Lately Iıve come to understand that line in Forrest Gump about life being like a box of candy, you never know when something extra delicious will appear in your hand.

Having recently reached my seventy-fifth birthday Iım here to say never give up on surprises, theyıre likely to appear when you least expect one to show up. Fifteen years ago I took my pension and small portfolio of retirement bonds, packed up from Los Angeles and settled in a very modest house in Seal Beach, California, about 40 miles down the road from the famous Hearst castle. Its a quiet and sober life, but one that suits me fine, give or take the fact that Iıve been celibate all of my time here. Grateful for having dodged the AIDS bullet which killed so many friends and countless lovers, Iıve sated myself with a plentiful library of gay videos and the tube of lube at my bedside. I was never one for after sex conversation, and as the years have gone by, I find I have little or no inclination for banal chit chat. Although Iım in no way a social recluse, the handful of choice friends I have up here have learned to respect my privacy. My one good buddy and confidante Janine, a lovely, well educated, expatriated divorcee from Chicago, knows the details of my former boozy and promiscuous life, in chapter and verse. To everyone else in this town of 4000, mostly well-off retirees, Iım just the quiet gray beard seen everywhere with a digital camera hanging down to his round belly. Until just recently, it was the belly that was my only gripe about my age, a kind of confirmation that my once sexually over active days were gone forever. Even if I was inclined for one last sexual fling, who in this straight town would be interested in rolling around with a seventy-five year old with a very hairy gut?. Notwithstanding the fact that most people take me for a very fit sixty something, the Rules of Attraction, as imprinted in my 1940ıs consciousness when I came of sexual age -- told me my sex life was over and out. Which brings me to that box of chocolates I mentioned: the world of the internet, which brought a whole new world via my computer screen. And what a world it opened for me, a former visual arts instructor and ex-world traveler (thanks to my fixed income) with a passion for discovering new landscapes and cultures.

Surprisingly the culture I gravitated was one I had essentially turned my back on the past fifteen years, my gay brotherhood. Never one to march in Gay Pride parades, I have always lived a predominately straight life even when I was most sexually active in the so-called gay nocturnal haunts: bath houses and back rooms of bars, before the plague came to town. Imagine my delight to discover a world of hardcore male on male sexuality graphically depicted on the net -- viewed within the safety of my quiet room. These were real people with real bodies, having real sex, not porno stars going through the motions.

It was during one of my late night internet journeys that I discovered there were dozens of links/webs sites dedicated to the Mature Gay Man featuring countless classified ads with graphic naked photos of older men with bodies and hairy bellies that looked like mine, and bios of gay Œmature menı in their 60ıs and 70ıs (who looked like me) with hard-ons seeking sex Œbuddiesı from all over the world. The so-called Rules of Attraction had definitely been revised but no one bothered to inform me, until I stumbled on the internet. That box of chocolates, I mentioned.

Needless to say, my dormant, sleeping libido was jolted awake by the panoply of graphic photos attesting to the pleasures of late in life gay sexuality that was passing me by. No surprise that tube of lube almost forgotten on my bedside table, came in handy. I found myself pleasuring my fat neglected cock -- a girth Iıve always been proud -- at least once a day and throwing instant boners in the supermarket check-out line while fantasizing about the photo listings of Œmature menı sucking, fucking and having the time of their lives, not clipping grocery coupons.

Empowered with a new sense of body pride -- thanks to the viability of hirsute bellies, as evidenced in those net personal ads, I endeavored to put my sexual randiness to the test by turning the digital camera on my naked self -- hairy belly and fat cock for the world to see. Maybe. Thanks to digital technology no one but myself would have access to the images. What I didnıt like could be instantly deleted and wiped clean from the digital memory card.

Having never been much of an exhibitionist, I was surprised to find posing for the camera a turn-on of sorts. My hairy torso and belly. My fat cock. My hairy ass. My seventy-five year old gray bearded face and hopeful clear eyes looking sixty and vital. The self portraits I was making confirmed what I had come to doubt in the past few years: I was indeed attractive, sexual and no longer in denial of my deepest desire: a good hard cock to suck. It was time to fly my sexual flag. I took a deep breath and posted my first personals ad on the Bearforest web page -- a site for the Œmature and hirsute maleı of the species.

