Until I met Miguel. Miguel made no mistake about it, he called himself a “top” and made sure I knew it. He made no issue in telling me he liked to...fuck, not be fucked. I considered myself a strong, masculine type of guy, not really a “bottom.” But, I was drawn to him, I wanted to know him in every way. The first time we met, he confidently reached out and rubbed my swelling cock through my pants. I had not had all that much experience and his forwardness surprised me a little, and I found it. Their chanced time to time get-togethers had brought with them secretly touching, seemingly accidental bumping and prolonged rubbing, which all developed craving and need for the other. And hours of late night texting that with each, had climaxed with mutual orgasmic explosion and hot soapy showering. The beginning of summer had brought with it memories of several months filled with erotic written bliss. What began slowly and with nervous energy, not to mention moments of his regret, had. More

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