Author's notes:
Warning: This story contains bisexual sex. There is both hetero sex, and bisexual sex between both women and men. If you're not into that, then kindly back out and find another story.
Everyone in this story is over eighteen. I hope you enjoy it. Ratings and comments are always welcome, but please, only if you've read the story.
*****
I had always thought of myself as bisexual deep down inside; although I had never confessed that to anyone. I had lived as a straight man all of my adult life, well, until recently. My exploration with male-male sex began quite innocently as a boy, midway through puberty, with two other neighborhood boys—you show me yours I'll show you mine. That led to a summer of mutual masturbation and, eventually, a little cock sucking. Back then, where I grew up, being gay was still very taboo. So, of course our boyhood experimentation was not only hush hush, it ended quickly when we went back to school, and was never talked about again.
Dating girls, and eventually marrying a woman, was the expected societal course for us mid-western boys, and that script was followed lockstep. But I never forgot, and often masturbated to, those heady boyhood memories out behind the neighbor's barn. Maybe it was that early introduction to sex, maybe it was my father's stack of Playboy and Penthouse magazines I found hidden in the house, or maybe it was just my DNA, but I was always horny, more than most boys it seemed, and for anything and everything sexual—male or female. They say most males think of sex all day, but from what I've gathered, after they've cum, their thoughts turn to other things while they recharge. Me, I couldn't stop. As a teen, I masturbated multiple times a day and had a very short recovery time. In between orgasms, my mind was still in sex la la land. I worried I was some sort of sexual deviant, a pervert, but it felt so good and normal to me, I didn't lose much sleep over it.
I did have one other male experience when I was home from college during my sophomore year. Ken, one of the experimental neighborhood boys of my youth and I were out drinking and attempting to pick up some "chicks" as we called the girls our age. It turned out to be a dry night as far as girls were concerned, but there was sexual fuel left in the tank. Hanging out at his parents' place, near that fateful barn, and drinking some more beer, Ken started talking about what we had done as teens. He mentioned he had thought about it often. I told him I had as well. It wasn't long before we were sucking each other off that night. I was happy that we had rekindled that boyhood experimentation, but Ken freaked out. He said it was a big drunken mistake and made quite a stink about it. Ken's reaction made me feel guilty for enjoying it, so I buried that half of my desires.
I dated and had a few long-term relationships with girls before I met my wife, but I wouldn't have called myself a Casanova, my overactive sex drive not withstanding. I quenched my unabating lust with my own hands when not with one of my girlfriends. I was loyal by default. It's not that I abhorred cheating necessarily; Lord knows I dreamt of others, and threesomes, and group sex. It's just that the opportunity never presented itself in my small world. Looking back now, I'm sure I could have made something happen—the old "if I knew then what I know now" thing. But then, I would have been a different person, not the loyal Taurus I was born to be.
My wife Lisa and I had had a healthy sex life, and I'm eternally grateful for that. I never stopped masturbating on the side though, or indulging in porn. This was something I had done before I met any of my girlfriends, including my wife. I always told myself that this was something I did for me, regardless of any relationship I'd get into. And to tell the truth, my fantasy sex kept me home, and married.
Lisa died suddenly while at work about a year ago. She collapsed while giving a presentation to her team. An aortic aneurysm, the autopsy report said. The mourning was hard, and there's a hole in my heart that will never mend. I had no sexual contact with another person during that mourning period; masturbation was my only relief.
As my year of mourning waned, I began to mentally explore how to resume a sex life with another woman. One of the things I've always kicked myself for was not being sexually honest with my wife, or others for that matter. I'm bisexual, I like porn, I masturbate often, and I'd like to be in open sexual relationships with other people. I'd like to explore threesomes and group sex. But, that's not the person I had always presented to the world.
At 50 years old, I was suddenly single and without children. My dilemma: should the real me, the highly sexed, bisexual me, come out? If he did, how would others in my life react to that? I had a large extended family and many platonic friends, and my reputation was important to me. Dare I wreak havoc on my good name for the sake of my lust? Or should I continue to quell my monster quietly with fantasy as I'd always done; while enjoying a conventional man woman relationship? I had been doing the latter for so long it was all I had known for years.
The more I thought about it, the muddier the waters got. Did I want a replacement for my dearly departed wife? Or something else? The gay side of my bisexual brain kept sending messages through that I had not been with another guy for the best part of thirty years, and maybe it was time to give that a try again. But the straight and controlling part of my brain was resisting any such notion. While I had enjoyed watching bisexual, and even gay porn from time to time, the thought of actually initiating some liaison with another male was unnerving. It was one thing for us boys to experiment with each other, but it was quite another thing for me, as an adult, to actually seek out another male for sex—especially when I'd been living a straight life all those years.
I had recently joined a few dating sites and perused the catalog of women. Their pictures, their little write-ups, their likes and dislikes, all left me hollow. On Mid-life Singles, I almost sent Amy a message, and then there was Beverly; each had their charms, but in the end, I couldn't see either of them as bisexual swingers, and the thought of that conversation and the likely look of horror on their faces, persuaded me not to hit "Send" on the messages I'd carefully drafted. I checked out the "hook-up" sites, the home of the one-night stand, and a quick fuck sites, and the thought of that left me equally hollow. I wanted a relationship with people I had sex with. Not just meet, fuck, and never see each other again. If I was in my twenties, maybe I'd enjoy the Tinders and their like, but at my age I needed to connect with someone if we were going to get intimate. My dream was a posse of like-minded souls—perverts like me. A group to meet up and enjoy each other's bodies, and then to laugh, converse, and rejoice; and then do it all over again the next day, the next week, and on and on.
I guess, deep down, I wasn't ready, and I could quell my lust through masturbation, so I didn't need to hurry.
It was while searching for some porn on the internet that I stumbled onto a male masturbation web site. My curiosity got the better of me and I started poking around that site. It had some blogs, a forum, members could post photos, some of them hooked up via web cam, or phone apps, and some hooked up in real life just to masturbate together. From what I gathered while researching the site, even those in real life meet-ups stuck to just masturbating together; there was no oral or anal sex allowed. The membership was a mix of straight, bi and gay guys. It sounded like a safe way for me to explore a little with other males, and share with them something I enjoyed doing several times a day anyway.
So I registered under the screen name of Bonobo. I searched for members in my area and sent a few friend requests just to see where this would go. My first attempts at finding a bate buddy, or an IRL meet-up group, didn't immediately bear fruit; most such groups were in bigger cities. And while I lived in a socially progressive area, it was rural, and it was a couple of hours drive or train ride to the big city.
After a few weeks of poking around on KingofJacks I got a PM from a user calling himself Scarface.
"I see you're in the area. I run a bate meet-up group, but it's invite only. You'll need a photo of yourself in your profile to be considered."
That was it. Short and to the point. I had seen that many of the other members included their photo in their profiles, but a good percentage did not. When I joined, I skipped that option. I didn't want anyone who knew me to find me on a masturbation web site. Maybe the lack of my personal photo explained why the friend requests I had made to the few others in my area went unanswered.
