FabGuys.com forum: The Timeless Testament

By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby woke and muttered to himself, "Half past one?"

He lifted the covers, rose from his bed and walked gingerly across the pitch black room in the direction of the clock, whose luminous dial guided his way.

"Damn!" he muttered again.

It was half past midnight. He had slept for just two hours.

He opened his bedroom door, and turned left into the bathroom, where the automatic night light came on and cast an orange glow across the floor. He stood at the toilet bowl and looked down as he urinated.

Oscar's penis came into his mind. He had seen a photograph of it earlier that evening. The sight of it had felt like a violation. He was yet to meet the man in person but he had already seen his genitals, proudly and mockingly displayed, posted as an update on the gay website they both used to flirt and communicate with one another. Toby guessed it was a tactical move on Oscar's behalf, a taunt, a strategy in a game for dominance. Or was it just an un conscious cry for help? Perhaps they are the same thing. At that instant, Toby realised that they were the same thing. He had been guilty of playing the same tricks himself.

He returned to his bed and sat up, wide awake, switching on the side lights which provided more orange glow, one light behind him and another across in the corner of the room. Next door, his husband slept soundly. He had heard his snoring as he re-entered his own little bedroom.

Toby was 70 years old, but a good-looking, well-preserved 70. Most people complimented him on his youthful appearance when they found out his true age. The women with whom he worked joked about how sexy he was, their sexy silver fox. Toby was always inclined to remind them that what mattered to him was only that other men thought the same as them.

Fortunately, for Toby, enough men did.

Now Oscar, apparently, was among their ranks. Oscar with the impressive, erect, circumcised penis, a penis not unlike his own. But Toby rarely shared the photograph of his own penis. He shared a photo of someone else's penis, an anonymous penis, a simulacrum of his own. It didn't matter really. When he met men who had seen the fake photo, - as a lure, as a gambit - they were never disappointed to be getting their hands on the real thing.

Toby felt sorry for Oscar. Oscar was twenty-five years younger. He was in the prime of his life. So too was Toby. There are different levels of primacy. Toby feeling sorry for Oscar was dangerous for Toby. It made him feel protective. This then made him feel restless. And from there it was a short step to acting impulsively. As he sat there in bed, leaning back into his pillow propped up against the headboard, he was determined not to make a mess of things again. But it was too late. The mess had already begun. He had fallen in love.

Recognising the fact, he sighed and felt suddenly tired. he wished Oscar were there with him, smuggled into the house, the two of them snuggled together on his small bed. He wanted to hold Oscar in his arms as Oscar lay facing away from him. He wanted to feel the warmth of his body next to him. He wanted to smell and feel Oscar's hair against his face, to kiss his neck, to draw him tight into him. Whether or not there were proud erections too was irrelevant. It was love not lust that pulled at him. He could forsake lust forever, he thought. A familiar mistake.

They had talked earlier, over an unreliable and sketchy internet, seeing and speaking to one another for the first time after weeks of online chats. In their own fictional world, which they had both colluded in, they were already in love. A story had been written about it and even published. Toby was the author. His authorship was his moment to shine. He was in his fictional prime. He had waited seventy years to find out.

Oscar was artistic, abstract pictures reflecting his abstract mind. He knew what he wanted and yet didn't know why he wanted it. It made the desire for it all the greater. Whereas Toby had always known both what and why he wanted what he wanted. Toby's trouble was that he had never been able to articulate this completely to any other human being. In his own way, all his attempts to do so were just as abstract as Oscar's paintings. So they made a good match.

"I am pan-sexual," Oscar had said earlier.

Toby had had an image, unexpressed and unshared at the time, of Oscar's cock penetrating a range of stainless steel cookware. Kuhn Rikon, most probably. It was what Toby cooked with. That evening he had cooked a mild chickpea curry with basmati rice. The faint taste of it was still in his throat as he sat there in bed.

It was now half past one. It was time to try to get back to sleep. Toby knew that he would be dreaming of Oscar. He knew a lot now, having met the man, albeit at a safe and discreet distance. In his dreams he would do no more than have Oscar by his side, holding on to him, as much for his own protection as for Oscar's.

He felt a wave of loneliness flood over him. It was a divine message from God. It was telling him what to do next. It was saying, "Beloved son, this is why I created you."

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

The next time Toby woke it was nearly four o'clock. He had been lying, spread-eagled, face down on the bed, his feet tied together, his hands outstretched and restrained by ropes. In his own mind it was like a crucifix. Oscar was lying on top of him, seeking an entrance for his proud, erect penis and unable to find one. There was no trace of tenderness. Oscar was a ravenous figure, deadly. Oscar's whole aim was to shoot and leave.

Outside, the noise of a storm was audible through the walls of the house. At first, Toby thought his husband was stirring and expected to see the light from the bathroom come on, but it was just the sound of the wind. Toby once again sat up in bed and pulled the covers under his chin. He had left his dressing gown next door.

Earlier that evening, at the end of his online meeting with Oscar, Toby had explained that he needed to get home. He said he was at work, which was a lie. The crucifixion was obviously Oscar's revenge for being lied to. Toby was a volunteer for a national counselling charity. He was using a room in his local branch as a private space to talk to Oscar. Toby had used this cover a lot for his exploits with men. Usually he was in a busy sauna, or in a strange bed, sometimes a very smelly bed, with a man. His husband assumed he was doing his volunteer counselling. He was not. He wondered about the test results, which would come through later that week. Although he had no symptoms of any kind, he had been active with dozens of men since the summer.

It was now October and the darker nights oppressed him. In the bright sunshine, playing with men in sunny outdoor locations, the sex felt natural and healthy. At the sauna too, it still felt refreshing and wholesome, for he usually visited in the morning through until the late afternoon. But now, as he travelled back in the dark from someone's house or even from the sauna, his sexual activity began to feel furtive and wrong. It was causing difficulties.

Tonight did not feel exactly like that. His meeting with Oscar had been a sex-free zone. Or was it is sexless? Was there a difference? They had barely flirted, but yet there was a serious sexual intent behind their conversation. They both had the same problem to solve. Tonight, as he drove home, he really did feel he had been doing something different. It had not been a pleasure-seeking occasion. It had instead been more about looking honestly at the depth of his own pain. This is why his lie to Oscar deserved punishment, even the pain of a crucifixion.

Strangely, scarily, and spookily - Toby heard Dame Edna Everage's voice here - he had met and had sex with two other members of his own counselling charity within the last week. He knew that things were coming to a head, that what he had been treating as a series of frivolous encounters was now revealing its darker, truer nature. He had one more date planned, with someone whom he strongly fancied, but again it was going to be a night-time rendezvous.

Toby had been on stage once with Dame Edna Everage. He had made her laugh. He had been able to look up close at the face of the performer, glimpsing the man beneath the mask. At the end of the show, as he bent in to kiss her, he whispered, "God bless you," to Barry Humphries, to the man inside. It was his last show in Britain, at Manchester. Toby felt the start of a rebirth from that moment.

Toby decided he would never tell Oscar any of this. It was impossible. It was part of that problem of being unable to articulate the truth. When he told the story it became a name-dropping exercise, like the time he had met Eddie Redmayne in Waitrose. The significance was not about the name, the fame, but the effect of meeting it, which is entirely different. Toby had fallen in love with the handsome actor on the spot. It was really about that, about the impossible and confusing nature of love, not about fame. Toby had wanted to say what he had been able to say to the person behind Dame Edna. Eddie Redmayne represented all the handsome men in the world. Toby was meeting that and wanting to address it. That meeting too was a form of rebirth, a sense of awakening.

Once again, he had been awake for an hour and it was time to lie down. He wanted to imagine a replay of the crucifixion, of Oscar untying his legs and arms, of tenderly caressing his buttocks, of finding a safe and inviting entry into him, of hearing the sound of Oscar's breath in his ear, of feeling his hairy chest against his own smooth back.

Both men were happily married. Both had been with their partners for over twenty years. Oscar had two children, two sons. Toby had and his husband also had two sons, two god sons. This was not about escape from the goodness of that. This was about escape from something else, from something hidden deep inside both of them. Maybe it was shame. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it had no name. They were going to find out.

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By *ralBiguy63Man
6 weeks ago

manchester

Wow this is so well written, I can’t wait for more, please continue

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By *lasgow verse 60s guyMan
6 weeks ago

Glasgow

Beautiful, as ever

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Questions are the product of noise, are they not? The noise may be the actual noise of war, or it may be the noise of our own confusions about war. The noise may be the actual noise of people talking, or it may be our own fears about what they may say about or to us. So the noise that produces the questions can never answer any question about itself without generating even more noise. This much is obvious. One question leads to another and then to another and then to another. It is only when the questions have ceased altogether that there is any actual answer, which is the cessation of something old and limited; it is not about the generation or the creation of something new. So is there any meaning to life? The life of what? What is it that is actually living, that is actually growing freely and wholly? Humanity is a dying organism, like every other piece of matter in the universe. So dying and living are tied intimately together.

Now what is intimacy? Essentially it means 'inmost', which is what is at the core of us as human beings and the perception of the nature of that core. And, essentially, inmost, we are nothing. That is the actual fact. That is the thing we seek to escape from through our sex, our job, our hobbies and all our relationships with the world. Therefore it is vitally important to understand the nature of the escape, not the thing from which we are escaping. Because there is no 'thing' at all. The fact that we are nothing is not like any other fact.

This is why people would rather cling all their lives to a pathetic label about themselves - depression, anxiety, despair, whatever it is - than face the fact that they are nothing. The label at least gives them something to do and to say. But real action and real communication between two human beings is only possible when there is a total silence and an ending of all labels about oneself and another. Only then can the sacred come into being. Only then can love bloom. Only then is there true intimacy, for one is not just close to the heart of that other person; one is close to the heart of everything, to the soul of the universe itself. We are fortunate - are we not? - if we have had glimpses of this. It doesn't need to doubted or proved. One is beyond all that.

Doubt and proof belong to the world of thought, to the realm of rational thinking. The trouble with proof is that it never ends; one always wants more. And doubt, too, is part of the same limited field. Insight is not the same as proof. Insight comes and goes in a flash. But one flash of light is enough to reveal the patterns of existence and our role within that pattern. Once we see the map of ourselves in bright light, that map is no longer valid. Then only is something like creation possible, which is the ending of the known, the limited and the temporary.

Toby and Oscar didn’t know any of this. Only God knew this. And God was keeping his head down. Toby and Oscar knew only the immense pain of their own loneliness; their longing for one another was proof of this. When they got carried away in sex with another man, for a few moments they were their true selves, for they did not exist, their nothingness was paramount, and they were mingled with the primeval energy of the universe.

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Oscar came from an evangelical background. He had consumed and had been consumed by the Bible. Toby had no bible; he detested all forms of scripture. However, he found the directness and harshness of some of Christ's comments to his own disciples very refreshing. Jesus was hardest on those nearest to him. The veracity of those statements shone through.

Oscar had mentioned his evolving relationship with the Bible, especially the New Testament.

"A lot of it was written by a man named Paul," he explained. "Paul never knew Jesus himself."

Toby bristled at this. There were two reasons he bristled. The one must remain hidden; the other reason is that Paul was his own real name. He used the name Toby only to meet men. At some point he would have to tell this to Oscar, if their relationship developed. Oscar, on the other hand, unbeknownst to Toby, was also hiding his own real name, because he hated it.

On waking, Toby had seen into the relationship with his husband. They were friends; they cared for one another; they protected one another in times of great crisis. But they had never been so intimate with one another that they had disappeared. For Toby, this had been the case with all his long-term partners. There was always a barrier. Over time, Toby had destroyed every single psychological barrier within himself as regards his relationship with men, with mankind. He now had no limits. He wanted to meet a man with the same kind of mind. For the purpose of this story he shall remain as Toby; Oscar's true name is unimportant.

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Later that day, travelling to do some shopping with his husband, Toby remembered that there had been occasions when the two of them had disappeared, swept away by a force greater than themselves. It was through laughter it had happened, not sex. Laughter was a keystone of their marriage. Toby felt a wave of affection for his husband flood over him and along with it a sense of relief. He was not meeting other men because he no longer loved his husband. That love was unassailable. He was meeting other men in order to be able to meet his own husband fully, openly, honestly. It was simply that he had been going the wrong way about it.

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"Wow this is so well written, I can’t wait for more, please continue "

Thank you!

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By *iverman98Man
6 weeks ago

EXETER

Beautiful you have shades of Partick Gale and Alan Holiinghurst rolled into one, amazing narrative telling so much but giving away just a little bit. Love it x

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Now that this was clear, or at least clearer than it had been over the last week, Toby took a look at his social calendar. He had one definite date with a man on Sunday and one possible date on Wednesday. Even as he was looking at his calendar, other offers of sex were coming in. Men he had contacted a week or two ago were now keen to meet him, as well as a couple of local guys he had already visited at home. He had updated his profile, made it more honest, and the effect seemed to inspire rather than dampen the spirits of those men who read it.

Toby knew that he and Oscar would probably never meet in person. But it didn’t matter that they would never meet in that way. What mattered was to continue what they had started yesterday, to go on a journey together into God knows what. Toby was all for it. He had been on such journeys before. They opened doors. They brought surprises. They gave space to see things that previously one had been blind to. They also had the capacity to bring pain, because human contact is like that, unpredictable.

Oscar was spending the day with one of his sons. Toby sent regular messages to his god sons. With one of them, Steve, it was a daily contact; with the other, Bela, it happened whenever one of them needed it. Bela lived in Hungary with his new girlfriend; Steve lived in Norfolk with his new wife. Oscar’s sons were in their twenties; Toby’s god sons were in their thirties. They have very little to do with this story, but they are there at the heart of it too, along with Toby’s husband and Oscar’s wife.

A man who lived about half-a-mile away had left a message for Toby. The man was desperate to suck Toby’s cock. If the man’s wife went out later, could Toby come round? Toby said yes, hoping that the wife stayed at home. It was not that he didn’t want sex with the man. He found the man irresistible, in fact, which was why he had said yes so quickly. But he wanted time to assess his new position, to feel his way around his feelings for Oscar and his feelings for his own husband. He didn’t want complications on a day like this.

The last time he had met this man, whose name he didn’t really know, Toby had been inspired to write a poem about it. He remembered this fact and, for no reason at all, copied it out to send to Oscar. It was perhaps his version of the provocative photo that Oscar had posted earlier. Perhaps this was Toby’s revenge:

TWO MARRIED MEN

There is nothing quite like

Saturday afternoon lust

That sudden urge

For satisfaction

From any quarter

At any cost

A short message

With a tasty photo

Was enough to get me moving

And in fifteen minutes

I was on his doorstep

Heart beating

Firm, muscular, well-preserved

A handsome face

Enhanced by a beard

Twin piercings on his chest

And tattoos everywhere

I melted into him at once

And he enjoyed my body

Just as much

We emptied one another

Very quickly

Then I went home, unmissed

As he awaited his wife's return

The best of it being

For two married men

That we kissed, and kissed, and kissed

Toby wondered what Oscar would make of it. Toby was desperate to hear something, anything from Oscar. He was starting to get to that state where he might even send something so provocative and shocking that it would cause Oscar to reject him entirely. Then none of this damned journey of self-discovery needed to be made. He had been at this point a few times before with men for whom he had a strong attraction. His sense of physical powerlessness in the hands of a man drove him to ecstasy. But the same sense of psychological powerlessness drove him to reckless actions, to make objectionable statements, to present only his version of a truth.

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"Beautiful you have shades of Partick Gale and Alan Holiinghurst rolled into one, amazing narrative telling so much but giving away just a little bit. Love it x"

Love you for saying it x

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

If Oscar was pan-sexual then perhaps Toby was becoming pan-homosexual. He had ceased to have a type of man whom he found attractive. His range had widened and widened in the space of just a few months. His sexuality had never been a secret. His only response on finding out that he was gay, at about 18 years old, was to feel privileged that he could have strong feelings for anyone, man or woman. The fact that his affections turned towards men was neither a blessing nor a curse. He was simply glad that he could feel something, respond sexually, emotionally, to anything. He was able to love somebody else. It was a satisfying revelation. The pain of loving came later. Initially, he enjoyed the intimations of excitement, the blossoming infatuations with friends at school and college.

For Oscar it was very different. His family background meant that there would be pain from the beginning for anything to do with feelings and responses to other members of his own sex. Oscar knew at eighteen that what he had been hiding from, avoiding, would have to be faced. Toby never hid. That was the difference between them.

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

More than fifty years ago, when he was sixteen or seventeen, Toby first fell in love. It was a huge shock and delight. He didn’t know how to deal with the immense joy of it; so the only way his body could respond was in tears, plenty of tears, even public sobbing. To find out that such feelings could ever exist for another human being was a total revelation. It is not even that he had a lonely childhood or a confused adolescence - Toby had plenty of good friends, good company, a large and loveable family, pets to adore, nature on the doorstep and all the other things that make for a fairly decent and

happy upbringing - but he was very shy and quite sheltered from the world.

