As a young man, I developed a strong attraction for older men. My fantasies, in the main, focused invariably on being seduced and then laid by attractive older guys. In these imaginings, I was eager to follow the lead of the experienced, and always strikingly masculine man that I conjured from thin air. Some of these fantasies were ultimately realized, and I was fortunate that each realization lived up to my imagination, and then some. The younger man being mentored, protected, and ultimately fucked by the older - professor, family friend, uncle, neighbor - was an incredibly powerful theme in my sexual imagery of those years.
As a mature man in his 50's, I have recognized that my youthful fantasies might be shared by some of the young men of today - except now, I am the experienced older man for whom these young bucks might have such fantasies. As good luck and circumstance would have it, a few years ago I found myself in just such a situation.
I have travelled constantly in the course of my work, spending months or years on different projects throughout the United States. For these assignments, I usually lease an apartment in the city where the work is conducted, and fly home once or twice each month for the weekend. I began one of these assignments, in Chicago, in the usual way: I sat across the leasing desk at an apartment complex, arranging for an apartment. The young man that sat across from me appeared to be no more than 19 or 20. He was such a beautiful boy. I expected he was quite popular with the women. As he explained the various documents and went through his normal routine of preparing the lease, I slowly began to extend my opinion of his popularity to include men. Something about him - the way he looked at me, perhaps, or the way he smiled - made me wonder if he might be playing exclusively for the boys' team. Anyway, it was a pleasant exercise to watch him and to look for subtle clues as we went through the process of signing documents and distributing keys and gate passes.
When we were finished, we stood and shook hands. I made sure to wait until he released his grip before releasing mine, and was pleased to note that he held my hand just a little bit longer than one might do on a purely casual basis. Or, perhaps this was the delusional hope of an old man for the attentions of someone 30 years his junior. I have to remind myself occasionally that the world is full of possibilities for the young and beautiful, and that the young and beautiful do not, as a rule, entertain any thoughts whatsoever of the older and less beautiful. Still, as was true for me when I was a young beauty, there are exceptions.