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[SIZE=3][FONT=verdana]In my life, I've had a lot of sex with both men and women. Discovering sex with men was... exciting. Scary. Kinda confusing in the face of being told that boys don't have sex with boys and how evil and nasty it was - then finding out that it really isn't. Between the ages of 9 and 16, I probably sucked more dick and got fucked than most women have in the entirety of their lives. But what continues to stand out in my mind was being in love with an effeminate gay man and how being in love with him put sex with men in a very different light for me.

If you had seen him, there wasn't anything really remarkable about him other than his bright red hair, green eyes, and freckles. An observant person could literally take one look at him and tell that he was both gay and effeminate but not overly demonstrative or flashy - he was just being who he was. Smart, great sense of humor and possessed of a depth of passion for life that, unless you knew him, you'd never be aware of. A bit of an introvert but he didn't care what other people had to say about him but a man with a deep and great need to love and be loved which, really, wasn't all that different from any other guy you might run across.

Sex with him was... amazing. Eye-opening. Educational. Sometimes maddeningly frustrating. The night we sat down and talked about his feelings for me - and after some subterfuge on his part prior to this - was shocking even for me; having a man tell you that he's very much in love with you is one hell of a wakeup call but when we got to the part of the conversation about what should be done, for me, the answer was pretty easy.

I exposed his cock - and it was absolutely beautiful and coming from someone who had seen so many dicks that I was no longer impressed by them but as I freed it from his underwear, I instantly acknowledged that his cock was... perfect. I went down on him because it was the only possible answer since it didn't take me long to recognize and accept that I did, in fact, love him, too. It was magic; tender; highly erotic to have him in my mouth, savoring the taste and feel of him, listening to him moaning and not in that "I'm having my dick sucked" way but, at the same time, disturbing because he was also crying; later, I realized that it was because he was more than happy to have confessed his love and it didn't get rejected.

As I sucked him, I also realized that I'd never felt so... alive before doing something I'd done to so many other men. This was different and I knew it even if I didn't yet understand how and why it was different. When he came in my mouth, ah, it was so sweet and there was a lot of it to sample and to feel and hear him caught up in his release warmed my heart in ways I really didn't think was possible.[/FONT][/SIZE]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]The therapist's reaction to my sharing this with him was precious; he laughed for a whole five minutes before he was able to congratulate me for being able to explain it better than he'd ever heard anyone explain it, especially the part where I had told her that when I had the need to suck a dick, she doesn't have one.

"There is that," he had said - and still working hard not to start laughing again.

The biggest thing I took away from that whole experience was asking him if he thought I was really all fucked up in the head and in great denial about it.

"No, I don't think so," he had said. "You've... had some experiences and the kind that a lot of people won't admit to and, yes, tends to - how did you put it? - get them all fucked up in the head. But I don't see that in you and, frankly, I'm impressed at how comfortable you are in your own skin about things."

And I am comfortable... because to be uncomfortable about it doesn't make any sense to me, that and if I weren't comfortable, I'd probably really and truly be all fucked up in the head so for me, the choices were simple: Be comfortable with it all... or be all fucked up in the head about it... and being comfortable just works better. I can't change any of it and I wouldn't if I could and while I could be like other people I knew of with similar histories, I was - and continue to be - very determined not to let all my rule breaking fuck with my head; I'm not gonna start hating on myself or life itself over something I learned was, in fact, pretty normal if not highly immoral since I'm not the only person who ever lived to experience such an introduction to sex.

It can destroy a lot of people... and it didn't destroy me or otherwise make me crazy in that sense. I am what I am; I've done what I've done and, yep, some of it was pretty spectacular and as I've often thought and felt, embarrasses the shit out of me... but I still can't change it - I can only accept that it was what it was and continues to be what it is.

I am a well-adjusted bisexual male and I think I still have the paperwork that says I am... but I knew that already.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]That I was well-adjusted despite my sexual history was something I felt I already knew but it did make me feel... good? - to have that confirmed. Indeed, being able to understand just how serious my surgery was and the risks involved gave me a whole new perspective on things especially the part where my surgeon came right out and said there was a chance I could die on the table or I could still have life changing complication despite a successful operation.

Three days after my release from the hospital, I'd been sitting and thinking about the therapist asking me what my wife - and girlfriend - thought about my being bisexual. My wife, a bisexual herself, thought it was "cute," while our girlfriend didn't share that assessment of things. I remember sitting down with her and telling her about my bisexuality and it led to one of the most incredulous conversations I've ever had about being bi. She had asked me, "Why do you like sucking dick?"

I answered her question with one of my own: "Why do [B]you[/B] like to do that?"

"Because I like doing it," she said indignantly.

"You just answered your own question," I pointed out and thinking the conversation was over... but it wasn't. She then launched into a diatribe about it being a thing of me not liking the way she - or my wife - sucked my dick... and all I could do was roll my eyes.