When he fell in love that first time there was no imagery in it whatsoever, nor any sense of desire, because it was all so new and there was nothing to compare it against. It was an extremely intense psychological moment, a profound awareness of how everything around someone beloved is transformed from the everyday into the sublime, even something as simple as walking together around the same town and chatting about the most trivial matters. It only hit him when he parted from her; and then the tears flowed; and, since he was travelling with others, there was no way to hide them. But Toby didn’t care; he didn’t mind making a fool of himself in front of a few people.

Her name was Mrs Almond and she was probably in her seventies, though he never asked her age. It came about that he met her because he had been invited, quite out of the blue, to join a small group of people - neighbours, not close family - who had a spare ticket for a special excursion by overnight train to Oban in Scotland, followed by a six hour cruise around seven of the nearby lochs. They journeyed there overnight on the Friday, arrived early Saturday morning and came back overnight to return home on the Sunday. Mrs Almond lived in High Street, Oban, and loved the place and all the beauty of the surrounding highland mountains and lakes. As he explored the ship on his own, he met this old lady in a green coat who shared with Toby all her love for the scenery around them as they sailed through and passed by it. That’s the simplest way to put this. He fell in love with her in those few hours, and also with the scenery, with the town, with everything around him. The realisation of this love came as the train pulled out of the station and he left her standing on the platform waving at him. And what is the realisation of love but tears?

By the time he returned to Scotland, a few years later, he had changed. First of all, he was no longer a boy at the tailend of his childhood. He was now a man of 22 years of age. So what happened next must have been five or six years later from his first trip north. A man of 22 is worlds away from a 16 or 17 year old: he had matured into manhood and could therefore, without realising this himself, now be perceived as a potential threat to any female, especially to an old woman whom he barely knew and who knew him even less.

Although he had written her one letter after his first visit, it was nothing more than a polite and superficial thank-you letter, expressing his gratitude for her kindness towards him. In the intervening years, there was no more communication between them; and this didn’t bother him in the least because he wanted nothing from her.

He did, however, soon after returning home from that first trip, get very upset and angry with his mother because she wouldn’t allow him to go back that summer to Scotland, feeling that he was too young to make such a journey on his own. It was the first time in his life he had felt the pain caused by the power that one person has over another to significantly control their circumstances.

So he went back to Scotland in what must have been 1978. From 1976 onwards he had been starting to explore his sexuality, first of all meeting some young chap, a set designer from a regional BBC station, spending the night with him in a local hotel, losing his virginity; then dating a college lecturer for about a year, even touring Ireland with him; and finally falling in love with a handsome law student.

The law student’s name was Adam; and yet it was only after their affair had ended that Toby came to the odd realisation that he’d actually known the same man almost a year before, albeit very briefly and tentatively, after having met him somewhere in the heart of the city of Birmingham, talking and walking around together and agreeing to meet again fairly soon. But at that time the man he now knew as Adam had called himself Stuart, and made a very deep impression on him, opening up within him a yearning for the possibility of a close relationship with another man. When they parted later that afternoon, however, Stuart provided only a fake address for their future contact. The relationship with Adam (which proved to be his real name) was filled with even worse fakery, but at the time Toby took it all in as gospel truth: not only another fake address, but also false promises of romantic holidays together, tales of financial windfalls and then more tales of accidents to fictional family members in order to postpone the promised holiday; and finally there was a dramatic revelation of terminal illness as a way of justifying the ending of the relationship.

So, actually, Toby fell in love twice with the same person, thinking they were two different people. Strangely, the first time - the time he met Stuart - there was nothing sexual about it at all; indeed, it was only on reflection a long time after that he realised the other man was making sexual advances, even inviting him into a toilet in a department store for some reason. It seemed odd at the time but the reason was obvious on later reflection. Yet he just didn’t see any of that at the time; he was looking for a friend; and he thought he had found a friend. He was oblivious to all the other stuff going on. By the time he met the same man again a year later, now calling himself Adam not Stuart, it seemed that the way to a deep friendship was possible through sex, because that’s what the others wanted; and so he wanted it too. He never thought of them or himself as homosexual; and so he never had any issue with that side of things or felt any stigma attached to this label. He just felt blessed that he was capable of feelings for other people.

All this was happening while he was still at college training to be a teacher; he was not yet working. It is with this background that he returned to Scotland. Having delayed a few days before visiting Mrs Almond, he made a muddle of it by calling on her unannounced. She was the same kind, courteous, polite and tender person he had met just a few years before, but she was now faced with a strange man on her doorstep who had appeared out of the blue. Once she recalled exactly who he was, they reminisced for a few minutes about the cruise they had shared together and talked general pleasantries, but eventually she made an excuse for not inviting him into her flat and that second meeting was their last. But he wasn’t hurt at all by her reaction. It was all perfectly acceptable, just because it was her, and it never felt like a rejection, even though it isn’t until years later that Toby realised why he wasn’t invited in. At the time, he just believed her excuse about the flat being too untidy for visitors.

It was a few days later that Toby decided to go for a long walk through the highland scenery. He caught the train from Oban to Taynuilt, a twenty minute journey, and then walked back along the quiet, empty road that ran the length of Glen Lonan, a four hour walk. For three full hours his mind kept going back to his short relationship with Adam, turning over and over every detail of their few brief encounters, remembering snatches of their conversations, looking for clues and imagining a thousand different explanations for what went wrong. They had been to bed together perhaps twice, but none of that sexual stuff came into his thoughts. It was instead about a brain trying to make sense of its own deeper desires, its own profound loneliness.

One can only take so much of this kind of thinking and therefore, as he sat to rest at the side of a stream, all of a sudden the brain must have closed down, ceasing all activity in the same way and at the same moment as his weary body paused for a few minutes of physical rest. One assumes that LSD has the same effect as what happened next; it was the first of these strange experiences of cosmic consciousness; and although similar experiences did not reoccur until many years after, nearly thirty years later, when they came again they would sometimes last for days at a time.

As he sat there, looking out, there was at that moment between himself and far mountains no distance whatsoever, between the stream and himself no difference in kind; between the entire universe and himself no distinction at all could be made among the infinite fragments of existence. At that moment Toby knew forever that there was eternal benediction at the heart of all creation. It was not invented; it was not looked for; it came as totally uninvited as that moment of joy when he realised for the first time the significance of love in the presence of another human being. They were one and the same feeling from one and the same source, as pure as the water in that stream, as clear as the light falling from the blue skies upon the dips and curves of the trees, hills and mountains; except one feeling was personal and the other was impersonal; one came as a result of his own psychology; the other was always there just waiting for anyone to catch it.

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By *rgeo OP Man
6 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

This is what he wanted Oscar or anyone else to share with him. But Toby knew that Oscar had a block, a barrier, that would probably never be lifted, one that he had been carrying with him for decades. Like so many other people, Oscar had accepted a beautiful theory in place of a direct perception of the truth. All religions, once they are organised, are no longer religious. This was the start of getting at the truth. This was going to be their field of conflict. In the middle of it all they may have sex, but their relationship is doomed. With his husband there was no sex, but their relationship was eternal. It was the same for Toby and his god sons, and one or two friends. Toby wanted the same sense of eternity with Oscar. Toby loved Oscar as he loved all the rest. There was nothing about Oscar not to love. It was up to Oscar to take a step back before he could take a step forward.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"Beautiful, as ever"

Thank you, Par. I appreciate your comments.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

[Removed by poster at 05/10/25 07:42:03]

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby woke up the next morning shocked at his own arrogance. His feelings for Oscar were blinding him from considering where the source of those feelings may be. The source may never be pure, untainted. He may have far bigger blocks and barriers than Oscar ever would.

He remembered the text: Matthew 7: 3-5. He wept a little. He wept more than a little. Toby wept.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Whenever Toby cried like this, it always revealed the true source of his pain, which was a confusion about his homosexuality and its place in history. Toby always felt that homosexuality was the norm. He had the feeling that heterosexuality was actually the aberration for humanity. He even felt that bringing children into being was such an important thing it should never happen until there was established right across the world a state of perfect harmony and love between all people. Otherwise it was unfair on the newborn to have to come into a world of war. And since the beginning of recorded history, there had always been war. He couldn't understand why everyone couldn't see this. It was all so obvious. And peace and harmony began with two men, loving one another, holding each other. If they wanted to fuck the brains out of each other, then praise the Lord!

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby so desperately wanted to fuck the brains out of Oscar. He had never met a man like him. Physically, Oscar was already an ideal kind of man for Toby. His face was kind but cheeky, good-looking, but with a seriousness to it that had grown out of sadness as well as joy. He was neither too desperate nor too remote. There was a sense of parity with him that Toby found hard to achieve with many other men.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Twp

Growing up in a religious family, Oscar knew that being attracted to guys was wrong on so many levels. By the time he hit his mid-teens, however, he knew he liked both cock and pussy. Growing up close to Brighton meant by the time he was in his late teens, and driving, he could easily slide away, go to a gay bar or club, and find himself some cute guy to spend a few hours with. In fact, everything was going well until he stupidly told a friend that he was bi-sexual.

Before he knew it, he was on a plane to the States for conversion therapy.

All Oscar knew was that he was to meet someone carrying a sign with his name on and that they would take him to the Living Waters camp which would be his home for at least six months. Once through passport checks and baggage pick-up, he walked out to the concourse to find his lift. It didn’t take long before he saw a middle-aged woman carrying his name card. He walked up and introduced himself. She smiled and took out a clipboard and marked his name off on what looked to be a list of six names.

“Sit over there with them,” she said, pointing to a row of seats with two other people. “We need to wait for three more, who’ll be landing in the next thirty minutes.”

Oscar looked across at his fellow campers. One was a woman in her mid thirties, short cropped hair, every inch a classic lesbian. The other was a guy, not much older than him. His build was that of an emerging bear. He had a tight T-shirt on that showed off his chest, and his cargo shorts were tight in all the right places .Of course, Oscar took the empty seat next to him.

As he sat down, he introduced himself.

“Hi! I’m Oscar from the UK,” he said. “I’m a little nervous.“

His introduction was met with a smile and then the other man spoke.

“Hi! I’m Matt from New Zealand. Don’t be nervous. I’ll look after you.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat as the baritone voice hit his eardrums. Matt’s smile lit up his face and his blue eyes sparkled under the airport lights.

“Fuck!” thought Oscar, “He’s hot. I wonder what his story is?”

As Oscar took his seat, Matt held out his hand.

“The UK,” he said. “Doesn’t it always rain there? Bet you’re glad to be somewhere hot. I like it hot.” He winked and his smile spread across his handsome face.

His comment caught Oscar off-guard and he let out a laugh that caught the attention of the middle-aged lady.

“Ssh! No gossiping!“

Oscar turned to Matt and whispered, “Me too!”

For the next thirty minutes, Matt and Oscar exchanged stories.

So what was Matt’s story? He had also grown up in a religious family and lived his teens and early twenties in a double world like Oscar. But he had decided he wanted to go all-in for God and had booked himself into the camp.

When he shared his story Oscar’s heart sank in his chest. Oscar himself was only there to prove the point that nothing could change who he was. Matt appreciated this, but from Oscar’s perspective they were definitely on different journeys.

“Shame,” thought Oscar. Matt was just his dream type and that New Zealand accent was so sexy.

Eventually, their remaining campers arrived and they were bundled into a van for a two hour drive into the mountains to what the brochure described as a beautiful mountain campsite miles from anywhere and the perfect location to find one’s true self.

Oscar’s hopes of being sat next to Matt for the two hours were sharply denied as they were allotted opposite-sex seat buddies. Oscar spent the next two hours chatting to Sarah, a 19-year-old girl from Canada, who looked scared to death. Matt was just across the aisle and sat next to the thirty-year-old lesbian.

A two hour trip up into the mountains meant they saw some stunning views, but nothing was as stunning to Oscar as his new friend Matt with his sexy as hell account. Oscar daydreamed about him as they travelled.

Eventually, they arrived at the camp that was going to be home for up to fifty campers and thirty staff, all set in over a hundred acres of mountain woodlands. They collected their bags and made their way to the lecture hall to be met by Andy the camp leader. Andy talked to them for over an hour about purity, honesty, honour, and a shed-load of camp rules. Eventually he called out their names to pair them up with a bunkhouse mate.

Oscar almost let out a scream when he was told he would be bunking with Matt.

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By *orfyMan
5 weeks ago

North Norfolk

Interesting

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Oscar looked across at Matt and there once again was that smile. Was it just him or did that smile seem wider and his eyes have even more of a sparkle to them?

In his 20s Oscar’s body was in good shape. He’d been a dancer from three till seventeen, mainly classical and contemporary. At 24 he was still toned and his arse especially was in fantastic shape, an arse that Matt was currently checking out as Oscar walked a few paces in front of him along the narrow, wooded pathway to their bunkhouse.

Oscar opened the wooden door unsure of what to find, but it was a nice rustic cabin with two beds set as far across from each other as possible, an old pot-bellied stove for heat and boiling water, and a door into a small bathroom with a decent-looking shower. Oscar smiled inwardly as he thought about Matt’s naked physique showering in it.

He took the bed furthest from the door, opposite the bathroom. Oscar thought it might serve him well in the future.

They started to unpack. They had a few hours before dinner and then their first community session. Beds were positioned so that they could easily chat across the room as they lay in them. Matt took about ten minutes to unpack, throwing his clothes into drawers and the small wardrobe we would be sharing.

“You planning on staying long?“ Matt asked.

“As long as I need to be in order to be kicked out, “ Oscar replied.

“Shame,” said Matt. “I mean, it’s always nice to have some eye-candy around - and you’re the only good-looker here.”

Matt’s words almost made Oscar drop his toiletry bag

“I thought you were here to change,“ Oscar said, in almost an angry tone. “I mean, don’t promise anything you can’t deliver on!“

Matt’s laughter filled the room and for a moment Oscar thought the lady who collected them was going to pop out of a drawer and say,,“Ssh! No gossiping!“

Matt’s laughter still hung in the air as Oscar opened the bathroom door to put away his toiletries and have a piss.

“Don’t close the door on my account,“ Matt shouted.

Oscar kicked the door closed as he unzipped his flies, but he decided to piss full-flow into the water so Matt could hear every drop. He took his semi-hard cock out of his flies and held it in his hands. He’d been carrying a semi since he thought Matt was checking out his arse on the walk to the cabin.

He stroked his bell-end and allowed some of his piss to wet the helmet. As a cut guy, he had a real thing about a nice bell-end and for a moment he dreamed about what Matt’s was like.

Suddenly the door behind him opened and Matt strolled in, to stand beside him at the toilet.

“Move over! I need a piss too. “

Without care or hesitation, Matt unzipped his flies and suddenly it was there in front of Oscar. Soft, it was about five and half inches, but the girth was massive and he held it in both hands as his stream started to flow. He crossed swords with Oscar’s now dying stream.

“So,“ he said, “You hungry?“

“Am I hungry?” thought Oscar. “What the fuck!” His head was telling turn to around and walk away, his heart was telling him to kiss Matt.

While Oscar was trying to fight his inner battle, he heard Matt say, “I’ve heard it’s chicken for dinner. I’m famished!“

Oscar looked across at Matt as he zipped up his flies and turned to exit the bathroom.

“Dude! “ said Matt, “You didn’t think I meant to eat me, did you?“

Oscar exited the cabin and decided to explore the woods around the back. He was looking for a place where he could breathe and empty his head. He walked for about twenty minutes and came to a clearing. There in front of him was the shore of a small lake. He’d never seen anything as beautiful. He sat down and tried to focus on the view, but his head was spinning.

Was Matt playing an emotional game with him? Was he reacting? What the hell was he doing, thinking, hoping for?

In the distance a bell rang. It was time time for dinner and then their first session.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

The first few weeks passed by without any more suggestive comments from Matt. There wasn’t much time for anything outside of Bible studies, worship, day-long hikes and, basically, what to Oscar was emotional and psychological torture. Oscar had already planned three possible escape options and was contemplating trying option two when they were given a day of rest, a sabbath day, as they put it.

Oscar woke up early, determined to find some time for himself. He grabbed a pad and pencil and headed out of the door. Maybe some sketching would help him chill.

He walked to the lake which had become his place. The temperature was already hot so he decided to strip down to his trunks. The water felt fresh and calming as he started to wade in. Once the water hit his navel he plunged under. Submerged, he felt alone, really alone for the first time since he’d left the UK. He stayed under as long as he could but, as his lungs screamed for air, he resurfaced and gulped in the air.

“Hi, Oscar!”

Oscar spun round to see Terry on the shoreline. Terry was a forty-something Irish Catholic guy who was one of the volunteer group leaders.

