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Big is Better
|I hit the one and only local gay bar in town like a starving man would attack a banquet table- ravenously hungry. I was still under the legal drinking age of 21 in that state, but managed to circumvent that little problem by procuring a well-made false ID from a guy who specialized in such things around campus. He did really good work apparently because it was never questioned, even with my still obviously under-aged-looking face.
I was every bit young, dumb, and full of cum. What I lacked in 'people smarts' and perhaps common sense I more than made up for with enthusiastic horniness, at least initially- not unlike most young guys who are discovering the enticements of a gay bar for their very first time too, I suspect. Being a small town club, the clientele was very demographically limited and mostly all locals. I'd never seen the place even crowded. Of course I didn't know at that time what 'fresh meat' was, but looking back now I was unquestionably the living definition of it. Before long I found myself getting picked up with ever-increasing frequency. I admit that this really thrilled me, at least in the very beginning. But unfortunately, not too long after that I realized that I'd developed some kind of 'reputation' apparently among the small crowd of regulars that had spread by gossip like a wild fire; moreover, my sudden popularity was based completely on these innuendoes.
Of course every guy that I'd find myself going home with was older than I was. I was still underage. They were also much more experienced with sex though, and at least I did begin to pick up a few 'techniques' and other useful things.
But a few things however also became all-too-quickly apparent to me. Although some of these guys were certainly good-looking, almost all of them were on the thin side. Actually they were more on the skinny side or so it seemed to me. As time progressed I became more aware that I just wasn't seeing the kind of guys who really attracted me in that bar. Sadly, it was also becoming more obvious to me that invariably the guys who picked me up had eyes that were bigger than their... orifices. While they all clearly wanted to sample what they'd apparently heard rumored about me, it always turned out to be much more than they could really handle.
So more often than not, the actual sex was sadly unfulfilling for me. Sometimes, it was even pitiful and humiliating. I had guys go down on me in a way that felt more like I was being attacked by some crazed animal. Others seemed almost maniacally determined that they were going to get thoroughly plowed before I would be released from my sexual obligations. Still others would damn near go through a whole bottle of poppers trying to somehow cram me into their eager asses - and boy, try they definitely did. But in spite of their unbridled enthusiasm, they still could not manage to actually get me inside of them. Moreover, as they continued with their futile attempts, I began to see another pattern emerging - their attention and focus was totally on my dick. I began to notice that they often wouldn't look at my face let alone into my eyes. It wasn't me at all they were interested in. Eventually some would give up and just hold me like a club in their hands, looking rather sheepish and certainly disappointed. Others, failing to get me even through their gauntlet of teeth, would end up licking me like some kind of lollypop while they jerked them off. Still others got unexplainably outright indignant and pissed off about it.
I would hear comments like, "Hey, I like big poles, but that's a damn sequoia you've got there."
On another occasion it was, "Just what the hell do you actually expect me to DO with that thing anyway!"
Even worse, I actually heard one time, "God, your daddy must've been an elephant!"
It seemed that one phrase had a way of coming back to haunt me over and over again, as if I had it tattooed on my forehead. And as for the sex, well.. it actually wasn't very enjoyable for me. Frankly, by then end of most sessions I'd find myself raw and sore, and probably hurting a bit more than I should be. I can only imagine that some of those guys must have felt equally as beat up afterwards. So that's the way it typically went for me.
I started the bad habit of drifting off into my own thoughts on more than one occasion as my 'host for the night' continued to work obsessively for what seems like hours in a feeble attempt to somehow get my cock into him. And while the guy inevitably pounded away on me, I realized that as far as he was concerned anyway, I was just a thing to him - granted, perhaps a very big one. I usually laid there like a lump of coal watching him trying to miraculously perform the impossible with an odd reoccurring picture flashing through my mind. It was a picture of my cock and balls sitting in a large jar of formaldehyde somewhere on public display in the Smithsonian Institute, with a prominent label "Son of The Elephant Man's Gonads"..... That wasn't a particularly pleasant mental digression or all-that-effective escape for me either.
I was close to my final straw however the time when the guy just started to laugh hysterically when he got a good look at my woody, and then he said, "You've got to be kidding. - Just... just leave, please..."
That was it. Just like that, I was summarily dismissed.
So within all-to-short a period of time, my experiences with man-to-man sex became a cumulative string of major disappointments that only reminded me again that I was, in fact, very much a freak.
As essentially these same scenarios unfolded night after night - in many ways only the faces changed - I became more convinced that I was destined to be alone forever, and with that revelation came increasingly dejection. I was to be completely wrong on both counts, for I was about to meet a man I thought could not exist- a man named simply Sam.
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