"Honey, this isn't about not liking how either of you suck me; this is about me liking to suck dicks! You're assuming - and incorrectly so - that I get into this because you two ain't doing it right and you've completely missed what I said about me doing this damned near all of my life - and way before I met either of you."

"But guys have fucked you," she said.

"Yes, and chances are I've been fucked more than either of you have been," I said. "I've probably sucked more dick than both of you as well... but none of that has anything to do with my love for both of you or the fact that I totally enjoy having sex with both of you. Having said that, I like - no, I love - sucking dick; it makes me feel really good to do it. Sure, a lot of guys have sucked my dick but that's just part of the whole deal; doesn't ever mean I don't like the way you or any other woman does or has done it - it just means I really like having my dick sucked and I'm not particular about who sucks it - man, woman, both - makes no difference to me."

And then she said, famously, "I don't understand it..."[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]"Sometimes I think I would... but reality for me sets in and I realize that I can't change what has already happened and it's kinda silly to wish I could but, no - if I could go back and do it all over again, I probably wouldn't change any of it."

"Why is that?" he asked.

"Because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be who I am right now," I replied. "And I like who - and what - I am and I really am okay with how I got to be the way I am. Above and beyond anything else, it's still 'just sex' in a manner of speaking and there's nothing about sex that scares me, now that I understand things the way I've come to understand them."

"Did you hate the man who had sex with you?" he asked.

"No, I didn't," I said. "Yeah, I understood how... shady it was but from my perspective, he did me a favor since I'm kinda/sorta sure I would have eventually stumbled upon this way to have sex at some point. Hell, I even thought that if I could speak to him - he died a long time ago now - I'd probably shake his hand and thank him for allowing me to see how things really are. Pretty weird, huh?"

"It's unusual in my experience," he said. "But I understand it; you seem to have figured out - a long time ago - that there was no point in crying over it or otherwise being upset by any of it so the only thing to do was to go with it and see where it all went... does that sound about right?"

"Close enough," I admitted and, frankly, I was impressed that he figured out how I figured it out for myself.

"Excellent. Okay - we're done here and I hope your surgery goes well and you can get on about living your life free of the pain!"

Two weeks later, I went under the knife - got my throat cut - and, as promised by the surgeon, when I woke up, the debilitating pain was gone and so was the equally debilitating depression. I had six to eight weeks of healing to do and with that hard collar I came to despise with a passion... but I also had six to eight weeks of not being able to do much other than go the bathroom to think about my time in therapy.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]We got to more current events and I got an eye-brow raise out of him talking about my open marriage and the live-in girlfriend my wife and I shared as well as raising two kids our girlfriend brought to the relationship - he was writing copious notes during this part of the discussion. Then he said, "Okay, thanks - let's backtrack just a bit; how does being bisexual make you feel?"

What an odd question but I answered it by saying, "Whole. Complete. It's not a big deal."

"I should think not, given how long you've been having sex in this way," he said. "So, here comes the biggest question."

"Oh, here we go...," I said, trying to inject a bit of humor.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Um, because the surgeon said he wanted me to come here," I answered, confused by his question. "He said I'm depressed and he wasn't going to fix my neck with my head messed up and, speaking of which, that antidepressant is really doing a number on me; sometimes I find myself staring blankly with nothing really going on inside my head."

"You can stop taking it," he said,making yet another note. "Despite everything you've told me, you seem to be quite well-adjusted and I have to admit that I find you a bit unusual in this context; given your sexual history, a lot of people present with various levels of emotional trauma being exposed to sex at such a young age... yet, you don't present with any of those issues."

"I've had a long time to put things into perspective," I said with a shrug. "It's just sex, just another way to express myself both physically and even emotionally and while there are rules about that, I understand the rules are, well, nothing more than well-meant bullshit."

"Interesting," he said - and in that way I'd come to be annoyed. "Still, I don't quite understand why you're here."

"Did you miss the part where I said the surgeon said I had to be here?" I asked.

"No," he said, laughing. "I was under the impression that he thought your depression was being caused by something other than the medical issue but, well, I don't see any signs of that. You've had an... interesting way of life; you're comfortable with things that would normally unnerve a great many people... so this is what I'm going to do. I'll send the surgeon my final report and clear you for having the surgery you obviously need."

"Thanks," I said. "I know that once he fixes my neck, all of this is going to go away although, um, I'm not thrilled about him cutting my throat."

He laughed again and I laughed with him. "You've got a good sense of humor about it."

"It's either that or freak out over it," I said with a shrug.

"Does your sexuality give you any real problems?" he asked.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Do you ever feel... guilty? As if you've been going about having sex in a wrong way?" he asked.

