Greg was, indeed, from Colorado. He was born and raised in a small community suburban to Denver, and an area where Christian values were supreme. He believed in everything he was taught except that God didn’t love gay people. He knew that was untrue because he knew God loved him and had watched over him during difficult times.

His mother died when he was six, creating a vacuum in the home in terms of love and tenderness. His father, while a good man, was retired from the military and was a deacon in their church. These two elements combined to make him a little distant and sometimes overly dedicated to discipline. Greg accepted his father for the man that he was and was never critical of his style of parenting, but longed for the love and affection that his mother had shown him.

At thirteen, Greg had discovered he had a gift for dancing and acting. He appeared in several middle school productions at which he garnered continuing praise. It was at this age that Greg also discovered that he liked boys more than girls. This latter discovery was made nightmarish by the fact that Greg was such an uncommonly beautiful boy that all the girls were constantly flirting with him and asking for dates. Every day he had to come up with a new reason why he couldn’t go out with them and each time he felt certain that he was going to get caught in his lie.

These combined elements in his life made him turn inward, afraid of opening himself up to people, afraid of being himself and expressing his feelings. The only time he felt free, that he felt he could be himself, was when he was acting or dancing, so he spent more and more time in pursuing those interests in order to maintain his sense of balance. But. what had happened as a result of this course of action was that he had become terribly insecure and withdrawing as Greg, the person, while becoming very confident and outgoing as Greg the performer.

When he was 18, he went to college in Denver and was staying in the dorm. His roommate was a jock and they had become friends based upon the fact that Greg had actually played football for a short time in his junior year of high school. They had hung out and gone everywhere together until Greg discovered he was developing feelings for his friend. It had so freaked him out that he dropped out of school and returned home to face a very angry father. He had no explanation for his actions – at least that he could give his father – so he simply stated that he didn’t think college was right for him at the time and that he felt he should work for a year or two until he was fully prepared to give it his all. The explanation had appeased his father who believed that his son was showing signs of maturity and responsibility in not wasting time and money at school that was giving him nothing.

It was just weeks later that Greg had met Dane, a boy who was new to town, a year younger than he, and so very cute it had made his eyes hurt. Dane was a transplant from New York City and seemed to be worldly and wise whereas Greg felt he was so much the opposite. Dane had off-handedly dropped a comment about how people in New York were so casual about sex, and it was common to see two men kissing in public or strolling down the street holding hands. He hinted that he had even been seduced by an older man who had given him his first orgasm. Greg was shocked but unquenchably excited over these revelations and tried to discreetly pester Dane to tell him more. It was all Dane had needed to confirm his suspicions that Greg was gay and completely inexperienced with sex.

Dane taught Greg all about sex between two men and they had shared everything. While Greg fell hopelessly in love with Dane, Dane did not tell Greg that he considered him to be just a stop along the road for him, and that he fully intended to return to New York City and the older man as soon as he was 18 and free to do as he chose. Thus, when Greg was just nineteen, his world came crashing down when the one and only person he had experienced love and affection from in the thirteen years since his mother had died, abandoned him, cast him aside as if he didn’t matter, and left him behind.

Greg could find no comfort after that and jumped from one job to another for the next year and a half. He had saved every cent possible, hoping to save enough to be able to go to New York and find Dane. Everything ended one day in late April when Greg’s father came home unexpectedly to find his son, on his bed, masturbating to a gay pornographic magazine. He was incensed that his son was gay, incredulous that the magazine was of older men rather than others his son’s own age, and infuriated that his son came right out and said he was gay and admitted to having had a relationship that had lasted, under his very nose, for several months. He informed his son that he was no longer welcome in the home and was to be gone by the end of the week.

Having no one to turn to, Greg had decided to head to Los Angeles in the hope that he could get some work and support himself and go to school. He felt that God had watched over him because when he arrived, he had quickly been able to find a room to rent with the elderly widow where he now stayed, at a very reasonable rate in return for helping her now and then with chores and with trips to her doctor. She, in turn, fixed him hot meals, never intruded on his privacy and in many ways mothered him and gave him a sense of belonging. When she had discovered Greg was gay from his having dropped a flyer in the living room about his dancing performances, complete with a picture of him in his G-string, she had been complimentary and cared only that he was happy and that no one hurt him.

Then, one day, an older man had come into the bar who had seemed to pay special interest to him. This man had kept coming back, week after week, becoming increasingly generous with the tips he handed out, and showing some real affection. The man was not aggressive or demanding but was actually quite shy and withdrawn, and almost seemed apologetic when he would touch Greg in some moment of weakness and then regret having been so discourteous. Greg had taken a liking to the man and had looked for him anxiously each week. Then the man had invited him for a drink, had asked some questions and seemed genuinely interested in him. The man had started coming to all his shows. And little by little Greg felt himself falling for the man but having no idea of how to pursue a relationship. He simply didn’t have the courage to tell the man he liked him and was deathly afraid that if he ever did the man would simply reject him.

