Looking Back: Final Installment

Right now, it is hard to say if looking back has helped me along my journey, but it is time I wrap things up. If nothing else, perhaps it has helped you, my friends, my blogging family to better understand this man called Stephen. . .



If given the opportunity, to relive one day over again, to be able to change the events of that day only, would you? If you have lived life to any degree the answer in all honesty, would be "yes " and you're probably thinking mine would be the wedding day, the day I walked down the aisle, the day I said, "I do." And in truth, if I had been given this chance years ago I probably would have taken it, but I have lived life, too much water has flowed under the bridge, the man I have become would not allow me to selfishly pick that day. If ever given that chance, the chance to change the events of another day, I would have to reserve it for one much more important. I made my decision, I have lived it for better or for worse.

If you've been walking this journey with me, you're probably wondering what ever became of the married man. He is still around, and his story is way too long to go into here. I wasn't his first, and by no means, I wasn't his last but that is where his story continues. However, he was my last, the last man this teenager fucked, before becoming a married man, himself. We could have continued, he wanted it to continue, secretly I wanted it to continue, but I had spoken some words, words this now married man had to live by, or at least try to. Years came and went and I lived by those words spoken that day, but under all the debri, the secret I buried on that day, still had breath, chained and shackled, it still lived, even though I denied its existence. One day, probably ten years later, somewhere is my late twenties, during a struggle time in the marriage, I found myself, working, living out of town, separated, alone, on the verge of leaving my family when it happened. He was from out of town, worked for the same firm, staying in the same motel, married, had a family. After drinks, some talk, one thing led to another, those buried feelings came back, if only for a few hours that night. Knowing nothing would come of it, knowing nothing could come of it, I guess I let it happen, it was what it was, two men fulfilling the needs of the other. I held this man in my arms, not without feeling guilt. I felt guilt for allowing it to happen but more so for wanting it, so desperately wanting it to happen. To feel his lips against mine, his hands against my body, mine against his, from wanting to look into his eyes as he gave of himself, I would endure the guilt. I don't condone what I did especially since a few weeks later, all the problems within the marriage had been resolved. I was back home, a married man, dealing with what I had done. It wasn't easy returning, once again, there were those "Damned Expectations."

The water continued to flow under that bridge, I continued to meet the expectations, both of others and of myself. I know now, many of those expectations were of my own making, worrying more about the perceptions of others, how they perceived this boy, this man I had become. Don't get me wrong, I am no martyr, I'm no "Joan of Arc" I am not without sin or discretion. There has been many discretion's of the mind and of the heart, but in the physical sense of the word, only two, the one I spoke of earlier with the co-worker and one six years ago. It is far too long of a story, too complicated of a story for me to share here in the "Final Installment." the post has become too long as it is. It was a discretion, again perhaps it is something I should not be proud of, but I will not be ashamed of it, my heart will not allow it.

Damned to Hell those expectations.

I don't know where my journey will end, I don't know what lies ahead, I can only take it one step at a time. . .

Thank you for taking this journey with me,

Hugs and Kisses,

Stephen

Looking Back: Part Nine

Everyone was happy but me and I didn't know why. Truthfully I probably knew, but it had been pushed so far down, down inside, buried under all the other debris, that it didn't have a chance in hell of finding its way to the surface before it was too late. No one was rushing me, but at the same time, I felt like I was being rushed, so therefore I rushed myself. I know now, I was only doing what everyone expected of me, it was expected, it may have not been voiced out loud, it was not anything audible for the human ear to hear, but it was something understood, it was expected, it was a different time. Everything was in fast motion, whirling by at lightening speed and I was just hanging on. One day I was walking across the football field of the stadium, listening to the cheers of family as I graduated.
A few weeks later I was walking down another aisle. Don't ask me how it happened, it just happened. The day I proposed, started out like any other day, and to this day, I don't know what caused me to utter those words on that particular day. Honestly, those thoughts were no where in my mind at the start of that day, no engagement ring, nothing, but somehow before the end, before the day was over, before my mind cleared of the fog, words had escaped my lips, words had been spoken, tears of happiness, tears of joy streamed down the face of a high school sweetheart, words of acceptance had been spoken. The words I uttered were as binding as a handshake, given in good faith, and a man never breaks his word. Both of us, too young, neither of us, knowing what life was about, doing what was expected. We were married.

