I don’t always want sex.
I’m out with the lads.
Enjoying the craic.
I’m with them tonight.
I’ve no time to take you home.
But I like to flirt.
To whisper foolish words into your ear.
And to smell your aftershave.
I want to kiss you.
Feel the stubble on your chin.
Maybe have a little grope of your bum.
Feel you hard against me.
To taste the beer on your breath.
Kiss me back.
Show me you want me.
Want me some more.
My eyes are closed when I kiss.
I think of you naked.
Unable to move.
But not right now.
Tonight I just want to kiss.
Are your kisses a promise of what will come?
Or are they a tease of what will never be?
They are fleeting moments in our lives.
But the greatest memories that we have.
A kiss is just a kiss.
Confessions of a gay Rugby Player Part 4 On Sale Feb 19
“Come here and strip me, no talking unless you are spoken to. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” Oisin stands at the foot of the bed and undoes my Converse runners before placing them neatly on the ground. Next, he undoes my belt buckle. I stare at him intently, aggressively even. I really want to fuck him. Fuck him so hard he can’t walk right for a week. He does not dare make eye contact as he tugs my pants down. Is he afraid? No. He too knows what is expected of him in this masquerade. He folds up my pants and places them on the chair, leaving me laying on the bed in just a t-shirt, my socks, and my trunks.
I’ve stopped wearing jock straps. Jock straps are only worn by bottoms so you have access to the ass, while the cock is covered up. A bottom’s cock is, after all, unimportant. “Take my socks off.” Of course, I don’t need to tell him; he is meticulous.