“Hi!” he replied.

“I came to swim too,” said Terry. “Mind if I join you?“

“Not my private lake!” Oscar said, with a tone that definitely had clear ‘fuck off’ vibes.

Terry took off his T-shirt and pulled down his shorts. His body was a classic bear. He had thick red hair all across his chest, so thick that his nipples just about poked through. There was a lovely line of hair that ran down his beer belly to his trunks. Oscar hadn’t had sex since the night before he left the UK. Right now, he’d take anything, but he knew Terry wasn’t going to suddenly take off his trunks and walk over at half mast.

But Terry dropped his trunks.

Oscar was so desperate he decided to just go for it. Hopefully, they'd get caught and he’d be thrown out.

He waded towards Terry and as they met Oscar grabbed Terry’s head and pushed their lips together. It felt so good to be kissed, to feel another man’s skin touch his. Terry met the passionate kiss full on. His hands enveloped Oscar’s wet body and he drew him close. Oscar moaned as Terry’s hands moved to his arse.

Terry took the opportunity as Oscar moaned to move his tongue into his mouth, exploring as deep as he could. Oscar felt his penis strain against his shorts. It was the first real hard-on he’d had for a while. There had been several semis as he lay on the bed watching Matt’s shadow behind the shower curtain, but he’d never felt safe enough to take things to a wankable hard-on.

Terry read Oscar’s mind and before he could say, “For the love of God,” Terry was kneeling in front of him, licking and kissing his wet trunks. Oscar slid his trunks down, releasing his seven inches.

His knees almost gave way as he felt Terry’s lips touch his bell-end.

“Fuck!” he shouted, as Terry rolled his tongue over and over his slit. His head was spinning as he felt Terry move deeper down the shaft, slowly, inch by inch, until his balls were snuggly by his chin. Nature took over and Oscar started to thrust his cock. It was warm, it was moist, images of Matt sprang into his head: his floppy six inches, his chest, those thighs, those arms.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Oscar was going to cum. It was way too soon, but he couldn’t hold back. Terry looked startled as the first squirt hit him on the back of his throat. He tried to pull away but Oscar quickly grasped his head so he would take my second, third and fourth squirt of man cum.

When he released him, Terry spat out a small amount of Oscar’s thick juice.

At that moment, everything seemed to freeze.

“Fuck! What have I done?” thought Oscar. Was this his ticket home?

Terry got up, walked past him and into the lake. No words. Nothing. Oscar watched as he swam out further and further.

Oscar decided to take his silence as a message that this would never be talked of again. He picked up his trunks, T-shirt, pencil and sketch pad and wandered back in the direction of the cabin.

As he walked through the door, he was met by Matt, who was sitting upright in bed, Bible in one hand, the other laid across his T-shirt at nipple height.

“Good swim?” he asked.

“It had its moments,” Oscar replied.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

It was still dark out when something caused Oscar to wake. Eyes still closed, he listened to the soft noise that stirred him. It was the sound of stifled crying. He knew that sound only too well. Back in the UK his last year had been peppered with times when the sadness of not being loved for who he was had caused him to break down, but, even then, having to hide the depth of his sadness and cover his pain.

Through the small pockets of moonlight that broke through the shutters Oscar saw him. Matt was curled in his bed, his body twisted by pain, his shoulders rising and falling with every exhale.

Oscar’s feet touched the cabin floor and in the silence he moved across the room.

“Matt, what’s wrong?” he asked.

The question seemed to invite the pain further to the surface and Matt let out an anguished groan from deep inside.

Without thinking Oscar pulled back the bedcovers and placed himself next to Matt, one hand wrapping around his manly physique, the other slowly stroking his hair. They lay like that for ages as the sound of his cries rolled like waves crashing on to a beach. Oscar held him as he had always wished to be held in those moments. He wanted to anchor him in his arms so he knew he was loved, accepted, wanted.

“I can’t do this. I can’t live like this!“

Matt’s words were only too familiar to Oscar. He had said them to himself so many times, “I can’t do this, I can’t live like this.”

Oscar had spent so many years living with a mask on, seeking to conform to everything that was asked of him just so he could be loved by those who were meant to love him, just so he would be accepted by the community he was growing up in. It was exhausting and caused him to struggle with self-hate, fear of rejection, and eventually lose touch with any sense of who he truly was.

“I know, Matt, I know,” said Oscar.

They stayed embraced until the first rays of dawn began to fall against the shutters and the start of a new day of living as liars to themselves crept like a thief into the cabin.

“Thanks,” said Matt. “I really needed company. Sorry if I woke you.”

“No apology needed,” said Oscar. “I’ll never let a friend cry alone.”

The word ‘friend’ had only just left Oscar’s lips when he felt Matt’s lips on his, lips that were soft, plump, tender.

The sun stayed still for a moment and the dawn birdsong silenced as his life was changed forever. For in that moment and in that kiss Oscar felt something he’d never felt before. He felt love.

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By *avenMan
5 weeks ago

Street

Thanks for posting 😀

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"Thanks for posting 😀"

Some very arousing photos on your profile Daven. I have fabbed one which got me instantly hard.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

From now on, therefore, it is best that Oscar tells the rest of his story for himself. It is only fair, as he has come alive.

***

The way our lips seemed to come together was as if they were created to join as one. Every nerve in my body was suddenly heightened, every emotion released. I wanted to cry, laugh, and shout. As we kissed, I could feel Matt’s hands move around my back and then I was pulled close. Matt made some sort of noise, a moan, a gasp.

“Is this OK?” said Matt.

“Yes,” I replied, “As long as you’re OK with it.”

“I’ve wanted to hold you since the moment we met at the airport,” Matt said. “There have been so many times in the last few weeks when I’ve wanted to protect you from all this crap and tell you how I feel when I see you.”

Matt’s words took me by surprise. Matt wanted to protect me, hold me. Where had that come from? Matt was definitely one of those ‘still waters run deep’ kinda guys, clearly, but his words were like water to a dry dessert.

Our bodies were close enough for me to feel Matt’s hard dick against me.

“Oh, man!” I thought, “This is only going to end one way.”

My hand moved across Matt’s broad shoulders and down his back, as Matt’s tongue slid inside my mouth. This was so perfect and for a moment I thought it might all be a dream.

As our tongues met, our hands explored each other under the covers. Matt was a surfer and his back was toned and wide. I felt my hands go down his back and rest in his arse cheeks. Matt moaned as I gently caressed the cheeks and then I moved them inside the jogger shorts he had worn to bed. Flesh. My hands were touching his flesh. I moved his hips so that he would know I wanted more. I wanted so much more.

“Matt,” I whispered. “If we do this, there is no turning back.”

“I want this,” Matt replied.

“On your back then,” I said.

As Matt rolled over, I moved myself to straddle his waist. Our eyes met. There was that sparkle again that made me weak at the knees. I placed my hands on the bottom of Matt’s T-shirt and started to move it upwards, revealing first his stomach, tight and concave. He had an innie belly button, which had a small trail of pubic hair leading from his shorts going up to it.

I continued lifting the top to reveal the most amazing pecs, like two solid slabs of stone across his chest and smooth as anything. His nipples were dark and the size of a 50 pence piece and already erect, calling for a mouth to take them but I resisted. I pulled the shirt up to his head and Matt lifted his body so it could be pulled off. Matt then slid his hands to my waist. I trembled as Matt held me. Then it was my turn to have my top removed, inch by inch, until we were both topless.

I placed my hands on his stomach and gently followed his trail up to his belly button, then higher to his sternum, which was deep as his pecs rose majestically from either side. I leant down and used my tongue to trace the steps my fingers had just taken.

Matt’s skin tasted good on my tongue. As I reached his pecs, my tongue climbed the left one until it reached the nipple, the peak. I closed my lips around it, lightly licking it, then flicking it. It was clear that Matt’s nipples were a highway to his penis as I felt it judder under me.

“Fuck!” moaned Matt, his words like music to my ears. “Fuck! Don’t stop licking. My nipples are one of my most erotic areas.”

Noted, I thought.

I moved between each nipple savouring every lick and enjoying every twitch of his now solid penis that fought under me for freedom. I moved my body off Matt’s and took hold of his pyjama shorts. They were grey and light enough for me to see the fullness of the gift I was about to unwrap.

I moved my hands to pull them down. As I did, Matt lifted his arse so I could slide them off.

His penis sprang from its chamber. I’d day-dreamed about Matt’s penis since I’d seen it soft that day he crossed swords as we pee’d. Now it was full of blood and solid, the glans standing proud. Erected, it was not a disappointment, especially the girth.

My eyes went back to connect with Matt’s eyes .

“Can I see you?” he asked, with that baritone voice that was soft, gentle and so manly.

I got off the bed and stood to the side of it. Matt moved so that he was sitting naked on the bed's edge. His hands pulled my shorts down, releasing my penis which was also now hard and pointing upwards to my navel. Matt leant forward and kissed the base of my shaft. I trembled at his kiss, resulting in Matt quickly moving his hands to my butt-cheeks to steady me.

Kiss by kiss he made his way up my shaft. Kiss by kiss my heart raced inside my chest. The moment Matt’s mouth made contact with the glans of my dick, I arched my back and my head sprang back. The pleasure that shot through every cell of my being was electric. I was no virgin, but I’d never felt anything like this. A single tear ran down my cheek. I wasn’t sure what was happening inside me emotionally, but I wanted to let myself go and enjoy every moment.

Matt opened his mouth and took me inside. It was warm, soft and wet and it felt like home. Slowly, Matt started to suck my shaft and bell-end, slow, gentle movements that seemed to connect with every inch of my shaft. He moved from the tip to the base until my balls could feel the unshaved morning bristle on his chin. Slowly, back and forth, then building rhythm, his hands still on my arse cheeks.

My breath began to sharpen and quicken with every movement of Matt’s mouth .

“Stop, stop,” I murmured. “It’s too much. It’s too much.”

Matt stopped and stood to his feet, taking my head in his hands, bringing my face to his so that our lips could connect.

I’m not sure what came over me, but I leapt and wrapped my legs round his waist. Unstartled, Matt placed his hands under my arse and carried me to my bed on the other side of the cabin. He gently lowered me onto the bed and placed his body over mine, taking the weight of his body through his arms placed either side of me. Through the whole manoeuvre our lips stayed connected as did our gaze.

Matt’s lower body was connected to mine, our dicks laying next to each other as he gently pulsated his hips, causing our penises to touch and then move apart.

I never wanted this to end, but as Matt’s alarm sounded from the watch on his wrist we knew we only had thirty minutes before breakfast at the main building, a good ten minutes brisk walk along the trail.

“Shower!” said Matt.

“Definitely!” I replied, with a slight tone of sadness.

“Don’t worry,” said Matt. “This is just the beginning.”

I sat watching Matt devour breakfast: bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes and hash-browns. God that guy had an appetite. All I could face was coffee. My stomach was so full of butterflies that I couldn’t stomach food.

“Not hungry this morning?” asked Andy, the camp director, as he wandered past. “Looks like you need more physical activities.”

I almost spat my coffee out with laughter.

“Yes, Andy, I probably do,” I replied as Matt chomped down on his second sausage of the morning.

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By *haneportsMan
5 weeks ago

portsmouth

Good fun.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"Good fun. "

Glad you think so, Shane.

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By *uv2b4uMan
5 weeks ago

carlisle

I just don't want this to end either !!! It feels like I'm actually in the story .

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"I just don't want this to end either!!! It feels like I'm actually in the story. "

You know you are. You are in my heart; you are bound to be in my stories.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

The day went as normal: two hours of worship and teaching followed by an hour of private prayer, then an hour of group time before lunch. Then came afternoon activities followed by dinner, more worship, more lectures and finally back to the cabin.

As we headed down the trail to the cabin and turned a bend that led us out of sight, I felt Matt’s hand reach out for mine. We linked and carried on walking in silence.

“I need a shower,” said Matt, as we opened the cabin door. “Want to join me?”.

“Sure!” I said. “You jump in and I’ll join you in a moment or two.”

Matt was all soaped up and rinsing off as I entered the bathroom naked.

“You took your time,” he said.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about today and this morning’s session,” I replied.

I stepped into the warm shower and Matt wrapped his arms around me.

“You feel tense,” he said, as his hands rose to my shoulders and started to massage them.

I sighed and rubbed my cheek against his left hand.

“I’m just tired of all this bombardment,” I said. “So much condemnation, all falsely tied up in statements of love and concern. Yet all we’re told is we’re unnatural, sinful, an abomination to a God, who I’m also told loves me unconditionally and created me in my mothers womb as a thing of beauty and pride. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of trying to stand for what I know to be right.”

Matt pulled me round to face him.

“This,” he said, “This love we have is not bad or sinful. It is a thing of beauty and it’s real.”

He leaned his head forward and kissed my lips. His hands draped across my shoulder, his dick solid against his belly. I was too tired emotionally to be hard or even semi.

“You need rest,” said Matt, as he broke contact and turned the shower off.

He stepped out and grabbed a towel, throwing it over me and then, in one swift move, picked me up in his arms and carried me to bed. As I was placed on the mattress, my dick started to stir, awoken by Matt’s gentleness and love.

Matt lowered his wet body onto mine.

“Make love to me, Matt,” I whispered. “I need to be loved.”

I couldn’t tell you the full details or the number of hours we made love that night. All I know is, as darkness set, our cabin was lit by raw emotions and electric chemistry as we became one flesh.

I recall I came a few times and Matt came at least once more than me as we sucked and wanked each other multiple times till we fell asleep in an embrace that I can still feel as I type this now.

We woke when Matt’s watch went off again, still huddled together as one, still face-to-face.

The days and weeks rolled by with the routine: wake up in bed together, shower together, try to ignore each other all day, and then back to the cabin where we would make love, wank and suck each other till we slept.

Then one night I bit the bullet!

It had been another depresssing day of sermons on sin, what can only be described as the most pathetic attempt to medically blame same-sex attraction in terms of emotional or sexual abuse, followed by an hour-long session of ‘inner healing.’

When we got to the cabin I was once again an emotional wreck. As my feet passed the threshold, I let out all my pain and anger. Running to the bathroom, I threw up as all the tension and anger I’d carried all day took its physical toll.

I cleaned my teeth, undressed and hit the shower, the water washing away the homophobic crap that Andy and his team had placed upon me.

“Let’s go for a walk,” said Matt. “You need fresh air.”

We grabbed coats, as by then summer was slipping into fall. We walked toward my spot by the lake, but then Matt took a sharp right on the path in front of me and started to walk between the trees. There wasn’t a path, but he seemed to know where he was heading so I followed.

After about twenty minutes the trees parted and the most incredible vista opened up. Without me realising, we’d climbed higher up the mountain behind the cabin and were now in a plateau looking out over a valley.

Matt turned and smiled. “Nice view, right?”

Matt rolled out a blanket he’d bought with us and we sat looking out at the view.

I needed Matt’s touch so I put my hand on his inner thigh and stroked it until I’d reached his groin.

“Easy tiger,” he said. “You’ll get me all hot and bothered.”

“That’s the plan,” I thought, as my fingers started to trace around his bulge.

Matt loved to be touched. He’s very tactile, which I always played to my advantage. I continued to trace Matt’s bulge and, of course, it twitched and moved under my fingertips.

“Take off your top,” I demanded, in a tone that Matt hadn’t heard for a while.

Without comment, Matt pulled his hoodie over his head and I instantly leaned in to run my tongue up the valley between his pecs. He gave a slight moan and started to undo the belt of his trousers.

I stopped what I was doing and undressed down to my briefs and Matt did the same .

By now both our dicks were hard, excited for what was about to come.

“Matt, do you trust me?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied.

“I want you to really make love to me. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to breed me.”

The words hung in the air for what felt like a lifetime until that rich baritone voice responded with one word.

“OK.”

We kissed and fumbled around for a while, touching places that by now were so familiar to each other. Then I felt Matt’s touch in a place he’d never touched before. Slowly his finger came down the arch of my back and then started its journey between my butt cheeks.

Slowly, steadily, Matt’s finger moved closer and closer to my hole. What I hadn’t told Matt was that I’d never been fucked before. He would be my first; and this mountainside would be where I popped my cherry.

His finger circled my hole with tenderness and a gentle light touch, my hole twitching at the feel of a foreign sensation. But with the instinct of pleasure, my hole started to open and I felt Matt’s finger enter.

The sensation of having someone inside me was so intense. It felt good and bad all at the same time so I made the head choice to focus on the good.

Matt’s finger was rubbing the channel of my arse, soft strokes that made me want more.

“Fuck me!” I said, “I want to feel you deep inside me.”.

I didn’t know, until we lay in bed later that night, that this too was Matt’s first time. To quote him, he ‘had no idea what to do.’ However, nature did, and boy was he a natural!

