A few years ago I used to fuck this down-low dude named Reggie.
Hot, sexy Daddy in his 50s who worked out like a fiend at the gym and had the body to show for it.
“I’m married man. Just slipping out from my wife from time to time for some dick,” he would say.
He would get a hotel room and I would fuck his handsome brains out. Dude could take some dick.
“Yessir, yessir that dick feels good,” he would moan, spreading his legs to let me in deeper.
And after we sexed he would tell me more about himself.
He was a retired airline pilot. He and his wife had brilliant twin sons — one was an engineer and the other a lawyer or something. He and his wife lived in a beautiful, palatial home in the suburbs.
Reggie had everything under control. His wife had no clue and he did his thing on the sly.
Now that I am no longer down-low and living in the gay world I am meeting more men in this life.
And I befriended this guy who lived near Reggie.
“Did you ever meet this married DL dude around here named Reggie,” I asked him. “I think he has a house right up the street from you.”
“Yeah, I know him. But Reggie ain’t married, Immanuel. Shit that nigger is an out gay man.”
And I found out the real deal about Reggie. He had been an airline steward serving soft drinks, peanuts and doing safety drills for Southwest airlines. He didn’t even have an amateur pilot’s license.
He had lived with his lover, who died about two years ago after a long illness. But before Reggie’s partner died Reggie took breaks to go get dick. I was just one of his jumpoffs.
He was never married and never had children. He didn’t live in a McMansion but in a small townhouse that his lover had bought but left Reggie in his will.
The lies bothered me because I really liked Reggie. Shit, I would have fucked his hot ass anyway. So why the subterfuge?
So I emailed him.
“You know you didn’t have to lie man,” I wrote.
He didn’t apologize. He didn’t explain.
All he wrote back was, “You are right, it wasn’t necessary.