It wasn't a dream. He's still here. That's his hand stroking my penis, trying to wake me up. I better pretend to be asleep. He's stroking from the base to the tip and I'm getting hard. I daren't look. He's blowing warm air up my spine, wants to fuck me again. I've forgotten his name. I've forgotten what he looks like. I think he has sandy blond hair, tied at the back like a pony's tail.
The Trial
Torpedoed
At the age of 18, I was the only member of my family to have survived the bombing of Dresden. After the war I was repatriated to Australia to live with my mother's only brother. Uncle Kurt was in his late twenties. A friendly, outgoing man, he helped break down strong anti-German feelings, still present in a country which had lost so many of its sons.
Gay Western Showdown
Fuckin unbelievable. What am I doin here? I should be home on the range giving head to a ramrod or trail-boss, or even a chuck-wagon cook, not stuck out here, in the middle of the street wilting under a high noon sun with some fucking barn-boy ready to blow my fuckin' brains out.
Rambone Gay Cowboy Story
It was late evening, we sat in front of the roaring fire. Harvest Rambone, U. S. Marshall, sitting in the big armchair, his belly full of my good cooking. I sat on the carpet by the hearth, gently laying my arms on his broad thighs, my head in his lap. The fire lapped us with bright orange gleams, and it was time for stories.
Meet at the Rise of the Moon
Just two more places to go, and then he'd be done with his round. He slowed down. Listening intently, he continued at a crouching walk. "Pssst! Sean! Sean O'Farrell!" In a flash, he was over by the person who had hailed him. "It is tonight, then?" asked the young girl. "Aye!", said Sean. "Captain's orders: All must be ready at the rising of the moon. " "Ah. The old place by the river?" "The same.
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