sexual depravity and crimes against God and Nature.
Just as I thought I was going to die, Dick and Shane, my hero knights, arrived on scene and…woke me up demanding to know why I was whimpering and writhing around like a madman. Yep it was all a dream, but what a vivid one. I watched The Return Of The King yesterday afternoon and then City Of Vice last night and so obviously my sleeping brain improvised a scenario based on what I’d exposed it to.
After watching the latter, which last night centred around the Molly Houses of London in the eighteenth century, I have to say I’m grateful I was born a gay man in this century and not in any other, certainly not then when love between two men was a hanging offence. We have some way to go as far as total acceptance of homosexuality is concerned, but at least we’ve made some strides, though it terrifies me to know how easily and gladly some would return to those cruel and ignorant times. The program upset me so no wonder I dreamed about it.
A certain kink-fuelled gleam crept into Dick’s eyes this morning, as I described the latter half of my dream and the outfit I’d been wearing. It caused stirrings of unease within me, which deepened as he went on to say he’d bet I looked very pretty as a Molly boy. I have such a lovely face and pretty eyes and a pretty mouth, when it isn’t snarling and swearing. It would look sweet with one of those fake beauty spots stuck next to it.
I did some prompt bud nipping, stating that no way was I EVER donning a frock or faux mole in real life, not for Dick, not for anyone. No disrespect whatsoever to the transgender community. I’m simply not a high heel and makeup kind of lad, though I confess to wearing black eyeliner and black nail varnish when going through a Goth phase when I was about fourteen and fifteen.
My credit card statement came in yesterday, which is one reason I indulged in a spot of fantasy film watching, anything to take my mind off what appeared to be a fantasy account balance. I’ve shoved it in a drawer along with some magic beans in the hope it will disappear or the beans will turn into golden eggs that I can flog to pay it off.
Shane’s birthday celebration didn’t go quite according to plan. In fact it looked set to be a complete non-event. I was gutted after all the preparations I’d made, but being a sensible and laid back kind of chap I took it in my stride and let it go with a gentle smile and a cie la vie shrug of my shoulders. (Lie detector says NO and then breaks into sardonic laughter) Oh all right. I may have taken a mild huff over it. I am as I am.
Nothing barring death and resurrection as somebody completely different is ever likely to change me. It turned out fine in the end, more than fine. It was rather grand in its way. I’ve written up a report of proceedings.
Shane’s Birthday Dinner Report
On the day of Shane’s planned birthday dinner everything looked set to go well. I was revved up and raring to go, determined to make his celebration something to remember for the right reasons, unlike last year when I cocked it up by behaving like a prat. Gillibran Brown, boytoy, houseboy extraordinaire, and all round cute guy was going to prove he could be the very epitome of elegant and mature sophistication.
Dick arrived home from his Saturday morning golf session glowing like a het bloke who had just lost his virginity in a harem and all because he had triumphed at filling a succession of holes using club and balls.
Grasping me in a bear hug he lifted me up and kissed me declaring he was ravenous, but not for lunch. My mind was fixed on things other than sex, but being a good and submissive boy I pencilled him into my busy schedule, allocating him a five-minute slot to do what a randy man has to do. I thought setting the kitchen timer might put him off his stroke and allow me to get on with my preps without being interrupted by coitus, but it didn’t. The ticking down of minutes fuelled his
Just as I thought I was going to die, Dick and Shane, my hero knights, arrived on scene and…woke me up demanding to know why I was whimpering and writhing around like a madman. Yep it was all a dream, but what a vivid one. I watched The Return Of The King yesterday afternoon and then City Of Vice last night and so obviously my sleeping brain improvised a scenario based on what I’d exposed it to.
After watching the latter, which last night centred around the Molly Houses of London in the eighteenth century, I have to say I’m grateful I was born a gay man in this century and not in any other, certainly not then when love between two men was a hanging offence. We have some way to go as far as total acceptance of homosexuality is concerned, but at least we’ve made some strides, though it terrifies me to know how easily and gladly some would return to those cruel and ignorant times. The program upset me so no wonder I dreamed about it.
A certain kink-fuelled gleam crept into Dick’s eyes this morning, as I described the latter half of my dream and the outfit I’d been wearing. It caused stirrings of unease within me, which deepened as he went on to say he’d bet I looked very pretty as a Molly boy. I have such a lovely face and pretty eyes and a pretty mouth, when it isn’t snarling and swearing. It would look sweet with one of those fake beauty spots stuck next to it.
I did some prompt bud nipping, stating that no way was I EVER donning a frock or faux mole in real life, not for Dick, not for anyone. No disrespect whatsoever to the transgender community. I’m simply not a high heel and makeup kind of lad, though I confess to wearing black eyeliner and black nail varnish when going through a Goth phase when I was about fourteen and fifteen.
My credit card statement came in yesterday, which is one reason I indulged in a spot of fantasy film watching, anything to take my mind off what appeared to be a fantasy account balance. I’ve shoved it in a drawer along with some magic beans in the hope it will disappear or the beans will turn into golden eggs that I can flog to pay it off.
Shane’s birthday celebration didn’t go quite according to plan. In fact it looked set to be a complete non-event. I was gutted after all the preparations I’d made, but being a sensible and laid back kind of chap I took it in my stride and let it go with a gentle smile and a cie la vie shrug of my shoulders. (Lie detector says NO and then breaks into sardonic laughter) Oh all right. I may have taken a mild huff over it. I am as I am.
Nothing barring death and resurrection as somebody completely different is ever likely to change me. It turned out fine in the end, more than fine. It was rather grand in its way. I’ve written up a report of proceedings.
Shane’s Birthday Dinner Report
On the day of Shane’s planned birthday dinner everything looked set to go well. I was revved up and raring to go, determined to make his celebration something to remember for the right reasons, unlike last year when I cocked it up by behaving like a prat. Gillibran Brown, boytoy, houseboy extraordinaire, and all round cute guy was going to prove he could be the very epitome of elegant and mature sophistication.
Dick arrived home from his Saturday morning golf session glowing like a het bloke who had just lost his virginity in a harem and all because he had triumphed at filling a succession of holes using club and balls.
Grasping me in a bear hug he lifted me up and kissed me declaring he was ravenous, but not for lunch. My mind was fixed on things other than sex, but being a good and submissive boy I pencilled him into my busy schedule, allocating him a five-minute slot to do what a randy man has to do. I thought setting the kitchen timer might put him off his stroke and allow me to get on with my preps without being interrupted by coitus, but it didn’t. The ticking down of minutes fuelled his
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