[Originally published in Bent: http://mag.bent.com]
Straight boys are always good in theory. But in practice, they can be so disappointing it'd be better to sleep with a waxwork Anne Widecombe for all the fun it'd give you. I learned this the hard way.
A couple of months back I was out with some friends in a straight club. As it got later and later and later, people peeled off from the group to go home, have sex or collapse in a roypnolled mess in the corner, leaving me and my best mate Amy on our own. We went to Club Mission together and this strange, although rather hot, guy came and sat with us. Since it was a gay night, I assumed he was trying to chat her up though. Inevitably, she went off to screw her drug dealer and I was left with him. When I decided to leave he asked if he could join me, and I said yes.
An hour later, my cum all over his chest, I rolled over and went to bed. It was hardly worth it. He didn't have a clue how to blow a guy and had even less of a clue about how to take it. Contrary to popular belief, a guy shouldn't just lie there and think of England.
Then a week or so ago, Amy went out and pulled a guy. He was a bit of a chav but fit. His friend, however, was even hotter, and soon revealed to Amy that he was gay but not yet out. She brought him back to mine as a 'present' and I proceeded to fuck him. Again, it was a bit of a waste of time. He didn't have a clue and I ended up pleasuring myself to get off.
But it got worse. My friend Paul was at the house too and was meant to be staying over. Once we'd cleaned up the mess and the coast we clear, we invited him in to get into bed. Platonically speaking, I wanted him to be comfortable. That was all. But the closet-case had another idea. Instead he spent all night trying to coax the both of us into a threesome and then, every time I went to the toilet, tried to blow Paul off. Paul had a boyfriend so wasn't interested, and I found the whole thing rather cringe-worthy. True, our closeted friend had probably never met a gay man before—at least, not two as hot as us—but was it really necessary to be so persistent? He slipped his hands down Paul's pants on a number of occasions, and I had to physically stop him molesting the poor boy whilst he was asleep. Luckily, Paul was creating a barrier between the closet-case and myself.
The next day was even worse. He wanted my number. He wanted to see me again. I simply said no. Then Paul was kind enough to give him a lift home, and the closet-case tried luring him in for sex. Paul said no and floored the accelerator, left with memories of the closeteer saying how much he'd love to be his boyfriend.
Since then, we've been verifiably stalked. Oh, it's fun to have a few stalkers every now and again, but this one keeps scaring off the boys approaching my house and it's having a serious impact on my sexlife.
So it seems 'straight' men leave something to be desired. A knowledge of the male anatomy, surprisingly, is one. A sense of restraint and decorum is, perhaps, another.
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