In less than twenty-four hours I had received over forty responses from across the continental U.S., Europe and South America -- confirming my desirability. Yes, the Rules of Attraction were revised beyond my wildest expectations. What a box of chocolates, Forrest Gump.

Two days later I had another two dozen responses with graphic home-made digital pics from men of all ages eager to lick my hairy belly, suck my fat cock and have me fuck their Œvirginı asses with my Œfat daddy cock.ı This Œdaddyı thing is a new one for me -- especially coming from guys in their 20ıs through 60ıs craving having their asses plowed. Truth is Iım a cock sucker. From my first experience, I was 10, my cousin Junior was 13. In the middle of the night of a summer vacation with his family in the Smoky Mountains, I woke up with cousin Juniorıs long dick in my mouth. It was a very natural, pleasurable experience as I remember it. I also enjoyed his mouth on my (always) fat cock. We sucked each other that entire summer and at every family gathering through the years, straight through Juniorıs high school graduation and his first marriage at 22, when the mutual sucking ended at my insistence. I was in love with Junior and his wise beyond his years demeanor, which included a cardigan sweater and a Bing Crosby pipe with the sweet fragrance of an ancient Carolina blend enveloping every room. I moved to New York to get on with my mangled life, promising myself never to have my heart broken again.

Juniorıs cum was the first I had tasted. It was that craving for the taste of cum which motivated all my sexual experiences since; decades of cock sucking, countless men unloading in my mouth, until the plague came to town, so to speak. It was about then that I came face to face with my gin problem. 100% proof, straight from the bottle, no ice, thanks very much. It was time to get off the merry-go-round of shame and self loathing. Iıve been sober ever since, but the craving for cum on my tongue remains.

Three weeks ago I arranged to have my first taste of it in over 15 years. A man from Santa Barbara answered my ad. Driving distance to my location. The first real geographically possible respondent. Distance is a very real factor in the internet mix. The crucible where desire and reality are forced to separate. And on the internet, desire is the joker card most of the would-be players are holding. The nine inch cock attached to the sincere and horny city assessor in Denver with a wife and two kids -- will never get it together to visit me. But a Œbear loverı in Santa Barbara came up to see me. We planned to meet for lunch, no obligations expected. 31 years old, 300 pounds. We arrived in the parking lot the restaurant minutes apart. He immediately recognized me before I could get out of my car and climbed into the passenger seat. Although it was a cool and damp day, he was sweating. We exchanged some small talk about his trip up, then he eagerly unzipped me and began playing with my cock. Since no one had touched me in 15 years, my dick quickly responded, impervious to the sweaty, heavy breathing fat young guy the hand was attached. In a heartbeat, he had my cock in his mouth which he went at with a devotion and worship which recalled my own, a lifetime ago. He devoured my cock for a good half hour without once checking in with me until he sensed I was about to come. His eyes flashed up at me for an instant, as I exploded, and my big load rushed down his throat. He took every drop, gently returned my cock into pants, zipped me up, exited without a word and drove away in his car. My first adventure in 15 years, but a cock to suck would have to wait for another day.

It was more than two weeks before my next internet arranged assignation. A sandy bearded fellow with the countenance of a modern Viking; actually a scientist in his late, but fit 60ıs from La Jolla, who claimed to have been renowned in his youth -- a teenage protégé of Jonas Salk, decades ago, was willing to make the long drive up to Seal Beach to see me. We had exchanged the requisite photos and sexually explicit e-mails promising pleasures of the skin kind. My seventy five year old overweight, very hairy body turned on Carl, the long distance runner and health nut fanatic. The prospect of his sizable Nordic uncut cock had my mouth watering many nights in anticipation. In my active New York City days of the late 1940ıs and 50ıs I especially craved the uncut cocks of blue collar garment center laborers who toiled in the cityıs garment manufacturing factories, mostly horny Italian and eventually Puerto Rican married men dropping by the 34th Street BMT subway toilets to make sperm deposits en route home to fat pregnant wives in Brooklyn. The downtown bound train platform toilet (a gay tea room really) was the happening one, an orgy latrine crowded with rock hard uncut cocks, mostly rank and unwashed, eager to shoot their cream down the throats of the many, and I mean many, wall to wall gaping wide mouths of all persuasions (street queers, bankers, stock brokers, copywriters, salesmen and clergy, including Orthodox graybeard Rabbiıs in black hats and ankle-lenght overcoats) offering oral services in those crazy non plague days. Cock-tail hour in Manhattan has never been the same since. Nor waiting for a train. What a loss for all concerned, save the deadly virus that came to play and slay.