"No, not really," I said. "I know what I was told about sex and I've since learned that what I was told wasn't the real deal, not the whole story. I had to pretty much learn this on my own, through trial and error, doing a lot of reading, talking to those I could talk to and, of course, having sex."

"If you could change any of it, would you?" he asked.


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[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]In early 1990, I was diagnosed with multi-level herniated discs in my neck that had me in great agony for just about two years before changing doctors and being properly checked out and pointed toward a surgeon who promised to make the pain go away... but first, he wanted me to see a mental health professional to help me deal with the depression I was suffering because of the literal pain in my neck and the surgeon didn't feel comfortable operating on me with my head all messed up.

I didn't want to do that - I wanted and needed my neck to be fixed but, under the HMO terms at the time, I had no choice in the matter so I made an appointment and went to get my head checked out and it was all I could do to show up and not be resistant to what the therapist had to say. For the next month, I saw the therapist twice a week and he wanted to know [B]everything[/B] about me, how I grew up, my relationship with my parents and siblings, wife, kids, job, etc., and on one particular day, he began the session with a topic/question: "Let's talk about sex - do you feel comfortable with this?"

"Sure, why not?" I answered rather sullenly because the antidepressant had me feeling like a zombie.

He launched into a Q&A - when did I become sexually active? Did I masturbate? When did I first ejaculate? and I told him [B]everything[/B] about myself and sex. Part of me wanted to shock him, to disrupt his ultra-cool demeanor and mannerism and as I revealed all, well, my "plan" backfired because he remained undisturbed; I later thought that had I been thinking "right," I would have realized that he had probably heard more shocking stuff from his other patients and over the duration of his practice. Still, it took a couple more sessions before I got finished responding to his line of questioning and instead of disturbing him, I was disturbed because he'd just nod a lot, take a couple of notes, and move on to the next question and not giving me any real feedback.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]After we both got redressed, I ran home to wash up and to, um, shit out whatever jizz he had shot into me that hadn't already oozed out. Yeah, didn't like that part so much but wasn't much to be done about it. My butt was sore after taking three dicks in it and as I finished up and went back outside, I knew I wanted to be fucked again because, stupid brain, being fucked - and having sex, period - was just a whole lot of fun even if boys weren't supposed to have sex with each other.

Later, one of my "regular" adults wanted me to "run an errand" for him and after returning with the items he wanted from the store - and pocketing the money he gave me for running the errand, I was on my belly with his much bigger dick worming its way in and out of me after having spent some very delicious time sucking on it. I knew, with this man, that our "ritual" was for me to suck him until he was good and hard, then he'd fuck me and shoot a "gallon" of jizz into me, followed by him easing out, flipping me over, and sucking my dick until I shot my stuff in his mouth - and I remembered his reaction the first time I shot in his mouth and him saying that I was awfully young to be doing that now.

Afterward, I roamed the neighborhood, not looking for any more sex but to walk off the soreness in my butt left behind by the "very big" adult dick. As I roamed, I thought about that question again and found that I really did know what I was doing and even why I was doing it... because I was truly bisexual and as evidence by the joy I felt when one of the girls who liked to fuck wanted me to eat her pussy and fuck her.

So much fun. So much sex. And the next day would start things all over again.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=verdana][SIZE=3]Maybe three weeks before, I had learned a new word: Bisexual and it did explain what I'd been doing all along - having sex with boys and girls. I'm conjuring up enough spit to make my dick go in the other guy - he kinda squealed when I started pushing my dick into him and he even said, "That fucker is bigger than it looks!" I kinda laughed and kept pushing until I got as much of my dick in his ass as I could - and started fucking him, feeling him squirming under me, feeling his ass trying to shit me out of there, listening to him moaning and groaning and saying something about this is what he needed.

But my mind is just distracted enough wondering why I was doing this that I felt... detached. It felt good and I loved looked down and seeing my dick jammed in his butt but it wasn't as crazy exciting as such a sight usually was - and it was taking me longer to shoot my stuff and not that he seemed to be complaining about too much. I was so distracted that I could feel myself getting ready to shoot... then it would stop, then almost ready again, nope, not ready and it's starting to bother me but he's egging me on to keep doing it to him harder and faster... but even that didn't make me shoot - it just got me paying some very clear attention that I had my very hard dick stuck in a boy's ass and I was fucking him.

What the hell is going on here? I want to shoot but I can't! I remember taking a deep but frustrated breath and I guess my whole body relaxed because instead of feeling myself getting ready to shoot, I was (once again) shooting and the feeling hit me pretty hard and so hard it actually made my head hurt. He's underneath of me and practically shouting, "Shoot it in me! Shoot all of it in me!" Of course, that's what I did to his delight and, eventually, my own... but, damn, this took longer than it should have and all because my stupid brain wanted to mess with me.[/SIZE][/FONT]