I got on all fours and Matt knelt behind me. I felt wet as he lubed my hole with his precum and then there it was, his bell-end that I had worshipped so many times with kisses and sucks was at the door to my pussy.

I pushed back gently in encouragement.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Matt said, clearly worried about his girth.

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “Just fuck me.”

There was a burning pain as Matt pushed into my hole. I stifled my cries and told myself to relax.

As more of Matt entered me, the burning pain subsided and I could feel him filling me. It felt so good, knowing we’d hit a new level of intimacy.

Slowly Matt started to move his dick. He didn’t thrust enough to pull out. Instead, he made sure that his bell-end and shaft were inside at all times. I focused on the sensation that each move of his hips made inside my sensitive arse.

“Is this OK?” Matt asked.

“Yes!” I replied with a mix of moans and expletives.

Matt understood the message and started to build momentum. His ball-sack started to hit my cheeks. I could feel his pubic hair against them too.

Quicker and quicker the thrusts became, Matt was moaning more. I could tell he too was enjoying the sensation of his girth inside my tight virgin hole.

His hand moved upon my hips and he lay his chest across my back. As he moved, his dick position moved inside me and he hit that sweet spot that I’ve grown to know and love being pummelled. At that moment, for the first time, I felt the full pleasure of my G spot being activated.

My cut dick and ball-sack became even more sensitive and the glans on my bellend started to pulsate.

“Fuck!” I shouted. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, fucking Jesus Christ, yes!”.

My words brought Matt’s movements to a halt. He was still deep inside me and I could feel him overcome with confusion.

“Oscar,” he said. “Don’t do that. Don’t take Jesus’ name in vain.”

“What the actual fuck,” I thought. “You’re balls deep inside my arse and you’re worried about me taking Jesus’ name in vain!”

“Sorry,” I said. “You just hit my G spot and I got overexcited.”

With that, the thrusting continued, but it took me a few minutes to get back into my pleasure zone mentally.

“Can I change positions?” Matt asked. “I want to see your face when I cum.”

I lay on my back on the blanket and put my legs over Matt’s shoulders. It was so less painful this time as his bell-end broke through my hole. Matt lowered himself on to his elbows, making sure my dick was sandwiched against my belly and his.

He kissed me, our lips melting together as he started to once again slowly thrust deep inside.

What I hadn’t appreciated was that now my rock hard cock and very sensitive glans would also be stimulated by the muscles in Matt’s stomach as his body slid up and down mine.

“Jesus Christ!” I thought silently to myself, as we stared into each other’s eyes.

Matt’s face started to get red, flushed, and his legs started to shake.

“I’m gonna cum!” he moaned, as he leant down to kiss me.

As we kissed, I felt his warm cum jettison deep inside my arse. One, two, three, four heavy shots filled my arse before Matt fell on top of me.

“Don’t stop thrusting,” I said. “I’m about to cum too.”

His orgasm inside me was so hot and the friction of our bodies had been so amazing that with just one more thrust from Matt I too shot cum between us.

Matt pulled out of me and I could feel his cum trickle along my anal passage looking for an exit.

He rolled over onto his back, my cum all over his chest and tummy.

“Wow,” he muttered, “Just wow! Was that OK?” he asked.

I laughed.

“Matt, it was so much better than OK,” I replied.

We stayed on the blanket watching the stars appear in the sky. It’s still my favourite life moment.

“Shall we head to the lake for a midnight swim?" Matt asked.

“Totally,” I replied.

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By *iverman98Man
5 weeks ago

EXETER

Sir, you have a gift, your prose leaps off the page, I salute you x

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Matt and I become regular fuck buddies literally every night for the next week. As soon as we entered our private bit of heaven each evening Matt would start to strip off, his dick rock hard and ready to plunder me. It was fun, exciting, and I loved the adrenaline of him grabbing me and throwing me on a bed. He’d kiss me whilst undressing me like it was some sort of Olympic challenge.

It got to the stage where I’d stop wearing underwear so he could enter me quicker - anything for my lover, anything for Matt.

I loved the feeling of Matt being inside me. The feeling of him thrusting and moaning with pleasure. The feeling of his hands holding me down, the weight of his body on mine, the control he had over me. He only had to look at me during the day and I was putty.

On one occasion, I went to the toilet during a worship session and Matt followed me and stood behind me, holding my dick as I pissed. It was hot, horny and fucking dangerous. Matt liked being in control more and more and more.

I was chatting to mates one lunchtime when Terry approached my table.

“You need to stay after the evening session,” Terry informed me. “We’ve decided you need an extra prayer session and Andy is going to join as your group leader to do some deliverances.” The table went quiet.

“Oh,” I said. “Deliverance? Why?”

“Andy feels that you have a spirit of trauma attached to you and that you need freedom.”

“Yeah,” I thought, “I do have a spirit of trauma and it comes from being here in this fuck hole of a place!”

“OK,” I said. “Tell Andy I’ll see him this evening.”

It was almost midnight when I returned to the cabin. As I got nearer, I heard noises: moans, grunts, stifled laughter.

“What the actual fuck!” I thought. As I opened the door, I saw Matt and Noah going at it like rabbits.

Noah was 29 and Matt’s small group co-leader. Noah had already been through the programme and was considered a success story. He visited my small group once and shared his testimony of how God had taken the gay away.

Clearly not, as Matt was balls deep in his arse on my bed.

“Having fun?” I said, as I pushed the door wide open.

Matt didn’t stop.

“Jump in!” Matt said.

I thought about it for a moment. Was I annoyed? Angry? Did I feel cheated on? Yes, all three of the above. I did what anyone would have done. I closed the door and stripped off.

Matt was going to get the full throttle of my emotions - right up his arse.

I moved to the bed and started to lick Matt’s low hanging balls as they slapped Noah’s cheeks.

“Fuck, yeah,” moaned Matt.

As I sucked I moved my fingers toward Matt’s hole. I’d slipped a finger in a few times before so it wasn’t a total surprise. Once Matt was happy, I moved behind him and started to rim his hole with my tongue. Matt moaned in ecstasy.

“Yeah, baby, lick me out,” he whooped.

My rimming got hotter and hotter. I wanted to make his hole as wet as I could, lick after lick, lap by lap, till my tongue was inside him.

I quickly knelt and thrust my rock hard dick deep inside Matt’s hole. The emotions of the deliverance session mixed with the anger of seeing my lover with another man brought me to a quick orgasm.

I’m not sure if it was shock or pleasure, but Matt shot his load deep inside Noah. Apparently, they had already agreed that Matt would withdraw, but, hey, how was I meant to know!?

My load was dripping down Matt’s balls as I stood back and walked towards the bathroom for a shower.

As I turned the shower on, I heard our cabin door bang shut. Clearly, Noah wasn’t happy! A few moments later the bathroom door opened and Matt entered.

As Matt entered the bathroom, I felt a pang of remorse. Maybe I should have just let them be. Maybe something had happened that I didn’t know about.

“Sorry,” said Matt.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” I asked.

“Sorry about Noah. I just couldn’t say no.” With that tears started to roll down Matt’s face and he fell to the ground on his knees.

“I’m sorry, Oscar,” he kept saying, between sobs. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just… I just don’t know what to do.”

I turned off the water and leant down beside him.

“What do you mean?” I said. “What happened?”

It had all started straight after breakfast. Matt had been told he needed to report to Noah at the camp counsellors office. When Matt arrived he was greeted by Noah.

“I know your secret,” Noah informed Matt. “I know what goes on after lights-out. I know about you and Oscar.”

My heart went cold inside my chest as Matt retold what had happened.

“Tonight,” Noah told Matt, “I’ve arranged for Oscar to stay away till 2am for further prayer - and instead of fucking him you’ll be fucking me.”

Matt looked at me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I literally didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want people to know about us. I didn’t want people to hurt you or kick us out. I can’t get kicked out. My parents would disown me.”

Tears once again rolled down Matt’s eyes as the pain all got too much.

It was this moment that everything changed, the perfect bubble we’d created burst and real life swept in like a tsunami.

It wasn’t the thought of being outed that changed everything. It was the fact that Matt was still tied to his parents and to the church that bought everything crashing down.

In my love for Matt and the passion of our situation, I had buried the fact that Matt was still wanting God, still wanting a ‘normal’ life, still wanting church over his own passions and his own natural sexuality. I realised in that moment I’d lied to myself every day believing that Matt’s words, his acts of love, his physical connection were signs that he would choose us over them.

“Kiss me, please,” I muttered, “And then make love to me.”

Right there on the bathroom floor we made love for the last time.

For the last time, Matt lowered his perfect lips onto mine; for the last time his tongue explored my mouth and then met mine.

For the last time, I felt his hands move down my sides, softly and tenderly stroking my flesh.

For the last time, he lifted my arms above my head and kissed my chest.

For the last time, his lips devoured my nipples, causing me to moan with pleasure.

For the last time, he kissed his way down my belly.

For the last time, I gave a sharp intake of breath as his lips opened and my throbbing bell-end entered his mouth, his lips moving with delight down my shaft, deeper, until all of my manhood was within him for the last time.

For the last time, I enjoyed the feeling of my dick twitching and throbbing at every move of his lips as he sucked and licked me.

For the last time, I heard myself beg to be fucked by the only person I had, at that point, ever truly let into my heart.

For the last time, I lifted my legs onto Matt’s broad shoulder and felt him wet my hole with his sweet beautiful precum.

And then, for the last time, his thick as fuck penis entered my hole. That feeling as his bell-end pushed against the entrance and slid in with ease would become just a distant memory that even now as I write our story I have to strain to remember.

I lay there enjoying every thrust, every moan, every bead of sweat that fell from his brow onto my skin.

“Fuck me hard and deep,” I pleaded. Matt thrust with all the energy he had. I think he too knew deep down that this would be our last time. I think he too wanted to capture every single element of the moment.

We fucked in utter silence, no words, no moans, just two raw men meeting a huge sexual desire.

I focused on the feeling of Matt’s bellend sliding up my passage, its engorged head filling and touching every part of my inner flesh. Deep and deeper and then, for the last time, I felt his cum spurt inside me as he bred me.

I wanted those explosions never to end; I wanted to live forever in an eternal orgasm as my lover bred me, made me his. But, of course, all good orgasms come to an end and, as Matt pulled out, our eyes met and I realised the twinkle had faded with the orgasm.

Our chapter had been written and its last words would be…

“I love you,” I whispered.

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By *uv2b4uMan
5 weeks ago

carlisle

👏👏👏👏👏 bravo 👏👏👏👏👏👏

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

It was a Saturday morning around 7am. The kids had been awake since 5:30 and I was drinking my second cup of coffee flicking through Facebook when I got a new friendship request. The profile image was of a man with a beautiful smile and eyes that had a certain twinkle. I looked at my phone, frozen by a heap of emotions. My finger hovered over the ‘accept friend request’ button. My heart screamed accept, my head had more questions, most importantly: should I open up old wounds?

I had met my wife two years after returning from the States. I’d been there for ten months and had left a few weeks after Matt broke my heart. Now, years later as our two sons ran riot around the room, I found myself clicking accept. I must have checked the phone a million times that day and the day that followed. I had already spent countless hours looking through Matt’s photos and statuses.

Matt too was married with a couple of kids. He was back in New Zealand and seemed happy.

It was a month or so later that I got a Facebook message from him, on the 8th March 2012.

“Hello Mister,” he had typed. “How are you?”

It took us about three months of exchanging life updates, talking about their kids and jobs before we really started to talk.

“I never replied to you that night on the bathroom floor, did I?” his message said. “What I should have told you, Oscar, is that I loved you too.”

Before I could reply another message came through.

“Sorry, that should say I do love you. Even now you hold my heart. Just you and the wife in equal part.”

I dropped the phone as the words filled his head. I’d given up waiting for those words before I’d even boarded the plane back to the UK all those years ago.

We talked via messenger for another few weeks about love and unpacked so many parts of our relationship. There was a lot of emotion that passed via Facebook messenger, but they were really honest and raw and it was so healing.

Matt explained he’d just not been able to close the door to his faith and now all these years later I could respect that choice.

Chatting turned to light flirting and that… Well, let’s just say that we still share a fair amount of dick pics and chat regularly on Telegram. I tell him about the guys I meet and he tells me about his guys.

Matt and I have opened a new chapter. It’s very different from the first, but, fuck, he still has my heart and I’m still putty in his hands.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Three

Toby was still putty in Oscar’s hands. That’s how he felt, foolishly, having never even met the man. But it didn’t take much for Toby to fall in love. A few kind words, the minimum of attention from an attractive man, mingled with the real possibility of sexual activity with them, was enough to set him off on a certain course. He would arrive at meetings with men he had contacted online already half in love with them. If they were half decent with him, the rest would follow quickly. He could never understand why it shouldn’t.

Toby wanted Oscar to be putty in his hands too. How he decided to go about it was to engage Oscar in a project on which they could work together, a collaborative artistic project, an account of their own lives, put into fictional form, expanded, stretched, - maybe even ludicrously, - that would tie them together forever.

For Toby, the ‘forever’ part was paramount. He had to get this right because Toby knew all about eternity. He knew what it was and what it wasn’t. Oscar had only a vague idea about it, Toby thought, based on his Christian beliefs. Toby wondered whether Oscar ever really glimpsed the immensity of the truth behind those flimsy beliefs. This was all part of the project, of the plan to reduce Oscar to putty. If they were both putty, they were then blended into the same material; they were no longer two separate bodies and minds.

The body is the physical representation of death. This physical representation, although it feels real, is nothing more than a metaphor. There is actually no such thing as life and death; they are both illusions. There is only love. Love is the centre of the universe, the beginning and the end of everything. Love is a given. If we don't love one another then we shouldn't ever be talking to one another, working together, living together, as two human beings. Love is a given.

Toby understood all this at a deep, instinctive level. He couldn’t yet articulate it. Even if he did understand and articulate it, no-one else would hear the truth of it.

Unless people loved him, Toby wouldn't work for them or live with them. It was very simple. When he had a new boss at work he always had to say, "Do you love me?" and throw things into chaos for a while. Usually, quickly, it all settled down, and the question was answered. Or it scared people away, which was alright too. Those people who were scared away were tied to the limited desires of their body, which they mistook for an ultimate reality. But the body is merely the vessel that takes us on our own individual journey towards death. The journey is real, but death itself is not. The journey is real, but life itself is not. Life and death are the fiction; the journey is the story that transcends the fiction.

Again, Toby understood some of this deep inside himself. It made him reckless at times. It made him fearless too. One evening, faced with the same issue of wanting to know if someone he was going to be working for loved him, he had ended up naked, out in the street, in the middle of December with traces of snow on the ground. He had stood in the middle of the road and screamed for help. Neighbours came out, a fairly large crowd, his husband too among them. They brought him a blanket or some other soft covering. Two of his closest neighbours took him inside. They were a black couple, religious, working in social service type jobs. He sat with them for a while. Then he went back into his own house with his husband and they waited for an ambulance to arrive.

Toby had shouted, “Help!” in his loudest voice, two or three times. It was both a cry for and a cry of help. He knew this instinctively, at the moment he called out, the differentiation between asking for and giving. That is what made his voice loud enough to bring people out of their homes from many houses around. It was like a homeless man begging for money and at the same time offering everyone around him a chance to change their lives.

Now, Toby whispered the same thing with his stories. It was more effective; it was less traumatic. It was certainly warmer! It could be done invisibly, anonymously. No-one would even know what was happening. One day, maybe, they would all be putty together, men and women, himself included, putty in the hands of God. Then God could start again, have another go at it.

Toby got up and went along to his husband’s room, turning on the side lights, getting into bed beside him. His husband rolled over, farted and switched on the kettle. Toby rubbed his husband’s hair and head affectionately. Tea was coming. Oscar was far away, unknown, unknowable, unimportant.

“Steve wants to talk to us tonight,” said Toby, reading his phone, as his husband returned from the bathroom. Their god son wanted to chat in a Zoom meeting. Maybe Bela would join them; maybe one or two others. By making Oscar unimportant, Toby couldn’t stop thinking about him.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

LOVE IN BLOOM

Blue nights and you

Alone with me

My heart has never known

Such ecstasy

Am I on earth?

Am I in heaven?

Can it be the trees

That fill the breeze

With rare and magic perfume?

Oh, no, it isn't the trees

It's love in bloom

Can it be the spring

That seems to bring

The stars right into this room?

Oh, no, it isn't the spring

It's love in bloom

My heart was a desert

You planted a seed

And this is the flower

This hour of sweet fulfilment

Is it all a dream, a joy supreme

That came to us in the gloom?

