And it had a strange feeling. It seemed that everybody in that family was coming out in this last week. Laurie, Amy, now Matt... Who would be the next... She would never guess."Yeah. You know Bruce?"She smiled:"Yes. Hey, he's pretty. I'm glad for you."Matt smiled. It was easier than he expected. Julie wasn't making a big deal out of this, she wasn't even pretending to be excited for him, she was simply being sincere. She took it naturally.And she asked him:"What about girls? Are you really. I think that there are at least a few men out there like me. What's that mean? Well, here's what I am talking about -- you tell me if you identify with me, okay?I hit my twenties in the beginning of the 90's. I smoked pot. I experimented with other d**gs. And I actively explored my sexuality. Somewhere I read a challenge by some women -- "if you think cock sucking is all that easy, go ahead and try it." And, of course, that also got applied to anal sex -- the things guys seemed to forever be. The perfect thing for the young girl to see. To witness her mother's pleasure. The pleasure of a woman the virgin craved to be. Nathalie's untouched cunt would grow hot. She'd squirm, fidgeting, watching me bring her mother closer and closer to her orgasm.“Oh, yes, you stud!” gasped Goodwife Agathe. “Ooh, eat my married pussy. I need this. I haven't had a proper orgasm in years! Yes, yes, feast! Gods, what a blessing. Thank you, Slata, for sending this man to me for refreshment.”“Such sweet. What I heard was a challenge to my manhood and masculinity, a threat to my very idea of who I was. I wasn’t man enough, wasn’t male enough. The very love I’d shown her had made me feminine and weak, cloying and indecisive. I couldn’t live with myself, couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I loathed myself. My very work—my plays, my stories and poems—seemed effete, gutless, and unmanned. I told April. Of course I told April, but there was little she could do, and how much sympathy can you.
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