So Greg had devised a ruse to get closer to the man and have an opportunity to try and find out if there was any degree of interest on the man’s part before he opened up and confessed his own feelings. When he was able to arrange to go to the man’s home, he brought along a bottle of wine, fully intending to get a little drunk, enough so that he could see if the man would invite him to stay the night, and if they would make love. But, when invited to stay the night but the man turning him down on making love, Greg had almost lost it, once again believing he had found someone only to be rejected. Were it not for being drunk, Greg would never have had the courage to plead with the man to make love to him and would likely have run out of the house in desperation and embarrassment.

Listening to Greg’s story was heartbreaking. Everything seemed suddenly so clear to me and I felt so sad that he had suffered so greatly when all he wanted was someone to love him and care about him. As he finished his story, I looked into his eyes and could see the sadness that hid behind the happiness that was usually present when he was performing. I reached over and placed my hand against his cheek and just stroked his face for a few moments. The good part about having a big heart is that you’re able, so many times, to touch the lives of others in a positive way. The bad part is that the pain and sorrow of others can have such a devastating effect upon you that you can sometimes become overwhelmed by the sadness that surrounds you.

At this moment, I was feeling saddened beyond measure by Greg’s pain. Ignoring my own best judgments, stated earlier, I moved closer to Greg and took him into my arms. I was half expecting resistance now that he was sobering up, in spite of his story and the confession of his feelings for me – such being the level of my own insecurities – but there was none. He slid quickly toward me and wrapped his arms around me as I wrapped mine about him. He clearly expected that we were about to make love as he moved his hips forward, his instantly hard cock connecting with my flaccid member, and he continued his humping motions until I had become aroused and as hard as he was. Then I felt his hand wrap around my cock, feeling, testing. It was clearly a matter of exploration for him, and he reveled in the act of exploring the body of another man so openly, a man that he cared for.

When Greg began to stroke my cock, I placed my hand on top of his to stop the motion. “Are you sure that you’re sober enough to make this choice?”

“I’m more sober at this moment than I have been in my life. I’ve found the person who cares enough about me to help me, to watch out for me, to turn down sex because he doesn’t feel I’m in a condition to willingly and knowingly consent, and who has demonstrated friendship in spite of barely knowing me. It also helps that this same man is the person that I am truly falling in love with.”

I let go of his hand and he began stroking my hard flesh once more. I reached out and grasped his own hard cock and gently stroked it a few times, then used it as a handle to pull him closer. I rolled over on my back, pulling his with me, our cocks now mashed against one another between our bodies. Greg began moving his hips, humping his cock against my body as I enjoyed the wonderful sensations that came from stroking and caressing his firm ass over and over, running my hands up his back and pulling him tightly against me. I pulled his face to me and began peppering his face with kisses. I kissed his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, and then started all over again at his lips. Soon we were both laughing hysterically and rolling around the bed just enjoying the pleasure of being together, of being so comfortable with each other and of being naked and hard and anticipating making love. It had been some time since either of us had given ourselves to another person sexually, so the moment was charged with desire and sexual tension, our personal insecurities and our desires to bring pleasure to the other.

I rolled Greg over on his back and lay on my side, head propped up on my hand, and just looked longingly at his naked body. This was a new experience. I had seen him almost naked dozens of times, but here he was, naked, in my bed, bone hard, and waiting for me to make love to him. I ran my hand over his chest and stomach, enjoying the silkiness of his smooth skin, I teased the nipples at the corners of his chest, raked my fingers through his softly curled pubic hair, and caressed his hard cock with my fingertips. I visually measured his size and guess that he was probably almost seven inches – maybe just a quarter inch or so short of that number. That was a good sized cock on a boy of less than six feet. It was better than me: I could claim eight inches but it was on a body that stood six feet four inches in height. It explained why Greg always had looked like there was so much stuffed into his small bikini and G-string pouches.

Becoming impatient with mere exploration, I moved over Greg and began kissing him. It was my goal to kiss and thereby taste every square inch of his beautiful body, and I was doing an admirable job until I got all the way down to his pubic bush and kept feeling the spongy head atop his hard cock poking me beneath the chin. Acting impulsively, I grasped his cock and stood it straight up in the air, then lowered my face and wrapped my lips firmly around it.

Greg gasped with pleasure as my tongue began to perform its dance over the sensitive head of his cock, dragging across the tip in excruciating pleasure. His hips were writhing in that combination of pleasure and agony that comes from a greatly desired sexual experience after a long period of abstinence. I fully intended to try and make it last as long as possible, both for Greg as well as myself. In the back of my mind I wanted this to last, so that I could savor this experience, just in case Greg changed his mind about us in the morning.

As Greg’s balls pulled up tight at the base of his cock, I backed off and began a slow, sensuous stroke of his erection, my other hand tickling at his balls. Greg’s breathing was fast and shallow, his face twisted in a mask of intense pleasure. When I heard his sudden, sharp intake of breath and felt his body jerk and stiffen, I knew he had reached his limit. I sped up my strokes, waiting for the inevitable, which came a split second later.

Greg’s release was torrential, to say the least. He virtually painted his neck, chest and stomach with his viscous eruption and when it had slowed and then stopped, he lay back, sated and exhausted, his breath still coming in short gasps and his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. I grabbed a towel and wiped away the evidence of his release and tossed the towel aside. Leaning in, I kissed Greg full on the mouth, hugging him tightly against me.

Greg’s voice was almost a whisper. “Will you fuck me now?”