A lifetime later, the big day with Carl the scientist finally arrived; he in a rented car barely avoiding running down my cat in the driveway. Not a good omen. Tilly is skittish by nature; a big tabby with a fragile nature, and a vocal propensity to express her fears, not accustomed or positively disposed to even the friendliest of strangers. Carl the scientist had one big strike against him before he got out of the car, sincere apologies notwithstanding. Carlıs friendly demeanor, but more importantly, the promise of that uncut gift clearly of some heft in his pants, motivated me to selfishly put the Tilly incident aside. She would be rewarded later with tender viddles and her favorite blend of catnip when the scientist had come and gone, no pun, trust me.

Coming was definitely also on Carlıs mind. No sooner did I lead him into my cozy celibate abode, wherein no sex partner had ever visited, Carlıs tongue was working its slimy way down my breathless throat. Cock sucker that I am, a kisser Iım not. Licker of orifices, penal and anal, yes, but not above the hips. We all have our quirks, mine are my own, no apologies, boo hoo hoo, Mrs. Robinson. The scientist had two strikes against him, uncut cock unseen. It was incumbent on Carl to put up or shut up, but then he changed his game plan and all was forgiven, at least for the moment, as he dropped to his knees and got my fat cock out and into his eager mouth. Now Carl was speaking a language that was music to my sex denied ears, although it was his cock I was eager to meet and eat. Skillful cock sucking, like good fucking, canıt be taught. Primeval misinclinations aside, those of us who instinctively follow their bliss and rise to the top of the class undeterred. Carl was a second rate cock sucker, ineptly trying as he might to accommodate my very fat cock. It was time for me to take the matter, so to speak, in hand, and I did just that, gently removing my bruised cock from Carlıs untalented mouth and leading him to the couch. Iıve never thought of myself as much of a teacher, but there was a cock sucking lesson, a matter of pride, I wanted to share with this scientist.

Carlıs long, hard uncut cock slipped into my wet mouth like a long lost friend. It was fifteen dry years since a cock passed through my hungry lips. I had no idea how hungry I was until I began tonguing and nibbling Carlıs salty, ample foreskin, which seemed to bring Carl to the brink of no return in no time. Determined to prolong this feast, I directed my attention to Carlıs huge hanging balls. Unfortunately, my wet ministrations only intensified Carlıs passions. Intent in blowing his load, oblivious to my pleasure, Carl pushed me back onto the couch -- thrusting his raging cock down my throat and fucking my face without mercy. Not at my age. Taking a firm grip of his balls, I squeezed those lovely pears until Carl quickly got the message, removing his throbbing cock from my throat and shooting his load all over himself. I politely invited him to clean up and sent him on his way.

Tilly and I were glad to see the tail lights of Carlıs car disappearing down the road, as the sun went down in a blaze that October evening and I resolved to find a good considerate cock to suck another day.

It was more than a week before I had the desire to check my e-mail again. Although there was ample evidence, thanks to the many responses to my internet personals ad that I was still desirable at seventy-five, I must confess the two skin to skin misadventures that broke my fifteen years celebate fast, did little to encourage the prospect of being third time lucky. The tube of lube and an unearthed batch of gay videos from my basement was all that I needed to quench the lust that had been rekindled of late, thank you very much Forrest Gump and your box of chocolates.

But horniness beckoned one cold night -- shame shame, a man my age. The craving to suck cock came over me like a sudden fever, with an intensity that had me stroking my fat cock and wishing I could get my hungry wet lips around it. If age has taught me anything, its that wishful thinking can only get one so far before frustration prevails. Reaching for the lube, I was suddenly distracted by the blinking mail box icon on my computer screen reminding me that a lustful world of hard cocks aching to cream in my eager mouth, existed beyond the walls of my humble cozy but sexless abode in Seal Beach. So it was with limited expectations that I read through the dozen or so responses from all over the cyber world. They were from men of all ages, eager to lick or dick me in every orifice. But not one within reach, much less the same state. Alas its disheartening to find your box of chocolates have gone stale. And so, with a puddle of pre cum nestling in my pubes, I was about ready to give up the hunt and retreat to my bed where I intended to milk myself to heartıs content, when a new piece of e-mail arrived like a pebble hitting my window pane. Even in a box of stale candy, you never can be certain if that next pick will finally be the overlooked juicy one. And so with the undaunted beating heart of a ten year old at an amusement park that is about to close for the night, I opened that new ciber missive from who knows where.

