Month: December 2020

Well, I seem to have written quite a bit about showers. Well, being a teenager and naked in the shower is the only chance you get for privacy to explore your new adolescent body, this vignette was about such am experience. I’m sure many of you played with your teenage bodies in the shower.

After reading this, I realised it stemmed from the same place that “Transcending Friendship” came from.

Back in my school days, there were a handful of boys that I enjoyed looking at in the showers, I wasn’t friends with some of this, but it didn’t stop me admiring what swung between their legs.

One guy was really well hung, but two other guys always caught my eye, they were well hung, but not as endowed as this other boy. Communal showering seems to be a thing of the past in schools today. Shame.

I know I ogled the other boys, but we do need to promote body acceptance. All bodies are normal, and we all need a refresher about that sometimes. The vast majority of us do not have the bodies, or the cocks, of porn stars.

This mini-series from my early writing is another “What if…” story based on my life at school and how I would have liked a friendship to develop. Sadly he never had any idea how I felt.

The opening incident, when the boy gets an erection in the showers, was based on when this actually happened to a boy in my class. He was teased mercilessly for the rest of the day but not really much after that. I never saw it and just heard all the raucous commotion.

This story has several scenes based in the showers and I know a certain reader will enjoy those. I really enjoyed the post rugby match showers. I just love seeing muddy men clambering out of their rugby kit and getting in the shower.

It was not until preparing to post this story again that I discovered the beginning of part four. It was never finished and I don’t think I will ever finish it. I would have known where the story was heading at the time but even after reading it again, I couldn’t think where it would go. Besides, I have so many new stories in my head that I can’t wait to write.

Coming out is difficult, and this is a vignette of how one boy’s parents find out about him. This is not autobiographical but despite my family being supportive when I did finally come out, it is still a very stressful time, as you cannot be certain how people will react.

In an ideal world, no-one would feel the need to come out and in truth, I don’t bother anymore, whenever I meet new people or start a new job. I am now just me.

I grew up during in a very homophobic place and time and I know things have got better, but it is still very difficult for some.

Everyone should have the freedom to be themselves.

I remember when I wrote this story (almost twenty years ago now) I was tired of the gay scene and this started being about a guy wanting to detach himself from all the expectations of the scene. To be honest, I am now so far away from the scene today that I have no idea what it is now like. (Image used from Himeros.tv)

This story harks back to my university days in the mid-nineties and in my first year, during Rag Week, our halls of residence held a slave auction (I suspect that term is not appropriate these days and I do feel a little awkward using the term). The story also highlights my welsh heritage with the protagonist being called Iestyn ap Rhys. Iestyn is pronounced “Yes-Tin” and original welsh surnames were patronymic.

I remember when we had our “slave auction” and young freshers would go up on stage and would start to strip whenever someone donated money. I remember this one young guy went all the way down to his boxers and then tried to tease us, but he accidentally pulled his boxers to far down and I got a full view of the speedos he was wearing underneath. I was so disappointed. None of the guys went all the way and showed us their cocks. Such a shame.

I wrote this story back in 2006 and it was originally published on TommyHawksFantasyWorld, my fourth story for that website and the artwork is by Voyeur.

The artwork was a misunderstanding by the artist, the story is about a motorcycle racer, not a pushbike racer. But the artwork is good and was published with the story with an explainer.

Around the year 1999, I got into motorbikes and learnt to ride. I was never much into watching them race, but I loved riding them. Sitting astride a throbbing machine! I always had a thing for young slim guys in the onesie leathers, my brother used to wear them, often with nothing on underneath.

This story was my little fantasy of a biker in his leathers.

The last difficult post of the day was also written from my days when I was in the grip of depression. This poem/vignette is about self-harm, something which I do not encourage anyone to do and if you are thinking about it then please reach out for help, from anyone you trust or from trained professionals.

It was in one of my darkest days that I wrote this. A day that my head and body felt nothing. It was in this space that I understood why people self-harm. I would like to add that I never did, but when that moment dawned, I thought how nice it would be to feel something, anything, even pain.

The LGBT+ community suffers much more than other sectors of society. The Christmas period is often a difficult time for some people, I understand why, It can be for me too.

If you are suffering, then please talk to someone you trust. All life is precious. You are precious. We all have something to offer. You are not insignificant. People love you.

There’s a story coming up later, a refreshed version of one of my older ones. It is through my writing that you understand me.

I have a couple of difficult posts this morning. The first is my poem/vignette, “A Worthless Existence”.

It was written to try and explain how I feel when I descend into a deep depression. I find it difficult to read such things while I am feeling well as it reminds me of how bad it makes me feel.

Depression is a serious condition, it is not just a person feeling a bit down, for me it robs me of every joy in life and simply functioning is an immense effort.

For those that haven’t suffered, I hope it gives you a glimpse into the mind of those who suffer. For those that suffer, I hope it tells you that you are not alone and someone understands how you feel.

I know I say it often, but for those who are suffering, please reach out for help. I know it’s difficult.