Once upon a time, there was a youngish adolescent named Twinkilocks who lived alone in the suburbs of an anonymous metropolis on the East Coast. He rented a modest studio apartment with the inheritance that was left to him by his recently deceased yet highly respectable uncle. His late uncle, Victor Williams, was a prominent entrepreneur, a gay rights activist and a celebrated socialite, butterflying from party to party among the jet set’s finest. However, a recent spiked-stiletto mishap during fashion week in Milan caused poor Victor to bequeath all of his amassed fortunes to his dearest nephew and neophyte to the gay world, Twinkilocks.
When Twinkilocks received news of his dear uncle’s untimely demise, he was genuinely and deeply saddened, to the extent only attainable when a mentor is degraded to a mere mortal. Poor Twinkilocks! He had been looking forward all year long to spending the upcoming months with Victor at his summer home on Fire Island. During that time, Victor had planned to introduce Twinkilocks properly and tastefully to the gay community because a boy as gorgeous and naïve as Twinkilocks would surely be lured to the dark side if he were to be tempted by the evil half of the community. Now what was poor Twinkilocks to do all alone with his newfound fortune? He would certainly need a new mentor to guide him through the emotional labyrinth of adolescence, but where to find one would be quite a task, even for someone as brave and resourceful as Twinkilocks.
Twinkilocks decided to start his query online, precisely where all young boys begin when their sexuality starts to bloom. “Maybe I could find a new mentor on Craigslist!” Twinkilocks thought to himself excitedly. “They have everything on Craigslist. I should most certainly be able to find myself a new mentor to help me enter properly into the realm of homosexuality.” As he typed the three w’s in his computer’s browser, Twinkilocks felt a shiver of excitement tickle his little prostate. He deftly navigated from the home page to the category entitled Men Seeking Men. Not a split second after he clicked the link did a whole world of opportunities download before his eyes. There was such a wonderful range of queries laid out before him that he was unsure of where to begin. Twinkilocks scanned each entry with meticulous feelers, looking for just the right one to fit his needs.
Hungry Athletic Bottom Jock Looking for Hungry Raw tops later today – 29
Hard Cock in pantyhose seeks younger regular suck slave – 46
I have what you crave. It is 8 inches. Ask and you will receive. – 31
“Hmmm…” thought Twinkilocks. “All these men seem to just be interested in sex whereas I’m looking for a mentor to show me the raunchy ropes of gay life. I’m never going to find what I need!” Little did Twinkilocks know that things always look most grim before the goddess Cher’s spotlight shines down upon the answer. Suddenly, the page refreshed itself and a new ad appeared at the top of the list.
Generous Dad type for curious young lad – 53
“Hmmm,” considered Twinkilocks, “Fifty-three seems a bit out of my range but at least he’s not 54. I’d most definitely draw the line at 54.” Having thoroughly convinced himself that a 53-year-old was his perfect match, Twinkilocks clicked his way over to his free and anonymous Yahoo! mail account to respond to his newfound lover’s petition of companionship. Twinkilocks debated with himself for quite some time about just how he wanted to come across in this most paramount of e-mails. He decided he’d just get straight to the point. After all, a 53-year-old may have bad vision and not be able to read long passages without a pair of trusty bifocals. Furthermore, Twinkilocks didn’t want to sound too needy so a nice, terse message expressing his interest should suffice just fine in his opinion.
Hey there, sir. I saw that you were looking for a curious young lad and since I’m young and curious, I thought I’d say Hi. Other than being old, are you also very experienced and well-versed in the ways of the gay? If so, I’d look very much forward to having you for a tutor and would reimburse you sexually for all services provided therein. Tootles!
Twinkilocks was heartily satisfied with his effortless and subtle version of ‘easygoing business speak’. He felt it conveyed his confident-yet-cool style that he tended to employ in social situations ever since that farting debacle last year in Junior High.
