Let me start off by saying that I'm a 26 year old cub living in Ottawa, Ontario and I have a criminal record. I'm under house arrest for a crime (non-violent) I committed back in 2003 and I can't leave the house except for work, medical emergencies, and community service or to attend meeting with my probation officer.
I had asked my probation officer earlier this week for permission to go out to actually look for jobs, instead of staying at home and sending my resume by email all day long. So she gave me permission to go out on Thursday morning and drop off my resume at a few places, she gave me 3 hours to drop off as many resumes as I could. I had to go pick up a letter at the probation office in the court house on Elgin Street.
When I got to the office a little after 10AM, I had to wait a little bit since there were people ahead of me who were still waiting to be served, so I sat down and took out a book I was in the process of reading.
When my turn was up, I was the only one left in the reception area. I walked up to the window and saw this guy that is usually there every month when I have to meet with my probation officer. He was very attractive, just the kind of guy that I usually go after. About 6 feet tall, he wore clothes that made it hard to tell if he was muscular or chubby. He had these really captivating brown eyes, the kind that feel as if they're looking right into you whenever he decides to set them on you, but they were partially hidden by his glasses, which only made him more attractive. He had short brown hair that were styled in a spiky/messy style that seems so popular lately.
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Story Added: 2015-10-05
Dan stared at the old Grumman truck in the drive way. The white painted sides were a bit dull, and he could see the patches where he had touched up the paint, that were now weathered and old, just as he was. Sipping his coffee he felt his age, or more aptly he felt like a hundred, not a mere sixty. His legs trembled a little, as he stood there staring at 40 years of his life.
At twenty he and his father had bought the old truck, fresh from the factory. It had taken his Dad nearly a lifetime to save up enough to buy the truck, to put his son firmly in the driver's seat of their shared enterprise. It had been his Father's father that had started the little business, passed it on, and at 20 years of age, his own father was readying to pass it on to him.
Looking out at the ancient truck, he still marvelled at how it had survived, and how it had done him and his father proud. They had spent an entire winter getting their brand new truck ready for the summer season, customizing the interior, working out the generators to keep the coolers at the right temperature.
It had been good times, and when they had rolled out the completed truck, that spring day, well you could see the pride in their eyes, the twinkle of success. His mother had stood at the side, her hands to her face, tears in her eyes as she watched her husband and son back the transformed truck into the drive.
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Story Added: 2015-10-03
Cause of today's sissified morality, studs can't horse around or even show affection openly like real men. An innocent chore a boy does for his daddy, can be misunderstood by women & their pussy-whipped girly men. That's why an innocent service I do for dad at home, I can't do in public. If dad uses me as his pissboy at a truckstop, some asshole might object. A wholesome, innocent act like being dad's urinal & drinking his hot piss, might get his accused of sexual child abuse, & get him labeled a degenerate pederast. So I only do fuckin shit like that, or sucking dad off, at home. Only dad's buds get to see me give his a blow job, or take his fuckpole up my shitchute.
Dad is a trucker. He wears a kahki uniform. To support his manhood, he wears a jockstrap under his trousers. He sports the bulge of his jock pouch on his right hand side. I get a real fuckin kick outta the way he all the time gropes hisself to adjust his manmeat. Like all born cocksmen, he does it openly in public. He don't give a fuckin shit who's watching. When he sports a hardon that tents out his pants, he never tries to hide it. He struts around for all to see. It makes me Goddam proud to see other manly studs get boned lookin at my daddy's hardon.
Every wed. dad took me to "Men Only" nite at the Y. On the way over & in the locker room, dad talked to me about sex. Dad loved looking into my wide-eyed innocent face & saying the filthiest sex shit to me. Dad loved sleazy sex action & taught me to lust to perform devient sex acts too. By the time we stripped down nude at the Y, we both had rock hard rammers. Our mantools stuck out from our bods, & dripped a steady flow of precum lube. Thank God that from the time I was 12, my manmeat was almost as large as my father's. We liked to measure our cocks by pressing them together, to compare.
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Story Added: 2015-10-01
I can't remember how I found out about Silverdaddies, but I had always preferred older men. In fact, I had only been with older men and looked exclusively for older men on the one cruising website that I at the time knew about.
I'd find myself daydreaming about older men and looking after them when I was out, even following some that I thought might have been gay, bi or curious.
The first guy I was with I met that way.
The first man I talked to on Silverdaddies was 60 and I could tell by his picture that he had a big cock.
We chatted a few times and agreed to meet. I was nervous. He said he was very aggressive and liked daddy/boi talked and that I had to follow his lead.