You know it isn't a dream

It's love in bloom

(Ralph Rainger/Leo Robin, 1934)

Toby always turned to Gracie Fields when he was in one of these moods. He might listen to the Skinnay Ennis version of the same song, if he was feeling horny, - as that man’s voice turned him on like no other, for some reason - but today it had to be the clarity and sincerity of the woman. Our Gracie. The love that was blooming had no borders or limits; it was spreading outwards, embracing everything and everyone that came into view.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

By now, secretly, privately over text messages, Toby had confessed his love for Oscar to his god son Steve. Toby wondered what Steve might do or say during their online chat tonight, the three or four of them present. It was a regular way for them all to keep in touch, though they managed to meet up in person a couple of times a year. Bela had flown over from Budapest in the late spring and the three of them - Bela, Toby and his husband - had travelled around Devon. They hadn’t seen Steve in person since early June, which was now four months ago. All four of them had been together briefly back in March, staying at their favourite place in Hampshire, where Toby and his husband had a flat. Toby felt he had three homes: his actual house; the place in Hampshire; and the local gay sauna, where he was by now quite well-known.

The sauna was a well-run establishment of many years standing and men came from quite a distance to enjoy the wide range of facilities. When he had the chance, Toby always asked where the men had travelled from: Worcester, Malvern, Bristol, and Leeds were the four he remembered. Toby was very lucky. He could get the bus there, if necessary, but usually he made the twenty minute car journey.

Last night he had visited again, with thoughts of Oscar occupying his mind and disturbing him, throwing him off, making the visit to the sauna seem like the act of a desperate man. Something indeed was decidedly off in the place. He failed to get the usual attention. Each man he approached, even in the dark room, rejected his advances. It wasn’t anything to do with his age or attitude, or the lack of available men. It was simply a sign from God that he should have stayed at home.

For the first time in a very long time, in his third home, he felt miserable and dejected. He left early. He knew what God was doing but he couldn’t accept it. He had always felt that he was in control of things, not God, not the other way around. Toby had sometimes even felt that he was in control of God. Not tonight though. It was a bitter lesson. And there was soon another lesson to come, just as bitter, perhaps more so.

Back home, for consolation, he turned every part of his attention to Oscar and once he was settled away from his husband in his own bed - they had separate bedrooms - he had a long, difficult wank. It was during this act of prolonged and frustrating masturbation that Toby faced once again an aspect of himself that caused him confusion and uncertainty. By now, at seventy, the gap between himself and his lovers was growing wider and wider. As the gap grew, Toby found himself simultaneously being attracted to younger and younger men. He was considering offers of sex from men as young as 22 or 23. There were quite a few offers, though few actual encounters. So far, the youngest he had met and bedded was 25, which meant a 45 year age-gap. He knew at the root of it that this was his own way of not accepting that he was coming to the end of his life, certainly the end of his sex life, if not his actual bodily existence. While he was with a thirty-year-old man, Toby himself was also thirty. It was a simple logical equation he weighed up in his mind and deemed acceptable.

As he rubbed and rubbed at himself in bed, nothing that he could think of would allow him release. Thinking of Oscar was painful, but got the job started. After that, wherever his mind went, it would not carry him over the threshold into orgasm, relief, exhaustion and sleep. Toby must have thought of a dozen different men in at least a dozen different sexual scenarios. Nothing helped. He considered calling on God to ask him to help finish the job, - that usually did the trick - but he was pissed with God.

As he lay there, tired but stiff, into his mind came the image of a youth, a teenager, a lad in swimming trunks. It was a photo sent to him by Tom, a friend from up north. Toby wondered how young Tom was in that photo. Toby wondered how young his frustrated libido would let him go. He started at 22 and counted down. The sheer outrageous nature of the exercise turned everything into fifth gear and he knew he would soon be ejaculating, free of the tension. The excitement rose as he slowly and deliberately counted down: 21, 20, 19, 18…

The physical relief which he had so desperately craved was now replaced with a correspondingly desperate sense of psychological shock and tension at how low he had gone.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

God immediately summoned several of His attending angels, as many as were nearby.

“It is time to intervene,” he said to Himself. “This nonsense has to stop.”

He looked at the three angels in front of Him. One was stunningly attractive, his name, coincidentally, also Toby, who looked to be about 45 years old. Another angel looked about ten years younger, a slim, tall lad called Connor. And then there was a 60-year-old angel called Derek. Derek was also good-looking, but kindly, gentle, considerate.

“Derek,” said God, “I have a job for you. We have a soul to save, maybe two if we are lucky.”

God paused, frowned and thought a little.

“Actually,” He said, “Maybe even a few more than that, if things go well.”

God smiled. He had overheard Oscar telling Toby his thoughts on God. Oscar viewed God as an elemental force, a universal loving energy. At least Toby had got that part right. Toby knew that God was a person, but mistakenly thought that God was every person on earth. This thought or belief just didn’t make much difference to Toby’s behaviour, which is all quite logical, as Toby himself in his own mind was therefore also God. It caused a hell of a lot of trouble, this kind of thinking. Toby wasn’t the only one infected by it.

But there is a big difference between being God and playing God. Toby was damned good at playing God. Whereas God himself was sick to death of being God and of having to intervene in cases like Toby.

God rarely, if ever, intervened, maybe only once or twice in each millennium. This was no ordinary job for an angel. Usually, they were left to their own devices.

“I want you to visit a gay sauna, Derek,” said God. “Not now, but probably a week from now.”

“Oh goody!” exclaimed Derek. It would be like home from home.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

The online chat between Toby, his husband and Steve went well. There was no mention of the man called Oscar. Steve made not even the slightest reference to it. They talked instead of other matters, mental conundrums mainly, the sorts of questions God had heard a million times. Another friend from Austria joined them. All four men ended up sitting in silence for quite a while, looking at each other on the screen, as they usually did when they all got together like this.

Steve sent a brief private message to Toby after the meeting had finished.

“You’re a provocateur, like me, Dad,” it read.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

“Can we meet again?” asked Toby.

Oscar replied, “It’s difficult now that my wife is back home.”

“Love will find a way,” said Toby, knowing that Oscar was starting to feel nervous.

This was the difference between them. Oscar was nervous of being found out; Toby was nervous of remaining hidden. As the one withdrew, the other was likely to get more daring. It was the eternal battle for dominance between a man who was reluctant to hurt others and a man who knew that remaining in that place of pain, and hurting oneself, was likely to do more damage. Neither of the men were approaching it correctly.

This is why this story is necessary. It is not a sex story, though sex comes into it. It is not a love story, though the word love is scattered throughout. This is the story of our common universal human pain. This is the timeless testament to it. We have had Old Testaments and New, but only something that steps outside of time altogether is really a testament, a covenant. Our human will, with all the ramifications of its actions and possible reactions, only has meaning when it stands completely outside of time, when time is absent, when time is in abeyance. In that space alone does love have any meaning.

Nor is this a hopeful story, a story of hope for humanity. This is not about someone going through a terrible trauma and coming out the other side. Hope is the product of despair. Hope and despair go together. Despair is also the product of hope. It is like anything that thought gets involved with, psychologically: it has to produce an opposite.

“Your friend has not lost his wife,” said Toby to his god son.

Steve had been trying to reach out and connect meaningfully with a friend whose wife had died ten years ago and who was still feeling the pangs of grief.

“That which is lost can be found. When a person dies, they are dead, gone forever, never to be found,” said Toby to his god son, starting a new chain of provocation.

This is why life is so miraculous. We are not dead. But the hope of a life after death, of seeing a loved one again in another life, makes a mockery of what we have right in front of us.

“This is the moment that matters,” Toby continued, “Not what happened yesterday or what may happen tomorrow.”

The relationship right now with whomever you may be with is the only truth in all this. For you as the reader it is this relationship right now with an anonymous author. It is the same for the author, reaching out to a dark room of anonymous eyes.

They are probably blind to him because they want a version of love that comes in the form of an image, be it a wife, a husband, a friend, a lover. They want that which is familiar.

Love is the unfamiliar, the strange, the stranger. Love cannot be anything else. It is literally all around us. We don't see it because we have the image in place of what love should be, of what comforts it provides, of what warmth it offers our cold hearts. So first we must love our cold hearts, our pain, start there and move out; not reach out first in order to cure from a distance that which is at our fingertips.

This is the timeless testament to our cold human hearts.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby wanted to send a quick message to Oscar, telling him something - he couldn’t remember what now - but found that Oscar had blocked him. On going into it further, Oscar had also removed himself as a friend from the website through which they communicated. Toby was shocked, but not surprised.

God, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted. He clapped his hands with glee.

“It’s started, boys!” he called out to the few angels standing around. “The game is afoot!”

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Some of the angels rolled their eyes, whether at God's enthusiasm or at His use of a cliché was unclear.

"Derek!" God shouted, "Are you there?"

So much for an all-seeing God - a common delusion. God was quite good at not seeing what was right in front of Him too. He won't be that much help in this story as it demands exactly that: the ability to see what is right under your nose. However, as a protagonist in the story he can get things moving.

"I'm here!" announced Derek. "Is it time for my sauna visit?"

"Yes," said God. "We need to work quickly to protect Toby."

Oscar can wait, thought God.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

[Removed by poster at 07/10/25 11:59:39]

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

First, God sent a text message to Toby. It told him that all his STI tests were clear, that there was no evidence of infection. Obviously, Toby took it as a sign from God that he was meant to carry on being promiscuous.

This was not quite what God had in mind when he sent the text. God wanted Toby to be in a clean place where he could be in a position to make a clear decision.

Toby didn't take it that way. He took the all-clear as proof that he was protected, that he could take all sorts of risks without danger of harm. This was Toby's reckless nature coming to the fore.

"Fuck him!" thought Toby in respect of Oscar. "I'll just find someone else."

He worked out that he could get away to the sauna on Thursday, not his usual haunt, but one equally close-by.

***

"Thursday," said God to Derek. "There is a place called 'Sirs' about thirty minutes from where Toby lives."

Derek smiled and rubbed his hands. He had seen Toby's photos by now and liked what he saw. Derek loved a silver fox.

"And get there early, before he does," said God. "We need to head him off at the pass."

Once again, an angel or two rolled their eyes.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Of course, God was terribly bored most of the time. It was inevitable. Having created the damned thing he was now stuck having to live in the very universe he had created. Most of it was uninhabitable. In the only part where life thrived, they all killed each other.

He had created the universe out of a profound sense of boredom and loneliness and it had backfired. He was lonelier than ever. Interacting with his creations was all that he could do for company, for entertainment, for enlightenment. But because he had created them and knew all about them, they were not that inspiring. Only occasionally, when someone like Jesus or Buddha or Krishnamurti came along, was there any sense of fun. Rumi too, was great fun. God had liked Rumi especially.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

They were fun because they had guessed God's game and were able to articulate it, some of them with incredible accuracy, saying things that were in plain view all the time and yet making it sound like revelations. This was partly the problem. There were not enough people around to pick up the mantle, to continue the journey into the mystery. Most of the followers of these men settled back into lazy patterns very quickly.

Probably, this was because God himself was very lazy. He had just created a wider manifestation of his own essential nature. Only Krishnamurti had stood out among the crowd for God. Here was a man who could never be called lazy. But even with him there were issues. More of this later. Now he had to save Toby from himself.

"Why Toby?" one may ask. A good question.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Once we are clear about what we want, we cease to want it. The clarity is enough. While we are unclear, we search in every dark and dismal corner for comfort. This is like Toby searching for love and excitement online, as well as in beds and in saunas. He thinks he knows what he wants, which is pleasure, and chases that. He hopes that the pleasure will relieve him of the burden of himself.

However, such relief is always transitory and the demand for repetition comes back stronger than ever. Clarity is different. A clear mind is free of desire. Once one realises that all one really wants is clarity then life is very simple. One is free to look directly at one's own actual pain.

This was the lesson for both Toby and God to learn. They both had to face the fact of their fundamental loneliness, the loneliness of the creator and the created. Only then is creation itself possible, which is a new wave of energy, a wholly different story.

Oscar was out of the picture. He was observing, judging, waiting. God knows what he was doing. God couldn't be arsed.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

[Removed by poster at 07/10/25 13:29:00]

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby, meanwhile, was feeling surprisingly calm. After his initial outburst at Oscar, caused by the fact that he now had no way to contact him, and the pain of rejection that followed from Oscar’s withdrawal from their project, he knew all along that he had been expecting this anyway. He had prepared for it. He had built it into the very fabric of the project itself. So, now, faced with the pain of rejection, it came as a surprise for him to find that he had already found a way out of the fire.

“I didn’t mean that, Oscar,” he said to himself, hoping that somewhere his words would be heard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or to scare you off.”

The tears came to his eyes, familiar and as ancient as the woods.

“I love you, Oscar, and always will. I shall always be here for you.”

He considered putting the words into a letter, but realised he had no address. Then he remembered another app that they had used and sent him a quick message. Perhaps, - and Toby remembered Oscar saying something about having difficulty with the website - his account had become corrupted in some way.

“Are you OK, darling?” he wrote.

He didn’t mind what came back, or if nothing at all came back. In that sense, like God, he couldn’t be arsed either way. He had stepped into another dimension now. Probably it was what he had been saying to his god son that made all the difference. They had continued talking and Toby had taken the risk of telling Steve about what Oscar had done, about the rejection.

After that, they had communicated at length, as they often did, Toby at home in the West Midlands, Steve travelling somewhere by train. Toby realised that what he wanted more than anything was not a sexual relationship at all with a younger man. He wanted a proper relationship as a father to a son, where anything at all could be said and shared. They may talk about sex, make rude jokes, but there was no trace of that desire between them. This was at the heart of everything.

Toby cried a little more. Now he wanted to thank Oscar for making this fact so obvious, for bringing about this revelation. He wanted Oscar as another son, not as some throw-away sexual object. This was the forever part of the thing, not some peculiar love affair.

Maybe Oscar really wanted a father. Maybe this too was at the heart of his pain. Toby realised it must be so for a loving father would never have put his son through conversion therapy, choosing a scripture over a soul.

Toby wept.

It is all a vale of tears.

No wonder God was so bored with his creation. This was all so easy to solve.

In a way, the answer lay in what Toby had originally said, after he had said, "Fuck him!" about Oscar. "I'll find someone else," he had said.

Now he knew exactly what he wanted, it would be easy to find someone else. He had already done it. He had found him right under his nose. His own god son. The relationship was already in place; it was simply that they had not related.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Author's note:

This is the end of the story for the moment. Until Oscar comes back into Toby's life, if he ever does, the tale is told and day is done.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Four: Thistledew

"What the actual fuck!" swore God. He was borrowing a phrase of Oscar's, trying it on for size.

The three attending angels shuffled their feet nervously, not knowing what to expect.

"I am sick to the back teeth of all this,” he continued. “First foolish Toby. Then that idiot Oscar. Now this interfering baggage called George. They are all as bad as each other!"

He picked up the cup of tea that Derek had brought in.

"Who the hell does George Ergeo think he is?" he asked.

Connor stepped forward.

"We think it's a pseudonym," he said.

"Pseudonym, my arse," exploded God. "I know damn well who he is - and he has no right to interfere!"

He took a sip of tea.

"Is this Yorkshire tea?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," answered Derek. "It's whatever is in the tin."

God groaned.

"Right," he said, "I've made some decisions."

The angels gathered closer. The angel called Toby picked up a pad and pen.

"First off, no more gay sex!" he said.

Derek's face crumbled.

"No, Derek, not that. You are still to go to the sauna and do whatever you have to do. I just don't want to hear about it." Derek 's face brightened. "If I have to read about another bloody bell-end I shall throw up!" He looked at Derek. “But of course you can still play with them.”

Derek's face had brightened considerably.

"I can make you a fresh brew, if you wish," he said.

"No," said God. "This'll do."

The angels smiled. Thistledew was the name of God's cottage. He said it a lot.

"Anyway, what was I saying!" He looked around at Connor, Toby and Derek.

"Decisions," said Connor, pleased to get in first. Usually, Toby got in first.

"Oh, yes," said God. He stroked his chin. He couldn't think of anything else.

"Anyway, no more descriptions of gay sex. That's good enough for the moment."

God flapped his hand to show he was finished with them.

"Toby," he said. "Can you stay behind for a minute?

Toby nodded.

"Thanks for the tea, Derek," said God. "The Yorkshire tea is in the box on the top shelf. Next time, eh?"

Derek and Connor left the room, leaving God alone with Toby.

***

This was really all angel Toby’s fault, the whole thing from the beginning, the story begins because of him.

“You do realise,” said God, “That I can’t really send you back to sort things out now, don’t you?”

“Why not?” asked Toby.

“Why not!” God looked startled. “Why not! How many novels do you know where the chief protagonists had the same name? What would we do? Earthly Toby and heavenly Toby? Mortal Toby and angel Toby? Toby 1 and Toby 2?”

Toby 2 could see the point. Or was he really Toby 1? Who came first in the story if he had instigated the whole drama? He could see God’s point. His brain ran incredibly quickly. As well as stunning good looks he had an amazing brain. He was old beyond his years, always had been. This was why the trouble started as it did.