Young Twinkilocks had just begun foraying into the magical world of butt sex at the tender age of 14 and he had yet to learn all the necessary preparatory measures and post-butt sex strategies that, if ignored, could result in disastrous consequences. It was early June of his final year before high school and Twinkilocks had been studying all afternoon long for his final English Literature exam the following day. This would be his last exam before he could finally relax and enjoy his summer vacation and await the torturous angst-ridden years of high school, which would commence in September. However, like most adolescent boys, studying can be quite a chore, especially with an easily distracted mind such as Twinkilocks'. All sarcasm aside, Twinkilocks’ mother had to be careful not to over-polish any of the tabletops for fear of Twinkilocks being caught off guard again by his reflection. That was quite a stressful day for our poor protagonist. But back to the study session. All that literature milling around his little head was just too much for Twinkilocks and he needed a good, rejuvenating break before he could continue his studies. So, Twinkilocks logged into his account on Gay.com and decided to see who was online in his small, suburban area. It just so happened that there was a twenty-something black man online that night who called himself Tyrone. Tyrone was an experienced top looking for a tight, virgin ass to deflower. Who knew what a coincidence God had in store for them that evening! After just a few minutes of casual and flirty chatting, Twinkilocks had successfully set up his first anal sex appointment. The two boys decided to convene at Tyrone’s tastelessly decorated post-college apartment downtown twenty minutes later. Twinkilocks sure was excited, not only because he was going to have his bum-cherry popped but also because Tyrone was his first black man. Their rendezvous couldn’t have gone better. They both got along swimmingly and Twinkilocks was barely both feet inside the apartment before they were entwined in an Oreo-like battle of amour. Needless to say, Twinkilocks was unprepared for what Tyrone was packing in his seamless, white 2(x)ist briefs. Twinkilocks wasn’t a total neophyte. He knew to apply lubricant on the condom as well as on his own hole but nothing could’ve prepared him for the 11 thick inches of ebony pride that invaded his tight twinky twat. Unlike most first-timers, Twinkilocks loved every second of his anal adventure but would pay dearly for it the following day. He returned home after saying goodnight to Tyrone and finished up his studying with a wonderfully refreshed mind, set to succeed. However, Twinkilocks failed to take into consideration his current state of elasticity and the duration of the written blue-book exam. Like most final exams, he’d be required to sit at his desk the entire duration of the three-hour period until all the students had completed their exam. Furthermore, literature lacked the ease of multiple-choice responses and thus required much concentration and perseverance. Normally, this would not have been a problem for young Twinkilocks. But he was suffering from a textbook case of Loose-Ass, which was further aggravated by the fact that the perpetrator had been African American. So one can imagine Twinkilocks’ consternation as he moved steadily into his second hour of the exam and began to emit a silent but very deadly gas from his cavernous man-cunt. Throughout the rest of the two hours, Twinkilocks displayed flapless determination as he finished the rest of the exam to the best of his ability, farting, squirting and generally splurping/splatting his way throughout the entire event. No one else in the room was able to finish his or her exam as they were all focused on the spectacle that was shooting out of Twinkilocks’ gaping hole. But of course, our hero kept pristine poise and finished his exam in record time, after which he urgently excused himself to take care of the Hershey Olympics that were taking place in his hindquarters. Being the tactful and courteous young man that he is, Twinkilocks returned to the classroom promptly to tidy up the skid marks he had left earlier on during the exam. Enough back-story. Let’s return to the issue at hand.
Before Twinkilocks could lean back and take a sip from his Smirnoff Ice, a new message appeared in his Inbox. As it turned out, the Dad type lived only a 5-minute drive away, which pleased Twinkilocks immensely. Not only had he found a new mentor, but he was so close to home as well! They quickly exchanged several more e-mails and planned to meet that evening at a local bistro in the gayborhood.
“OOOHH! I can’t wait!” Twinkilocks was giggling like an Asian schoolgirl as he lathered, rinsed and repeated for the third time. He knew that he wanted to look his best that night and that meant a few extra shampoo cycles to make sure his golden highlights really popped in the dim restaurant ambience. Preparing for any possible post-dinner encounters, Twinkilocks skipped ahead two days in his weekly schedule to properly ensure a peach-fuzz-zone in his nether regions. There’s no way any stubble was going to ruin his chances of securing a steady mentor. In his limited experience, Twinkilocks discovered that most older men like their twinks to resemble prepubescent Backstreet Boy fans. Good thing for Twinkilocks, because he had that area covered. At 140 pounds and 5 feet 8 inches, he was an Internet porn webmaster’s wet dream. Flawlessly tanned skin, absolutely no musculature and little body hair made Twinkilocks a very popular boy at the gay clubs. He was hoping to work his magic once again tonight.
Twinkilocks knew he was in for an interesting night as soon as he set foot in the restaurant. The Dad type said he’d be in one of the back booths wearing all black, which sounded odd at first to Twinkilocks, but now he understood perfectly. The restaurant, Bistro Cuero, was a traditional Spanish-style tapas restaurant but if Twinkilocks had paid attention in Spanish class last year instead of giving HJs to the baseball players sitting next to him, he would’ve known that the word cuero means leather in Spanish. Yes, that’s correct. Poor Twinkilocks had unknowingly stumbled into the area’s only BDSM-themed restaurant and worst of all, he was wearing white. Besides it being way past Labor Day, Twinkilocks’ second offense was standing out ostensibly among all the thickly baby-powdered leather daddies in their ebony ensembles. Ever the little trooper, Twinkilocks sucked it up, figuratively, of course, and introduced himself.
