowl movement. Filling the basin with warm water. Filling the large blue bulb of the syringe. Bending over to fill my dark chamber with jets of water, expelling it and the unpleasant feel of swollen invasion into the toilet. Once, twice, thrice. A clinical procedure, but a deliberate one, and just as Barry said, psychologically and emotionally edgy with determined complicity in my own deflowering. Squeaky clean. Shave, shower, soaping my ass to make it cleaner still.

What should I wear? My black silk pajama pants, loose in the legs, sensual on the skin, simple but suggestive. My upper body bare, my tits exposed and available. The lighting was perfect, sunshine diffused by the blinds, but giving clear vision to all aspects of what was to take place. KY, condoms, a stack of towels on the night table. The knock on the door was as startling as gun shots.