“Let me tell them,” said God.

There was a long pause.

“Why did you accept his offer of meeting in the first place?” asked God.

“I like older men,” said angel Toby. “There was nothing to put me off.”

“Until there was!” laughed God. “What was it that put you off?”

“It was all too intense for me,” explained angel Toby.

“What about the sex itself?” asked God, aware he was risking breaking his own new rule.

“OK,” said angel Toby. “OK.”

“OK, but not earth-shattering?” asked God.

“OK,” said angel Toby. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’d have to ask him for his perspective.”

“Because it takes two to tango?” asked God. “Maybe.” God was surprised at angel Toby’s reticence, but he didn’t press the issue.

God finished off his tea with one last swig.

“Anyway, you rejected him,” said God.

“Yes,” said angel Toby.

God sighed. Why couldn’t even the angels get these things right? What was wrong with people? People in the afterlife, anyway, he meant. He knew what was wrong with the people on earth. He had thought things might have improved by offering some of them a chance for salvation and eternal life, but that too had backfired.

This was where God wanted the author to come back in and explain things, but, because he had directly interfered, that was going to be difficult. Anyway, the author might refuse to have any more to do with this.

Both the Tobys had been somewhat excited about the prospect of meeting one another. Earthly Toby already knew he was going to be meeting a heavenly Toby as soon as he saw his photograph. The evidence was clear. He should have steered clear. He knew in advance that he was likely to get hurt by the encounter, as delightful as it may be in the bedroom. He was taking another risk. He was making another reckless move. And as a result of what he saw as the failure of the meeting, he sought refuge and comfort in Oscar, from a safer distance. At 70, to fall in love with a 45-year-old and to hope for it to be reciprocated was ludicrous. And so it became intense, as a way to counter its ludicrous nature. 70-year-old Toby sowed the seeds of his own destruction.

“If only we had a proper place of our own,” said God. “If heaven was in the clouds somewhere then none of this kind of thing could ever happen.”

But of course, God and all the angels had no choice but to live upon earth, invisible among mankind. By the way in which God had designed things, there was no other habitable spot. He certainly wasn’t going to spend eternity on the moon or in some celestial space station. Anyway, God liked earth mostly. He thought he had done a very good job of it. If only he had thought about the consequences of what happens when a lot of men and women make a lot of children. At least Yorkshire tea was some consolation - when they remembered where it was in the cupboard.

“You’re probably going to lose a lot of interest,” Toby reminded God. “The rule about no descriptions of sex is going to put off a lot of readers.”

“No,” said God, “Not readers - it’ll put off a lot of wankers!”

God took his cup into the kitchen and left it in the sink.

“Which chapter are we in now,” he asked?

Angel Toby picked up his iPad and whizzed through the pages of the story.

“Chapter Four,” said Toby.

“Does it have a title?” asked God.

Toby moved the screen with his fingers and looked back to the start of the chapter.

“Nothing so far,” he replied.

God stretched his shoulders and exhaled loudly.

“Thistledew,” he said. “Thistledew.”

Toby typed it in and then closed the cover. It was late in the afternoon. He had to travel back towards Lichfield, which was an hour’s journey in the rush-hour. God had a slightly longer journey back to Shropshire. Derek and Connor had already left, for Malvern and Walsall respectively. Who would have thought all this took place in the West Midlands?

And God realised it was all his fault really, not Toby’s, nor Toby’s; not Oscar’s, nor anyone else’s. He had realised the same thing daily, almost every hour, but with a gradually increasing sense of urgency, for about the last ten thousand years.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

In another part of the West Midlands, earthly Toby was out shopping with his husband. Things had cooled between Toby and his god son in the sense that they were not all day sending each other messages. Toby wondered if he had stepped too far into a mode of personal confession. He wondered what effect all that he had said would have on their long-term relationship. However, whatever happened, Toby at least knew that he had related: he had related the relevant facts about himself, keeping very little back.

If his god son Steve had an image about him, too bad, and it would all go wrong. If there were no images, but just a willingness to learn about one another, then it would all continue to run smoothly. Probably, what would happen would take a middle course. Steve would be aware of the image-making machinery and adjust accordingly.

Earlier that morning Toby had been looking back at some of Oscar’s messages to gain clues that might explain his silence. One message in particular remained in his mind because it struck a deep chord for Toby, resonating with something that had happened to him in his childhood. Oscar had told Toby that he had recently reconnected with his best mate from growing up, someone two years younger than him. Oscar had had a huge crush on the older brother of this friend. This reminded Toby of a painful experience in similar circumstances, of having a close friend the same age who also had an older brother for whom Toby had a crush.

One day, when he was about eight or nine years old, the older brother of his friend had called to Toby from two gardens away. At the sound of his own name from the mouth of the lad he admired, calling him so positively and strongly, Toby felt a surge of joy run through his mind and body. At last, he thought, I have been recognised; he has seen me; he wants to play. This was inside an eight-year-old brain, remember.

But when Toby responded with an enthusiastic, ‘Hello!’, all he got back was, “Toby! Toby! Don’t be a phoney!”

It was a cruel tease, that’s all. He had kept the memory of it alive in his mind for more than sixty years. It had affected all his relationships with male friends ever since, but chiefly it had affected all his sexual relationships with men, instilling in him from the age of eight or nine the hope of acceptance and the fear of rejection.

Now, today, he was once again eight years old, mulling over what he had done wrong, what he had said, what he had neglected to do, that had made Oscar turn away.

Immediately behind Oscar there was another rejection lurking too, the rejection from the other Toby, the angel Toby, whom he had met recently with high hopes. He had gone over to his house, near Lichfield, to spend the evening. This was so painful that it has taken us till Chapter Four to even mention it. Toby had suppressed it, ignored, rationalised it, and was now using Oscar as the cover story for his pain. Of course, behind the pain of Toby there was the deeper pain, going back to childhood. We have seen one example of it. We have also seen how Toby was cruelly deceived by the first man he later fell in love with, at 22, his fake friend Adam who later morphed into his real deceiver Stuart.

That incident with Adam/Stuart was described in Chapter One. It was something from a long time ago, not only in actual time for Toby but also perhaps for the reader. This is the problem with descriptions of events from the past. It is better to stick with direct perceptions of the present, excluding both the past and the future. This is something God and his angels would applaud.

Toby had known from the first instant that the other Toby was an angel, as soon as he saw his photograph. This impression was confirmed by the other Toby himself, who in the course of their evening together told earthly Toby that they had probably met at some point in the past at the local sauna.

At first, Toby was at a loss to remember any such occasion. Then, overnight, it came to him. He remembered standing next to angel Toby in the sauna, late one evening, maybe even briefly holding hands, knowing that this other man was an angel. At the time, Toby moved away, too scared to remain at his side.

In the same way, having met him and gone to bed with him now, and having talked to him for nearly two hours afterwards, once again Toby felt very scared. Subconsciously, he knew he had to move away again. He could feel the wheels turning as he sat there, drinking tea with Toby 2, the angel, the heavenly one. This time he moved away by being too intense later that night, by writing too soon and by saying too much, by offering too much of himself. It was as though he had deliberately set out to scare off angel Toby. Really, however, he had merely withdrawn into himself, too scared of himself, by giving angel Toby a valid excuse to reject him.

This was why God was a bit pissed off with angel Toby. For God there were never valid excuses for ignoring or rejecting people in pain. God was quite a hypocrite therefore. He had spent most of his own existence doing exactly that.

It may surprise the reader to learn that God is not only lazy but also a hypocrite. However, it explains a lot, if you think about it. It answers a hell of a lot of theological questions.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

“What the actual fuck!” laughed Toby, who at that moment was actually being fucked by Derek.

“I know!” said Derek. “Crazy, isn’t it!” He maintained a slow, gentle, regular rhythm.

“Does he swear a lot?” asked Toby, laughing some more, enjoying the twin experiences of being fucked while gossiping about God. It was a notable first for him.

“Like a trooper sometimes,” said Derek, adjusting his stance to gain better purchase.

Derek was aware that any inappropriate description of his current actions could be censored at any time. Toby was oblivious to that fact, Derek’s gossiping having some limits.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

By the time Toby got to meet Derek, he had already worked out most of it for himself. This is why he recognised, almost immediately, the angelic nature of Derek. This is why he was able to have such a serious, yet sexy, conversation about the true nature of God. That Thursday he had gone to the sauna as an experiment only, to find out what his own actions and reactions might be. Toby had already worked out the truth about the lazy, hypocritical nature of God; now he could add ‘and occasionally foul-mouthed’ to the list.

The day before, in the course of his shopping expedition with his husband, the whole thing about the nature of the universe had been revealed to him yet again. This was in Cannock, a small town also on the edge of the West Midlands, hardly to be called prosperous, some of it currently being knocked down and rebuilt, yet with acres and acres of natural beauty on its doorstep. Toby knew parts of this acreage very well, for it included a notorious cruising spot for men, which he had discovered for himself only fairly recently. He called the place Red Acres, because of what various parts of men’s anatomies must feel like after they had finished engaging with each other. Even Toby was getting cautious about being too descriptive now. Needless to say, men went there to have sex with one another, the evidence of which was scattered around among the bushes, mainly in the form of tissues, discarded condom wrappers and dropped, used condoms.

The revelation in Cannock town centre was almost identical to that revelation he had had almost 50 years before while walking through the secluded scenery of Scotland. This time he was in the company of his husband; this time there were other people milling about. This time it was not the natural beauty of the mountains that remained in his mind; this time it was a revelation into the beauty of all humanity.

Once again, he had been thinking about a man and wondering why he had been rejected, wondering what he had done wrong. What was the point of falling in love so often if it meant so much pain? Or was the pain itself the point? What was the point of communicating with anyone if communication itself was impossible? Was that also the point? And what was the true meaning of human contact? Was it only bodies that were meant to touch and not minds? Toby was mulling it over. He was allowing the pain of it to envelop him, not resisting it too much, while not drawing it in towards him too deliberately either.

When the revelation came, as he stepped through the door of a charity shop back out into the street, he knew immediately what was happening and what was being shown to him. He stood completely still and watched it play out. His husband emerged from the same shop and went into the shop next door, seeking out toiletries. There were people walking down the street towards him from both directions - pensioners, people in mobility scooters, small groups of teenagers, women of a certain age, some of them plastered in too much make-up, people with great sadness on their faces, people walking past in apathy and one or two who smiled at him. They smiled at him because Toby himself couldn’t help smiling. He was transfixed by the beauty of all that he was looking at, every face. It wasn’t a smile of social signalling, of showing off his own inner happiness, a smile of manipulation. It was a smile of recognition. It was as though he had just recognised the faces of his own beloved god sons among the crowd.

His god son Bela had been talking to him earlier that morning, over text as usual, from his flat not far from Budapest. They had been in each other’s lives for just over two years now, reckoned Toby. It felt longer than that, much longer, so he calculated back, but, yes, two years last March they met, so just over two and a half years. Even then it seemed much longer. He couldn’t think of a time when Bela was not there. They had already done so much together, been for meals and drinks and walks, Bela making the trips by plane, hiring his car, joining them for time together in Devon, in Hampshire, in Birmingham. Bela loved Birmingham. Parts of it reminded him of Budapest. He lived outside Budapest, but often stayed there with friends, perhaps on the night before he had to catch a flight to the UK.

The secret about the relationship with his god sons was that both he and his husband loved them both in equal measure; and they in turn loved both of them in equal measure. Both. The word was significant somehow. Middle English: probably partly from bo ‘both’ + tho ‘those’, and partly from Old Norse báthir. Toby remembered the old Scottish word ‘bothy’ which meant a small hut or cottage, a basic shelter. God lived in a bothy, Thistledew. He wasn’t all bad then.

From now on it was vital to be careful, slow, oblique, indistinct, vague. Too much description was deadly, not just in the sex scenes but in everything else. The role of the provocateur had to be embraced fully, in the same way as he had embraced the role of the philanderer, the one who is fond of men.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

From now on it had to be unclear exactly who was telling the story: Toby, God, George Ergeo, the author or something else.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Before Toby set off to go to the sauna and meet Derek, he wondered whom to contact via email and realised that there was no-one there at the other end of any message except himself. It didn’t matter whether he sent a message to one of his god sons, to an ex-partner, to an old friend, to a prospective lover, to a work colleague, to someone at the counselling service, to an anonymous cog in the wheel of some commercial concern, to Oscar, to angel Derek, to angel Toby, to angel Connor (we shall get to him presently) - whatever he did and whatever he said Toby knew he was doing it and saying it only to himself. For he was the world. He was responsible for whatever the world might do and say to him.

By now, also, Toby had recognised that there were three types of angel: a friendly one, a scary one and a sexy one. They all had elements of each aspect within them, but they were each archetypes. Derek was the friendly one. Toby (angel Toby) was the scary one. This meant that angel Connor, whom Toby (original Toby) had never met, was going to be the truly sexy one. Perhaps this was why it had been so difficult for Toby to get to meet him. They were now on their fourth planned date, three having already fallen through. Of course they all had elements of sexiness, friendliness and scariness scattered among their personalities, as they are for all of us, but these were their archetypal characteristics. Toby had felt the vibe of scariness immediately with angel Toby; he had felt the friendliness shine off Derek; and he was starting to get concerned and hot under the collar about the sexiness of Connor.

Wasn’t it funny how by now Oscar was completely forgotten? This was the same Oscar who had contributed an entire chapter to the story so far. For Toby, though, when he stopped to think about Oscar, as he did now, he still became tearful. Oscar was a real person, going through real pain, escaping down his own dark tunnel. Except now, of course, Oscar was also an invention of the mind of Toby, another part of the world he had created and was responsible for. It was this responsibility that mattered, not whether he was something real or invented. In the end, that didn’t matter.

Toby wrote as much to his god son Steve.

In the end, it doesn't matter whether we are living in the matrix or not, whether we are something real or invented. It is our responsibility for it that matters, to find a way of moving and living among the many forms that surround us, irrespective of whether they are something real or invented. There is no difference in responsibility.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Five: On the Eve of His Execution

Toby wrote a short story. Or God. Or George Ergeo. Or the author. Or something else wrote it. (Anyway, the sex scenes got through unnoticed and uncensored.)

PS See the same story here by searching for the title above, if you have not already seen it. G

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Six:

God was singing.

“I like a nice cup of tea in the morning,

Just to start the day, you see;

And at half past eleven,

My idea of heaven,

Is a nice cup of tea…”

This was the very first time that Toby (earthly Toby) could hear God directly for himself. It wasn’t that he was himself becoming an angel; things were not that simple. It was merely that Toby had moved permanently into another dimension of living. In that sense, Toby had moved to a higher level of existence than God, who, having created the universe, was now chiefly concerned with the order of things upon the earth.

God, having created the universe out of his own profound sense of loneliness and boredom, was still picking up the pieces of that nuclear reaction.

Toby, on the other hand, was now aware only of a profound sense of aloneness and compassion.

He went to the sauna, got there earlier than Derek, was invited to engage in sexual intimacy with a young south asian man of 24 and found that he knew exactly what to do. Later, a man his age, 70, made the same invitation to him. Again, Toby knew exactly what to do. In between, he met angel Derek. They sat outside, though it was early October, and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on their naked bodies. They had no choice about that. It was Naked Day in the sauna and the towels provided were about the size of a slice of bread. But it was warm and cosy, sitting in deck chairs on the roof. Inside, the heating must have been turned up too high because it was a real relief to get outside.

“Who is there in your life who loves you?” Toby had asked the south asian man.

His name was Rav and he had d*unk vodka in order to gain the courage to come inside the sauna. Toby could smell the drink on his breath, though he was not too far gone d*unk. Indeed, he was articulate and thoughtful, honest, and open with Toby, answering all his questions.

“Why do you ask?” queried Rav, puzzled at the attention.

“Because you are lovely. You are loveable. You deserve someone who loves you.”

Rav said that no-one had ever complimented him before. Toby told him he had beautiful eyes, a beautiful face and a beautiful nature, because of his honesty and nervousness.

Rav said that he did not kiss and then asked Toby to kiss him.

Rav talked of his girlfriend - or girlfriends; it was not clear how many - and of hiding his visits here from her and his family. He said that Rav was not his real name.

“Men know better how to pleasure other men,” was basically his reason for visiting.

“Find out what you really want,” said Toby. “Find someone who will love you for who you are, which is a beautiful man.”

As Rav was changing to go home and Toby was checking his phone by his locker, Derek entered. The warmth and affection that Toby and Derek expressed for one another must have made some impression on the boy, though he said nothing. He left without saying goodbye, not furtively, but decidedly. It would take a few years yet for him to work it all out properly, if he ever did. Most men would not be bothered to work it out.