Looking Back: Part Eight

I don't know how all the balls stayed in the air but I managed to juggle them all. The parents was happy, their perfect son was turning into a fine young man, perfect grades, graduation right around the corner, attended church every Sunday, dated a girl from a good Christian family, never any trouble. The teachers at school was happy, excellent student, always polite, well-mannered what a pleasure to teach such a fine young man. The "fire and brimstone" man behind the pulpit was happy, "It warms my heart, over the years I've watched you grow into such a fine young man, bless you my son." The girlfriend was happy, only slight pressure to put out, some heavy petting, nothing she couldn't handle, who could ask for a more perfect boyfriend. Even the married man was happy, his secret was safe, he had the perfect lover, a teenage boy that couldn't enough of his tight ass. Everyone was happy, everyone that is, except me.

I stopped here, no more words came, my fingers fell from the keyboard. My mind blank, my mind full of thoughts. Looking back, perhaps this is where "my" path forked. As a young man, I didn't realize that the sands of my hourglass had only started. I didn't realize I had all the time in the world, no one was rushing me into anything. Why was I rushing myself?

Happy Thanksgiving

Heavenly Father, I pray that you will bless and watch over my Internet family today, may their day be blessed with good times, good food, and most of all blessed to be able to share it with someone they love. If they find themselves on the road traveling watch over them, protect them from all harm, let them find their loved ones waiting with open arms. If they are alone, let them know by your presence, dear Lord, that I care, that I'm thinking of them, that I love and cherish them. My Father, I give thanks for them entering my life, for making my life a better place. I am blessed to have them walking this path, this journey with me. I am blessed to be able to call them my family. Dear Father, wrap your arms of love around each one of them today, keep them safe, I pray. Amen.

Looking Back: Part Seven

He was waiting, already knowing I would be looking for him, even before I knew it myself. I realize looking back, I was a victim, a willing victim perhaps, but none the less a victim of this married man. I probably wasn't his first, I know I wasn't his last but that is another story, for another day. From the night he knocked on my door, from the time I tasted his forbidden fruit, he knew I was his, he knew my teenage hunger would overcome the teachings of my father. Looking back at it from where I'm at now, looking back at it from who I am now, I know it should have never happened. But it happened, this teenage boy and this married man became secret lovers. He fulfilled a need in me that had only begun to awaken, I fulfilled in him a need he could not find at home. In the year, before my leaving, my whole life became a secret. I lived two lives, on the surface I was the typical teenage boy, below the surface, what did I care if my date put out or not, I'd drop her at home and afterwards pitch a perfect inning with my secret lover. What had I become? Who was using who? Still sitting on the pew Sunday after Sunday, with my now "secret lover" sitting across the aisle, I had long learned how to shut out the words of that fire and brimstone man in the pulpit, I refused to allow the words to enter my ears much less my mind. I had become a vessel of sin, I didn't even know if I remembered how to pray. Somewhere along the way, I had lost me.

Looking Back: Part Six

As a teenager struggling to find himself in all this right or wrong maze, the war against good and evil raged. I struggled with all the guilt, I kept it bottled up inside of me, it became a ticking time bomb and I suppose the married man was keeping his distance just in fear it might explode. I knew what others expected of me, I knew what I had been taught from the earliest age of recognition, I knew from sitting on that pew Sunday after Sunday what came from the "Good Book" but if it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? Why did I like it so? Surely, by liking it so much, I was dooming my soul to Hell, but like Adam in the "Garden of Eden," I had already tasted the forbidden fruit and it tasted good. I was a teenager with hormones, I was hungry and wanted another taste, the devil inside had won. Looking in the mirror one last time to make sure, looking past the face staring back at me, I was looking deeper, I was looking inside my soul. The Scarlet Letter had faded, the shame, the guilt gone, all that remained was the taste of his lips on mine, I was hungry for more. I was releasing the animal inside me, it was on the prowl, it's prey . . . a married man!