What a curious and provocative overture it turned out to be. A single sentence informed me that a Œfictional storyı entitled BARE FACTS, written by the sender -- was attached and would serve as introduction of sorts. If the story perked my interest, a reply would be much appreciated. Fair enough. Amused that some eccentricŒs ramblings might possibly provide the proxy sleeping potion I required, I began reading the story. The first paragraph immediately engaged my attention or rather pushed my nascent lust button. The narrator, a middle-age married man describing a first time gay sexual experience with a good buddy, also married. I must admit that in my long ago New York days I had a voracious appetite for married men and their wanton cocks, often encountered when least expected. The story I was reading, vividly and most skillfully described the passionate glories of first time cock sucking and the almost indescribable exotic sensation of having cum flood down a throat and the pungent after-taste on the lips. At storyıs end I was gushing a copious amount of pre cum which helped along one of the more intense orgasms in quite some time.

I slept very well that night, and in the morning sent off a thank you to the sender of the story and I also expressed my curiosity about its inspiration; was it based in fact? Is the sender a married man? And why had he chosen to send the story to me? I received a response later that afternoon, from Rob, a married, middle age guy in Chicago, stating that the story was fiction, inspired by his fantasies to suck cock for the first time.
Aside from jerking off sessions with pals in his teens, Rob claimed he had never had an adult same sex experience. Admitting to a dearth of sex in his longtime marriage, Rob said he was more or less content with being a family man, but the desire to taste cock was palpable. Encouraged by his internet journeys, Rob discovered there were thousands of men in similar circumstances aching to indulge their secret cock sucking fantasies and desires. Intent in making his fantasy become real, Rob began cruising the Œmature menı links, hoping to connect with a very safe, healthy, older, AIDS free guy, not into the gay scene.
Betting that older cock translated as safer, Rob yearned to find a safe cock to suck to orgasm. Hence his stumbling onto my personals ad and photos, which he admitted jerking off with daily. The vanity of a seventy five year old horny man can never be underestimated, regardless of geography or marital status. Rob was definitely a guy I didnıt mind getting to know.

In a daily exchange of e-mails, Rob and I discovered we shared a mutual interest in many things social, political and particularly in the arts. Although he was intentionally vague about how he earned a living, I surmised he toiled in the advertising business, writing copy. When we had progressed to the level of phone conversations, it was of the one-way kind: he calling me from his office. In one of these friendly chats Rob admitted to finding himself unbearably preoccupied at work with fantasies of licking my hairy round belly and thighs and sucking my thick cock. I reminded him that only distance kept his fantasy from becoming true. Since I was not inclined to travel from my cozy nest the journey was his to make. My cock was indeed his for the sucking -- providing of course, that he reasonably resembled the attractive man he claimed to be -- a description I relied on, since his married man discretion prevented him from sending a photo of himself. A late evening call from Rob announcing that he was in San Francisco on some last moment, unexpected business, took me by surprise to say the least. He was staying at one of the new trendy hotels and I was invited to drive up for dinner and whatever might follow -- no obligations expected. There was a show at SFMOMA which would justify the drive, if Rob turned out to be less than desirable, which I strongly doubted.

We had agreed to meet in the hotel bar for drinks. Neutral territory. The drive up to the city was uneventful enough, thanks to my usually tricky back showing some mercy, although my tennis knee threatened to act up, it was the arthritis in my right elbow that ached like heck in those final fifty miles of the journey. I must admit it was the throbbing in my crotch that kept me focused on my destination and the married cock awaiting my hungry mouth.