After spending time with Rav, Toby was thirsty. He entered the cafe lounge and ordered a cup of tea. That was when he heard God singing in the background. The man on the sofa was the 70-year-old man. They talked for about twenty minutes and then went to a room together. They came out for a breather, said hello again to Derek, and then returned. It was a passionate, friendly, intimate connection, on several levels, not just sexual. The man shared a lot of details with Toby about his life, his family, his hobbies.

Later, Toby sat outside again with Derek. They were attracted to one another, but friendship mattered more to both of them. The sex was immaterial. Toby drove home, cleansed, refreshed, washed with the joys of bodily contact, of reaching out. He had found yet another secret. He hoped that God was going to be happy with his description of the visit.

By now, the identities or the personalities of Toby, George Ergeo and the author were beginning to blend into one. God was still a separate entity, who remained for the moment at the core of the story.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

“To tell the story as it is, not as it should be,” reiterated God, “That’s the essence of it.”

Toby (the heavenly one) pursed his lips.

“And, so far, has it been like that?” he asked.

God reviewed the story so far, a very speedy proof reader.

“Yes, on the whole, yes,” he said. “I can’t find anything majorly amiss.”

Of course, names had been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, but that was par for the course.

“As long as the story retains its integrity, it doesn’t matter what happens to the characters within it,” affirmed God. “We are all fictional.”

Can God say that about himself? He certainly did say it. And it seemed that he meant it.

“Yes, we are all fictional,” he repeated, “Whether we are here for ten years, a hundred years or a hundred million years.”

“13.8 billion years, actually,” said Toby. He had quickly looked at google.

“Exactly!” said God. “And I should know.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He was beyond tears when he got on to this subject so it didn’t matter.

“13.8 billion years! And for what? A Happy Meal? Twenty different types of toilet paper?”

Connor entered the room.

“Am I still to meet Toby in a fortnight’s time?” he asked. “We’ve set a date. It’s our third or fourth attempt.”

God stood still. He looked around the room as though seeking something out, though he was just playing for time. He weighed up the last 13.8 billion years and the progress men had made in their relationships with one another. He thought of the beautiful young nervous Rav and of his having to resort to drinking in order to find a few moments of intimacy and escape. He thought of the earthly Toby and of his search for love in the arms of men. He thought of Oscar and the pain inflicted upon him by his own family, meaning for God the supposed family of his church. He thought of Gaza and the pain of thousands, if not of hundreds of thousands. Gaza was once again coming to some sort of promised resolution. It didn’t matter. God knew that in a dozen years time it would be forgotten and all eyes would be on another conflict, somewhere else in the world.

“Too damned right,” he said. “And don’t fuck it up!”

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

God winked at Toby. Toby made a written note and would later amend the heading at the beginning of Chapter Six.

Chapter Six: Don't Fuck It Up!

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

God was examining himself in the full length mirror.

"Am I really that old?" he asked.

"Older," said Toby. "You came first."

God blushed. He knew what Toby was implying by the use of that word 'came', its sexual connotation.

"I was lonely!" admitted God.

"And you still are, aren't you?" challenged Toby.

"It was a long time ago. Loneliness has a different meaning now," he said.

"Does it?" asked Toby, unconvinced. "It seems to me that all you did was spread it further out by sharing it with us."

God smiled. He was very fond of Toby.

"Come here," he said. "Give me a kiss."

They kissed. They kissed quite passionately actually, like a classic clinch in an old Hollywood movie. God even lifted his leg, enjoying the cliché.

"It doesn't ever solve it though, does it?" said Toby, bright as a button. "Sex covers it up and keeps it going at the same time."

They retired to the next room, where there were comfier chairs.

"You're more like two billion years old, by my reckoning," said Toby. "Though you don't look it."

God knew that. He'd endured several thousand years of compliments since humans had come along and had worked out well enough the necessary theological language to tell him how ageless he was.

"Am I beautiful?" God asked, nervously, never having put the question before, thinking of what earthly Toby had said to Rav.

"No," said Toby, honestly. "You're an ugly little fucker."

At that moment, God too was scared of Toby.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

There was one scene in the sauna that Toby would never forget. Floating in the jacuzzi, there was the slim pale body of a man, little more than a youth, his head resting on the side of the tub, his body held up not just by the water but by the five or six men standing around him. To Toby it was like a renaissance painting, the anointing of the body of Christ. He stood behind the boy's head and held it in his hands, stroking his hair, his head and his face. The boy all the time remained with his eyes closed. The men were largely silent, in awe, fascinated, holding and caressing the beautiful flawless body in the water. Other men stopped to watch. It was a divine moment, a moment out of time. There was only an abounding tenderness, the older men caring for their young.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

The idea that heaven was located in the very place where they themselves were living had occurred to very few human beings. This was why a lot of them rejected Christianity outright, considering the whole concept of a celestial heaven an absurdity. Other religions also put heaven in a remote, faraway place. Those that considered it rarely got a glimpse of the actuality behind the concept they had formed. Probably, the only way for it to work out well was for the actuality to come before the concept.

Toby was rereading a message from his god son Bela.

“The other day we went to visit a nice spot in my hometown. We could see the highlands of the Balaton, the sky was clear and everything was green, fading into the colours of autumn. As we stood on the hill I suddenly realised what we mean by heaven. We eat the best food every day. Our table is full, hand-to-hand ingredients. The vegetables we receive from the local farmers. The bread is without chemicals. Sourdough bread. Flour, water and salt. Pure nature.”

Toby smiled and remembered their walks together in Hampshire. Toby had the same feeling about heaven whenever they were together. One day, walking alongside the streams and fields, feeding the ducks, in the warm sunshine, all three of them realised it, Bela, Toby and his husband. There was even some strange sign, put up in the hedgerow, appearing from nowhere, making little sense, that told them they were on an ancient pilgrim’s path. Bela was the eternal pilgrim. Anyone who walked with him would be on the same celestial journey, with their feet on the ground in heaven.

“Yesterday she asked why I don’t have friends and why I want to be always alone.”

Bela was referring to his girlfriend, someone he had known for many years but with whom he had recently reconnected.

“You are friends with everyone you meet,” wrote Toby. “That's why you don't need specific friends. You are a free soul, not tied to attachments, free to find out who you are. It is scary finding out who we are. After all, we are essentially nothing. How we live with that without making a mess of it is what matters.”

Bela responded keenly, “That is a very proper answer!”

“There is a deep lonely place at the bottom of everybody where everything is revealed as sacred and connected. It is only our loneliness that saves us from being monsters. But most people won't face it. Most people are monstrous,” continued Toby.

“Yes, they are,” agreed Bela. “They don’t see the passing nature of life.”

“There is only today, this moment, where we can communicate and love one another. There is no other time.”

“Life is very beautiful in itself,” said Bela. “Only people make it hard.”

“It is all God’s fault,” finished Toby. “Naughty God.”

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

God wanted to know more about the origins of the story that Toby had written. The next time he saw Derek he asked for some clarification.

“Derek,” he said. “This story, about the prisoner and the guard, did Toby say anything to you about it?”

Derek was just finishing squeezing the tea bag and adding the milk.

“Proper tea today, darling,” he said. “I don’t want any moans and groans from you.”

He handed the mug of tea to God and placed his own at the side of the table where they were both going to sit. There was a plate of biscuits too, chocolate ones in their own individual wrappers.

“Oh, yes,” said Derek, “I remember now. We were in a cubicle together and Toby said it felt like being in a prison cell. He was the lifer and I was the guard.”

It all made sense now. God perked up.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Well,” said Derek, not sure if this would make himself blush or not, “He said that that session with me was the most amazing, revelatory sexual experience he’d ever had.”

“Did he say why?” asked God, frowning a little.

“It was because we were so relaxed. First, we’d already met one another the week before. Second, we’d been chatting randomly all through it, as though it was the most natural thing on earth. Third, he felt free to be as horny as he wished.” Derek paused, considered the incident, shook his head. “I could tell he was very turned on. He was into me in a big way.”

Derek, a few years older than Toby, was a good-looking older man with a definite twinkle in his eye. It was this twinkle that had attracted Toby, rather like the twinkle in Matt’s eye had attracted Oscar. Twinkles were interesting. The young man Rav had a definite twinkle in his eye too. Toby had seen it the moment he sat down next to him in the jacuzzi. Before they knew it, they were alone together, away from everyone else. Yes, twinkles were interesting, and led one to travel down many different paths.

“It must have meant something very deep,” said God, “To inspire a story like that. It implies that you saved his life.”

“Well,” said Derek, “He was very glad to see me, I do remember that. He’d been let down again by a date, which was why he came to the sauna again. He’s been let down the week before also, which was the first time we met.”

“Connor,” said God. “That was Connor who let him down. Three or four times now, apparently.” God decided to have one last word with Connor about all that.

“I also remember what he said to me yesterday, at the other sauna. He said that although he was very attracted to the young men, he found that the sex with the older men was far more satisfying.”

Indeed, Toby had not really got hard with Rav, but had got very hard with the old man.

“Yes,” said God, “He’s finally coming to terms with his own mortality, I think. He’s been chasing after youth, not intimacy.”

Intimacy is immediate; it doesn’t need any chasing. If there is chasing involved, it means we are avoiding intimacy.

“Nice brew!” complimented God. “Thank you.”

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Earthly Toby intended to contact heavenly Toby after an interval of one month. This seemed appropriate. Possibly, by then, angel Toby would have forgotten all about mortal Toby. Possibly, but probably not, as Toby 1 had noticed that Toby 2 had been peeking at his website profile on a couple of occasions.

The point was to sort all of this out by then, which gave him about two weeks grace. Then whatever he wrote wouldn't matter. Indeed, he may not even need to write to Toby 2 at all.

Toby was beginning to realise the illusory nature of intimacy, of how we push people away in order to get close to them on our own terms. That wasn't intimacy. That was the avoidance of it. He also saw how we built up an identity around ourselves that we can then adjust accordingly for the person we are interested in. This too was an illusory game. The identity, however attractive and desirable, is meaningless if there is nothing real underneath it.

Toby was coming to terms with the truth about his own essential nothingness. As a personal truth, it meant nothing. The person itself was unreal. The deeper truth touched a universal chord.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"That hurt me," said God, to no-one in particular, which was just as well as nobody else was around.

He was being honest with himself for a change. Usually, he was more concerned about the pains of others than to focus on his own hurts, forgetting that this was always a dishonest step. Charity, empathy, sympathy, pity - whatever one called it - always had self-pity at the root. The charitable acts and the good works of men were just a way for them to look elsewhere, away from the real thing.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

He waited. The revelation would soon come, as it had come to him a million times before. God just wished that he had a better memory, that he could remember the answer immediately rather than have to wait. After all, he had had enough practice.

***

Meanwhile, Toby was in a Costa Coffee shop on the outskirts of Wolverhampton, undergoing his own revelation. Surely it was time to bring the two of them together. Even better, to bring together God, Toby, with the three angels Conner, Derek and Toby. All in one room. All at the same place at the same time with the same degree of intensity.

***

God knew why angel Toby had let him kiss him. Toby liked older men. But at nearly two billion years old, this was getting close to ridiculous. God couldn't compute it adequately. And on top of that he knew very well that he was an ugly old fucker. He was not hurt by the unfairness of the comment but by its honesty.

***

Toby had seen into the heart of sexual desire, where it came from, what it all meant. He was about to put down the two small lattes when he stopped, awestruck, by both the immensity and obviousness of what he had just seen. Blindingly obvious. In plain sight.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Seven: Welcome to Heaven

It was a large coffee shop, busy, with about thirty tables spread around the room. While his husband went to secure a table by the window, Toby stood in the queue to give his order. He looked around the room. There were several small groups of women, three or four at a table; a man was sitting alone reading a book; two men were engaged in a conversation, one of them with a voice that carried over the hubbub of the crowd; couples were scattered about, either as partners or friends; an old lady sat alone by the window; a woman with a baby was rocking the pram. In the corner, by the corridor that led off to the toilets, a young workman was standing on a tall ladder adjusting the air conditioning. The three staff were all busy, just one of them making and serving the drinks, while the other two prepared food. If one had been in Italy or in some other far distant foreign place the scene would resonate in one’s mind with local colour; one would be taking it all in, marvelling at the beauty of people working and living together. Here, because it was everyday and local, it was largely ignored. Toby, however, marvelled, transfixed by the sheer wonder of it all.

The wave of compassion that had come over him just two days ago now returned with a force much stronger and longer than before. He stood and watched carefully, unable to think, unable to feel, just watching everything around him. Because it was busy, the queue moved slowly and gave him time and space to observe all this.

As he looked around the room, he wondered how this sense of compassion could be shared, how it might manifest itself so that others could catch some tiny fragment of it. He wanted to share it, to show someone what they were missing, how the thing was there in front of them. He noticed the young workman, how attractive he was, and his heart immediately moved towards him, wanting to connect at some level. Toby realised in that instant the root of his sexuality, his sexual desire, which was to be in a place of love. If that young man was interested in older men, found Toby attractive, it was possible that they could connect, share in the beauty of all this, because they were drawn to one another. It wasn’t about sex at all, or power, or anything remotely personal. It was the universal need in man for completion and communion. Sex went only a part of the way. The young man was engrossed in his job, as were the rest of the crowd, oblivious to the majesty of the whole room and caught up only with their immediate companions and concerns.

As he walked to the table with his two glasses of coffee, his eyes caught the eyes of the old woman, sitting alone at her window seat. They smiled at one another and both their faces lit up, neither of them knowing why. They were both old people, invisible perhaps to most people, unafraid of contact. Toby felt a pang of love for her that he would never be able to describe again. He paused at the table as he placed the drinks before himself and his husband. That connection was what he wanted with everyone, that opportunity to love one another without a single shadow. He sat down and waited, breathless, unable to fathom the immensity of what he had just seen, which was the blissful benevolence of everyday life right in front of him. In that instant, everything from the last week or so was resolved forever. There were no longer any problems in his life.

On the way out, having finished their drinks, he walked past the old lady, who was still sitting alone. Toby smiled and waved at her and she smiled back. There was no need for any words. They had touched a universal truth and only that truth mattered, not their reactions to it. Ignoring all this, living mechanically, spending most of the day tied to some chore, concerned with making money, with keeping secure, it is no wonder we turn to sex for completion and oblivion. We have been doing it the wrong way round for thousands and thousands of years. Using sex to avoid our pain means we can never know love. We must know love first and only then can we touch, hold and stroke one another, to be in awe of one another. Only then can there be that which is called compassion, which is the passionate love for all things, for all men and women, for all living creatures.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby was beginning to disappear. Something else was occupying the space in his brain.

When he got home, he reviewed his profile on GreatGuys:

Let’s discover the secrets of gay sex

Please read my full profile before you message or wink.

The whole point about any profile here is to put off the wrong people, those who are interested only in sex. If we are interested only in sex, we shall never learn its secrets.

Other people, generally, are a pain in the ass. I want someone who may do things to my ass as painlessly as possible, gently, lovingly. Then I may reciprocate.

Other people, too, are often dicks like me. Let's see what happens when two fairly compatible dicks get together. Let's find out how long it takes before they make a mess of things (yes, I'm talking primarily about cum; but I am also talking about other ways of making a mess of things) and how well they resolve it.

I am good-looking (apparently), blue-eyed, smooth-skinned, with a full head of hair. A South Staffs location so easy for Stafford & Walsall travelling. A lot of men like me because I am a silver fox. There are no objections from me on that score.

I am a friendly, versatile guy, looking for a similar kind of man. I am happy to meet a caring top or a playful bottom, but preferably at the sauna where both of us shall have other options available.

I get a lot of requests for meetings from submissive bottoms. They seem to want to be dominated by an older man. However, I usually lose my hard-on in such scenarios. At the sauna I can do it somewhat and can enjoy it very much, finding a willing hole to fuck. I am a man, after all. But meeting someone like this outside of that particular setting makes them more of a real person to me and I then want to love them in a different way, have a wider experience.

With someone who is really into me, I know I can get very hard indeed. This is essentially what I am looking for.

Daytime meets are best for me at the moment. But evenings and weekends are possible with some advanced planning. I also like arranging sauna meets, if accommodation is an issue. I cannot ever accommodate. Social meets are considered too - it isn't all about sex. (Well, yes, it is, but let's pretend it isn't for an hour or so.)

I am happily married, so not looking for a long-term partnership here. However, without long-term friendships life is barely worth living.

Love is a given. If we don't already love one another we should not be meeting. Happy to discuss this point further with interested parties.

So, putting it plainly, I am looking for more than just a one-off hook-up. I am looking for a relationship that can deepen and grow. In the meantime, there is patience.

Ideally, I am seeking gay guys in their thirties and forties who are comfortable with older men. But I am not averse to sexy older guys. If you are versatile, it's very likely we are going to have more fun.

I love all aspects of male-to-male sex, so have very few limits or barriers. I am learning more about what I like as I go on this journey. I have not found much that I don't like. It is always exciting to hear of new kinks.

