Soundtrack

I've begun taking a closer look at the spectrum of events over the last ~15 or so years, and like any good memoirist have begun taking stock in search of decent material to write about. This leads to the reasons to start this post, as a certain amount of navel-gazing can be instructive, occasionally.

Over the course of my life, I've had many forks in the road, where eventually it became crystal-clear that my choices would have life-altering consequences. However,...

I posted this in an otherwise meaningless and pretty pointless thread titled How Old Were You When You Became A Man?. The title sounded like an interesting exploration of issues of masculinity and maturity, but the OP...

Quote:

Originally Posted by y6ezxy

This is for all you straight dudes.

How old were you when you lost your virginity? I define "virginity" as "the first time you stuck your dick in a pussy".

Sorry, getting blown does not count.

BE HONEST

...

At first it was hard to make anything out in the dim shadows. There was a small corridor with several doors: a padlocked fire exit, one marked Men, the other marked Ladies. There was usually a small crowd milling about, some men leaning against the wall smoking, others keeping moving in and out of the toilets. The stalls inside would be the scene of frantic movements, low moans and occasional piercing screams of delirious pleasure. The action made the cinematic sex nearby redundant, distant, and...

Soundtrack

I grew up on Boston’s South Shore, the Irish Rivera. It runs from the bleak and gritty urban wasteland of South Boston and Dorchester right through to the disappointingly familiar barnboard tourist traps of Plymouth. I lived in the chainlink jungle of Weymouth, part scruffy beachtown, part dead milltown, part Levittown of cramped capes and ranch houses. A bus ran on the main road at the end of my street to the subway in neighboring Quincy, and from there I could be in downtown...

I rang his bell at the appointed time, and a big, burly guy met me at the door. Obviously one of JD’s straight trade drug buddies. I didn’t know what to expect, but suspected no good could come of the evening. I was led down to a basement apartment in total disarray, with pizza boxes and beer bottles covering the coffee table and much of the rug around it. I could hear JD’s voice cackling and joking with someone in the kitchen. I took off my coat and cleared a spot on the sofa, taking a beer offered...