I hope this is alright to post here.
I'm reading Oliver Sacks book entitled 'on the move, a life'. Sacks is a well known neurologist and speaks of himself quiet fluently in this book and also of some of his addictions and sexual activity with men.
I really like the wording here, where he was sharing with a friend. They had a bromance:
Mornings were pleasant: we enjoyed coffee and breakfast together and then going our separate ways to work - Mel to the carpet factory, I to UCLA. After work, we would go down to Muscle Beach Gym and then to Sid’s Café on the beach, where the muscle crowd hung out. Once a week we would go to a movie, and a couple of times a week Mel would take off on his own for a motorcycle ride.
Evenings could be a strain: I found it difficult to concentrate and was very conscious, almost hyperaware, of Mel’s physical presence, not least his virile animal smell, which I loved. Mel liked being massaged and would lie naked facedown on his bed and ask me to massage his back. I would sit astride him, wearing my training shorts, and pour oil on his back - neat’s-foot oil, which we used to keep our motorbike leathers supple - and slowly massage his shapely, powerful back muscles. He enjoyed this, relaxing and surrendering to my hands, and I enjoyed it too; indeed, it would bring me to the brink of orgasm. The brink was okay - just; one could pretend that nothing special was happening. But on one occasion, I could not contain myself and spurted semen all over his back. I felt him suddenly stiffen and when this happened, and without a word he got up and had a shower.
He would not speak to me for the rest of the evening; it was evident that I had gone too far.
I'm reading Oliver Sacks book entitled 'on the move, a life'. Sacks is a well known neurologist and speaks of himself quiet fluently in this book and also of some of his addictions and sexual activity with men.
I really like the wording here, where he was sharing with a friend. They had a bromance:
Mornings were pleasant: we enjoyed coffee and breakfast together and then going our separate ways to work - Mel to the carpet factory, I to UCLA. After work, we would go down to Muscle Beach Gym and then to Sid’s Café on the beach, where the muscle crowd hung out. Once a week we would go to a movie, and a couple of times a week Mel would take off on his own for a motorcycle ride.
Evenings could be a strain: I found it difficult to concentrate and was very conscious, almost hyperaware, of Mel’s physical presence, not least his virile animal smell, which I loved. Mel liked being massaged and would lie naked facedown on his bed and ask me to massage his back. I would sit astride him, wearing my training shorts, and pour oil on his back - neat’s-foot oil, which we used to keep our motorbike leathers supple - and slowly massage his shapely, powerful back muscles. He enjoyed this, relaxing and surrendering to my hands, and I enjoyed it too; indeed, it would bring me to the brink of orgasm. The brink was okay - just; one could pretend that nothing special was happening. But on one occasion, I could not contain myself and spurted semen all over his back. I felt him suddenly stiffen and when this happened, and without a word he got up and had a shower.
He would not speak to me for the rest of the evening; it was evident that I had gone too far.
