San Francisco Fantasy by Len Bourret (Copyright 2004)
Ah yes: To Shakespeare, With Love. I on the bottom, and Joseph Fiennes on the top. Fucking me on Fisherman's Wharf, at Alcatraz, on the Golden Gate Bridge, and in Sausalito. On a roller coaster, in an elevator, and on an escalator. Anywhere that's wild and new, artistically creative things to do: for this Taming of the Shrew. Meeting my every want and need: plunging his rockhard and sexually- arousing missile into me, filling me with his sperm and seed, at Star Trek's orgasmic full-warp speed. Experiencing a 2004 Space Odyssey, the mazurka, tap, waltz, and hip-hop's pop. Just about ready to reach my climax: Killing me softly when, all at once, there appears a cop, and Joseph Fiennes disappears.
Joseph Fiennes
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The End, or the Beginning? by Len Bourret (Copyright 2004)
I don't remember his name, I don't even remember what he looks like. But about promises of love, if he asks you to ride bareback, a man's dick does not qualify for honesty or truth.
I sat on the bar stool at the Chez Est, looking at myself in the reflection of a mirror and at the bottom of a gin martini glass, praying to Jesus that I hoped I would score.
Find me a man, and surely He did.
But, the end came even sooner than I realized.
The end of a decadent one-nighter, a fuckfest night of promise, which resulted in my heart attack's death, upon being asked to suck a Dirty Old Man's Prince Charming-less dick.
Life is not a neatly-tied package. At my final suck, I found that there were strings dangling, of things undone. But, in spite of my anonymity and poverty, I was able to accomplish most of which I set out in life to do.
I didn't become rich or famous. I didn't meet my Prince Charming, in polished armor, riding on a magnificent white charger, who first popped my cherry and took away my virginity.
It was a Pedophile, in a park, who offered me more than candy. Virginity lost for his candy, and a ride.
Followed by the Cleric, at a church, who offered me more than forgiveness. Guilt and Shame found at my confession, and a ride
The Pedophile's hand upon my leg.
The Cleric's mouth upon my dick.
And, I, in a first-time-to-be- fucked missionary position.
Both spanked and whipped for 'forcing' the Pedophile, and the Cleric, to have sex with me.
Praying for forgiveness, Being punished, for 'sexually arousing' the corrupted hearts and minds, of sinless men.
It was my sins that made them do it.
Amazing Grace saved a 'wretch' like me.
Heavenly indulgences. Gay bars. Gay baths.
Life was like being let loose, and completely free, in a candy store. I was like a gay Forest Gump, who found that "life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."
I was not a Sleeping Beauty, who was awakened by Prince Charming's kiss; and by a man who loved me more than any one, or any thing.
I was the Street-Smart Kid, suntanning on the beach and working out in locker rooms, looking for love in all of the wrong places.
And, I usually found it.
But, sex was not all it was cracked up to be. There was something missing.
What I really wanted was to be the recipient of a 24-hour and 365-day fuck marathon. One in which I would be filled and fulfilled, by a sweet and oh-so- generous Sugar Daddy.
In sharp contrast, my Prince Charming was a dick in very tarnished armor, riding on a Jack Asshole. In an elevator, on an escalator, at a rest area, in a toilet, at a truck stop, in the woods, or some secluded place, on a roller coaster, in a helicopter, in a jet, flying with Prince Charming over Niagara Falls, and in the back seat of Prince Charming's jalopy car, riding him on San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge.
Jesus, what a wonderful flight, and what one hell of a ride!
And, there's always that horny man that rings my doorbell, or the U.S. Parcel man delivering at my door.
And, who knows? To a gay guy, like me, this just might be what dreams are really made of.
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