Looking Back: Part Five

For days nothing else entered my mind, there was no room for nothing else, I was replaying everything about that night. My mind was on constant rewind, searching every frame, looking for answers, but finding none. I secluded myself away from everyone, in the family, in fear they would know by just looking into my face what "I" had done. Looking in the mirror I was afraid, I would see on my forehead the letter "A" branded for all the world to see. In my mind it was of little consequence nothing visibly could be seen, inside, I was wearing my "Scarlet Letter," I had sex with a married man. A man that knew my family, he went to my church, sat across the aisle from us Sunday after Sunday with his family. The very hands that caressed my face, the hands that held my teenage cock, the hands that touched every part of my body were the same hands, that shook my Father's hands after Sunday service. I could not escape it, I would be doomed to Hell for what I had done. Up until this night I had led myself to believe my virginity had been lost to the boy that lived down the road, I soon found out I was still a naive teenager.


Nothing I had ever done before compared to what happened that night. Sure, the boy that lived down the road and I had played around but we were about the same age, both teenagers, both inexperienced. This man was not inexperienced, I learned what sex with two men was like that night. For the first time ever, I knew what it felt like to actually lie in another man's arms and have a man take me to places I had only imagined. Without being to graphic, I learned that night what it meant to give of my body to another. I thought, I knew everything but I soon learned, I knew nothing. That night he was the teacher, I was the pupil, and I was being home schooled.



He also gave of himself, it was his giving that I really liked. The first time he gave of himself, I learned how to be gentle, I learned of foreplay, the second time I discovered by looking into his face, as I, well, I learned there was no more need in foreplay. I knew looking into his face, his eyes, he was giving himself to me, but at the same time he was taking, the last remaining bit of innocence I had left. I started the night as a boy, I ended the night as a man.


Like I told you before, after this night I struggled for days with what happened, struggled with the guilt of letting it happen, struggled with the guilt of wanting it to happen again. I may have become a man that night but I was still one of those teenagers with on one to talk to, not even the man whose kiss still lingered on my lips. There was a war raging inside with how other's felt and with what I was feeling, it was a battle of good vs. evil, and I was discovering perhaps I was more of a devil than an angel. After all, I was a teenager, and I really liked looking into his face, as I, well . . .

Looking Back: Part Four

It was a Saturday night, it was late, I had been out with a few friends and had been home about a hour when I heard a faint knock on my bedroom door. Everyone at home was already fast asleep so I couldn't imagine who would be knocking on the door and besides it was the door that entered my bedroom from the back porch. When I opened the door, there he stood, his eyes looking into my eyes. For the life of me, I can't remember what I thought at the time, but I do recall him saying he had seen me in town that night riding around. I don't remember asking him if anything was wrong, I don't remember asking him to come in, but in he came. If fact, I don't remember hardly any words being said. It is hard to explain, somehow I knew what he was here for, I knew what he was doing, I wanted it to happen, I didn't want it to happen. What was I doing? What would happen if someone woke up? Honestly, those questions never entered my mind, I wasn't thinking. I never once thought of what the consequences would have been if we had been caught. I was a puppet, he was the puppeteer, I was there, but I had no control over what was happening. I was cold, I was numb, in my mind I knew everything happening but at the same time I knew nothing. What happened, happened, I could have stopped it, I didn't. The last thing I remember is him asking me if everything was alright, he took me into his arms, he kissed me, and left as quietly as he came. Remembering back, I think that was the first Sunday the family went to church missing one of its members. For days my mind was a whirl, searching, looking for answers but I could find none, there was only questions and more questions. How did he know my secret, if he knew, did others know? What happened? You crazy fool, you know what happened. The question is, Why did you let it happen? God, I had sex with a man twice my age, a man that went to church with my family, for Christ sakes he was married, he has a wife, and two children. God, I had sex with a man twice my age, a man that went to church with my family, for Christ sakes he was married, he has a wife, and two children. Over and over, I could think of nothing else. What had I done? What was going to happen now? What was wrong with me?

Looking Back: Part Three

During that summer I had two constant companions, one was the ever present fear of someone finding out my secret and the other was the boy that lived down the road. Although it wasn't 1942, I guess you could say, it was my "Summer of '42" the things I learned from that boy! We were friends, we shared a secret, but we grew older and things changed. He went away to school, married, and started a family. Over the years, our friendship remained, occasionally seeing one another when he came back home, but never repeating or talking about our Summer of 42, it was our secret, it remained our secret, until his death.