My heart was pounding when I got to his building and he buzzed me in. I walked slowly up the stairs, and could hear him open the door to his apartment.
When I got there he was seated on the bed and told me to come and sit by him, which I did.
He didn't touch me then but asked a few questions and I asked him if I could shower. He got a towel and showed me the bathroom and told me that the water nozzle was sensitive and that I should be careful.
I left the door open a bit and showered, making sure I was extra clean for him and couldn't help but stroke my own hard dick and rub my fingers against my boi hole, pressing as I rubbed.
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Story Added: 2015-09-29
It was 2:25 in the afternoon at a local public high school. Seventeen year old Patrick was in the middle of English class, as usual he wasn"t listening to a word that was being spoken, instead his attention favored Mr. Palmer, the only teacher who could keep him awake for an entire period.
Patrick wasn"t a troublemaker, he just had difficulty with things that involved other people telling him what he can and can not do. This included his teachers, his bosses (all of whom had fired him), and especially his father. Patrick"s father was actually the reason that he was in love with his English teacher, because the fact that his father and Mr. Palmer were best friends since before Patrick was even born, he had plenty of advance time to drool over that intellegent, well groomed creature. Patrick"s father, Mike, and Mr. Palmer, known as Brian by his friends, served in the navy together, where they had met.
Brian (Mr. Palmer) had been there for every special occasion that Patrick could remember. His birthday parties, Thanksgivings, his mother"s funeral. After her untimely death, Brian had spent a lot of time at the house trying to get Mike back on his feet. Patrick had first learned about homo-sexuality during that time, when he was 9 he got home from school and found his father and Brian tied at the tongue. At first it had disgusted him, but after a few years of letting that picture completely sink in, it started to make him wonder what it was like to kiss another boy. When Patrick was 15, he first started coming out to his friends, but to that day Mike had no clue that his son was gay, or what he had witnessed years earlier.
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Story Added: 2015-09-27
I was 33 and still in good shape. I had travelled to Montreal for a weekend of sex. Montreal is a very gay-friendly city, with a large gay quarter called "The Village". There are also over 50 bath houses in the city, which means there's one to cater to any mood you might be in.
I was staying at a very nice bath house called Aux Berges. My experience happened on a Saturday afternoon.
I was walking from floor to floor, trying to find an older man. I passed a man that I liked in one of the stairwells. He was in his late fifties or early sixties, white-haired, overweight, and much older, a grandfatherly-type. He smiled and I smiled back and we started chatting. After some small talk he started massaging my cock through my towel. Once he saw I was interested he asked if I'd like to join a friend of his and himself in their room. The idea of having two older men made my heart beat faster, and I readily agreed. We walked to his room, which was located one floor up. His hands rarely left my ass on the way up, which excited me. I was hoping the man in the room was at least as old as the first guy, and I wasn't disappointed.
We arrived at his room and he opened the door. I guess it's important to point out the Aux Berges isn't a standard bath house, but more like a gay hotel. The rooms are like real hotel rooms, not the usual closets with a piece of foam padding that qualifies as a bed. Lying on the bed was a naked man in his sixties, thin, who was watching a porn while stroking himself. I thought I was in heaven. He said something to the tune of "what have we here?" as his friend took my towel off.
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Story Added: 2015-09-25
It was a three day weekend that my dad, with a couple of vacation days, had managed to turn into five. We'd taken off on Wednesday afternoon, once Dad got home from work, and a few hours later found ourselves at the nudist resort. Once undressed we got busy with the trailer we kept there full-time and while Mom unpacked the clean sheets, towels and food we'd brought from home, Dad and I busied ourselves with getting the utilities hooked up. Once that was done Mom whipped up a quick dinner and then it was time for bed.
For as far back as I could remember we had been nudists and I always enjoyed going to the nudist resort. I loved the freedom of not wearing clothes and just being outside or in the pool nude. And then, as I'd gotten older, I began taking an interest in looking at the men and boys around the pool and the grounds. For the past year or so cocks had become an endless fascination for me and there were times at home when I would sneak copies of Sunshine and Health out of the house and into the garage where I would jack-off while looking at the men in the pictures.
On Thursday I noticed that Dad had disappeared around two in the afternoon, as he always seemed to. I stood in the shallow end of the pool and looked all around, but could not see him. I'd wondered about this for a few months now; where did he go at two in the afternoon? Mom never seemed to care - if she even noticed - that he was gone. I decided that the following day I was going to find out where he went.
