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 . . .