Seems appropriate that my first contribution to this site should be the story of how I discovered my secret life.

The nature versus nurture argument some people engage in to "explain" homosexuality is a no-brainer for me, I have always subconsciously lusted after guys. I just didn't know what I was until someone gave me a guiding hand. Now I just wish it had happened sooner, and lasted longer.

My cock has always had a life of it's own. In high school I couldn't keep my hands off myself. I would rub it through the fabric of my trousers, would unstitch the lining of my pockets so that I could play with myself in class, would find a quiet corner of the library and quickly spank myself silly. I was cumming five or six times a day: wake with a morning horn, stroke myself off to sleep, and squeeze every drop of cum that my poor overworked balls could manufacture out of myself three or four times in between.

It was a solitary and shameful enterprise. I hated myself for it, and dreaded being caught, but couldn't do anything to stop myself. I used girls for wanking inspiration, and the occasional glimpse of camel-toe or cleavage was usually enough. Many of the girls in my school were young sluts, more than happy to go down on you on the bus, or give you a quick handjob under the desk in class. But I only discovered this afterwards, as a reaction against my first real adult sexual encounter.

I was a contributor to the school paper, a monthly collection of teenage angst and bad poetry, whose editor was my English teacher. I was writing a piece on the upcoming student council elections, but was struggling to complete it because I was so distracted by the sight of my teacher's cock bulging down the leg of his beige pants.

I don't mind telling you this, because I was later to fall in love with this guy. He was the first man to finger my ass and slowly work his thick hard cock into me. He taught me everything I have ever needed to know about gay sex. But on this day it was the just the sight of his cock, easily eight thick inches of it, hanging down the inside of his left thigh, that made my own cock jump.

I felt sick, the realization that I was drooling at the sight of another man's organ. I tried to ignore it, but kept looking at him. He seemed to notice straight away, and met my eyes a few times without saying anything. I was getting hotter and hotter, sweating uncontrollably. My erection was so solid it was painful, and I knew I had to get out of there and beat off.

So I went across the hall to the bathroom. It was the staff bathroom, but I would risk it -- it was between classes and nobody was about -- and there was no way I was going to risk making a dash for it down the corridors to the student toilets with a bulge in my pants that a cat couldn't climb.

I went in, picked the cubicle at the end, locked the door and pulled my pants down. I sat on the toilet seat and squeezed my meat in my left hand, cupping and rolling