The Guys That I Lie: Oh Counselor

I definitely have a thing for older, fat guys.

"And that's okay, Keenan," Dale told me in our therapy session when I disclosed this. "You can't help who you like, love, prefer in bed. We all have what we desire in front of us, and frankly, that's what makes us tick."

I used my insurance to see Dale after one day I was home on leave, and I attended a family cookout when my cousins began ragging on me about my choice of lovers. It was irrelevant to them that I was gay, but whenever I brought someone around, it usually was a fat, white guy, usually over 50 and in the 270 to 350 lb. range.

"Keenan likes them truck drivers," my cousin Mabel yelled out.

"Or them coffee and donut eating judges," my cousin Sam barked, for he mentioned Alvin, my ex of four years.

My cousins and I were brutal when it came to "Jonesing" on each other, and usually we all had tough skin, but this hit a little different. After my tryst with Scott, then the cookout, I made it my business to see if "something was wrong with me."

"Frankly Keenan, you'd be surprised of how many men enjoy the company of another with a little gray hair and extra pounds," Dale advised. "It's not about looks as much as performance, and that's not just sexually, but in conversation, outdoor activities, and other things that makes us tick."

The older Dale, a chunky, caramel skinned Latin guy, had me in his office while he preached the gospel. His sleek black suit, checkerboard black and red socks and Cole Haans matched his positive personality as he elaborated on the possible "whys" of guys like me.

"Was your first lover a big, white guy," he asked.

"Yes," I told him.

"Did you fuck him," he asked.

I paused and turned my head to him to see his eyes barreling through his glasses at the end of his nose, checking me for an answer.

"Yes Dale, we had sex," I told him.

"You make it sound so bad. Hopefully you enjoyed it," he said as he smiled.

He then turned his eyes downward to a notepad as he was jotting things.

"Have you been with anyone else of any other type of bodyframe other than big guys," he asked.

I mentioned Scott, and explained how Scott was able seduce me not once, but twice.

"I can see you're getting excited about this Scott," he stated.

I looked down and noticed I became hard, and evidently he did, too as he primed his eyes in my middle for a quick minute.

"Keenan, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You're a gay man in a sense of not just sexual preference, but in happiness as you seem at peace with guys of big sizes, and occasionally small sizes, as evidenced by this Scott. I can guarantee, your cousins pick because they're jealous, most likely unsettled in what they want, and perhaps in some cases, want what you desire and obtain," he told me. " Add to the fact that you're a good looking young man."

I turned my complete body over towards Dale as he rambled on. He continued his session with a lecture, and I felt like he was coming off course when he mentioned my family's jokes, but the more he spoke, the more he made sense, and I'd drink in every detail of this handsome man.

"Dale, how do you do this," I asked while in awe of his style in his profession.

"Do what? My job of telling it like it is? Young man, I've been at it for 41 years, and get paid handsomely to do it. That's how," he said as he removed his glasses.

I sat up and took a quick look on the walls of the room, seeing the various degrees above a host of plants. I looked back at him as not once did his eyes leave me.

"Impressed," he asked.

" I am, very much," I told him as I laid back on the couch.

"C'mere Keenan," he said as he waved to me.

"And do what," I asked.

He kept using his right hand as a signal for me to come closer, and I would, standing up with a woody in my jeans before I stepped over to him.

"Come here, stand right in front of me," he said.

I would, as our eyes remained locked and he would remove his glasses completely.

"Can I ask you one question, " he said.

"Anything," I told him.

"Would you respect a man who wants to suck your cock after he's coached you," he asked me.

"I would. You saying you have someone that wants to suck me," I asked.

I further answered the question by undoing my belt, pulling it out of the loops and unzipping my pants. He'd pull them down for me, then I'd pull down my boxers and he would lean forward and insert me in his mouth to show his gratitude. I was a whore, a whore with a constant lust for bigger dudes as evidenced by the brown skinned Dale. We both couldn't help ourselves as he liked bear cock, and I of course couldn't resist his thick, gray mustache and bald head tied to this professional Dale, who could've been in his mid 60s, was a gentleman and a scholar, with a hint of freak.

"I looked down and saw that bulge. I couldn't resist," he said as I had no hint he was into men.

Dale was a masculine guy with a New York slash Latino accent, very professional, very eloquent in how he spoke. He had this dignified cologne that I never smelled before and his disposition prior to this point was one that I admired as I didn't necessarily see him as a sexual partner.

"Would you fuck me," he asked.

"I definitely would," I told him. "But I ain't paying you for a session if you're sucking this dick."

He laughed and went back to blowing me, taking me all the way to his throat as not once did he gag. He caressed my big balls in his hands while I looked out of the window, staring at the skyline of Virginia Beach.

"One night you catch me here working, and you have full permission to pound me," he said.

He rested his jaws to stroke my dick with his free hand, and continued to play with my balls with the other while I lifted my shirt.

"How about we make a deal," he asked. "You come vent to me once a week, and your payment be you fucking me until I tap out?"

I became more turned on about that proposal, and he stroked my dick harder and faster to get "that liquidty sugar."

I screamed apologetically as I busted a load that would land on his mustache, and other parts of his tie and suit.

"You bitch, you didn't warn me," he said as he tried to slurp up the remainder. "Guess I got my answer."

I was a little embarrassed for him as he'd receive my baby batter on his fine threads, but he assured me it was fine, and threw out possibilities of our next session.

"Friday evening next week is perfect," I told him.

He cleaned himself up, and I fixed my clothes before heading to the bathroom to wipe the sweat off my face. He'd taken off his jacket and tie, and loosened the collar of his shirt as he sprayed a sanitizing mist across the room. I wondered if he'd done this before, and then shook it out of my mind, for I knew I would be balls deep inside of his work center the next time we'd meet. He wouldn't bill me, and I left with a sense of confidence in knowing I no longer cared for opinions on who I liked to fuck. I'd continue, starting with him a week later.