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Story Added: 2015-09-23
I had been Christmas shopping at a local Mall. I was ready to go home before the first predicted burst of winter weather hit the Smokey Mountains. Heavy snow flakes and blistering winds were in the air as I headed toward my Caddy in the Mall parking lot. The temperature was dropping very fast that evening & I needed to stop by the Liquor & Grocery Stores before the roads became solid ice! The Interstate route would be a faster route toward home and save me some time. I had to get home soon!
Before turning onto the ramp to the Interstate, I noticed a handsome looking "Daddy-Type" man hitching a ride. He was covered with snow and I felt guilty after being in such Christmas spirit while at the Mall. Therefore, I did what I never do! I ask him if he needed a ride. He was very accepting and we chatted on the way down the Interstate. He told me that his name was Khristoff and also told me a little bit about his life. He said that he was very glad that I stopped and was glad to meet an Angel who would be so kind to give him give him a ride!
When I ask Khristoff what exit he wanted off, he replied, "I don't know, I just want to get warm for the night because I live under the bridge near the Mall." I replied, "Would you like to spend the evening at my house?" His reply was, "Yes, If you don't mind!" I said, "what the hell, it's Christmas time, Khristoff, however, you'll have to spend the night. I'm not going to go back out in this storm once I get home!" He looked at me with a beautiful smile and a sparkle in his eyes while tears rolled down his rosy wind burned cheeks. I was trying to figure out if he was gay or straight after the looks he gave me. His long un-trimmed beard reminded me of Santa. All I wanted to do for this poor soul was to offer him a hot bath or shower, a shave, and a warm bed for the night.
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Story Added: 2015-09-21
After having to take an early retirement from my job, and enjoying a little time off, it was time to get out and find another job. Although I needed the income, I was not happy about having to go through the whole process, after so many years. Being over 50, I knew it wouldn't be an easy task. I did have the advantage of still being in pretty good shape. I am 6'1", 185lbs, salt and pepper hair, and blue eyes. My first interview was to be at 11:00 with a warehousing and distribution co. After checking in, I was told that Mr. Reed was running a bit late, but would be with me shortly. In about 10 minutes, I was told I could now go in.
Mr. Reed was a striking young man, about 30 years old, about my height, with blond streaked hair, deep blue eyes, and a dark bronzed tan. We shook hands and started the interview. I just couldn't help starring. He was so good looking, and there was something very familiar about him also. I couldn't help fantasizing about what he looked like naked. I suppose I was a little too deep in my fantasy, because he grabbed my hand, and asked me again. You don't remember me, do you? I'm David, and use to live on your street. I remember you now I told him. As it turned out, he grew up a few doors down from me, in the neighborhood where my ex-wife lived. My wife and I divorced about 12 years prior, as we were really not compatible, and were unable to have children. David and I started talking about old times, but time got away from us, and he had another meeting. He still had some interviewing to do, but quietly informed me that the job was mine if I wanted it. As I was leaving, he invited me over to his house for supper, so we could catch up some more on old times. He said we would grill some steaks.
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Story Added: 2015-09-19
It was June 1976; I , Sean Brickman just finished my Senior year in high school in New York City, and now I was on my way to San Diego.
I spent the past year on the varsity wrestling team and dating all the cheerleaders...and I mean all of them. I never really dated one girl for more than a couple weeks. The reason, of course, was that I got bored with girls easily. I was much happier hanging with my friends, especially my practice partner Rob. We were best friends and probably had more sex together than we both did with girls combined. It was mostly jacking each other off with the occasional blow job but for some reason it was more exciting than being with a girl. Girls smell pretty but after practice Rob smelled hot. We both couldn't wait to get to my apartment on Fifth Avenue and shed our cloths for a major jack off session. But now I was leaving for the summer and Rob was going to Long Island with his parents.
Anyway, I'm on my way to San Diego for the summer and my Uncle Carl, my mothers 31 year old brother, was going to pick me up at the airport. He was going to be stuck with me for the summer even though we hadn't seen each other in about 12 or 13 years.
My mother, Helen Shaw Brickman Thomas Hunt, was on her way to Europe for a three month honeymoon with her new, and third, husband, Theodore Hunt, a wealthy business man. So I would be spending my summer off at the beach at Uncle Carl's house while my mother figures out how to kill off number three. Well, number one, my father, Steve Brickman, is still alive, some place, but we haven't seen nor heard from him since I was a baby. Husband number two, Richard Thomas, was a New York real estate tycoon (or slum lord) and had left my mother quite a bit of money after he met his early departure from this earth by way of lung cancer.
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Story Added: 2015-09-17