“Hi! I’m Twinkilocks! But my friends call me Twinkie. You must be Barnacle McClingster.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Twinkie! You can just call me Barney for short. Have a seat…”
Twinkilocks was thoroughly enthused and 75% turned on by the firm handshake he received from Barney. “Oh gosh,” Twinkie swooned, “his handshake was so firm it felt like he would never let go. He’s so dreamy!” Little did poor Twinkie know that holding on for eternity was exactly what Barnacle McClingster had in mind.
Twinkilocks sat down and ordered a sparkling Pellegrino with lemon while Barney filled his glass with an already half-empty bottle of merlot.
“I hope you don’t mind that I drink, Twinkie. There’s just something about a nice red wine that really gets me in the mood.”
“In the mood for what?”
“For just about anything your tight little ass can handle, Twinkie-cakes.”
Twinkilocks was simultaneously turned on and skeeved-out, a feeling he had grown used to since his first date with an older gentleman. However, Twinkie was willing to give ole’ Barney the benefit of the doubt. After all, a mentor sometimes says things to his protégé as a mental challenge of sorts. Kind of like that time Twinkilocks’ last mentor told him to get on all fours for a “hot beef injection”.
After all the requisite get-to-know-ya chat, Twinkilocks now knew that our friend Barney was 3 years older than previously stated, which made him a ripe 56. He was also the proud owner of his very own exotic insects store. His did not merely sell food for certain amphibians and reptiles. He made it very clear that these exotic insects were sold to his patrons for domestic and aphrodisiacal uses. Twinkilocks decided to just let that one go. Barney was also very much an advocate of ballroom dancing, bonsai tree trimming and had an alphabetized collection of every single original Broadway cast recording from 1972 on.
It was then that Barney reached across the table and placed his thick, calloused hand on top of Twinkie’s smooth and evenly moisturized one.
“You know, Twinkilocks, I really think that you and I have quite a lot in common. Since your cute ass walked in the door, all I’ve been able to think about how cute you’d look dressed in white at our wedding.”
Twinkilocks mentally slammed on the brakes as he withdrew his hand from under Barney’s.
“What? Dressed in fucking white? Bitch, please! Do I look like a fucking virgin to you? I am wearing a mother fucking 50% cotton-lycra mother-of-pearl tuxedo at my partnership ceremony and nobody, not even Cher if she beamed down here right now, is going to talk me out of it.”
“Ok, that’s fine. Mother of pearl it is, then. Anything for my beautiful bride.”
“I’m not your bride. Do I look like I have a twat?”
“A nicely shaven man-twat, yes.”
“Eww. Just eww.”
It was at this moment that Twinkilocks visualized what exactly a ‘man-twat’ might look like. The connotations that came along with the ideas of menstruation and baby fat made Twinkie vomit a little inside his mouth, which he dutifully swallowed without the slightest whisper of a flinch. But hoping for the best, Twinkilocks forged ahead.
“So what kind of experience do you have that makes you a good mentor for me?”
“Experience? Well… life itself, I presume.”
“BOOO! That’s fucking lame. I wanna hear some good shit here, okay? Like were you ever married to anyone famous in the disco scene? Do you have connections with Broadway? If so, we can milk that big time. Just think… My ass on a billboard. Who wouldn’t pay to see that shit?”
“Well I certainly would. But hopefully I won’t need to. We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other and explore our bodies. I’m just so ecstatic that I’ve finally found ‘the one’.”
“Okay. It was just fab meeting you,” says Twinkilocks, pushing back his chair, ready to go.
“Wait! Where are you going? Don’t you think that if we’re destined to be lovers, we should get to know each other a bit more?” Barney flailed to grasp Twinkie’s hand. But our Twinkie’s ‘clinger senses’ warned him of the impending offense.
“I don’t think so, grandpa. I’m just not feeling whatever it is that you’re feeling. Frankly, I think you’re tipsy and desperate and that is so not hot right now. It was nice to meet you, Mister McClingster.”
And with those last, gracious words, Twinkilocks checked off Barney’s name from his mental catalog. No one was going to lock him up without going Shawshank on his little twink-ass first. Then, “Whatever. It’s not like I needed him anyway. He was just too clingy. Maybe if I found someone a little more loose…”
To be continued.