Men On The Make: True Gay Sex Confessions - Plot & Excerpts
I think that, if we fags are honest with ourselves, many of us do. Like it, that is. Just why we like it is an open question. It is not, however, an open question as to why I hardly ever do it anymore. It comes down to a killer case of shigella I picked up in a steam room at the baths, one misty evening many years ago. Since then I don’t eat ass very often. It has nothing to do with morality or aesthetics; it’s just a practical decision. I remember how lousy I felt waking up in the middle of the night with chills and cramps, and I’d rather not feel that sick again. Now, about Krzysztof. I met him at a so-so bar one Tuesday night. We decided to go back to his place. He was Polish, had actually come from Poland, still had a nice accent, had that fine-boned look some Polish guys have and light blond hair that, unstylishly, touched his shoulders. “Nice car,” he said as he climbed into my Jaguar. “I bought it used.” “It’s still nice,” he said. I looked over at him. Now that we were outside the bar, he looked a little shabby around the edges.
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