At home I was the model teenager, at school I was the model teenager, but I was a teenager with a secret, one that I kept to myself. I wish I could say there were many more boys after him, but I can't. Things happened along the way of growing up but never again with another man until my sixteenth year. Being sixteen, being older, came with more freedom, no curfew on the weekends applied other than for Sunday mornings.

No matter how late you stayed out on Saturday night, come Sunday morning everyone had to be ready for Sunday church as a family unit. This was a rule, a ritual that was not to be broken, could not be broken, would not be broken, DO YOU UNDERSTAND! Every Sunday morning come rain or shine we marched into church as a family sitting on the same pew year after year. Sitting across the aisle Sunday after Sunday was this man that always caught my eye. It wasn't like he was some stranger or something, I had known him my entire life and actually looked forward to going to church just to see him. Sometimes during the service my eyes would drift away from the man spewing out words of fire and brimstone and wander over to this man sitting across the church, sometimes his eyes caught my eyes, something that always made me wonder about. Until.

Looking Back: Part Two

Part Two

.Maybe I was that child, you know, the one not quite right. Honesty, I thought perhaps there was something wrong with me. Here I was having all these feelings toward other boys and now here I was having sex with the boy down the road. Yes, he was older, yes he initiated it, but I liked it, I wanted it to happen. I was not innocent, but I knew if my secret was discovered, I wouldn't have to worry about being locked in a hidden room somewhere upstairs, my fate would have been much worse. My memory would have been like the dust of the dirt blowing in the wind across the plowed fields. My name forbidden to flow across the tongues of loved ones. Many days and nights were filled with thoughts of shame, thoughts of fear. What was wrong with me? Why was I having these feelings? Why was it supposed to be wrong when it felt so right to be feel his touch against my skin? At the time, at that age, I had no answers.

Forewarned

Last chance, turn back before you get sucked into this post. If you continue, don't say you were not forewarned, don't say you were not given ample opportunity to leave. Proceed at your own risk!

Part One

Sometimes you have to look back in order to look forward. Sometimes you must remember how it all began, before you have any idea of how it should end. If you are a reader of mine, you know I share more of myself in what lies hidden between the lines rather than openly displaying it for the world to see. So if you dare to take this journey with me, let it begin.

It was the summer of my thirteenth year, actually, a few months shy of my fourteenth birthday when it happened. I knew long before then but it wasn't confirmed until that summer. Maybe some explaining is in order. What follows is from an earlier post of mine: I guess it comes from some of the earlier images and the realization I discovered from growing up in the tobacco fields of the South. In the early mornings, the leaves of the tobacco would be wet and sticky and all the boys would remain shirted, keeping on their shirts of long sleeves to keep the dirt and grim off, but later in the day, when the hot Southern sun came out, often times the shirts would come off. I guess, it was during this time I realized things were a little different. For some reason, I could not help myself from looking, there was something about seeing hot, muscled, half naked. country boys with sweat glistening off their bodies and it was "this" something that was causing "this" tingle I felt inside. Especially, the one boy that lived down the road, he was tall, lean, and had a light dusting of hair on his chest, but leading down from his navel it was thick and full, downward it grew, hidden from my view by his tight worn jeans.

Let's face it, let's be totally honest. Have you ever heard? If I knew then, what I know now, things would be different. Hell, I can't even say that. Maybe not so much in the beginning but before that summer was over, believe me, I knew. I lost my virginity, I had sex with the sixteen year old boy that lived down the road from me, and yes, I loved it. I loved having his warm wet mouth sliding down my shaft as much as I loved my warm wet mouth filled with his hardness. I still remember his hands. I loved his hands. Perhaps that is why, still to the day, I love a man's hands. Wait a minute, I'm getting carried away remembering when I should be asking myself this question. So if I knew it then, how is it I'm where I'm at today? Sitting in front of the computer screen, fingers resting on the keys, I'm thinking and for the life of me, I do not have an answer. I only know he was the first, he was my first love, to the extend of what an almost fourteen year old could possibly know about love. I do know it was a different place, a different time, certain things were not discussed, even at an early age it was something that remained secret, hidden away like a child not quite right in the head. Not talking about them (things) didn't make them go away, it just made one ashamed to have them. Perhaps I was the child not quite right, the child that should have been hidden away in the attic. To be continued. . .

Direction

Even with all the signs, we sometimes have trouble finding our way.