I was grateful to the valet parking at the entrance of the hotel. My bladder was near bursting when I arrived and it was well worth a kingıs ransom just to get safely to the nearest urinal. The spiffy hotel Tuscany tile bathroom also gave me a much needed opportunity to freshen up before encountering Rob. Have I ever mentioned that Iım often mistaken for Sean Connery? Well not exactly. Although we might be mistaken for balding, gray-bearded distant cousins, give or take a hundred pounds and if the lighting is just about right: in the dark. The sardonic tone manifest in the few last sentences is intended to approximate the uncharacteristic giddiness I was experiencing in anticipation of coming (no pun) face to face with my married man fantasy, Rob.

It was cocktail hour, once my favorite time of day, light years ago, when I walked into the candle lit hotel bar. There were long-legged pretty young women in tight black on black ensembles: tight black blouses and short black skirts, showing lots of bare legs, doing the timeless go-away, come-a-little-closer seduction dance with handsome young stock brokers on the make in fashionably cut suits. New York in the early 1950ıs flashed before my eyes. The patter and chatter, give or take the trendy verbiage of the moment, frozen in time, sans the modern day ban on smoking in public places. Oh those long ago men in gray flannel suits in the Plaza Oak Room and oh how much cock I groped and sucked in those long ago dark smoky places.

Like a sleep-walker I was escorted by the hostess to a quiet booth where Rob was waiting. Fantasy and reality crashed head-on before my eyes. Compactly build Rob stood up to greet me with extended hand, like a business associate, but there was nothing business about long haired, very attractive, artisically darkly clad in nocturnal tones, Rob. He was definitely not at all in sync with my straight looking married man fantasy. Had he mentioned his hair was longish? Had I actually taken in all the details he had shared about himself? Had my fantasies muted his every word? Who was this man I had driven a few hundred miles to sex with? Obviously he was a good listener.

There was a cranberry and club soda drink waiting for me. Rob had clearly taken note that I was sober more than thirty years. I had mentioned Cranberry and soda was my social drink of choice. A good listener is hard to find. Reality extended an olive branch to Fantasy and I happily accepted. Rob was nursing a Merlot and his warm dark eyes made it easy for me to relax and surrender to the reality of sitting face to face with such an attractive man who I could never imagine being attracted to me, even in my halcyon New York days. Within moments, we were deeply immersed in scatter-shot conversation, touching all the bases of our mutually shared interests. Dinner was our last concern. Time took a holiday. Next thing I knew Rob was unlocking the door to his room and we were in a dark spacious suite looking out at the lights of the Golden Gate bridge. I wasnıt thinking about sex; I was with a new friend and we were sharing a view of a beautiful man-made thing of steel sprawling across a bay, with no uncertain grace. It was about then I realized my new friendıs hands were working their way under the front of my blousy, tunic shirt and those hands were getting busy massaging my big hairy belly. I could almost feel Robıs heart pounding as I slipped off my shirt and pulled him close to me in a hot embrace; his hard cock thrusting against mine, like a horny teenager making out in a stolen car. Experience pays its dividends. In seconds flat, I was on my knees with Robıs very hard cock in my mouth, sucking and wet licking his good size meat and lovely sumptious balls while he moaned in pleasure and slowly fucked my mouth, in no hurry, like a lover on a mission, dedicated to please. Just as Rob seemed about to come, he gently slipped his raging cock out of my mouth and led me to the bed, where he slowly removed my remaining clothes, and his own. Lithe and smooth bodied, Rob slowly laid himself down on my very hairy, very round body. Yin and yang never had more in common. Robıs mouth wet licked every crevice of my upper hirsute landscape, paying special attention to my tender nipples responding like a brideıs clit in heat to Robıs passionate licking and nibbling. Then his wet lips slowly found their way to my fat cock seeping a river of pre cum which Rob licked clean and began sucking in earnest, as if my hard bulbous cock was life itself. Whatever concerns I might have had about being at the mercy of an inexperienced first time cock sucker vanished as Robıs sensuous, intuitive cock worshiping had me dizzy with ecstasy. Sensing I was near to blowing my load, I suggested that he allow me to return the pleasuring, but Rob clearly would have none of it; his wet mouth intensely licked and sucked my ramrod hard cock until I let go with a volcanic load of my juices into his grateful virgin mouth. Rob was able to swallow my enormous full load without losing a drop of it. Intuition trumps every time. What a box of chocolates I had discovered.