so yesterday at school i was with 2 of my friends and we were standing at a table with 2 girls that one of my friends knows better than i know them, and we were talking about couples in our school, and one of the girls just says to me out of nowhere “you’re like the main example of a kind of peggable boy too” and that took be by surprise so much i said “oh, wwell thanks i guess” and i think i was probably blushing soo idk if i only solidified her opinion lmao
so like idk if she was flirting or just messing with me im not great at picking up hints, it seems like im not as crazy into pegging as most of u guys are (im mostly gay lmao) and also i dont know if i can now still normally talk to her so help me please ;-;
I used to be a real ad
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come on chat. smoke with me
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🚬 💨 come on chat. smoke with me.
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It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasn’t ‘gay’. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.