Letter to my Gay Lover

The climb—closer to heaven, nirvana, and some slight appreciation of both than I’ve ever been, I nonetheless came as close to hypothermia, and collapse, as I ever want, as well.

I am Mobi, a climber, photographer, and connoisseur of life.

A letter awaited my return. The world had heard of my successful climb, oohed over my pictures, and mourned my Greta-Garboesque desire to now fade for a bit into the woodwork. It took an old friend like Emile to know what I truly needed.

Dear Mobi, the letter started.

I was sorry to hear of your rundown condition. I would love to have you visit me. Consider it an opportunity to recoup from your rigors. My harem, as you know, is small, but select.

I have an especially appetizing newcomer, I think you would appreciate.

As my guest, I want you to feel free to partake of my delights as freely, as if they were your own.

However, if you would like to make this a working holiday…

Three photos tumbled out, distracting me from finishing the letter, though, really, I didn’t need to.

Shall, I say that financing my hobbies, the public, as well as private ones, can be very expensive?

It can.

Buttering up the ladies, tantalizing their men with tales of my adventures, I’ve schmoozed my way into many wallets, including Emile’s, before he knew of my other proclivities, and me of his.

We both adore young men. But I have a certain knack for disciplining and training that exceeds the average. I’m sometimes asked to take on…certain students.

Emile knows my tastes.

I gazed at the first photo, both as aficionado and potential…teacher. Café au lait skin, I noted, also plum nipples and nicely-furred, well-veined legs. The calves bulging from a pair of white socks made me smile. Paired with a muscular set of arms, the limbs suggested a young man’s strength, while the belly below an amber six- pack retained the delightful curve and softness of youth.

The dick-centered-concentration of the downward head evoked the intensity of a shy virgin, mustering courage for a first kiss, and had me near drooling. I felt the awakening of a many-weeks-dead desire and dropped my pants to explore my throbbing member.

Ah, cheeky devil… his gorgeously nested, beautifully weighted pink schlong, above, a hinted at landscape of hairy butt-crack was fully revealed to the camera in photo two.

In the third, my proposed student was all but waving it at me, his lovely, straining- to-break- his-grip-cock, jutting from its cushion-plush-sac. The expression he wore was as cocky as…well…the rest of him.

I licked my dry lips, imagined my finger sliding up and down that phallus, reaching into his hairy, boy-ringed entrance. Eyes closed, I smelled the scented oil I preferred, mingling with his man-boy-oils, his musky essence.

I have a lovely collection of antique cock-rings, plugs, and other…equipment.

Yes, I think, typing my reply to Emile, in my head.

He will be a joy to discipline.

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