My own kink is that I like writing erotic gay stories. Message me separately for details/links etc. Everything is accessible on another site. It will give you an insight into my tastes and fantasies, as well as some accounts of what I actually get up to when allowed outside...

Results of latest STI tests: no infections: 07.10.25

Winks are easy to delete. Messages I always respond to. Remember, I am determined to put you off. If you have read all this, that's promising, and especially if your message starts with, "Hello sexy!"

While he was finishing off editing this, his local married man, the subject of his short poem, messaged him. Toby watched as his friend performed for him on camera. Toby cheered on his friend, but was barely aroused himself. He knew that the man would now go very quiet for a day or two. This wasn’t the point of sex. It should inspire conversation, not dampen it. Toby thought back to his night with angel Derek and smiled. They had been talking ever since they had met.

He re-read his profile and was pleased with it, hoping it would encourage a few and discourage the many. There are only so many ways to say fuck off. Toby didn’t know any of them.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

God was again looking at himself in the mirror. He was staring deep into his own eyes. Was he really fourteen billion years old? How could one tell? Without an objective observer, which was impossible in his case, who was to say even what time was and how it was measured? By memories? He seemed to have quite a few of them. He remembered the building of the pyramids. He remembered the first atom bomb dropped on Japan. He remembered the execution of Anne Boleyn. He remembered watching Morecambe and Wise live at the Gaumont Cinema, Wolverhampton. Were these all separate memories he had? Or was it just one memory, played on a loop, slightly different each time. It was impossible to say.

He was alone tonight. Toby 2 was at home walking his dog. Derek had gone off to visit friends for their golden wedding anniversary. Connor was at home finishing some decorating.

Or were they? Did any of them even exist when they were out of his sight? He alone knew the truth and the truth made him miserable. He had endured fourteen billion years of this: utter, total aloneness, sustained and relieved only by the machinations of his own mind. It only seemed that long. That was the likelihood. Probably, it was just a day or two. Or a minute or two. Or a second or two. His mind was now playing with time by shrinking it down. It was like a huge elastic band, stretched to infinity, and then, with the tension released, back to nothing but a few inches in length.

He remained looking at himself. He wasn’t that bad looking, certainly not as bad as Toby 2 had made out. But what were his looks for anyway, good or bad? Whom was he ever going to attract or repel except for a figment of himself? He shook his head and sighed so deeply that his breath formed a mist on the mirror.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Toby was thinking of his father, who had now been dead for fifteen years. His father had been thirty-three when Toby was born. Not long married, he had the looks of Laurence Olivier in some photographs that Toby had seen. Toby had inherited those looks combined with the handsome features of his mother. For years, he had thought only of his father’s lack of love for him; he had never considered it the other way around. Now it made sense for him to see that everything he knew and thought and felt about his father was false. It was the right time to see it. He was able to see it not as a personal salvation or revelation but as one more wave of the tide of compassion that was slowly and inevitably dissolving his own identity.

Toby was having the same insights as God about time and reality. He was seeing the same things and asking the same questions. If Toby was merely an invention of God’s imagination, who was to say that God was not merely an invention of Toby’s? The logic of it was clear. Neither of them existed. Could they therefore live together in the light of this fact? Then only the insight was alive. It was like a flame that burnt them both away.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

“Oh!” said Toby, a touch startled to find God at his doorstep.

“Yes, I know, a bit of a shock, isn’t it?” admitted God, revealing his true identity to Toby for the first time in seventy years/fourteen billion years depending upon one’s perspective.

“Well, come in!” said Toby, standing back from the doorway to allow God access to his home. “Welcome to heaven!”

Having closed the door and gone into the sitting room, they stood for a while looking at one another. There was a great temptation to hug and kiss and cry, but they both resisted. Having imagined this moment, now that it had arrived there was only a sublime sanity and cleanness about it, something empty of all emotional reactions. After all, their emotional reactions had been what had got them into so much trouble before. Their love for one another, - so great, so deep, so rare, so precious - meant either everything went right or everything went wrong. There was no middle course.

“Sit down,” said Toby, offering the sofa as their choice. “I shall put the kettle on.”

God sat down upon the burnt orange sofa, while Toby went off to the kitchen at the back of the house.

It was a simply furnished room. There were very few clues as to the personality of the owner about it. There was a large television screen in the bay window, a couple of pictures standing in the corner, as they would in an artist’s gallery, a couple of side tables, home-made, and a small home-made coffee table on wheels. There was an old dark brown carpet on the floor, its age betrayed by a darker track visible across it which ran along the side of the room from the front door to the door into the rest of the ground floor. This track was the result of thirty years of footfall.

“Yes, I know, it needs a new carpet,” said Toby, returning. “Milk and sugar?”

God looked puzzled. If Toby could read his mind, why was he asking?

“Just politeness,” explained Toby. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a rather dull afternoon.”

“For the reader, you mean,” thought God, twigging to it.

A few minutes later, Toby came back in with the mugs of tea.

“No biscuits, cakes or fancies,” he exclaimed. “Only good old Yorkshire tea.”

He deposited the mugs, one on each side table.

“We used to drink Rington’s tea,” he offered superfluously, “But either it got too expensive or too difficult to find down here. Can’t remember which.”

Both of them paused to drink a few sips of the tea. Words were not necessary. Therefore each word was tremendously significant. Words had destroyed something they had previously built with words. It was a long time ago. God was a lot greyer around the temples. Toby had not changed very much, maybe thinner, frailer, weaker. Had time wrought these changes in appearance or had they brought these changes upon themselves in order to mask their timelessness?

“Silence is our salvation,” uttered God. He was repeating a phrase of Toby’s from many years ago.

“Yes,” said Toby, “I was a stupid fool not to remember. It would have saved a lot of bother.” Toby had actually remembered it at the time; he remembered it always. But the formula was not the thing itself.

Rather like, “You are the world,” which was God’s formula, and which God himself forgot about when he interfered in things.

“We can go to bed, if you want to,” said God. “It is about time we did.”

“I would like that very much,” said Toby, his heart beating faster.

God reached over and took Toby’s hand. They sat for many minutes in silence, looking at one another.

In bed later, naked, covered only with the sheets, they would do the same again, hold hands and gaze.

“Hello, sexy,” said God. And, as he reached in towards Toby, they began to kiss.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Chapter Eight: Heaven Can Wait

“Was that your doorbell?” asked God. “I thought I heard something.”

Toby sat up and looked out of the bedroom window.

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed. “I don’t believe it.”

He pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his robe from behind the door, and ran downstairs. God sat and plumped up a pillow to put behind his back. He pulled the covers over his waist to maintain his modesty. He felt a familiar twinge in his groin, knowing what was to come. He exhaled loudly, wondering if he had the energy. Perhaps he should leave and let them get on with it. Or he could just watch, not interfere. Of course, that was the answer.

From the window, Toby had noticed two people waiting below and recognised the face of only one, Derek. The other was a much younger man, in his thirties probably, though the face was vaguely familiar. What he wasn’t expecting to see, as he opened the door, was the third figure of the angelic Toby, who was standing to one side.

“You must be Connor!” he said, reaching out to shake hands with the younger man. He had seen a photo of his face only briefly, before it disappeared from the dating website they all used. Toby usually allowed his photos to remain on view.

“God wanted everyone together, for a final orgy, before the story - or the world - ends,” explained Derek. “I’m not so sure about it, but here I am!”

Connor was smiling, obviously delighted to meet Toby in the flesh. He was also looking forward to getting his hands on Derek, who had resisted his advances for months. For the moment, he reserved judgement on angelic Toby, who remained standing a little back and to the side, quite expressionless.

“Come in, gentleman,” said Toby. “His Lordship is upstairs. Take off your shoes and go on up.”

They all shuffled around in the small hallway, one at a time, taking off their footwear. Toby stood back, waiting until the other two had finished.

“Well, this is a turn-up for the books,” said Toby.

“For the book,” said angelic Toby, finally speaking. “It is a turn-up for the book, this book.” He had twigged, almost from the beginning, that he was a fictional character. Derek was less convinced about it. Connor, being the younger, was oblivious to it. He was only aware of his hormones, which were now firing on all cylinders.

“Fuck me,” he thought. “This is going to be great!”

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

When I was young

My foolish fancies used to make

A great mistake

But now a little love

A little living

Has changed my ways and taught me

And brought me

The joy of giving

I can give you the starlight

Love unchanging and true

I can give you the ocean

Deep and tender devotion

I can give you the mountains

Pools all shimmering and blue

Call and I shall be

All you ask of me

Music in spring

Flowers for a king

All these I bring to you

(Ivor Novello, 1939)

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"Before you gentlemen start," said God, catching Connor by the arm, "You all should be aware that you need to be very careful."

He looked in turn at all of them. There was a range of expressions on the four different faces.

"We are stepping out of the story into pure fiction now," he said.

"What's the difference," asked Toby, the mortal one, knowing the answer but wishing to hear God's interpretation of it. He also wanted to see how well the three angels took it all in.

Pure fiction is no different from pure fact. It is the purity that matters.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"For all you angels, it is vital that you remain anonymous and invisible," said God. "You must walk unseen among men."

Derek chuckled, thinking of men's changing rooms.

"Stop it, Derek," commanded God. "As the elder of the group, you should be setting the example."

God wiped some sleep from his eyes and pulled a few strange faces to wake himself up. He and Toby had had a long night.

The angels never apologised for their mistakes nor were they expected to. God just wanted to move on.

"But this man," and he gestured towards Toby, the mortal, "He knows who you are. If you hurt him, you wound him twice. Do you understand?"

Not completely, but they understood that they must not hurt Toby.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"He has spotted the three of you, blown your cover..."

Perhaps he should rephrase it, not encourage Derek. But God loved a good double entendre.

"He has blown your cover and..."

He couldn't think of what to say next. It was early onset dementia probably.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Angel Toby spoke up.

"I have hurt him the most," he said. "I know that."

"Yes," said God, "You have. Not your fault. No-one is at fault."

All the while this conversation was happening, mortal Toby was sitting in bed, waiting for the action to begin. God had risen and was standing near the doorway, the other three around him.

Mortal Toby was the one who was most looking forward to the orgy. He fancied all three angels. Derek fancied only him. Toby fancied him and Derek too. Connor fancied him and Derek, not yet 100% sure about angel Toby, but willing to give it a go.

"And I am happy to relax my rule about sexual descriptions now," added God. "That's the point. You need to make me feel proud of you, all of you."

God began to unbutton the shirt that Connor, uncharacteristically, was wearing. He had made the effort to dress for the occasion.

"You can get in first," God said to Connor. "You are both bursting to get your hands on one another. You've both wasted long enough "

Connor didn't hesitate. He finished off the shirt himself, pulled off his trousers, and shot over to the bed, jumping in next to Toby who had quickly pulled back the covers.

The three of them watched from the corner of the room.

The two men on the bed went straight into a long passionate kiss, as though they were sucking the air out of each other. Connor put his arms round Toby and pulled his body tight into his own.

Their groans of ecstasy at finally getting together filled the room. They had already agreed together in their messages to one another online that they would start with a sustained session of kissing.

God signalled to the other Toby, nodding his head in the direction of Derek. Toby moved closer to Derek and stroked him on the chin. Derek, startled, backed off a little, but then moved in to reciprocate his tenderness. They could at least help one another to undress, which is exactly what God had wanted.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

At one point, bed-based Toby came up for air and spoke to God, hoping the undressing Toby was listening.

"Toby didn't hurt me!" he said. "I hurt myself."

"Yes," said God, "You recognise that now. But that's not the point. Angels have a sacred duty."

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

An orgy is simply a secret rite or ritual, which is exactly what was happening in Toby's bedroom. It was secret because usually it involved only the angels. Of course, mortal Toby was now well on his way to becoming one himself. This was part of the ritual, the initiation of a new angel. God could never understand why humans had degraded the meaning of an orgy to focus solely on the sex. The sex was the vital heart of a much bigger rite, that was all. But God despaired of humans generally in their attitudes to sex. They had never grasped its true significance, most of which lay in its very insignificance.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

To revel is also to rebel. Here was the whole story put plainly into six words. Anyone who understood this, thought God, wouldn't have to go through the chore of reading the entire book. To revel is also to rebel. Mankind was too miserable. It had forgotten how to enjoy itself in the company of itself. After all, God had spelt it out clearly enough at the beginning of recorded history. Why did people have to keep changing things?

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

The two Tobys were in each other's arms. Connor and Derek had left for home. God was no more. One of them, someone, maybe all of them, had done a good enough job that he was no longer necessary.

The Tobys were by now sitting comfortably downstairs. It was dark outside and the small orange lamps dotted about the room gave a warm glow.

They hadn't spoken for about half an hour.

"Oscar?" asked Toby 2.

It was exactly a week since Toby and Oscar had spoken over the internet, leaving on apparently cordial terms.

"Oscar," said Toby. "At least with you I knew what I had done wrong. With him I am just left to guess."

They sat again in silence.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

"I refuse to guess any more, about anything, about anyone," he said.

They held hands. They reached in towards one another and kissed each other softly on the lips.

In bed, earlier, they had barely touched one another. It was never about that. But it had been good to be naked together, sharing the bed with the others. Connor had enjoyed them both, the lusty lad, in different ways, in different positions, playing different sexual roles.

Both Tobys smiled at the thought of Connor.

Only Derek had seemed out of it, ordering eventually to get up and go downstairs for a snack. He had brought up a sandwich for God, cheese and pickle. Derek and God had chatted while the three men played.

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By *rgeo OP Man
5 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Eventually, Toby 2 disappeared altogether, simply merging into the fabric of Toby’s body, as the two men leaned against one another. Toby stretched heavenward to absorb the soul of the angel within himself. This was the ending of the ritual, the event that came after the initiation.

Toby was left alone. Therefore he could never be lonely again. For he was free to create new angels, as many as the world could bear.

Tomorrow the story would begin again, afresh, reinvigorated, with a new author.

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By *rgeo OP Man
4 weeks ago

WOLVERHAMPTON

Epilogue

The following day, Toby had reason to visit Lichfield with his husband. It was a cool but dry autumn day. While his husband went off around the shops, Toby retired to the main hotel in town for a drink. He ordered at the bar and went to find a seat in an alcove, the same alcove where but a few weeks ago he had sat with his husband's family on one of their visits from up north.

The waiter brought over the pot of tea, with a cup, a jug of milk and a small biscuit in a plastic wrapper. Toby sat back and looked around. There were people nearby, occupying the deep sofa and the armchairs where they had all sat about a month ago.

Once he had finished his tea, managing to drain an extra cup from the pot. Toby looked at his phone and found a message. A man, Jack, 60, was within touching distance and wanted to meet for a chat. Toby agreed to meet him. They both discovered that touching distance actually meant a five minute walk. Toby set off towards the market place.

On his way to meet the man, Toby bumped into his husband, who was slowly heading back to the car, but who had three or four more shops to visit. They arranged to meet back at the carpark in about fifteen minutes. Toby walked on and waited for Jon outside the library. He was standing across from the house of his grandmother, which stood adjacent to the Samuel Johnson museum. His grandmother, born 1895, was long dead, but Toby often thought of her, especially when he came into town like this.

Within a few minutes, Jack appeared and the two men stood and talked. He was a well-built ex-rugby player. At 25 he had been caught in an embarrassing situation where he was at home trying on some women's clothes. The man who discovered him, his sister's boyfriend, black mailed Jon and made him perform fellatio on him, or have the indignity of being exposed to the family as a pervert. Jack submitted to the threat yet found that he enjoyed the experience. From that day forward, he sought solace in the same activity, slowly building up his repertoire of homosexual activity.

A married man, it was impossible for him to take men home, though he often went to strangers' homes. Toby and Jack planned to meet sometime in the next few weeks. Toby would introduce Jack to the facilities at the sauna. They would most likely have sex, though there was no sexual frisson while they chatted. It was all very matter-of-fact.

God liked this. He had been annoyed with the fictional elements of the story, getting angry about it but repressing his anger and withdrawing from the scene. He had resolved never to interfere again in the affairs of man. And now a new affair was beginning. Not a love affair, but the practical, everyday, uncomplicated affair of two men caring for one another physically without shame or guilt. Though they were still hiding what they did from the rest of the world. Maybe the world would change one day. It would have to, in order to survive many more decades.

The two men parted, taking opposite directions. In a few weeks time they would meet and explore each other's bodies for a short time. Toby's goodness would grow and spread and would affect a change, slowly, in the relationships of men. God alone knew all this. He would have to watch from afar.

Slowly, Toby made his way back to the car. As he crossed the road towards the carpark, he saw his husband in the distance. Later that night they would meet old friends for an online chat and talk about the nature of reality and love.

Is it all a dream, a joy supreme, that comes to us in the gloom? You know it isn't a dream. It's love in bloom.

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