reminded myself that when the environment became inhospitable, the best thing to do was leave.
I had tried to deal with the problem through the 'work it out' approach, but at certain points only solitude heals. This was one of them. And yet I didn't want to be physically alone, merely to be with people who allowed me to come out of myself as much as I wanted, and demanded no more. I felt a paradoxical mixture of excitement and withdrawal within myself, a sort of turned-on passivity. It was the mood of homosexual fucking, which was coming to seem less an end in itself than a corrective for the impossible tensions of male-female relationship. Even the purity of the homosexual act had been corrupted.
'I'm going for a walk,' I said. And as I strode away I saw the look of hurt in Lucinda's eyes. But there was nothing to say.
VIII
As I knelt in the sand, the sun sprinkling through the bay leaves, the two men in front of me pulled their cocks from the tops of their bathing suits and dangled them in front of my mouth. They embraced and began kissing, deeply, wetly. I took a deep snort of the popper and opened my lips wide to let both organs in. One of them was dark and thin, perhaps some five inches long, while the other was practically chalk white with an orange head, the kind of cock that flushes thick and full from the base eight inches to the tip. The silken heads rubbed against the top of my mouth and the inside of my cheeks, while I slipped my tongue sideways between them, making a cushion for their thrusts. Another man came up behind me and slipped off my bathing suit, then fucked me with one of those seven-eighths erections which are so tantalising.
I had returned to the house, picked up the remains of a box of amyl nitrate, some hash, a towel, and walked to the meat rack, the stretch of woods between Cherry Grove and the Pines. Cruising in the woods provided a keen pleasure that freshened the senses and elevated the soul. Here the crucial element of the hunt came into focus, and sex became largely secondary, the eating of the food which has already been killed. But it was the chase and the kill which captured the imagination of the body.
Barely discernible paths winding through thirty acres of thick brush and small trees, with unexpected clearings, and openings onto the dunes. Behind a tree, one man leaning against the bark, the rough wood scratching his back, as another performed the time-hallowed rite of cocksucking. In a hollow behind a tuft of grass, five men in tableau, their limbs and heads in an intricate and artificial tangle. Leather boys lurking in the bushes, and bikinied queens peddling their arses behind the poison ivy.
For now, there was the silent struggle and sensation of four men in a spontaneous but oddly well-rehearsed sexual act: the two men above me in communion through their kisses and deriving energy from the heat of my mouth on their cocks; the man behind me sopping up the pleasure of cock-in-arse and the sweet voyeuristic delight of the churning flesh in front of him. It was more of a dance than a fuck. For one thing, most of the people cruising did not have ejaculation as a primary goal, but wanted as many physical contacts as possible. So there was no passion here, no sense of intimacy or warmth, although we went through the paces of the closest act possible.
We moved together until we seemed to reach some sort of consensus. No one had a physical climax, there was no ejaculation, but rather a sense of accomplishment, of completion. The two men in front of me pulled up their suits and walked away, while the man behind me pulled out abruptly. I turned to my left and saw that three more men were standing there; they had been quietly watching the action. I was surrounded by a row of cocks. My knees were weak and I was breathing hard. I felt giddy. 'Well, why not?' I thought, and took another hit from the inhalator. The drug loosened me up even more and I went for the black in the middle. It was
I had tried to deal with the problem through the 'work it out' approach, but at certain points only solitude heals. This was one of them. And yet I didn't want to be physically alone, merely to be with people who allowed me to come out of myself as much as I wanted, and demanded no more. I felt a paradoxical mixture of excitement and withdrawal within myself, a sort of turned-on passivity. It was the mood of homosexual fucking, which was coming to seem less an end in itself than a corrective for the impossible tensions of male-female relationship. Even the purity of the homosexual act had been corrupted.
'I'm going for a walk,' I said. And as I strode away I saw the look of hurt in Lucinda's eyes. But there was nothing to say.
VIII
As I knelt in the sand, the sun sprinkling through the bay leaves, the two men in front of me pulled their cocks from the tops of their bathing suits and dangled them in front of my mouth. They embraced and began kissing, deeply, wetly. I took a deep snort of the popper and opened my lips wide to let both organs in. One of them was dark and thin, perhaps some five inches long, while the other was practically chalk white with an orange head, the kind of cock that flushes thick and full from the base eight inches to the tip. The silken heads rubbed against the top of my mouth and the inside of my cheeks, while I slipped my tongue sideways between them, making a cushion for their thrusts. Another man came up behind me and slipped off my bathing suit, then fucked me with one of those seven-eighths erections which are so tantalising.
I had returned to the house, picked up the remains of a box of amyl nitrate, some hash, a towel, and walked to the meat rack, the stretch of woods between Cherry Grove and the Pines. Cruising in the woods provided a keen pleasure that freshened the senses and elevated the soul. Here the crucial element of the hunt came into focus, and sex became largely secondary, the eating of the food which has already been killed. But it was the chase and the kill which captured the imagination of the body.
Barely discernible paths winding through thirty acres of thick brush and small trees, with unexpected clearings, and openings onto the dunes. Behind a tree, one man leaning against the bark, the rough wood scratching his back, as another performed the time-hallowed rite of cocksucking. In a hollow behind a tuft of grass, five men in tableau, their limbs and heads in an intricate and artificial tangle. Leather boys lurking in the bushes, and bikinied queens peddling their arses behind the poison ivy.
For now, there was the silent struggle and sensation of four men in a spontaneous but oddly well-rehearsed sexual act: the two men above me in communion through their kisses and deriving energy from the heat of my mouth on their cocks; the man behind me sopping up the pleasure of cock-in-arse and the sweet voyeuristic delight of the churning flesh in front of him. It was more of a dance than a fuck. For one thing, most of the people cruising did not have ejaculation as a primary goal, but wanted as many physical contacts as possible. So there was no passion here, no sense of intimacy or warmth, although we went through the paces of the closest act possible.
We moved together until we seemed to reach some sort of consensus. No one had a physical climax, there was no ejaculation, but rather a sense of accomplishment, of completion. The two men in front of me pulled up their suits and walked away, while the man behind me pulled out abruptly. I turned to my left and saw that three more men were standing there; they had been quietly watching the action. I was surrounded by a row of cocks. My knees were weak and I was breathing hard. I felt giddy. 'Well, why not?' I thought, and took another hit from the inhalator. The drug loosened me up even more and I went for the black in the middle. It was
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