spidir

NiclolasMixx is terrific. I've seen him multiple times.

Let's hear it for nips. It took a teen-aged me until someone turned me on to nips that I admitted I was indeed gay. Jacking off with the other guys in Boy Scouts and Catholic boys school? Everybody does that. No homo. Eating my jizz? Just keeps the sheets clean. No homo. Sucking off Tony in 8th grade? Not that different from eating my own jizz. No homo. Letting my best buddy corn hole me? Well, none of the girls would do it in those days. Just helping a friend get off. No homo. But then having my nips played with and sucked, and getting an immediate boner. Electric currents flowing between my nips and cock. Jizz all over the place and knowing there is nothing better than having sex with another male. Yep. Me homo. 

I remember back in the early to mid '70s, when things gay were just starting to creep into polite society, there was an interview with a Levi's executive who was asked, "To what do you attribute the success of your product?" (501s). He replied something like, "We say it's because they wear so well, but we know it's really because they show such a good basket." 

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How about some more stories, guys? I have others to tell, but I don't want this to be the Whippoorwill column. But here's another.
When I was living in France, I was driving one Saturday morning for a few days vacation in the Loire River Valley. Leaving Paris, it was sprinkling, and as I passed under an overpass, there was a comely young hitchhiker decked out in jeans, a black leather jacket, and backpack, avoiding the rain. I have always been a sucker for picking up hitchhikers. Now I didn't want to get my hopes up, as every Frenchman, straight or gay, from age 2 to 92, has a black leather jacket. So I stopped and picked up Jean-Hubert, who had just graduated from the lycée (and thus was maybe 17 or 18) and was off to visit his Grand-Mere in Bordeaux for the summer. As we talked, we got warmer and friendlier with each other. I saw him glancing at my crotch (also undoubtedly jeans-clad), and returned the glances. At some point, we both put a hand on the other's thigh at the same instant. The groping and rubbing went on for some time as we were speeding through the French countryside. Eventually the sun came out, and we stopped at a roadside rest stop located on the edge of a cornfield. We went off into the cornfield, which was high enough to hide our waists, but not our torsos. The pants dropped to the ankles, and we blew and jacked each other off. We then went into the (empty) restroom and washed the bits. When the road to Bordeaux split to the southwest, Jean-Hubert and I said our goodbyes with some passionate kissing, and I wished him a hot and slutty summer cruising the parks and beaches and T-rooms of Bordeaux. And I had a new appreciation for cornfields. 

I have traveled a lot, and sex has always been an important part of my life. So many stories I could tell. Here's an extra special one. One evening, in my early 40s, I was in St Peter's Square, Vatican City, and there was a cute (turned out to be French) 18ish boy hanging around. We chatted, and quickly picked each other up. He was staying in a cheap hotel, and we went back to his. We hopped in bed and immediately were going at it. Soon there was pounding on the door and the Italian grandmother hotel-keeper screaming at the top of her lungs. She had seen us come in, and was irate that there were two people in the single room. She threw us out. He grabbed his backpack and we headed to my place. Through some unusual circumstances I was staying in a convent catering to pilgrims, right on the edge of the Vatican. Through a priest friend of mine who was stationed at the Vatican, I wrangled a front door key out of the nuns who ran the place, so we were able to sneak in late at night. We soon were in my single bed, fucking like bunnies. He stayed three nights with me, fucking our eyeballs out, until he had to return to Nice. Each morning we would leave with the morning crowd of pilgrims, and never got caught, and snuck back in nights when they were all in bed. I can still see him, laying naked on the bed in the morning sun, cock at full mast, in front of a window with St Peter's just beyond.
He later came to study in the US, and for a couple of years we would call each other occasionally. Ah sweet youth. 

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